I puzzled over that. Out back, I discovered Bayle also ran several other businesses, all of which bore his name on the signs over their door: Bayle's Tannery, Bayle's Boots and Saddles, even Bayle's Fine Meats and Slaughterhouse. From the prosperous look of things, he seemed equally adept at all of them.
Now he stood before the stables, next to two boys who looked so much like him that they had to be his sons. They held the reins of two fine black geldings, long of leg with tall arched necks, braided manes, and long silky tails. Mine—I picked him on sight and came around front to let him smell my hands—had a splash of white on his forehead, Dworkin's a pair of white socks on the left. They had already been saddled, with packs and bedrolls tied behind. Several skins, which I assumed held wine, hung from the saddle.
I mounted, and Dworkin did the same.
“Thank you,” he called to Bayle.
The tavern-keeper grinned. “Good luck, and good speed! Come back soon, old friend!” Dworkin waved. We rode.
Chapter 30
It was a ride like no other.
Dworkin rode hard into the forest, leaving the tavern behind. He seemed to draw inspiration from the land around us, and I watched with awe as an outcropping of rock became the toe of a mountain, visible suddenly as we cleared the trees. Snow-capped heights towered, and just ahead, pines trees began to appear, singly, then rising into a forest as we rounded a boulder as big as a house.
The pass through this mountain chain led steadily upward. A winding trail, well traveled but empty at this moment, grew cold, as an icy wind swept down. I pulled the laces of my shirt collar tighter and hunkered down on my horse. The gelding trudged now, head down, breath pluming the air.
Dworkin called back: “Pick up the pace! There's going to be an avalanche!”
I kicked my horse in the ribs twice and got him to a trot. Boulders, tall as two men, blocked the trail, and the path skirted up and around them. As we rounded the second, I heard a deep rumble, like a dog's growl but lower, starting behind us. Turning in my saddle, I watched as the entire top of the mountain slid down to block the pass. No one would be following us through there before the spring melt.
I looked ahead again. Already the landscape had begun to change, as scrub trees and yellowed patches of grass dotted the trail. We headed down now, and the air grew steadily warmer. The sky, touched by fingers of pink and yellow, brightened noticeably.
“Take a drink of wine,” Dworkin said, raising his own wineskin. “Make sure you spill it on your shirt and your horse.” He did just that, splashing it across his own shoulders, then across his mount's head, neck, and haunches.
I did the same, taking a swallow and splashing a good couple of swallows onto my shirt and onto my horse. I did not ask the why of it; I did not want to distract him from the journey before us. That he thought it important enough to tell me to do it told me all I needed to know: somehow, it would prove necessary.
The sky darkened to a deep purple as we entered a wood. In the twilight, strange noises surrounded us, chirps and peeps and a wheep-wheep-wheep sound that made my skin crawl. My horse quickened his pace without being told, staying right behind Dworkin.
Then huge dark-winged insects, some as large across as my hand, began to rise in swarms thick enough to blot out the sun. From the way they held their barbed tails, I suspected they were venomous. Yet they did not attack us.
“What are they afraid of?” I asked Dworkin.
“Wine,” he said.
I pitied anyone trying to follow us through here.
We burst into the open, leaving the insects to their wood, and the sudden night sky seemed a carpet overhead, thick velvet studded with diamond stars. Three moons soared, the smaller two gliding quickly, the larger hovering over the treetops like an all-seeing eye.
That thought made me shiver.
Still we rode.
Silvered clouds came up from the east, obscuring the moons, and the temperature began to fall. As wind tossed the treetops, which grew taller still, a gray sort of wintery daylight broke over us. The land glistened with frost. My breath misted in the air.
Snorting and stomping, our horses plodded on. I found myself staring uneasily at the trees to either side. I had a strange feeling of being observed.
“Do you sense anything unusual here?” I asked.
Dworkin glanced back at me. “No. This world is a bridge between traps. There should be nothing here to bother us.”
I hesitated, trying to put words to my uneasiness.
“The horses need rest,” I said.
“Then we will replace them,” he said.
Shortly, we came to a large grassy clearing, where two black horses identical to the geldings upon which we rode stood waiting. They even had saddles and bedrolls identical to ours.
I raised my eyebrows. “Just like that?” I said.
“Yes.” Dworkin swung down from the saddle, changed to the next horse, and kept going. “Their owners are off hunting smirp in the grasslands and won't be back for a few hours.”
“Smirp?” I asked.
“Same as rabbits.”
I followed his example, then caught up with him.
“That was a neat trick,” I said. “Whose horses were those?”
“Does it matter?” he asked.
I thought about it. “I guess not,” I said. “They have the same horses they used to have—only theirs are tired.”
“No.” He made a dismissive gesture. “They are Shadows, not real. They spring full-grown from our minds. We create them with our thoughts; they are mere potentialities in an infinite universe until something real—something like us—gives them shape and substance.”
“You sound like you've thought about this a great deal.”
“Yes,” he said, “I have.”
And then the world changed around us again. The sky darkened as we climbed into foothills, and thunder rolled and cracked. Flashes of lightning lit up the sky directly ahead, and a stiff wind grew stronger. Looking up, I could see thick gray clouds gathering. A few drops of rain stung my face.
“Is this your doing, Dad?” I called.
“Yes!” he shouted then pointed ahead. “There's a cave! Get inside before the storm hits!”
We made our way up to the opening, perhaps fifteen feet high and ten feet wide, and rode inside. I saw marks on the walls from tools; it had been widened by men—or other creatures—at some point in its history. Behind us, the heavens opened up, letting go a torrent of rain like nothing I had ever seen before. Water fell in waves so thick, at times you couldn't see more than a few feet away. Grass, bushes, and trees alike came crashing down from the force.
Without looking back, Dad rode forward into the darkness. A few torches, sputtering faintly, appeared to light our passage. I followed close behind.
Slowly, it grew light ahead, and then we rounded a corner and came into sight of another opening—this one leading out into a cheerful field filled with grass and clover. As we rode out into it, I heard another rumble as the mountain collapsed on top of the cave and tunnels we had just traversed.
Once outside, he reined in his horse; it had grown tired at this passage through so many worlds, as had mine. There was much to do to control them.
“Why don't we call it a night?” I suggested.
At first I thought Dworkin would refuse, but he sighed heavily, then gave a nod of assent. “There's a nice camping spot ahead,” he said. “A clearing with a stream and plenty of wood for a fire. Lots of slow, stupid game, too.”
“Sounds perfect,” I asked.
“We can wait there,” he said, “as long as it takes.”
An interesting turn of phrase that said little but implied much-all of it different, depending on how you looked at the question.
“Are you expecting company?” I asked.
“I always expect someone,” he said, “and I am seldom disappointed.”
The trees around us grew taller, darker; pines replaced oaks. Then the path opened up, and ahead I saw the place he meant—a hundred yards of low-cropped grass, then a gentle incline that ended at a wall of stone, a steep cliff rising fifty feet or more above us. Pine trees overhung the top.