Andre Norton - Year of the Unicorn

“Ah, Gillan,” Kildas spoke to me, “have you ever seen so fair a day? It would seem that spring and summer have wedded and that we have the best of both to welcome us to this land.”

“It is so.” my lips answered for the one who was not wholly Gillan.

“It is odd,” Kildas laughed, “but I have been trying to remember what it was like, back in the Dales. And it is like a dream which fades from one’s waking hour. Nor is there any reason for us to remember—”

But there is! cried my inner self. For I am of the Dales yet and must be united—

There came a rider up beside me, holding out a branch which flowered with waxy white blooms, giving off such perfume as to make the senses swim.

“Sweet, my lady.” he said. “Yet not as sweet as she who would accept my gift—”

My hand went to the branch—“Herrel—”

But as I raised my eyes from the flowers to him who offered them I saw a bear’s red eyes on his helm. And beneath that his own narrowed, holding mine in a tight gaze. Then his hand flashed up between us, and in its palm was a small, glittering thing which pulled my attention so that I could not look away.

I raised my head from my knees. Shadows, darkness about me in a pool which denied that green and gold had ever been. I rode not with flowers and spring about me, I crouched alone among enchanted stones in the cold of winter. But this I brought with me—the knowledge that there were indeed two Gillans—one who strove to reach the other side of these heights in painful weariness, and one who still companied with those from the Dales. And until those two were one again there was no true life for rne.

It had been Halse beside me on that ride, and he had recognized my return to the other Gillan, had driven me back here. But Herrel—where had he been, what had he to do with that other Gillan?

Now I was also aware that in the dark the dizzy many-sight had ceased, that I could look about me without meeting that giddy whirl of landscape. Had the barrier also vanished?

I crept back between the rocks to face—not the blinding light which had been there earlier, but a glow—a wall of green light. I approached it, put my hands to its surface. Yes, it was as firm as ever. And it was sorcery, of that I was certain. Whether of Rider brewing, or merely some long set safeguard, I did not know. But I must find a way through it, or past it.

Here I could not climb the walls as I had in the valley. And surely I had nothing to dig underneath, I thought a little wildly. With the fading of its day-glare I could see through it.

Beyond lay an open space, an end to the tumble of rocks which had choked my back trail. Perhaps with those behind I need not fear any longer the bewildering of my sight. But how to pass the barrier—

I leaned back against the rock and stared at it hopelessly. It could not be too thick; I could see through it so easily. If I might shape change as easily as those I trailed—wear an eagle’s body for a space, this would be no more than a stride. But that was not my magic.

What was my magic—the will which had served me How could I apply that one poor weapon here? I could see no way—yet find one I must!

I was cold, I hungered, both for that which I might take into my mouth and swallow, and that which had been rift from me. And I was caged, for there was no return, nor, it would seem, no going forward from this place.

Down in the Dales I had gone afield with Dame Alousan and some of the village women upon occasion, seeking out herbs, and their roots. And in the summer I had seen webs of field spiders spun between two small bushes or tussocks of grass to form a barrier—

Why did I now have such a memory picture? A web set up between two more solid anchors—? As this wall of light confronting me between stones—

I raised my head, looked more closely at those stones. There was no climbing them—twice my height and a little more, they were sleek and had no handholds. For they were a part of this ancient wall or fortification. Yet those portions between which hung the curtain of light were not a part of the bulk, rather posts of a sort, separate from the rest as the supports of a doorway. Creeping forward I discovered I was able to push fingers knuckle deep between them and the other rocks.

A spider’s web—Eluding the danger of the sticky cords it could be brought to naught by the breaking of its supports. So wild a thought yet my mind fastened on it, perhaps because I could see no other way. I had brought the bone vial out of the bag by will. But these were no light bottle, these were weighty stones, such as many men might labour to dislodge. And how could I be sure that moving one would break the curtain?

I covered my eyes, leaned back against the stone of the wall. Though the fur rug was about me, still I could feel its chill, its denial of what that wild thought urged me to try. And always on me that pull from beyond—

Now I looked again to the curtain pillars. To my sight they seemed equally deep set, not to be tumbled from that planting. So I turned my eyes upon that one which stood to the left, and I called upon my power of will.

Fall! Fall! I beat my desire upon it as I would have beat body, hands, all my physical strength had such been able to serve me. Fall! Tremble and fall! I did not have to think of time as I had in the camp of the Hounds. Time here was meaningless—there was only the pillar—and the curtain—and the need for passing it. Fall-tremble and fall!

World without vanished, fading from me. I saw now only a tall, dark shadow, and against it thrust small spurts of blue. First at its crown, and then, with better aimed determination, at its ground rooting. Soil—loosen, roots tremble—I was wholly the will I used—

Tremble-fall!

The dark pillar wavered. That was it! The foot-work upon its foot. Blue shafts in the murk which was none of my world, yet one I should know. Tremble-fall—

Slowly the stone was nodding—away from me—outwards—

There was a sound—sound which shook through my body—was pain so intense it conquered mind and will—drove me into nothingness.

I turned my head which lay on a hard and punishing surface. On my face was the spatter of cold rain or sleet. I opened my eyes. In my nostrils was a strong smell, one which I did not remember ever having met before. Weakly I raised myself.

Black scars on the stone. One of those pillars askew, leaning well away as if pointing my way on. And between it and its fellow—nothing. I crawled on. My hand touched the blackened portion of the stone. I snatched it back, fingers burned by heat. Waveringly I got to my feet, lurched through the charred space, came into the open.

It was day—but thick clouds made that twilight. And from the overcast poured moisture which was a mixture of rain and snow, the frigid touch of which pierced to the bones. But I could see clearly, there were no more shifting rocks ahead—only the natural stones of the mountains, familiar to me all my life. And also there was something else—a way cut into the rock.

But weariness dragged at me as I staggered on to that road. I had only taken a few steps along it when I needs must sit down again. And this time I allayed my hunger with some of the rations from the Hounds’ supplies.

There were lichens upon the stones about me, whereas among the blue-green walls there had been no growing things. Also, as I breathed deeply I found a taste in the air, a freshness unknown before.

Since I had come from the place of the curtain of light the bond which drew me was stronger, and in a way more urgent. As if the need for uniting was far more important and necessary.

Having swallowed my dry mouthfuls, I arose once more. It was lucky that the forgotten road I followed was a smoother path, for in my present unsteadiness I could not have managed as I had the day before. It was not a wide road, that very ancient cut now paved with splotches of red and pale green lichens. And through some oddity of this country, my sight was limited by a mist, which did not naturally accompany rain in the Dales, but did hang here.