Song of the Wanderer

by Bruce Coville

Inside sat a woman dressed in a white robe — the only white Cara had seen in this red world. The woman had her hands clasped before her and her head bowed so that her long red hair covered her face.

  Suddenly she snapped her head back, flinging her hair behind her. Cara gasped at the beautiful face revealed by this gesture. The wide-set blue eyes, the high cheekbones, the full lips were all achingly familiar to her, familiar for a simple reason: They belonged to her mother.

  14

  The Wildlands

  For a moment Cara couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, was afraid, indeed, that her heart would stop beating. Finally she whispered, “Mommy?”

  Her mother, whom she had not seen since she was three, stared at her for a long time without answering.

  “Don’t you know me?” asked Cara, her voice quavering.

  Suddenly her mother’s eyes grew wide with astonishment. “Cara? Cara, is that you?”

  “Yes! Yes, it’s me, Mom. What are you doing here?”

  Her mother looked around. Then, her voice troubled, she said softly, “I don’t know. I don’t know at all! Where am I, Cara? Where am I?”

  “How did you get here?” Cara asked urgently. She stepped forward, reaching toward her mother. But the moment she touched her, the vision was over. It ended not with a flash of light, nor a roar of thunder. Her mother’s image simply vanished, and Cara found herself once more in Grimwold’s cave, staring at the scarlet jewel that lay in her trembling hand.

  She took a deep, gasping breath. When she looked up, the others could see tears trembling in her eyes.

  “What just happened?” she whispered.

  “What do you mean?” asked Jacques. He was bending over her, his leathery face wrinkled with concern.

  “What just happened?” repeated Cara, a note of wildness creeping into her voice.

  Moonheart stepped forward. “You were staring into the jewel — studying it as if you were reading something hard to understand. Just as I was starting to wonder if something was wrong you cried out and shook your head.”

  “I was here all that time?” she asked, still trying to catch her breath.

  “Where else would you have been?” asked Grimwold, his voice unusually gentle.

  Closing her fingers over the jewel — holding it as tightly as if it were her own heart, trying to escape — she told them what had happened.

  Jacques was the first to speak, the first to break the silence that followed her story. “What does it mean?” he asked. His voice was ragged, almost desperate, and Cara suddenly realized that if he was indeed her grandfather, then her mother would be his daughter — a daughter he had never seen.

  Grimwold shook his head. “I have no idea.” He sounded disturbed, even frightened.

  Cara loosened her grip on the jewel. Feeling foolish, yet knowing she had to ask, she pointed at it and said, “Is it possible . . . could my mother be inside this thing?”

  “I hesitate to say anything is impossible,” said Grimwold. “But I doubt that is the case. More likely the jewel offered a focal point for you to connect to your mother — possibly because it is connected to whatever magic holds her.”

  “But there are other possibilities, too,” said Thomas.

  Cara turned to him. “Like what?”

  He took a watch from one of his pockets, consulted it, and returned it to a different pocket, jingling his chains as he did. “One is that you simply imagined the whole scene, saw it because you want your mother so much.”

  Cara started to object, but he raised his hand. “Another is that the jewel itself carries an enchantment, one that makes you see things that are unsettled in your life. It could be a positive enchantment, forcing you to face issues you haven’t dealt with. It could be a negative one, meant to torment you and lead you into false action.”

  “Why would someone cast a spell like that?” asked Cara, appalled at the thought and resisting the idea that she had not actually seen her mother.

  Thomas shrugged. “The ways of magic users are strange and mysterious. But it doesn’t even have to have been a purposeful spell. It might be some natural property of the jewel, or some side effect of it having been kept in a place where magic was in use. But there is one more possibility to consider: What if the message is false?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Remember back in Summerhaven, when you dreamed of Beloved? I suspect that dream came because Beloved was trying to reach you — though I’m not sure why she was able to do it then.”

  “What are you talking about?” demanded Grimwold.

  Quickly, Cara told him the details of the horrible experience she had had the night before they left Summerhaven.

  “The Tinker is right,” said Grimwold. “This may well come from Beloved. If it does, she was probably using the jewel as a focus point to reach you. But if so, what was the focus point the first time? And why hasn’t she tried again until now? That’s something I’d dearly like to know.”

  “But why would Beloved send me a vision of my mother?” asked Cara desperately.

  “It could be designed to throw you off balance, or turn you from your path,” said Thomas gently.

  Cara felt as if she would choke on the confusion and despair swirling in her breast. “How can I know for sure?”

  “There is no way to know right now,” said Grimwold. “That is why such messages are usually of so little use, and may even be dangerous. They can lead you into journeys you were not meant to take, turn you toward paths you were not meant to follow. For now, simply hold the vision in your heart. Later, you may learn something that will help you understand it — and understand what to do about it.”

  She opened her fingers. The jewel lay in her palm, flashing scarlet and crimson in the torchlight.

  “Should I look in it again?” she asked fearfully.

  “Not now,” said Grimwold, closing her fingers back over it.

  “You had better keep it,” she said, thrusting it back toward Grimwold. “I could never give it to Ebillan, not after what just happened. You’ll have to give me something else to use.”

  “Do you think I keep things like this just lying about?” demanded Grimwold indignantly. “Bits of treasure to cough up on demand?”

  Cara blushed as she realized that Grimwold had freely given her something worth a fortune to help her on her quest, and that now she was demanding he take it back and give her something different. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “But I don’t know what to do with it.”

  “Do whatever you want,” said Grimwold gruffly. “I’ve given what help I can. I need some rest now. I’d suggest that you lot do the same. Tomorrow I’ll lead you to the best place to reenter the world above.”

  When everyone had settled for the night, Grimwold extinguished his lantern.

  The blackness of the cave was utter, and complete.

  Even so, and though she knew she should rest, Cara could not get to sleep. Despite her exhaustion, the story of her grandmother’s entrance into Luster, and even more the strange episode with the crimson jewel, continued to circle in her mind.

  She could not decide which was more complete: the darkness of the cave, or the darkness inside her.

  * * *

  The next day Grimwold led them through a series of tunnels, then up a long slope that brought them out onto the side of a low mountain.

  “This is as close as I can take you to your destination,” he said. “The River Silver is that way. I wish you well on the rest of your journey.”

  He turned away, and Cara thought that was all he was going to say. But after a moment he turned back, turned to face her specifically. “When you find the Wanderer, give her my greetings. Tell her . . . tell her she owes me a story.” He turned once more, and vanished into the darkness. A moment later a boulder slid silently back into place, blocking the entrance.

  “Come on,” said Moonheart. “We’d best get moving.”

  * * *

/>   It was Finder who took the lead now, picking his way skillfully down the mountainside so that even the humans could travel without too much slipping and sliding. They heard strange cries as they walked, and more than once the sound of something slithering away from them. Cara realized with a start that there were probably hundreds — maybe thousands — of kinds of animals here that she was totally unaware of. If the ones she had seen so far were any indication, they would be like the ones she knew on Earth, and yet somehow . . . different.

  They reached the Silver before noon. The river was considerably smaller here, closer to its source. They followed it north for the rest of the day. Late in the afternoon, they came to a flat stretch of grassland. On the far side of the grassland, rising like a wall, just as M’Gama had described it, was the Northern Forest.

  It was nightfall by the time they reached the edge of the forest, and they made their camp at the corner formed by the river and the woods.

  Cara took out her calendar stick and carved the day’s notch. Thirteen days. Grimwold’s shortcut had brought them here ahead of schedule.

  Her heart felt lighter than it had in days.

  * * *

  The next morning they traveled east along the forest’s edge. About noon they came to the black stones that M’Gama had described. They were unmistakable — smooth, about three feet in diameter, and towering to ten feet in height. They stood about five feet apart, and Cara shivered as they walked between them.

  But the path was there, just as M’Gama had promised, true and straight.

  As darkness began to fall, they found a resting place at the base of an enormous tree. Its bark, remarkably smooth for such a big tree, was silvery-blue. The trunk was so big that Cara, Jacques, and Thomas together could not reach their arms around it. Its massive roots rippled the ground for yards in all directions, creating long, low mounds, sometimes heaving right out of the soil so that their tops looked like thick silver snakes stretching out from the tree. Cara made a pile of leaves between two of these roots, and in this way created a cozy bed for herself.

  The territory they entered the next day was wilder still. Cresting one hill, Cara noticed an area off to her right that seemed oddly out of focus. At first she thought it was due to a light mist that hung over the area. But as she kept staring at it, that didn’t seem right. When she drew Finder’s attention to it, he said, “No one has explored that area yet.”

  “But why does it look that way?” she persisted.

  “Because no one has explored it yet,” he repeated.

  “What does exploring a place have to do with how it looks?”

  “I’d rather not talk about it,” answered Finder. His discomfort only increased Cara’s curiosity. But when she tried another question he made it clear that he wouldn’t say any more on the topic.

  The going was more treacherous now — the hills steeper, the forest thicker and denser. Once the path led them into a swamp, where they nearly lost the Dimblethum when he stumbled into murky water that began to suck him down as if trying to swallow him. His roars of distress were deafening, and for the first time Cara saw fear in the great creature’s eyes. Jacques and Thomas struggled desperately to pull him out, but it was only when Cara and the Squijum found some vines that they were able to use as ropes that they managed to get him free of the clinging muck. His shaggy coat was thick with slime, and though he longed to wash it off, he was afraid to enter the water again. It was not until late the next day, when they found a clear stream, that he managed to get clean.

  * * *

  Three nights later they made camp beside another stream. As usual, Thomas and Jacques placed themselves on either side of her, each about four feet away. She knew they did this so that she would feel safe, and she appreciated it. The Squijum curled up at her feet, then on her chest, then beside her head, then disappeared for a while, then came back to lie beside her again. She was vaguely aware of his restlessness as she drifted on the edge of sleep, but not bothered by it since he was that way most of the time. The unicorns, who needed less sleep than the others, stood to one side, talking softly among themselves.

  All around them were the sounds of the night — the breeze that moved softly through the leaves above them, the shrill chirp and singing of the insects, the flick of wings from creatures that flew only in the dark. In the distance something howled mournfully at the moon. Cara rolled over, and the leaves rustled beneath her. To her right a shelf of fungus attached to the trunk of a large tree glowed pale blue.

  The night wore on. The sounds began to fade. Yet Cara could not sleep. Finally she sat up. Rummaging in her pack, she found the jewel Grimwold had given her. Moving as silently as possible, she got to her feet. She stood for a moment, uncertain what to do.

  I need more light, she thought.

  But M’Gama had warned them against leaving the path.

  I won’t go far, she promised herself. Certainly not out of sight of the camp.

  Looking around, she found a spot only a few yards away where the trees were not blocking the moonlight. She crossed to it, trying to move as quietly as if she were a unicorn herself. Once in the light, she held up the jewel and stared into it, waiting to see her mother again.

  15

  Moans in the Darkness

  Nothing happened.

  Cara stared harder, holding her breath, willing the magic to work once more.

  Nothing.

  Angry and frustrated, she resisted an urge to fling the jewel into the darkness. Forcing herself to breathe deeply, she gazed up at the black velvet sky. The stars were flung across it in wild abandon, jewels themselves, winking with distant fire. She sought out the few constellations she had learned so far: the Queen, the Guardian, the Snake, the Ravager.

  Her eyes lingered on the Ravager, and as they did she found herself drifting into a waking dream once more. She felt a moment of fear when it began. Then, thinking she might see her mother again after all, she released herself to it.

  * * *

  She was in a cave lit by torches. The torches indicated a path, and she followed it, drifting as if her feet did not touch the floor. Down she went, deeper and deeper into the cave, into the dream. She came at last to a great wooden door. She touched it with her fingertip, and it swung silently open.

  On the far side, where she had hoped to find her mother, she saw instead Beloved.

  The woman gestured to her. Unable to resist, caught as if in a spell, Cara took a step toward her.

  “Welcome, daughter of my daughters,” whispered Beloved. Her eyes were warm, her tone soft and caressing. “Come closer.”

  Telling herself she shouldn’t, longing to hold still, Cara took another step forward.

  “Closer,” whispered Beloved.

  Cara was trembling now. But she took another step.

  Beloved reached out to embrace her.

  “Where is my mother?” asked Cara. “Do you know?”

  “Of course I do. Give me the amulet, and she is yours.”

  Cara longed to obey. She felt her hand going to her neck. With a ferocious effort, she stopped herself. No! she thought. No, I won’t!

  “Give it,” whispered Beloved eagerly.

  Feeling as if her heart were splitting, Cara lifted the amulet from her shirt. She gazed down at it. Her fingers shook as she touched it once again. With a sudden cry, she turned and ran, out of the cave, and out of the dream.

  * * *

  Awake, Cara found herself standing in the moonlight once more, in the night of Luster, just outside the circle of her friends. But the terror had seized her, and without thinking she ran into the forest, slipping and stumbling as she did, running as if she could leave her life, and the tangled web of her family, far behind her.

  She charged on until the air burned in her lungs and her sides throbbed with pain. When her legs could no longer hold her, she tripped over a root and fell crashing to the ground.

  She lay there for a time, ga
sping and sobbing. Finally she rolled over and looked up.

  Now she was seized by a new terror. What have I done? she thought, furious with herself for letting her fear drive her away from her friends.

  Suddenly M’Gama’s warning about not leaving the path echoed in her ears.

  “How could I have been so stupid?” she cried.

  Immediately she regretted speaking aloud, and wondered if there was anyone nearby to hear.

  She pushed herself to her feet, looking desperately for some sign of the way that she had come. But the forest was deep here, and neither starlight nor moonlight could penetrate the leaves. The darkness was complete.

  She was lost in the wildlands of Luster.

  She stumbled forward, her hands outstretched as if she were blind, until she came to a tree. She wrapped her arms around it, clung to it as if to a life raft that would support her in the sea of darkness that surrounded her.

  She had scarcely caught her breath when a new terror shook her. Out of the deep and surrounding darkness came a low, shuddering moan.

  Cara tightened her grip on the tree. As the first jolt of fear subsided, she began groping above her, searching for branches she could use to pull herself up, away from the ground.

  She heard the moan once more. It was still frightening. But it didn’t sound angry, and — more important — it didn’t sound any closer than it had before. So whatever it was, it wasn’t coming after her, as she had feared.

  She tried to slow her breath, to make herself as still and silent as possible.

  A light breeze stirred around her, rustling the leaves with its coolness. She began to edge around the tree, hoping to put it between herself and the source of the moans. After a step or two, she turned around, realizing it would be better to have her back to the tree and be facing out so she could detect any approaching danger — though what good that would do in the forest darkness she wasn’t sure.