Alys Clare: The Way Between the Worlds

I was not sure that I did. ‘I begin to see,’ I said cautiously, ‘but there is very much that is far beyond my understanding.’

He beamed. ‘Then you truly have put your feet on the path of learning, for wisdom is as much recognizing what we do not know as what we do.’

I wasn’t entirely sure I understood that, either.

I was exhausted when at last I went up the little ladder to my bed. I hoped I would sleep so soundly that no dream would penetrate, and for much of the night that must indeed have been the case.

The dream returned soon after dawn; I know that because when it released me from its claws and I woke up, light was just beginning to illumine the sky.

That night’s dream was the worst of all. .

I am back in the mist again, trying to find my way over waterlogged ground because the dreaded something out there is after me. Then, suddenly, there are other people around me — fleeing, like me, from this nameless terror. An old man helping a weak old woman; a mother trying to hurry along three little children while clinging tightly to the mewling baby in her arms. Big men armed with staves drive us along, urging us on. The water under my feet seems now to be much deeper, so it is a great effort to keep wading on through it. Then the terror truly catches hold of me: the water is rising faster than we are moving, and it is going to overwhelm us.

Panicking, I do not know what to do. Should I remain with the throng of people? Would it be safer to be in a crowd, so that we could all help each other?

I turn away from the hurrying masses, slip beneath the outstretched arm of one of the men herding us along and hurry off over the marsh. I hear a scream and, spinning round, see a huge wave rise up and engulf the ground where I had just been standing. The people have vanished.

I whimper in terror. Then I run.

The light is poor, and swirls of mist float around my feet, but somehow I am able to leap from tussock to tussock, and soon I know I have left the others a long way behind.

Then a great, dark figure looms up directly in front of me, so abruptly that it is as if he has risen up from the deep places of the earth. He is huge, towering above me. His face is deadly pale, his wide, thin mouth a red gash in the white skin. His teeth are long, sharp and pointed, and bared in a snarl.

I try to scream, but I am struck dumb and no sound comes out of me. Then he raises both arms high above his head and I see what he holds: an enormous battleaxe, a thunderstone, worthy of some great god or chieftain out of the old tales. Its single blade curves round in a vicious semicircle, its bright, keen edge dripping blood. He swings it around a couple of times and then brings it down so swiftly that it sings through the air. .

I woke up crouched in the corner of my bed, soaked in my own sweat, screaming as if I could never stop. I was making so much noise that the summoning words had to be repeated before I heard them: come to me! I need you! And even as they rang inside my head, it was as if I was still dreaming, for I had a sudden vivid vision of a wild and desolate place where the wind howled like a tormented spirit and old, rounded hills seemed to pace along a dim horizon. There were the ruins of some ancient building — pillars, huge stone slabs with strange markings on them — and, hollowed into the side of a low mound, a dark, narrow space like a grave or a crypt. I thought I saw a lifeless body, crouched foetus-like down in the earth. .

The vision left me almost as quickly as it had come. I fell forward on to my pillows and buried my head under my arms.

Gurdyman must have heard my screams, for quite soon I heard him puffing his way up the ladder. His head appeared through the gap in the floorboards and, with one swift look at me, he levered himself up into the attic and hastened across to me. I had already discovered many things about him: he is highly intelligent and extremely learned; he has a phenomenal memory; and his powers, the depths of which I had only just begun to suspect, leave me nervous with awe. Until that early morning, I had not appreciated that he has a very kind heart.

He did not speak at first, just held me in a warm, close embrace, one hand stroking my hair as if he were soothing a scared animal. Then, when my sobs finally ceased and the racking hiccups that followed were becoming more and more infrequent, he said quietly, ‘The dream again.’

‘Yes,’ I whispered.

‘Tell me.’

I hesitated, for I did not feel I could make myself go through it again so soon.

‘Lassair, child, it was a dream,’ he said. ‘In itself it cannot harm you, and to give in to your fear and try to close it away in the back of your mind will only empower it. Get it out into the good light of dawn, and we will watch as it dissipates.’

I knew he was right. My aunt Edild has sometimes had to help people whose dreams make them afraid to sleep, and she says much the same thing. She also says that a dream that recurs means a message that you ignore at your peril, but I tried not to think about that just then.

I took a deep breath, clutched at Gurdyman’s warm hand and told him everything I could remember.

When I had finished — and I was quite relieved to find that the retelling had not reduced me to my previous pitiful state — he got up and crossed back to the top of the ladder. Turning, he gave me a bright smile. ‘Well done,’ he said. ‘You have been very brave, and you deserve a good breakfast, which I shall prepare.’ He set off down the ladder. ‘Come down when you are ready,’ his voice floated back up, ‘and we shall decide what you are to do next.’

Do next? I had hoped that, having done as he had bade me and told him, I would be allowed to forget all about this strange business and get on with my studies. Now, as I got out of bed and swiftly drew on my outer garments, I had a nasty feeling that was not to be.

We ate our meal — of bread, honey-butter flavoured with cinnamon and a slice each of last night’s apple bake — and Gurdyman gave me a hot, spicy drink that tasted slightly bitter. I wondered if he had prescribed a mild sedative and thought I would be quite glad if he had. The food was plentiful and tasty, as always in Gurdyman’s house, for, when he remembers to eat, he eats well. When we had finished, he looked at me and said firmly, ‘Lassair, it is clear to me that whoever or whatever is trying to contact you will not give up. You have two choices: either endure these dreams, which will become more and more terrible, or go and find out who is summoning you and what they want of you.’ He studied me gravely. ‘You are not without courage, and you have a degree of resourcefulness,’ he mused.

‘You think I should search for whoever’s calling me?’

He gave a small shrug. ‘It is what I would do. But it is your choice, child.’ He gave a slight smile. ‘If you do not, I fear I shall have to speak to my neighbours and explain why my young pupil wakes them up with her screams.’

I felt my face blush. ‘Do you think they heard?’ I hissed.

‘It’s no use whispering now, child,’ he said with a laugh. ‘The damage was done at dawn.’ Relenting, he added, ‘Don’t worry. My neighbours are used to hearing strange noises from this house. I doubt that anyone will mention it.’

I doubted it, too. From what I had observed, Gurdyman’s neighbours preferred to restrict their dealings with him to a stiff little bow of the head and a polite good morning. It can’t be easy, living cheek by jowl with a wizard.

I knew what I was going to do. I think I’d known since I first heard those urgent words, the dawn before this one. Someone needed me and, although I was still young in the healing arts, already I had learned that when people called out to you with such an appeal, you did not turn away.