But I slept that night deeply dreamless, and knew no waking until the morning sun lay from the tent’s entrance as a thin spear. “Gillan!”
Kildas stood there. She had looped aside the flap to look out, and now she glanced at me, plainly disturbed. “What make you of this?”
I crawled from my warm nest of furs and joined her. The horses we had ridden the night before were gone from the picket line our escort had set up. The other tent still stood, its flap looped up to show it empty. To all appearances the camp was deserted, save for the brides. “It would seem they feared some last minute changes of mind.” I commented.
She smiled. “I think they need not have harboured such doubts. Is that not true, Gillan?”
With her asking I knew it was true. On this morn, had all the powers that ruled High Hallack stood ranged before me and offered me the greatest desire of my heart’s wishing—still would I have chosen to go down the Throat to the north, rather than return to the world I knew.
“At least they were thoughtful enough to leave our bridal fairings, and did not condemn us to make a poor showing over-mountain.” She pointed to packs set out in an orderly fashion. “I do not know how long we have before our lords summon us to a bridal, but I think it might be well for us to waste no time. Rouse you!” She raised her voice to summon the others already beginning to stir and murmur on their beds. “Greet the Unicorn and what it has to offer us.”
In the deserted tent we found bowls of a substance like unto polished horn and with them ewers of water, still warm and scented with herbs. We washed and then shared out equally the contents of the packs, so that shabbiness was forgotten and each adorned as fairly as might be. Nor did this oneness on property seem strange, though some had come poorly provided for and others, such as Kildas, with the robes due a bride of a noble house.
We ate, too, with good appetite, of what was left from the night before. And it seemed we had timed matters very well. For, as we put down our cups from a toast Kildas had proposed to fortune, there was a sound from beyond our small world in the pass. A horn—such as a hunter might wind—no, rather as the fanfare of one greeting a friendly keep.
“Shall we go?”
“There is no need to linger.” Kildas put aside her cup. “Let us see what the fortune we have drunk to has in store for us.”
We went out into a curling mist, which cloaked that lying below, but not the path ahead as we walked. And the road was neither steep nor difficult. Behind us followed the rest, holding their skirts from sweeping the earth, their bride veils modestly caught across their faces. None faltered, nor hung back, and there was no trace of hesitation or fear as we went silently.
The horn sounded thrice, when we first obeyed its summons, again when we left the pass behind hidden in the mist, and then a third time. On that the mist before us cleared as if drawn aside by a giant hand. We came into a place which was not winter but spring. The soft turf was short and smooth and of a bright and even green colour. A wall of bushes made an arc beyond, and on these small flowers hung as white and golden bells, while from them came the scent of bridal wreaths.
Yet no men stood in our sight, but rather was there a strange display. Lying hither and thither, as if tossed aside in sport, were cloaks. And these were wrought of such fine stuff, so bedecked with beautiful embroidery, with glints of small gems in their designs, that they were richer than any I believe any of us had seen in our lifetimes. Also, each varied from his fellow—until one could not believe so many patterns could exist.
We stood and stared. But, as I looked longer at what lay before me there I was twice mazed, for it seemed that I saw two pictures, one fitted above the other. If I fastened my will on any part of that green cup, the flowering bushes, or even the cloaks, then did one of those pictures fade, and I saw something else, very different which lay below.
No green turf, but winter brown earth and ash-hued grass such as had covered the plain across which we had ridden yesterday; and no sweetly flowering bushes, but bare and spiky limbs of brush, lacking either leaf or blossom. While the cloaks—the beauty of the stitchery and gem was a shimmer above darker colour, where there were still designs, but these oddly like lines of runes for what I could summon no meaning, and all were alike in that they had the ashen hue of the earth on which they lay.
The longer I looked and willed, so more did the enchantment fade and dim. Glancing to left and right at the rest of my companions I saw that with them this was not so, that they saw only the surface and not that which lay beneath it. And their faces were rapt, bemused, those of mortals caught in a web of glamourie. They looked so happy that I knew no warning of mine could break that spell, nor did I wish to.
They left me, first Kildas and Solfinna, and then all the rest, passing by me swiftly into that enchanted dell. And each was drawn by herself alone, to one of the cloaks which lay beckoning with that semblance of what it was not.
Kildas stooped and gathered up to her breast one of blue, brilliantly rich, with a fabulous beast wrought upon it in small gems—for the double sight came and went for me and it seemed as if I could see now and then through those ensorcelled eyes as well. Holding it to her as a treasure beyond all reckoning, she moved forward as one who saw perfectly her goal and longed only to reach it. She came to the bushes, passed through a space there and was gone, for beyond still held the mist curtain.
Solfinna made her choice and was gone. Aldeeth and all the rest followed. Then with a start I realized I alone remained. My double sight was a thing to fear, and to hesitate now might be a risk of peril. But when I looked at the remaining cloaks, for there was more than one, their beauty was vanished and they were all alike. Still not entirely so, I decided when I studied them more closely—for their bands of rune writing differed in number and width.
There was one cloak lying well away from the rest, almost to the hedge which set the boundary of the dell. The runes did not run on it as an uninterrupted edging, but rather were broken apart. For a moment I strove to see it enchanted—green—or blue—or something of them both—and on it a winged form wrought in crystals. But that glimpse was gone so quickly that I could not have sworn to it a moment later. I was drawn to it—at least it drew my eyes more than did the others. And I must make a choice at once, lest I be suspect—though why I thought that I could not tell.
So I crossed dead and frozen ground, and I picked up the cloak, holding it before me as I went on, through bare bushes and the chill of the mist, leaving yet perhaps a half score of cloaks still lying there, their spells fled, their colour vanished.
I heard voices in the mist, carefree laughter, joyful sounds. But I saw no one and when I tried to follow any of the sounds, I could not be sure of my direction. In the filmy entrapment my uneasiness grew and all the dark of dread rumour whispered in memory. The cloak between my hands was heavy, lined with the white-grey fur which was harsh to my skin. Also I was chilled, and my borrowed finery dew-wet, little protection against the mist.
A darkness within that cloud, a figure coming towards me. In that moment it was as if I were being stalked, cunningly and with no hope of escape.
Shape changers, that was the cry in one’s ears when the Were Riders were named. Man—or beast—or both? What did I face now—a darkish shadow—but it walked on two feet as a man. Did a beast’s head rest upon its shoulders? Whatever my companions had met with in that disguising fog, they had not feared, or voices would not continue to rise with so happy a ring, even though the words they spoke I could not distinguish.
I halted, holding still the cloak which grew ever heavier in my hands, dragging them down with its weight. Man, yes, the outline of the head was human, not that of a shaggy beast. And still I had clear sight, for the grey-brown cloak I held proved that.