Where the Path Leads – Chapter 27

  Shadow Wights                          

The next day as they made their way through the northernmost part of the forest, the uphill climb leveled out and the tall maples, sycamores and pines gradually gave way to scrub oaks and eventually to desolate, rocky ground covered with a fine ash and laced with deep fissures. As they walked, they left footprints in the ash, and the few trees that grew here were stunted, some even charred and blackened.

         What could have burned the trees? Emily speculated aloud that the damage must be from lightning, since they were higher in elevation. Annamund and Arthur exchanged doubtful glances.  What did they think it was? Annamund tossed her dark hair over one shoulder in that annoying way Emily found so affected and declared that it was probably caused by the dragon. Emily snorted. Did Annamund really expect her to believe that? Ever since Thea had mentioned the dragon, Emily thought it was a scare tactic to keep people out of the forest. Besides, everyone knew they were just mythical creatures. So what if there were gnomes and pixies here. She couldn’t bring herself to imagine the reality of a dragon. Arthur most likely agreed with Annamund since the Mistress of the Creatures was a self-declared forest expert. Or because he was infatuated with her. Scowling, Emily thought how the explanation she had offered made much better sense, and she couldn’t imagine doing a loving act toward this vainglorious woman.

         But then her ear would tickle maddeningly, and she’d rub and rub at it. At least her ankle no longer throbbed, and that was something. It felt much better after soaking in the pool of potentiality. Strange name. But it certainly seemed to make things possible. Even the pool’s water was sweet and refreshing to drink, and she had noticed that after drinking it, they all seemed more energetic, better able to climb the hillsides. Hadn’t Sophia assured her she would smooth their way whenever she could?

         When they stopped that night, there was no firewood, so they huddled together on the rocky ground, their backs to the wind, no one suggesting that they gather together to preserve body warmth when they slept. Emily pulled her fur-trimmed hood around her face, wishing for the umpteenth time for a longer cloak.

         Sometime during the night, she woke up with her legs painfully cold and looked around for Big Ben who had not deserted them, even after Albion had headed back home. She wanted to snuggle up to the dog who sometimes wandered far afield during the day but was usually with them when they rested. She’d seen him earlier but now he was nowhere in sight. Reluctantly, she got up to look for him. Maybe moving around would warm her up a little.

         Calling softly, she peered into the darkness which seemed so complete that if the dog had been right in front of her, she might have tripped over him. After she’d gone a little distance, she became aware of a presence. It was not the dog. Straining to hear and see, she thought she made out the shadowy outline of a person up ahead, standing alongside a large rock.

         “Who’s there?” she whispered.

         The one who comes to warn you. 

         It was a woman’s voice which sounded remarkably like her own. “Warn me?  About what?” Her tone was light as she tried to shrug off her foreboding.

         The dragon, of course. You’re getting very close, and I don’t think you really want to find it.

         Her stomach churned uneasily.

         “Why?” 

         You know why. You can’t even imagine what you’re up against.

         “I don’t have a choice.”  Emily rubbed her cold hands together. “Why are you trying to scare me?”

         Of course you have a choice. Just go back where you came from and forget about everything. The voice was low and urgent.

         “Why do you care what I do?” 

          Because I know you’re not up to this. You care about Sophia, but that’s not enough to do her any good. You know nothing about dragons. You’re on a fool’s errand.

         Stung by the voice which echoed her own words, Emily was silent.

         Let me tell you about the dragon, the woman hissed, and the shadowy outline moved closer.  

         A cold chill went up Emily’s spine but she felt rooted to the spot, as if unable to move. She couldn’t run away.    

         In your waking moments you may not believe in dragons. It’s easy to deny them in the light of day, among reasonable people.

         Emily trembled. She no longer strained to see the woman in the darkness, but she couldn’t help hearing her.

         But don’t deceive yourself. It’s out there. There is always evil in the world.

         Her breath stuck in her chest. 

         Have you ever dreamed of falling and no matter how desperately you struggled, there was nothing in the emptiness, no handhold to stop your fall? 

         The ground began to feel insubstantial beneath her and she cried out.

         Then . . . you’ve met the dragon. Perhaps you have an implacable foe whose dearest wish is to see you suffer. Ah yes, I see that you do. It doesn’t matter that you have committed no offense. In fact, he thinks it’s even better if you’re punished for no reason at all.

         She saw the hate-filled blue eyes of Simon Poyntz the day he’d come to Sophia’s cottage, glaring down at her from atop his huge black horse. He had enjoyed dragging her off to the water meadow and seeing her miserable. And there had been other bullies, like Damien Heller, who disliked her for no apparent reason and delighted in her humiliation.

         Her face broke into a cold sweat and she felt ill. “Please!” she whispered, bending over to steady herself.

         But the voice seemed to come from inside her now.

         That’s the dragon, the voice whispered unmercifully. It’s all those things put together–a collection of you worst fears, your bitterest enemies.

         Somewhere a dog barked faintly. 

         This is only how it feels, the voice said, unrelenting.  If you can’t even think about it, how will you stand up to it?

         She sank to her knees on the rocky ground. 

         “What . . . should I do?”

         Leave. Get away from here. You’re not meant for these heroics.

         “But I can’t.”  Her words sounded feeble even to herself. “Please . . . go away.”

         Foolish girl, to be forewarned yet still go on. Is it two deaths you seek?

         “Two deaths?” Her mind wrestled with the thought. “What two deaths?” She didn’t want anyone to die.

         Don’t you know? the voice asked, faintly mocking. Didn’t she tell you? Or does she keep you so much in the dark?

         In the blackness surrounding her came a faint pinpoint of light, gradually expanding, growing larger and larger until Emily could see the outline of two people, one standing, one sitting. As if from far away, down a deep echoing tunnel, came voices. The first one she heard she recognized as Sophia’s, but it was weak, breathless.

         “I know the time is near,” Sophia said.

         “Yes,” said the sitting woman who began to rock back and forth. “Yes, but I will hold you in my arms. I will rock you. There is no need to fear.” The voice was gravelly and quavering, like that of someone very, very old.

         “I’m not worried for myself,” said Sophia wearily.

         “She’s young. You’ve done what you can.” The old woman was rocking more quickly now.

         “No, please. Not just yet. There’s more I can do.”

         “So much time, and yet, so little,” the woman rasped, as the vision faded back into blackness.

         Time? For what? Emily wondered. 

         Time to get away from here, from the dragon. It’s waiting.

         Suddenly, a cold wetness nudged her cheek and she gasped in surprise. Big Ben whined softly and she pulled him close, wrapping her arms around him, grateful to feel his warm saggy skin and thick neck.

.        The next morning was overcast and chill, and Annamund went ahead to scout out the direction of the abyss. Emily waited, sitting on a rock, which was covered liberally with ash as if someone had burned a huge bonfire there. But it was a fine dusting, she mused, wiping it from her hands. What might have caused that? A bonfire usually spewed forth different sized pieces of ash. She felt she should know what had caused it, but couldn’t bring it to mind.

          Instead, she fretted about Sophia. What was going on with her? She had said, “I know the time is near,” but time for what?  And who was that old woman? Was she dying. Was the Seneschal doing something to her? She knew him capable of violence. Troubled by it all, she turned her attention to Arthur and told him about her waking dream the night before.

         He listened intently, a crease of concern between his blondish eyebrows. “Strange, Emilia. I too was visited by a specter in my dreams.”

         “What did yours say?” She wondered if his had also warned him away from the dragon.

         He frowned and absently rubbed his hand back and forth along the rock where she was sitting, although the grayish stone was rough and porous and tended to abrade the skin. 

         “It said I have abandoned my family and should return to challenge the Seneschal, that I am a coward shirking my duty, that I’m not as brave as my brother.”

         Hearing his pain she momentarily forgot her own doubts and fears and reached out to take the hand he had rubbed raw on the rock.

         “Do you want to turn back?” she asked gently.

         “No one is turning back,” Annamund said. Again they hadn’t heard her return. She was eyeing them both intently.

         Letting go of Arthur’s hand, Emily flushed self consciously. Then anger got the upper hand. Ignoring what Sophia had told her at the pool, she got down off the rock, brushed ashes off her tunic and thought that maybe the time had come for her and Annamunde to have it out. “You know, you can’t tell us what to do,” she retorted.

         “I know,” Annamunde said. “But the doubts you’re experiencing are because of the shadow wights.”

         “What are you talking about?” Emily said. “You said you’ve never been here before, so how would you know . . . ?”

          “I saw them last night too. They just don’t affect me like they do you and him.”  Annamunde looked beyond Emily to where Arthur stood pensively, one hand resting absently on his sword hilt. 

         Emily thought that at least she and Arthur were joined in something.

         “What is it?” he asked softly. “Is the place bedeviled?”

         “I don’t know about your devils, but I do know it’s forsaken. The spirits here are empty shells until someone approaches.”

         “Does that mean,” he looked up at Annamunde, “that they are filled with . . . ?”

         “With your own thoughts, fears, doubts, worries. They are part of you.”

         What Annamunde said felt true, but Emily didn’t want to let the moment of confrontation and her determination to have it slip away, even if her ear was itching terribly.

         “You’re fabricating all this to make us sound weak. Ever since we started, you’ve been trying to prove how much more you know than everyone else.” She could hear the shrillness in her voice.

         “Emilia . . . .”

         “Don’t call me that!” she cried, even though Arthur had called her that earlier.  It was Sophia’s name for her.

         Just then, the ground beneath them began shaking as if it were trying to wake up from a deep sleep. They staggered like drunkards. There wasn’t much to grab hold of and Emily was thrown forward into Annamunde as the Lady stumbled and lurched. A deep rumbling sounded and fine dust filtered out of the grey sky. 

         Of course! She should have known, should have recognized the signs.  The climb to the top, the pumice-like rock, the ash everywhere–they were near a volcano. And earthquakes often preceded volcanoes. Fear squeezed her heart as the ground continued trembling. Now she knew with certainty that they must turn back.

         “But I came back to tell you,” Annamunde said, close to her ear. “I found the cypress tree,”           

         “I’m unable to grant your wish, my lord,” Sophia told the Seneschal. She stood wavering before him, puzzled by his request, as he sat in his large, carved oak armchair before the crackling fire. “How can I,” she continued, “when I am sequestered away upstairs?” 

         Brutus waved a ringed hand dismissively. “Use your influence, madam.  I know you see things that aren’t there. Certainly you can make this happen. Just conjure a simple owl. What do you think, Morwen?”

         From the shadows behind her came Morwen’s oily voice. “Of course she could, my lord, if she uses her magic.” The last word was breathed out almost inaudibly.

         He must want something very badly to acknowledge her gifts. And if he discovered her powers, would he use that knowledge against her? Perhaps want even more from her? But her powers were leaving her, and the room swayed beneath her feet.  She wanted to use her remaining strength to help Emilia.

         “But if you won’t help me, why then, I guess Morwen needn’t send up any more victuals to your chamber.” He carefully sliced off a large piece of meat from the leg of lamb beside him. “So, what shall it be, madam?” he asked, before eating the bite of the meat.

         “I . . . I’ll do my best, sir,” Sophia answered. The fire, the food, the room were all swimming before her eyes.

         “The girl only has a few days left to bring back the cypress branch, if she returns at all.” Brutus took a sip of spiced wine from his silver goblet.

         “She will, my lord,” Sophia said, with more confidence than she felt.

         “You had better hope she does. But still, I need that owl feather. That shouldn’t be a difficult task for you.”

         “These are strange objects my lord desires.”

         His dark eyes flashed and he slammed down the goblet, red wine like blood splashing out onto the table’s surface. “It’s not your place to question me.” Then, in a more conciliatory tone, “Get me the owl feather, and I might remember you are up there. Take her back, now, Morwen.”            
She felt the steward’s vise-like grip on her arm.