He jumped. Venetia had placed her hand in the small of his back and was gently pushing him towards the benches that had appeared as mysteriously as the food.
“I would that you share a meal with us, Garth,” she said gently.
“My father—” Garth began.
“Your father will not fuss if you stay the afternoon. Now, sit.”
Garth sat.
“And while we eat, Ravenna and I will attempt to explain the marshes to you.”
Venetia sat herself on a bench on the opposite side of the table, but Ravenna slid onto the bench that Garth sat on. He slid a little self-consciously to its far end. Neither Venetia nor Ravenna paid him any heed.
Venetia carved up the sausage and cheese, heaping generous portions on three plates, while Ravenna handed the mugs of ale around.
“Thank you,” Garth murmured as he accepted both food and ale, and took a quick sip from his mug. The ale was rich and foamy and soothing, and Garth relaxed. “What is it that I saw in this hut, Venetia?” There was no trace of mist or cavernous space left.
“You only saw the marsh, boy.” Venetia put down the piece of sausage she held and nodded at her daughter.
“The marsh is halfway land, a border land,” Ravenna said quietly to Garth’s side. “It lies halfway between the sea and the land, and is composed of both. Sometimes the land seems dominant, sometimes the sea.”
“And the marsh is also a border land between the land of wakefulness and the land of dreams.”
Garth swallowed his piece of bread and cheese. “There is a land of dreams?”
“Assuredly,” both marsh women said together.
“And I could reach the land of dreams through the marsh?” he said slowly.
Ravenna took a sharp breath and looked at her mother.
“You would find it hard, boy,” Venetia said softly. “You could see into the land of dreams—and did, when you saw the hut dissolve into mist—but you would find it all but impossible to walk alone into the land of dreams.”
“It is his Touch,” Ravenna said, and refilled Garth’s mug from a jug.
Garth frowned. “What?”
“Ravenna means that whatever gives you the ability to Touch probably also allows you to see into the land of dreams.”
“But you said that my father never saw the dream land.”
Venetia smiled, and Garth felt his shoulders tense again. “Your father commands not a fraction of the Touch you will one day, boy.”
Garth ran his tongue about his lips and pushed his plate away. “Will you take me into the land of dreams, Venetia? I must find the Manteceros and bring him out.”
Venetia laughed merrily at the vehemence in Garth’s voice. “You will not find that so easy, methinks, boy.”
Garth’s face set into determined lines. “Will you take me, Venetia?”
She waved a hand airily, and smiled a little at her daughter. “Perhaps, Garth Baxtor, but I would ask you a question or two first.”
Yet it was Ravenna who asked the first question, and when she did, it was not a question at all. She swivelled on the bench so that she faced Garth fully, and her face was expressionless and her eyes fathomless. “Your life seems full of coincidences, Garth Baxtor.”
Garth wondered why they were unable to ever refer to him simply as Garth. “What do you mean?”
Her expression did not change. “How strange that Maximilian has been down the Veins for some seventeen years, and yet none have discovered his identity until you went down.”
“And how strange,” Venetia continued quietly, “that within hours of your going down the Veins for the very first time you should find yourself with your hands wrapped about Maximilian’s arm.”
“When Joseph, as you have informed us, knew Maximilian in childhood and yet has never met him after some twenty years of attending those trapped down the Veins,” Ravenna murmured, her stare relentless.
“I—” Garth began, but Venetia gave him no chance to finish.
“And, stranger yet, methinks, that this street trader should press the medallion on you and speak of the dream. Who is he, I wonder?”
“Stranger still,” Ravenna whispered, and now her eyes were almost febrile, “that your father should send you out into the marshes this day. Send you to the only one who can find the Manteceros for you.”
Garth’s eyes shifted back to Venetia. “Venetia, I cannot explain these coincidences, and I had not even realised them myself until you voiced them for me. Venetia, will you take me?”
Again she interrupted, as if she had not heard him. Her eyes were as feverish as those of her daughter now. “He is caught up in some web, some plot, that I cannot see, Ravenna.”
“Nor I,” her daughter whispered. “Is he dangerous?”
Venetia’s hand suddenly snaked across the table and caught Garth’s wrist in a vice-like grip that belied her fragile bones.
Garth gasped, and instinctively pulled his hand back. But Venetia’s grip held firm. She took a slow, deep breath, her gaze riveted on Garth’s face. “No,” she eventually said slowly, “no, I think not. He is a good boy. And, as you said when you held his hand, Ravenna, he has a warm and courageous heart. I think that I like him, too.”
Garth could feel Ravenna relax at his side, but he did not look away from her mother. “Please,” he said softly, “will you help me find the Manteceros?”
Venetia held his eyes, her own light grey eyes unreadable. Then her lip curled slightly. “No.”
Garth recoiled, and this time he did manage to tear his wrist from her grasp. “No?”
Venetia’s mouth curled into a full smile now. “No. I am not able to find the Manteceros for you. Wait, boy. Let me explain. I have not the power for it. But—”
The walls and ceiling about her dissolved back into mist. “But my beautiful, powerful daughter can. And that, boy, is the supreme coincidence. Among the marsh women there has not been one as powerful as Ravenna for three, perhaps four hundred years. A generation to either side, Garth Baxtor, and you would never have found the Manteceros and Maximilian would have mouldered to his death in the Veins.”
ELEVEN
SKIP, TRIP, MY PRETTY MAN
Ravenna took Garth by the hand and led him from the hut. Venetia watched from the doorway, her peculiar eyes following them for as long as she could. Then she sighed, cleared the table, and walked outside to spend the rest of the afternoon stroking and whispering to Garth’s horse.
For some minutes Garth followed Ravenna silently. The girl was dressed in a white robe of light weave which left her arms free; they swung a hand-span above her bare feet. About them the mist had thickened, and Garth could not help an apprehensive glance.
Aware of the mist, Ravenna stopped dead in her tracks. Startled, Garth jerked to a halt as well, but the girl ignored him. She dropped gracefully to one knee and bowed her head in swift prayer, her fingers laced over her heart.
“Forgive my intrusion, my Lord of Dreams,” she murmured. “I ask for your forgiveness and tolerance.”
As she rose, Garth frowned. Lord of Dreams?
As if she had heard his thoughts, Ravenna turned and smiled reassuringly. “All marsh women beg the forgiveness of Drava before we enter his realm, Garth Baxtor, and we ask him to tolerate the touch of our feet while we walk his paths.”
Garth’s eyes widened, and Ravenna grinned. “You need not fear, physician’s apprentice. Drava rests so deep in dream that even we, his handmaidens, have never seen him—although his presence often brushes our minds. Come, take my hand, and let me lead you beyond the border into the land of dreams.”
Her hand was warm and confident, and Garth let himself relax slightly as they walked along the same path he had originally ridden down. The gravel scrunched underneath their feet, and Garth wondered that Ravenna could walk so effortlessly across the sharp stones with no shoes.
“I do not feel them, Garth Baxtor,” she said, and before he had even fully exhaled his startled breath, she partly explained about the marsh.
“There are only a few of us left to inhabit the marsh, Garth Baxtor. All women. We stand guard along these border lands, and keep watch that nothing untoward crosses…either way.”
“You mean that creatures from our dreams can cross into this world?”
She smiled, and momentarily her face seemed very young. “Yes, they can.” She arched a dark eyebrow. “But is that not what you want? That the Manteceros will step from that land into this?”
“Yes,” Garth said somewhat uneasily. “I suppose so.”
“I see and feel your unease, physician’s son, and I understand it. It would not be pleasant if our nightmares crossed over, would it?”
“You can stop that?”
“We do the best we can. Now, hold fast, for I would lead you into the land of dreams.”