Forest

 

He had crossed enemy lines without incident, avoiding detection with a partial invisibility spell. The going had been risky. The energy level was low back on the plains. This world blew hot and cold on magic. In spots, like Merydion, there was little power, whereas in other places, such as his destination, the level was dangerously high. Not a few native magicians had vaporized themselves fooling with powers they couldn't control. It was an occupational hazard. 

Now the energy gradient was steepening as he entered the Timeless Forest. Though not sufficient to power a teleportation spell, the magic of the forest was tricky. There were currents and eddies of force. Intersecting lines of influence wove a tangled web to snare the unsuspecting. He had not spent a great deal of time here, but was aware of the risk and knew some of the dangers. Yet he was by no means experienced. He would have to take it easy. 

The trees were tall, their trunks of staggering girth. Thick loam compressed beneath his mount's hooves. The undergrowth was thin, unable to thrive in the dark under the forest canopy. Moss on tree trunks grew thick as rugs. Toadstools towered almost man-high, and morels resembled hot-air balloons. Vines like hawsers hung from the treetops. 

He sniffed. It was high summer, but there was the definite tang of autumn in the air, the cider smell of rotting fruit. Strange. 

He rode on, noticing odder things. Some leaves were turning. A little farther along the trail most of the foliage had bloomed into colorful fall decay. Reds, yellows, golds. Puzzled, he halted his mount and looked around. 

The leaves seemed to change as he watched. Then they began to fall. 

Leaves swirling around him, he continued. Soon the forest floor was a carpet of colors. The air now had the snap of early winter. 

The sky grayed over and the temperature dropped. A snowflake drifted by. Then another. Another. 

He rode on. The accumulation was fast and reached ankle height in no time. Wisps of steam trailed from his mount's nostrils. He wore no cloak, and had on only a short-sleeved doublet. He shivered and shook. Deepening hoof prints trailed in the snow. 

Winds buffeted him while bare branches grasped and tangled above. He booted his mount into a slippery canter, hoping to get through the anomaly. 

After a good stretch he eased the horse into a walk again. The snow had stopped falling. Green buds appeared, and birds sang. The snow melted. In a matter of minutes he passed from winter to spring, and then back to midsummer again. 

“The years go by fast when you get old,” he told his horse. 

The trail forked ahead. He stopped to get his bearings. He was inclined to take the right fork, and did. 

Warm breezes brought the smell of wildflowers as he rode through sun-dappled shade. Sagging branches creaked, and a lone bird twitted at him. The trees were more slender now, but still tall. Shelves of yellow fungus ringed an occasional stump. Passing through a swarm of gnats, he fended them off, and journeyed on. 

* * * *

An hour passed, and the trail fed into another. A line of hoof prints marked the dirt. He turned right and followed them. 

Ahead the trail diverged. It looked like the same fork, to which he had come full circle. His own trace went off to the right. 

“Left, this time, I think.” 

He went at a trot, and another hour passed. He tried to watch the sky and the angle of the sun, but it did no good. At length he came around again, the way merging with the original trail. This time two sets of hoof prints went to the left, and again he confronted the parting of the ways. 

He abandoned the trail and urged his horse through the underbrush, dodging low branches. After a slow-moving and arduous hour... 

“Damn.” 

The same trail, and ahead the same fork. 

He tried going off trail again, this time in another direction. Twigs of saplings snagged at him. Low branches swooped. An angry buzzing informed him that the gourdlike object he had brushed against was a wasps’ nest. He geed up into a gallop and almost had his head taken off by a malevolent tree. He rode blindly for a good long while. 

At length he broke into the open. The blasted trail again!—this time with more sets of hoof prints than he could discern. 

“I'm starting to get pissed off.” 

He turned against the traffic and went back the way he had originally come. 

The trail gave out about a minute later. He found himself in a small clearing that had not been there before. He reined his sweating steed around to find that the path had entirely disappeared. Hemmed in, he dismounted. 

“All right, what do you want?” 

He heard—or thought he heard—laughter. 

“Right. Well, we'll see.” 

He walked the circumference of the clearing, peering into the undergrowth. Nothing, no one. 

At the center of the clearing was a fairy circle of toadstools, these about knee-high. He stood in the middle of the circle and raised his arms. He murmured a few words. 

He waited. Silence. 

He said the words again, this time more slowly. He stood still for a good while longer, eyes closed. 

A rustling off to the left. He did not open his eyes. Time passed. 

Presently a four-legged beast ran into the clearing and halted not far from him. He turned and beheld it. 

It was small, had short white hair, and looked like a cross between a goat and a pony. On its head were long golden horns, three of them: two curving ones to the side, and one, slightly straighter, growing out of the middle of the forehead. The creature's eyes were a piercing blue. 

The tricorn regarded him dispassionately. 

He asked, “Are you the demiurge around here—or at least its incarnation?” 

The empathic vibrations he received in reply seemed to indicate the affirmative. 

“Is there something you want of me?” 

(Negative.) 

“Then you're simply having a bit of fun?” 

(Mirth.) 

“Much as I hate to spoil your sport, could I possibly persuade you to let me go?” 

(Perhaps.) 

“What would it take?” 

(Mild amusement.) 

“I have the feeling that nothing short of my death would satisfy you, although you don't want it to happen suddenly. You intend to keep me a prisoner in your domain until I waste away.” 

(Laughter.) 

“All right, you play rough. But two can play.” 

He held out his right hand. A flame sprang to life on his upturned palm. He turned his hand over and the flame spilled to the ground. The grass blazed up, and he stepped back. 

Thunder cracked, and rain began to fall. The flames did not go out; they leaped up and roared, spreading, making a path for the undergrowth. 

“You'll find that water won't quench it,” he called. “Only my counterspell will.” 

The thunder faded and the rain stopped. 

“Convinced?” 

(Affirmative!) 

He waved his hands and the flames died. Pale smoke rose from the clearing. 

“Now. How about showing me a way out?” 

The tricorn stood motionless. 

He searched the edge of the clearing. The path had reappeared. 

“Fine. I need a little help, though. I want to find a shortcut across the continent. I'm told that a hellwind blows from here to the mountains of Marnass. Will you show me where I can catch this infernal zephyr?” 

(Reluctant assent.) 

He mounted. “Good. Lead on, hat rack.” 

(Indignation.) 

“Sorry, couldn't resist.” 

The tricorn raced ahead on the path. He had trouble keeping up, catching only glimpses of the animal's silky white tail as he rounded bends. The forest breathed its cool breath on him, the trees parted, and the way was made clear. 

After a while he stopped to give the horse a rest. The tricorn foraged in the bushes to one side up ahead. He sat and massaged his aching legs. 

He heard a babbling and went down into a nearby gully. Finding a clear stream, he kneeled and drank. The water was crisp, pure, sweet. His shimmering reflection caused him to reflect that he was getting old. He recalled an old family saying: After three hundred it's patch, patch, patch.... 

Returning, he mounted and resumed the journey. 

 

At last he came to the edge of the forest. Ahead were badlands colonized by an occasional stunted tree. The tricorn circled around and darted back into the woods. 

At his back he felt a warning. 

(Do not return. Ever!) 

“Thank you. I won't.” 

He moved forward. The sun beat down on rocks and little else except tufts of dry grass. A ridge of hills cut across the terrain ahead. 

A lizard scurried across the trail. Nothing else moved. The sky had turned yellow, vague clouds striping it. 

A wind suddenly rose, whipping up dust. The horse neighed and reared up. It was a strange wind, and blew good to no one except those who would seek to cheat time and space. That was what he sought, and he attuned himself to its flow. It blew at his back and toward the hills, pushing him. The horse leaped into a canter, then broke stride into a run. He reined in and brought the animal back to a proper gait. Better to maintain a steady pace. 

The ground seemed to go by faster than the horse moved. The effect was disconcerting at first, but soon he had accustomed himself to yet another anomaly. 

The hills came up and he climbed, the rate of speed paradoxically increasing as the horse followed a pass marked out by gray boulders. Cliffs threw deep shadows across the trail and slides of talus dumped debris in his path, but the horse was magically surefooted. The wind increased, shrieking at his back. 

He reached the summit, and the rate of the ground's passing picked up even more. The beast ran at freeway cruising speed, impossibly. Then faster, and faster still. 

He came down into tableland cut by deep arroyos. Cactuslike plants populated the flats. The nearby ground was a blur, distant scenery passing as in a fast-moving train. Still the speed increased. 

Clouds grouped, turning dark. Lightning cut the sky at the horizon and rain began to fall. The wind was fierce now, whipping at him and churning up a whirling storm of dust. Bits of dirt and tiny pebbles stung his face, and he spoke a short bit of magic-making to ward them off. 

The sky darkened and lightning struck to either side. Auroral displays lit up the horizon, fingers of fire brushing distant mountains. His speed was incredible now. The horse seemed to leave the ground ... it did leave the ground. 

Horse and rider rose into the maelstrom.