I was no longer a body walking on two legs, swinging two arms, reaching two hands for grasping of what I would take. I was only desire, disembodied, a wraith—I did not see, nor feel, nor think—
Then—I was Gillan! The other Gillan. Curled into her, filling her emptiness! But—my triumph was a quick dying spark—I was not whole. I had found my Gillan true enough among the company wandering in that wilderness of light, now I must return her to the Gillan from which I had fled.
Once more I moved through the confusing radiance. Muted sounds—the fighting by the gate. The Gillan who had been me had stood near there—I must use sound to guide me. But this body obeyed me clumsily. It needed vast effort to set one foot before the other, as if now I inhabited a semblance of Gillan which could be moved only by concentration on each and every muscle in turn. Thus I stumped back towards the sound.
My awkwardly moved foot touched against something on the ground. I tottered and fell—to lie beside Gillan. She was not cold stone under my fumbling fingers, but flesh, chill flesh. Her eyes were open, but there was no sight in them, no breath filled her lungs. She was—dead!
I think I cried out then as I clumsily gathered the other into my stiffly moving arms so we lay together as might lovers, the dead and that which should never have been wrought at all.
So they had won in the end, had the Were Riders. My mind stirred with memories. There was only one of me, the one who was biddable to their plans. But—that was not true! This was me—the real me! They had not won—yet—
I stared down into that dead face. Now I was in exile. I would never be complete until I returned to my proper dwelling which was this body I held in my arms. But how? Witch they had named me—a witch who knew not her craft.
Gillan! For the first time the two Gillans were together, locked body to body. How had this begun—with one Gillan left behind, struck by an arrow, lying under a tree in this world, and the other taken away by the beasts. Beasts! That promise Herrel had wrung from Hyron—that the Riders must aid me—
If they would fulfil it now!
In my mind I summoned a picture of Hyron—as a man, not as a raging stallion which was his shape change. And upon that man I concentrated my pleading.
Was it Hyron’s thoughts reaching mind—or some scrap of witch lore answering my need? Death and life—they were the opposite in this world, Gillan had died here afore time, to give birth to Gillan—this Gillan in whom I now dwelt. Therefore, this Gillan must die so that that other could live again. But how? I had no weapon to hand—did not know whether I would have the courage to use it if I did—for what I guessed might not be the truth.
Hyron—give me death—
There came no answer. But there was death in this place. And it did not only lie in my arms. It was like a creeping, seeping tide spreading from the gateway. No longer did I hear the muted sounds of attack and defence from there. That shadow which had stood to bar the gate and win me time—the shadow with green eyes, and a cat shape for battle—
Herrel?—
My thought reached out. As it had to find the other Gillan, so now did I try to touch the defender.
Herrel?—
A reply, faint. But—Herrel could grant me that death which was life. I began to crawl to the gate, dragging with me that other Gillan. It was a journey of exhausting trial, for my new body was so stiff and clumsy, reacted so poorly to my will that the burden was doubly hard to carry.
Herrel?—
This time even more faint the answer. I crawled out of the thick of the light into the space before the gate. The spider things lay there, one still kicking convulsively. And the shadow who had fought to buy me time was huddled against the wall, drawn in upon itself as if to nurse a gaping wound, while ringing it were other shadows and these I knew—the masters of the spider hounds—those twittering things which haunted the ashen forest.
I kneeled by the (body which I had brought forth from the light. Herrel had slain the hounds, he still held their masters at bay, but he was hurt. I gazed upon that scene, and remembered, and in me grew an anger such as I had never known before, I who had schooled my emotion through inborn need for control. Had I had the power with which all credited me I would have loosed it in that instant to cleanse the ground of this foul crew.
Anger could strengthen, could rid the mind of shadows and doubts—or so I found it at that instant. I opened myself to anger, held no barriers against it. Then I was out among that pack tormenting what they dared not face in open battle. I do not know whether I struck them with my fists, beat upon them—or whether that great and glorious rage made of me a torch of force, which withered them as they stood. But they reeled from my path, and I drove them before me out of the gate as one might drive timid woodland things by the mere force of one’s steps upon a forest path.
Surprise was my ally, but they might return. And Herrel—the other Gillan—time indeed had threaded sand too far through the glass for us. United—did I have a chance to serve us both better?
But when I came back against the wall, green eyes upon me.
“You—are—not—she—” his whisper was very faint.
“I am the other one—” I began.
He winced.
“You are hurt—” I would have gone to him but he waved me off with a sharp gesture.
“Where is she?”
“There—” I pointed to the body I had brought out of the light.
He wavered away from the wall, his form unstable, now a man falling to his knees beside that silent form, now an animal on all fours.
“She is dead!” His whisper was harsher, louder.
“For a space. Listen, Herrel, to make this Gillan I now wear they slew me—in this world. Therefore, should I be now slain, it must follow that I live again—in that body—”
I do not think that he understood or even heard me. So I came to stand above that body and then he raised his head, his eyes blazing—and in them a rage like unto that which had made of me a force only moments earlier.
He was not a cat now, but man, still there was a beast’s unminding ferocity in his eyes. He struck up and out at me, shadow sword in shadow hand.
Pain through me—such pain as was an agony to tear me apart—
Golden light, and in that light I must find Gillan—that other Gillan—but I had found her! was in her—or was I? I sat up from lying on cold ground. A body—white—but it was fading away like mist! Their Gillan—the false one! Then I was whole again—myself!
I hugged my arms across my breasts, holding in what was me. Then I ran my hands down the length of my body, knowing it to be real. No longer was I empty but filled! Filled with all they had stolen from me.
Herrel! I looked around. The shadow whose sword thrust had set me free—No shadow here, no sign it had ever been, save those dead monsters at the gate. “Herrel!”
The echoing of my own cry rang deafeningly in my ears. Had he made answer then I would not have heard it. I walked between the dead spider hounds to the gate. If their masters lurked without I did not see them.
Herrel?—As I had done when I sought the other Gillan, I used the inner calling. But to it came no reply.
Yet I was aware, just as I had been on my first awaking in the ashen forest, that I was, in a manner, still tied to this ghost world. And that which tied me so was Herrel. Must I go seeking him as I had my other self?
I had not closed my eyes, nor sought for any inner vision at that moment. But before me was a shadow horse. He struck out with a fore foot, not at me, but as if to part some curtain for a clearer meeting.
Come—
The word was an imperative command. But I did not obey it.
Herrel?—I made that both question and refusal. The maned head tossed high in impatience. But he gave me no answer and I demanded in turn:
Where is he?—
Fled.—
Fled? That I did not believe. He who had held the gate against the monster, who had bought me time to his own hurt, and who had swordbought my deliverance. Why should he flee?