I was accustomed now to the beat in my own body. Now that I knew what they strove to do here perhaps prudence would argue that I make my way back to camp. But when I tried to move from my vantage point I could not. I was one bound to the rock on which I half lay. And the fright that realization gave me brought a cry from my throat.
They would know-would find me here! Only not a head turned, no eyes moved from their steady fix upon the wall. I struggled the more, summoned all my will-and could not break those invisible bonds. On and on the Were Riders called upon whatever power they sought to reason with, and I lay there helplessly.
Now it seemed endless and I found my fear of the trap which held me broke through my preoccupation with what passed. Will-I would not lie here helpless! I could move-My fingers stretched across a stone before my eyes. Those I would move-narrow my world and my will to my fingers-
Move, fingers! Flesh and bone arched up in answer, free of the flesh held in prison. My hand curved into a fist, thrust against the rock to push away. Arm-next-arm!
Beat-beat-open gate-NO! Doggedly I pulled will and mind back to me-me! Arm-raise-
I tasted the salt of my sweat running across my lips, into the corners of my lips. Arm-raise!
Slowly-with such painful slowness-obedience. I could set hand on rock, arm as a brace, lever myself up a little. But the rest of me was unstirring weight. Foot-knee-
“Beat-beat-the gate-that was important-the gate-
“No!” Perhaps I flung that denial down upon the heads of those below in an outburst of fury and frustration. Their gate meant nothing to me. They had receded from my life. What was needful was to move a foot, bend a knee, break out of a web I could not see.
I lay back, my shoulders supported by the cliff wall, panting as I drew great gasps of air into my labouring lungs. So far-in this small way I had broken free. Now-on my feet-I must get to my feet! From this new position I could no longer see the Riders, though their wall, still unbreached, was in my line of vision. As it would doubtless continue. They had failed. Why would they not accept that fact?
No-do not think of them! To do so was to lose the small ground I had gained, again it was hard to turn my head. There was nothing, nothing beyond this pocket of stone and earth which held my disobedient body, feet, legs, arms, hands-Will their coming alive!
Now I stood, stiffly, unsteadily, afraid that any attempt at a step would plunge me from my perch. Once more I could look down upon the Riders. And from them now arose no disturbing beat of supplication. But still they stood facing the wall. And it came to me that they awaited their answer.
I edged around. It no longer mattered to me what that answer would be. My world now held only Gillan and her concerns. I was encased in a hardening shell in which I could depend upon myself alone. And, when I thought that, there flashed a vivid picture out of memory, of Herrel setting between us a drawn sword-not of custom, but of severence.
As I managed to drag myself away from the rock where I had lain to watch the Riders my movements became freer. I had to expend less effort of will on making each limb do as I wished it to.
And sunlight found its way down into the valley. It was warm on my face, my hands, scraped raw and bruised. By the time I had turned my back fully on the slide of rock which walled the Riders from me I was moving normally, but with the fatigue which had punished me after my flight through the dream forest. There was on me now another kind of need, to reach the camp-to find there anchorage.
But I was only a few steps upon my way when my isolation was broken. I had heard the mellow gong notes they sound in the Abbey chapel to tell the hours prescribed for prayer. More rounded than the voice of any bell, richer, deeper. But this note came as if from the rock about me, the sky overhead, the rough ground under foot. And with it all that was stable moved, shook, was stirred. Stones toppled and fell. I threw myself back against the cliff side. My arm went numb as one struck against flesh and bone.
The echo of that note rolled, now growing fainter and fainter down the chain of the hills, seemed louder, more imperative, than-the sound from which it was born. No war trumpet’s ring, no temple gong, no sound I had ever heard could compare with it.
So-they had succeeded in opening their long closed door. Their homeland was before them. Theirs-theirs! Not mine-
A further rattling of rocks-I looked around. Slavering boar eyeing me, and behind its shoulder the narrow muzzle of a wolf, and the beat of eagle’s wings. The Weremen-or beasts-coming to me. It was my vision from the dead forest brought into the sunlight of open day. And this time I could not flee.
“Gillan!”
A weaving, watering of the pattern. Men now and not beasts. Herrel had pushed to the front of the pack.
“Kill!”
Did that come from the wolf’s jaws, or in the scream of the eagle, or the wild neighing of a stallion? Did I hear it at all, or only read it in their eyes?
“You can not kill-“ that was Herrel, “she is sister stock-“
Their heads swung so they looked upon me, and then to him, and again to me.
“Do you not understand what we have netted by chance? She is wise-stock-witch by blood!”
Hyron had come to the fore, was looking upon me with narrowed eyes, noting my dishevelled clothing, the wounds on my hands.
“Why came you here?” His voice was quiet, too quiet.
“I woke-I was-called-“ Out of somewhere I chose that word to describe the uneasiness which had impelled me here.
“Did I not tell you?” broke in Herrel. “All of the true blood would answer when we-“
“Silence!” That carried the force of a blow in the face. I saw Herrel’s body tense, his eyes glitter. He obeyed, but only just.
“And you came where?” Hyron continued.
“Up there.” At that moment I could not have raised hand to point. I used my eyes to indicate the rise from which I had viewed their calling.
“Yet-“ Hyron said slowly, “you did not fall, you climbed down in return-“
“Kill!”
Halse? Or another? But Hyron was shaking his head. “She is no meat for our rending, pack brothers. Like draws like.” He raised his hand and lined a symbol in the air between us. Green it was as if traced in the faintest curl of mist, and then that green became blue which was grey at its dying.
“So be it.” Hyron spoke those three words as if he pronounced some sentence. “Now we know-“
He did not move towards me, but Herrel did. And I yielded to his hand. Together we walked slowly, none of the Riders following closely behind, letting the distance grow between us.
“Your gate is open?”
“It is open.”
“But-“
“Now is not the time for talking. We shall have many hours for that ahead of us-“
Then he broke the moment of new silence. “I wish-“ he began but did not continue, looking never at me but at the way ahead, picking out ever the easiest footing for me.
“What do you wish?” I did not really care much. I was so tired I wanted nothing but to slip into some dark place and there rest content.
“That there was more-or less-“
More or less what? I wondered mistily, not that it mattered. But to that he made no reply.
We came to the tents. The fire was dead, and there were no signs of life-the others must still sleep. Why had I not been able to share that? Since we had passed through the Throat of the Hawk I had shared nothing-nothing-
Herrel brought me back to the bed where the sword had lain between us. Weary I lay down upon it and closed my eyes. I think that I slept-or swooned-because of my great weariness of body and mind.
Had I been adept in the power born in me, but which I used only as a clumsy child would play with a weapon which could either save or harm, then I would have been armed, warned, perhaps able to defend myself against what the new night brought. But Hyron, in that testing, knew me for what I was, witch blood right enough, but unskilled, so no foe to stand against what he could summon and aim.