Chapter Twenty-five
As soon as the clothes are dry I start walking again – this time without need of my spear.
The druids’ walk follows the path of this most holy of rivers for a time. I have to resist the urge to run along it. No one knows what a gift fitness is until they no longer have it. The Wild Weird join me in greater numbers as I leave the sacred grove behind me.
I feel as safe now as if I were playing in the coppiced woods of my childhood home. The gods of this place have blessed me; what do I have to fear? Even the Weird are subject to their command. The night is crisp and the sky so bright with unfamiliar stars, I wonder if I’m even in the same world I left only hours ago. I’m not hungry, though it is a long time since I ate the fireside meal with Ger and his horde. I’m not thirsty and I don’t feel tired. Indeed I follow the shining road all through the night.
I’ve got used to the presence of the Weird, and am learning to ignore them as much as possible. They are not all small and though some resemble animals, most are like nothing I’ve ever seen before. They ignore me. Snake creatures slither over my feet, coil around my legs, flying things barely miss my head with their leathery wings, and some of the walking beings are so close I would feel their breath on my skin if they breathed. I walk for a while with two many-limbed creatures by my side. They are locked in an embrace that at times seems to include me and though I cannot feel their skin against mine, their closeness is still disturbing. I am used to living with visions of the dying. I can deal with this. I am unprepared for what happens next. One of these creatures pauses in the act of caressing its fellow to loosen, then remove my arm ring. It happens too swiftly, too unexpectedly, for me to prevent it. I don’t see what happens next because suddenly the night is dark, cloudy and wet. I am shivering. The Wild Weird are gone and my feet are ankle-deep in cold mud. Worse, not five paces away two wolves turn at the sound of my horrified gasp.
I reach for my sword, but of course it’s not there. Rain soaks through the wool of my tunic. I have no mail either to protect my heart. The nearest wolf moves towards me. My only remaining weapon is my gift of fire. I have to try to kindle my inner flame, without myself breathing fire. I don’t want to endure the pain of that again. There are a couple of fallen branches nearby, rotten, wet and too big for me to lift. I find my inner heat and will the mound of wood into flame. The wolves are becoming bolder, moving together as if preparing to attack. The pile of wood resolutely refuses to ignite. There is movement behind me and a third wolf appears. If I can’t light the wood, I will be at the mercy of this wild pack. I am breathing in a frightened panicky way and I know I need to be calm to find the fire in me. I need to be composed to fan the ember of my will and control the power so that it doesn’t come pouring out of my mouth. My heart is hammering and all I can think about is being torn apart. They will be on me in a moment.
Something growls. I try not to listen. I don’t want to see what is coming for me. I close my eyes and steady myself. Finally the wet wood catches and blazes, spitting and crackling as only wet wood can. I feed it my strength and it burns higher than a man, though the rain is coming down hard now and would have extinguished a lesser fire.
The wolves are backing away. I sprint to the shelter of the billowing flames and then I see him: the huge grey wolf, Morcant.
He snarls and his mouth is a cavern, the sound is a roar. There is no doubt that he is the strongest wolf there has ever been: the other wolves run. He is bigger even than the last time I saw him – twice the size of my potential attackers and his shadow self, my Morcant, is so clear, so real I think I might touch him. He is awake and watching me. I can’t believe he is here. Did the Wild Weird expel me from the druids’ walk on purpose?
The shadow man opens his arms as if to embrace me. I want to run to him, to tell him about my restoration, the return of my strength, everything that has happened. I dart forward. I am almost close enough to touch him. It would be a comfort just to stroke his wolf’s pelt, to be certain that he is real and not some phantom. And then I see her, the she-wolf standing guard over her mate. She waits a pace or two behind him. She bares her teeth and a low growl, harsh and menacing, issues from her throat. I don’t need any special insight to know what that means. This is real. I hesitate mid-stride, held captive by my uncertainty, frozen. I don’t know if Morcant the wolf will protect me. His yellow wolf’s eyes meet mine. Is there regret in them? The man raises a ghostly hand as if to touch me and then lets it fall. He bows his head as if in defeat. Why does he not become a man? Why doesn’t he come back to me? I take a step back. The man raises his head and smiles, a smile that would break any heart let alone one as brittle as mine. I think I may have lost him.
My fire still blazes. I move to stand in the intense heat of its flames. I am certain the blaze will keep the she-wolf away. She places herself next to the wolf and nuzzles against him. Her message is clear and Morcant does nothing to discourage her. I hope that he might give me some sign that I am as welcome by his side as she is: he does not.
Instead he stares at me steadily with unblinking yellow eyes. They do not lack intelligence, only warmth. This wolf has made his choice.
There is nothing to say. I am not diminished. I am Trista still. I can light fires and prophesy and fight as well as any man. If I must manage without Morcant, I can and will. I find myself twisting the wolf ring. In my imagination Gwyn is laughing. He would be amused to find me bested by a she-wolf.
The rain is soaking through my clothes and I start to shiver, the ordinary kind of shivering that afflicts everyone. My face is wet with the relentless rain and not with the tears that I will not let myself shed. What if the fireside tales are true and a week spent in the summer country could be a year or more in ours? How long has Morcant been the wolf?