Year of the Unicorn

16 The Ashen World

“Another world—” Herrel repeated. “So be it! You have the key to its gate, Hyron. Turn it now or take the name of oath-breaker on you. “ He swung around, giving eye to all of them. “Oath-breakers—all of you!”

“You do not know what for you ask.” the Pack Captain said.

“I know very well what I ask—that you make good the bargain. You send us—”

“Us?” repeated Hyron. “She perhaps,” he nodded to me, “since she has been there before, has survived what lies there. But for you—you have not the power—”

As a cat might stalk, Herrel moved upon his leader. I could not see his face, but his whole body displayed his determination of purpose.

“I am beginning to know that I am more than you allowed me to be, Hyron. And the need is now more than life. You shall send us both and—No, I will not ask you for myself. That I have never done. But this I demand for Gillan: you shall sustain her to the limit of that much vaunted power of yours. Since yours was this ill-doing, so must you aid in the undoing.”

Hyron stared back at him, almost as if he could not believe he had heard aright. There was a stir and murmur among the other Riders, but Herrel spared them no glance. His attention was only for their leader.

“We can not do it here and now.” Hyron answered.

“Then where and when?” Herrel demanded.

“At the Towers—”

“The Towers!” Herrel was plainly unbelieving. “You wrought this deed in a wilderness which was far from the Towers, why now must you have them about you to undo it—at least to open the other world to the twain of us?”

“You have asked for our full aid for her after she passes through—I am not even sure we can give that. But we must have our own anchorage—or mayhap we be all swallowed up and lost.”

“It is a long ride yet to the Towers. Look upon her. Do you think that time is any friend to her? It is rather her enemy.”

To me that argument was a dim, far-off thing which had no meaning save words poured into my ears. I was so tired. Why would they not ride away, leave me to sleep? Yes—how good was sleep—to melt into the dark and know nothing—

“Gillan!” I must have gone a little way into that dark, for Herrel was again holding me, and somehow the force of his arms about me was a barrier against my drifting into the waiting dark. Also warning stirred in me.

“Herrel?”

“Gillan, look—think—We must ride, and you must hold to life—this life—hold!”

Hold? To life? A cord—but the cord had snapped, was gone from me. To rest...let me rest...I was so tired, so very tired.

“Gillan! See—look about you!”

Sunlight? But it had been night and there lay a cloak where two men—or beasts—had fought. A vial was pressed against my lips, a voice urged me to swallow. Feebly I obeyed and then for a short time the mists were gone. We were riding, I held in Herrel’s arms, at a pace which was close to a full gallop. Cloaks streamed out from the shoulders of those about us. And it was day.

“Hold—” Herrel gazed on me as if by his eyes, the mind behind them, he could bring me under obedience to that order, “Hold!”

And that will of his, coupled with the cordial he had made me drink, did keep me awake. But I saw all about me as if I passed through a dream which concerned me not. Herrel talked, as if by his voice he could hold me. I heard his words but they made no pictures in my mind.

“—Towers and then they shall send us forth and we shall quest for that other. In that world where she was made, perhaps you shall find her soon and your uniting will be the easier—”

Other? What other? But questions only confused one, better not to think of them. I lay passive, watching rising hills about us, green-gold-green. There was a melting, every changing aspect to this land which I dimly remembered—or its like—Once there had green walls or broken walls which had flowed, trembled, formed and reformed in a like manner. Nothing was stable, though I could feel those arms, steady as mountain rooted stone about me. The sunlight was gone—grey—all the world was now grey. And that flowing of landscape was performed by shadows melting one into another. Once I thought I heard shouting, and those who rode about us were gone for a space, though Herrel’s horse never faltered in that ground-eating stride. “Gillan!”

It was all a dream—a soft dream.

I was no longer on horseback, I lay on a bed or couch. No, I stood apart and looked down upon one who lay upon a couch, one who was very pale and thin and wasted seeming. And beside her lay another, straight and lithe, well muscled, for his mail and leather had been taken from him. But he was not wasted, nor did he sleep, and the words he spoke reached me as the thin whispers of wind teased leaves. “Do as you will for our swift passing.” Smoke arose about that bed place, whirling, whirling, whirling, billowing out and the smoke touched me, wreathed about me, caught me into it so I, too, whirled, drifted, and was a part of it.

A wind within the smoke, impelling me ahead of it as if I had no more weight or substance than a leaf or petal—driving me onward through this unseeingness—this place of spectres—

Spectres? My mind, if I still possessed a mind, clung to that word—spectre.

Shadows in the smoke, things which were rooted, for I passed them, they did not float with me. And they became darker, more real—a gnarled trunk, crooked branches up flung against a hidden sky. Uneasiness grew—sometime—sometime, long ago—I had seen their like and they carried a threat of danger—evil. What danger? What evil? I willed, I reached, I caught at one of those branches, and so stayed my flight within the smoke—mist. Under my fingers that wood, if wood it could be, had a dry, dusty feel, as if dead and falling into rot.

Still the smoke drifted by and I could see only what I held to. There was no sound at all. For a space I held to my anchorage. Then I loosed my grip, was once more pulled forward in the mist, passing other branches, other trees, seeing no purpose in lingering by them.

There was—there was something I must find. It was not a tree, nor anchorage. But I must find it—yes, yes, I must find it! A raging need for that filled me, as if I had drunk it out of a cup—was a fever in me.

What did I seek, and where? Please, I must know—I must find out!

I—I must find Gillan. And who was Gillan? Witch, a whisper in the fog? Maid—bride—Gillan—I tried to open my lips and call that name, but no voice was granted me. Suddenly the fog about me thinned, the charred dead trees stood out of it, to ring me in a forest glade.

Gillan—

There was a grey-white ash on the ground and it was trackless. There were no guides to turn me this way or that. Where did one seek Gillan in this alien world?

White-grey skeleton leaves upon the trees, and silence—a brooding silence. Yet still I listened, eagerly—or fearfully—I was not certain which.

Gillan—My will sent that call questing out, though my lips did not shape the name.—Gillan, where?—

No answer, but I began to walk forward, down that aisle of trees, always the same.

Gillan!—

On and on. To this always-the-same forest there was no end. On and on and on—no end—no answer. Nor was there any change in the wan light, no rising nor setting sun, or moon, no darkening, no lighting—always the same. So I might not have walked forward but stood in the same place. Still move I did, through those endless rows of trees.

Gillan?—

Now that hunger which drove me was fed by uneasiness. What lay behind? I turned now and again to look back. All I saw was the silent forest, no movement. But—no longer was I alone among those trees—something had been attracted by the mere stir of my passing, was awake, padding to see what disturbed its world. And with it came fear.

I wanted to run, but I knew that running would bring it the quicker on my trail. So I must walk as always, hunting that to which there was no clue, while behind came something hunting—ME!

Gillan?—

I had grown so used to the unanswering silence that I was startled when this time there came an answer—or was it but a troubling of the atmosphere, a stirring? But to me it was an answer—and it lay to my right, so I turned aside from the way I had been going. But as I hurried, I knew that same troubling had alerted that which followed me. Now it was more than curious. It was aroused to a hunter’s hunger and cunning.

The trees were growing taller, thicker of girth, as if now I headed into the heart of this forest. As they towered so the light was less, I walked in gloom wherein each darker shadow could hold that which was prudent to fear.

Gillan?—

Again that answer. This time I could not mistake that it was an answer and that she I sought was somewhere ahead of me.

Now I must round trees whose trunks were like small towers of men’s building, and among them were other growths, tall plumes of ashy grey, like skeletons of ferns. These fell into thick powder when one brushed against them, leaving on the air a faint trace of the odour of very ancient corruption.

But long dead as this world seemed to me, it had its own life, was home to creatures which were not of my species. I saw a many legged thing of dull yellow flash into a fern bed. And there was something so malignant in even that small glimpse I had, that I detoured well around the spot where it had vanished, and thereafter watched the forest floor with care.

That which hunted—it was no longer alone! Others of its kind had joined it. I tried to control the panic which wished to rush me on at a blundering run through the forest, unheeding of my going. As yet, though, it seemed content to keep its distance.

Gillan?—

The answer far sharper, clearer! Close—she must foe very close. If only I did not have to weave in and out among these monstrous trees—

Among the brittle ferns began to appear great fan shaped growths which gave forth a yellowish glow as if they were carved of phosphorescent putrescence—for they had the look of rottenness frozen before it lapsed into slime. These were so unclean in seeming I tried to keep well away from any contact with them.

Finally there were no more ferns, only the stinking fans, as the odour, faint at first, grew stronger with their numbers. And it was very hard to find a path among them. Some grew horizontally from the trunks of trees, vast ledges of corruption.

Gillan?—

Surely by the answer she was just ahead! I picked my way along a corridor between noisome, shoulder high barriers of the fans and came out abruptly on the border of a lake. Or was water ever so black and still? Still? A bubble arose, broke on its surface and I swayed as the fetid gas it had released stung my nostrils, choked me.

Gillan?—

Had I only thought I had had an answer? I stood on the border of the lake, could see around its rim—the fans, the dark trunks of more trees—but there was no one there. And my last call brought only silence. A trick—a trap? I tried to listen with that sense which was not the hearing of the normal world, but here served in its stead—listening for what slunk behind. It was there—no closer—perhaps it had also halted for a space.

Again the water was troubled, but this time twin bubbles arose, an even space between them. Those were no bubbles, but eyes!—eyes regarding me, drawing—drawing—No!

I trembled, drawn forward by the willing of those eyes, rooted by my own sense of preservation. I must not be swallowed up in that mere, go to meet the death behind those eyes. There was Gillan—I must find Gillan! And the thought of her snapped the spell those eyes had thrown upon me, so I could move, not into the water as they willed, but along the shore.

For a time those eyes paralleled me and I could feel the grasp and pull of the will behind them, tearing at my resolve, trying to force me to turn, look into them—obey—until at last I made each step with the effort of one climbing a mountain cliff, but I made it.

How long did it take me to round the end of the lake, dogged by the eyes? There was no time in this land, only purpose, need and hunger and my own hunger gave me strength to pull away. I turned my back upon the turgid waters and went on into the wood once more. Had that monstrous lake dweller picked up my call and used it to draw me?

Gillan?—

Here!—

Another deception, trap baiting? I could not be sure, nor could I not answer. Through the patches of fans, under trees once more—on and on—Those others, the hunters, they came too, still well behind, but coming.

Gillan?—

Here—Fans gave way to ferns, trees grew smaller in girth—was I coming to the other side of the forest? A winged thing planed down, squatting in my way, looking up at me. Bird? How could one equate that name for a warm, feathered, singing thing with this small horror of loose, leathery skin, naked wattled head, a head three-quarters rapacious beak?

It continued to squat there though I walked towards it, turning its huge beaked head from side to side as if to better view me one eye at a time. Then it flapped its wings, ran to meet me in a rapid scuttle. I started back against a tree trunk, and it paused as if startled and perplexed by my action. For a long moment we were so, confronting one another.

Gillan!—

I stared at that grotesque parody of a bird. That name had come from this monster of the spectre forest. Now its clawed feet moved in the dust; it sidled towards me. I flung out a hand to ward the horror off. Trap—this creature, others—they could pick up my call—use it to confuse and entrap me. There was no Gillan—not here—never to be found—never!

Now I ran from the bird, from that place where the truth had faced me. And behind the lurkers at last made up their minds, they fastened to the chase, began to track me in earnest.

The bird did not leave me—it flapped over my head, would alight ahead to wait, each time beaming into my whirling mind its false call:

Gillan!

Once it strove to get between my feet, as if to trip me, but a last sidewise leap saved me. I waited for it to fly at my head—perhaps strike at my eyes. But at least I was spared that. Only it did not leave me, any more than those padding hunters strayed from my back trail.

There was more space between the trees now, wider areas in which were twisted clumps of grass edged with small saw teeth. And beyond, an open country completely covered because here hung again a smoky mist, and that closed about me as I left the forest, so, glancing back a little later, I could no longer see trees, only a wall of smoke-fog.

Though I was out of the forest, I was not free of the bird. It no longer tried to impede me on the ground, but circled over my head. And once more my control grew stronger, the full force of fear ebbed.

Gillan—who was Gillan? Why—I was Gillan! I halted in the sea of grass. I hunted Gillan, yet also was I Gillan. How could that be? Memory, very faint and far away, stirred. Once there had been one Gillan, and then two. Now I must search for the second, that two might be one again. The bird named me Gillan and Gillan I was. Therefore in so much the bird had been true and not false.

I looked up at the circling winged thing. Painfully I shaped a question in my mind.

“Who—are—you?”

It flapped those wings vigorously, circled me more swiftly.

Come—Come!—

Was it trying to draw me on for its own desires as that thing in the lake had toiled to bring me to its maw? I hesitated—the grass plain was an ocean of unknown ways. I might wander in its mist-curtained hold a long time. Perhaps any guide who would take me through it was to be followed. Another trap—maybe—but I had no stir of uneasiness when I looked again to the bird.

I did not form my acquiescence into any real reply, but the bird now winged away, into the mist. Yet back it came into sight each time I thought it lost. And so we went across that endless plain. Nothing broke the eternal grass, and we saw no other moving things.

Gillan!—

Once or twice I sent out my silent call to that other who was also me. But now came no answer. Nor did the bird speak again in my mind.

Coming from the forest had not deterred those hunters at my back. I believe that they did hesitate for a space before they ventured out into the open, away from the territory which was their native ground. But that hunger, which was as strong within them as mine was within me, brought them out. And it was when I sensed that that the bird returned to circle my head.

Hurry—hurry!—

The mist was an envelope which appeared to move as I moved, setting up a barrier against my sight some small distance away, yet never enclosing me. For there was always a clear space about my body and I was ever able to see the path I followed for several good lengths ahead. The bird flew in and out of that fog, always coming back.

It seemed to me that the ground now sloped down, on a slant from the first level of the plain. The grass still grew high, but not as thickly as it had earlier, thinning now and again to patches of open bare ground. And this was not firm, but more like mud underfoot. The bird lit on the edge of one such place, pacing back and forth there as I approached. When I would have passed, it barred my way—standing to its full height, beating its wings as a man might wave off a fellow from some danger.

Why?—I asked of it.

Danger!—

It did not take to the air again, but waddled in an ungainly fashion to my left, making passage from one stand of grass to the next in fluttering hops, waiting and watching while I trod in its wake. The patches of ground it so laboriously avoided were smooth surfaced and larger. My foot dislodged a rough clod with grass ends and stuck it into one of those patches. It was sucked down as if puckered lips of earth had inhaled it in a breath.

Our pace was now a crawl as the bird was slow and heavy in its earthbound advance. Behind the chase was up, no more loitering along the way for the pleasure of the hunt itself. Those who coursed me were anxious to have the chase finished, to make their kill and return to their spectre wood.

They come!—

I tried to reach what mind or intelligence lay in the flapping creature leading me from one precarious foothold to the next in this treacherous land.

It fluttered faster, made a last leap, springing into the air with beating wings. Before me was a wide stretch of the too smooth ground, and then a grass grown strip promising safety. Still, without wings, I doubted my own ability to cross that trap.

A snuffling—the first real sound I had heard in this nightmare world, from behind me. I must leap that stretch ahead—there was no going back—The bird circled, its urging ringing in my head.

You must!—

Must? How? How did one perform the impossible? To desire a thing no matter how strongly—to desire a thing! Will—desire—potent, very potent. Potent enough to bring me to safety now? I had no other help or defence except what might lie within myself.

I tensed, drew upon will—any reserve of will which my body might hold. I forgot the other Gillan, narrowed the whole world to that patch of ground and the necessity of reaching its far side. Then I jumped.

A sprawling fall, my hands grabbing at grass. But about one ankle a sharp closing, a grinding pain as if great teeth gnawed at flesh and attempted to reach hidden bone. I pulled against that hold, straining with not only physical strength, but that of will. There was a reluctant loosing. I pulled, fought, lay at last on the grass, free of that which had held me. When I looked at my foot I saw a palid ring, very pale to show against my white flesh, and the foot below that was grey, very cold and clammy to the touch. I could stand, but there was little feeling in it and I went forward at a hobble.

On!—

My winged guide did not need to urge that. But if my spirit was ready to fly at a speed matching its, my body needs must go slower. Luckily we appeared to have reached a place of solid footing, free of more sucker pools.

Gillan?—

I clung to a tough strand of the grass, weaving my fingers into it for support. An answer! Not from the bird overhead—not this time. From ahead—To be believed?

Yes! In me a leaping, a straining forward, such as I had not known before—a pull so much a part of me that now I could not turn from that trail, even if I had so wished.

Gillan!—

I stumbled away from my grasses, wavered on. And it was some time before I realized that I was now alone, that the bird which had brought me out of the forest no longer held its position as my travelling companion. But there was no need—I had now a surer, stronger guide—

The hunters padded behind. Again I caught uncertainty, hesitation from them. Then in my mind and not my hearing—a shriek—a death cry of something which had known life—at least as much as those of this world knew it. And following that a burst of such hate as was like a fire flame licking out to sear and destroy.

I began to run, my numb foot unsteady under me—but still I ran—grass about me, mist beyond. Somewhere Gillan waited and behind me a pack of hunters raged. Once more the ground began to rise from the bottom which held the pools of sucking earth. I stumbled so often that I had, at last, to grasp at the grass, pull myself up and on by those holds.

So intent was I on holding my speed that I must have been running for some time between those blocks before I knew that my path was narrowing and walled. In, in. Higher the walls, more shadowed the way. Behind came death, and before me was what I sought—and now that hungered seeking was greater in me than the fear of what loped behind.