Year of the Unicorn

10 No Shadow!

The simple bag, my desperate thoughts kept coming back to that. They had scooped up snow, dumped it by the fistful into a small pot now shoved close to the flames. A few drops from a certain small bottle into that and—

But I was as far from achieving that as I was from finding the vanished gate. What I did not know was so much more than what I did.

They ate and the smell of the roasting meat, as they tore it with teeth or sawed chunks off with the belt knives, aroused the hunger the cordial had allayed. They offered me none and I knew their purpose. Whatever use they planned to make of me this night, I would not go hence with them in the morning. Why should they wish to burden their troop with a woman who was also a feared witch?

The simple bag. I tried to keep my eyes from it, lest one of them followed my gaze and find it. But when I stole another look I saw, doubtless by some trick of firelight, it was now in the open, could be sighted by any who turned his head. In the open—but how? It had been between two rocks—those two—and now it was inches away!

That shook me—so simple a thing among all the greater. However it is such that tugs at reason when greater shocks will not. The bag had lain there, now it was by so much the nearer to me. As if my desire and will had lent it legs on which to answer my unvoiced summoning. Legs—will? Almost I dared not believe—but I had to.

The flap-cover of the bag—it was fastened so and so. Not daring to look I stared into the flames of my captors’ fire and concentrated on building a picture in my mind of that latching. So easy to finger, but for the mind—ah, that was different. How many times can one accurately and minutely describe some well-known possession we handle a hundred times a day? It is so familiar to us that the eye takes no record of its details. To try to recall without looking at it now becomes strange and alien.

Thus and thus—rod into metal loop, turned down—so! I had it correctly pictured, or hoped that I had. Now—to reverse that locking—turn up—slide out—Dared I look to the bag once more to see if it had obeyed my will? Better not—though not to know—

Now—within—how were ranked those contents? I put myself back in the night filled room of Dame Alousan, the cupboards I had opened, drawers which had yielded to my pull. In what order had I filled those pockets and loops? So deeply did I search memory that the fire and the scene before me blurred. I dared not think on how much time I might have left, as one by one I used memory as a pointer as to what lay now in the shadows. The fifth pocket—it was the fifth pocket! If memory had not foresaken me utterly when I needed it most.

Slender tube, not of glass, but of tone, hollowed and then capped with a Stopper of black stone. Out-tube! Greatly daring I dropped my head forward on my knee, face turned to the darkness. They might well believe me sunk in despair, but now I could see what I wrought, or tried to do—

The tube—out! Movement under the flap of the bag. I do not think it was until that moment, in spite of hope, I dared to believe that I was accomplishing anything. And the sight of my small success almost defeated my efforts by surprise. Again my will steadied, I saw the bone tube work from beneath the leather cover, lay open to sight on the ground.

Tube—pot—one into the other. The meat they were eating was hot and greasy; they would thirst. Tube—into pot. The small bone stirred, arose, pointed for the direction in which I would aim it. I put into that all the force I could muster.

It had no arrow swiftness. Now and then it swayed groundward and my will failed, my concentration broke. But I did it, toppled it into the melting snow water and none of the Hounds had noticed it.

Last of all—the stopper—that black stone. Out out—! Trickles of moisture from my temples, runnels of it from my armpits. Stopper—out! I kept on the battle, having no way of knowing of my success or failure.

A hand reached for the pot. I held my breath to see a small drinking horn dipped into the contents. Would that archer see what lay within—had it done its purpose? He drank thirstily from the horn, and so did the one next to him. Three—four—now Smarkle. The Captain? So far he had not.

Time—would time serve me now? I knew what the effect of that liquid was under certain controlled conditions. How it might answer this night was something else.

They had finished eating; clean picked bones cast out among the rocks. I had had my respite. Now it was coming to an end. The Captain—one other—had not drunk. And of those who had—I could see no signs they were affected. Perhaps the stopper—but it was too late to regret now—

Smarkle stood up, wiping his hands down his thighs, grinning.

“Do we go to the sport, Captain?”

Now—he was turning to the water pot! Just as I had used my will on the bone vial, so did I now fasten it upon him, urging the need for drink. And he did, deeply, before he made answer to Smarkle’s question. Beyond—the other holdout did also.

“If you wish—”

Smarkle gave an obscene crow and strode towards me while laughter and calls of encouragement came from his fellows. He reached down to drag me up against him, thrusting his face into mine, pulling at my clothing—though I struggled as best I could.

“Smarkle—!” A loud cry, but he laughed, blowing foulness into my face.

“You will have your turn, Macik. We will do it fair, turn and turn about.”

“Captain—Smarkle—” One of the archers came in a leap to tug at his fellow. “Look you—fool!”

His grasp had loosened Smarkle’s hold on me, pulled the other a little away from where I fell against a rock. Smarkle mouthed an oath and turned, but something in the other’s excitement stopped the blow he had raised his hand to strike.

“Look you!” The archer pointed to the ground. “She—she throws no shadow!”

As the rest I stared down. The fire was bright and the shadows seemed clear and dark, thrown as they were by the men. But—there was none for me. I moved, and no answering black appeared on rock or ground.

Smarkle shook off the other’s hold. “She is real enough, I had hands on her—she is real, I tell you! Try her for yourself if you do not believe that!”

But the archer he ordered to that action stepped back and shook his head.

“Captain, you know about the hags.” Smarkle appealed. “They can make a man see what is not. She is real, we can break all her magic easy enough—and have a good time doing it.”

“They can make you feel as well as see, do they wish it.” the archer replied. “Perhaps she is no woman at all, but a shape changer set here to hold us until his devil pack can come to our blooding. Shoot—prove her real or shadow. Use one of the cursed shafts—”

“If we had one left, Yacmik, do not doubt I would use it.” the Captain cut into the argument, “But we do not. Hag or shape changer she has powers. Now we shall see if they can stand against cold steel. “ He drew his sword and the others fell back as he came to me.

“Ahhhhh—” That sound began as a startled cry and ended as a sigh. He who had first drunk from the pail of snow water lurched back, clutching for support of the man beside him. Then he went down, dragging the other with him. A second man wavered, fell.

“Witch!” The Captain thrust with his sword. But the blade went between my arm and my side, scoring the flesh along my ribs, but not the fatal wound he intended, jarring its tip against the rock which backed me. He blinked at me, his face creasing in a grimace of hatred and fear, and made ready to strike again.

But smothered cries from those about the fire made him turn his head. Some of his men lay prone and still, and others strove to keep on their feet but wavered drunkenly, with manifestly little control over their bodies. The Captain put his hand to his head, brushed across his eyes as if to clear them from vision. Then he thrust at me a second time, his blade tearing a long rip in my robe, and he went to his knees, to crash forward on his face.

I pressed my hand to my side, feeling the damp of my blood, not yet daring to move for there were some still stumbling about. Two tried to reach me with drawn weapons, but in the end I alone stood among the fallen.

They were not dead, and how long the drug would hold, so diluted and used, I did not know. Before they woke I must be gone. And where was I to go? When I was sure they were all unconscious I went to the bag my will had opened and searched for that which would aid my hurt. That salved and bound, I passed among my sleeping enemies, looking for aught which might aid me in the struggle to keep life in my body.

A long hunting knife was in my belt, and I found some food—the compact rations known to the forces of Alizon, which they must have been saving, trying to live off the country when they could. Swords, bows, arrow-full quivers I gathered and threw upon the fire—which might not harm the blades but would finish the rest. Their horses I freed from the picket line and sent down the valley, flapping a blanket to frighten them.

With the knife I cut away the long skirt of my divided robe, binding what was left to my legs so that I would not be burdened in my climb. For only climbing would take me where I must go. And, even though it was now night, I must be on my way, lest the sleepers rouse to find me still within their reach.

There was no use in attempting the barrier which masked the Riders’ “gate”; not so much as a finger or toe hold could be found on its surface. So—there remained the valley walls. And the danger of such a road was marked by the debris of past slides.

Only in me one purpose had grown so great that it filled even the emptiness. The pull which drew me north had strengthened during the passing of hours, not become lesser. I was no longer a creature of flesh and blood alone. That flesh and blood was rather an envelope for something now more acute and desirous than any ordinary human might know. It was as if my ordeal in escaping from the Hounds had awakened, or shaped, yet farther that unknown which I had always possessed but been unable to bind to my service.

I began to climb. This much favoured me, I had never found it hard to walk high places. And I had heard it said many times by the hunters from the mountains who came to trade their fur take in the Dale towns, that one must never look down or back. Though it seemed to me now that my advance was the journey of an ant compared to the stride of a tall man, as I looked ahead to what still lay before me. Also, I had no lessoning in this, and was ever fearful of a wrong move plunging me down, while I never knew at what moment those I had left might rouse and take to the hunt.

Up and up, moments lengthened until they weighed upon me as full hours. Twice I clung in stark terror as rocks did crash, missing me by very little. At last I came upon a fault in the rock which had better holds within it. So, venturing inside that break, I went on and on until, at last, I pulled out upon a bare and open space which must mark the top of the cliff. There I tumbled forward into a pocket of snow, my body weak and trembling, no longer able to obey my will.

At length I recovered enough to crawl between two pinnacles of rock, and from my back I loosed the fur rug which I had knotted to me with strips of my robe. This I wrapped about me and so huddled in the poor shelter I had found.

There was a moon that night. It had ridden high in the sky as I climbed but now it paled, and so did the glittering stars. I had reached the crest of the guardian cliff, so I must now be on a level with the top of the gate barrier. What I had to face I did not try to guess. I was so fired my mind seemed to float away, out from my aching body.

I did not sleep, I drifted in an odd state of double awareness which was puzzling. At times I could see me huddled between my rocks, a bundle of furred robe, as if another Gillan crouched on one of the pinnacles, detached, uncaring. And at other times I was in another place where there was warmth, light, and people whom I tried to see more clearly but could not.

The scratch on my side had stopped bleeding, the salve had done its duty, and the rug kept out the major part of the cold. But finally I stirred uneasily, the pull on me urging me on. It was past dawn and the rising sun streaked the sky with red. We would have a fair day—we? I—I—I—Gillan who was alone—unless Fortune turned her face utterly from me and the Hounds came baying up my scent.

Beyond the pinnacles which had protected me during the last hours of the dark was a broken country, such a maze of wind worn rock in toothy outcrops as could utterly bemuse and confuse the would-be traveller. The cliff must be my guide and I should keep to its lip in order not to become lost.

The wall which was a barrier was perhaps twelve feet or more thick—beyond it the same narrow valley continued—no different from the one out of which I had climbed—save that here the walls were sheer past any hope of descent. I must move along the edge hoping to find more favourable territory beyond.

Here in the heights the sun was not veiled and struck fair across the stone, bringing with it warmth, fleeting though that might be. And now I noticed a difference in the rocks about me. Whereas they had been grey, brown or buff-tan, here they were a slatey blue-green. But as I paused by one and let my eyes move to the next outcrop and the next, I perceived that these colourful pieces, many of them taller than my head, were not natural to the terrain they rested on. And also that, tumbled as they were, they yet followed a given course, as if some titanic wall had long since tumbled into rubble. They grew to be taller and taller and more thickly set together, so that many times I had to detour and back-trail to find a path among them. Which course in time drew me farther from the edge of the cliff which was my guide.

I rested and ate of the rations I had plundered from the Hounds. The stuff was dry and tasteless, and it did not give the satisfaction of food, but I thought it would renew the energy I had lost. As I sat there I studied those blue-green rocks and their piling. They were not finished, bore no signs of ever having dressed or worked; yet they did not arrive here by natural chance, of that I was sure.

Now that I stared at them, I shook my head, closed and opened my eyes. As in the wedding dell of the Riders, I again faced two kinds of sight, melting and running together until I was utterly confused, made dizzy by that flowing and ebbing before me. One moment there was an open pathway a little to my right. But as I watched that closed, rocks rising to bar it. I was sure this was not born from my fatigue, but rather of a shadowing and clouding of mind. If it continued to last I would hardly dare move, lest my eyes betray me into dangerous mis-step.

This time my will could not control it, except for very short snatches of time. And each attempt to do so wore on me heavily. Also any prolonged survey of that changing landscape made me giddy and ill. In me the tie urged forward—now—with no delay. But to obey—I could not.

I was on my feet again but the shifting before my eyes made me cling to the rocks. For it seemed that the ground under my feet was no longer stable. I was trapped in this place and there was no escape.

Then I closed my eyes and stood very still. Gradually the dizziness subsided. When I pushed one foot cautiously forward it slid over solid, unchanging ground. I felt before me, grasped rock and drew myself to its reassuring solidity.

Perhaps the trouble was now past. I opened my eyes and cried out—for the whirl about me was worse than it had been, giving no promise of any end. With my eyes closed the world was solid, when I looked upon it there was only chaos. And I must go on.

Shouldering the bag of simples and the rug, I stood for a moment trying to summon logic and reason. I did not believe that my eyes were to blame for this confusion, but that some spell or hallucination was in force. It did not confuse touch, but only sight. Therefore I ought to be able to advance by feeling my way, but to do so would lose me my guide—of the rim of the cliff, the landmarks I had set upon. I could wander about in circles until either I fell or wasted away.

Lacking a guide—but did I lack a guide? It was so thin a cord to which to trust one’s life—that which drew me ever onward after the Riders. Could that bring me, blind, through this maze? I did not see that I had aught else to try.

Resolutely I closed my eyes, put out my hands, started in the direction which beckoned me. It was not easy and my progress was very slow. In spite of my hands before me I crashed against rocks, to stagger on, bruised and shaken. Many times I paused to try sight, only to sicken from the vision which was not only double now, but triple, quadruple, and maddening.

I could not be sure if I were making any progress; my fears might be very well founded and I might be wandering in a circle, utterly lost. Only the tugging at me continued, and I believed, as time passed, I was growing more alert to its direction, found it easier to answer. My hands grazed rocks on either side. But then my outstretched palms flattened against a hard surface. Not harsh contact with rough stone—I slid them back and forth across smoothness. And that was so foreign I dared to open my eyes.

Light, dazzling, threatening to engulf me, to burn me to ashes. Yet no heat against my hands. It was blinding and I dared not look upon it.

Back and forth I examined it by touch up and down. It filled a gap between two walls through which I had come, stretching from beyond a point above as high as I could reach, down to the ground. There was no break, or even rough spot on the whole invisible surface.

I edged back, tried to find some other way past. But there was none, and my guide pulled me ever into the defile which was so stoppered. At last I dropped to the ground. This, then, must be the end. No way forward except one barred, and no guide back if I strove to retrace my steps. I dropped my head to rest on my hunched knees—

But—I sat not on stone—I rode a horse. Daring to open my eyes because this I could not believe—I saw Rathkas’ tossing mane, her small ear. We were in a green and golden land, fair to look upon. Kildas—there was Kildas—and Solfinna. They wore flower wreaths on their heads and white blossoms were twisted into their reins. Also they were singing, the whole company sang—as did

And I also knew that this was one side of the coin of truth, just as the twisted rock maze and the barrier of light was the other. I wanted to shout aloud—but my lips shaped only the words of the song.

“Herrel!” In me rose the cry I could not voice—“Herrel!” If he knew, he could unite the whole—I would not be Gillan ahorse with the brides of the Dales, nor Gillan lost among the rocks—but whole again!

I looked about me and saw the company strung out along a green banked Jane. And the Riders, too, wore flowers upon their helms. They had the seeming of handsome men, not unlike those of the Dales, with the beast quite hidden and gone. And very joyful was that company—yet he I sought was not among them.

“Ah, Gillan,” Kildas spoke to me, “have you ever seen so fair a day? It would seem that spring and summer have wedded and that we have the best of both to welcome us to this land.”

“It is so.” my lips answered for the one who was not wholly Gillan.

“It is odd,” Kildas laughed, “but I have been trying to remember what it was like, back in the Dales. And it is like a dream which fades from one’s waking hour. Nor is there any reason for us to remember—”

But there is! cried my inner self. For I am of the Dales yet and must be united—

There came a rider up beside me, holding out a branch which flowered with waxy white blooms, giving off such perfume as to make the senses swim.

“Sweet, my lady.” he said. “Yet not as sweet as she who would accept my gift—”

My hand went to the branch—“Herrel—”

But as I raised my eyes from the flowers to him who offered them I saw a bear’s red eyes on his helm. And beneath that his own narrowed, holding mine in a tight gaze. Then his hand flashed up between us, and in its palm was a small, glittering thing which pulled my attention so that I could not look away.

I raised my head from my knees. Shadows, darkness about me in a pool which denied that green and gold had ever been. I rode not with flowers and spring about me, I crouched alone among enchanted stones in the cold of winter. But this I brought with me—the knowledge that there were indeed two Gillans—one who strove to reach the other side of these heights in painful weariness, and one who still companied with those from the Dales. And until those two were one again there was no true life for rne.

It had been Halse beside me on that ride, and he had recognized my return to the other Gillan, had driven me back here. But Herrel—where had he been, what had he to do with that other Gillan?

Now I was also aware that in the dark the dizzy many-sight had ceased, that I could look about me without meeting that giddy whirl of landscape. Had the barrier also vanished?

I crept back between the rocks to face—not the blinding light which had been there earlier, but a glow—a wall of green light. I approached it, put my hands to its surface. Yes, it was as firm as ever. And it was sorcery, of that I was certain. Whether of Rider brewing, or merely some long set safeguard, I did not know. But I must find a way through it, or past it.

Here I could not climb the walls as I had in the valley. And surely I had nothing to dig underneath, I thought a little wildly. With the fading of its day-glare I could see through it.

Beyond lay an open space, an end to the tumble of rocks which had choked my back trail. Perhaps with those behind I need not fear any longer the bewildering of my sight. But how to pass the barrier—

I leaned back against the rock and stared at it hopelessly. It could not be too thick; I could see through it so easily. If I might shape change as easily as those I trailed—wear an eagle’s body for a space, this would be no more than a stride. But that was not my magic.

What was my magic—the will which had served me How could I apply that one poor weapon here? I could see no way—yet find one I must!