12

Brian was lying on what seemed to be sand. He sat up. Migbeg, stretched out next to him, was just sitting up also. He smiled at Brian, and they both got to their feet. Then, looking past Brian, he smiled even more broadly. Brian turned.

“Oh, no,” he said. For there, brushing the sand from her tunic, was Lianor.

“Why are you looking so surprised?” she asked.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be,” he said. “I felt someone take my hand just as I started falling, and I should have known it was you.”

“Of course,” she said. “I wasn’t sure it would bring me here, but I thought it was worth trying.”

“And what if, instead of bringing you here, it had kept me from going?”

“It didn’t. Anyway, I’m here, and there’s no way to send me back so you might as well make the best of it.”

“I suppose I’ll have to.” Despite his misgivings, he could not help smiling too. “I see you brought Migbeg’s spear.”

“Oh. Yes.” It was lying at her feet where she had dropped it, and she picked it up and gave it to Migbeg. He nodded his thanks, and they looked around.

They were in the strangest place Brian had ever seen—a sandy waste that extended as far as he could see in every direction. For a moment, he was not sure why it seemed so strange; then, he realized there were several reasons.

First, there was the light. It was dim, so dim that the three of them cast no shadows, and it seemed to have no source. For when he looked up, he saw that there was no sun or moon or even any sky above them, only a faintly luminous grayness.

Second, there was the waste itself. The sand, fine and red in some places and yellow in others, was in constant motion; not shifting as sand does when blown by the wind, but rising and falling gently like the sea on a calm day.

“What did Tertius call this place?” asked Brian.

“It was Venantius who gave it a name,” said Lianor. “He called it Annwn.”

“But they both said it was a world of darkness.”

“Well, you cannot call it a world of light. And there may be parts that are darker than this.”

“That’s true. Which way do you think we should go?”

“I don’t think it matters. If we are meant to find Merlin, we will find him no matter which way we go.”

“Still, we’ve got to go in one direction or another,” said Brian logically. “Migbeg, you decide.”

Shrugging, Migbeg tossed his spear into the air. It fell with its flint head pointing somewhat to their right.

“That way then?”

“It’s as good as any.”

And so they set off, going where the spear pointed. Walking was not easy, for though they did not sink into the colored sand, its constant motion made their footing uncertain. And when they looked back, they saw that the sand’s slow heaving had erased their footprints.

It occurred to Brian that with no sun or moon to give them their direction and no footprints to follow, it would be difficult to find their way back. But he did not say anything about this.

Suddenly, far ahead, two very odd creatures appeared and came toward them. They seemed to be some sort of bird, but they were like no birds that any of them had ever seen before. They were almost as tall as a man and had long, blue legs and short wings. Their bodies were round and covered with fur rather than feathers, and their beaks were short and triangular. They looked at the three strangers with wide, surprised eyes, and when Lianor spoke to them, they squawked and ran off on their stiltlike legs.

The three continued on across the sandy waste and abruptly came to the end of it—a place where the sand no longer rose and fell but became firm and solid as a beach. Beyond this rim of sand was a heath that was somewhat rolling, covered with springy turf and dotted with clumps of fern and heather and an occasional rock.

There were some low hills ahead of them, and as they drew near them, Migbeg began looking around uneasily.

“What’s wrong, Migbeg?” asked Brian.

Migbeg shook his head but did not answer.

“For some reason, this all looks familiar,” said Brian.

“Like the heath where we first met Migbeg,” said Lianor.

“That’s it,” said Brian, remembering. “But then why is he anxious?”

“He must have his reasons. You remember how the White Lady described this—as the place to which none go willingly.”

“But he did come willingly. It was he who brought us here.”

“Yes. But he didn’t know what we would find here, and it must remind him of something unpleasant.”

They came to a low ridge, climbed it, and when they got to the top, Migbeg paused, looking at the hill directly ahead of them. It was barren and rocky, and crowning it was one particular rock that was dark and somehow menacing, like a huge brooding face.

Migbeg pointed to it and again shook his head.

“You don’t want to go that way?” asked Lianor.

He nodded.

“Then we won’t,” said Brian.

They went down the ridge and turned to the right, walking away from the hill along the bottom of the valley that lay between it and the ridge. The valley became deeper and narrower until it was little more than a cleft through which they had to go in single file. Migbeg was leading the way and walking quickly, as if anxious to get as far as possible from the hill. They came to a place where the rift was so narrow that Migbeg had to turn sideways to squeeze through. Brian and Lianor followed him and found that Migbeg had stopped again and was staring ahead of him, his eyes wide and his face drawn.

They were in a valley that was, perhaps, a quarter of a mile across, a cup in the hills with steep, almost vertical, walls. And though the rift through which they had approached it had seemed to be straight, it must have curved to the left for there, opposite them, was the hill with the huge, facelike rock near its top that they had been trying to avoid.

“Migbeg, why does this place frighten you so?” asked Brian.

Migbeg did not answer.

“You know we’re your friends,” said Lianor. “Tell us.”

Reluctantly, Migbeg turned to her, pointed to himself and held his hand out at about shoulder height.

“Years ago, when you were younger—about sixteen years old,” said Lianor, translating his sign language.

He nodded and went on, continuing to make his stylized gestures, which she interpreted.

“You went out or were sent out alone, as is the custom among your people. You had no weapons or food. It must have been a kind of test or initiation,” she explained in an aside to Brian.

Again Migbeg nodded, then pointed upward, held up three fingers and made a sweeping gesture that took in the valley.

“After three days, you came here. And then what? What happened?”

Once more, he shook his head, and it was clear that he was going to say no more.

“We know that he’s a brave man,” said Brian. “So whatever happened here must have been very bad. All right, Migbeg. We’ll go back.”

He turned toward the opening through which they had just come—and it wasn’t there! Somehow, the cleft had closed, and behind them was a rock wall as solid and sheer as the sides of the valley.

Brian and Lianor exchanged thoughtful glances.

“Look, Migbeg,” said Brian, “what happened years ago didn’t happen here. It happened in a place that looks like this. Now we seem to be trapped. We can’t go back, and the only way out of this valley is there.” He pointed to an opening on its far side. “Will you go there with us?”

Migbeg hesitated, then nodded.

“Good,” said Brian.

They spread out with Brian on one side of Migbeg and Lianor on the other and started across the valley. As they did, what little light there was faded, and it became darker, so dark that they could barely see the surrounding walls of the valley.

Though the floor of the valley was level, it was stony, and they had to pick their way across it carefully. They were about halfway across, walking slowly, when there was a sudden wailing call off to the left. Migbeg froze, clutching his spear. The call was answered by another to the right and still others ahead and behind him. Then, as Migbeg looked around wildly, a dozen or more weird shapes appeared out of the half darkness and came toward them.

Though they walked on two legs, they were not men for they were taller than men; their bodies were hairy, and their heads were those of beasts or creatures in a nightmare—some wolflike, some like birds of prey and one with branching horns like that of a stag.

Moving lightly and quickly, they came toward the three, and now Brian could see that their hands were talons with sharp, curving nails.

With a moan, Migbeg sank to the ground, covering his face. Brian drew Starflame and Lianor her dagger, and with Migbeg between them, they prepared to fight the monsters off.

Weaving back and forth, almost dancing, the creatures closed in, teeth and claws gleaming. They ignored Brian and Lianor and tried to get at Migbeg. The one with the horns seemed to be the leader. It gestured, and the one with a wolf’s head darted in. Brian cut at it, but it ducked under his blow and raked Migbeg’s chest with its talons. Migbeg cried out in terror and pain, and blood welled up from the gashes. Again Brian slashed at it, and though this time his blow was true and caught it on the neck, its flesh offered no resistance. The blade passed through it, and the monster drew back unharmed.

Now another darted in, and another, dodging Brian’s sword and taking no hurt when he did reach them. Behind him, he could hear Lianor panting as she slashed at the demonic shapes with her dagger. Then, “Migbeg,” she cried. “You must help us. Do you hear? You must help us!”

A moment longer, he crouched there, his body and arms gashed and red with blood. Then, with a shout, he leaped to his feet and hurled his spear at the horned monster. It staggered back with the spear in its chest. Then it and all the other nightmare figures disappeared.

Brian and Lianor looked about them.

“Were they real?” asked Brian.

“They seemed to be,” said Lianor, “even though we could not hurt them. When they clawed Migbeg, he bled.”

But when they looked at Migbeg, the blood was gone and there were no wounds on his body, only the faint marks of old scars.

Migbeg was looking about also. Picking up his spear, he examined the flint point. There was no blood there either. Then, coming back, he embraced Lianor and Brian gratefully.

“There’s no need for that,” said Lianor. “You did it yourself. But I don’t think that that particular nightmare—if that’s what it was—will trouble you again.”

Gravely, Migbeg nodded.