Again the water was troubled, but this time twin bubbles arose, an even space between them. Those were no bubbles, but eyes!—eyes regarding me, drawing—drawing—No!
I trembled, drawn forward by the willing of those eyes, rooted by my own sense of preservation. I must not be swallowed up in that mere, go to meet the death behind those eyes. There was Gillan—I must find Gillan! And the thought of her snapped the spell those eyes had thrown upon me, so I could move, not into the water as they willed, but along the shore.
For a time those eyes paralleled me and I could feel the grasp and pull of the will behind them, tearing at my resolve, trying to force me to turn, look into them—obey—until at last I made each step with the effort of one climbing a mountain cliff, but I made it.
How long did it take me to round the end of the lake, dogged by the eyes? There was no time in this land, only purpose, need and hunger and my own hunger gave me strength to pull away. I turned my back upon the turgid waters and went on into the wood once more. Had that monstrous lake dweller picked up my call and used it to draw me?
Gillan?—
Here!—
Another deception, trap baiting? I could not be sure, nor could I not answer. Through the patches of fans, under trees once more—on and on—Those others, the hunters, they came too, still well behind, but coming.
Gillan?—
Here—Fans gave way to ferns, trees grew smaller in girth—was I coming to the other side of the forest? A winged thing planed down, squatting in my way, looking up at me. Bird? How could one equate that name for a warm, feathered, singing thing with this small horror of loose, leathery skin, naked wattled head, a head three-quarters rapacious beak?
It continued to squat there though I walked towards it, turning its huge beaked head from side to side as if to better view me one eye at a time. Then it flapped its wings, ran to meet me in a rapid scuttle. I started back against a tree trunk, and it paused as if startled and perplexed by my action. For a long moment we were so, confronting one another.
Gillan!—
I stared at that grotesque parody of a bird. That name had come from this monster of the spectre forest. Now its clawed feet moved in the dust; it sidled towards me. I flung out a hand to ward the horror off. Trap—this creature, others—they could pick up my call—use it to confuse and entrap me. There was no Gillan—not here—never to be found—never!
Now I ran from the bird, from that place where the truth had faced me. And behind the lurkers at last made up their minds, they fastened to the chase, began to track me in earnest.
The bird did not leave me—it flapped over my head, would alight ahead to wait, each time beaming into my whirling mind its false calclass="underline"
Gillan!
Once it strove to get between my feet, as if to trip me, but a last sidewise leap saved me. I waited for it to fly at my head—perhaps strike at my eyes. But at least I was spared that. Only it did not leave me, any more than those padding hunters strayed from my back trail.
There was more space between the trees now, wider areas in which were twisted clumps of grass edged with small saw teeth. And beyond, an open country completely covered because here hung again a smoky mist, and that closed about me as I left the forest, so, glancing back a little later, I could no longer see trees, only a wall of smoke-fog.
Though I was out of the forest, I was not free of the bird. It no longer tried to impede me on the ground, but circled over my head. And once more my control grew stronger, the full force of fear ebbed.
Gillan—who was Gillan? Why—I was Gillan! I halted in the sea of grass. I hunted Gillan, yet also was I Gillan. How could that be? Memory, very faint and far away, stirred. Once there had been one Gillan, and then two. Now I must search for the second, that two might be one again. The bird named me Gillan and Gillan I was. Therefore in so much the bird had been true and not false.
I looked up at the circling winged thing. Painfully I shaped a question in my mind.
“Who—are—you?”
It flapped those wings vigorously, circled me more swiftly.
Come—Come!—
Was it trying to draw me on for its own desires as that thing in the lake had toiled to bring me to its maw? I hesitated—the grass plain was an ocean of unknown ways. I might wander in its mist-curtained hold a long time. Perhaps any guide who would take me through it was to be followed. Another trap—maybe—but I had no stir of uneasiness when I looked again to the bird.
I did not form my acquiescence into any real reply, but the bird now winged away, into the mist. Yet back it came into sight each time I thought it lost. And so we went across that endless plain. Nothing broke the eternal grass, and we saw no other moving things.
Gillan!—
Once or twice I sent out my silent call to that other who was also me. But now came no answer. Nor did the bird speak again in my mind.
Coming from the forest had not deterred those hunters at my back. I believe that they did hesitate for a space before they ventured out into the open, away from the territory which was their native ground. But that hunger, which was as strong within them as mine was within me, brought them out. And it was when I sensed that that the bird returned to circle my head.
Hurry—hurry!—
The mist was an envelope which appeared to move as I moved, setting up a barrier against my sight some small distance away, yet never enclosing me. For there was always a clear space about my body and I was ever able to see the path I followed for several good lengths ahead. The bird flew in and out of that fog, always coming back.
It seemed to me that the ground now sloped down, on a slant from the first level of the plain. The grass still grew high, but not as thickly as it had earlier, thinning now and again to patches of open bare ground. And this was not firm, but more like mud underfoot. The bird lit on the edge of one such place, pacing back and forth there as I approached. When I would have passed, it barred my way—standing to its full height, beating its wings as a man might wave off a fellow from some danger.
Why?—I asked of it.
Danger!—
It did not take to the air again, but waddled in an ungainly fashion to my left, making passage from one stand of grass to the next in fluttering hops, waiting and watching while I trod in its wake. The patches of ground it so laboriously avoided were smooth surfaced and larger. My foot dislodged a rough clod with grass ends and stuck it into one of those patches. It was sucked down as if puckered lips of earth had inhaled it in a breath.
Our pace was now a crawl as the bird was slow and heavy in its earthbound advance. Behind the chase was up, no more loitering along the way for the pleasure of the hunt itself. Those who coursed me were anxious to have the chase finished, to make their kill and return to their spectre wood.
They come!—
I tried to reach what mind or intelligence lay in the flapping creature leading me from one precarious foothold to the next in this treacherous land.
It fluttered faster, made a last leap, springing into the air with beating wings. Before me was a wide stretch of the too smooth ground, and then a grass grown strip promising safety. Still, without wings, I doubted my own ability to cross that trap.
A snuffling—the first real sound I had heard in this nightmare world, from behind me. I must leap that stretch ahead—there was no going back—The bird circled, its urging ringing in my head.
You must!—
Must? How? How did one perform the impossible? To desire a thing no matter how strongly—to desire a thing! Will—desire—potent, very potent. Potent enough to bring me to safety now? I had no other help or defence except what might lie within myself.