Ross Lawhead (16 page)

“Hello?” he asked out loud.

There was only silence.

Well, there was no point in staying in one place. He had two options now—the mountain or the forest. He chose the forest. At the very least there would be some sort of basic shelter against the sky, and perhaps food.

He started walking.

After more than an hour of walking, the forest didn't seem any closer, nor the mountain any farther. Looking to the sky he saw that the sun had moved, but not by much, not as much as should have. Living on the street had given him a well-tuned sense of time of day. This was undoubtedly a different world. He had suspected this from the start, from a dozen almost indefinable differences in the air, horizon, gravity, the distance he was able to see—all these things, differences in constants he had known from birth, added up to a general feeling of unfamiliarity with what was around him.

Where
was
he?

And why was he alone?

Oddly, he didn't feel hungry or tired—well, no more hungry or tired than he did when he came here. It was something in the air that felt nourishing—or maybe sustaining was the correct word. There was a fairly stiff wind, but he felt warm. He had taken off his heavy jacket for the first time in months. Then he unslung his sword from his shoulder and fitted it around his waist. He didn't feel the need to hide it now. In fact, it was probably better that anyone he came across
did
see it.

Perhaps it was only
his
sense of time that was distorted, and not the world's. He counted silently in his head and then out loud. He measured that against the steps he was taking and the progress that he didn't seem to be making. Everything he was doing seemed to be normal and easiest explained by the fact that he was somewhere very vast.

And where was that? Another planet? Another dimension?

Could he be in his own mind—a hallucination? Perhaps he had been hit by a car and was lying in a coma somewhere. Maybe what he was experiencing was only a representation in his mind of what was really going on.

The steady regularity of his footfalls started to entrance him and his mind started to idle, not really thinking much of anything. After a time, he was aware that he was holding something— the slip of paper he'd been given in the church. It fluttered in his hand, spinning gently in the wind. It seemed an ordinary slip of paper, but . . . what was written on it? Was there anything on it? If there was, then he felt he should be able to read it, but he couldn't. Perhaps it was blank.

He twirled it between his fingertips. It was comforting to him.

Hour after hour passed and he was gratified to see that he was definitely getting closer now. Not only had the green brushstroke along the horizon grown thicker, it now nearly encompassed his whole field of vision. This was encouraging to him, even though he doubted that he had traveled much more than half of the distance necessary. The sun, he could see now, was descending directly behind him, gently warming his neck and shoulders. He judged it would hit the mountain around the time that he reached the forest.

Evening, in other words, just as he met the border of two different places. The phrase
like a pillar of smoke through a field of fog
went through his head. He began to feel strongly—though acknowledging he had no reason to—that he would meet someone once he reached the forest. There would be a
coincidence
.

He started to pepper his pace with bursts of jogging, eager to get the meeting under way, if it was to happen, or just to reach shelter if it wasn't.

The bottommost edge of the sun touched the very tip of the mountain, which was now very clear against the sky, being a dark purple. Daniel felt he would be able to say to himself that he was “almost there.” He could now pick out individual trees from among the leafy mass, but they seemed huge, like the redwoods he'd seen in pictures.

A couple more hours—the timescale was making him feel anxious now—and he was about throwing distance from the first trees of the forest, which looked to be fairly tightly packed. The sun was low enough that the mountain seemed to be wearing it as a halo. It threw a long shadow across the plain, overtaking him and making him cold once more. He put his coat back on.

Daniel approached the forest cautiously, on the lookout for any sign of someone besides himself. His eyes searched the landscape for anything else in this place that wasn't grass or trees, and he found it in a speck of white that moved along the base of the tree line, far to the left of his vision. It was a cloud of dust rising from the ground and speeding towards him. Ahead of the cloud was a frantically moving speck of light grey that occasionally flashed white.

There was a moist, nostalgic smell of decaying leaves coming from the forest. The setting sun, now bisected and peering out from both sides of the mountain, displayed two orange sections that bathed the trees in a reddish light, making the treescape eerily beautiful. It reminded Daniel of another wall of incredibly beautiful trees . . .

A feeling of nervous anticipation grew inside of Daniel as the white fluttering shape grew nearer—it was a person on horseback. Daniel stopped near one of the trees and waited for the rider to catch up to him. He wondered if he should draw his sword.

In this new vast and slow place, he was able to watch the small image grow larger and larger until it slowed and stopped before him. The rider was a man, a young man, on a brilliant white horse.

“Hail,” the rider said, halting his magnificent animal.

“Hail,” responded Daniel. The two took a moment to study each other.

The rider's face was fair and unwrinkled and was wearing a wry grin. He had loose blond hair that was cropped short around the ears and neck and fell forward over his long brow. He was dressed in a loose white shirt that billowed around the chest and shoulders but was gathered up and bound down the forearms to the wrists with ornate bands of cloth that appeared to be woven with gold. He wore dun-coloured leather trousers that stopped just below his knees, and his feet were bare. He sat atop the horse on a blanket that was bordered with intricate patterns. The horse was of a medium size—Daniel had seen bigger—but it had a narrow muzzle and long sinewy legs that made it very fast.

“Thanks be to the king,” said the rider. “I truly believe you are he.”

Daniel didn't know what to say, so he asked the question most pressing on his mind. “Where am I?”

“You are in Elfland—the Faerie realms, to be specific. And because of that, I cannot speak long. It is important that you mark all that I say. When the sun's last rays vanish, then I will be found, and at that time, we must already be parted.”

Elfland? This was probably worse than he imagined. “What's your name?” Daniel asked.

“My name is Kay Marrey. But first, before any more is said—”

The rider quickly and effortlessly dismounted. Daniel now saw that he was quite tall, around six and a half feet. He looked back to the horse, reestimating its height. Elfland was taking some getting used to.

Kay took a long stride towards Daniel and snatched his coat from his hands. He started going through the pockets.

“What are you—?”

“I can feel it . . . like a buzzing insect. Ah, here.”

Kay reached into the front pocket and pulled out the slip of paper that Daniel had been given. Except now, when Kay held it, Daniel saw it was a leaf. A large yellow oak leaf.

“Where did that come from?” Daniel asked.

Kay Marrey held it upright by the stem, between his thumb and forefinger. “You were given this, yes? In your world. Did you know what it was?”

“At first I thought it was money.”

Kay nodded. “It is a leaf of a different wood. It was taken to your world as a way to mark and snare you.” Still holding the leaf, he rounded the horse and opened a satchel that was attached to his riding blanket. He drew out a suede leather cloak that was a very light-grey trimmed with white. “I am allowed to give you three gifts for you to keep for as long as you are in this land,” Kay announced, unfastening his cloak. “And this is the first,” he said, whipping it off his shoulders.

“Thanks,” Daniel said, reaching out his hand.

“Wait,” Kay said, pulling it back. “Give me your coat first. Take what you need from the pockets.”

Daniel did this and then handed his coat over. Kay told him how to fasten the cloak around his neck and then helped him on with his backpack. “How do I look?” Kay asked, pulling on Daniel's coat and holding his arms out for an appraisal.

“Very . . . odd,” Daniel replied.

Kay laughed and stuck the leaf Daniel had been given in the pocket of the coat he was now wearing. “Now, listen—this is what you need to know . . .”

Kay put his hands on Daniel's shoulders and looked him in the eyes.

“This place is not like yours—it obeys different rules. The most important of these, for now, is that objects have
ownership
. It is essential that you don't
take
anything that isn't
given
to you—for if you steal something, then that thing will own
you
and not the other way around. For instance, I gave you my cloak. If you had taken it, you would have been beholden to it. Do you understand?”

Daniel nodded slowly.

“Now I may give you your second gift.” He held out a sewnup skin covered in soft fur and laced with intricately woven straps. It was evidently a water container of some sort. “Carry it with you and take just a few sips at a time. It holds more than it appears to.”

Daniel removed the stopper and took a gulp from it. He was parched.

“You are about to enter one of the enchanted forests,” Kay continued. “If you take anything—a seed, a leaf, a pinecone—and put it into your pocket, you will not be able to return home. If you eat anything—a berry, a fruit, or an animal—then this land will own you, and you won't be able to return home. Do you understand?”

Daniel nodded again, his head starting to spin. What had he fallen into now?

“However, this wood is a friend of my people. One moment, I will introduce you to it.”

Saying that, he turned to face the line of trees and started to sing in a different language. When he had finished, the forest seemed less intimidating somehow.

“That's done,” said Kay as he turned back to Daniel. “So all you must do, if you need anything, is to ask for it and wait for it to be presented to you. But to do this, you must ask in a respectful way—you must ask in verse.”

“In verse?”

“Tunefully. Or, if it's easier for you, in poem. Nothing fancy.

Couplets work well. Just so the forest knows that you honour it.

But don't ask for anything frivolous, as you may anger it. This applies to everything, even the water with which you are to fill the skin. Everything must be asked for and never just taken.”

Daniel's head took another spin. Couplets?

“Fauna: smaller birds can be trusted. Anything larger than a kestrel cannot—and that includes kestrels. Burrowers are honest, but they're stupid, except for foxes, of course—don't talk to the foxes. If you see a fox, ignore it. Bears . . . stay away from bears. Wolves shouldn't be a problem, so long as you stick to the path.”

“The path?”

“Ah, the path—thank you for reminding me. When I have left, you must enter the forest and travel until you reach a clearing— any clearing will do. Then ask the forest for whatever you need in the night—food, bedding, a fire. Don't ask for anything until night—you may be seen otherwise. When you are able to see the sun through the trees once more, ask the forest to show you the path to the wood-burner's hut. Follow that path until you get to the wood-burner's hut.”

“The wood-burner's hut. Then what?”

“I cannot tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Because I do not know.”

“Will the wood-burner get me out of this place?”

“I don't know that either.”

“So what do you know?”

“Only this—what I am doing now, that which I was told to do, which is far more than those who sent you here will suspect. They sent you here thinking that this world would claim you— these measures will prevent that, so that you may, one day soon, return.”

“How do I know that I can trust you?”

“Because I came here at great cost.” Kay Marrey looked over his shoulder to the setting sun. Just the tiniest slivers were still visible on either side of the mountain. “A cost that grows greater the longer I stop here.”

He reached into a pouch at his belt. “This is my final gift,” he said, unfastening a pouch at his belt and handing it to Daniel.

Daniel opened it and shook a flat stone about the size of a two-pound coin into his palm. It was a reddish-brown colour and rough. “Keep this in your mouth when you stop to rest or are idle,”

Kay instructed him. “It bears no enchantment, but those of your kind need such as this if they are to sojourn long in this land. That is all I have to explain or give. Do you have any more questions?”