Becky was just beginning to worry that her plunge into the ferns would have flattened and crushed them so much her hiding place would be a dead giveaway, when she realised that there was a sudden change in the atmosphere. In a new silence that was almost overpowering, she could hear the creak of trees, the crying of birds.
Becky knew what had changed.
There was no longer any noise from the motorcycle.
For some minutes the silence electrified Becky. She lay rigid in the greenery, listening with everything. Finally, she was able to relax a little more, assuring herself that only luck could lead her pursuer to this particular spot, and that in any case, it could take possibly an hour or so for him to get from wherever he had abandoned the trike to where she was hiding, even if the rider had a fix on her position, and this was an impossibility.
Eventually the filtered sunlight, the gentle buzz of myriad insects and the lilt of birdsong charmed her into restfulness and Becky found herself dozing off. From time to time she would start and open her eyes wide as she recalled her predicament, but then the drowsiness would come again and finally Becky fell into a deeper slumber.
She was not aware of what awakened her. It may have been an unwonted silence, it may have been a faint whisper, it may have been a gentle parting of the fronds and a brighter light, red behind her eyelids, or it may simply have been the sense of another presence. Whatever it was, she opened her eyes to find herself being gazed upon by a pair of wide green eyes. As her own eyes widened in shock, the face of the person looking at her moved back and forth in warning and an index finger barred his lips as if cautioning her not to make a noise. Heeding this warning, Becky only allowed herself a small gasp of surprise before sitting up.
Whoever this was, he was far too small to be the rider and far too gentle to be a threat.
There was a shock of tightly curled brown hair, elfin ears like butterfly wings and those green eyes, now looking at her with a mix of concern and mischief.
‘You are safe here for the moment,’ murmured the figure. The voice was soft, but high-pitched with a musical lilt. ‘But you must not stay here. Come away.’
He reached towards her and when Becky took his hand he helped pull her to her feet.
‘I am Sylvester,’ he whispered.
As Becky winced with the stiffness of standing after being prone for so long, she saw two similar figures slip from behind the trees to stand alongside Sylvester. They might have been triplets, so similar were they in appearance and size. Now that she was standing, too, Becky became aware how small these creatures were. Sylvester, who was slightly the tallest, only reached her shoulder. She gave all three a little smile and said, ‘Hello’, gasping a little as she realised that these were not children, that these were not even human.
‘Damon,’ Sylvester pointed, ‘and Figaro …’
Sylvester’s companions nodded, and gave her the same shy smile.
Apart from their unusually pointed ears their faces looked a little child-like, if you could imagine a child with the wisdom of centuries, but below their bare torsos their nether regions and legs were covered with the same tight curls as on their heads and their legs ended not in feet, but, like those of Dr Faunus, in cloven hooves.
‘But you are …’
‘Fauns,’ completed Sylvester.
‘Fauns,’ echoed Damon.
‘We have been watching you human-child,’ said Figaro.
‘I’m Becky,’ said Becky, feeling an introduction was necessary.
‘Becky,’ nodded Sylvester.
‘Have you seen the rider of that farm trike, the one who was chasing me?’ asked Becky quickly, remembering why she had hidden in the ferns.
‘The creature in black?’ asked Damon.
Becky nodded.
‘Not far away,’ said Sylvester. ‘Come, we must get you away from here. Damon and Figaro will lead the other creature astray. Come with me.’
Somehow Becky felt she could trust the little faun and gave him a smile. He returned with a grin so infectiously mischievous that she was persuaded absolutely. Certainly, she infinitely preferred his promise of safety to the murderous leather-clad brute who had tried to mow her down. The little creatures Damon and Figaro slipped away through the trees, and then Sylvester took her hand once more and led her even further up the hillside.
Within a short time Becky was completely disoriented, but the little faun seemed to have an unerring sense of direction. Even though there were no tracks or obviously discernible markers on their way, Sylvester led her without pause or hesitation up hill and down valley, through trees and across little rills. Eventually, Becky began to feel a little concerned. At some point she knew she must link up again with Johnny Cadman and Silenus. She did not want to get so enmeshed in this maze of slopes and woodland that she would not be able to find her way out.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked at one point.
‘To safety,’ Sylvester replied.
‘Is it far?’
‘How far is safety?’ Sylvester riddled in reply.
‘I see,’ said Becky grimly, picking up on the joke. ‘We keep on going forever?’
‘Not that far,’ said Sylvester. All the same, sensing that Becky needed a rest he stopped and gestured that she should sit down should she want to. Gratefully, Becky did sit on a large moss-covered boulder that looked softer and drier than it turned out to be.
‘It’s just that I’m worried about being away from Johnny,’ she explained. ‘My friend,’ she added.
‘The boy-child?’
Becky nodded.
‘We have been watching you both,’ said Sylvester. ‘And worrying about you.’
Becky looked at him. When the faun named Figaro had mentioned that they had been watching her, she presumed he meant they had been watching her while she had been sleeping in the ferns. But now, this Sylvester was hinting that they’d been watching them for much longer than that. Suddenly Becky remembered the little basket of fruit and berries.
‘Did you leave the basket of berries for us?’ she asked.
Sylvester smiled at her. ‘Oh yes,’ he nodded, ‘we felt you would be hungry.’
‘Thank you,’ Becky said, smiling herself. ‘That was kind, and much appreciated at the time.’
Sylvester gave her a courtly bow.
Becky’s smile faded though, as she remembered what else the little creature had said.
‘Why were you worrying about us?’ she asked. ‘You said you were worrying about us.’
However, the faun deigned not to answer, saying instead, ‘Let us be gone. We are not safe yet.’
This response, of course, made Becky all the more curious.
‘No,’ she protested. ‘Tell me!’
The faun ignored her. ‘Come,’ he said, and turned on his hoof and trotted away again so quickly that Becky had to scamper to catch him up.
Eventually they reached a level area and a charming grove of olive trees. There was a small pool in the grove, the very centre of which bubbled gently with water rising from some subterranean source although the water at the edge was dark and still.
‘This is our wellspring,’ whispered the faun in obvious reverence.
‘Is this where you live?’ Becky asked.
‘We dare not,’ Sylvester whispered. ‘It is often profaned by hunters. But we live close by.’
He skipped over to the pool and knelt down and expertly made a bowl of his hands. He returned to Becky and reached up, proffering her the water. Becky drank eagerly for she was thirsty and marvelled at the sweetness and coolness of the water. She felt refreshed almost at once and asked whether she could drink from the pool herself. When Sylvester nodded with a small smile, she hurried to the grassy verge and knelt down. Before plunging her hands in the water, though, she was caught by her reflection in its dark surface.
She was shocked to find a different face staring back at her, a face with a mysterious smile and wide almond-shaped eyes. Becky’s hair was short
and dark, but the girl in the reflection had long flaxen hair that fell over her shoulders towards the water, held back across her brow by a beautifully woven headband. Becky looked over her shoulder at Sylvester who was watching her carefully. Instinctively, she reached for her hair, relieved to find that nothing had changed. Her hair was still cropped about her neck as it had been for many years.
She stared again into the dark water.
The girl with the long tresses stared back at her, the eyes green like the faun’s but so much deeper and darker because of the water, the faint smile playing about her lips. There was a familiarity about her, however. Becky had seen her before somewhere, although she had not been smiling then as she was now. Becky knew she herself was not smiling: she was open-mouthed with astonishment.
‘We should hurry,’ Sylvester called. ‘Drink now.’
‘But there’s something seriously weird here,’ Becky protested.
‘Weird?’
‘Come over here. Look!’
The faun trotted over, Becky watching him over her shoulder. As he reached her side she turned to her reflection once more. Again the strange face stared back, the headband with its intricate pattern, the dangling fair tresses. This time, however, the large green eyes and the nut-brown face of the faun stared over one shoulder.
Becky half-rose, and then turned to him.
‘Well?’ she demanded.
Sylvester stared at her, puzzled.
‘Well what?’ he asked.
‘Did you see that girl in the reflection? She wasn’t me!’
Sylvester gave her a strange look. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Isn’t it perfectly obvious?’ said Becky, frustrated, and turning back to her reflection. ‘She doesn’t look a bit like me.’
‘But why does that have to mean she isn’t you?’ Sylvester asked.
‘I don’t understand,’ said Becky.
‘Who you are and what you look like aren’t necessarily the same thing,’ said Sylvester.
‘Possibly,’ Becky agreed, ‘but what you look like and what you look like in the mirror usually are.’
‘This isn’t a mirror, though,’ said Sylvester. ‘This is the wellspring in an enchanted grove.’
‘So?’
‘So what you see is who you really are.’
‘So who am I really?’ asked Becky, with increasing frustration. ‘Do you know who this person in my reflection is?’
To Becky’s astonishment, the little faun nodded. ‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘At least I think I do.’
‘Well?’ demanded Becky.
‘It is, or rather was, a nymph our master once loved,’ Sylvester whispered.
‘Nymph? Master? What do you mean?’
‘Her name,’ whispered Sylvester, peering into the dark water, ‘was Syrinx. And I’m afraid she came to rather a sad end.’
As they left the grove of enchantment Becky was barely aware of their direction. She was trying to come to grips with the startling information her companion had imparted. Her racing mind could not distinguish what was more astonishing: that she was able to project another face into the dark waters of the spring, a face reflected back as Syrinx, the maiden the nymphs had turned into a reed plant and whom the god Pan had formed into the pan pipes; or that the faun Sylvester had recognised the face as that of Syrinx.
Syrinx had not existed, though. She was only a character in a myth, a pretty story to explain the origin of the woodwind reed. But even had she existed, she would have lived some time in the dawn of time. If the faun Sylvester claimed to have recognised her then he, too, must have lived at that time. Did that mean he, too, was thousands of years old?
There was another possibility, of course.
When she and Johnny Cadman had leapt out of the window they might not have leapt just into another dimension in space — they could have leapt into another dimension in time as well.
They could be back in the Golden Age.
No wonder Silenus had been bewildered by the motorcycle.
Even so, how old was the little faun?
Silenus had let slip that he was at least centuries old. Were all these people immortal?
But if they were, why was Sylvester so clearly fearful? If you could not die, what was there to be fearful of?
The little faun was fearful, though. At regular intervals he stopped and listened. Whenever they came to a clearing, he stopped and reconnoitred cautiously before stepping into the open and, once in the open, he hurried across beckoning urgently to Becky to hurry as well.
‘What is there to be frightened of?’ Becky at one stage called after him.
She was feeling tired and increasingly worried about being so far removed from Johnny and Silenus. She was very confident the little faun meant her no harm, but she was puzzled by his constant apprehension. She knew the sinister figure in black was a danger, but surely they had long lost him. There was no way he could be anywhere near them at this point, and nor could he have any chance of finding them without a helicopter and a heat-sensing device.
So, why the panic?
Sylvester did not seem in any hurry to explain, although he did seem in an awful hurry. He maintained a quick, darting pace, ever looking over his shoulder to encourage Becky to keep up.
Eventually, perhaps ten minutes after their pause at the enchanted grove, perhaps more, they reached yet another small stream which they followed for some metres before arriving at a strikingly beautiful waterfall. Surrounding the wide rock-lined pool were tall limestone walls, green with mosses and ferns. The water fell in a lacy fan into the pool, surrounded by a fine mist and the sun, shafting through the trees, shimmered in this mist in a succession of rainbows. The effect was so startlingly lovely that Becky stopped to drink it all in.
Sylvester, however, did not stop. After leaping nimbly from rock to rock he stepped into the pool and waded straight for the moss-covered wall, and then, to Becky’s surprise, completely disappeared into the mist.
She thought for a second that she had been tricked, that the little faun had led her to this spot only to abandon her. She was wondering how on earth she would be able to find her way back to the river flat when Sylvester reemerged, beckoning her impatiently.
‘Hurry!’ he insisted.
Becky looked from side to side and could see no discernible danger at all in this lovely spot. Still, the little faun was agitated and wanting her to move. As she wanted to placate the little creature, Becky awkwardly made her way from rock to rock before wading across the pool and through the mist to the wall behind the waterfall.
Once she had rejoined Sylvester, she was able to see how he had seemed to vanish so completely. The falling water arced overhead, but there was quite a gap between it and the wall. Now she was adjacent to the wall, Becky could see that behind the waterfall and hidden by the mist, there was a cavernous opening.
Sylvester was wasting no time, and even as Becky was coming to grips with this new surprise he was hurrying towards the entrance of the cavern. Within seconds he had disappeared once more.
Again, Becky hurried to where she had last seen her companion, and then she entered the cave herself.
Despite the falling water and the mist, the cave was quite dry inside but it was gloomy and Becky stood for some moments acclimatising to the lack of light.
Now that they were surrounded by the walls of the cavern and sheltered by the curtain of water, Sylvester seemed somewhat more relaxed.
‘Why all the rush?’ asked Becky again.
Still, he would not tell her, merely shaking his head and beckoning once more so that Becky understood she was to follow him into the even deeper recesses of the cave. This time, though, there was no haste. In fact, Sylvester stretched out an arm so that Becky could take his hand on their cautious journey into the darkness.
Hand in hand they followed the sandy floor deeper into the cave. The walls narrowed so that it appeared as if they were following a corridor. To Becky’s surprise, the darkness never beca
me completely inky, but instead devolved into a deep grey in which Becky, as her eyes became accustomed to the light, could just make out the blacker walls on either side.
The reason for this became clearer as they proceeded. Oddly, despite travelling deeper into the cave, they seemed to be moving towards some source of light. And then there was no mistake, as the grey became pearlier and the end of the corridor before them was suffused with brightness.
Finally the corridor gave way to a relatively light chamber. Becky glanced up and to her surprise saw that the source of illumination was the sky itself, but high, high above and curtained with large fronds of ferns black against the light.
Glancing around, Becky saw that this chamber was evidently a home of some sort.
There were what looked to be bedrolls piled against one wall, and baskets woven with the same intricacy of the little basket of berries that the fauns had left for her and Johnny. There were pots and ewers and items of wooden furniture.
She looked at Sylvester, now smiling at her and much more at ease. Clearly this was his sanctuary, his place of safety, and given the tortuous route they’d taken to get there and the all but completely hidden point of entry, Becky could understand why.
‘You should rest now,’ Sylvester suggested. ‘You will be tired and unsure. I will bring you some food and something to drink in good time.’
‘But …’ protested Becky, realising that the little creature was intending to leave her.
Sylvester would not stay to hear her protest, however. He merely turned and once more put a finger to his lips as he had when she had awoken in the ferns.
‘Stay here,’ he whispered. ‘You will be safe …’
Safe from what? wondered Becky.
She did feel tired, though, and the bedrolls looked inviting. She made her way over to them and shook one out. It was a padded blanket of patterned wool, and it was soft with a not unpleasant smell of sheep. Becky lay on one half and pulled the other half over her. She gazed upwards towards the circle of light patterned with the black ferns wafting in a breeze that would never penetrate below.
The Enchanted Flute Page 11