Chapter Fifteen
The pain in her wrist had faded to a dull ache whilst she slept, and she sat up. A warm bread roll had been placed on the table beside her, along with a steaming cup and a slice of something white and unfamiliar, which turned out to be a crumbly, salty cheese.
The cup contained a sweet, spiced, hot milk, so thick and creamy that Susan felt that it must leave a white moustache behind, the sort one sees on very small children. She had realised she was hungry, and ate and drank with relish, holding her injured hand protectively against her chest. She was just swinging her feet cautiously over the side of the bed when she saw the shaven-headed man from the previous night pacing slowly across to her. He bowed slightly, and held out his hand.
"We thought you might wish to bathe," he said. "Clean clothes have been brought for you. Will you follow me?"
His pace was so measured and steady that Susan had no difficulty keeping up, despite his much longer strides. He led her across the glade to the building where Alwen had first brought her, and through a series of marble-floored rooms until he came to a blue-painted door. Susan realised that this was the first door she had seen in the building, that the rooms were linked by a series of archways, and she glanced behind her in surprise.
The door swung open easily and silently. Behind it was a tiny yard, open to the sky, enclosed on all four sides by red-gold stone walls. A washbasin and lavatory - considerably taller than any she had ever seen before - were set to one side, and in the centre was an enormous tiled bathtub, and beside it a fat, white towel and a small pile of what Susan took to be clothes.
"Everything you need is here," he explained. "They are a child's clothes, you could not wear ours, but I hope they will be comfortable. Take off your bandage, and use your hand with care. Alwen will replace the bandage later."
He gestured towards the bath, and backed out, closing the door behind him, and leaving Susan alone.
She thought afterwards that nothing had ever been as pleasurable as that early-morning outdoor soak. The water was piping hot, so hot she could hardly bear to lower herself into it, and gave off a light, spicy scent. For a few moments she lay in its steaming embrace, enjoying the feeling of the warmth seeping into her limbs and soothing the wearisome ache in her wrist. She would ask Alwen for some more drugs when she was clean, she thought
Eventually she sat up. A rough cloth with a slab of pale soap had been left on the bath's edge, and carefully avoiding using her injured hand, she scrubbed herself until her skin glowed pink. She soaped her hair, and then rinsed with jugs of cooler water from a large bucket set beside the bath. She stepped out of the bath feeling fresher any bath in our world might have left her.
The clothes consisted of a pale yellow shirt, woven of some fabric that Susan thought was very like cambric, some close-fitting underwear, and some trousers. These fell loosely to just below her knees and had been dyed a dark green colour. The whole was cinched at her waist with a narrow green sash, which although difficult to tie one-handed, was remarkably comfortable.
Susan had never in her life worn trousers, and the sensation was an unfamiliar one. She looked around herself for a mirror in which to view her newly-garbed self, but there was none, so she merely brushed her already-drying hair and unlatched the door.
She found the tall man in an arched room a little way off, sorting through a great pile of folded linens. He smiled as she approached.
"You look like one of our own young," he told her. "Your clothes will be washed and returned to you soon. Now Alwen is waiting for you in the garden, and hopes to walk with you."
Susan thanked him, a little shyly, and followed him back to the glade, conscious of her clean feet pattering pleasantly on the cool marble.
Alwyn smiled and bowed as she arrived.
"Our gardens are beautiful," he said. "Let me replace your bandage, and we will walk."
It was the first time Susan had stood beside him, and she realised that he towered over her, the top of his head being almost two feet above her own. She held out her wrist obediently, feeling suddenly child-like.
Alwen uncovered her wrist and touched it lightly with cool fingers, frowning.
"You are in pain?" he asked.
Susan hesitated.
Maybe a - a little," she admitted. "It isn't very much really. It's quite all right. Maybe - maybe some more drugs would help."
He shook his head.
"It has swollen during the night," he said, turning it over lightly so that her palm faced upwards. "See, here - and here - it is bruised. Something has happened. Have you fallen again?"
Susan shook her head, unable to frame a reply. Alwen raised his head and looked at her with a long, searching curiosity. Susan could not meet his gaze, and closed her eyes.
"I see it is beyond speech," he said, eventually. "I will not force your thoughts open, but perhaps you can talk. Mahrin told me you seemed troubled when you woke, and he wondered if your sleep had been disturbed. Was he right?"
Susan hesitated, unable to meet his gaze, afraid that her eyes would betray her. Then she gathered her courage and lifted her head.
"I had - bad dreams," she admitted. "I think perhaps whatever you gave me to - to numb the pain made me restless."
Alwen shook his head.
"We have given you nothing but food and wine," he said. "Your own trust did the rest. I think you already know this."
Susan did not reply.
Alwen waited for a few moments, and then sighed.
"You do not need to feel pain," he said, gently, touching the now purple swelling with his fingertips. "If you wish it, I can soothe it."
Susan felt herself going scarlet.
"I - I don't know," she mumbled, drawing her hand away. "Please don't worry. It isn't hurting."
"Yet I know that it is. The night has not been kind to you. Has something happened?"
There was a silence. Alwen waited, his troubled eyes fixed upon her. For a wild moment Susan felt that she might turn and run away, that she might make a dash for the river and hope to find a boat. Then at least she might be able to look for Mr. Lefay and they could make their own way home together, somehow.
She swallowed the thought. Then she took a deep breath, and the words tumbled out of her, almost falling over themselves in their haste to be spoken before she could change her mind.
"There was a - a shadow. In the night. It spoke to me. It hurt my hand."
Unexpectedly, she began to cry, her eyes brimming and spilling over until her shoulders were shaking with great, shuddering sobs. Alwen said nothing. Instead, he reached into his waistband and handed her a large, white handkerchief, clean and crisply pressed. Then he took hold of her good hand and gently guided her away from the glade and through the trees, until they reached a large bench, not unlike the sort you might find in a park at home, but ornately carved with swirling patterns of golden leaves. It was too tall for Susan to sit on easily, and he lifted her on to it as if she were a child, and sat beside her to wait.
Eventually the sobs began to subside, and Susan wiped her eyes, and then blew her nose, noisily. She looked up at Alwen through red, swollen eyes, and wiped her face again.
"I'm sorry," she said, bleakly.
Alwen nodded kindly.
"Are you able to tell me what it said?" he asked. "I do not wish to intrude, but this is something that must be told to Vanir, and soon."
There was an enormous lump in Susan's throat, and she swallowed hard. Alwen rose and walked away, returning a few moments later with a tall blue cup filled with water. He held it to her lips.
"You are so small that this would be too heavy for your one hand," he explained. "Drink, and try to remember. I can see the pain and fear in your thoughts, but not the words spoken. There is a cloud there, something black and cruel. I cannot find a way through it without hurting you. If we are to understand, you must tell me yourself."
Susan tried to remember. To her surprise, what had seemed so clear and definite when she had awoken, had begun to fade, dreamlike, until it was almost impossible to describe. There had been a shape, she knew, black and greasy and frightening, but the words it had spoken had slid away from her like water down an oiled surface.
"I - I can't," she stammered, eventually. "I don't know. It was - it was horrible. Perhaps it was a dream. I can't remember."
Alwen lifted her hand gently, turning it over and delicately stroking the swollen places with his fingertips.
"It was no dream," he said. "Your wrist has been crushed like rose petals under a hoof. The blame is mine. I should have known, should have set a guard. I could see your thoughts were wide open, and now I see why. I think a kvalara has forced its way into your mind. It has come from your own world and now it is here."
Susan gaped at him in horror.
"Here? Do you mean in my head?" she gasped.
Alwen shook his head.
"No. You are not in such a danger. Your thoughts are still your own. But it is among us, and I cannot see what it means to do. We must tell Vanir. He will know what to do."
"Must we?" Susan ventured, timidly. The mention of the name had given her an odd sensation, a mixture of dread and relief. "What will he - will he be angry?"
Alwen shrugged.
"I do not know what Vanir will do at any time. He is not like us. For now we must see to your wrist. Let me look."
Hesitantly, Susan held it out towards him, and then snatched it back as a sudden spasm of excruciating pain threatened to force a cry. She clutched her arm to her chest, feeling the blood drain from her face and a sick feeling arise in her stomach. Alwen's face creased in a frown.
"Breathe slowly. Take deep breaths, as slowly as you can. Now look at me. Try and speak. I need to know what it is."
"You mustn't - you mustn't look at it," Susan gasped, managing to force the words between sobbing breaths. "Leave it. Go away. Leave me alone."
With a single, swift move, like a snake uncoiling for a kill, Alwen rose to his feet. He seemed to have grown even taller than before, suddenly huge and menacing in the bright morning, and Susan shrank away from him in sudden fear. Yet when he spoke she knew that the words were not directed at her.
"In the name of the Great One, I charge you, kvalara," he said, in a quiet, steady voice. "This is not your place and you must leave and not return. See, I take the woman under my protection. Within these walls she is mine unless she herself chooses otherwise, or unless the Great One calls her to Himself. Now go."
There was no reply. Susan held her breath, half-expecting to hear the whispering voice hissing a challenge, but there was silence. Even the birds had ceased their calls.
Alwen knelt down beside her. He lifted her wrist and enclosed it between his two hands, and the throbbing pain faded, to be replaced by a gentle, fluid warmth. Slowly, the sickness began to ebb away, and she felt her thundering heartbeat begin to slow. She felt herself relax.
Unexpectedly, she felt the prickle of fresh tears, and once again she began to weep, slow, silent tears, not the frantic sobs of a few minutes before. Alwen did not speak, but held her hand gently between his own until the tears subsided.
"You must go to Vanir," he said, eventually. "I can hold you in safety whilst you are here, but you cannot remain here for ever. You need a greater protection than I can give, until you have found the courage to fight for yourself."
"What do you mean?" Susan asked, mopping her eyes and trying not to sniff.
"You are under siege," Alwen said, with a small smile. "You are an inexperienced warrior and there are great forces out there that would do you harm. Until you can wield your own sword you may shelter behind mine."
Susan was not sure she understood. She stretched her fingers.
"It's stopped hurting," she said, wonderingly. "Thank you. Thank you. What did you do?"
"I drove away the kvalara," he replied, "Like all of us he is a servant of the Great One, and must leave when he is commanded. Yet the command must be sincere. He can see if there is a part of you that longs for him to stay, and he will disregard your words and obey that secret, silent wish. You must truly mean the words that you speak. Come now, we will go back. I will tend to your hand, and we will walk a little."
Susan followed him back through the trees, holding her wrist gingerly. The pain had vanished, and the swelling subsided, but three black bruises encircled her wrist. She looked at them curiously, and touched them lightly. They were ugly, but painless.
Alwen led her across the glade to the long building, and beneath an archway to the room where they had been the day before. A pile of neatly folded white linens was on the table, and he took a narrow cloth from the top and began to fold it neatly into strips.
"What is this place?" she asked him, as he deftly wrapped her wrist. "In England — in my world we have hospitals for our sick, but they aren't like this."
"This is not a place to heal the sick," Alwen explained. "It is the place where our people come at the end of their days. We come here in our last hours to rest in the beauty of the world the Great One has given to us for so long. It is not a hospital in the way you mean. We do not come here to fight death, but to embrace it. Evander brought you here not because you were near death," he added, seeming to see her thought, "but because you needed rest and peace."
Susan was silent, thinking about this. Alwen inclined his head.
"Come. We will walk a little."
Susan followed him beneath the trees. The pathway was wide enough for them to walk side by side, and was patterned with the colourful mosaic swirls she had seen on her arrival. Alwyn talked as they walked, pointing out the bright butterflies that occasionally flitted across their path, and drawing her attention to tiny blue flowers in the moss beneath the trees that might have been a type of aconite. There were more birds here, and the air was alive with their calls, and one or two perched on branches above their heads, eyeing them curiously as they passed below.
Eventually they came to a small clearing, and Alwen paused. He indicated a comfortable-looking hollow where Susan might sit, and curled himself in another, settling himself back against a smooth tree trunk with ease.
"I hoped, whilst Evander is away, to hear more about your world," he explained. "It would be a great discourtesy for me to seek answers from your thoughts without your knowledge or consent, and I am curious to learn more, especially now I have seen for myself the dangers that can beset your people. Tell me how it is. We have heard few stories of the way your world has gone, and I would like to know what has become of it. It may be that we share our ancestors, and I am interested."
As Susan sat down, her attention was caught by a shimmer of light through the trees a short distance away. She blinked, trying to make it out.
It was a glimmer of light such as one might see reflected on the surface of a lake on a sunny day, vivid and cool and clear. Susan looked hard, but it would not remain still for long enough for her to make it out. She turned to Alwen.
"Over there. What is it?" she asked.
Alwen looked across, and then inclined his head respectfully.
"It is a veorldur," he explained. "He has come to hear us. We are honoured."
Chapter Sixteen.
Susan looked at the shimmering light, and felt perturbed.
"What are they?" she asked, anxiously. "Would they - why does he want to listen?"
"They are the servants of Vanir," Alwen explained. "They have a different kind of being to ours. They do not live here, with us, in the realms, but beyond, in the bright spaces. Perhaps you can also feel his presence if you allow yourself to be still."
"I don't really know - I can't feel anything," Susan said. "I don't know what you mean."
"You do," Alwen said.
Susan was about to speak again, but stopped herself. She closed her eyes, trying to feel something different, but there was nothing. She looked at Alwen.
"You are not offering him a greeting," Alwen said. "You are merely trying to create the feeling of his presence within yourself. Look outside and not within. Speak to him."
Susan bit her lip uncertainly.
She looked at the faintly shimmering light, and bowed her head, as Alwen had done.
"I'm - I'm glad to meet you," she said.
As she spoke the words she was suddenly conscious of a rising sensation of mirth inside her, and almost against her will she broke into a smile. She stared at the shimmering light, and realised she could hear a faint ringing sound, as if somebody was gently tapping the side of a glass a great distance away.
"He is laughing," said Alwen, with a smile.
Susan felt the gladness rising in her chest. It was almost a forgotten feeling, as if she wanted to sing, and whirl round, and laugh all at once. She beamed at Alwen.
"You have said those words often and forgotten their meaning," Alwen said. "Now you are glad. He has given you your truth as a gift."
Susan smiled at the bright veorldur. It had no shape that she could make out, nor did it even seem to be still, any more than a finger of rising steam might be still. She was not sure if it was in the distance, or immediately beside her, but she felt its joy reaching towards her and inviting her to share.
"Thank you," she said. "I think I can see him better now."
"You are just remembering more," Alwen said. "The veorldura are always around us, even in your country, but you had forgotten how to see them."
"You said they serve Vanir," Susan said. "Everybody keeps talking about Vanir. Who is he?"
"Vanir is our protector and our guide," Alwen said. "This is his realm. Each of the Nine Realms is guarded by its own Vanir."
"Like a - a king?"
"Like and not like," Alwen explained. "We serve Vanir because he is wise and just, not because we are compelled. He is the greatest of the veorldura, and it is for him to keep the realm safe from terrors."
"Terrors?" Susan asked.
"Indeed, yes, there are perils which beset this realm as well as your own," Alwen said thoughtfully, gazing at the veorldur.
"What sort of peril?" Susan said. "Do your people fight each other?"
"No. We are not afraid of one another. Our ancestors learned that lesson from the days when we left your realm, and I do not think Vanir would look kindly on us if we squabbled like dogs with a rabbit-skin. Tell me, do your people fight one another?"
"Always," Susan admitted. "I don't see how we could ever stop."
Alwen nodded.
"I think many minds in your realm are in the grip of the Kvalar," he observed. "People fight when they are not able to see one another's thoughts."
Susan had no idea what he was talking about, and decided to leave the subject alone. She looked down for a moment, trying to shape her thoughts.
"There are so many things here I don't understand," she began. "How did you mend my wrist? I mean when I got here. And then again just now. You only had to touch it, and it stopped hurting. Is it - is it some kind of magic?"
"You can call it magic if you wish," Alwen said, smiling, "but it is simpler than that. All pain, of course, happens in our minds. You believe it is in your wrist, but of course it is not." He touched his head lightly. "Pain happens here. After Lefay forced his way into your mind it was left wide open. We are able to hear a little of one another's thought. Not as well as we hear speech, but enough, and because of it we need little speech amongst ourselves, and your thoughts were laid bare for any of us to see. It was easy for me to reach in amongst them and tell you that your pain had gone. You trusted me, and so your mind let go of the pain."
Susan was silent.
"Do you mean - anybody - any of you - could see what I was thinking?" she asked.
"We do not intrude," Alwen said. "In the same way as it is uncivilised to force a spoken confession from a person, we do not see those things you keep secret. But it is hard not to see at the moment. Time, and rest, will cure it. Tell me about your realm. Your people are so very small, you must have to work hard to till the heavy soil and to grow things. How does your family feed themselves."
"It isn't quite like that," Susan said.
After that she became caught up in explanations that lasted much of the morning. Alwen was fascinated by Susan's descriptions of Daniel's job, enmeshed as he was in the matters of taxation and finance, and asked question after question, most of which she was embarrassed to realise that she could not answer.
"I don't really know," she said lamely, "I haven't ever asked. He just - just manages. I don't interfere."
"And you have no curiosity?" Alwen asked in surprise. "A matter so important to your country as the passing of exchange notes and joining together to pay for common enterprises? Wouldn't that be at the heart of every person?"
"Not really," Susan admitted. "It's - too big somehow. We don't think very much about it."
After a little while, Susan found her legs had become stiff, and they rose and walked a little more, wandering along the path until it began to rise, steeply, up a tall bank. The grass was slippery, and Alwen stretched out his hand to help Susan climb.
"From the top of here we can see the great Stychs, and the Far Countries beyond," he said. "Do not fear the kvalara, you are still inside our boundaries, which stretch to the river and beyond."
A few moments scramble saw them at the top, and Alwen stood back. Susan gazed at the bright splendour in front of her.
The river Stychs was enormous, so wide that she would have imagined herself to be on the coast of an ocean, if it were not for the almost indistinguishable mass of land rising just beyond it at the far horizon. To her left, and far closer, she could see the distant peaks of mountains, purple and dark on the nearby mainland.
She squinted.
"Do people live there?" she asked, raising her hand to shade her eyes from the sunlight.
Alwen shook his head.
"That place is Syon," he said. "There were people there once, maybe, many years ago, but not now, and they are forbidden to us. Our word for it is narn, which is the most deathly of all prohibitions." he said. "I know little of them. Vanir has made it a rule that our people may not go there, but I think they are narn even to him and to the veorldura."
Susan shaded her eyes, trying to make out the shapes against the bright skies.
"Why is that?" she asked. "Don't you want to see them?"
Alwen smiled.
"None would disobey a command that is narn," he said. "And we are guests in this realm. In the ancient days Vanir ruled only over creatures of the waters. Nothing lived on the dry lands. When our people came, he took us to his heart as his foster-children, and allowed us to stay. His people live only beneath the surface of the river, and perhaps even further out into the great salt water ocean."
They were quiet for a moment, gazing out across the river. Then Alwen continued:
"Many centuries even before our time, there had been a war. It is still called the Great War, although it was not between our people, but among the veorldura. One of them, the Kvalar, sought dominion over all the rest. He could not be conquered, for he had once been powerful, high in the favour of the Great One, but he, and his Kvalara - were driven back. As he retreated he destroyed everything in his path, bringing bitterness and death to all the realms of Yggdrasil. Even here, in this place of warmth and light, he left terrible scars. The Syon Mountains were once rich and bright with life, and now they are barren.
"At the end he was bound for all time to his own realm, where he had for many centuries been its Vanir, and was never again permitted to leave. The people and creatures of this realm retreated beneath the waters, and never returned. The mountains are narn to our people to this day. I do not know exactly why it is so, but I think that perhaps many of the kvalara are bound there, until the day when the Great One calls them to judgement."
Susan listened, gazing out across the water at the distant peaks. Even from where she was they looked rugged and dark, although perhaps no more ominous than any distant mountain range in our own world.
"Is he still there? The rebel Vanir?" she asked.
"He is not there," Alwen said. "That is not his realm. Many kvalara are held there, the ones were bound up with this place, and perhaps some are in other realms as well, but he is bound to his own realm."
Susan wanted to ask more, but the words would not come.
She knew the answer, of course she knew the answer. Perhaps she had always known it. She bit her lip and said nothing.
Alwen took her good hand. He was so tall, and his expression so sympathetically kindly, that the gesture felt reassuring, as though she was a small girl slipping her hand into her father's.
"He is not called Vanir," Alwen said. "Vanir is Vanir. The Kvalar is the Vanir of your realm," Alwen said.
Chapter Seventeen
Alwen had excused himself shortly after their return to the glade, saying that he had many things that needed his attention, leaving Susan to her own devices.
Susan had initially felt a little at a loss. Of course there were neither magazines nor radio nor any other distraction in the silent glade, and she had wondered what she might do to occupy herself. She had sat on her bed, watching the slowly pacing figures passing between the beds, until eventually a sort of tranquillity stole over her, perhaps induced by their unhurried movements and gentle expressions, and she leaned back against her pillows feeling an unaccustomed contentment. Once she thought she saw an veorldur flicker between the trees on the far side of the glade, but when she sat up to catch a glimpse of it, it had disappeared. She had felt a brief pang of disappointment, and then shook herself. Not seeing it did not mean that it wasn't there, she told herself firmly. Alwen had said they were everywhere, if only she remembered how to look.
Almost at once she felt a small resurgence of the joyful sensation she had felt on first seeing the veorldur, and she felt herself smile. A shaven headed man, passing her bed, caught her expression and smiled back.
"There are veorldura all around us," he said. "Many have come to see you. They are curious. No-one has come from your realm for many years. We are all hoping that it may be a sign that things are getting better there, that the reign of the Kvalar is coming to an end."
He beamed, and moved on.
The shadows were lengthening before Evander arrived, easily distinguished even in the fading light by the decisive speed of his movements as he crossed the glade. He waved to Susan cheerfully.
"You look so much better," he said, as he reached her, tugging the stool out and folding his long limbs on to it with a small grunt of contentment. "You're quite a different colour, and your face looks smoother, somehow. Not so troubled. I'm so very glad. Alwyn's good at this sort of thing."
"You aren't alike," Susan observed. "For twins, I mean. I wouldn't even have guessed that you were brothers. I've never met a twin before."
Evander looked at her with interest.
"Is it different in your world now?" he asked. "That's such a strange thought. Our people are all twins. None of us is born alone."
It was Susan's turn to be surprised.
"Hardly any of our people are twins," she said. "It isn't like that with us."
Evander shook his head.
"That must be - very lonely," he said. "I can't imagine not having Alwen. How terrible always to be alone. I suppose that must have died out in your people."
"We still have some twins," Susan said, reflectively. "Not very many. I don't know any. I think in some parts of our world it was even thought of as bad fortune. People thought they were from - well, a wicked thing."
"The story is that the First Mother had lots of children, all twins," Evander said. "I think in those days there was a boy and a girl in each pair, but it is rarely so now. I hadn't realised that you were different - but yes, I can see it now. You don't have that union."
He made a sympathetic face and patted Susan's hand reassuringly.
"I can't imagine the Great One intended you should always be alone," he said. "Perhaps there are other kinds of closeness in your realm. Anyway, look, if you're so much better we can perhaps leave here very soon. We all knew you would have to see Vanir, but actually, everybody wants to talk to you. They want to know about your realm, although I've been explaining all day, nobody else has ever been there. Really they need to know about the rings. We have to find Lefay and get them back. Of course he's gone to the Syon mountains. Vanir needs to talk to you before he decides what to do."
"I don't have very much to tell," Susan said, feeling a little alarmed. "I don't know anything. I mean, I don't even know as much as you. I didn't even know the rings were - anything different - until yesterday. Or - or whenever it was. I don't think I know about time in the same way. It feels different here."
"It is different," Evander said, cheerfully. "Like having the heartbeat of a fish, or a cat for me. I lived inside the poor thing for so long I was starting to dream about mice and birds' nests."
"How could you do that?" Susan asked. "Live inside another creature like that? I can see that you can understand one another's thoughts, but going into another shape sounds like a different thing again."
"It's a special gift," Evander said, modestly. "Not even all of our people can do it, which is why they chose me to go into your realm. I left my own body - this body - at the side of the pool in the wood, and slipped through. The veorldura helped me. I couldn't have done it alone. They couldn't come into your realm, not even the veorldura can do that, it's completely locked, and I couldn't do it in my own body. Only the rings can get past the lock. But I could do it with my thought, and they opened it - I'll tell you about it some other time, it wasn't nice - and I slipped through, and found the cat."
He looked around hopefully.
"I wonder if Alwen is ready to eat. I'm terribly hungry. We were going to eat in the long house, but we couldn't find a chair high enough for you, so probably we'll eat here. How is your wrist feeling?"
Susan was not sure whether she ought to tell Evander about the spectre of the previous night, and Alwen's explanation, so she merely flexed it to show him how well it was recovered. He smiled.
"That's marvellous. I'm so sorry about it. I should have stopped him, and I couldn't. It's difficult when you've only got a cat's body. It was amazing to be inside it - so fast and flexible - they don't tire easily, and they can see the tiniest things, but of course you can't do the same things a person can. I couldn't have used a person, obviously that would have been dreadfully unfair. Even using a cat was pretty grim. I made up for it by helping him to be brave enough to let you feed him, though. I don't think he'd ever eaten so well, poor thing."
"How did you know?" Susan asked. "How could you possibly have known that I had the rings?"
"The veorldura told us," Evander said simply. "They're in your realm as well, of course - I mean our kind of veorldura are there as well as the kvalara. Once the Great War ended and the Kvalar was trapped in his own realm, of course he couldn't just be left to his own devices. Who knows what dreadful things he might have done. So there are veorldura there. From what Vanir says I think they're a pretty warlike sort. Anyway, they warned Vanir that the ashes had been moved. He had to know, because if somebody used them then the first place they would end up is here, in his realm, at the Foot of Yggdrasil, and Vanir wanted them watched."
"Why does Mr. Lefay want them?" Susan asked. "He seemed to think they belonged to him. Does he know what they are?"
"He might not," Evander said, looking grave suddenly, "but the kvalara certainly do. I think the kvalara have a hold on him, which is a terrible thing, because of course Lefay has the ability of the First People to see thought. I think the Kvalar is using him to force his will." Susan shivered, remembering Mr. Lefay.
"What does the Kvalar want the rings for?" she asked.
Evander grimaced.
"With the rings they can pass between the realms. They can't personally, of course, but they can travel in the body of a person. Like I did with the cat. I don't know if you know enough to understand. A veorldur - or even a person who has the gift - some of us still have it from the First Times - you remember our people are also descended from veorldura - can press their own thought into the mind of another, and - well, ride inside them. I did it with the cat, but I was really careful, not ever to hurt it or to cause it distress. I don't think the Kvalar and his kvalara would care. You see, when I was inside the cat I could have forced it to do all sorts of things, just because I liked it. I could have made it - oh, I don't know, mate with females whether they wanted to or not, or eat itself to death, or torture things just for fun. It wouldn't have mattered if I had killed it, because I could just have moved on. Do you understand?"
Susan nodded, slowly.
"A kvalara, riding inside a person, can do that. If he did not know how to guard against them they could twist his will until he had none left. It could make him drink wine until he was too intoxicated to stand, and then do it all over again the next day. It could make him hurt other people, or do anything, and enjoy the sensations through his body. Then it could just dump him afterwards and leave him to suffer the consequences."
Susan sat very still.
"Are you sure?" she asked. Evander shrugged.
"I could do it," he said, "and I'm quite sure that anything I can do, a kvalara can do a thousand times better. Inside Lefay's body, they can go anywhere he can. With the rings he can pass between the realms. I'm quite sure - and so is Vanir - that there are kvalara, probably several of them, on the loose here in this realm right now, on their way to speak with the ones imprisoned in the mountains."
"Can he let them out?" Susan asked, in alarm.
"I don't know. I don't know how many can travel inside a person at a time. But if he isn't stopped then Lefay could go backwards and forwards between the two places bringing as many with him as he can manage. He could even bring other people. After all, he brought you and the cat. We have to stop him."
"Will Vanir stop him?" Susan asked.
"I don't know," Evander said. "The Kvalar was the greatest of all of them once."
They were interrupted by the appearance of Alwen, bearing a tray of steaming dishes, and for a while all conversation ceased.
Susan ate with pleasure. It was another type of fish, lean and tender, and slightly spicy on her tongue. It was served with a sliced tuber which tasted faintly of almonds, and a scattering of unfamiliar vegetables that looked rather like green roses, but which turned out to be crisp when she bit into them, and very fresh, like the earliest springtime peas. She ate slowly, savouring the food in a way she had not done since her childhood, and sighed contentedly as she pushed her plate away.
When they had all finished eating, Alwen looked at his brother.
"Susan must return with you tomorrow," he began, "but you must know that we have had troubles even whilst she has been here, under my care."
Quickly, without wasting words, he explained about Susan's night visitor, and of the injuries once more inflicted on her wrist. Evander listened, his eyes wide.
"But that's unspeakable," he said. "We should tell Vanir at once. Should I ride tonight? We have to do something. Do you think a kvalara has followed her even here, and had the - the insolence to force itself behind these walls?"
Alwen nodded.
"I do," he agreed, "and I have both spoken with the veorldura and renewed our protection. Still, the veorldura of this place are not warriors, and the Kvalar has strengths at which we cannot even guess. I do not know what he can do, and I would not like to find out. She must go to Vanir, and quickly."
"We should set off tonight," Evander began, but Alwen shook his head.
"We will not add darkness to his weaponry," he said, firmly. "You will leave in the morning. It will be a difficult journey. She is in no danger whilst she is here, but once she is outside these walls I have no doubt that the assault upon her will begin again, and in earnest. You will have to travel with speed. Once she is in Dalar she will be safe. Vanir will not allow wickedness to pass into his valley."
Evander nodded, thinking about this.
"You know about these things," he said. "How can I protect her?"
"You can't," Alwen said. "She is alone."
Susan caught her breath. She had thought, somehow, that the two men would be able to guard her, to save her from whatever the dark shadow was that lurked in wait for her, and Alwen's words sent a wave of terror tumbling over her. She felt suddenly icy cold, as though all the warmth had suddenly been sucked from her body, and she looked at them imploringly.
"Please don't make me," she wanted to say, but the words would not come out, and her mouth opened and closed soundlessly. Alwen looked at her.
"You are not its prey, my lady," he said, softly. "Even the mightiest of the veorldura is for the Great One to command, and you are his creature. Bid the kvalara to depart, and depart it must."
"That's true," Evander agreed. "Lefay couldn't come into your house unless you invited him, and he had to leave when you told him. The thing is that you have got to mean it. If you tell him to go away, but there's a secret part of you wants to cling to him, then that part isn't sending him away, and it will be that part that he obeys. You have got to mean it with your whole soul."
"That - that doesn't sound hard," Susan said, falteringly. Evander shook his head.
"It's harder than you think. People don't ever just want one thing. There's always a mixture," he explained. "I can't see anything else we can do anyway. We have to take you to Vanir."
"Couldn't Vanir - couldn't he come here?" Susan asked.
"He said to take you to him," Evander said. "We have to trust what he says. We always go to him. We will do what he has said."
"I think if it can be arranged, perhaps you should ride," Alwen said. "She is small, and it would be a long, slow walk."
Evander nodded.
"We had already thought of that," he agreed. "Our father has sent a mare for her. She is docile, and will be easily guided without danger. Or perhaps she could ride behind me if she is afraid."
Susan listened.
"I can ride," she said, suddenly. "It was many years ago, and I don't know how well I could do it with one hand, but I - I remember."
Both men looked at her. Susan felt the gentle probing of Evander's thought, and she looked back at him, almost defiantly.
"So you can" Alwen said, eventually. "You will not need your two hands. Ride you shall."
Chapter Eighteen
Susan thought afterwards that had it not been for her fear of the approaching journey, the short days and nights she had spent in the glade beside the dying might have been among the happiest of her life. After Alwen and Evander had left her, late in the evening, she had lain awake on her bed, gazing up at the stars in the clear sky. After a little while she realised that the ancient-looking lady in the bed beside her had turned her head and was watching her through watery blue eyes.
Susan felt awkward at first, but the lady's smile was so sure and clear that Susan smiled back.
"I can't see the stars any more," the lady said.
Susan had to strain to hear. The old lady's voice was harsh, and cracked as she spoke. "Forgive me," she continued, as Susan leaned towards her. "It is some time since I used my voice, and it doesn't work as well as it once did."
"It's all right."
On an impulse, Susan slipped off her bed and tugged out the stool to sit beside the old lady. The withered shape propped on the pillows seemed enormous to her, taller than any man Susan had ever known, and it seemed oddly incongruous. The lady patted her hand.
"You look at them all you can, dear," the lady said. "I don't need to see any more. Tomorrow night I will be among them."
Susan didn't quite know what to say. She wanted to shape her face into what she felt might be a sympathetic expression, but she was not quite sure if it would be the right one. The old lady's face seemed so bright and contented, she seemed in no need of sympathy.
"Are you all right?" she asked instead. "Can I get you anything? Would you like a drink of water?"
The lady tilted her head slowly. The effort seemed to weary her, and she sighed.
"Nothing any more. I don't need it now," she said, the words sounding dry and rasping in her throat. "I just wanted to speak to you. I've been watching you. They said you're from far away, that you had found the sacred ashes, and I wanted to wish you joy."
"Thank you," Susan said, not really knowing how to respond. The lady turned her head to meet her gaze, and Susan felt the now-familiar probing sensation in her thoughts.
"I'll tell your family I've seen you," the lady said, the words coming slowly in between her rattling breaths. "I'll tell them you're well."
A small gasp escaped Susan, before she could help herself. She searched for words, but found none. She tried to return the lady's gentle smile, but her lips trembled, and she could not.
"They'll be there," the lady said, quietly. "Would you like me to tell them anything for you?"
Susan's mouth opened and closed. She had been about to make a polite non-committal reply, but something in the dying lady's kindly gaze stopped her. Her eyes felt hot for a moment, and then she was reaching for Evander's handkerchief as the tears began to slip down her cheeks.
The old lady waited. She patted Susan's hand gently, but did not speak.
Susan blew her nose loudly.
"I miss them so much," she said, her voice breaking on the words. "I hadn't seen them for such a long time. We argued. They thought I was - was foolish, but I only wanted - wanted - I don't know what I wanted. I wanted to laugh and to dance and to be - to be loved. They'd all gone on without me. They didn't need me any more. They didn't need anyone, except one another."
She mopped her eyes. The old lady's withered fingers closed around hers. Her hand was surprisingly warm. Susan looked up apologetically.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't be burdening you with all this when you're - when you're here."
"We are not here by chance," the old lady murmured. "The Great One lets people fall together when there is need. What would you have me say?"
Susan sat very still. Then she looked into the old lady's tired blue eyes.
"Tell them - tell them I'm sorry," she said, slowly. "Tell them I know more now, and I'm sorry. Tell them that I will find them one day, and ask them not to forget me. Tell them I will - I will try and be true to - to everything that matters."
The old lady nodded.
"I will carry your words to them, I promise you," she whispered. "And be brave. There is still love for you if you can turn towards it, I can see it waiting for you. It is hungry for your kindness and affection."
She withdrew her hand and touched Susan's forehead with her fingertips, in the same gesture of blessing Alwen had used the night before.
"Go and sleep now, little one," she murmured. "The Great One sees us all."
When Susan woke in the morning the bed beside her was empty.
She sat up and stared at it, and for a moment felt the pang of loss and pain to which she had become so accustomed. Then she took a deep breath. The old lady had been so glad, so peaceful, it hardly felt right to grieve. Perhaps even now she was among the stars, maybe searching for Susan's lost family.
Despite her sadness, Susan felt a little encouraged. She rose, and realised Evander was crossing the glade towards her.
He waved and smiled.
"Have you eaten? Well, eat quickly, and perhaps bathe. We leave in an hour. I'm going to talk to Alwen, I'll meet you back here soon."
It didn't take Susan very long to wash and change into the fresh clothes that had been left for her, and she was just finishing the last of the morning's milky drink when Evander returned.
"Alwen wants to bandage your wrist again," he said. "He said it might get hurt when we get to the road, and he wants to protect it as well as he can. He's busy, but he's going to come now."
It was only a few moments before Alwen appeared, carrying a tray with white cloths and small glass bottle containing a brown liquid. He uncorked this and held it to Susan's nose. It was strongly scented, reminding her a little of her grandmother's medicine cabinet, yet floral and musky, and so sharp it made her eyes sting.
"It's the best we can do," he said. "It will help keep pain at bay. Wrap it in your waistband and breathe it if you need to. No more than you must, because it will make you dizzy, and it has a snare all of its own, but it will help if you are in desperate need. Give me your hand, let me look."
He examined it carefully, turning it over and making small, non-committal noises, and then gently wrapped it in the clean bandage, tying a neat sling around Susan's neck so that her wrist was held close to her chest.
"I do not know what will happen on the road," he said, "but I know that there will be no pain once you reach the valley of Dalar. Get there as fast as you can."
"We will," Evander promised. "Let's go then. You won't need to take anything else. Come on."
Quickly, Alwen touched both of their foreheads with his light fingertips, and turned to hurry away before Susan could speak. She looked at Evander.
Evander beamed.
"It's all right. The Great One will keep us all in his hand. Come on."
Susan followed him around the corner of the building and down a few steps to a gate in the wall.
Beyond the gate, patiently waiting by the roadside, stood two of the most enormous beasts Susan had ever seen.
Easily big enough to carry Evander, despite his huge size, they watched them approach with bright, interested eyes.
Susan hesitated for a moment, staring at them.
They were almost like horses. Almost, but not quite. They were tall, easily tall enough for a man of Evander's height to ride comfortably, and had long, broad backs and muscled shoulders. They were the colour of burnished copper, with paler-coloured manes and tails that were almost golden in the morning sunlight. Long, smooth legs ended in cloven hooves, and both had bright, curious blue eyes.
Out of each broad forehead grew a tall, curved, black horn.
They were not saddled, and neither wore a bridle. Evander glanced proudly down at her.
"Aren't they beautiful?" he asked. "I didn't see any in your world, and there aren't very many here. They're called reem. My father sent them. They will carry us quickly. The smaller one's for you. You'd better greet her. She'll want to see you before she decides, although I think she has already agreed with my father that she would. Still, it's polite to let her choose."
Susan looked up, puzzled. Evander caught her thought and smiled.
"It isn't like your world," he said. "Obviously we couldn't ask them to carry somebody they didn't like. Or to go somewhere against their will. They take us because they want to. Mostly they take us to please my father. They love him better than anyone. He loves them, too. I told him how small you were, and he thought it would be all right.
"They don't talk," he added, seeing her looking anxiously at them, "but they hear your thoughts. They can see how surprised you are and they aren't sure whether to be offended or not."
"Oh, but they're so beautiful," Susan said quickly. "They're just different. And I don't know if I could ride one like this - without anything."
"Without something to cling to?" Evander said. "If they didn't want you to ride then there isn't anything you could cling to that would make you stay on. If they do want you to, then they'll keep you there themselves. You'll see."
Susan took a cautious step towards the smaller of the two creatures. It watched her, its blue eyes oddly expressionless. She stood beside it, and almost stretched out a hand to stroke it, but refrained at the last minute. It did not seem to be the sort of creature you could pet, as if it were a puppy or a small child.
It stared at her, and she looked back.
It was as if her mind reeled at the onslaught to her senses.
She breathed an overpowering odour, the unmistakeable scent of fresh-cut grass, only a dozen times more intense than any lawn in our world. She felt rough earth beneath her back as she rolled, luxuriating in the enormous pleasure of scraping her skin against its uneven surface. She plunged into cool water, shuddering at the shock, and rising to the surface to shake its drops from her hair. She stood still in the dappled shade beneath the trees, and stretched her neck down to eat the sweet, sticky, fallen fruit. And then above it all, the shape of a man, brown-eyed, grey-bearded and patient, and lovely beyond all things.
"Do you understand what she's saying to you?" Evander asked, curiously.
Susan looked up at the beautiful animal.
"She's telling me all the things she has to give up while she's carrying me," she said, humbly. "I never thought of it that way. There is so much else that she loves, but she's going to do it, for love of your father."
She turned back to the reem.
"I would be very grateful," she said. "I'll try not to be a burden."
The creature stared at her haughtily. Susan dropped her eyes and waited. Then she felt a gust of warm breath against her hands, and the whiskery, velvety touch of its nose on her fingers.
"What's her name?" she asked Evander.
Evander looked surprised.
"Reem don't have names," he said. "Not amongst themselves, so it wouldn't be polite if we made them have names. That is, they have words which are a bit like names, but they change all the time, as the reem changes. A young one might be called Lively Foal, or Blue Eyed Foal, and then perhaps a few weeks later called Hungry Foal, or Fast Running Foal. But it isn't fixed, and they aren't names like we have them, more a sort of term of endearment. They don't need names. It's enough."
Susan agreed that it was.
Timidly, she held her hand towards it. It pushed its nose against her, and she scratched its forehead. Evander rubbed its ears.
"That's all right then. I'll have to help you to get on, here, let me lift you. Be careful of your wrist."
Without a saddle to cling to, mounting the reem, especially one-handed, proved less dignified than Susan might have liked, but after a moment's struggle she was seated on its back. Its back and shoulders were broad, and Susan swayed uneasily on her high perch for a moment. Then it began to move, and for a petrified moment she thought she was going to fall.
Almost imperceptibly, the creature changed its gait, catching her as she lost balance until she steadied herself again. Evander beamed.
"We'll have to hurry," he warned. "She'll look after you, so try not to be frightened. It'll be all right. Shout me if you need me," and then they were moving. They walked for a few steps, their hooves clattering on the flagged roadway. They broke into a gentle canter as they turned away from the road on to the soft turf of open heathland, which rose almost imperceptibly in a gradual slope as far as Susan could see. Within a few moments the creatures had gathered speed, and then they were off, racing neck and neck at what seemed an impossible pace over the smooth ground.
Susan never forgot that ride. The warm wind caught her hair and tossed it into what she knew must be a hopeless tangle, but she did not dare to lift a hand to straighten it, or push it away from her face. Instead she clung to the reem's mane, twisting the fingers of her good hand in its silky threads and squeezing its body between her knees as tightly as she could, terrified of the speed and the dreadful fall that would have flung her beneath those heavy hooves. She felt the creature's contempt like an icy drench, and bit her lip.
"I'm sorry," she said to it, aloud. "I ought to trust you better. I should be braver."
The chill of the reem's scorn seemed to fade a little, and with a deep breath, Susan released her grip on its mane.
"I wasn't meaning to be rude," she explained. "I think I had forgotten how to trust anybody. Please be patient. I will try."
She tried to relax her muscles, and felt the reem's surprise, and a spark of a something that might have been a grudging admiration. It slowed its pace almost imperceptibly, and immediately the rather sickening swaying grew a little less. Susan patted its silky shoulder gratefully.
She quickly came to realise that the animal understood her fear, and although not in the least sympathetic, it was making great efforts to calm and reassure her, correcting its movements to restore her balance whenever it felt her begin to slip.
After a little while the dizziness began to subside, and Susan found that she could - cautiously - relax a little. She straightened her back, and found that she was securely balanced enough to look about herself.
She pushed her hair out of her eyes, and wiped them with the back of her good hand. She began to realise that the island was much bigger than she had thought, and they were travelling through open land, dotted here and there with little clusters of the long houses she had seen on the shore. They passed wide patches which were obviously farmland, planted with neat rows of unidentifiable vegetables. The sky was paler than in our world, she thought, huge and clear, and seeming to curve around them as though they were on the top of the globe.
"Is it very far?" she called to Evander. The reem were easily keeping pace with one another, and now she felt more comfortable she could find the breath to talk.
"Dalar is the meeting place for everybody," Evander called back. "It's two hours' ride from here, almost at the opposite shore. It's the place where we - mostly our elders really, not me generally - come together when there are things to be discussed." He grinned at her over his shoulder. "Are you all right? Is your wrist hurting?"
"Not at all," Susan called back, and found she could smile. "I think it's going to be all right."
"Good," Evander said, and turned his attention back to the reem.
They rode on in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. Susan had grown accustomed to the reem's gait by now, and drifted into a reverie. Thoughts of Daniel, and of the cottage mingled with older memories, of her childhood, and of her brothers and sisters. She thought how they would have enjoyed the adventure, and how well Evander and her brothers would have liked one another. For the first time, she realised, the memories had no sting. Her loss had become a gentle sadness, a regret rather than an agony, as though some part of her had released them and was quietly watching them leave, instead of frantically clinging to their sleeves, howling for them to stay.
"How strange," she thought, as she swayed to the reem's pounding rhythm, "They are gone, and I know they are gone, and I miss them, but it doesn't matter any more. They're together, which was what they always liked best."
Even that thought no longer had the power to wound her. She smiled, remembering her sister's admiration of their eldest brother, and his half-bashful pleasure at being her hero.
"I can bear this grief better than any of them ever could have done," she thought suddenly, and blinked at the realisation. Perhaps things had worked out better than she had thought.
If anybody had to be left behind, it was best that it was her.