Andre Norton - Year of the Unicorn

I descended gradually, and now the road was banked with walls of rock. Too narrow for a troop of horses that way. If it had served a vanished fortress, then those who had manned the rubbled walls were all footmen. Stunted trees, wind crippled, grew here and there, with tangles of brush and dried grass in pockets. I turned a curve and came down a last rise into a great open space, how large I could not tell, for about it hung the veils of mist.

The road led under an arch into an area which was walled, but not roofed—nor had it ever been roofed, I believed. And I stood in an oval enclosure. At regular intervals along those walls were niches which had been closed up for three quarters or more of their height, leaving only a small portion at the top still open. On each of those was deep set a symbol carved in the walling stone. Worn they were, and most past any tracing—those at the other end so smooth that only a thin shadow of a design was hinted at, though some, to my right, were more deeply defined. None had any meaning for me.

It was dark within the open portion of those niches. As I paused before the first I staggered. From that space came against me—what? A blow of some unseen force? No—as I swung to face that small opening the sensation was clearer. This was an inquiry, a demanding of who? and what? and why? There was an intelligent presence there.

And I did not find it odd to speak aloud my answer into the silence which held that questioning beneath its surface:

“I am Gillan, out of the Dales of High Hallack, and I come to claim that which is the other part of me. No more—no less, do I seek.”

Outwardly, to my eyes, my ears, there was no change. But I felt a waking of some thing—or things—which had stood guardian here for years past human telling, all of whom now stirred, centred their regard upon me. Perhaps my words meant nothing, perhaps they were not of those who deal in words. But that I was sifted, examined, pondered upon, that I knew. And I moved along the centre way of that place, turning from one niche to its fellow across the way, each in order, facing that which weighed me.

From those niches with the clearer symbols it came no stronger than from those so age worn. These were guardians, and I was perhaps a threat to that which they had been set to guard. How long had it been since they had last been summoned to this duty?

I reached the end of that oval, stood before the arched way which carried on the road. Now I turned to face back along the path I had come. I waited, for what I did not know—Was it recognition of some kind, a permission to go as I would, good will towards the fulfilling of my quest? If I expected aught, I was disappointed. I was free of that questioning, that was all. And perhaps that was all that was necessary. Still I felt a kind of loneliness, wished for more.

Once again the rock chiselled road ran on, to descend another long slope. More trees showed and brown grass. The rain held, but now it was not so cold. I found a pool hollowed in a block beside the road and drank from my cupped hands. The water was very chill, but it held a trace of sweet taste. As the air—it refreshed.

Now my trail led along the side of a rise, with a drop to my right, the depths of which were hidden by the mist, for that I had not left behind. And in all this time the only sounds I heard were born from the activity of the rain. If any animal or bird made home in this land, then it was snug in den or nest against the fall of water.

My limbs seemed weighted; I was afraid that I could not go much farther, yet the sharp pull was now a pain inside me. I came to the end of that cliff-side walk and found a grove of trees. Though they were winter stripped, yet their tangled branches gave some shelter. I settled myself at the foot of one, pulling the rug closely about me. Though the fur was matted with moisture, yet the hide was water proof and kept out the rain. From the place I had chosen I could still look upon the road, coming out of the mist above where lay the plateau of the Guardians, continuing on into more mist and a future I could not hope to read. I curled up, pulled a flap of the rug closer so I was completely covered.

This extreme weariness worried me. I had that cordial in my bag; sips of it could strengthen me for a space. Still if I wasted it at the beginning of what might be a long journey, then later I might discover myself helpless in a time of greater need. If I were no stronger in the morning, then I must risk it. Cold—would I always be so cold?

No—not cold—warm—Sun and warmth, and the scent of flowers. Not ahorse this time—I opened my eyes and looked out of a tent. The light was that of late afternoon—outside a brook made music. This was the green-gold land of that other Gillan. I saw a man come, his face half-averted from me. But no one could hide him—not by any shaping!

“Herrel!”

His head snapped around, he was staring at me with those green eyes. There was that in his face which was steel-hard, closed—and so it was with his eyes at first. Then they changed as they entered deeply into me.

“Herrel!” I did what I had never done before in my life, I asked aid of another, reached out in need—

He came to me, almost with the leap of a hunting cat, was on his knees before me; our eyes locked.

All that I wanted to say was imprisoned in my throat. Only could I utter his name. His hands were on me; he was demanding in a rush of speech answers—yet I could not hear nor speak. Only my need was so great it was an unvoiced screaming in my head.

There was shouting. Men burst in upon us, fell upon Herrel and dragged him away despite his struggles. Again I looked at Halse. His mouth was ugly with hate, his eyes fire—fire burning me. Once more he held between us that which drove me away—back to the woods and the rain—and the knowledge that I was again in exile.

“Herrel!” I whispered slowly, softly. Somehow I had nursed in me—to learn now it was truth—the thought—the hope—that Herrel had not been one with those who had left me alone in the wilderness. Could he, too, have been deceived by that part of Gillan now riding with the company? Halse had brought that Gillan flowers, as if in wooing. Had that Gillan been turned by their sorcery to favour Halse? How—how far could she have turned?

The chill which was never gone from me was an icy sword in my breast. Halse had the power to exile me from that other Gillan, he used it at once when he knew that we were one—to drive me forth again. Halse—or someone—but I thought it Halse—had striven to part me from Herrel by showing me him as his shape change made him. And then he had turned on me readily when the Riders had discovered that I had some power of my own. This being so—why would he now woo me? Fragments of what Herrel had told me made a pattern of sorts.

Herrel had named himself the least of the Riders, one who lacked the fullness of the talents the others shared, and thus was not reckoned of much account in their company. Because of custom he had set his cloak enchantment that it would draw no bride. But it had me—why?

For the first time I thought back to that moment when I had stood at the edge of the wedding dell, looking upon those cloaks, seeing them with the double vision. Why had I taken up Herrel’s? I had not been caught by any enchantment through its beauty. But I had gone to it, passing other cloaks spread there—taken it up in my hands with the same single minded action as displayed by all the other maids of High Hallack.

Thus—Herrel had succeeded where they wished him failure. And I did not know to this moment why I had chosen his cloak—and so him. But Halse had been passed by, came forth from that bridal morn riding alone, and that had bitten into him. It would seem that he alone of those unmated had deemed Herrel fair game, planning to take what was his. Perhaps any more save towards Herrel would have brought retaliation from the pack, and Halse’s determination was greater than the rest.