by Terry Brooks
Then, all at once, there he was—his lean body surging through the trees to reach her, a sort of manic need reflected on his face as he leapt from the ground into the limbs beside her, reached for the chain and lock, broke them as if they were paper, and lifted her from the tree.
“I though I’d lost you,” were his first words.
She would never forget him saying this, as if she was the most important thing in the world to him, as if she mattered to him more than anything.
But then the moment was past, and he was telling her what had happened to him when he found the witch’s cottage and moved closer to have a look inside. Apparently, the witch had seen him and had summoned a swamp dweller from the depths of the lake—a monster of enormous proportions. He didn’t know it was there at first, but when he sensed its approach, a rising wave out on the water announcing its arrival, he moved quickly back into the trees, thinking to hide from it, to conceal himself in the gloom, to place himself within the protection of the huge old trunks.
But the thing that had come for him was enormously strong. The trees had provided no real protection. It had gone through them as if they were weeds, lunging out of the water and smashing them aside, propelling itself ahead by using its short, squat legs. Its head was all jaws and teeth and not much else, and it had snapped Imric up in a single bite.
Yet the shape-shifter had managed to perform one last, desperate change. In the few seconds between the jaws snatching him and the teeth grinding him to pulp, he had transformed into a bat and fastened himself to the inside of the creature’s cavernous maw. When the swamp dweller tried to expel the irritating presence by opening its mouth and coughing, Imric flew free.
He had not attempted to remain there, torn and bloodied by his ordeal, and weakened to the point of collapse. Instead, he had flown back through the swamp to where he had left Leofur, seeing at once that both she and the boy were gone.
She told him then what had befallen her, and they agreed that if the boy had gone to the witch, he would bring her back as quickly as he could. So they must create a deception.
Which was why Leofur was lying naked in a hole in the ground, cold and damp, while Imric was off doing who knew what, hoping the witch would find her torn, bloodied clothing lying in the shallows of the lake and presume it was all that remained of her.
It was not a great plan, but it was the best either of them could come up with. Imric was in no condition to undertake an extended trek, much less engage in a battle with the witch; his strength was depleted and his exhaustion apparent. He needed to rest. How he would manage this—or even where he intended to hide—Leofur could not have said. Somewhere close by, she hoped. Somewhere his scent would not give him away.
She found herself thinking about how much a part of her life he had become. True, theirs was a temporary relationship and would last only until they returned to Paranor, but it was surprisingly intense nevertheless. As she huddled in her hiding place, waiting for his return, hugging herself against the night chill, she began to ask questions about him. After all, she knew so little. What sort of life had he known in the years after his parents’ death? Had he found friends in those years? Could a shape-shifter make real friends when his secret was so strange and, to many, so abhorrent? Had he found others like himself, a surrogate family perhaps? What were his hopes and dreams? To become able to shape-shift again; she knew that one. Perhaps the most important one. But were there others?
The questions flooded her thoughts.
Questions about a man she did not begin to understand.
Questions she could not answer, or even ask him directly.
Because she had no right to ask. They were traveling companions on a quest, but not much more. She could not bring herself to pry, could not make herself intrude. She could not expect to know his secrets.
Though she wanted to know, so badly…
She was still pondering when he linked to her through their tethering and spoke. Are you all right? Are you still safe?
Are you?
Safe enough. I’m coming back.
Then he went silent again, but she let him be. She felt reassured by his promise. She did not require more.
Minutes passed, and she grew drowsy in spite of her discomfort. She began thinking of Paxon and Paranor. They felt like memories from another life—one lived so long ago that it no longer seemed real. She felt removed from it in the same way she had felt removed from her father and Wayford when she had moved to Paranor. The comparison felt odd, but there it was.
I’m here, Imric said suddenly. Don’t move. I’m coming in with you.
Leofur held herself steady as she felt a burrowing in the earth down near her feet, then something small and furry was working its way along her legs. She worked hard to keep herself from flinching. When it reached her stomach, it curled into a ball and nestled against her.
She exhaled sharply. What are you now?
Don’t know. I created it myself. A burrowing animal, a cross between several species. I made my fur soft so as not to scratch you.
So, not a hedgehog?
No, nothing like that. Listen. The witch and the boy are coming. I shape-shifted into a bat again and flew far enough up the trail to be certain of it, then returned. If anything goes wrong and she finds us, I will do my best to protect you.
She felt a surge of gratitude at the thought—even knowing he could barely take care of himself at this point. I don’t want anything to happen to you because of me.
Are you cold?
A little. Turns out a coating of mud doesn’t keep you very warm.
Then let’s try something else.
She felt his furry form begin to warm, heat radiating out, filling the depression and chasing the chill. She reached down, grateful for the warmth, and pulled him tightly against her.
Better now?
Much. Thank you.
They were silent then—she curled around him, he pressed against her—sharing a small bit of comfort.
Until they heard the sound of footsteps approaching.
—
For a few long moments after the footsteps ceased, Leofur lay within her hideout without moving. She could feel her heartbeat increase as fear gripped her, triggered by a sense of being trapped beneath the earth, of being vulnerable to whatever was up there. And she was pretty sure she knew what that was.
“I don’t understand!” she heard Olin exclaim in dismay, the sound of his voice penetratingly close.
Unable to stand the uncertainty, Leofur raised her head just far enough to peer through tiny gaps in the leaves and sticks to find Olin and a little girl standing just a few yards away, close to the lakeshore.
Stay still, Leofur, Imric whispered in her mind.
She held herself motionless, watching as the boy rushed forward, eyes sweeping his surroundings, settling on the tree to which he had left her bound. “She was right here!” he screamed in despair. “She couldn’t have escaped!”
The little girl moved up beside him. “Although apparently she has. Are you certain she was securely fastened?”
Leofur felt a chill go up her spine at the way the question was asked. This wasn’t any little girl. This was the witch. Without waiting for his answer, the witch moved over to the tree and walked around it, searching the ground. She found the chain moments later, discarded in a heap among a stand of reeds, the lock sprung. She found Imric’s discarded backpack with his clothing piled on top. She flung both into the trees in fury.
Leofur kept watching, unable to look away. The witch was very close now. If she moved to her left even a dozen feet…
But instead she walked back to the boy and stood looking at him. “You’ve failed me, Olin.”
“She couldn’t have broken that lock! She wasn’t that strong.” He shook his head and gestured with his hands, desperate and pleading. “Someone must have helped her. Someone must have found her.” His words were tumbling over each other. “We can track her! We can find her again! How
far could she have gotten?”
He knelt hurriedly, scanning the ground for footprints. Nothing. He searched frantically, clearly hoping they had to be there, that she had to have left some sign…
“You can stop searching,” the witch said from behind him. “I’ve lost interest.”
When he turned to further argue with her, the little girl had disappeared and in her place was a loathsome specter garbed in tattered strips of moss and lengths of vine, hunched and twisted, features warped and riddled with cancers and covered in green scales. Olin recoiled—but one impossibly long arm reached out with whip-like swiftness, seizing his wrist and holding him fast.
“What’s wrong, Olin?” As the creature’s mouth moved, it made wet, sucking sounds. “Don’t you find me attractive? Don’t you want to be with me always as my pet? Don’t you want to play with me until the end of your days? Isn’t that your wish?”
“Please, let me go!” he begged. He seemed unable to look directly at the monster she had become. He writhed in her grip. “Please! Please, don’t hurt me!”
“Oh, no, I wouldn’t do that. Even though you have failed me. No, it is not my intention to hurt you.”
She paused, glancing out into the waters of the lake. “It might be different out there, however.”
And with a snap of her arm she flung him into the middle of those placid waters as if he weighed no more than a piece of deadwood.
The boy flew through the air, flailing wildly and screaming in terror, and dropped into the swamp with a night-rending splash. He rose to the surface sputtering and thrashing, still crying out for help. He tried to swim to shore, to gain its safety. For a moment, it seemed he might succeed.
Then the boy’s screams reached a new level of horror as something began pulling him under. He fought as hard as he could, beating at the water, struggling to break free of the grip that was pulling him down. But his strength was no match for that of the swamp dweller that had gotten hold of him. Seconds later the boy disappeared. The water churned where he had vanished and then went still.
Leofur watched it all, lying on her side within her covering, head raised just enough to peer through the gaps, Imric’s furry body pressed up against her. It was horrific and shocking, and she knew—knew—that the witch was coming for her next.
Standing at the water’s edge, the witch changed back into the little girl. Then she turned and walked a dozen yards farther down the shoreline to where pieces of Leofur’s clothing floated in the water. She knelt, picked them up, smelled them, and studied their torn and bloodied remnants. Then, as Leofur waited for the inevitable, she stood up again, dropped the clothing back into the water, and walked away.
—
Leofur lay back again, her eyes closing. Time passed. She pictured Olin’s death, the images fresh and raw. She heard the heated exchange between the boy and the witch, the harsh words and fearful replies. She was a silent, invisible witness to the horror of Olin’s demise. She relived all of it; she could not avoid doing so, even though she would have wished it otherwise.
Stay calm. Be strong.
Imric was speaking in her mind, quieting her thoughts. His voice could do that. His steadiness bolstered hers.
They waited silently to be certain the witch was gone. The minutes passed, but neither moved.
Leofur spoke finally. We should look.
There’s nothing to see. We know what happened.
What do we do now?
Sleep. I’m not strong enough yet to face her. But I’m healing.
He did so quickly, she remembered. It never took him long to recover from injuries.
I’ll be well enough by morning. We’ll go after her then.
She did not reply. She was tired, too. She closed her eyes. It was warm and comfortable now, hidden beneath their concealment, wrapped around his small furry body. She was content to wait. The idea of sleep appealed to her.
In minutes, she had drifted off.
She dreamed that night, and her dreams were many and varied. She saw the witch fling the boy Olin into the swamp even as she rushed to help, trying to stop it from happening. But she was too late. She saw him die, torn apart. She fled into the swamp to escape the witch, who watched her go without making any attempt to follow. Once in the trees, she quickly became lost. She called for Paxon, but he didn’t come, and soon she was so panicked she could barely think. She had no weapons with which to protect herself. The way forward grew denser and the footing less certain. She didn’t know what to do. Her fear was palpable and insistent. She had lost all semblance of reason. All she could manage to think about was finding a way out before she was eaten.
Then the setting changed, and she was standing in a meadow. Sunshine poured down out of a cloudless sky, and wildflowers bloomed in profusion in every direction. She was alone until a figure appeared on the horizon. A man, but she could not make out his features. She was blinded by the sunlight, which in turn lit him with such radiance that he seemed surreal. But when he moved toward her, she could tell he was not a mirage and was coming to her. The urgency of his movements told her he was anxious, and she began moving toward him in response.
She was close enough to reach out for him, close enough to be certain she knew and loved him even though she could not seem to remember his name…
They came together, and he abruptly disappeared.
She stood alone once more, the field with its flowers and the sky with its brilliant sun the same, but the man nowhere to be found.
Another shift, and now she was in a dark place, lying on her side, curled up in a soft bed, safe and warm, drowsy and drifting, her thoughts scattered. Arms encircled her, pulled her close. She could feel the soft rub of skin on skin. It was the man she had lost in the meadow. He was back.
I love you. The words were a whisper in her head.
She slipped away again, back into dreamless sleep, and the moment was lost.
When Leofur woke the following morning, she was alone.
She lay within the depression, still covered with moss and branches and coated with mud, but Imric was gone. For a long time, she didn’t move. She just lay where she was, her eyes closed and her body unmoving, letting her senses confirm what she had deduced.
The furry creature Imric had shape-shifted into and that had been curled against her stomach during the night was not there. Nor was Imric, reverted to his natural form, pressed up against her from behind, draped over her like a blanket. If, in fact, he ever had been. If it hadn’t all been a part of her dreams. She couldn’t be sure; the memory of it was a vague collection of impressions and possibilities rather than a clear and certain image. She tried to imagine it otherwise and failed.
Taking a moment to gather her wits and strength, she tried to determine if she was in danger from anything that waited just outside her shelter. She shifted her limbs, straightened her torso, and peered out through squinted eyes to find light filtering down into her hollow. She was ready.
She pushed her way up through the debris that hid her with small, cautious movements that allowed the world to gradually come into view. From the sun’s location in the sky, it was well past dawn. She sat up and looked around. In the distance she could see shadows flying across the swamp, but beyond those few small indicators of life, everything was still.
She looked for Imric and did not find him. She reached for him in her mind, seeking a link, but found none.
Beside her, the clothes he had taken to decoy the witch lay in a pile. The rips and bloodstains were still in evidence, but a quick examination revealed that everything she had been wearing before could still be worn again. She fingered the garments inquisitively, making sure. Then she noticed her boots and backpack; they had been reclaimed, too.
She sat where she was for a few minutes more, almost persuaded that if she did so he would appear. When he didn’t, she made herself rise and walk to the edge of the lake and use its waters to clean herself as best she could. A makeshift scrubber of interwoven tufts of mo
ss scoured away the mud and grime, and aloe leaves helped soothe the places that were still sore. Afterward, she stood on shore again, brushed away the droplets of water that still clung to her skin, and waited for the air to dry her damp body and hair.
She had finished dressing and was sitting with her back against the tree when Imric reappeared. He was fully dressed, his clothes apparently retrieved from her backpack, and he was moving as if he was fully healed. He came over without a word and sat down bedside her, staring off into the swamp.
“You let me sleep,” she said finally. “You should have woken me.”
“There was no need.” He looked over, a cool indifference in his gaze. “We won’t be leaving here until midday. I don’t want to arrive at the cottage before late afternoon. I want the witch to have the day to think she is safe. I want her placid and unsuspecting when we confront her.”
Always thinking ahead. She nodded her agreement. “Then thank you for letting me rest. And thanks for retrieving my clothes. You seem much better today.”
He shrugged. “Enough that I can continue on. We mend fast, we shape-shifters. I ache, but the wounds are closed. The wrist is another matter.”
He lifted his arm and showed her the makeshift splint he had fashioned to protect the break. Formed of three short lengths of peeled wood and bound with strips of woven reed, it looked surprisingly sturdy. She reached out and took his hand, examining the fastenings carefully.
“It will slow me down, but it won’t stop me from doing what I need to do. It might even heal by nightfall. The break was to a pair of small bones. I’ve set both and now they’re being held in place by this brace.”