Alys Clare - The Way Between the Worlds

I ate a few mouthfuls of yesterday’s food — dry bread, a hard piece of cheese, a small but sweet apple — and drank from my flask. Then I left the shelter of my dune and headed on.

I seemed to walk for a long time. The land around me would, I guessed, have been pretty featureless under even sunny conditions, consisting as it did of salt marsh giving way to a flat grey sea, with only a few scraps of bushes and the occasional stunted, twisted tree to break it up. Now the low cloud had ushered in pillows of mist that seemed to hover around me, before giving way to the steadily increasing wind and dispersing. The mist appeared to emerge from the ground beneath my feet. I stared down at the path. It was still quite well defined, and its surface was pebbly. I noticed, however, that on either side the sandy ground was becoming more and more waterlogged.

I told myself there was no need to be afraid of losing my way and sinking into the marsh. I knew how to find a safe way that was invisible to others. I stopped, waited till my anxious heartbeat slowed down a little, then began the steady deep breathing that normally allows me to enter the light trance state necessary for all dowsing work.

I needed help, for I was facing unknown danger and quite alone. I silently called out to Fox, and, as if he knew how much I wanted him and had been waiting for my summons, almost straight away I caught sight of him out of the corner of my eye. He looked eager and full of courage. His presence was immensely reassuring.

I closed my eyes and asked the spirits please to show me the safe way. You don’t actually have to tell the spirits why you want their help, because they know far more than we do and will undoubtedly already have worked it out. Still, I always feel it’s only polite to explain, and so as I stood there, eyes still shut, I reminded them about the dream and also about the summoning voice. I didn’t ask if it really was Rollo’s, and they didn’t say.

Hesitantly, I stretched out my arms, palms down towards the ground, spreading my fingers widely. Nothing happened at first, but I was learning — very slowly, I admit — how to be patient. After a while, I had my reward. The familiar tingling began, in the very tips of my fingers and then centring in the middle of both palms. Confident now, I opened my eyes.

The clouds were still spread thickly right above me, heavy with the rain that was surely about to deluge down. The pockets and patches of mist were still swirling. Visibility should have been roughly the length of my outstretched arms, but through the obscuring fog I saw a shining, gleaming line snaking away across the salt marsh. It twisted and turned repeatedly; nobody who had not lived here all their lives and studied the land closely would have a chance of finding their way safely. I would have stepped off into the sinking sands within a very short time, for I had been heading straight for a boggy patch of wet ground that was without a doubt quicksand.

I sent up a song of gratitude to the spirits. I put down a hand to Fox — just occasionally, I feel the touch of his cool, wet nose on my fingers — and side by side we walked confidently on.

The rain replaced the light mist on the air and swiftly became a torrent. I was soaked through in moments, and I wrapped my shawl tightly around me: not to keep out the rain — which was impossible — but to try to preserve some body warmth. The wind had become a gale, howling and shrieking like the herdsman of the dead. And the drowned men were back, flying in low over my head like hawks attacking a helpless lamb.

I was not helpless, I told myself. The drowned men could frighten me — they did; they terrified me to my bones — but they could not harm me. Or so I hoped.

I pushed on.

The wood circle was off the northern shore. I realized I must be close now, although I could make out nothing but the blueish-silver of the safe path, glinting before me. Edild had said the circle was not as I had seen it in my dream vision. It was no more than a ruin, more likely as not obscured by the sands or the sea. Even if it had stood as tall and proud as I had seen it, I doubted whether I would have found it.

I pressed ahead on the safe path. The spirits had brought me here, and they must have had a good reason. I knew I would simply have to put myself in their hands and let them lead me.

We were close to the sea now, for I could hear the broiling waves crashing and tearing against the shingle. I kept a watchful eye on the sky, and all at once a minute break in the thick black clouds allowed me a glimpse of the sun. The silver path had changed direction; we were now going due north.

Straight towards the furious sea.

I was quaking with fear and so cold that my shivering was making my teeth clatter together. Without Fox, I think I might have turned back, but he would not let me. Coming from the spirit world as he does, no doubt he understood why I had been called and why it was imperative that I went on.

My steps were slower now. It felt as if I had to drag each foot out of sticky, tacky mud that only released me after a struggle. The muscles in my legs ached constantly with a fierce pain that felt like hot needles.

I was on the point of giving up. I was exhausted, and I was so close to the sea now that the spray from the biggest waves was catching me. I was wet to the thighs. Lonely, in pain and more afraid than I had ever been, I sobbed aloud.

There was an echo. The sob came right back to me.

Then it came again, a hoarse, deep cry that I could never have made. .

I was racing down the shining path, my fears forgotten, my pain gone. The cry came again, and I shouted back, ‘ I’m here! I’m coming! ’

I flew on, my feet barely touching the ground, and Fox was a russet streak beside me. The fog still obscured everything but the safe path, but it did not matter, as it became clear the path was leading me in the right direction.

I came to a place where the path gave out. Just like that, with no warning at all. I jerked to a halt, staring down at the salt-crusted, sandy mud at my feet. No shining light shone out ahead; this was the end of the safe way, and to go on would mean death.

I did not know what to do.

I sensed movement, just over to my left. Spinning round, I saw the faint glimmer of a sort of loop that had formed, as if the safe path had curled round in a circle to mark its terminal.

There was someone there; I could make out a vague dark shape huddled on the wet ground.

I knew who it was. My heart recognized him even while my head was still thinking about it.

I ran down the short length of path that separated us. I flung myself down and took him in my arms. He was lying on his side on a thin patch of firm ground, as icy as death, soaked through and shaking with cold. For some time he simply clung to me. I was soaked too, but I had just been moving fast and my body was hot from the effort. He must have felt it, even through my wet clothes, and, desperate for warmth, he tried to absorb some of mine. I gave it gladly, putting my hands on his face, his neck, finding his own hands and squeezing life back into them.

After a while he raised his head from where he had burrowed it against my breasts. I looked down into his face, and my heart gave a lurch of pity. He looked terrible. He was thin, white-faced, he had several days’ growth of beard and someone — perhaps he himself — had cut his hair, very badly. His clothes were torn and filthy with sandy mud, clots of which stuck all over his arms and shoulders.

He stared at me in silence for a moment. Then he said, ‘I knew you would come.’

‘I should have been with you before!’ I cried. ‘I heard you calling, but I didn’t know where you were until it was too late, and when you stopped I thought you were dead!’