by Andre Norton
“Saris knew—and I know. The old blood cannot be concealed from us who were—are—the Holders of Memory. Now the Power rises—” he threw back his head and laughed, jeeringly. “Ah, how fateful for Saris that her own time had to come upon her just at this crucial moment! Once to her the full choice—this time to me! Perhaps I do have something to thank you for in the past, Gwennan. In spite of yourself you helped me to the refuge. This time—” he threw his arms wide and the beam of his torch flared away from him—raying out across the field to strike at the edge of the wood—"this time I am wholly aware and Saris, being what she is, cannot deny me!”
“I do not know—” Gwennan began for the second time when he interrupted her.
“Do not know!” There was a vicious edge to his voice, his face was hard and closed as once more the torch light held upon it. “Play no games with me! Yes, you are flawed—the Lyle strain in you has been corrupted too many times by interbreeding with lesser blood. Only we two, Saris and I, remain in this generation. I am—” he blinked and his mouth worked as if he tasted bitterness, “I am needful of what you give me—at least for a short space. Some things I can command. The ley lines are near complete again, strong—coursing once more with Power. We have waited here—in this forgotten place for such a length of time as ordinary men cannot begin to conceive—hoping for this very thing—for the coming of the hour when we can call once more upon force and it will answer such summons. But it has taken so long to repair, re-grow, heal the ways which were broken, forgotten!”
Ley lines? Yes, so much Gwennan could dimly understand. She fastened on that eagerly, determined to use what small knowledge she had.
“But the leys—they are in Britain—Europe—not mapped here—” Deliberately she repudiated that map Lady Lyle had.
“They form a network across all the world,” he returned almost absently, as if, in his mind, he was always busied with another problem. “These stones site mark the crossing of two of great Power, that has strengthened slowly once more into being—just in time—”
The storm had rumbled out, clouds were breaking overhead to reveal a sprinkling of stars. He was silent and Gwennan gathered courage from that. She shrank from the unreal, she must get away from the stones, back to the warmth and safety of her own home. This was not of the world which she knew.
But, even as the girl determined to retreat, he moved a step or so closer to the mound. Now the beam of the torch flashed up, to pin her against the stones where she had sheltered.
“Come! We have much to do—” There was assurance in the order.
“We have nothing to do—together!” She held the watch defiantly against her. “I am going home—”
“You are the one—the key is in your hand. Use it—you must use it!” For the first time he did not sound so confident; rather his words came in a rush as if he must speedily bend her to his will.
“I am myself!” To that belief she held, even as she had held fast in the green-lit world, as Ortha had striven to hold it in that other world which was dying. Now Gwennan must admit that those dreams—somehow, somewhere those dreams had had reality—that she had indeed been elsewhere, elsewhen. However, she was here now, and this was a world which did not acknowledge those other times and places. Therefore he could not so summon her to use that which she did not possess.
It was as if he reached into her mind, knew the defense she strove to raise. Again he laughed.
“Twist and turn, Gwennan, seek as you will to be free. You cannot escape that which has been born a part of you, nor can you flee the future waiting for you. Saris knew—and I agree, now—that you are indeed one of us. Younger in knowledge, a child among those whom in the past men called ‘gods'—as they will again. You will come—you will open—”
Did he sense also that her continued defiance was building? The very stones between which she sheltered fed her the energy she needed to face him down.
“You—will—come—!”
Tor threw back his head, gave a whistling cry painful to her ears. The light of the torch swept away from her, shone full upon the nearest edge of the wood. Out into its beam crept a sinuous body which rose from four feet, when once within the light, to two.
In color it was a dull grey, splotched with patches of black, so that the eyes of those watching it were partially deceived when it moved, unsure of its true form, so well did it seem to blend with the night. As it glided nearer it brought with it that stench which had hung about her home on the night of the storm. Also, as it raised its head, seeking to sight her on the mound above, she saw once again those burning pits of reddish fire.
On its two feet it matched Tor's height and the fact that it could move man-fashion when it desired was somehow as monstrous as its form. Such a beast was a blasphemy.
The lower part of its head formed a muzzle gaping in so wide a jaw that when open it split the skull half apart. Above that was a blot of black covering whatever nose the thing might possess, and around that blot rayed forth a stiff bristle of whiskers standing erect. The same type of long bristly hairs grew above the eyepits and there was very little forehead. Instead the skull sloped swiftly back, deeply furred, with small bare ears tight on either side.
It was narrow-shouldered and very long of
torso, the hind legs ending not in paws but in bird talons, while the fore limbs had the spread of fingered hands. A dark tongue, appearing black even in the full torch light, dangled from between its jaws and dribbled spittle down its narrow chest.
Joining Tor, the thing went into a crouch on the ground, its forepaws doubled into fists which rested against the frost-hardened earth, while its tongue swept back and forth across its nearly lipless lower jaw. It stared up at the girl with merciless eyes. Gwennan felt sick and weak. Not only did a wave of fear sweep outward from that visible nightmare, but it was so utterly evil, so alien to her species, that the very sight of it was nearly overpowering.
The beam Tor had held on the creature now swept up to once more envelope Gwennan.
“Did I not say that the lines are once more in force? Gates can be opened at a proper summoning and that which abides beyond may so issue forth. Are there not unnumbered dwellings in other times and spaces for even stronger servants than this one? Through centuries men have told tales of devils and monsters only to be jeered at—when they indeed spoke the truth. Just as other men have been swallowed up by the Power and thrown into Outside worlds they did not know.
“Once I offered you the freedom of the Power, the chance to use to the fullest what lay dormant within you. And you would not—until I made you—”
Gwennan managed to control the sickness which the crouched thing had brought. It was still there—she could mark its burning eyes in the dark. Did he mean to use it as a weapon to force her into obeying him?
“You brought Ortha's death—” Had she said that—or had buried memory?
“Only because I must have what you refused me. There was no time left in which to win you into admitting that I was right.” Tor's voice held calm assurance, he must believe that this time he was wholly in control. He had some plan to use her again—how?
“The star wheel turns,” now that voice was once more that of the hunter. “We cannot halt its turning—no more than we can stop the stars themselves from their spinning change of pattern—and so manage to alter our destiny. Again the world is about to go down into darkness. However, this time—ah, this time, we do not struggle against forces of nature—rather against the ambitions of men. And what one man can do, so can another alter! Still there must be one to stand forth with the Power—which has been forgotten and discredited—yet it is stronger than any weapon ever known. There shall be no descent into the darkness this time. Rather there shall arise leaders with none of the timid ideas of guardianship to self-limit them in what they must do.”
“And such leadership is to be yours?”
“Who better? Once I was forestalled, muzzled, enchained and bound to sterile and sel
f-defeating beliefs of those who deemed they knew best. This time—Ah, this time!” His voice soared like a cry of victory already obtained. “Saris’ stars are against her—she brought you out of hiding by her delving, and it is true that you have both the blood and the talent. But you are not strong enough nor knowing enough to rule what must be evoked. And she has had to relinquish her influence over you. They have sometimes also deemed me only half—” he spit forth that last word as if it were filth. “They do not know how I have sought learning—nor what I have learned. Even a half-blood—shut out of their full renewing, is not as short lived as those who fell to the state of beasts and so slowly had to fight their way up again. I have learned much more than Saris credits.
“I would have acted honorably according to the ancient oaths. She cannot deny that I went first to her and told her the truth. However, she turned from me and—” Anger which was no less because it was rigidly controlled harshened his voice, “she would have dealt harshly with me had not the change come upon her too soon for her plans. So—she turned to you—who are even less than you were as Ortha of the Mirror. There are only small remnants of the Power in you. Still that can grow and you can live as no half-blood has done in past time. I offer you a choice—come and join me willingly and you can share. More than you think any person can encompass shall be yours. Stand aside again as you tried to do before and you shall take not only your body into death, but you shall cripple your inner essence which should be turned to light and glory. There is such a war before us now as the world has never known—not even in legends. Though in the far past there were those who, after the great Death, dared to harness weapons they did not understand and, in their madness, again ripped this earth deeper and wider, leaving wounds near past healing.
“That war was fought in the same ignorance as will be the one awaiting us now. Men play with tools they cannot begin to know. But they can be defeated—by using their own fears, their own uncertainties, their very natures. What shall emerge will be a new age in which the Power is supreme and there shall be peace!”
“A peace such as you want?”
“My peace, yes. Can you say that that will be worse than what comes if man is left to himself?”
“Yet your army is such as that—” Gwennan flung out one arm in the general direction of the misshapen thing awaiting his command.
“Man is easiest ruled by fear. If my comrades-in-arms can induce fear as a force of arms—then am I not solving the problem well?”
“These also kill.” Gwennan remembered what she had heard in town. “They stink, too, of the Dark—of evil—”
“Evil—Dark—” his old mockery returned. “Words. It is the nature of man to instinctively fear and hate what he cannot understand, that which is alien in shape, or different in mind. I have lived with such fear also, as a threat against me. Yes, my Outworlders slay—for that is their nature, and if they are long tied to this plane they must eat. They live on life forces which must be torn from a living body. Do you hold in horror the cat who kills the mouse—the man who relishes fowl or meat on his table? Look upon your own customs before you question those of these. For in their own time and place they have their rights.”
“Words—” Gwennan repeated his own scoffing comment. She was feeling a new strength. Did it come from the watch which had been Saris’ gift? Or had it more to do with—she glanced at the dial (the secondary threads of lines showing there were brighter, the symbols they divided one from the other winked as might gems) had it to do with what she herself had passed through—a change inside her she could not grasp. Gwennan felt that new energy. Perhaps, in spite of all his confidence, Tor could not compel her to his will now.
“Words—” the girl said a second time. She stood erect, though her back was set to one of the stones, her hand heart high and close to her breast so that the warmth of the watch reached inward even through her layer of clothing. Had she indeed heard then the far distant ring of a horn?
She did not want to deal with the huntress either, even if the Power of that one could reach across from planes of other worlds. She would be tool for neither!
The girl put out her right hand, laying the bare palm of it against the tallest stone. Almost she jerked away. There had surged into her at the touch, such a thrust of energy as had worked upon Ortha who had dared in the last moments of life to ascend the throne of the Voice. Save that this did not work from within, striving to burst through her flesh and bones, break her because she could not control it. Rather it entered, to fill a void opened to it. She was drinking as might one long athirst drink from a newly found spring.
At that moment Gwennan was no longer aware of Tor—or the thing which squatted at his feet—of anything except that feeding—that exultation. Then—
There came a blast—wind, lightning, a thunderbolt from a sky which had begun to clear. She heard a cry rising to scream, demanding, summoning, such as might be uttered by one in the forefront of a battle demanding new support. And that cry was not hers. No, instead her own lips were shaping other sounds—words—but in no language which she knew. There was a cadence to them, like the formula of some ritual utterance.
Gwennan was blinded by the whip of lightning. Or was that skyborn lightning? Did it rather rise from the earth? Something dark, a black blot of foul lack of light showed beyond that flash, flung itself through the air at her. The gleam of the stones grew brighter, and she was singing, holding Saris’ gift to her heart.
Other shapes arose, drew in, to storm the mound. She could sense that, even if she could not distinguish them clearly. Nor did she turn her head to see what might crawl upon her from behind—she must not think of that. This was a struggle of will against will. Tor had perhaps awakened more than he realized. Still she felt the pressure of his concentrated attack, his need to subdue her.
Gwennan's skin tingled, that which was feeding into her was making subtle alterations. She needed time to discover, to explore. Saris—Tor—neither of them mattered. This was a new kind of life—it was—
DARK!
The complete absence of light was an instant of cold, terrible twitching fear. Gwennan was alone, cut off from her source of warmth and life which had so bountifully filled her a breath earlier—She was lost—lost—
Back? Was she being flung back into the dead world of Ortha's struggle? It seemed to her that she breathed again the poisonous dust, knew that ashes choked her lungs. And she could not see! Had she returned to that moment when the wave overhung the temple, about to drown it and her utterly?
No! There was that within her now which could send her back—must send her back! The stones—those stones which were candles of light, pillars of awakened Power. Gwennan fastened her mind upon the stones, fought to see them through the blinding dark, to feel beneath her fingers once again that rough surface which had come alive at her touch.
A wheel—no, it was the dial of the watch! That hung before her in the air, the lines of light on it growing ever sharper, the symbols clearer. So had it once been—and then—so it was again!
She stared at that dial. It was no longer cupped in her hand. Rather it filled a large space before her. The symbols shone with gold brilliance. That band of light which marked the passing of time moved, touching one and then another. It whirled as if time itself speeded forward—was the plaything of unknown energy. Now it was a blur, moving so fast it hid in the haze the symbols it slid across. She felt a beat which was not that of her own heart. Rather it moved another part of her—which was not of her physical body at all.
Now the dial was huge. It was taking over the world—there was nothing but that—
She could see nothing but a ball of light with streamers floating out to weave about her.
Warmth—light—
Gwennan moved — her hand touched rough surface. She was on her knees, leaning forward a little, one hand braced against the tallest stone. The sunshine of early morning lay across the frost rimmed grass of the meadow. There was the edgi
ng of trees which marked the wood—the grey line of Lyle House roof.
Tor—?
No one stood at the foot of the mound. No sign of the master nor of the monster he had summoned. She looked down at the watch. It was—
The dial had changed. It was only now the circle of zodiac figures, the single bar of light. It was dead—or sleeping. Gwennan sensed a quality lost. Slowly, tentatively, she tried to reach inside herself. There were no words to describe what she was attempting. What did lie newly awakened within her?
She touched something—instantly recoiled. No! She was not prepared, not yet ready for that. Even after her confrontation with Tor she was not ready. Something had been too greatly strained, was sore as from a deep wound, and it had flinched under her slight probe. She must wait and see—wait and see—
Gwennan got to her feet. The stones appeared as they had always done—only rough pillars of rock. She touched the tallest again, held her hand against it for a long moment—but she dared not will any response. That warning—that flinch from impending struggle and pain— Not yet—not yet!
Staggering, for her body was cramped with cold and she felt worn out, she stumbled down towards the place where Tor, in his pride and strength, had stood. The frosty grass held no prints. Had he ever been there at all? Had—yes! She knew that from a stir within her as she stood near where she had seen him last—a stir she did not want to deal with.
Tracks! Gwennan stopped short. There was a blackened spot—a second—a third— They led across the meadow towards the trees. She caught a faint whiff of the stench. That ground had been burnt, the grass charred away, to bare scorched earth. While on that blackened earth there were unmistakable prints—sign of talons deeply set as if a blazing iron had been used to mark the coming and going of a creature who had no place in the sane world at all.
