Peter Beagle - The Line Between

«Which is what you have done," I said, when he paused. He looked not at all guilty or ashamed, but distinctly embarrassed.

«You could say that, I suppose," he replied. «In a way. It was a mistake — I made a serious mistake, and I'm not too proud to admit it, even to you.» I had never heard him sound as he did then: half–defiant, yet very nearly mumbling, like a child caught out in a lie. He said, «I stole a Goro's dream.»

I looked at him. I did not laugh — I don't recall that I said anything — but he sneered at me anyway. His eyes were entirely gray now, narrow with disdain, and somewhat more angled than I had noticed before. «Mock me, then — why should you not? Your notion of dreams will have them all gossamer, all insubstantial film and gauze and wispy vapors. I tell you now that the dream of a Goro is as real and solid as your imbecile self, and each one takes solid form in our world, no matter if we recognize it or not for what it is. Understand me, fool!» He had grown notably heated, and there was a long silence between us before he spoke again.

«Understand me. Your life may well depend on it.» For just that moment, the eyes were almost pleading. «It happened that I was among the Goro some time ago, traveling in … that shape you have seen.» In all the time that we have known each other, he has never spoken the word fox, not to me. He said, «A Goro's dream, once dreamed, will manifest itself to us as it chooses — a grassblade or a jewel, a weed or a log of wood, who knows why? In my case … in my case — pure chance, mind you — it turned out to be a shiny stone. The shape likes shiny things.» His voice trailed away, again a guilty child's voice.

«So you took it," I said. «Blame the shape, if you like — no matter to me — but it was you did the stealing. I may be only a fool, but I can follow you that far.»

«It is not so simple!» he began angrily, but he caught himself then, and went on more calmly. «Well, well, your morality's no matter to me either, What should matter to you is that a stolen dream cries out to its begetter. No Goro will ever rest until his dream is safe home again, and the thief gathered to his ancestors in very small pieces. Most often, some of the pieces are lacking.» He smiled at me.

«A grassblade?» I demanded. «A stone — a stick of wood? To pursue and kill for a discarded stick, no use to anyone? You neglected to mention that your brave, fierce Goro are also quite mad.»

The old man sighed, a long and elaborately despairing sigh. «They are no more mad than yourself — a good deal less so, more than likely. And a Goro's dream is of considerable use — to a Goro, no one else. They keep them all, can you follow that ? A Goro will hoard every physical manifestation of every dream he dreams in his life, even if at the end it seems only to amount to a heap of dead twigs and dried flower petals. Because he is bound to present the whole unsightly clutter to his gods, when he goes to them. And if even one is missing — one single feather, candle–end, teacup, seashell fragment — then the Goro will suffer bitterly after death. So they believe, and they take poorly to having it named nonsense. Which I am very nearly sure it is.»

When he was not railing directly at me, his arrogance trickled away swiftly, leaving him plainly uneasy, shapeshifter or no. I found this rather shamefully enjoyable. I said, «So. This one wants his shiny stone back, and it has called him all this way on your trail. It does seem to me — "

«That I might simply return it to him? Apologies — some small token gift, perhaps — and no harm done?» This time his short laugh sounded like a branch snapping in a storm. «Indeed, nothing would suit me better. It is only a useless pebble, as you say — the shape lost all interest in it long ago. Unfortunately, for such an offense against a Goro — such a sin, if you like — vengeance is required.» Speaking those words silenced him again for a long moment: his eyes flicked constantly past and beyond me, and his whole body had grown so taut that I half–expected him to turn back into a fox as we sat together. For the first time in our acquaintance, I pitied him.

«Vengeance is required," he repeated presently. «It is a true sacrament among the Goro, much more than a matter of settling tribal scores. Something to do with evening all things out, restoring the proper balance of the world. Smoothing the rumples, you might say. Very philosophical, the Goro, when they have a moment.» He was doing his best to appear composed, you see, though he must have known I knew better. He does that.

«All as may be," I said. «What's clear to me is that we now have two different sets of assassins to deal with, each lot unstoppable — "

«The Goro are not assassins," he interrupted me. «They are a civilized and honorable people, according to their lights.» He was genuinely indignant.

«Splendid," I said. «Then by all means, you must stay where you are and allow yourself to be honorably slaughtered, so as to right the balance of things. For myself, I'll give them a run, in any case," and I was on my feet and groping for my belongings. Wonderful, what weeks of flight can do for a naturally mild temper.

He rose with me, nodding warningly, if such a thing can be. «Aye, we'd best be moving. I can't speak for your lot, but the day's coming on hot, and our Goro will sleep out the worst of it, if I know them at all. Pack and follow.»

That brusquely — pack and follow. And so I did, for there was no more choice in the matter than there ever had been. The old man set a fierce pace that day, not only demanding greater speed from me than ever, but also doubling back, zigzagging like a hare with a shukri one jump behind: then inexplicably going to ground for half an hour at a time, absolutely motionless and silent until we abruptly started on again, with no more explanation than before. During those stretches he often slipped out of sight, each time hissing me to stillness, and I knew that he would take the fox–shape (or would it take him? which was real?) to scout back along the way we had come. But whether we were a trifle safer, or whether death was a little closer on our heels, I could never be sure. He never once said.

The country continued high desert, simmering with murages, but there were moments in the ever–colder nights when I could smell fresh water: or perhaps I felt its presence in the water composing my own body. The old man did finally reveal that in less than a week, at our current rate we should strike the Nai, the greatest river in this part of the country which actually begins in the Skagats. There are always boats, he assured me — scows and barges and little schooners, going up and down with dried fish for this settlement, nails and harness for that one, a full load of lumber for the new town building back of the old port. Paying passengers were quite common on the Nai, as well as the non–paying sort — and here he winked elaborately at me, looking enough like the grandfather I still think I almost remember that I had to look away for a moment. Increasingly, as the years pass, I prefer the fox–shape.

«Not that this will lose our Goro friend," he said, «not for a moment. They're seagoing people — a river is a city street to the Goro. But they dislike rivers, exactly as a countryman dislikes the city, and the further they are from the sea, the more tense and uneasy they become. Now the Nai will take us all the way to Druchank, which is a hellpit, unless it has changed greatly since I was last there. But from Druchank it's a long long journey to the smell of salt, yet no more than two days to… "

And here he stopped. It was not a pause for breath or memory, not an instant's halt to find words — no interruption, but an end, as though he had never intended to say more. He only looked at me, not with his usual mockery, nor with any expression that I could read. But he clearly would not speak again until I did, and I had a strong sense that I did not want to ask what I had to ask, and get an answer. I said, at last, «Two days to where?»