Entering the forest was, for Nyctasia, like coming into a garden after years in a barren wasteland. It was radiant with life, a wellspring of power. She felt that the world she had known until now was the domain of death-that she had escaped from some dire captivity.
She looked back at the road and was overcome with terror. It looked to her like the ghost of a dead, dried river-a river of evil that hungered to draw her in and drown her. The very dust of the road seemed to be the powdered bones of its victims. Surely, if she set foot upon it, it would leech the life from her and leave her one of the lost, shadowy creatures who wandered the road, only fit to be prey for ghouls or the perverse Elves. She shuddered, not at the ways of the Yth, but at the horror of the road-banishment from the source of life. She turned her eyes away in loathing.
Nyctasia willingly allowed herself to harbor the inhuman feelings that flooded her. She wished to know the voice of the Yth in all its treacherous glamour-to resist its lure because she chose to do so, not because she refused to hear it.
To understand the Yth’s power was to master it.
She touched the hilt of Corson’s dagger, the token of the oath that bound her to return. It was a primitive spell, but all the more powerful for that. She forced herself to look back at the road, to see it as it was, and she smiled at the sight of it, familiar and reassuring. It was the way to her true home and her own kind. Unafraid, she turned and moved off deeper into the Yth.
The forest was as curious about Nyctasia as she was about it. Leaves brushed her face as she passed, and a grey bird lit on her shoulder and tried to steal one of her silver earrings. But she was not to be caught so easily. She would leave nothing belonging to her within the Yth’s power.
All about her there was a furtive rustling that quieted whenever she paused to listen. Even the wind seemed to follow her, whispering, carrying the sound of distant voices.
Nyctasia knelt to study a cluster of pale yellow mushrooms growing at the foot of a hollow tree. She held herself very still and watched from the corner of her eye, hoping that whatever hid nearby would take courage and draw nearer. The thickets stirred with wary, sly movements. She thought a pallid face peered out from the branches of a tree, but it vanished before she could turn to look.
There was a frantic scurrying of shadows and Nyctasia was left in an absolute, ominous silence.
She looked up to see that the missing guard from the caravan was approaching her. He moved haltingly and his face was set in a mirthless, tight-lipped smile.
He did nor speak to her.
Nyctasia had expected this. Rising unhurriedly, she faced him and made a Sign of Command, then uttered a simple spell of Unveiling. He backed away, grinning in rage, and Nyctasia saw that his teeth were sharp and jagged, and slanted back towards his throat. Then the creature lost all resemblance to the guard. It crouched on its haunches, snarling at Nyctasia, but when she took a step towards it, it turned and swiftly loped away.
Nyctasia meant to find the man, alive or dead, and this creature could lead her to him. She started in pursuit, but it ran faster than a person could follow on foot.
She would not be a person, then. This was the Yth, where one’s form only reflected the need of the moment, and her need was for speed and stealth and the keen senses of a hunter. Almost at once, a shape like a small silver fox darted through the trees and took up the chase.
Nyctasia was familiar with the Principle of Transformation. A shifting spell was not intended to change one thing into another, but to manifest the truth that all things were, in essence, one and the same. But only here, with the power of the Yth at her command, could she avail herself of this knowledge without risk.
The teaching had always seemed to her more of an ideal than a reality.
Now it seemed altogether natural to take on a different shape, for this shape belonged to her as well. When it no longer suited her ends, she would simply discard it for another. She ran effortlessly, keeping track of her quarry by scent and hearing alone. She was assailed by a myriad of smells and sounds, some alluring and some threatening, but she kept to her course unswervingly.
All at once there was a familiar scent on the wind that made her stop and hug the ground, prowling about and sniffing. She gave a sharp whine. It was the smell of man, the smell of death. Nyctasia had found what she was seeking.
“Wake up, you! Your friend’s gone. Do you know what’s become of her?”
Still muzzy-headed, Corson said vaguely, “Who, Nyc? She was right here a moment ago.”
“She’s nowhere in camp, I tell you! Get up, everyone’s to be counted.”
It was soon determined that no one was missing except Nyctasia.
“She’s the one who knew all about the forest. If it could get her, no one is safe!”
“She knew too much about it, if you ask me. I never did trust that one.”
Corson was sure that Nyctasia had left the road by her own wish, but would she return? She wanted to wait, but the others insisted on moving the camp. Whatever had taken Nyctasia might still be close by.
While they took down the tents and harnessed the horses, Corson paced back and forth along the edge of the road, shouting for Nyctasia. No one told her to help load the wagons, but neither did they help her to call. Corson knew what they were thinking. She was thinking the same thing-what if Nyctasia did come back
…?
Nyctasia was walking beside a stream, gathering some sweet-smelling herbs, when she heard Corson’s voice calling. She paid no heed to it at first but kept on her way, following the stream until she found that it was leading her back to camp. Surely not so soon? She stopped and sat down beside a shallow pool, trying to sort out her thoughts.
She dipped her hand in the clear water, and silvery minnows swam into her palm, curious and unafraid. Her reflection rippled as though with laughter. Gazing down at it, Nyctasia hardly knew its features for her own.
“Images reversed but clearer,” she murmured. Why should she renounce the power and freedom of the Yth for the sake of that stranger mirrored in the pool? What would she lose by yielding to the fascination of the forest?
Corson’s voice pulled at her like an answer to her questions, but she set her back to it and struck off aimlessly through the forest. She wandered among the whispering leaves and beckoning shadows, wishing to lose herself in the depths of the Yth, but still she could hear Corson calling her. Whichever way she turned, the shouting only grew louder, and she was soon within sight of the road again. Resigned, Nyctasia drew nearer to the campsite until she stood almost at the edge of the road. Half-hidden by the thickly tangled bushes, she watched the caravan prepare to depart. They were almost ready. She must have been gone longer than she’d intended.
Corson was no longer shouting. She stood in the middle of the road, looking about her hopelessly. Someone came over to her, and Nyctasia could hear them arguing, then Corson shrugged and followed after him.
Nyctasia approached reluctantly. Try as she might, she could not let her promise go unfulfilled.
“Wait!” She came to the edge of the road and held the dagger out to Corson.
For a moment, everyone was frightened into silence, then people shouted to Corson to keep her place.
Corson needed no warning. She made no move towards Nyctasia, but only drew her sword and waited, her face cold as stone.
Their fear amused Nyctasia. And Corson seemed most laughable of all, brandishing a sword as if such a weapon could avail against the Yin’s magic. She could destroy the lot of them if she chose!
“Corson, come away! Leave her!” the drivers whipped up the cart horses, and folk scrambled to mount the wagons, calling to each other to hurry. Corson began to back away, never taking her eyes from Nyctasia. Drawn against her will out of the shelter of the forest, Nyctasia followed her, still proffering the dagger.
Seeing her walk onto the road, Corson allowed her to approach. “Nyc…?”
“I told you I’d bring it back. You needn’t have worried.”
Corson’s relief was overmastered by rage. Seizing Nyctasia by the collar, she shook her roughly and shouted, “If you ever try a fool’s trick like that again, you’ll wish you’d been keelhauled before I finish with you!”
Nyctasia let herself be railed at and buffeted about, without a word of protest.
When Corson paused for breath, she merely straightened her clothes and said mildly, “It is written, ‘If the Yth fails to make you its prey, beware lest it make you a predator.’ You’re quite right, Corson, I shouldn’t have gone. I’m sorry.”
“You are?!”
“Yes, I was wrong. It was far more dangerous than I expected.”
Corson was dumbfounded. Nothing she had anticipated was as unsettling as winning an argument with Nyctasia.
“It takes a witch to enter the Yth and return, so be thankful you have a witch with you!” Nyctasia said defiantly. “If I hadn’t gone she would have, and we’d have lost her as well.” She pointed at one of the guards. “You’ve seen him, haven’t you?”
The woman nodded. “He wouldn’t speak to me,” she said softly.
“We wouldn’t let her go to him. She wanted to,” one of the others volunteered.
“I thought as much. Listen to me, I found him-he’s dead, you must understand that. Here, I brought you this as proof.” Nyctasia handed her a brass armlet. “I don’t think you’ll see him again.”
“Thank you, lady,” the woman sobbed.
“Now, if you’re all satisfied, I should like to get some rest,” Nyctasia said scornfully.
No one answered her, but when she was out of earshot someone muttered, “We ought to kill that one, if you ask me.”
“No one’s asked you!” Corson snapped, loud enough for the rest to hear. “If anyone’s to kill her, it’ll be me. I’ve earned the pleasure!”