I tensed, drew upon will—any reserve of will which my body might hold. I forgot the other Gillan, narrowed the whole world to that patch of ground and the necessity of reaching its far side. Then I jumped.
A sprawling fall, my hands grabbing at grass. But about one ankle a sharp closing, a grinding pain as if great teeth gnawed at flesh and attempted to reach hidden bone. I pulled against that hold, straining with not only physical strength, but that of will. There was a reluctant loosing. I pulled, fought, lay at last on the grass, free of that which had held me. When I looked at my foot I saw a palid ring, very pale to show against my white flesh, and the foot below that was grey, very cold and clammy to the touch. I could stand, but there was little feeling in it and I went forward at a hobble.
On!—
My winged guide did not need to urge that. But if my spirit was ready to fly at a speed matching its, my body needs must go slower. Luckily we appeared to have reached a place of solid footing, free of more sucker pools.
Gillan?—
I clung to a tough strand of the grass, weaving my fingers into it for support. An answer! Not from the bird overhead—not this time. From ahead—To be believed?
Yes! In me a leaping, a straining forward, such as I had not known before—a pull so much a part of me that now I could not turn from that trail, even if I had so wished.
Gillan!—
I stumbled away from my grasses, wavered on. And it was some time before I realized that I was now alone, that the bird which had brought me out of the forest no longer held its position as my travelling companion. But there was no need—I had now a surer, stronger guide—
The hunters padded behind. Again I caught uncertainty, hesitation from them. Then in my mind and not my hearing—a shriek—a death cry of something which had known life—at least as much as those of this world knew it. And following that a burst of such hate as was like a fire flame licking out to sear and destroy.
I began to run, my numb foot unsteady under me—but still I ran—grass about me, mist beyond. Somewhere Gillan waited and behind me a pack of hunters raged. Once more the ground began to rise from the bottom which held the pools of sucking earth. I stumbled so often that I had, at last, to grasp at the grass, pull myself up and on by those holds.
So intent was I on holding my speed that I must have been running for some time between those blocks before I knew that my path was narrowing and walled. In, in. Higher the walls, more shadowed the way. Behind came death, and before me was what I sought—and now that hungered seeking was greater in me than the fear of what loped behind.
17
Who is Gillan?
I came to a place which was walled, yet open to the sky. It was filled with a pale yellowish light which acted to conceal rather than reveal what might walk there. And just within the entrance I halted to peer ahead.
“Gillan?” For the first time my lips moved, my throat produced sound.
And the sound there, in that place, was shattering, breaking some age-old bond. So I needs must set my hands over my ears in protest against the echoes I awakened. For that name came back to me distorted, made into an alien thing which was not mine.
They came in answer, moving through the light, one, two—more of them until they stood in an unending line, stretching back into obscurity. A hundred mirrors, repeating a reflection a hundred times—and each entirely like its companions.
A slender body, white of skin, bearing above her ribs the faint mark of the Hound sword, on her arm the sign of beast fangs, both healing or healed. Dark hair sweeping from an upheld head—I saw myself, but not just once—again and again and again!
And they all made answer, speaking in myriad voices, but still the one and same:
“I am here.”
I had been two, now it would seem I was a troop! That which made Gillan had splintered, broken, been cast to the winds, never to be united again. So I stood, watching that company, the hunger in me raging unsatisfied. For I did not know any spell or sorcery which would draw that oft splintered Gillan back to me.
It seemed to me that they watched me at first blankly, as bodies which moved without souls or minds. And then there grew in those eyes a cold hostility to me. I had no guide, the words which come to me were unthought—a protest—
“We are one!”
“We are many,” they denied me.
“We are one!” I held to that, as if with that very statement I could make it fact.
The line stirred, their heads turned from me, they were beginning to return into the light—they were going! I moved forward, seized upon the nearest Gillan, held her fast with what strength I had in me. It was as if I had fastened my fingers about polished stone, cold, lifeless, inimical to the flesh which touched it. She looked at me then, that Gillan I held, standing without attempting to throw off my hold, but as if she were a dumb thing obedient to aught which would force its will upon her.
I do not know what I expected then—that she might flow into me, be a small answer to my hunger. Nothing happened, save that she alone of that company stood fast.
“That is not Gillan.”
Words, again shattering the air of that enclosure. I loosed my grip in my surprise, looked around to he who spoke.
A shadow? No, that figure had more substance than shadow. However, it was dark, visible only in that darkness and in the two sparks of green which were near its top—eyes? The silhouette it made against the wall flowed and changed as I watched. Sometimes a man stood there, again it was beast or monster.
“There are but two real Gillans,” it spoke in a hissing whisper, “you and she whom you seek. And that is the one you must find.”
“But—” I looked back to the company. She whom I had held was still to be seen, fading back into the light in wake of those who had gone before.
“She is hidden, one among the many.” The shadow told me.
“And how will I know her—the right one?”
“By the power in you, if you use it right.”
“How?”
“That is your own mystery, Gillan. But time grows short. If you linger here, you will be lost, just one more among the many—”
I could not depend upon that tie, that hunger which had led me here. It was as if it fastened me only to this place and not to any of the Gillans. But now—I swung once more to the shadow by the gate and the gate—for the hunters were here! Those which had trailed me from the forest had come.
And the shadow knew that. I saw the turn of his head, the sparks of his eyes vanished. The silhouette changed, was now that of a crouching cat—a cat?
Through the gate scuttled a many-legged thing—part spider, part something out of no world any human knew, larger than a mountain hound. It drew its legs in under it as if crouching to spring. But the cat shadow struck out at it with a large paw and the thing moved with surprising speed to avoid that blow.
“Find—Gillan. I will hold the gate—” came the whisper from the shadow and the echoing sibilance appeared to daunt the spider foe, surprising it.
So I went on into the light, leaving the shadow embattled at the gate, in search of one who was hidden among many, yet not knowing what would be the result of such a finding, if I were able to do so.
I closed my eyes against the dazzle of the light, tried to open instead my mind, to sharpen and hone the desire that was in me to assuage my hunger. My power, the shadow had said. Well enough, this was the only way I had yet learned to use it—as a weapon and a defence. So would I employ it now, a weapon against puzzlement, a defence against my emptiness.
Thus did I stand unmoving, spinning out my power in quest, hunting, searching for a spark of truth among the false. It meant that I must shut out all else, my fear of the hunters, the sounds of battle from behind, my own failing strength—all but the quest for Gillan.