Peter Beagle - The Line Between

Did I pull what I held free by means of my pure heart and failing strength, or did the shadow finally give in, for its own reasons? I know what I believe, but none of that matters. What does matter is that when my hands came back to me, they held the fox between them. A seemingly lifeless fox, certainly; a fox without a breath or a heartbeat that I could detect; a fox beyond bedraggled, looking half his normal size, with most of his fur gone, the rest staring limply, and his proud brush as naked as a rat's tail. Indeed, the only indication that he still lived was the fact that he was unconsciously trying to shapeshift in my hands. The shiver of the air around him, the sudden slight smudging of his outline … I jumped back as I had not recoiled from the house–thing's shadow, letting him fall to the ground.

He landed without the least thump, so insubstantial he was. The transformation simply faded and failed; though whether that means that the fox–shape is his natural form and the other nothing but a garment he was too weak to assume, I have never known. The moon was down, and with the approach of false dawn, the shadow was retreating, the house–thing itself withering absurdly, like an overripe vegetable, its sides slumping inwards while its insides — or whatever they might have been — seemed to ooze palely into the rising day, out to where the shadow had lain in wait for prey. Only for a moment … then the whole creature collapsed and vanished before my eyes, and the one trace of its passage was a dusty hole in the ground. A small hole, the sort of hole that remains when you have pulled a plant up by its roots. Or think you have.

There was no sign of the Goro. When I looked back at the fox, he was actually shaking himself and trying to get to his feet. It took him some while, for his legs kept splaying out from under him, and even when he managed to balance more or less firmly on all four of them, his yellow eyes were obviously not seeing me, nor much else. Once the fox–shape was finally under control, he promptly abandoned it for that of the old man, who looked just as much of a disaster, if not even more so. The white mustache appeared to have been chewed nearly away; one burly white eyebrow was altogether gone, as were patches of the white mane, and the skin of his face and neck might have been through fire or frost–bite. But he turned to stare toward the place where the house that was not a house had stood, and he grinned like a skull.

«Exactly as I planned it," he pronounced. «Rid of the lot of them, we are, for good and all, thanks to my foresight. I knew it was surely time for the beast to return to that spot, and I knew the Goro would care for nothing else, once it caught sight of me and that stone.» Amazingly, he patted my shoulder with a still–shaky hand. «And you dealt with your little friends remarkably well — far better than I expected, truth be told. I may have misjudged you somewhat.»

«As you misjudged the thing's reach," I said, and he had the grace to look discomfited. I said, «Before you thank me — " which he had shown no sign of doing — «you should know that I was simply trying to save whomever I could catch hold of. I would have been just as relieved to see the Goro standing where you are.»

«Not for long," he replied with that supremely superior air that I have never seen matched in all these years. «The Goro consider needing any sort of assistance — let alone having to be rescued — to be dishonorable in its very nature. He'd have quickly removed a witness to his sin, likely enough.» I suspected that to be a lie — which it is, for the most part — but said nothing, only watching as he gradually recovered his swagger, if not his mustache. It was fascinating to observe, rather like seeing a new–born butterfly's wings slowly plumping in the sun. He said then — oddly quietly, I remember — «You are much better off with me. Whatever you think of me.»

When he said that, just for that moment, he looked like no crafty shapeshifter but such a senile clown as one sees in the wayside puppet plays where the young wife always runs off with a soldier. He studied my hands and arms, which by now were hurting so much that in a way they did not hurt at all, if you can understand that. «I know something that will help those," he said. «It will not help enough, but you will be glad of it.»

Not yet true dawn, and I could feel how hot the day would be in that barren, utterly used–up land that is called the Mihanachakali. There was dust on my lips already, and sweat beginning to rise on my scalp. A few scrawny rukshi birds were beginning to circle high over the Hunters' bodies. I turned away and began to walk — inevitably back the way we had come, there being no other real road in any direction. The old man kept pace with me, pattering brightly at my side, cheerfully informing me, «The coast's what we want — salt water always straightens the mind and clears the spirit. We'll have to go back to Druchank — no help for that, alas — but three days further down the Nai — "

I halted then and stood facing him. «Listen to me," I said. «Listen closely. I am bound as far from Goros and Hunters, from foxes that are not foxes and houses that are not houses as a young fool can get. I want nothing to do with the lot of you, or with anything that is like you. There must be a human life I am fit to lead, and I will find it out, wherever it hides from me. I will find my life.»

«Rather like our recent companions seeking after us," he murmured, and now he sounded like his old taunting self, but somehow subdued also. «Well, so. I will bid you good luck and goodbye in advance, then, for all that we do appear to be traveling the same road — "

«We are not," I said, loud enough to make my poor head ache and my battered ribs cringe. I began walking again, and he followed. I said, «Whichever road you take, land or water, I will go some other way. If I have to climb back into a manure wagon a second time, I will be shut of you.»

«I have indeed misjudged you," he continued, as though I had never spoken. «There is promising stuff to you, and with time and tutelage you may blossom into adequacy yet. It will be interesting to observe.»

«I will write you a letter," I said through my teeth. There would plainly be no ridding

myself of him until Druchank, but I was determined not to speak further word with him again. And I did not, not until the second night, when we had made early camp close enough to Druchank to smell its foulness on a dank little breeze. Hungry and weary, I weakened enough to ask him abruptly, «That house — whatever it was — you called it the beast. It was alive, then? Some sort of animal?»

«Say vegetable, and you may hit nearer the mark," he answered me. «They come and go, those things — never many, but always where they grew before, and always in the exact guise they wore the last time. I have seen one that you would take for a grand, shady keema tree without any question, and another that looks like a sweet little dance pavilion in the woods that no one seems to remember building. I cannot say where they are from, nor what exactly becomes of their victims — only that it is a short blooming season, and if they take no prey they rot and die back before your eyes. As that one did.» He yawned as the fox yawned, showing all his teeth, and added, «A pity, really. I have … made use of that one before.»

«And you led me there," I said. «You told me nothing, and you led me there.»

He shrugged cheerfully. «I tried to tell you — a little, anyway — but you did not care to hear. My fault?» I did not answer him. A breeze had come up, carrying with it the smell of the Nai — somewhat fresher than that of the town — and the bray of a boat horn.

«It had already taken the Goro," I said finally, «and still it died.»