Year of the Unicorn (20 page)

The muddy fog was thick. If it hid the road from me, then certainly it should in turn hide me from what passed that way! But that was only a small hope, such as we are wont to cling to in times of great peril.

That this was such a time, I doubted not. I shrank inside and out from the fog and what it held-so alien to my flesh and spirit that to come even this close to it was befoulment beyond the finding of words.

Now the passage of what the fog hid was not only vibration through the ground to my touch; it was sound for my ears. The beat of steps, and of more than one pair of feet-but whether of beast or things two footed and running in company I could not tell.

The phosphorescent quality of that evil cloud grew stronger, its yellow taking on a sickly, red tinge, as of watered blood. And with that a low droning noise, which one's ears strained to break down into the tones of many voices chanting together, but which ever eluded that struggle for clarity. It was coming up the road, not down from the place of the Guardians.

I bit hard upon my knuckles, scoring them with my teeth until I tasted blood, so keeping from the outcry my panic held ready in my throat to voice. Was it better to see-or far, far better to be blinded against this runner, or runners in the night? Flecks of darker red in the fog. And the drone so loud it filled my head, shook my body. I think my very terror worked on my behalf to save me that night, for it held me in a mindless, motionless state very close to the end of life itself. Fear can kill, and I had never met such fear as this before. For this did not lurk in any dream, but in the world I had always believed to be sane and understandable.

Blood on my hands and in my mouth, and that stench about me so that I would never feel clean again unless I could flee it. But I no longer saw those red flecks, and the drone was easing-it was past me.

Still I could not move. All strength had seeped out of my body as it might have drained from an open and deadly wound. I sat there, terror bound, under the leafless tree.

Vibrations now, rather than sound, told me it was still on its mysterious way. Where? Up to the place of the Guardians then on to the shifting stones-

With the greatest effort I had forced upon my body since I had ridden out of Norstead, I dragged myself to my feet. To leave the shadow of the trees, go out to the edge of the road, was torture. But neither dared I remain here, to perhaps face the return of that which ran the ridges in the night. I had nigh reached the end of all my strength and beyond that lay death-of that I was sure.

To go out on the road itself I did not dare. I stumbled along under the edge of the trees, heading away from what had passed me. The mist seemed thicker, closing about me at times so I could see only a few steps ahead; there lingered, too, the noisome smell of the fog.

For a while I had the wood on my right hand and the small promise of shelter. Then once again I had to take to the road for the ground fell on one side and climbed on the other. Always must I listen for what might come behind-

The slope of the road grew steeper. I slowed my pace even more. And I was panting heavily as I paused to rest for a few moments. Then-away and afar-behind-came a cry-a screech which, faint as it was, made me gasp and cry out. For the alien malignancy which frightened it was that of some utterly unbelievable nightmare. Faint and far, yes, but that did not mean it was not returning this way-

I began to run down hill, weaving from side to side, blindly, without caution, only knowing that I must as long as I could stand on my feet. Then I must crawl, or roll, or claw my way as long as I continued to live.

This was dream panic relived in reality. I caught at stones, at the cliff side, to steady myself. A mud patch on the road-I slipped, went to my knees. Gasping I was up again, staggering on. Always did I fear to hear that cry repeated-closer-

I had not realized that the mist was thinning until I saw farther ahead. And there was light-light? I pressed my hands to my aching side and stared stupidly as I reeled back against the cliff wall. Light-but no lamp-no star-no fire-nothing I could relate it to. Yellowwhite, streaking here and there as if it flashed at random from widely separated sources. Not beams of light, but small sparks, winging here and there-

Winging! Lights which flew, detached from any source of burning, dancing sometimes together, sometimes racing far apart or circling one after the other-in no set pattern which would suggest any purpose. One settled for a moment on a tree below, gleamed brightly, vanished-In and out, up and down, to watch them made me almost as dizzy as it had to watch the shifting stones.

They did not warn me of danger, and after a moment or two of watching them I went on. One sped apart from its fellows towards me. I flinched and then saw it was well over my head. There was a buzzing and I made out beating wings, many faceted eyes which were also sparks of fire. An insect or flying thing-I did not believe it a bird-perhaps as large as my hand and equipped with a rounded body which glowed brightly-

It continued to fly well above my head, but made no move to draw closer, and I gathered the remnants of my tattered courage to go on. Two more of the lightbearers joined the one who escorted me, and with their combined light I no longer had to pick my way with care. The road became level once again. Here were trees but I could see leaves and smell the scent of growing things. I had come from winter into spring or summer. Was this the green-gold land of the other Gillan?

At least our bond led me forward. And my light bearing companions continued with me. Here the trees grew back from the road, leaving a grassy verge on either side of its surface and there was a welcome which was as soothing as an ointment laid upon a deep burn. I could not conceive that that from which I fled could walk through such a land as this. But it had come from this direction and I dared not allow myself to be so lulled.

The road no longer ran so straight, it curved and dipped and came out at last by a river. There was a bridge, or had been a bridge, for the centrespan was gone. Under that water rushed with some force. To cross here, unless driven, in the night was madness. I dropped down on the entrance to the bridge and half lay, half sat, content for the moment just to have come so far unharmed.

Scent turned my head to the left. One of the light creatures settled on a beflowered branch which swung under its weight. The waxen flowers-those were the kind Halse had offered Gillan on the road. In this much had I come on my journey; I had reached the land behind the gate-that which the Riders had so longed for during their years of exile. Fair it was-but what of that which ran the ridges in the night? Could this land be also greatly foul? I was not spell-entranced, one ensorcelled as that other Gillan and her companions. Would my clear sight here serve to warn and protect-or hinder?

Land of Wraiths

DAWN CAME gently, and with colour; not in the greyness of the waste and the peaks. The lightbearers flitted away before the first lighting of the world about me, and now birds began to sing. I no longer was lonely in a country which rejected my kind. Or so I thought on that first morn in the forbidden land.

In me blood ran more swiftly. I had drawn back my fled courage, my waning strength. That which ran the ridges haunted a former life far behind.

Though the river ran swiftly enough to delay my passage yet there was a small backwater below where I rested, having the calm of a pool. Over this leaned trees with withy branches which bent to the water's surface and those were laced with pink flowers from which each small breeze brought a shower of golden pollen sifting down, to lie like yellow snow upon the water. Slender reeds of brilliant green grew along the bank, save for where a broad stone was deep set, projecting a little into the water, as if meant as a wharf for some miniature fleet.

Stiffly I found my feet and climbed down to that stone, skimming some of the pollen from the water with my hand, letting the clear drops run down my skin. Cool and yet not too cool. My fingers went to buckles, clasps and ties and I dropped from me the travel stained clothing, with all its tears and the mustiness of too long wearing, to wade out into that back eddy of the stream, washing my body. The wound on my side was a pink weal-already more than half healed. Some of the blossomed withes rubbed my head and shoulders, and the perfume of the flowers lingered on my skin and hair. I luxuriated in that freedom, not wanting to return to my clothing, to that urge which sent me on. If I moved in illusion, then it was so strong as to entrap me utterly-nor did I want to break the spell.

But at length I returned to the bank and pulled on garments the more distasteful for my own cleanliness. Having eaten I again studied the bridge. It looked as old as time, its grey stones patterned with moss and lichen. The centre-span must have vanished years ago. No, the only way to cross the river must be to-

I stared at the gap in the bridge. Then, tenuous as a spider's transport threat-there was something there. Illusion? I willed for true sight. There was the dizziness of one picture fitted over another. But I could see it. The old, old bridge, half gone and another intact, with no break! And-the intact bridge was the true one. But it still remained, for all my concentration, a shadowy, ghostly thing. I glanced away to the pool where I had bathed, to the flowering shrubs and trees, the green generosity of this smiling country. But that showed no ghosts of over-fitted illusion-only the bridge did so. Another safeguard of this land, set up to delay, to warn off those who had not its secret?

Slowly I stepped upon the stone I could see well, heading towards that ghost. Or was it another and more subtle illusion, beckoning the wayfarer on for a disastrous fall into the flood below. As I closed upon the broken gap mended by that dim rise, I went down on hands and knees creeping forward, warily testing each stone before me, lest a dislodged block turn and precipitate me down. It was very hard to believe in-that shadow portion.

I reached the end of the solid stone, or what one sight reported solid stone. My hand moved out, expecting to thrust into nothingness, but the shadow was firm substance. I crept on, hardly daring to look about me. For my eyes said that I was coming on to a span of mist, too ephemeral a thing to support my weight. And below the water boiled and frothed about the support pillars. My touch told me that the mist was real, the break was not. Almost it was as confusing as the shifting stones on the heights.

Across what I could see only as a shadow I went, still on hands and knees until I came to the solid stone. As I stood upright, supported by one hand on the parapet, breathing hard, I knew that once again I must ever be on guard, not disarmed by the smiling peace of this land, so that my double sight could aid and warn.

The road wound on, now through fields. No cattle nor sheep grazed there, nor were any crops sown. At intervals I called upon my double sight, but no hazy outlines formed. There were birds in plenty, and they showed no wariness of me, scratching in the dust near my feet, soaring within a hand's distance, or swinging on some bush limb eyeing me curiously. They were brighter plumaged than the ones I knew from the Dales, and of different species. There was one with stiffly curled tail feathers of red and gold, wings of rust-red, that did not fly at all, but ran beside me for a space in company, calling out at intervals a small questing note as if it expected some coherent answer. It was larger than a barnyard fowl and more assured.

Twice I saw furred things watching me as unafraid. A fox surveyed my passing, sitting up as might a hound. Almost I expected it to bark a greeting. And two squirrels, these a red-gold, rather than the grey that lived in Nor-stead gardens, chattered together, manifestly exchanging opinions concerning me. Were it not for that cord ever drawing me onward, that sense of necessity and need, I would have travelled with a light and joyous heart.

Still caution walked with me and I did not forget to use the sight as a check upon the countryside. The sun arose, was warm, so that the fur rug which had been such a boon in the hills was now a sorry drag upon my arm. I was folding it for the fourth time when I chanced to look upon the ground and a small chill froze me in mid-gesture.

I threw no shadow-that dark mark of any standing or moving thing in a lighted world was no longer mine! Smarkle had accused me of that in the Hound camp, but I had been too intent upon escape for it to make much impression on my mind. But I was real-solid-flesh and bone! Around me trees, bushes, tall clumps of grass all had their proper patch of corresponding shade to mark their presence. But it was as if I were as unsubstantial as that piece of bridge had been in my sight.

Was I only real to myself? But the Hounds had seen me, laid hands upon me, had thought to do even more. To them I had been solid, had had life. That I hugged to me, though I had never thought to be thankful for my meeting with those ravagers and outlaws.

Now I moved my hands, striving to win an answer to that movement on the ground. And the confidence built up during my morning's wanderings ebbed somewhat. So small a shadow, something we seldom think on. But to lack it-ah, that was another matter. Suddenly it became one of the most important possessions, as needful as a hand, a limb-as needful to one's sense of sanity.