“I don’t know. She is there-” He pointed ahead into the mist with confidence.
But where was “there”? He seemed to have no idea and finally became sulky when I pressed, saying that he could not tell – that he only knew she was ahead and, if we went far enough, we would find her. I eyed the mist uncertainly. Though I had no way of measuring its advance, I was quite sure that I had had a far greater range of visibility at the beginning of this journey and that the outer veil was moving in restrictingly, which was not pleasant to consider, the more so when I firmly believed we were being trailed. Suppose that drifting stuff circled about us as thickly as some fogs I had seen, so we were lost in it? Then we would be easy prey for anything.
It would be better to find some shelter and hole up until the fog lifted or cleared to the point it had held when I had come out of the woods. But before I could suggest that, Oomark moved closer. His nose, appearing larger than natural, with wide, flaring nostrils, was turned to the left, and he seemed to be testing for scent.
“Best we stay here, in a ring of the Folk,” he said. “There be others abroad.” Not only his appearance had changed; his speech was also odd, the choice of words different. Now his actions surprised me, for he went to his hands and knees and crept about the inner perimeter of the circle, his head close to the ground, plainly sniffing gustily as he went. When he had completed that circle, he squatted back on his hoofs.
“This is a fair place.” He patted the ground on either side with his hands. “The others cannot break a ring, you know. We bide here now till outdraw comes again – ”
I sat down so I could closer study his altered face, hoping that the expression there might help me. “What others are there, Oomark?”
“The others-the Dark Ones. They and the Folk are never one. But here one of the Folk is safe, unless it is lot time and he is the sad-chosen.” He shivered as might one thinking of some well-known terror.
“And who are the Folk?” I continued gently. The Oomark I had known was almost gone, lost in this alien child. I longed to somehow catch and hold fast a last poor remnant, but how I might do that, I did not know.
“The Folk? Be you mist-witted, Kilda. All know the Folk – you – me – ”
“Bartare-the Lady?”
“All, yes, all.” He nodded.
“And the others? Was it one such who chased you?”
I thought he looked a little puzzled. “He was not – not of the Dark Ones, nor of the Folk. He is One Between.” He made of the word “between” a species name. “As you will be, Kilda, if you don’t watch out!” He shot that last at me like a threat.
In fact, I glanced at my own arms and hands to be sure there was no harsh growth of hair showing on them, that I was not changing into a monster like the one I had wounded with my bag of stones. But my skin, though dark and shining, was still smooth.
“How will I become that?”
“If you do not accept, you will not be accepted.” He said that solemnly. He might have been uttering a rule of law.
“Halfway you have come. But more than halfway must the journey take you. Take off your boots, put your feet to the earth-feel!”
I hesitated. Oomark had shucked his foot covering to display hoofs. If I pulled mine off, would I be fronted by a similar distortion? I tried to wriggle my toes – was sure I felt them move. But I must know! I drew off my boots.
My feet! No, I did not have hoofs, but they were not as I had always seen them either. The toes were longer, thinner. They appeared to uncoil, to show an extra joint on each as I released them. And they were far more prehensile than any human toes should be. These new, flexible ends curved down without my willing it and dug into the soil.
And throughout my body I felt a shock, as if those toes, in so sinking into the ground, had encountered therein a source of energy that flowed back through them up my legs, into my body. I jerked them free, trying to force on my boots again.
But that could not be done. The longer toes might not be accommodated therein without such crippling as would mean I could not walk. And they wriggled independently as I tried to crowd them together and fit them into those coverings, as if they had a life of their own and were determined to return to the soil.
Finally I ripped loose the inner lining of my boots, and these strips I bound around and around my feet with a vindictive tightness. I might not be dealing with my own flesh and bone, but with rebellious entities that fought me.
Once they were thus bandaged so that none of their bare surface could touch the ground, they became quiet. And I could almost believe those wrappings hid a normal human foot. I would have to go on without my boots, but the wrappings were a safeguard I dared not relinquish.
“That was not a clever thing to do, Kilda,” Oomark commented. “It is better you come into the paths of the Folk, lest you be lost, for you are not of the Dark Ones – ”
“I am Kilda c’ Rhyn,” I said defiantly. “I am not of this world! Nor are you, Oomark Zobak!”
He laughed then, and something in that laughter was not in the least childlike.
“Oh, but you are, Kilda, as am I. And there will be no denial left in you soon. None at all.”
8
At that moment I wanted no argument, for there was something about Oomark now. Though he was still a small boy, in some ways he was secretive, older. I did not like those sly glances he sent in my direction now and then-gloating – satisfaction at my difficulties, a searching for a change in me?
Once more I took out food. But he would have nothing of what I offered. I ate, a much smaller portion than I wanted. But I must ration myself. These supplies could not be renewed.
It began to rain, or else the mist, which had grown thicker and thicker, condensed on our bodies. I could see no farther than the outside of the ring in which we sat. Oddly enough, the heavy moisture did not make me uncomfortable.
There was a strange sensation in my scalp, and I raised my hands to discover my hair was not plastered to my skull by the damp but stood erect, and it could not be forced flat save by keeping a hand pressed upon it. The wet on my skin and in my hair took away my thirst.
When I glanced at Oomark, I saw him licking the down on the backs of his hands (for it grew there now), even up his arms, just as a cat might perform its toilet fastidiously when wet, though he did not appear uncomfortable.
Then, with a jerk, his head snapped up, and he stared over my shoulder. I pushed around to gaze in the same direction. At first I could see only the billowing mist. Then I was aware of a darker shape that did not drift with that mist but pushed against it. Though I could not hear the slightest sound, it was padding about the circumference of the ring. Was it what had followed us?
I reached for the weighted bag. How I longed for a stunner, though a laser beamer would have been best. However, the thing, whatever it was, was never more than a dark shape.
Oomark slewed around, following it with his eyes as it moved. I wondered if he could see more of it than I did.
“What is it?”
“A Dark One.”
His nostrils expanded as if to test the air, and then he added, “It cannot come within the ring. Also” – his head lifted a little higher – “there is something else out there.”
At that moment I smelled enough to make me turn my head in disgust, a nauseating odor. Long decay and filth blew a puff of stench across our refuge. I must have uttered an exclamation, for I heard Oomark say, “That is the Dark One. Always do they smell so. But the other thing – ”
He stood up. The dark shadow passed before him on its round. But Oomark continued to look into the mist ahead of him. A moment later he shook his head.