Alys Clare - The Way Between the Worlds

I might be helpless, and Rollo all but unconscious, but there was another with me who surely was not: I was attempting to put my own awareness, my own consciousness, into Fox; or, I suppose, make myself become him. It amounts to pretty much the same thing. Under Gurdyman’s tuition, I had become much closer to my animal guide, discovering, to my intense delight, that once I was in the light trance state, I was gaining the ability to see through Fox’s eyes, scent with his acute sense of smell — this could at times be quite alarming and sometimes downright nauseating — and, perhaps most crucially, share his vivid perception of approaching danger.

As yet I was not very good at it, but I was going to try. I made myself relax, deepened and slowed my breathing, and closed my eyes. I sent my thoughts out to Fox, and he, friend that he is, accepted me. After a time — I have no idea how long it takes — I slid quietly into him.

With the part of me that still crouched on the ground clutching Rollo, I was aware that Fox was trotting away, nosing back along the safe path that he could see as well as I once could. I felt a sort of wrench as he disappeared into the fog. But, in some unfathomable way that I did not begin to understand, part of me was going with him. And through his bright brown eyes with their golden lights, I saw what I had hoped and prayed to see: the storm, if that was what it was, only pounded down on the place where Rollo and I lay, at the end of the safe path.

I called Fox back to me and withdrew myself from him, thanking him, thanking the wise guardian spirits that had made our link possible. He stayed close, or at least I thought so. There was no need now for me actually to see him, for his job was done. I now knew that I would only be walking blind for a short distance, just until we came out from beneath the storm, and Fox had shown me where to put my feet. Once we were free of the malignant power beating down on us from out of those deadly black clouds, I would be able to guide us again.

‘We must get away from here!’ I shouted to Rollo. Even though I yelled right by his ear, he barely heard me, for the wind and the hard rain had reached a cacophonous climax.

‘It’s not safe!’ he yelled back once I’d made him understand. ‘One slip and we’ll be in it!’

‘No we won’t because I’ll be able to see the path !’ I screeched.

There was a moment — a precious moment that I knew would live with me for ever — when he looked right into my eyes and gave a small nod. It was as if he was saying: I remember your uncanny ability, and I will put myself in your hands.

Without letting myself think about the awesome responsibility, I struggled to my feet, pulling him with me. He was very weak, and when he picked up his heavy pack and slung it over his shoulder, he staggered. I tried to take it from him, but he would not let me. My heart sank a little as I realized how tough it was going to be to get all the way back along the path.

But there were other dangers to overcome first. I pushed him behind me, pulling his arms round my waist and holding them there with mine; I wanted him to follow me so closely that he would be putting his feet exactly where mine had been. Then I slipped back into my trance state and set off along the exact route that Fox had shown me.

One step, two, three, then Rollo and I got into a rhythm and we were moving swiftly back along the path. I counted almost fifty paces, and then quite suddenly the pulverizing rain stopped, the temperature shot up and the fog rolled itself up and disappeared.

I stopped. Ahead of us was the salt marsh, and I begged the spirits to show me the safe way back. Some benign ancestor must have been with me, for straight away the snaky line of the path lit up as if it had been set on fire. It was so brilliant that I was quite sure Rollo could see it too, and I turned my head and cried, ‘Look! That’s the way we must go!’

His blank stare told me he could see nothing at all.

I did not let that affect me. I felt jubilant, invincible. With my eyes fixed on the shining track, I stepped forward. We were walking under a clear blue sky, and the welcome, blessed sun was beating down on our backs.

I spun round.

Not even one little puff of fog remained, and there was no sign of the storm.

I wondered what would happen if we set off back towards the end of the path and the sea that had lapped up so close. I had little doubt that the malevolent power out there would instantly beat down on us again.

I was not going to put it to the test.

We were still too close to danger. Taking Rollo’s hand — warmer now, I was relieved to find — I urged him on.

I had long lost count of the time, but as we neared the line of dunes that marked the end of the salt marsh, the light suggested that it was around noon. Rollo was almost done for. I knew he must rest, and hopefully eat and drink a little, for his strength was all used up. I raised my eyes and looked along the ridge of higher ground, searching for some sort of shelter. The weather was warm and sunny, but I had just had an eloquent demonstration of how quickly conditions could change, and I did not want our period of restoration to be interrupted by having to leap up and find somewhere out of the rain.

Eventually, I spotted something that I thought might do. It would mean a trudge through the dunes, which would be hard work on legs already aching with fatigue, but I thought it would be worth it. A few hundred paces back from the dunes, I could make out a row of sea-buckthorn bushes, and behind them the dark form of a stand of pine trees. It was, I decided, the best we were going to find.

The journey across the dunes almost finished us. I don’t know how Rollo kept moving. He was so far gone that he did not even notice when I took his pack from him and slung it on my back. With that heavy load and my leather satchel, it was all I could do to put one foot in front of the other.

Finally, we reached the pine trees. There were eight or ten of them, and I saw that further inland there were more. But this first little stand was enough. The ground was slippery with a bed of pine needles, which would insulate us if the temperature dropped. I found a sort of cave beneath the lowest branches of two trees, standing so close together that their limbs intertwined. I wriggled my way in, finding that it was just about big enough for two.

Rollo had slumped down against a tree trunk the moment I had removed my arm from around his waist. Without even asking, I opened his pack and delved down through the first few layers. I found he was well supplied for the outdoors. I also discovered why his pack was so heavy, for in addition to a cloak and a thick blanket, he had a rolled-up animal skin that had been cured so as to make it waterproof.

I wished I’d looked in his pack when we’d been out there beneath that furious storm. Then — and the thought was an unwelcome one — I wondered why Rollo hadn’t remembered about the contents of his pack himself. Was that malign power so strong, then, that it could even affect a man’s mind, making him unable to help himself?

I put that thought from me. We were safe now, I assured myself.

I spread out the animal skin and smoothed Rollo’s blanket on top. Then I got out my own blanket, for, although it was warm enough then, it would grow cold as the day wore on towards evening. Backing out of the pine tree cave, I unwound my shawl and spread it on the ground to dry, in a patch of sunshine that filtered down through the trees to the floor of the glade. My gown was soaked, too, and after a moment’s reflection, I took it off and laid it down beside my shawl.

Then I turned to Rollo. He was almost asleep, or perhaps lapsing into unconsciousness; I did not know. I felt the urge to hurry, so without giving myself time to think about it, I unfastened his belt and then took off his tunic and hose, spreading them beside my clothes. His undershirt, too, was wringing wet, so I took that off as well. There was a cut on his upper chest, quite new. It ought to have been stitched, for it had healed ragged and bumpy.