Over me the ribbon-narrow leaves rustled, and the bunches of flowers tossed. That movement had not come from any wind, but it passed on to the next tree, and the next, growing louder and louder.
About me fell in a shower those blossoms now fading, dislodged by the tossing. They caught in my hair, in the folds of my under tunic, clung to my arms and shoulders as if their petals had adhesive coating.
There was a sharp split somewhere over my head. When I leaned back, my hands still on the tree bole, to see what had happened, a branch fell with odd precision across my two arms. It was Y shaped, with a cluster of flowers crowning each arm. And, to my delight, these were not as well developed as those being shed, so they might be expected to last for some time.
I spoke again, giving my thanks to whatever power had brought me this gift, being awed and moved by the response to my plea, ashamed of my greedy action in trying to break off my choice earlier. Under the palms of my hands the bole seemed to be sweating, or else moisture condensed there. I longed to lay my lips to that, to lick into my dry mouth the heavy glistening beads. So great was that longing that it tempted me past prudence, and I did embrace the trunk and set my lips to it.
The moisture was not water – it was too sweet. But it brought warmth and a feeling of good and hope. Also, though it was not a full drink such as I was used to, it refreshed me greatly. As I started away from the tree, I again gave thanks. Nor did it seem strange to me to do so, for the notus was plainly not just a tree – though what it was I did not know.
With the branch safely tacked into my belt, I went back to the cliff. The climb was not as bad as the descent, for now it was easier to look up to the holds, and secondly, the moisture had refreshed me, readied me for more exertion.
The blossoms that had fallen on me still clung to my skin. Nor did I want to brush them off, for their scent and the soft touch of them on my flesh were good.
Just as the climb was less demanding than the descent, so did it take me a shorter time, for which I was glad. And when I pulled up and over the rim, I was eagerly trying to devise some method by which we could all descend to the grove. I looked upon that as the ideal haven for rest and refreshment.
The indraw was beginning to lighten as I reached the top. Bartare lay there, apparently as deeply asleep as ever. Oomark squatted some distance away, as if playing sentinel. Kosgro sat by the girl, his shoulders hunched, his hands dangling between his knees, his attitude one of exhaustion.
He lifted his head as I waved the branch triumphantly in the air.
“We must get down somehow,” I told him. There is a whole grove of notus. And – ”
My waving of the branch had at last dislodged some of the petals clinging to my skin. They floated through the air and a few fell on Bartare, her face and breast.
For the fast time she stirred – not only stirred but also regained consciousness with the speed of a sleeper roused by danger. Her hands brushed at her face. We were too startled to move. For so long she had been more or less an inanimate tiling that perhaps we had begun to accept her as such.
Kosgro reached for her, too late. She slipped away from his grasp with the desperate speed of an animal trying to evade capture. One of the petals from her face stuck to her fingers. She cried out, beating her hand against her body as if she must wipe away some tormenting thing.
“Bartare!” I moved toward her, and she gave a scream that brought me to a halt, throwing up her arm as a barrier, as if in me she saw some monster she could not face.
Kosgro might have reached her then, save that Oomark cut across in front of him. The man jarred into tile boy, stumbled, and fought for his balance. Bartare, gaining her feet at last, gave us one last look of horror and defiance and ran – out into the mist, away from the edge of the cliff into the unknown.
Unthinkingly, I raced after her.
It was only when the mist held me that I realized my utter folly, for now we might all wander without hope of meeting. We could call and so perhaps establish contact. But such cries would certainly also attract notice we did not want or dare to face.
As soon as I was aware of my grave mistake, I paused to listen. I could hear the thud of feet on the stone – Bar-tare. Yet when I moved, I lost that sound. So I dared not take it for a guide. I looked at the notus branch. The root had led us to it. Now could the notus lead me to Bartare? I no more than harbored that speculation when it did turn in my hold so that the fork with its double burden of flowers pointed. And I was sure that had not happened by any act of mine. I had no choice but to follow its guide.
I did as Kosgro had instructed when we hunted Oomark. I concentrated on the girl’s face in my mind and let the notus point the way. It led me on, out and away from the cliff.
One more I passed from stone to a downslope of sand and soil, stunted bushes breaking raggedly out of the mist, to be swallowed up again. Often I stopped to listen. But if Bartare still ran, she had outdistanced me so far. I could not pick up that faint drumming of feet. No, I could not hear that. But there were other noises enough to make me sure I was not alone in the vined countryside. Things passed to and fro there on business of their own.
I was chilled, thinking of Bartare perhaps coming face to face with one of the monsters of this land. Whether the girl could summon her Lady to her aid, I could not guess. And it might be I would have to face them both when I found her. But I dared not let that thought deter me now.
Then I heard a calling, which was not really a full sound but rather a vibration in the air, to be felt also. And since the branch pointed me in that direction, I believed Bartare was trying to summon aid. The ground fell in a sudden drop before me, and the grass and moss that clothed it was slick, so I slipped and slid to the bottom.
One of the turf-covered mounds ended my journey as I came against its wall with some force. I heard an excited laugh and looked up. Bartare knelt on the crest of the rise, staring down at me with the satisfaction of one who sees an enemy in difficulties. Then she raised an arm and signaled to something I could not see, while she called clearly, “Come and be fed, runner-in-darkness!”
I had so little warning, I was not yet on my feet, though I did reach my knees before that shadow became terrifyingly clear. It was Shuck, or enough like that monster to be its twin. And it bore down upon me slavering, but in grim and horrible silence, its fangs displayed between gaping jaws.
“Eat! Eat!” Bartare’s voice no longer held a human note in its shrilling. Then she added, “A last thanks to you, Kilda. For once you are serving me well. Play with Shuck, and he will forget me.”
Though I was still on my knees, I raised the flowered branch and pointed it at Shuck.
“Shuck!” I put all. the force I could into that.
The creature stopped so short that it skidded, its paws cutting furrows in the soil as it tried to stop before it overran me. I then used the branch as a whip, lashing out. Shuck tried to dodge but was struck on head and shoulder by the flowers.
It leaped back and away, snarling and giving tongue in deep coughing notes. And it flattened to its belly against the ground, striving to creep at me from another angle. But I was ready for that also.
“Shuck!” I took the intiative, advancing toward the cringing monster. I waved the branch above my head. It gave ground before me until at last it flung back its head and gave a mighty howl, enough to make one’s ears ring with its discordance. Then it flashed away into the mist.