Down here the world was blue and silent, though the water was sun struck, and strong golden rays penetrated the depths. Down and down we went, making for an opening I could see as a dark cave in the cliff face. The kingdom of possibility—all things that ever were—had a niche there. Did that mean my mother was still somewhere within that kingdom? I had only one dim memory of her, and I wasn’t sure if it was a real memory or only something Dugald told me about her later.
Her hands were cold and her face thin and pinched. She was handing me over to Dugald and saying, “She is a brave one and doesn’t even cry at the icy touch of my hands.”
I learned later that she was dying.
If what the dragon said was true, someday my mother and I might meet beyond the world and speak with each other. Heaven, Dugald told me about heaven. But even he isn’t sure everyone goes there. In the church there are a lot of quarrels about it—who has the right to enter, who doesn’t, and where they must go if they can’t get in. But the kingdom of possibility sounded like a much more inclusive place. Maybe she was there.
Then we reached the entrance to the cave and plunged into darkness.
I closed my eyes. It’s better to close your eyes if you can’t see.
The whole gang of us had a big argument about it once. Kyra said it was comforting. The Gray Watcher said humans prefer an illusion of control, and Dugald says it awakens all the other senses. Black Leg said it was entirely possible they were all right and why couldn’t we spend an evening eating fire cooked venison without attempting to solve all the conundrums of the universe among ourselves. He and Mother were about done up, and he had never seen such a quarrelsome bunch in his life. And to shut up and let him eat and get some sleep.
At any rate, I closed my eyes. As I did, I felt my arm come to life and I knew it was glowing because I could see the fire even through my eyelids. But I wasn’t afraid and didn’t feel any great need to breathe.
When we surfaced, the air was as blustery as it had been soggy in the other place, and after the heat, the breeze was cold on my skin. I opened my eyes and saw we were off a coast, riding the swells. I saw no signs of any human dwelling. The forest came right down to the shore.
The dragon’s body gave an odd tremor.
“Are we home?” I asked.
“No,” he replied, and there was real fear in his voice. “We are supposed to be home, but we aren’t, and I don’t know why. See?” he continued. “This is Tintigal.”
It was. I could only just barely recognize the shape of its rocky coast. And it, too, like everything else I could see on land, was covered by dense forest.
The sun was riding low on the western horizon and casting a strong light over the ocean, the beach, and the forest beyond. I am a she wolf, first and foremost. Dugald formed my mind. Kyra and Maeniel taught me the skills needed to survive. But Mother left me her heart.
She lives in mine, and to a wolf is the wisdom of first things first.
I was but lightly clad. My dress had been burned away and what remained of my shift stopped at my knees. I was already cold and if I tried to ride the dragon all night, I would likely perish from exposure.
“I will go ashore and make a fire,” I told the dragon. “If you can catch me a fish or two, it would be greatly appreciated.”
“The danger,” the dragon said. “Think of the danger. No one can tell what lurks in that forest.”
I nodded. “But I am in greater danger from the cold once the sun sets.” And I raised my right arm. “Fire is always with me, whereas you are protected from the cold by the fat under your skin. I am not. And it is imperative that I find shelter before nightfall.”
He made no further objection and began swimming toward shore.
We found a sheltered cove where the wind was not so bad. I waded ashore and collected stones and made a fire pit. The driftwood I found went up with a roar and sufficient coals were left to cook the fish the dragon caught.
Then I picked the warmest spot I could, lay down, and slept.
I woke deep in the night. The world was completely dark, the only sound the wind whispering in the forest. The fire was long burned out, but the rocks were still warm. I was thirsty. I had wrapped the fish in seaweed to steam it. I had wanted the salt. My exertions were such that I craved it. But it had awakened thirst in me and the water nearby was all salt.
I waded into the sea. I had to relieve myself and wanted to leave no traces. In the morning, I would scatter the rocks from the fire pit below the tide line and brush out any marks I made on the beach. And then what? I didn’t know, but I knew worrying about it right now would probably help nothing.
I waded back to the shore. My thirst grew. All up and down the coast there was darkness. No lights. That’s what bothered me, I decided. Near humans there were always lights—torches, hearth fires, lanterns, candles. Even the fishermen brought light with them on the water, setting a torch in the stern of their boats when they fished at night. But here—nothing.
I was not afraid of the dark and had good night vision. But this darkness was overwhelming. I felt like I had when I traveled in the wilderness with Black Leg and Maeniel.
The wind had died down and though the water was cold, it wasn’t freezing. I lay down and tried to go to sleep, but my thirst grew, tormenting me.
Finally I rose. It wouldn’t help to wait. In the morning, I would be no nearer to fresh water than I was now. I would have to make the same walk along the shore in search of a place where the runoff from a brook or stream reached the sea. I might as well look now. It might even be safer. Maeniel taught me to move about in the darkness, and taught me not to carry light the way most humans do.
Even wild creatures are frightened at the dead of night; but to a creature like a wolf that can see with its ears and nose, the earth under its pall of shadow is as cozy a place as a house with a warm fire and a barred door, besides being a lot more varied and interesting.
I am not as able a night walker as Maeniel, but I can do well enough if 1 try.
So I set out along the beach. I walked toward the headland that was Tintigal, all the while wondering where I was and how I had been sent to this particular place. I wasn’t sure but I thought I had been moved in time.
That fear made my skin crawl. I had heard tales of such enchantments from Dugald and that the druid opponents of Patrick had tried this against him and he had to fight his way back. But then I remembered something else Dugald told me: the universe has its own rules and laws. For example, if you jump from a high place, you fall. And She, the infinite mother, does not take kindly to those who violate those rules. Merlin was the one who probably sent me here and tore the fabric of the cosmos to do so. She, who does not think but is, would be trying to heal the breach, and likely I would be eventually sucked back home in the same way a branch caught on an obstruction in the current of a river is eventually pulled free to tumble along toward the call of the sea.
I knew, looking up at the cliffs visible in the ghostly light of the star blaze. There was no moon but that is when you know the universe shines with its own light—as did the coast of what had been, or would become, Dumnonia. I knew that the sea was now lower. It broke against the cliffs I could see beyond the beach. The dark forest I now skirted was submerged in my day and Tintigal an island, not the peninsula it was now.
I had to wade into deeper water. The current had driven a big pile of driftwood against the beach, just where the swelling of land that was Tintigal began. I had to wade to get around it.
I met the dragon there. He was drifting on the gentle swells of the darkened sea, his head curled over against his back like a bird sleeping. He woke when he heard me splashing about.
“Are you insane, like all the rest of your species?” he asked with some asperity.
“No, I’m very dry. I was looking for some fresh water,” I told him.
He sighed deeply. “Fine—wandering about the forest at night. How will I protect you if you encounter some much larger creature that wants to eat you?”
“I am not that easily made a meal of,” I told him somberly. “And, besides, if we are to travel tomorrow, I will need to find something to drink.”
“I hadn’t thought,” he said. “Why can’t you drink seawater like any normal being?”
“I don’t know,” I answered. “Why can’t you drink fresh?”
“I can,” he said, “but I find it rather flat.”
“Well, I must find the runoff from a spring or a creek. If I don’t, I’ll be in trouble tomorrow.”
He sighed again deeply and began to sniff the air. I knew the Gray Watcher could smell water, and to a limited extent I could, too. I supposed a dragon might have much the same ability.
“Damn!” he whispered. “There is a spring on that promontory.” He indicated Tintigal with his head. “But you can’t get to the runoff, it’s under that pile of wood.”
“Then there is no help for it. I must climb up through the woods.”
“You can’t,” he snapped. “Look at that brush at the edge of the forest.”
“Likely,” I said, “it’s only a screen. It grows thick at the edge, but once under the trees where there is but little sun, the ground will be clear.”
So I plunged in and found myself right—under the trees it was very dark but the going was much easier. I had to avoid the clearings. They were thick with bracken, fern, and coiling masses of blackberry vines.
There were no paths. I followed the slope and hoped the spring would be among the rocks I could dimly see above. I did have some guidance, though, because I could smell the moisture now and the odor grew stronger the higher I climbed.
The ground grew more rocky, and the trees became less a thick, smothering darkness. The thin soil wouldn’t support the tall pines and ash and oak found below.
I walked among birch, ghostly in the faint starlight, and rowan filled with pale flowers at their many crowns. Coming up from the darkness of the thick woods, I began to feel the wind again. I looked up at the stars, thinking to read them and find out how near dawn it was. And I found myself reeling. They were not my stars.
Oh, there were no big differences. Instead, they were small and rather subtle; but they were there and I was truly frightened by them, for the stars changed slowly. The Gray Watcher told me they did change, but it took many more than one human lifetime to notice the differences. And night after night we lay on the hillside and he and Kyra taught me to know them, and we marked the watches of the night by the rising and setting of the Seven Sisters and the strange, certain beauty of the pole star. Kyra taught me the tales of her people. For they knew each star pattern and had songs for each one. The salmon, the warrior, the maiden, and all the rest. And I learned the ancient wisdom that allowed Kyra’s people to sail among the islands on the coast. The kingdoms of ice and snow to the north and the kingdoms of honey, wine, and oil to the south from whence came the Romans.
But as Kyra said, long ago there were no Romans, and her people sailed their hollow ships wherever they wished and traded for what they wanted. Much as the Veneti do now.
There was never a time in my life when I could not look at the heavens by day or night and, taking the seasons into account, not know where and when I was, to the hour—until now.
I was really frightened now. The sheer terror of my predicament struck me, and 1 felt the stone in the belly that is deep, mortal fear. But I am no fool. And, besides, I was brought up by four beings—one woman, two men, and a wolf—and none of them had any sympathy with a fit of the vapors. I found a flat rock to sit down on and put my head on my knees. And soon I was right again.
I repeated my look at the sky and found the changes were not all that profound. Besides, I had no firm appointments. If I were off a little on the time, it wouldn’t matter. Not long, I thought, an hour or so before morning.
So I moved forward toward the moist odor and saw in the starlight the faint white of the falls, where the spring emptied into a pool among the broken rock. For some reason I felt uneasy and shivered. And I remembered Maeniel’s warning: “Have a care when you approach water at night.” He knew by experience it was a favorite spot for predators. He had, when hunting alone, often waited there himself.
I was near a hilltop and the trees stopped some distance before I reached the pool. It was a basin of broken rock. I couldn’t reach the water from this side because the slope was almost a vertical drop into the pool. Not unless I wanted to take a swim, I couldn’t. I saw I would have to circle the pool and go to the other side, where a strip of sandy beach allowed access to the water.
Why didn’t I get up and go? Why did I find myself crouching like a mouse among the boulders?
When I tried to rise to my feet, every instinct in me screamed with alarm.
To this day, this very hour, I cannot for the life of me tell what warned me. And it was the life of me the warning saved.
Just then a small herd of deer broke cover. Their antlers were still in velvet, two spike bucks and a four pointer.
The four pointer, a little older and more confident, dropped his head to drink first, while his two companions looked around nervously.
I never saw where it came from. It was just there, looming up in the darkness over the four pointer. Its talons closed on the deer’s throat.
The spike bucks took flight, and I do mean flight. You have no idea how far and fast a deer can leap when it’s frightened. They went into the air, then into the center of the pool. It must have been shallow, because they bounded, pushing off from the bottom, up and over the rocks where I lay concealed. One cloven hoof caught me near the right shoulder blade. I didn’t feel it at the time. I found the hoof shaped black and blue mark on my back the next day. And then they were gone.
All I remember at the time was being horribly afraid the thing might chase them and find me!
But no—the four pointer seemed enough for it.
I saw the deer die; horrible panic glowed in its eyes for a second as its throat was crushed. But then the thing’s jaws tore its throat out and it died.