by Andre Norton
They could not keep to a straight line, but the lack of heavy underbrush was a help. And with the compass to steer by they wove a path among the towering trees, rounding boles that the two of them together could not have hoped to span with out stretched arms.
The bike seemed uninjured, but Nick had to wheel it along, walking beside it. There was no opening through which they dared ride. Linda carried her duffel bag slung over her shoulder by its cords and had let Lung down to patter along over the thick layers of countless years of fallen leaves. The little dog seemed to have lost his fear. But, while he sniffed at a moldering branch now and then, or snuffled into a pile of last season’s leaves, he made no effort to pull to the end of his leash, staying close to Linda.
Though the trees about them were awe-inspiring, there were sounds in this forest familiar enough to allay some of their distrust. For there were not only birds to be heard and sometimes seen, but those winged inhabitants appeared unusually fearless as well as curious about the intruders.
Intruders Nick felt they were. This was a place that did not know man and had no idea of his species’ destructiveness. The barked giants about them had never felt the bite of axe and stood in arrogant pride. Had it not been for that gabble from the transistor, Nick would have suspicions that the phenomena which haunted the Cut-Off had brought them to a space where his kind had never existed at all.
“It—it is so quiet.” Linda moved closer, laid one hand on the bike near his. “Except for the birds. I never saw woods like this before. The trees—they are huge! When I was little my aunt had an old copy of Swiss Family Robinson—there was a tree in it that they turned into a house. You could do that with most of these.”
Nick had one eye on the compass. They had had to make a good many detours, but they were still heading for the lake. Only here among all these trees it was hard to judge distance. Surely they couldn’t be too far away from it now. But—what if there was no lake here?
He wanted that lake, he had to see it. The body of water was a promise of security somehow—without the lake they would be lost entirely. Nick hardly heard Linda’s comment, he was so intent on willing the lake to be waiting for them, hoping that the stand of trees would soon thin so they could glimpse it.
“Nick!” Linda’s hand flew from the bike to his wrist, tightened about it in a convulsive grip.
But he had seen it too.
They closed ranks, the bike between them. Lung lunged to the full length of his leash, set up a frenzied barking, not unlike that with which he had challenged Rufus. It was plain what he saw he resented.
Where it had come from was a minor mystery. For it was such a shimmering, dazzling white in this greenish gloom that it caught and held the eye almost at once. Yet they were so suddenly aware of it that it might have emerged from the tree against whose bark it was now framed.
“I—don’t—believe—” Linda’s voice trailed away. She saw it, Nick saw it. And so did Lung, still dancing on two hind feet at the farthest reach of his leash, jerking the strap in her hands, waving his forepaws in the air with his furious desire to be at this new enemy.
“What do you see?” Nick’s wrist was still in her tight grasp. They had both taken knocks back there in their rough transition into this alien world. Perhaps this was a collective hallucination. Only—would the dog share it?
“A unicorn,” she answered. “Don’t—don’t you see it, too?”
The creature was about the size of a large pony, not a horse, Nick thought. Its coat was that dazzling white, almost a source of light. The mane and tail were also white. But that single spiraled horn set just between and above the creature’s wide dark’ eyes was golden. And it, too, glowed. This was certainly the fabled unicorn, as Nick had seen it in reproductions of medieval paintings.
It stared back at them and then tossed its head, so that the forehead fringe of mane about the base of the incredible horn lifted. Then the creature pawed the earth with one slender hoof, lowered its head, and snorted at Lung as if replying to the Peke’s shrill challenge. To all appearances, Nick thought it real enough.
Once more it tossed its head and then turned and paced away among the tree trunks, its white glow speedily lost.
“But unicorns—they are not—they never were alive,” Linda said in a voice hardly above a whisper.
Something he had read came to Nick’s mind then. All the old legends of dragons and griffins, the People of the Hills, the very core of folklore and myth—men had believed in them for a long time, had sworn oaths in court that they had seen such, had had converse with the more humanlike figures of an unnatural, magical world. Could it have been that, just as he, Linda and Lung had been caught up in some force that had deposited them here, some of the creatures native to this world had been dropped into theirs? But a unicorn! Now that it was gone Nick had already begun to doubt what he had seen, to try to rationalize it.
“Wait here!” he ordered Linda and started for the place where the animal had stood. There he went down on one knee to examine the thick leaf mold. Then he wished he had not, for it was cut and patterned by tracks. Something had been there, unicorn or not.
Nick hurried back to Linda and the bike. They must get out of this woods as quickly as they could. For that sensation which had come upon him earlier was back full force. They were under observation—by the unicorn? It did not matter. Nick was aware they were invaders in this place. And sometimes intruders meet with active retaliation.
“I did see a unicorn,” Linda was repeating, apparently to herself. “It was right there, under that tree. I have to believe that I saw it—believe that or—I just have to believe it!” She had picked up Lung, holding him high on her breast so his silken head was right under her chin. The Peke had stopped barking and was licking her face, or as much of it as his tongue could reach.
“Let’s get going.” Nick’s tone was rough. They must get away—out into the open, if they could find any open.
The compass did bring them out a few minutes later into a space where the giant trees ceased and brush took their places. They pushed through the thinnest section of this and came to an expanse of tall grass, which in turn gave way to reeds bordering the lake—or a lake.
Along the shoreline, they could see no cabins, though by now Nick had ceased to hope to find those, or any sign that their own species had ever been there. Wading through the shallows were several herons that paid no attention to the newcomers. And in a rough pasture farther to the south animals were grazing. They were so light of hide Nick wondered if they had chanced upon a small herd of unicorns. Then one raised its head and showed branched antlers. But who had ever heard of silver-gray deer?
“There’re no cabins—” Linda loosed her hold on the bike, let her duffel bag thump to the ground. “Nick, what are we going to do?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.” He was no superman, no use in her turning to him as if he could get them out of this by flexing his muscles or something like that. “If you want to know the truth, I’m hungry. We might as well eat.”
By the angle of the sun it must be close to noon. And he was hungry. It appeared that even a jump across time (if that was what had really happened to them) was not enough to subdue one’s appetite.
“Hungry!” Linda repeated. Then she laughed, even if it was a small and difficult sound. “Why, I guess I am, too.”
The grazing deer paid no attention to them. And, here in the open, nothing could sneak up on them without attracting attention. Linda moved on to a place where the grass did not appear as tall.
“Here’s a good place.” She beckoned as if this were an ordinary picnic. But Nick thought now about food. Not of how hungry he was, but of the meagerness of the rations they carried.
He had been depending on the store of canned goods at the cabin, and all else he had was what he had picked up at the store. That would not last long. Then they would have to live off the country. But what if they could not?
Even in the countryside of hi
s own world he did not know much about what could be eaten in the way of berries (if any could be found) or other growing things, except those from gardens. There were survival books supposed to explain just how you could live off the wild, but such knowledge had never appealed to him and he had never read one. No, they would have to go light on their provisions. Back in the jeep—if they could find their way back—were the two melons and all those cases of drinks. But that was not much.
He squatted down on his heels, facing Linda who had settled cross-legged in the grass.
“Listen—about food—I don’t have much. You have anything in that?” He pointed to her bag.
“You mean—” He could see from the expression on her face that she understood. Then she went on, steadily enough. “You mean we might not be able to find anything to eat here?”
“Well, there might be fish in the lake. And there are blackberries—at least there were blackberries near our cabin. But this isn’t our lake. We had better go easy with what we have until we know the score.”
Linda pulled at the knotted drawstring of the duffel bag. “I don’t have much, but I was taking two boxes of peanut brittle up to Jane, and a tin of English toffee—Jane loves peanut brittle and Ron has this thing about toffee—the rum-flavored kind. There’re the melons and all that Coke and stuff back in the jeep. But it’s heavy to carry. I don’t think we can pack it along with us. Nick, where will we go? There’re no houses here, and beyond there”—she pointed to the far side of the lake—“it looks like more woods.”
She was right. There was a dark rise of trees over there, matching that from which they had just emerged. In fact, as far as Nick could see, though the lake curved farther south and that end of it was now hidden, the water was ringed by forest. Suppose they did work through that, and they had no idea how many miles of it there were, what lay beyond? He had a hazy idea, from a novel he had read concerning the early American wilderness, that such growth could extend across a state with very few breaks.
“I don’t know,” he said frankly again. “But I’d rather be here in the open than under the trees. We can move down to the end of the lake—there’s an outlet—the Deep Run—there, if this is like our lake. Maybe we could work out of the woods using that for a guide.” He was rather proud of himself for remembering that.
“If this lake is like the one you know,” she commented. “Does it look like it, really, Nick?”
He stood up, shading his eyes against the glare of the sun, which was hot now, but not as hot, he thought, as it might have been in their world. Slowly he studied the part of the lake visible from here. It was hard to equate this untouched, wild land with that where cabins and small docks were visible. But he was almost certain the contours of the shoreline were not too dissimilar from those he had known since he was small. And he said so.
“Do you suppose,” Linda asked, “that we have gone back in time—that we’re in the country that existed long before our people came into it? That—that we may meet Indians?” She shot another wary glance at the woods.
“That would not explain the unicorn. Nor gray deer—” Nick indicated the peacefully grazing herd. “We could be in an alternate world.” He was unrolling the package of food from the store, but now his hands were still as he thought of what he was saying. Alternate worlds, time travel—such things did not exist! They could not—not for Nick Shaw, a very ordinary person who only wanted a quiet weekend for himself. He was Nick Shaw, he was alive, yet this was happening! Unless, of course, he had really knocked himself out back there with the bike and maybe now was in a hospital with a vivid dream—
“Alternate world? But unicorns—they never existed at all. They are only fairy tales.” Linda shook her head. “Nick!” For the second time her voice soared up and she caught at him. “Nick, look there! Isn’t that smoke?”
She pointed south beyond the deer and he followed her finger with his gaze. She was right! From somewhere in the brush beyond the meadowland a beacon of smoke was rising. And smoke could mean only one thing—people! Ted and Ben—trapped here all those years! Nick’s thought flew first to them. But company—company to help them, to let them know they were not alone in a nightmare!
Hastily he repacked the food, put the bag back on the bike. He wished they dared ride, but it would be folly to try. And they had better be careful about getting around those deer. The animals looked harmless enough but that was not saying they would remain so if alarmed.
They wanted to run, but the grass tangled and pulled at their feet and the bike wheels, so that they floundered along at little better than a walking pace. Also, at Nick’s insistence, they made a detour around the edge of the open space where the deer were, putting a screen of brush between them and the animals. And they froze once as the stag that was the leader flung up its head and stared straight at the bush behind which they happened to be.
Nick felt very naked and exposed then. He had heard that if you were absolutely still animals would lose interest in you and he scowled a warning at Linda. She nodded, holding her hand about Lung’s muzzle. But the Peke appeared to understand and did not fight for his freedom and a chance to bark.
The stag watched them, or at least Nick thought they were its quarry. But after a time when the two dared hardly draw a full breath, the stag grunted and trotted toward the lake. When it was what seemed to Nick a safe distance away they hurried on.
But this closer sight of the deer presented another puzzle. Surely these gray animals were larger than those of Nick’s own world, differing in size as they did in color. He wished he knew more, could get enough hints to answer some of his questions, if those might be answered at all.
They moved on, around the curve in the lake. Yes, there was the opening to Deep Run. So this place did follow the general pattern of their own world. And the smoke rose near the mouth of the Run. Nick felt some return of satisfaction at being proved right on one point of geography. But his triumph was speedily dashed.
“Stand where you are, chums!”
3
Lung broke into a wild barking, facing the bush screen from behind which that order had come. Nick halted, though Linda took a step or two as if the plunging of the now aroused Peke pulled her ahead.
Nick touched her arm with one hand, with the other he steadied the bike.
“Who are you?” he demanded of the bush and was inwardly glad his voice was so even and controlled. Ted—Ben? Some other who had preceded them into this alien world?
There was a moment of silence, so prolonged that Nick wondered if the challenger had faded into deeper cover, tricking them into a halt while he withdrew. But why would anyone be so elusive? The stranger in hiding could certainly see they were harmless.
Then the bushes parted and a man came into the open. He was very ordinary looking, a little shorter than Nick, but broader of shoulder, his bulk of body enhanced by the garment he wore, a coverall. Perched on his head was a helmet rather like a inverted basin, and he had on thick boots.
His face was round and there was a thick brush of moustache, grayish red, half hiding his mouth. In one hand he carried—
A slingshot!
Viewing that, Nick could have laughed, except there was something in the stranger’s attitude that did not permit such a reaction to his childish weapon. And there was a very faint stir of memory deep in Nick’s mind. Somewhere, sometime, he had seen a man wearing just such clothing. But where and when?
As yet the newcomer had given no answer to Nick’s question. Instead he eyed them narrowly. Lung, straining to the very end of his leash, was sniffing, his barking having subsided, sniffing as if to set this stranger’s scent deep in his catalog of such odors.
If the stranger intended to overawe them with such a beginning, Nick refused to yield.
“I asked,” he said, “who are you?”
“And I heard you, chum. I ain’t lost the use of m’ ears, not yet. I’m Sam Stroud, Warden of Harkaway Place, if it’s anything to you. Which I’m layin
g odds, it ain’t. There’s just the two of you?”
He watched them closely, almost as if he expected them to be the van of a larger party. Linda broke in:
“Warden! Nick, he’s dressed like an air raid warden—one of those in the picture about the Battle of Britain they showed in our history course.”
English! That explained his accent. But what was an Englishman in the uniform of a service over forty years in the past doing here? Nick did not want to accept the suggestion the discovery brought.
“Is she right?” He added a second question to the first. “You are that kind of warden?”
“That’s so. Supposin’, m’lad, you speak up now. Who are you? An’ this young lady here?”
“She’s Linda Durant and I’m Nick Shaw. We’re—we’re Americans.”
Stroud raised a thick hand and rubbed his jaw. “Well, now—Americans, hey? Caught right in your own country?”
“Yes. We were just heading for a lake—like this lake—then suddenly we were here. Where is here?”
Stroud made a sound that might have been intended for a bark of laughter, except there was very little humor in it.
“Now that’s a question, Shaw, which nobody seems able to answer. The Vicar, he’s got one or two ideas—pretty wide they are—but we’ve never been able to prove them one way or another. When did you come through?”
“Not too long ago,” Linda answered. “Is that your fire making the smoke? We’re awfully hungry and we were just going to eat when we saw it and came along . . .”
“You have some supplies?” Stroud rammed the slingshot back under the belt of his boiler suit. “All right, come ahead.” He turned a little toward the bush from which he had emerged, put two fingers to his lips and gave a low but carrying whistle. “You ain’t bait as far as I can see.”