by Andre Norton
It seemed to Twilla that Leela had been gone a long time. Had it all been false and was the fishergirl now sending some message to the town? She sat on a tussock of the hay and withdrew her mirror from hiding, not knowing what way it might be an aid but drawing comfort from rubbing her hands across its gleaming surface.
“Mirror Light, Mirror Bright—” She shot a glance at Ylon. He was lying back in the hay, his well-muscled body bare except for underdrawers, one arm over his eyes. He might be asleep but Twilla was not sure and kept her invocation to the thinnest of whispers.
"Mirror light, mirror bright,
Lead us in the path a-right.
By all the power that in you be
Let me now our future see.”
Childish rhymes; but those seemed always to bring a response. As this jingle did now, for the surface she looked onto clouded and there was first a misting and then something to be seen through that silver dotted mist—a wall of trees. It had come and gone again in a flash but she was sure she had seen it. Thus the forest was to be their goal—and she knew that there was no longer any choice.
9
EVENING WAS DRAWING in fast and as soon as it grew dark enough they must be on their way. Leela had at least proved her sympathies in this much, Twilla thought, as she hefted again the sack of coarse food, and considered what now covered her body (in voluminous folds, to be sure) and Ylon.
Leela had returned just as Twilla's impatience had won near to the snapping point. She had with her a roll of clothing which she admitted freely were discards from the wardrobe of Johann's father who had died the previous fall of the flux. She stated frankly that she could only furnish them with such discards as Johann would not miss for she made it plain that she had no intention of sharing with him the facts of what she was doing.
“What he don't know,” she had said, flipping out patched shirts and a couple of working smocks, “the better for him. He is a good man—I would not put him to the test of standing up with a lie to Lord Harmond's men.”
With that they could all agree. Twilla had to make what alterations she could so that her share of the thoroughly dry clothing would not envelop her to hamper movement or drag on the ground. But the coarse shirt and over-smock fitted Ylon well and his sprouting beard was that which would be worn by a landsman.
Leela was in haste to bid them goodbye.
“Johann will be home from the fields. I must be seeking any more breaks in the pasture walls or he will wonder what I have done with myself today. Healer, I wish you and the young lord the best of fair winds and smooth waves!”
Twilla made a sudden move, reaching to hug the bigger girl, standing on tiptoe to kiss her on the cheek.
“May the Fortune of the Three be with you always, Leela,” she said none too steadily.
Ylon moved in beside her, his unseeing eyes staring a little to Leela's left. “Landmistress—” His hand was out, and somewhat timidly Leela raised hers so that their fingers touched. His grasp closed about those, and he raised her hand to his lips in the salute that a noble born gave to kin maids. “Landmistress—you have the blessings of one who has little to give. Save that he will hold this in memory all his days and should fortune favor him in the future, then he will see that favor touches also upon you.”
Leela flushed, and then gave a sound near a giggle. “Lord, I be no kin to such as you, but I come of honest folk and the teachings of the hearthside are always share the catch with those who go in need. Now,” she swung to Twilla, “you remember the way? Johann's land is the last worked hereabouts—they are too frightened of the Wood. There should be a moon tonight for the storm seems to have driven out its force.”
“Go with good,” Twilla raised her hand in the sign she had so often seen Hulde give when saying farewell to one healed and in good strength again.
They still had to wait for sun setting and that gnawed at Twilla. Even dressed as landpeople strangers wandering this thinly settled country would arouse curiosity, challenge.
Ylon had thrown himself once more on the hay bed. Perhaps he was able to sleep that time away. Twilla could not. She longed to draw forth the mirror and yet there was that within her which was a warning.
They ate again of that dark bread, though this time with a scraping of a berry jam across to give its tasteless dryness flavor, and drank from the leather bottle Leela had brought. As the dusk closed in Twilla slung the cord of their food bag over her shoulder and arose.
“We go—”
He could not have been truly asleep as he shoved up at once in the hay and got awkwardly to his feet. Twilla linked hands with him for guidance and they set off in the direction Leela had pointed out.
There was other life haunting the dusk-darkened land. Small things which squeaked and ran as the two of them climbed back over the huddle fence and set out across another stretch of rough ground. There were sky flitters also, swooping and giving eerie cries, and a number of insects—ones which fastened avidly on all parts of their exposed skin. Twilla longed for her herb salves and found this hard to endure.
Luckily the land had been well-cleared, only twice did they have to circle small copses of trees and tangled brush. Then ground growth was taller here, perhaps it was not pasturage to be toothmown. The thick stems caught at their feet, seeming willfully to entangle them as they went.
By Twilla's reckoning there should be a quarter moon this night. She could already see the bright sparks of stars and pick out that which would guide them north. As always she was grateful for the bits of knowledge Hulde had had her study.
But it was not until they were well on their way that she saw that other dark line cutting across the horizon—the edge of the wood. It was far more foreboding than the walls of Lord Harmond's town—threatening as even the port castles at home had never seemed. From this point one could not see individual trees only that black shadow thick enough to stand out even in the faint moonlight.
“The wood—” For the first time Ylon broke the silence with which had appeared to wall them apart after they had set forth.
Twilla shot a glance at him—how did he know?
He might have read her unasked question. “It calls—” he added. Then he stopped, brought her also to a halt since their clasp still united them:
“Lady, if that which struck me mindless afore strikes me again—leave me! This I do not ask—I order. For I cannot remember what I did when that fit was upon me, and I may be of greater harm to others than myself.”
“You only fear that,” she said slowly. “Since you cannot remember you do not know what awaits us there.”
He laughed harshly. “Whatever it is it has not used me well—I would not have the like happen to you! It is my order and you must obey it—if I turn strange—leave me!”
She made a small sound which he might accept as assent if he would, but she determined that it would be for her to judge what she would or would not do. Now she pulled at his hand.
“It must be close to midnight, let us rest and eat. I cannot judge distances in the dark—we may still be far from our goal.”
His head was up and he was facing straight toward that dark line. It was almost as if he were listening.
“Well enough,” he agreed.
They hunkered down where they had halted, in the middle of that tall grass, which near topped Twilla's head when she was sitting. Ylon, she noted, still faced the direction in which they had been going, as if he could see what lay before.
She shared out more of the bread and broke apart a lump of strong smelling cheese into as equal shares as she could manage, setting both in his hands.
The insects in the grass seemed not so aggressive here, perhaps the late night was not their time of hunting. Twilla had lifted the water bottle to take a sip when a hooting cry sounded loud enough to startle them. Flask still in her hold she looked skyward. There was certainly movement there. The stars she had been watching were blotted out, then returned to view, as if large wings had cut across their
field of light.
Again that cry, much stronger and closer. She longed for even a staff for some protection. The flying thing swept over them, turned and was gone, back she was certain toward the waiting wood.
“Anisgar—”
Twilla turned quickly to her companion. “What?” she demanded. She had never heard the word before.
But Ylon's hands were at his head, over his sightless eyes.
“I do not know!” There was almost a child's fear coloring those words. “By the Favor of Word, I can't remember!”
His hands balled into fists, she could see dimly. Now he leaned forward and beat down the tall grass before him with sharp blows as if he were in battle against some mortal enemy.
“Anisgar,” she repeated, striving to remember if she had ever found such a word in any of Hulde's old books. But she was sure she had not.
Now she moved closer to Ylon, caught his shoulder. He was shivering even as he had when they had come out of the icy clutch of the river.
“It is gone,” she said with what calmness she could summon.
She heard him draw a great ragged breath. Then a moment later he spoke. He had regained control. “Again—memory—after a fashion.” It seemed to the girl that he was striving hard to make light of his distress. Perhaps he was shamed by it.
“To remember, even in part,” Twilla observed, “is a good sign. Hulde dealt with all manner of ills and once a man was brought to her who had a bad head injury. It was thought that he would never again regain his wits. But he did—little by little. There came flashes of memory and those stayed so that he was able to re-patch it—”
“So you have knowledge of such, Healer,” his voice was normal now. “Then you will not be fearful of—of what might happen to me again?”
“Are you fearful?” Twilla asked.
For the first time his head turned in her direction though she could not see his face.
“A man of war is not supposed to know the touch of fear,” he answered obliquely, “or so we are told. I was once a soldier—What I am now is unman, as my former comrades would name it. So perhaps I can be also a coward—yes, I fear.”
“And yet you go to face what you fear,” Twilla replied, “and that, I think, no one can name cowardly.”
“I go because I must! Because I can no longer live as unman. So, let us be on our way that I may find out for myself just what or who I now am.”
She hurriedly shoveled what was left of their food into the bag. He had already taken several steps forward and she had to hasten to catch up. Once more they linked hands and moved on toward the forest fringe.
The sky was lighting into the gray of early dawn when that black mass before them spread so far as seeming to encompass all the world ahead. Twilla could make out individual trees now. But such trees as she could hardly believe the earth had strength enough to support.
Far taller than any tower she had ever seen, wide in girth to the point it would have taken several people, just touching fingertips to encircle, they presented an awesome barrier. There was also a kind of ragged fringe along their roots, masking any way into their strong-hold. That was formed of brush, brighter green of leaf than those the forest giants bore. Here and there a breeze-tossed spray of flowered vine gave a hint of stronger color.
What Twilla felt was not fear, she believed, but rather awe. These trees were like another race, living a life of their own, secret to those who were like her, majestic as kings seldom were, proud as a wisewoman who had won a battle with death.
Again Ylon had halted of his own accord. His head up, his sightless eyes on that new world before them. Wind was rising, there was a singing of leaves—but no sound of bird. And to them wafted a strong scent—pine, Twilla recognized, and flowering locust, other perfumes she could not name.
She did not glance back at the open land they had crossed—that seemed to have no meaning now. It was what lay ahead which counted.
“I—come—” Ylon pulled his hand free of her grasp and plunged forward straight at the half wall of brush.
He had moved so quickly that he gained a good lead as he ran straight for the brush, which seemed to Twilla to form a near solid wall. Before she could come up to him he had reached that barrier—and—was gone. Yet there was no opening he could have broken so quickly. Twilla was aware of warmth against her skin, under that unwieldly bulk of clothing.
The Mirror—power answered power. And one of the tricks which could be raised by power was glamorie—the seeing of what was not and yet seemed to be tangible. She dragged the mirror from its hiding place by the neck cord and held it up to face that spot in the seemingly solid mass of growth into which Ylon had vanished.
Nor was she greatly surprised now to see reflecting on the gleaming surface not brush and briar but an open way. Toward and through that she confidently walked, her head bent a little to see the surface of the mirror she held out to face the woods in order to guide her way.
If the trees had seemed overawing when sighted from a distance they were doubly powerful in effect as they aisled the path she had found. There was a thick carpet of other seasons’ leaves underfoot, soft enough so that her feet sank into it a little. Here were towering ferns like coarse green lace, the very trunks of those overshadowing giants were also green with the velvet of moss.
She could see a scoring of footprints in that leaf carpet though Ylon was nowhere in sight, and somehow she felt reluctant to call out. She could only follow his trail and hope that he had not come to any crashing disaster in his wild rush back to this perilous place.
Since she did have such a trail to follow now Twilla slipped the mirror back into hiding. This was a thing which was hers alone and until she knew more of how it might serve her she would not share with—
With whom?
There was a silence here in the deep tree shadow which there had not been out in the openlands. She had heard no call of bird, no buzz of insect—saw no movement among the ferns which could suggest that she was not alone. But she was sure that she was watched, and by no friendly eyes. There was a trace of menace, which grew the sharper with every step she advanced.
Nor was the way ahead clear. A mist appeared to twirl about, thickening, thinning, sometimes seeming as dense as a sea fog, to blind and bewilder her. Just at the farthest range of her ability to hear there began sounds which were like whispering of voices.
She had been in the tamed woods over mountain, herb hunting with Hulde but she had never encountered there this feeling of being cut off from her own kind. Yet she kept resolutely following the scuffed leaves.
The mist was thicker, a curtain hung between this tree, only to dissolve and wreathe that. Twilla kept most of her attention for the trail she followed, beginning to believe that that also was a form of glamorie meant to bewilder and confuse any intruder. Then like a curtain it was drawn to one side and she stepped into a clearing—where at least the heavy branches overhead did not roof it so completely and the green gloom of the wood was lightened. Ylon stood there, his arms hanging limply at his side, breathing in gasps, his head turning from right to left and back again as if he strove to pierce the curtain on his sight.
“Ylon!” Twilla pushed forward.
He paid no attention to her and before she could lay hand on him there was another shifting of the mist on the other side of that clearing.
Out of the embrace of the floating wisps stepped a woman. She was tall, delicate of form, long of limb, with a slender throat upholding proudly a head from which streamed hair as dark as night, interwoven with chains into which had been set small green gems which appeared as bright as newborn stars. More gemmed chains formed a wide collar about her throat, and heavy cuffs about her slender wrists. For garments she wore a robe of the same green as the gems, fitting closely her body near to hip line so that her small high breasts were clearly outlined. From that hip line the skirt swirled out yet seemed almost to have a life of its own, always in movement about her thighs and legs.
/> Her face—
Once in one of Hulde's books Twilla had seen a representation of something akin to that perfect mask. Her brows were delicate lines like wings—slanting upward on each side toward her temples, and her mouth was somewhat full of lip but well-shaped. She was surely the most beautiful woman Twilla had ever seen.
Beautiful and powerful. So strong was the assurance with which she bore herself that one could well believe that she ruled some dominion in her own right and owed homage to none.
As she moved toward Ylon his head stopped that swinging, and he faced her as if he truly saw through his clouded eyes. A perfume as rich as her jewels and garments heralded her coming. And for Twilla she had no attention. Her sight was centered on Ylon, and her mouth moved into a smile, which had Twilla believed more than a hint of malice in it.
“Well met, Lord Ylon!” Her voice carried almost the same whispering note as the breeze might stir from the leaves overhead. “So you have returned.”
She appeared to glide rather than walk and now she was directly before the man, staring him up and down, her expression one of distaste.
“And in what a state you come! Lord or beggar—which are you, traveler?”
For the first time Ylon spoke. “Lotis—” There was recognition in that—and, Twilla believed, something warmer. He might be truly bedazzled as any landboy by some flower woman from the city.
“Lotis—Lotis whom you fled. Ah, Ylon, you earned our anger for that. We believed you well content—with your lot—with me—” She was mocking him now and there was that in her voice which stiffened Twilla. Ylon might be bedazzled but to this one he was only prey—to be used how and when she wished.
“Yes, you must learn your place again, Ylon. You have come to us and therefore ours the judgment. It is your good fortune that we do have a use for you—Come!”
She snapped her fingers as one might summon a hound and Twilla hoped that the bedazzlement did not hold—to ensnare such a man was evil, and that evil had come with this one she believed. Her hand went to the mirror, pressing it against her breast.