In spite of the cover about them Nick felt
exposed, helplessly defenseless before whatever might come from the
sky, or pad across the land. Yet the way he could overlook from the
ridge was far too open. Down there he thought they had no way of
passing unseen.
Stroud was making a careful survey of the same territory.
“We can work along there.” His finger indicated the
slope of the ridge far to the right. “When we get that far we
can see better what’s still ahead—”
The journey along the ridge was a rough one. They had to take
part of it on their hands and knees, scuttling from one patch of
brush to the next. It was hardest on Mrs. Clapp. But she made no
complaint and the rest took turns by her side, giving what
unobtrusive help they could. At least they did not witness the
return of the hunting saucer, nor did they see any more drifters in
the country below.
However, by the time they reached Stroud’s halting point,
the sun was well west. Mrs. Clapp’s face was deeply flushed
and she breathed in small gasps. Her hands, as they lay across her
knees, were shaking. Privately Nick thought she would never make it
without a good rest.
“We wait ’til dusk,” Stroud said. “Eat
and wait.”
Nick’s canteen and another Stroud carried made the rounds
and they ate from their supplies. To all sighting, the land below
appeared deserted now. But, as the sun crawled down the sky, Nick
became aware of another light radiant in the northeast.
He was sharing the watch with Jean. Now he touched her shoulder
lightly and pointed to the glow.
“The city,” she answered his unasked question.
“At night it is all alight—you have never seen anything like
it.”
He wondered if he detected a wistfulness in her voice.
“How close have you seen it?” The mysterious city,
or cities, intrigued him. Apparently they were secure havens of
safety for their inhabitants.
“Close enough,” she returned, “close enough to
be afraid.” For a moment she was silent and then she
added:
“What the Vicar said about Rita—is true. She
was—different. But she was crying that last time she tried to come
to us. She didn’t mean us any harm—she wanted to
help—”
Her voice was uneasy, as if in some way she felt guilt.
“But you all turned her away.” Nick regretted his
words the moment he spoke.
Jean turned her head to look straight at him. “We sent her
away,” she said harshly.
Nick was disconcerted. Why had he said that? These people knew
what they were doing, what they had to do to survive here. And what
he had voiced sounded like an accusation.
Jean had turned away again to watch the dusk creeping across the
land. Though she lay within easy touching distance, Nick sensed
that in one way she had totally withdrawn.
“If we go on”—he wanted to break that
silence—“how can Mrs. Clapp make it? She is
exhausted—”
“I know.” Her tone was remote. “But she will
have to try and we can all give her a hand. We must get to a place
we can trust before nightfall.”
“See anything?” asked Stroud from behind them.
Jean shook her head. “It’s been clear. The
city’s turned up tonight.”
The glow in the sky strengthened as the natural light
failed.
“But the far ridge will cut that off.” Stroud
appeared satisfied at that thought. “We’d best be
gettin’ to it.”
The descent from the ridge was gradual. Jean again had
Jeremiah’s basket. And Linda, carrying Lung, had closed in on
Mrs. Clapp’s left. When they hit the more level country
Stroud set a brisk pace and the Vicar dropped back to the three
women.
They took breaks at intervals, and Mrs. Clapp made no complaint.
But it was plain to see that only her determination kept her going.
Even her collecting tote now swung from Linda’s shoulder to
balance her own duffel bag.
Lady Diana moved in, setting her hand firmly, without any word,
under Mrs. Clapp’s arm. What they would do when the full dark
came Nick could not tell. Luckily this was the season when twilight
held. And the land also had light from the glow in the sky.
The night was not quiet. Nick’s tense nerves twitched in
answer to the sounds. There were cries, sometimes wailing. None of
the sweet, beguiling singing such as he had heard the night of the
rain. Rather these held an abiding terror to feed one’s
fears, made one look at intervals over one’s shoulder to see
what sniffed along one’s trail. He longed to ask what
this or that noise meant. But as his companions accepted them he
would not.
“We’re well along,” Stroud announced at one
halt “We’ve only a short bit now, then we’ll lie
snug.”
They were out of the fields, nearly at the foot of the ridge
above which blazed the radiance of the city. As Stroud led right
again, they followed a smoother path between more tumbled
walls—this could be a lane.
So they arrived at a black bulk of building, its walls also
stone, though now the twilight was so subdued Nick could not be
sure just what it was like. With the ease of familiarity Stroud
opened a door and entered.
“Praise be,” Nick heard Mrs. Clapp’s breathy
voice. “Not one minute too soon for these old legs o’
mine. Just get me in, m’lady, an’ let me sit a little.
Then I’ll be as right as right again. I’m a mite too
old for all this scramblin’ about, that I am.”
“Nonsense!” Lady Diana propelled her forward with a
right good will. “Don’t you forget, Maude, we all took
a dose of that hunter’s ray back there. That doesn’t do
anyone any good.”
There was a glimmer of light in the doorway. As Nick crossed the
threshold, Crocker behind him thudded shut a stout door to close
out the night. The light was feeble, but it showed the American
most of a single big room with a fireplace double the size of any
he had ever seen, a bench, some stools and a table—all made of wood
and massively heavy.
Mrs. Clapp dropped rather than sat on one of the stools, and
Jean hastened to put Jeremiah’s basket down beside her. There
was a pleading mew from the cat. Mrs. Clapp fumbled with the
fastening to allow him out. He shook himself vigorously and then
looked about, sniffing at the fireplace, and beginning a cautious
exploration of the room.
There were windows, Nick could see, but each was covered with an
inner barred shutter. Crocker had just dropped into place a similar
but thicker bar across the door. Their light came from a bowl on
the table where a cord burned in liquid. There was a pleasant scent
from that burning and, in the room itself, an aura of peace and
security that was relaxing.
“What is this place?” Linda put Lung on the floor
and he flopped flat at once, his chin supported by his paws.
“Somehow—it feels—good!”
The Vicar seated himself on the bench not too far from Mrs.
Clapp. He smiled at the girl.
“A place of rest, yes, and more than rest, recruitment for
the spirit. We have found several such. Some are the work of
man’s hands—others are of nature. But from them you may draw
peace of mind and relaxation from all tensions. This was perhaps
built by one who was an exile here, even as we are. We believe it
was once a farm—in days when this land was not so troubled as it
now is. There is iron set into the door bar and across the
windows—which means that those who built were of our kind. But how
they brought into their building this spirit of contentment, that
we cannot tell. Perhaps all emotions are heightened in this
time-space. We meet terror in some places, this blessed quietude in
others. While in our own world, if such exist, our senses are not
attuned to recognize them.”
Stroud had subsided on a stool, his thick legs stretched out
before him, his craggy face only partially lighted by the lamp.
“We could stay, weren’t it so close to the city. At
least we can hole up for now.”
That feeling of peace lulled them all. Nick’s legs ached;
he could not remember when he had walked so far. And, while the
pressure of the need to escape had kept him going, now that that
was removed his fatigue settled all at once, bringing every ache
and pain of misused and seldom-used muscle with it. A little later
he was glad enough to stretch out flat on one of the heaps of dried
leaves along the wall to which Crocker pointed him. And sleep came
quickly.
There were dreams, not frightening, but rather the kind one
longs to hold onto, to prolong. Even when he drifted awake and knew
he was awake, he held his eyes shut and reached again for the
dream. However, it was not only gone, but he could not remember it
at all.
“Nick! Oh, why doesn’t he wake up! Nick!” A
fierce whisper, a hand on his shoulder.
Reluctantly he opened his eyes. Linda crouched by him. Though
the lamp was out he could see her face in the thin gray light that
came from a small opening very high in the walls.
“Nick!” She shook him harder.
It took a great effort of will to answer her.
“Yes—”
“Be quiet!” She leaned closer. “You’ll
wake one of them.”
The urgency in her tone was enough to make him sit up. It
banished the peace of this place.
“What is it?”
“Lung—he’s gone!” Now that he showed himself
fully aroused, Linda withdrew a little. “There was a
whistling and he went!”
“Went how? The door’s barred—” It was true.
The bar Crocker had put there last night was still firmly in
place.
“In the other room—” She jerked at his arm.
“There’s an open window. Lung ran—I got there just in
time to see him squeeze through—”
He followed as silently as possible in her wake. Around him he
could hear snores, the heavy breathing of those deep in slumber.
Linda’s hand reached back for him, drew him on. They passed
the fireplace and turned right. There was a brighter glimmer of the
gray light
Here was another room, the door to it a little open. Inside
there was no furniture, but there was the square of an open, barred
window, set quite low in the wall. Nick did not have to be told
that the bars were iron.
Linda dropped his hand, ran to the window, her hands gripping
those bars as she pressed against them, striving to see out
into the light of pre-sunrise.
Perhaps time had eaten away the strength of that metal barrier,
or perhaps there was some concealed catch the girl’s weight
activated. The crisscross of bars swung outward and Linda half
fell, half scrambled through.
Nick hurled himself after her. “Linda, don’t be a
fool! Come back here!”
If she heard him she was not about to obey. As he banged into
the lattice that had fallen into place again, Nick could see her
moving out into the yard, calling Lung softly. The bars now seemed
solid, but he beat his fist against them, and once more the lattice
gave and he went through.
“Linda!” He shouted. If it awakened the others, all
the better.
He could see her by an opening in the wall.
“I see him,” she called back. “Don’t
follow me, he’s being naughty—he’ll run again unless I can
coax him. And he certainly won’t come if he sees
you.”
There was no way Nick could reach her in time. Unheeding of her
surroundings, she was already through that gap, now calling
again.
“Lung—here, Lung—Lung—Lung—”
In spite of her admonition, Nick pushed open the window bars
again and went after her. Maybe what she said was true and, seeing
him, the Peke would be wary. But he had to reach her, make her
understand the danger of wandering out this way. If necessary she
would have to abandon Lung for her own safety.
However, even as he knew the logic of that, Nick also realized
he could never make Linda agree to it. It might take physical force
to return her to safety.
“Lung—Lung, you bad, bad boy! Lung—” Linda crouched
in the lane, her hand out, her voice coaxing. “Lung—”
With her other hand she dug into the big patch pocket on her jeans.
“Lung—goodies—the kind you like—goodies, Lung!”
Nick could see the Peke. He had stopped, was looking back at
Linda. Nick slowed to a halt. If Linda could coax him to her—
“Goodies, Lung—” She spoke as if this was a game she
had had to play before.
Lung turned a little, his pink tongue showing, as if he already
tasted what she had to offer.
“Goodies—” Linda made the word a drawn-out
drawl.
One step, and then two, the Peke was returning. Nick held his
breath. As soon as Linda could get her hands on Lung it would be
his turn to hurry them both back to the house.
“Good—good—Lung—” The Peke was almost within
reaching distance of her hands now. On the palm of one were some
broken pieces of brown biscuit. “Good Lung—”
Sharp, shrill, a whistle.
Instantly the Peke whirled, looked toward the stand of trees to
their left, from which the sound had come. He barked and was gone
in a flash.
Linda cried out, stumbled to her feet, and dashed after him,
aware of nothing but the running dog. Nick called, and then went
after her, prudence thrown away, knowing that somehow he must stop
Linda before she met whatever summoned Lung.
The Peke was still barking. And Linda shouted in return, calling
his name at the top of her voice. Nick kept silent. No use wasting
breath when she would not listen.
He might have caught her, but a stone half-embedded in the
ground proved his downfall. As the toe of his boot met that, he
sprawled forward, hitting the ground hard enough to knock the
breath from his body.
It was a moment or two before he could claw his way to his feet
again. Linda had gone, only a swinging branch guided him. But he
could still hear the barking and her calls. The little
fool—stronger names came to his mind as he went on. Doubtless his
folly was as great as hers in following. But if he went back for
help she could be lost. He would have to take the chance as it was
the only one he had.
Thrusting his way through bushes at the cost of bloody
scratches. Nick won to an open space under the trees. Though the
direction of those barks and calls might mislead, they were all he
had to guide him. And somehow the sounds were reassuring, at least
they were both able yet to make them.
“Lung—Lung!” Between those two words there was a
change in tone. The first utterance had been a call, the
second—what? A protest?
Nick pushed on at the best pace he could, and, without warning,
stepped into an open, treeless glade. Before him stood Linda, but
she was making no effort to capture Lung.
The small dog was still barking, sitting up on his haunches,
waving his forepaws excitedly in the air. While she whom he was
wooing with all his might smiled and enticed him with something
held tantalizingly in her hand.
Linda moved just as Nick caught up with her. Before he could
reach out to restrain her—
“No!” she shouted. Her hand swept through the air to
strike at the other’s.
Swept out—and passed through!
Linda screamed. The other shrank back. But Linda threw herself
to the ground and seized the Peke who struggled wildly in her hold,
actually snapping at her in fury.
Nick pushed her behind him, confronting the other—perhaps a
phantom.
There was a nebula of light about her, seemingly thrown off by
the unusual white skin of her face and hands. In part that light
misted her, made her from time to time harder to see. But, in spite
of what had happened when Linda had tried to strike the morsel from
her hand, she seemed to be entirely real and solid. And she looked
more human than had the Green Man.
Her hair was a warm chestnut brown, reaching a little below her
shoulders. She wore breeches of forest green, with matching boots
and shirt, the sleeves of which showed from beneath a tabard like
the Herald’s. Only hers was not multicolored but also green,
bearing across the breast glittering embroidery, in silver and
gold, of a branch of silver leaves and golden apples.
“Who are you?” Nick demanded. “What do you
want?”
But the stranger continued to back away, and, as she went, the
mist about her deepened, clung tighter to her body, until all that
could be seen was her face. There was nothing there of threat.
Instead from her eyes came the slow drip of tears. And her mouth
moved as if she spoke, only he heard nothing. Then the mist covered
all of her, dwindled again to nothingness and they were alone.
“She wanted Lung!” Linda still held the dog to her
with tight protectiveness. “She tried to take
Lung!”
“She didn’t get him,” Nick pointed out.
“Get up! We have to get out of here quick.”
“Yes.” For the first time Linda seemed to realize
how far they might have ventured into danger. “Nick, she
tried to take Lung!”
“Maybe—”
“Maybe? You saw her! She was going to give him
something—You saw her!”
“She was teasing him with it. But she might have had a
bigger capture than Lung in mind. You followed him, didn’t
you?”
“Me?” Linda stared at him. “But she
didn’t even look at me—it was Lung she called—”
“Could it be she knew you would follow him?” Nick
persisted. Looking back he could not swear that the girl had seemed
any menace at all. But he had no way of evaluating the many traps
this world could offer. At any rate Linda had better be well
frightened now so that she would not be so reckless again.
“Do you really believe that, Nick?”
“More than I can believe she was only after Lung.
And—”
He had been looking ahead, his grasp on Linda’s arm
hurrying her along, intent on regaining the safety of the house
with all possible speed. But now he realized that he was not sure
of the direction. Though it was much lighter than when he had set
forth, he could sight nothing here as a landmark he remembered. As
he studied the ground he hoped for some mark there to guide
them.
Yes! His momentary uneasiness passed—here—and there—He
need only follow those quite distinct marks and they would lead
them back to safety.
Odd, he would not have believed they were so far from the house.
It had seemed, remembering, that he had not been too long under the
trees before he had caught up with Linda. But the tracks were plain
enough to keep him going.
Until they pushed under the last tree, past the last bush to
face not the building, but an open meadow with knee-high grass and
tall spikes of yellow flowers. There were more trees a distance
away, but to Nick all of this was totally unfamiliar.
He had retraced their own tracks—then how—Their
tracks? A small chill grew inside him—whose tracks? Or had
those been tracks at all? As the lure of the singing, and the
whistling that had drawn Lung, had those been signs deliberately
made to draw them on, away from safety?
“What are we doing here, Nick?”
Linda was caressing the now subdued Lung. Perhaps she had not
even paid attention to where they had headed.
“I thought we were headed for the house. We must have been
turned around back there.”
The only thing to do, of course, was to return in the opposite
direction. But he had the greatest reluctance to do that. Fear of
the ill-omened glade made him unwilling to voluntarily enter it
again. What was happening to him that he was afraid—actually
afraid—of the woods?
“We’ll have to try to go through it.” He spoke
his thoughts aloud, more than to her. Nick was determined not to
yield to that growing aversion to the necessity for retracing their
way.
“No, Nick!” Linda jerked back when he would have
drawn her with him. “Not in there.”
“Don’t be silly! We have to get back to the
house.”
She shook her head. “Nick, are you sure, absolutely sure,
that you can?”
“What do you mean? This is no forest. We got through it
one way, and that didn’t take us hours. Sure we can go
back.”
“I don’t believe it. And I won’t.” It
was as if she braced herself against his will. “I won’t
go back in there!”
Nick was hot with exasperation. But he could not drag her, and
he was sure he would have to if they went in that direction.
“We’ve got to get back to the house,” he
repeated.
“Then we’ll go around.” Linda turned her back
on him and began to walk along the outer fringe of the brush and
trees.
Nick scowled. He could not leave her here alone, and short of
knocking her out and carrying her—
Kicking at a clod of earth, though that hardly relieved his
feelings, he set out after her.
“We’re going to have to go a long way
around.”
“So we’re going the long way around,” Linda
snapped. “At least we can see where we are going. Nothing is
going to get behind some tree to pick us off as we go by. Nick, the
woods—had things in it besides her! I could feel them, if
I couldn’t see them.”
“The tracks.” He brought into words his own fear.
“They led us out here—perhaps to trap us.”
“I don’t care! I can see anything that comes
here.”
But she was willing to hurry, Nick noted. And they followed the
edge of the woods, heading south, at a pace that was close to a
trot. He hoped this detour would not take long, he was hungry and
he was also worried as to how the others would accept their
absence. The English might believe that he and Linda had cut out on
their own.
No, they had left their bags, everything they owned now. A
little reassured at that thought, Nick decided that the others
would not clear out and leave them. Maybe right now they were in a
search party, hunting. Suppose he called?
But he could not. If Linda was not just running from her own
imagination, they could be watched by things from the trees. Or
hunted by those to whom his calls would serve as a guide. Though
the grass was so tall it was hard to tramp through, he thought he
saw ahead the end of the woods.
“Nick—there’s water.” Linda angled to the left
across his path.
The hollow was not a pond, but rather a basin that the hand of
man, or some intelligence, had had a part in devising. For the
water trickled from a pipe set in a wall about a hollow. Then that
was cupped in a rounded half-bowl and fed once more into a runnel
that ran on out into the meadow and disappeared.
Linda knelt, loosing Lung, who lapped avidly at the basin. She
flipped the water over her flushed face and then drank from her
palms cupped together. Seeing the water, Nick was struck by thirst,
just as an ache within him signaled hunger. But he waited until the
girl had drunk her fill, standing on guard, his attention swinging
from woods, to sky, to open fields, watchful and alert. As Linda
arose he ordered:
“Keep a lookout.” He went down in her place, the
clear, cold water on his hands and face, in his mouth, down his
throat. He had never really tasted water before. This
seemed to have a flavor—like mint—
“Nick!”
In spite of the cover about them Nick felt
exposed, helplessly defenseless before whatever might come from the
sky, or pad across the land. Yet the way he could overlook from the
ridge was far too open. Down there he thought they had no way of
passing unseen.
Stroud was making a careful survey of the same territory.
“We can work along there.” His finger indicated the
slope of the ridge far to the right. “When we get that far we
can see better what’s still ahead—”
The journey along the ridge was a rough one. They had to take
part of it on their hands and knees, scuttling from one patch of
brush to the next. It was hardest on Mrs. Clapp. But she made no
complaint and the rest took turns by her side, giving what
unobtrusive help they could. At least they did not witness the
return of the hunting saucer, nor did they see any more drifters in
the country below.
However, by the time they reached Stroud’s halting point,
the sun was well west. Mrs. Clapp’s face was deeply flushed
and she breathed in small gasps. Her hands, as they lay across her
knees, were shaking. Privately Nick thought she would never make it
without a good rest.
“We wait ’til dusk,” Stroud said. “Eat
and wait.”
Nick’s canteen and another Stroud carried made the rounds
and they ate from their supplies. To all sighting, the land below
appeared deserted now. But, as the sun crawled down the sky, Nick
became aware of another light radiant in the northeast.
He was sharing the watch with Jean. Now he touched her shoulder
lightly and pointed to the glow.
“The city,” she answered his unasked question.
“At night it is all alight—you have never seen anything like
it.”
He wondered if he detected a wistfulness in her voice.
“How close have you seen it?” The mysterious city,
or cities, intrigued him. Apparently they were secure havens of
safety for their inhabitants.
“Close enough,” she returned, “close enough to
be afraid.” For a moment she was silent and then she
added:
“What the Vicar said about Rita—is true. She
was—different. But she was crying that last time she tried to come
to us. She didn’t mean us any harm—she wanted to
help—”
Her voice was uneasy, as if in some way she felt guilt.
“But you all turned her away.” Nick regretted his
words the moment he spoke.
Jean turned her head to look straight at him. “We sent her
away,” she said harshly.
Nick was disconcerted. Why had he said that? These people knew
what they were doing, what they had to do to survive here. And what
he had voiced sounded like an accusation.
Jean had turned away again to watch the dusk creeping across the
land. Though she lay within easy touching distance, Nick sensed
that in one way she had totally withdrawn.
“If we go on”—he wanted to break that
silence—“how can Mrs. Clapp make it? She is
exhausted—”
“I know.” Her tone was remote. “But she will
have to try and we can all give her a hand. We must get to a place
we can trust before nightfall.”
“See anything?” asked Stroud from behind them.
Jean shook her head. “It’s been clear. The
city’s turned up tonight.”
The glow in the sky strengthened as the natural light
failed.
“But the far ridge will cut that off.” Stroud
appeared satisfied at that thought. “We’d best be
gettin’ to it.”
The descent from the ridge was gradual. Jean again had
Jeremiah’s basket. And Linda, carrying Lung, had closed in on
Mrs. Clapp’s left. When they hit the more level country
Stroud set a brisk pace and the Vicar dropped back to the three
women.
They took breaks at intervals, and Mrs. Clapp made no complaint.
But it was plain to see that only her determination kept her going.
Even her collecting tote now swung from Linda’s shoulder to
balance her own duffel bag.
Lady Diana moved in, setting her hand firmly, without any word,
under Mrs. Clapp’s arm. What they would do when the full dark
came Nick could not tell. Luckily this was the season when twilight
held. And the land also had light from the glow in the sky.
The night was not quiet. Nick’s tense nerves twitched in
answer to the sounds. There were cries, sometimes wailing. None of
the sweet, beguiling singing such as he had heard the night of the
rain. Rather these held an abiding terror to feed one’s
fears, made one look at intervals over one’s shoulder to see
what sniffed along one’s trail. He longed to ask what
this or that noise meant. But as his companions accepted them he
would not.
“We’re well along,” Stroud announced at one
halt “We’ve only a short bit now, then we’ll lie
snug.”
They were out of the fields, nearly at the foot of the ridge
above which blazed the radiance of the city. As Stroud led right
again, they followed a smoother path between more tumbled
walls—this could be a lane.
So they arrived at a black bulk of building, its walls also
stone, though now the twilight was so subdued Nick could not be
sure just what it was like. With the ease of familiarity Stroud
opened a door and entered.
“Praise be,” Nick heard Mrs. Clapp’s breathy
voice. “Not one minute too soon for these old legs o’
mine. Just get me in, m’lady, an’ let me sit a little.
Then I’ll be as right as right again. I’m a mite too
old for all this scramblin’ about, that I am.”
“Nonsense!” Lady Diana propelled her forward with a
right good will. “Don’t you forget, Maude, we all took
a dose of that hunter’s ray back there. That doesn’t do
anyone any good.”
There was a glimmer of light in the doorway. As Nick crossed the
threshold, Crocker behind him thudded shut a stout door to close
out the night. The light was feeble, but it showed the American
most of a single big room with a fireplace double the size of any
he had ever seen, a bench, some stools and a table—all made of wood
and massively heavy.
Mrs. Clapp dropped rather than sat on one of the stools, and
Jean hastened to put Jeremiah’s basket down beside her. There
was a pleading mew from the cat. Mrs. Clapp fumbled with the
fastening to allow him out. He shook himself vigorously and then
looked about, sniffing at the fireplace, and beginning a cautious
exploration of the room.
There were windows, Nick could see, but each was covered with an
inner barred shutter. Crocker had just dropped into place a similar
but thicker bar across the door. Their light came from a bowl on
the table where a cord burned in liquid. There was a pleasant scent
from that burning and, in the room itself, an aura of peace and
security that was relaxing.
“What is this place?” Linda put Lung on the floor
and he flopped flat at once, his chin supported by his paws.
“Somehow—it feels—good!”
The Vicar seated himself on the bench not too far from Mrs.
Clapp. He smiled at the girl.
“A place of rest, yes, and more than rest, recruitment for
the spirit. We have found several such. Some are the work of
man’s hands—others are of nature. But from them you may draw
peace of mind and relaxation from all tensions. This was perhaps
built by one who was an exile here, even as we are. We believe it
was once a farm—in days when this land was not so troubled as it
now is. There is iron set into the door bar and across the
windows—which means that those who built were of our kind. But how
they brought into their building this spirit of contentment, that
we cannot tell. Perhaps all emotions are heightened in this
time-space. We meet terror in some places, this blessed quietude in
others. While in our own world, if such exist, our senses are not
attuned to recognize them.”
Stroud had subsided on a stool, his thick legs stretched out
before him, his craggy face only partially lighted by the lamp.
“We could stay, weren’t it so close to the city. At
least we can hole up for now.”
That feeling of peace lulled them all. Nick’s legs ached;
he could not remember when he had walked so far. And, while the
pressure of the need to escape had kept him going, now that that
was removed his fatigue settled all at once, bringing every ache
and pain of misused and seldom-used muscle with it. A little later
he was glad enough to stretch out flat on one of the heaps of dried
leaves along the wall to which Crocker pointed him. And sleep came
quickly.
There were dreams, not frightening, but rather the kind one
longs to hold onto, to prolong. Even when he drifted awake and knew
he was awake, he held his eyes shut and reached again for the
dream. However, it was not only gone, but he could not remember it
at all.
“Nick! Oh, why doesn’t he wake up! Nick!” A
fierce whisper, a hand on his shoulder.
Reluctantly he opened his eyes. Linda crouched by him. Though
the lamp was out he could see her face in the thin gray light that
came from a small opening very high in the walls.
“Nick!” She shook him harder.
It took a great effort of will to answer her.
“Yes—”
“Be quiet!” She leaned closer. “You’ll
wake one of them.”
The urgency in her tone was enough to make him sit up. It
banished the peace of this place.
“What is it?”
“Lung—he’s gone!” Now that he showed himself
fully aroused, Linda withdrew a little. “There was a
whistling and he went!”
“Went how? The door’s barred—” It was true.
The bar Crocker had put there last night was still firmly in
place.
“In the other room—” She jerked at his arm.
“There’s an open window. Lung ran—I got there just in
time to see him squeeze through—”
He followed as silently as possible in her wake. Around him he
could hear snores, the heavy breathing of those deep in slumber.
Linda’s hand reached back for him, drew him on. They passed
the fireplace and turned right. There was a brighter glimmer of the
gray light
Here was another room, the door to it a little open. Inside
there was no furniture, but there was the square of an open, barred
window, set quite low in the wall. Nick did not have to be told
that the bars were iron.
Linda dropped his hand, ran to the window, her hands gripping
those bars as she pressed against them, striving to see out
into the light of pre-sunrise.
Perhaps time had eaten away the strength of that metal barrier,
or perhaps there was some concealed catch the girl’s weight
activated. The crisscross of bars swung outward and Linda half
fell, half scrambled through.
Nick hurled himself after her. “Linda, don’t be a
fool! Come back here!”
If she heard him she was not about to obey. As he banged into
the lattice that had fallen into place again, Nick could see her
moving out into the yard, calling Lung softly. The bars now seemed
solid, but he beat his fist against them, and once more the lattice
gave and he went through.
“Linda!” He shouted. If it awakened the others, all
the better.
He could see her by an opening in the wall.
“I see him,” she called back. “Don’t
follow me, he’s being naughty—he’ll run again unless I can
coax him. And he certainly won’t come if he sees
you.”
There was no way Nick could reach her in time. Unheeding of her
surroundings, she was already through that gap, now calling
again.
“Lung—here, Lung—Lung—Lung—”
In spite of her admonition, Nick pushed open the window bars
again and went after her. Maybe what she said was true and, seeing
him, the Peke would be wary. But he had to reach her, make her
understand the danger of wandering out this way. If necessary she
would have to abandon Lung for her own safety.
However, even as he knew the logic of that, Nick also realized
he could never make Linda agree to it. It might take physical force
to return her to safety.
“Lung—Lung, you bad, bad boy! Lung—” Linda crouched
in the lane, her hand out, her voice coaxing. “Lung—”
With her other hand she dug into the big patch pocket on her jeans.
“Lung—goodies—the kind you like—goodies, Lung!”
Nick could see the Peke. He had stopped, was looking back at
Linda. Nick slowed to a halt. If Linda could coax him to her—
“Goodies, Lung—” She spoke as if this was a game she
had had to play before.
Lung turned a little, his pink tongue showing, as if he already
tasted what she had to offer.
“Goodies—” Linda made the word a drawn-out
drawl.
One step, and then two, the Peke was returning. Nick held his
breath. As soon as Linda could get her hands on Lung it would be
his turn to hurry them both back to the house.
“Good—good—Lung—” The Peke was almost within
reaching distance of her hands now. On the palm of one were some
broken pieces of brown biscuit. “Good Lung—”
Sharp, shrill, a whistle.
Instantly the Peke whirled, looked toward the stand of trees to
their left, from which the sound had come. He barked and was gone
in a flash.
Linda cried out, stumbled to her feet, and dashed after him,
aware of nothing but the running dog. Nick called, and then went
after her, prudence thrown away, knowing that somehow he must stop
Linda before she met whatever summoned Lung.
The Peke was still barking. And Linda shouted in return, calling
his name at the top of her voice. Nick kept silent. No use wasting
breath when she would not listen.
He might have caught her, but a stone half-embedded in the
ground proved his downfall. As the toe of his boot met that, he
sprawled forward, hitting the ground hard enough to knock the
breath from his body.
It was a moment or two before he could claw his way to his feet
again. Linda had gone, only a swinging branch guided him. But he
could still hear the barking and her calls. The little
fool—stronger names came to his mind as he went on. Doubtless his
folly was as great as hers in following. But if he went back for
help she could be lost. He would have to take the chance as it was
the only one he had.
Thrusting his way through bushes at the cost of bloody
scratches. Nick won to an open space under the trees. Though the
direction of those barks and calls might mislead, they were all he
had to guide him. And somehow the sounds were reassuring, at least
they were both able yet to make them.
“Lung—Lung!” Between those two words there was a
change in tone. The first utterance had been a call, the
second—what? A protest?
Nick pushed on at the best pace he could, and, without warning,
stepped into an open, treeless glade. Before him stood Linda, but
she was making no effort to capture Lung.
The small dog was still barking, sitting up on his haunches,
waving his forepaws excitedly in the air. While she whom he was
wooing with all his might smiled and enticed him with something
held tantalizingly in her hand.
Linda moved just as Nick caught up with her. Before he could
reach out to restrain her—
“No!” she shouted. Her hand swept through the air to
strike at the other’s.
Swept out—and passed through!
Linda screamed. The other shrank back. But Linda threw herself
to the ground and seized the Peke who struggled wildly in her hold,
actually snapping at her in fury.
Nick pushed her behind him, confronting the other—perhaps a
phantom.
There was a nebula of light about her, seemingly thrown off by
the unusual white skin of her face and hands. In part that light
misted her, made her from time to time harder to see. But, in spite
of what had happened when Linda had tried to strike the morsel from
her hand, she seemed to be entirely real and solid. And she looked
more human than had the Green Man.
Her hair was a warm chestnut brown, reaching a little below her
shoulders. She wore breeches of forest green, with matching boots
and shirt, the sleeves of which showed from beneath a tabard like
the Herald’s. Only hers was not multicolored but also green,
bearing across the breast glittering embroidery, in silver and
gold, of a branch of silver leaves and golden apples.
“Who are you?” Nick demanded. “What do you
want?”
But the stranger continued to back away, and, as she went, the
mist about her deepened, clung tighter to her body, until all that
could be seen was her face. There was nothing there of threat.
Instead from her eyes came the slow drip of tears. And her mouth
moved as if she spoke, only he heard nothing. Then the mist covered
all of her, dwindled again to nothingness and they were alone.
“She wanted Lung!” Linda still held the dog to her
with tight protectiveness. “She tried to take
Lung!”
“She didn’t get him,” Nick pointed out.
“Get up! We have to get out of here quick.”
“Yes.” For the first time Linda seemed to realize
how far they might have ventured into danger. “Nick, she
tried to take Lung!”
“Maybe—”
“Maybe? You saw her! She was going to give him
something—You saw her!”
“She was teasing him with it. But she might have had a
bigger capture than Lung in mind. You followed him, didn’t
you?”
“Me?” Linda stared at him. “But she
didn’t even look at me—it was Lung she called—”
“Could it be she knew you would follow him?” Nick
persisted. Looking back he could not swear that the girl had seemed
any menace at all. But he had no way of evaluating the many traps
this world could offer. At any rate Linda had better be well
frightened now so that she would not be so reckless again.
“Do you really believe that, Nick?”
“More than I can believe she was only after Lung.
And—”
He had been looking ahead, his grasp on Linda’s arm
hurrying her along, intent on regaining the safety of the house
with all possible speed. But now he realized that he was not sure
of the direction. Though it was much lighter than when he had set
forth, he could sight nothing here as a landmark he remembered. As
he studied the ground he hoped for some mark there to guide
them.
Yes! His momentary uneasiness passed—here—and there—He
need only follow those quite distinct marks and they would lead
them back to safety.
Odd, he would not have believed they were so far from the house.
It had seemed, remembering, that he had not been too long under the
trees before he had caught up with Linda. But the tracks were plain
enough to keep him going.
Until they pushed under the last tree, past the last bush to
face not the building, but an open meadow with knee-high grass and
tall spikes of yellow flowers. There were more trees a distance
away, but to Nick all of this was totally unfamiliar.
He had retraced their own tracks—then how—Their
tracks? A small chill grew inside him—whose tracks? Or had
those been tracks at all? As the lure of the singing, and the
whistling that had drawn Lung, had those been signs deliberately
made to draw them on, away from safety?
“What are we doing here, Nick?”
Linda was caressing the now subdued Lung. Perhaps she had not
even paid attention to where they had headed.
“I thought we were headed for the house. We must have been
turned around back there.”
The only thing to do, of course, was to return in the opposite
direction. But he had the greatest reluctance to do that. Fear of
the ill-omened glade made him unwilling to voluntarily enter it
again. What was happening to him that he was afraid—actually
afraid—of the woods?
“We’ll have to try to go through it.” He spoke
his thoughts aloud, more than to her. Nick was determined not to
yield to that growing aversion to the necessity for retracing their
way.
“No, Nick!” Linda jerked back when he would have
drawn her with him. “Not in there.”
“Don’t be silly! We have to get back to the
house.”
She shook her head. “Nick, are you sure, absolutely sure,
that you can?”
“What do you mean? This is no forest. We got through it
one way, and that didn’t take us hours. Sure we can go
back.”
“I don’t believe it. And I won’t.” It
was as if she braced herself against his will. “I won’t
go back in there!”
Nick was hot with exasperation. But he could not drag her, and
he was sure he would have to if they went in that direction.
“We’ve got to get back to the house,” he
repeated.
“Then we’ll go around.” Linda turned her back
on him and began to walk along the outer fringe of the brush and
trees.
Nick scowled. He could not leave her here alone, and short of
knocking her out and carrying her—
Kicking at a clod of earth, though that hardly relieved his
feelings, he set out after her.
“We’re going to have to go a long way
around.”
“So we’re going the long way around,” Linda
snapped. “At least we can see where we are going. Nothing is
going to get behind some tree to pick us off as we go by. Nick, the
woods—had things in it besides her! I could feel them, if
I couldn’t see them.”
“The tracks.” He brought into words his own fear.
“They led us out here—perhaps to trap us.”
“I don’t care! I can see anything that comes
here.”
But she was willing to hurry, Nick noted. And they followed the
edge of the woods, heading south, at a pace that was close to a
trot. He hoped this detour would not take long, he was hungry and
he was also worried as to how the others would accept their
absence. The English might believe that he and Linda had cut out on
their own.
No, they had left their bags, everything they owned now. A
little reassured at that thought, Nick decided that the others
would not clear out and leave them. Maybe right now they were in a
search party, hunting. Suppose he called?
But he could not. If Linda was not just running from her own
imagination, they could be watched by things from the trees. Or
hunted by those to whom his calls would serve as a guide. Though
the grass was so tall it was hard to tramp through, he thought he
saw ahead the end of the woods.
“Nick—there’s water.” Linda angled to the left
across his path.
The hollow was not a pond, but rather a basin that the hand of
man, or some intelligence, had had a part in devising. For the
water trickled from a pipe set in a wall about a hollow. Then that
was cupped in a rounded half-bowl and fed once more into a runnel
that ran on out into the meadow and disappeared.
Linda knelt, loosing Lung, who lapped avidly at the basin. She
flipped the water over her flushed face and then drank from her
palms cupped together. Seeing the water, Nick was struck by thirst,
just as an ache within him signaled hunger. But he waited until the
girl had drunk her fill, standing on guard, his attention swinging
from woods, to sky, to open fields, watchful and alert. As Linda
arose he ordered:
“Keep a lookout.” He went down in her place, the
clear, cold water on his hands and face, in his mouth, down his
throat. He had never really tasted water before. This
seemed to have a flavor—like mint—
“Nick!”