Year of the Unicorn

7 Night Terrors and Day Dreams

Of that night I remember very little, waking, but of sleeping—Even now my mind shrinks from that memory. Dreams seldom linger in the mind far past the waking hour, but such dreams as haunted me that night were not the normal ones.

I ran through a forest, leaved and yet not green—but a sere and faded grey, as if the trees had died in an instant and had not thereafter lost their leaves, but only become rigid ghosts of themselves. And from behind their charred black trunks things spied upon and hunted me—never visible, yet ever there, malignant and dreadful beyond the power of words to make plain.

There was no end to that forest, nor the hunters, nor to my anguish. And there grew in me the knowledge that they were driving me to some trap or selected spot of their own wherein I would be utterly lost. I can yet feel beneath finger tips the rough bark of trees against which I leaned panting, pain a sword in my side, listening—oh, how I listened!—for any noise from those who followed. But there was no sound, just ever the knowledge they existed.

A wild hunt—though the hounds, the hunters I never saw—only the fear which preceded them drove me.

Time and time again I strove to hold to courage, to turn and face them, telling myself that fear faced is sometimes less than fear fled, but never was my courage great enough to suffer me to hold, past a quivering moment or two. And always the dead-alive trees closed about me.

Growing in me was the knowledge that the end would be horrible past all bearing—

And when I broke then and screamed madly, beating upon the trunk of the tree where I had paused, there was a murmur in my head, a murmur which was first sound and then words, and finally a message I could understand:

“Throw it away—throw it away—all will be well—” It? What was it? Sobbing with breaths which hurt, I looked first to my hands. They were scratched, bleeding, the nails torn—but they were empty.

It? What was it?

Then I looked down at my body. It was bare, no clothing left me. And it was so wasted that the bones showed clearly beneath scarred and scratched skin. But on my breast rested a small bag patterned with runes stitched on in black. Memory stirred faintly, fading before it really told me aught. I caught at the bag. That which stuffed it crunched, and from it arose a faint odour to sting my nose.

“Throw it away!” A command.

There was sound now and not only in my head. With the bag between my fingers. I turned to look upon the masks of beasts—standing manlike on their hind legs. Bear, boar, cat, wolf-beasts—and yet more, far more—far worse!

I ran, witlessly, with a pain in me which seemed to burst the ribs about my heart. From the beasts I ran, back towards that which had hunted me. And behind I heard a cat’s yowl.

Perhaps I might have died, caught in the horror of that dream. But the pressure of the bag in my clenched hand, from that spread—what? Courage? No, I was too far past the point where courage could return. I was only an animal—or less—filled with fear and a terror beyond what we call fear. But there came a kind of new energy and then an awareness that I had outrun the beasts. And after that, a small ray of hope that there would come an end to all this and perhaps it was better to face that end than go mad with terror.

I did not run any longer. I dropped, my breast heaving, under one of the dead trees, and I pressed both hands with the bag to me.

So—thus was it? Knowledge and then anger, then purpose which in turn drew upon the depths of will. My enemies were blind masks behind which men hid. Masks could be torn away—

They had overreached themselves this time, not knowing the temper of the metal they had striven to destroy. In me that metal hardened. They had not yet the breaking of me. Will—I must will myself out of here—

But so little was I used to that weapon that I fumbled. The trees—they were evil—they should be cut away—An axe lay gleaming at my feet.

No wish-axe was the answer. No—that lay elsewhere. Will—I was me—Gillan! At that naming the trees wavered. Gillan—me—I flung that thought at them. I have a will, a power—if the bag I held was in some way a key—then I would turn it. Light routs dark, I held the bag to my dry, cracked lips. Light—I will light.

The gloom beneath the shadow trees thinned. I am Gillan and elsewhere do I have a place which is mine—mine! I will it!

Green of a lamp. In my nostrils the smell of aromatic wood burning, the odour of food. Sounds—of voices, of people moving not too far away. This was the sane world, the world of which I, Gillan, was a part. I was back!

Yet I was so weary that I found it hard to raise my hand, run it along my body, which was clothed as always, under the cover of a fur lined cloak. There was the light of a cloudy winter morning about us. Outside a shelter of skins, not as formal as a tent, I saw Riders moving. Men—or beasts such as I had seen in the dead forest?

I struggled to lever myself up on my hands, straining to see those men. But between me and them came Kildas. Kildas—how long ago had it been since we had eaten together on another morning and wished each other fortune with a formal toast before answering the summons which had brought us here? I found I could not name the days, they mingled one with the other.

“Gillan.” She did not look as bemused as she had since her bridal in the field of cloaks, “how do you feel? You are fortunate that you came from such a fall with no broken bones—”

“Fall?” I repeated and stared, stupidly I am sure, into her face.

She steadied my swimming head against her shoulder, raised a brimming drinking horn to my lips, and perforce I swallowed a mouthful of its contents. Hot and spicy, yet the heat did not warm me and I shivered as if never again would my body be shielded from an icy wind.

“Do you not remember? Your mount took fright upon the slope and threw you. Since you have lain unheeding through the night.”

But what she said was so at variance with the memories now crowding in upon me, that I shook my head from side to side, awaking in it an aching. Were—were those memories born of some hurt I had taken? Evil dreams could come from fever, as well I knew—though my body was cold, not hot. A blow on the head—from that came my beast-men? No, I had seen the cat before—before we had ridden into these wastes. And I could look now and see—I raised my shaking hand to cover my eyes.

Perhaps the Riders had their own heal craft; they must have had since Herrel had said they, too, knew wounds and hurt. As Kildas urged upon me again the contents of the horn, I grew stronger. My shaking was stilled. But I was cold—so cold—and that cold was fear—

“My lord.” Kildas looked beyond my shoulder to one who had come to us. “She was wakened and, I believe, mends—”

“My gratitude to you, Lady Kildas. Ah, Gillan, how is it now wit you, dear heart?”

Hands again on my shoulders. I stiffened...afraid to turn...to look. His words meant nothing. What had happened to me? cried one inner voice. I had not feared before, I had not shrunk from his touch, I had—

I had stood apart, answered something within my mind. All this had been action I watched, which had not engulfed me in its pattern. I had now stepped from one path where I knew, or thought I knew, the trail, into another running on into darkness and fear. “I mend—from my fall, I mend.” I answered dully. “It was a sorry one.”

Not yet did I look to him; it was all I could do to not flinch from his hands upon me. “Do you think you can ride,” he continued, and now there was a difference, a more formal note, in his voice.

“Kildas—” That voice also I knew. He who called wore an eagle crested helm. Or did he sprout a bird’s cruel beak, feathers and claws?

“I am called.” she laughed joyfully. “Take good care, Gillan. I hope you will meet no more ill fortune.” She left us and when she was gone I summoned will and stood away from Herrel, daring to face him.

“So I fell, and struck my head upon a stone.” I said swiftly, making myself look. But he was a man, and I was safe. Safe? Would I ever be safe again?

Herrel did not answer me with words. He lifted his hand to my cheek. And this time I could not control my aversion. I dodged his touch as I might have eluded a blow. His eyes narrowed as a cat’s might. I waited for furred mask to appear. But it did not and when he spoke again his voice was very remote.

“So you are now using another sight, my lady. What illusion—”

“Illusion?” I cried. “I am seeing with eyes which are freed, shape changer! Tell what tale you need. I shall not nay-say it. Perhaps I could not. You and your pack brothers have woven too well your spells. Only they do not blind me—any more than you can conquer me with night fears—”

“Night fears—?”

“Hunting me through the forest of ashes—but you did not have your will there.”

“Forest of ashes?”

“Can you do naught but repeat my words, shape changer? I have run before fear. But be warned, dreaming or waking, Lord Herrel, there comes a time when the whip of fear breaks. One can learn to live under it, which is the first step towards making it servant, not master. Haunt my sleep as you will—”

Now he caught me again in his grip, holding me so I must meet his eye stare directly and in the full. Green—vast green—pool—sea into which I was falling—falling—falling—

“Gillan!”

Eyes only, but not human eyes. Below them a mouth straight set, a face hard as if carved from some white gem stone.

“Not of my doing. Do you understand, Gillan? Not of my doing!”

Not quite coherent those words, yet their meaning reached me. He was denying what I had thrown at him in accusation, not quite believing it all myself. And his denial had an effect. That had been no vivid nightmare; it had been an attack, delivered in a different time and space, but aimed at me. “Then whose?” I demanded of him. “Could I point the sword, then I would in this instant! Until I can—”

“I must run haunted and—What was that they spoke of last night—the hinder-cord?” For now memory supplied another bit.

“Something which could have been named a trick if discovered, or be my undoing if it had been aided by fate. A spell laid to slow and perhaps lame a horse. But night terrors are not one man’s trick, they are a flight of arrows from more than one bow.”

“They would be rid of me, wouldn’t they? The bear, the eagle, the boar—”

“They must abide by the covenant—or be shape spelled! And I do not think they will try to strike again—”

“Because, warned, you may strike back?”

“I? The least of them? I think they do not deem that possible.” He had no shame in that saying. “They may not know me yet, however. Now—can you ride?”

“I think that I had better—”

He nodded. “It will not be for more than a day. We draw near to gate. But, I ask of you, keep in mind that still we deal in illusions and it is best not to fight before we must—”

Herrel spoke as if together we faced danger. Yet in me I was alone, all alone. There was no Herrel I could depend upon, there was a man and a beast, and neither dared I cling to. But that I would not dispute upon now, not when I was so tired in mind and body.

“I fell and hit my head on a stone.” I said as one repeating a well learned lesson. “There was no battle?”

“No battle.” he agreed.

“In my dream battle then.” I pursued the question.”what force trailed us and what weapon did they use which might have destroyed your illusions?”

“You remember it all?”

“I remember—”

“They were Hounds of Alizon. But some of them must have been schooled in the knowledge they make such a parade of abhorring. What they sent to confuse us was a power of the dark to shape change and then enforce that change to continue. In this they heaped their own grave mounds—better would they have wrought to keep us men.”

“How many of them were there? And why did they attack?”

“Twenty—that we found. It was cleverly planned for they split our party with a false trail and then struck at what they deemed the weaker portion. As for why? They carried Hallack shields and blazons—thus they wished to embroil us with the Dales. It is only the dark arrow we do not understand, that has no place in their armament.”

“Herrel—” Hyron, his crest of a rearing stallion plain in the growing daylight, stood at the open end of the lean-to.

“Lady—” he sketched a hand salute to me, but I noted that he did not really look in my direction. “It is time we ride. You are able to, lady?”

I wanted to say now, that I could not cling to a saddle, that I had no desire, nor strength to face a day’s ride across this land which was enemy to my kind. But I could not say those words; instead I found myself nodding as if what he willed could only be my heart’s desire also.

We rode, but in a different pattern from that which we had followed before. Now woman companied woman; the men threw out advance scouts and set a rear guard. I looked to Kildas at my left, Solfinna at my right. Neither seemed apprehensive, nor did they remark upon this division.

“Hisin says that this night shall we bide in the outer way.” Solfinna’s words broke my absorption. “Soon there will be an end to this journeying, though we are still two days from the appointed hour. Very fair must be the land beyond the Safekeep—” She smiled happily.

“Gillan, you have said so little. Does your head still ache?” Kildas shifted a little in the saddle to look at me more closely.

“It aches, yes, and I dreamed ill in the night.”

To my surprise she nodded. “Yes, Herrel was in great concern when you cried out. He strove to wake you, but when he touched you, Hyron bade him cease for you seemed in even greater distress. Then he put something into your hand, and thereafter you quieted.”

“Why did that so anger Hyron?” Solfinna broke in. “I could not see that it did harm, rather good.”

“Hyron was angered?”

“Yes—” Solfinna began but Kildas broke in:

“I do not think angered, rather concerned. We all were, Gillan, for you cried out strange things we could not understand, which frightened, as if you were caught in a very evil dream.”

“I do not remember.” I lied. “One may do such after a head blow, that much I know from heal-craft. And this land is so dreary it puts phantoms into one’s mind—”

My first real error. Kildas looked at me oddly.

“The land lies under winter, but it is like unto the Dales. Why men speak of it as a waste, I do not understand. Look you how the sun touches all to diamond snow and crystal ice?”

Sun? Where shown any sun? We moved under a leaden sky. And the diamond snow was rimed drifts. Icy coated branches spoke only of frozen death. Illusion—Now I wanted to share that illusion for my own comfort. But this time, for all my willing, I could not see the land under the beneficent haze through which my companions moved. All was grey, grim, stark, with branches reaching for us like the misshapen hands of monsters, while every shadow could be granted evil and alien life of its own, lying in wait for the unwary.

I closed my eyes against what was real to me, summoned my will, desired to see...only top open sight once more on the same forbidding countryside. Also—the rush of power I had come to associate with my will-summons did not answer—save as a weak and quickly ebbing ripple. And with that discovery self-distrust awoke in me, weakening me yet further. But I needs must guard my tongue and strive to fight my fears.

Now and again one of the Riders came to bear us company for a short while—always the mate of one of the brides. Then I noted that Herrel did not come so, nor had I seen him since we rode out of camp, though Halse passed twice down the line. Once when the bear-man slacked pace and Solfinna jogged ahead, I spoke, perhaps recklessly, but as I thought was only natural. “My lord, where rides Herrel?”

There was that derisive smile on his face as he made answer courteously enough, but with such under mockery as to be an unseen blow.

“He rides rear guard, my lady. Shall I tell him you wish words with him? Doubtless some message of importance?”

“No. Just tell him all is well—”

Those red eyes searching me, trying to read my thoughts. Could these sorcerers in truth read thoughts? I did not believe so.

“You are wise not to draw him from his duty. Hyron believes him now best employed for the service of the company. And we must rest upon the best defences we can muster—”

Words innocent enough, but so delivered that a threat ran beneath their smooth surface. And now Halse, in a low voice, added more:

“I would have nay-said Herrel could gain a bride. Has he told you that in this company he is the wrong-handed, the limper? But destiny is right after all, now we consider him well matched—” till he smiled, and it was enough to make one dread all smiles.

“I thank you, my lord.” From some last bulwark of pride and defiance I summoned those words. “Can any one truly say what a man is, or may come to be? If cloak-spell united us, then you will not miscall your own power. I am content, if my lord is also.” A lie, and a He he knew, yet one I would continue to cling to.

The method of our pairing from the bridal dale had been such that we knew only he whose cloak we had chosen—knew him? That was not my case certainly. But as to his fellow Riders, what did any of us know? My companions were so bound in illusion woven to hold them apart from the truth, that they would accept any seeing. Me—I was so torn with fear and suspicion that perhaps I saw awry also. Yet Halse I did not like, nor did I take kindly to the gaze Hyron turned upon me. And I had felt the animosity of those others last night.

What of Herrel? Yes, what of Herrel? Our first meeting when he had taken me to wife, in name, by the cloak about my shoulders...the night when I had been willed by another’s ill wishing to wake and see him as he could be and was, upon occasion. Last night when I had watched him go into battle and heard the horror of that fight—

I had come to our first meeting prepared to accept an alien—or had I really? Can anyone accept what they do not know? Now after testing I was as faint-hearted as Marimme, if able to conceal it better. Was Herrel a beast who could put on the semblance of a man for his purposes, or a man putting on the beast? It was this question ever seesawing at the back of my mind which made my flesh shiver and cringe from his touch, made me rejoice he was not my mate in truth. Kildas, Solfinna, the rest, they harboured no doubts. I believed they were all wives as I was not. But which husbanded them—beast and bird—or human body?

“To have the true sight, my lady,” Halse’s mount crowded closer to my mare; his voice dropped lower still, “can be a grievous thing. You do not belong here.”

“If I do not, my lord, this is a very late hour to make such a discovery. And I think you do not give me much credit—”

He shrugged. “It may foe, my lady, that we do you wrong. At least you have not spilled your doubts to these, your sisters. For that we give you due credit. And I shall give your message to Herrel.” He wheeled his horse and was gone, leaving me with the feeling that I had done very ill to give him any reason to seek out Herrel.

I urged my mare on and caught up with Kildas, suddenly having a dislike for riding alone.

“Harl says that Halse is sharp tongued.” she commented. “Though he does not seem to lack in proper courtesy. He resents it that he did not win a bride.”

“Perhaps his cloak was not eye-catching enough.”

She laughed. “Do not tell him that! He is one who fancies that in most companies he is the first to be noted. It is true he is very handsome—”

Handsome? To me he was the bear, danger covered with a deceptively clumsy skin.

“A fine face is not everything.”

“Yes. And I do not care much for Halse. He ever smiles and looks content, but I do think he is. Gillan, I know not what Herrel has told you, but do not speak freely—too freely—with Halse. Harl has said that there is old trouble between him and Herrel, and since the bridals it has grown worse. For Herrel obtained what he would have—”

“Me?” I laughed, startled by her speech which was so far from the truth I knew.

“Perhaps not you, but a bride. He spoke much before our coming as to what his luck would be, and then to have it dashed so, it has been as a burr within his tunic. The other Riders, they have not forgotten his boasts, and they lead him to remember them from time to time. It is odd,” she glanced at me, “before we came I thought of the Riders as all alike, gathered into a pack which thought and acted as one. Instead they are as all men, each having thoughts, faults, dreams and fears of his own.”

“Harl taught you thus?”

She smiled, a very different smile from that which curved Halse’s lips, deeply happy. “Harl has taught me many things—” She was lost in a dream again, a dream which I could not enter.

And so the long day passed and I saw naught of Herrel—though whether that was by his own design or the will of others. I did not know. We came at last to a long and narrow valley. Its entrance was masked with trees and brush, so thick that I would have believed there was no opening, yet he who was our guide wound a serpent’s route through which we filed in a long line. The wall of vegetation gave way to an open space walled with steep rock cliffs. Down one was a lace of ice marking the passage of water flowing away in an ice encased brook. Before us the defile was a slit which was half choked by rock falls from above.

There were journey tents standing—those before us in the advance guard had made good use of time. Twilight was fast falling, but green lamps winked at us and there was a fire. At that moment it all looked as welcoming to me as the safe interior of any great hall—rough though that might be.

But when we would dismount the man who came to aid me wore a wolf helm.

“Herrel?”

“The rear guard has not yet come in, my lady.” A smooth answer, aptly given.

And the truth was that I could not have honestly said that it would have lightened the burden of my fear had the cunningly wrought body of a cat over-topped the face looking up to mine.

That weariness which appeared always to hold off while one was in a Rider’s saddle, fell upon me as I made my way, stiff limbed, to the warmth of the fire. Loneliness closed me off from the others, the loneliness of knowledge. I could no longer hold off the thought that I had been left no return. A choice, made too lightly and in overconfidence had long since wiped away a bridge between present and past—the future my mind flinched from considering.

Night—sleep—but I dared not sleep! Sleep held dreams—not as Kildas and the others dreamed by day, but the other, the dark side of that shield.

“Gillan?”

I turned my head stiffly. Herrel was coming from the picket line. And in my loneliness I saw a man, a man to whom I might have some small meaning. My hands went out as I answered:

“Herrel!”