Fisher of Shadows

By S. M. Feir

"Pedlar of dream-stuff, piping an empty tune;

Fisher of shadows, Ploughman of the Moon."--Paul Verlaine, translated by Robert Service.

Chapter One: Of Dreams and Drudgery

"Damn!" Ellen Mitchell pounded her desk and stood up in a huff for the seventh time in half an hour. Her computer, an ancient, bulky relic from some by-gone era before Wi-Fi and smartphones, had frozen yet again. Never had she worked so hard on something so simple as an inter-office email in her life. This was one of the tasks in her day which usually required little thinking, but today, it felt as though she was stuck in some kind of hellish torture-chamber where she had been given the task of writing--a thing she loved beyond anything in the world--but writing something very boring, an always-begun but eternally-unfinished inter-office email.

"Computer on the blink again?" Jenny Hargrove shared a cubicle-divider with her and they often commiserated over their blue screens.

"What else? And you know the hell of it? The email I'm writing would take me ten seconds to tell Brian about if I went into his office right now. Still, he's all about documentation, so I guess I have to get this old clunker working again, so I suppose I'll reboot for the seventh time today!"

"At least you weren't in the middle of your real work," Jenny said, smiling at her and taking a sip of coffee. They weren't supposed to drink coffee at their desks most days, but today was Friday, and the ban against the liquefied bean was lifted on Fridays. Jenny's eternal optimism frustrated her, but the fact that she had forgotten that today was Friday and that she could therefore indulge her caffeine addiction outside of the break-room pushed her over the edge.

"Damn! Damn! Damn! Damn everything to hell! I hate this fucking job!"

"Really, Miss Mitchell!" Josephine Carling, the office manager, poked her head out of her neat-as-a-pin office and stared daggers at Ellen over her horn-rimmed glasses. Ellen resumed her seat with a heavy sigh and slowly moved her fingers on the keyboard to press the 'control-alt-delete' key combination that would free the computer from its paralyzed state.

"Jen," she said, "when was the last time you performed what we used to call the three-fingered salute?"

 "Until you told me about it, El, I hadn't heard of it before." They both began to laugh. This was a shared joke between them. Jenny was a recent university graduate of twenty-two. When she had been born, Ellen had been twelve years old and the personal computer had still to make inroads into the worlds collective consciousness.

"Have I ever told you, El, how grateful I am to hear your stories of the days of yore?"

"You'd best be glad I was born in the days of yore, Jen. These computers are the oldest things still running that I've ever seen!"

"Well, you know Brian! He takes the cases that no one else will take, and he keeps the computers that refuse to die. He is a chivalrous soul!"

Yes, Ellen thought as she watched her screen spring to life again, and he takes the scholars who can't find jobs in their fields. It had not been her choice to work in an independent lawyer's office, but Brian O'Hara Esquire's ad in the local paper had woken pity in her heart, and his run-down office in an equally run-down building in the poorest part of town had convinced her that he was one of those lawyers who was in it for love of the law and not for the money. He had wanted a communications consultant, and what Ellen had come to realize after a year of working here was that what he had meant by 'communications consultant' in his language was translated by herself and the rest of the world as 'glorified proof-reader' and 'waterer-down of somewhat passionate language.' In other words, she, a successful and fully qualified doctor of philosophy in English Literature, had become what amounted to little more than an administrative assistant whose job it was to make Brian's rough manner and unpolished writing-style seem refined and diplomatic to the outside world. This meant, however, that she had to take both barrels full of that rough manner in the chest at every turn. Jenny, at least, was working here while she waited for her first year of law-school to start. Ellen had no prospects of finding work in her field any time soon, so here she was, working with equipment which belonged in a museum in an office that was drafty and dilapidated for a man who barely ever had a kind word to say to any of his staff.

"Sometimes," she said over the top of the pseudo-wall to Jenny, "I wish that someone would give my life the three-fingered salute. I'm sick of this nothing!"

"God! You really are depressed, El!"

"Yep," she said, her computer finally revealing the icons on her desktop, "I am! This day can be done as soon as it wants to as far as I'm concerned."

She began, now for the eighth time, to compose this useless email to her boss, and for once, her computer seemed to be in a helpful temper. It wasn't even ten o'clock in the morning, and already her day seemed to be shot. Still, she reflected, tonight was bound to be better. Tonight, her dearest friend in the world was coming into town on a week's vacation, and she had chosen to invite Ellen along.

"You need a change," Kate Matthews had said when she had called a month before to arrange it. "I can hear it in your voice. Besides, when was the last time you visited the 'Palace of Art'?"

Ellen smiled now, remembering their Tennyson-inspired nick-name for the country cottage belonging to her uncle Arthur. Indeed, a few years ago, while she and Kate were still school-fellows at the fine old bastion of learning of which Uncle Arthur was the Head Master, he had purchased a custom-made sign printed in curling medieval script which read:

"Welcome to the Palace of Art! May it be a haunt of ancient peace to the weary traveler!"

It was because of gestures such as this that Arthur Collins had gained a reputation for being eccentric. However, he always passed it off by saying:

"If I were eccentric, I would have a lot more money to my name! As it is, I have just enough money to be considered a mere lunatic. Now, why don't I make us some tea?"

Uncle Arthur was a true connoisseur of all things tea-related. As he described the virtues of a particular blend he was serving, Ellen always got the feeling that he was a priest in some tea-worshipping mystery cult. The esoteric knowledge that he had was so specialized that she could believe that he had obtained it only by participating in secret and time-honoured rituals which predated such heresies as the tea-bag. No, she could not wait to see her dear uncle again; she knew that she had been away too long., and for this, she was eternally grateful to her friend.

Besides, there was another reason she wanted to get out of the city, and that reason was Jim Parker. He had been hanging around her again lately, and she didn't know how to tell him that she only wanted to be friends. She knew he had carried a torch for her ever since they had met in a Modern British Literature class during her undergraduate days. He had taken the class as an elective, thinking it would be easy, and it was her job to undeceive him by unfolding to him the mysterious world of W. B. Yeats, T. S. Elliot and James Joyce. At least, she thought of this as her job. The truth was that she had taken pity on him then, knowing that this student of kinesiology had inadvertently stumbled into one of the most difficult corners of the literary world, and by the end of the course, he had learned a great deal. Ever since then, he had popped up again and again in her life, and had remained a companion with whom to share the occasional dinner out, but beyond this point she would not let him pass. Taking Kate to see Uncle Arthur was going to give her a week's respite from his tiresome flirting, and for this, she was grateful beyond eternity.

"Don't forget," said Jenny, startling her out of her thoughts. "You have that meeting with Brian at eleven."

"It's not just a meeting, Jen. It's a performance review, and worst of all, jolly Josephine is going to be in on it. She has it in for me, especially since my stupid outburst a few minutes ago."

"Well, just be yourself, and you'll do fine, I'm sure!"

"That's the problem, Jen! Being myself just doesn't seem to count for much in this world lately."

"You do need a break! I hope next week will give you the reboot that you need!"

"So do I, Jennifer my dear, so do I!"

The email finally having been sent, Ellen turned her attention to some letters which she had been asked to look over, and here, she thought sardonically, was the reason that she had not yet been fired. Her ability with words was legendary in local law-circles. Everyone knew Brian O'Hara by reputation, so that when Ellen had come to work for him, they had all been surprised at the sudden change in tone that his correspondence had undergone. He was a bull-dog in the court-room, but when it came to writing letters, he was blunt to the point of rudeness. He had never mastered the fine art of subtlety, and while others before her had tried to tame the vitriolic and invective streak which always ran through his unedited compositions, they had never had the facility with words that she could demonstrate. She always managed to make him say exactly what he had originally intended, but in a way that was more palatable to those who received his legal missives. She felt that Josephine Carling, who had been with Brian since he had begun practicing twenty years before, was jealous of the power that her wordcraft had over him, because there was no denying the fact that business had been better since Ellen had begun working her magic.

Here, there be dragons, she thought, as she stood up to answer the summons to judgment an hour later. The desk in Brian's office was cluttered with papers and books, and she could see that the two chairs facing it had also recently borne the weight of his chaotic work-style, for piles similar to those on the desk lay beside each of them. Josephine sat silently as Ellen entered and took the only other chair, and she could see from the look on the other woman's face that the state of this office was one which irked her to no end.

Good, Ellen thought. Let her squirm!

"Well," said Brian now, finally acknowledging the presence of the two women in front of him, "let's get this over with. Josie, you go first."

"Well, Mr. O'Hara," said Josephine, who looked as though she would not let anyone else in her life dare to call her Josie, "I think that Miss Mitchell has done some fine work during this past year, but I also feel that the stress of this working environment may be becoming too much for her."

"Stress? You wanna talk stress? Try having three cases being tried in the same day! Don't talk to me about stress! Ellen? What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I don't find working here stressful, sir," she began. "In fact, I enjoy the challenges I'm dealing with here." Every word she spoke tasted bitter in her mouth. She was lying and she didn't even care that she was lying. Was this truly her making these sycophantic pronouncements?

"Well," said Brian, tapping a pen impatiently on his blotter as he spoke, "I don't know whether you're telling me the truth, but I do know that the last letter you helped me with in the Jansen case got the other side to settle for a hell of a lot, so really, what else can I do? You get the raise I promised you, but I need you to sit in on depositions all next week."

"But I'm on vacation next week!" Ellen was on her feet before she knew what she was doing.

"Well, if you want that raise, you'll have to do your job, and I need you in the depositions for the Miller case. You're the only one who can get their retard son to understand what I'm asking him."

Jody Miller was fifteen and had suffered a very bad head injury as a result of careless driving on the part of the defendant in the case. Brian had no patience for his halting speech, and he was convinced that he needed Ellen to translate for him whenever he had to speak to the boy.

"I thought those depositions weren't scheduled till the end of the month," she said.

"Well, things have changed," was all Brian's answer, and suddenly, something in his eyes made Ellen certain that he himself had planned a holiday in the coming weeks and had forgotten to check the vacation-schedule with Josephine. So, as was typical, he was arranging his world in the way that would suit him best.

"Mr. O'Hara," she said, "I need this vacation! My friend is coming into town tonight and we're leaving tomorrow! I can't change my plans now!"

"You can if you want the raise," he said. "Otherwise, you might as well not bother coming in again."

"You mean you'd fire me for not helping you rearrange your life to suit your latest fling?" She couldn't believe she was saying this, but it felt good all the same.

"Hey! Who's the boss around here? As long as you work for me, I call the shots! Got that?"

"Well, perhaps I don't want to work for you anymore, Mr. O'Hara! I quit!" and before either Brian or Josephine could intervene, she had turned on her heel and stormed out of the cluttered office, slamming the door behind her and causing the always-possible-but-never-till-then-realized avalanche of papers to occur.

"What happened?" Jenny got up from her desk and ran across the outer office.

"Oh nothing," said Ellen. "I just quit. That's all."

"But--"

"Miss Mitchell!" Jolly Josephine was coming out of Brian's office now. "Please don't make a scene! If you're leaving, then leave. If not, then please sit down and continue with your work."

"Oh," she said, "I'm leaving alright. Tell Brian that I'll catch him on the flip-side of 'fuck you!'"

As she walked out of the suite whose outer door had a sign which read: "Brian O'Hara, Attorney At Law," she heard Jenny Hargrove laughing hysterically at her parting shot. Well, she thought, at least I made someone's day.

The car she had owned since her first year of undergraduate study, a little red Honda Civic, whined to life, and slowly, she pulled away from the curb where she had parked earlier that morning. What had she done? Just what exactly had she done? She had quit her job! Oh God! What perverse imp had possessed her? She had bills to pay and a roof to keep over her head, and she had just quit the only job she had found outside of a university setting. She wished there were time to tell Kate not to come, but in another way, she wanted to see Kate more than anyone else in the world. Kate would be the only one to understand--understand about her quitting her job, and understand too about the dreams.

For the past three months now, she had not been sleeping her usual deep and refreshing sleeps, even though she had gone to bed every night, save for rare exceptions, at her usual time. If her waking life was boring, she thought ruefully as she maneuvered the car through the familiar urban landscape, at least her dreams had been interesting lately. Every night without fail she had dreamed of some approaching doom. One time, she was sitting atop the battlements of a castle while a dragon was advancing. Another time, she sat huddled with others in a basement while a tornado threatened to destroy the house over their heads, but last night's dream had been the worst one of all. She had found herself enveloped in a deadly and stinging swarm of killer bees. She had wanted to do nothing more than escape from them, but the voice which always seemed to speak to her in these dreams--a rich and musical woman's voice--told her what it had always told her in every dream:

"Wait! Be still!" So she had waited and she had been still, but that had not stopped the incessant and angry buzzing nor the stinging. In fact, being still and waiting had never stopped any of the approaching terrors from overwhelming her. She had felt her feet baked in the dragon's fiery breath. She had been tossed out into the rain when the tornado had finally done its work, and yet, the mysterious voice, tender but implacable for all that, had insisted that she wait. She had never told anyone about these odd dreams, not even Kate, but she knew instinctively that Kate would understand and would help her try to make sense of them if any sense could be made.

She had known Kate Matthews, now Sister Katherine of the Order of St. Agnes, ever since Kate had first come to St. Sophia's (the name Sophia being pronounced by everyone associated with the place as 'so-fie-a') Academy after being home-schooled for much of her life. She had been one of the only girls to approach Kate, who had no sight at all and was therefore something of a curiosity during her first weeks there, without betraying the shyness and awkwardness to which she along with everyone else naturally fell prey. She had felt it her duty to make Kate feel at home, herself being the niece of the Head Master, but it hadn't been long before what had been a duty had become a positive pleasure. Kate was a fiercely intelligent person, and had been the only one at school to share Ellen's wide variety of literary and musical tastes. They had formed several societies over the years of which they had been the principal members, devoted to such differing and irreconcilable authors as Jane Austen, H. P. Lovecraft, and as they had grown older, even Henry Miller. Still, they had remained children at heart, delighting to spend long hours reading passages of The Lord of the Rings and other such fantastical tales to each other on sunny weekend afternoons, or if it was raining, playing music in the school auditorium: Ellen sitting at the beautifully-tuned grand piano and Kate standing beside her, coaxing angelic tones from her well-beloved and jealously-guarded gold flute.

They had both attended the same university for their undergraduate studies, and there, Ellen had looked on with amazement to see how Kate had blossomed. She had developed an interest in the traditional music of Ireland, Scotland and Wales, and had, though she was studying classical music full-time, joined a local folk band as singer and tin whistle-player. Then had come the best day of all, when Uncle Arthur, on one of their summer visits to his 'palace,' had presented Kate with an ornately-carved and exquisite-sounding Celtic harp. Ellen had seen it adorning his sitting-room for as long as she could remember, but now, he had given it to Kate, for whom it had always held a strange, almost mystical fascination. She had taken it gratefully, and had used it to good purpose, picking up the technique of playing it easily and composing musical settings of some of the most beautiful poems existing in English Literature. Ellen had listened mesmerized to her beautiful and strong voice soaring silverly above the harp's undulating chords and had been convinced that she would be a musical force to be reckoned with in the coming years.

But then had come the day, a cool April day as she remembered clearly even now, when Kate had walked into the basement apartment they had shared and had told her that she had sold her flute and would be returning the harp to Uncle Arthur, and when Ellen had asked why in stunned astonishment, Kate had told her that she would be going, after convocation, to become a postulant at a small convent she had attended several times for Lenten retreats. This was one point on which the two had always differed. Kate was a devout and pious Catholic who seemed to have found peace with all the contradictions which Ellen saw in any organized religion. She herself, however, preferred to be free of spiritual encumbrances, existing happily in a dreamy, half-romantic and half-cynical view of the world. Still, she respected Kate for persevering in the life she had chosen, and whenever they saw each other, it was as though no distance of miles or years had ever lain between them.

By the time she pulled into her apartment building's driveway (she had a large two-bedroom apartment on the ground floor of a converted Victorian house,) the early-August sun stood blazing directly overhead. What was she going to do for the rest of the day? She had already cleaned the house in anticipation of Kate's arrival, but she now had about five or six long hours to while away before her train was due. She opened her mailbox and took out the day's collection of bills and flyers, leafing idly through sales at the local stores, and then, after eating the sandwich and banana she had brought to work for lunch and had unexpectedly brought home again, she set the alarm on her iPhone and lay down on her bed, suddenly feeling very tired.

The dream began almost at once. They always started in medias res, and this time, she found herself falling from some unimaginable height. She tried to scream, but all the air seemed sucked out of her lungs, but her mind screamed even if her body couldn't, for she could see below her a steaming and frothing sea. She felt certain that she would be burned in that water before plunging beneath its surface and drowning like a dropped stone. Finally, after interminable minutes of rapid downward motion, she found the boiling waves rising to meet her, and soon, she was among them, writhing in pain and trying desperately to stay above the current which she could feel dragging her under. After a while, she realized that there were others with her in the heaving and hell-hot water, and they were all clamouring for aid, aid that only she, they thought, could give them, grabbing at her with madly-clutching fingers. She too began to scream now, calling every name she could think of, hoping that she could dream up a rescue for herself; for this was another peculiarity of these dreams. She always knew them to be dreams, even when she was in the midst of them and suffering her greatest terror.

"Kate!" she cried first, but no Kate came. "Uncle Arthur! Jim! Help me, someone!" Then, above the roaring of the waves and the screaming of her fellow-strugglers yet still soft and musical, the mysterious voice which always haunted her dreams of late spoke its familiar commands:

"Wait! Be still!" and suddenly, not daring to hope for anything, she did stay still. She half-expected the water to drag her down or those struggling beside her to tear her to pieces in their self-preserving frenzy, but neither of those things happened. Instead, as her own movements ceased, so the waves began to fall lower and lower, till they were little more than those which one might see on a calm and sunny day or in a cove sheltering under the lee of a cliff. The water too began to cool until it was the temperature of a pleasantly-warm bath, and without knowing how, she soon found herself sitting on its surface, all the other drowning people with her.

Well, she thought, this is pleasant, but then a strange sound intruded. It was a high-pitched whining noise, and she had no idea what it could mean, until all at once, she found herself sitting bolt upright in bed and lunging for the phone which lay on her bedside table. What time was it? She had no time to check now, but she felt sure that only a few minutes had passed since she had begun her nap. If it's a telemarketer, she thought, I'm not going to be polite!

"Hello," she said after clicking the cordless phone's 'on' button.

"Ellen? Are you alright?"

"Kate? How did you know I'd be home in the middle of the day? Where are you?"

"Middle of the day? Ellen, my train got in an hour ago! You don't usually forget things like this, so I thought I'd better call and see if you were alright."

"Oh hell--I mean--" Ever since Kate had become a nun, she had found it embarrassing to use curse-words in her presence.

"Well? Are you alright? Do you want me to get a cab to your place?"

"No! Don't do that, Kate! I'm alright. I just--I just fell asleep I guess. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Alright then," said Kate, and they ended the call.

Ellen looked at her iPhone and realized that the volume had been turned down, so that was why she hadn't heard the alarm which was supposed to wake her at five o'clock PM and which instead had let her sleep until--she was incredulous!--nine! There went the plans she had made for dinner! Oh well, the way she was feeling right now, perhaps a quiet night at home would be a better idea anyway. Putting her hair rapidly into some kind of order and wiping the sleep out of her eyes, she grabbed her keys from the kitchen table and ran out to her car.

The train station was deserted when she at last entered its precincts some fifteen minutes later, except for a woman behind the ticket counter and Kate, habited and wimpled, with her little Black Lab guide-dog Ruby at her side.

"Ah," said the woman, seeing Ellen approaching, "so this is your friend, Sister?"

'Indeed it is," said Kate, who had always had a knack for telling who was in the room by their footsteps. "Hello at last, Ellen!"

Ellen ran forward and hugged her friend.

"I'm so sorry I was late," she said, "but I'm glad you're here! Now, I bet you're sick of sitting on this unforgiving bench, eh?"

"Oh definitely," said Kate, standing up and picking up the backpack which always served her as a suitcase. Ruby bounded up too, and began to nose surreptitiously at Ellen's hands, wondering if they might possibly contain food for a poor, starving guide-dog. Kate heard the sniffing and called her off with a short word of command, and, Ellen leading the way, the two women and the dog walked quickly out of the station and to Ellen's waiting vehicle.

At home, Ellen ordered a pizza while Kate refamiliarized herself with the layout of the apartment. Ruby ran happily in and out of all the rooms, carrying her squeaky rubber cow in her mouth and proudly showing it to Ellen again and again, inviting her to play.

"She's making herself at home," she said as Kate came and sat on the sofa.

"Yes, and she at least is being emotionally demonstrative. Come here!" and when Ellen did, Kate pulled her into a firm and loving embrace.

"Now, Miss Dashwood," she said, using the old name from their Jane Austen Society days, "tell me what's bothering you!"

"Ah, Miss Moreland," said Ellen, sitting beside her friend. "You could always tell when I was out of sorts."

"I could indeed, and I've never been wrong. So, tell me all about it!"

"Well," said Ellen, fetching a deep sigh, "to start with, I just quit my job today."

"On the edge of a vacation? Was that wise?"

"That bastard Brian wasn't going to give me the vacation! I'd arranged it and everything, and then he offered me a raise which I deserved in any case, in exchange for cancelling my vacation and helping him with some depositions next week!"

"He is a bastard," said Kate, her habitual composure never breaking, and suddenly, the image of Sister Kate using a word like that became so utterly silly to Ellen that she began to laugh uproariously in spite of herself.

"Well," said Kate, beginning to laugh too, "how did you do it? What parting slash of your rapier wit did you wound him with?"

"I told his office manager to tell him that I'd catch him on the flip-side of 'fuck you.'"

"Now that was a master-stroke, Miss Dashwood, worthy of the bard himself! I'm proud of you! Now, what was the other thing you wanted to talk about?"

"Other thing?"

"You said that first of all, you had quit your job. Therefore, it follows logically that there must be a 'second of all'. So, come on! Out with it!"

"Well," said Ellen, uncertain of how to go on, "it has to do with why I was late picking you up. You see, I've been having strange dreams lately," and she found herself relating some of her most frightening nocturnal adventures all in a rush of words, feeling her face turning beet-red as she concluded.

"Well," said Kate, "you know I've always been one for hearing about dreams, but these have me stymied. You say that they all follow a similar pattern, and there's always this mysterious voice telling you to wait and to be still, no matter what menace is about to eat you or flay you or in some other way cause you to cease to exist? Very, very interesting! I'm glad we're going to see Uncle Arthur! He's always had a strange sense for these kinds of things, don't you think?"

Ellen agreed whole-heartedly. Ever since she could remember, Uncle Arthur had seemed like a haunted man, a man with one foot in the waking world and another set firmly in the land of dream. What was more, he had found a kindred spirit in Kate, and she used to sit in awed silence while the two of them had discussed dreams each other had experienced in a way which made her think that they knew something about the world that she didn't know. Kate had often played Watson to Uncle Arthur's Holmes in the matter of dreams, and if they could do it again this week, then perhaps she would find a way to escape the maddening and repetitive regularity of what awaited her every time she closed her eyes.

The pizza having arrived and been eaten and, a good, strong pot of tea having been shared, Kate suddenly rose, and Ellen had to blink, for here, though the habit had already been proof enough, standing before her, was not her old friend from school, but Sister Katherine herself, every inch the nun.

"I'd like to pray Compline," she said by way of explanation. "Will you join me?"

"I will," said Ellen, and listened silently while Kate read her prayers from what looked like a well-loved and well-worn sheaf of brailled pages. She had heard this service before, but nothing pleased her more than to hear Kate recite or sing the Salve Regina in its original Latin. Tonight, for a reason that Ellen could not fathom, she had chosen to sing it, and when the two had parted for the night and Ellen was lying in bed and waiting for sleep to claim her, she still heard Kate's crystalline tones as they had sounded when she had begged the Blessed Virgin for aid and succour scarcely ten minutes since. It filled her with a deep sense of comfort to know that her friend slept once more beneath her roof, and finally, with a grateful prayer of her own, she thanked whatever power had brought them together all those years ago, and soon, she found herself lost in the land of dreams for the second time that day.

Chapter Two: The Palace and the Painting

When Ellen woke the next morning, it was to the sound of Kate's humming in the kitchen and the feel of Ruby's cold nose nudging her hand where it lay outside the covers. She always left her door open a crack, because it would stick terribly if she shut it securely, so Ruby had taken advantage of this vulnerability in her defences to act out one of the roles for which she was famous: that of a little furry alarm clock.

"Alright, little girl," Ellen said now, patting the dog's head. "You've accomplished your mission. Go and make your report to your mistress, and leave me alone to make myself decent!" Ruby trotted happily out of the room, having heard sundry kitchen noises which to her meant the excitement of human food being prepared, and soon, Ellen joined her, dressed and washed, to find that it was not food that Kate had got ready, but tea.

"Bless you, Sister Kate," she said, sitting down to a steaming cup with just the right amounts of milk and sugar added.

"Well," said Kate, "I didn't want you to have to do everything. I mean, I know you have brunch planned, so I thought I'd help get you off to a good start."

It was true. Ellen did have brunch planned. She and Kate were going to have a sumptuous feast before heading off to the country, and of course, Jim Parker having got wind of the fact that Kate was visiting and knowing that Ellen always liked to prepare brunch for any visitors she had to stay, was going to show up as well.

"Excellent Tea, Kate! I've never learned the knack!"

"Sure and you never will," said Kate, putting on her Irish accent. "'Tis a secret passed down from my dear, sainted mother back in the old country."

"Yes, yes, of course it is," said Ellen. "The truth is that Uncle Arthur saw fit to teach you his secret but he never thought that I might want to learn too." She smiled while she said this, but there was a tiny, hard bit of envy underneath the smile. She wondered if Kate had detected this, but the latter seemed to be oblivious.

"So, Jim's coming, is he?" she said now.

"I couldn't keep him away! I hope he won't make fun of you too much."

"Even if he does, I really don't care. I know this habit must look strange to you and to a lot of people, but to me, it's as though I'm wearing jeans and a t-shirt. I mean, they've done away with all that starch, at least!"

"I know," said Ellen, "but it's just that he hasn't seen you since you were fully professed."

"So," said Kate, "I suppose he'll just have to get used to it."

Have your parents gotten used to it? Ellen bit back the words before she could say them aloud, but, she thought, it was no accident that Kate had chosen to take her week's vacation--the first she had been granted in two years--with Uncle Arthur and not with her own family. The reason for this was obvious, but it had remained unspoken between them ever since Kate had informed her of it. The truth was that her parents, having learned of her intention to become a nun, had effectively disowned her, and this was a thing which Ellen had always found strange. She knew Kate's parents to be devout Catholics, but for some reason, the idea of their daughter taking the veil had been too much for them to bear.

"They think I'm throwing good money after bad," Kate had said. "I think they wanted me to conquer the world in some fantastic way. They might have been satisfied if I had climbed Mount Everest, but I don't know if even that would have sufficed. Anyway, even though I'll be teaching for a living and I'll even be allowed to continue my studies if I wish, they feel that I'll be wasting my life." Ellen had comforted her the best way she could, and after that, they had tacitly agreed never to speak of it again.

"Besides," Kate continued now, "we're only going to see him for a short while. The man I'm more concerned with is your Uncle Arthur."

"It's true. He's never seen you all nunnified before." It had only been her solemn profession, where she had declared that she would remain a nun till death, that Kate had been given the choice to wear the full habit, though as she said, it was not so stiff and starched as Ellen had feared it would be. They had been required by the Vatican to wear distinctive clothing when working in the world, and Kate had chosen to use the full habit of her order as her distinction. She felt it gave her greater authority over her classes, and--Ellen had seen it firsthand when she had watched Kate in action--she was absolutely correct.

"If the Pope doesn't want invisible nuns in his ranks," she had written in an email to Ellen, "then I intend to be as conspicuous as possible. We're at war for these children's souls. I really believe this, Ellen. They need to respect us, or we'll never get through to them."

"I think he'll love it, Kate! You know what a fan he is of anything off the beaten track."

"I know," said Kate, pouring more tea. "He adores you!" They both laughed, but their laughter was interrupted by Ruby's frantic capering. She had gone to the door without either of them realizing it, and before they knew it, in had come Jim Parker, large as life, carrying the silly dog in his arms.

"She attacked me," he said, putting her down. "I was forced to restrain her!" He smiled and Ellen took his coat, and then he turned to where Kate was sitting.

"So," he said. "The warden let you out for a while, eh?"

"No, Jim. I climbed over the wall."

"Still the same sarcastic Kate, I see. So, El, what's for eats?"

"Nothing yet," said Ellen, "but there's tea if you want it."

"No no," he said. "I got that covered," and it was then that she noticed the extra-large to-go coffee cup which he had placed on her hall table during his restraint of the 'vicious' Ruby.

"Alright then," she said, and began to retrieve containers of already-prepared meat, vegetables and cheese from the fridge.

"Tell me what you want in your omelettes," she added after a minute, and listed the choices for Kate's benefit. It turned out that everyone wanted everything, so, heating her cast-iron skillet, she began to work her magic. Omelettes were one thing she knew she could cook well, and she did it now with grace and panache.

"You still watch the food channel, I see," said Jim. "You should really become a professional chef!"

"Well," she said, flipping an omelette onto a plate and setting it in front of him, "I suppose I can become anything I want now. I quit my job yesterday."

"Wow! Sweet little Ellen Mitchell finally had enough! I'm impressed!"

"I vacillate between pride and the feeling that I've just made a terrible mistake," said Ellen, and she told him the story of how it had happened. When she came to her parting line, he actually came over and slapped her on the back.

"You've been taking lessons from me," he said. "Well done, Grasshopper! You have made a good beginning, but there is much more to learn if you wish to truly master the ancient art of 'fuck you.'" Then he suddenly turned bright red. "Sorry, Kate."

"Sorry for what? You don't think nuns occasionally use words like that? You haven't seen Sister Marie trying to replace a blown fuse at two o'clock in the morning!"

"There," said Ellen, carrying her own plate to the table and sitting down. "Enjoy!" Her fork was half-way to her mouth when she suddenly heard Kate saying grace.

"Sorry," she said later. "I didn't mean any disrespect."

"Well, it's not as though you ever do it, right? I just don't feel right if I don't," and they all fell to eating and talking over old times.

"Well," said Jim when brunch was finished, "I suppose I'll leave you two girls to the dishes."

"Of course," said Ellen. "Typical man!" Still, she breathed a sigh of relief when he finally put on his coat and left.

"He's not such a bad guy, you know," said Kate as they were cleaning up.

"Maybe not," said Ellen, "but he's not the guy for me."

"You just don't know what you want, El," said Kate, putting a plate in an overhead cupboard.

"You're right about that," Ellen agreed. "The hell of it is that you're right about Jim too, but I just don't feel that way for him. He's like a brother or something. I wish he'd just find a girlfriend and stop mooning over me. You're lucky. You're married but without all the game-playing that goes along with it." Kate was silent and Ellen feared she had made a blunder.

"I was only joking, you know," she said.

"I know," said Kate. "I was just thinking."

"About what? Not about Jim and me I hope!"

"No. It was about those dreams you were telling me about, Actually. Did you have another one last night?"

"No, thankfully. I managed to sleep like the proverbial log!"

"Well, I didn't. The thought of those dreams always featuring the same voice kept me awake, and I've come to a conclusion that you may find odd."

"What conclusion is that? And don't forget! I find you odd at the best of times!"

"Seriously," said Kate. "I'm not sure if I'm correct, but I think you should ask Uncle Arthur about that painting in his sitting-room. You know the one I mean?"

Ellen did. Uncle Arthur had taken up painting in his younger days, and the only one he had completed now adorned the wall above the fireplace in his cozy parlour. It was a watercolour of a woman with flowing red hair, dressed in green velvet, with one hand which seemed to beckon the viewer into the scene: a summer sunset by a lake. The woman stood on a rock and waves lapped around her, and at the bottom of the painting, in Uncle Arthur's flowing pen-strokes, was written the word 'Evangeline'.

"What about it? I always thought it was his attempt at depicting the heroine of that Longfellow poem! That's what he always told me."

"Did he, or did he just never contradict your assumption?"

"Kate, I don't understand you! What exactly do you know or suspect about these dreams?"

"I don't know anything," said Kate calmly, "and my suspicions are too strange for me to share now. Still, I think you should ask Uncle Arthur about that painting."

"Well, I did plan to tell him about the dreams."

"Good! I'm glad! Now, are we just about ready?"

"I just have to get the bags into the car," said Ellen, grateful for the change of subject, "and then we'll go."

The day was hot and oppressive as they drove out of town. The heat of early August lay brown upon the land, the only patches of green being the golf courses which occasionally appeared along their route. The cattle stood in the farmers' fields, swishing their tales listlessly as though they hadn't the heart to try to keep cool anymore, and the air was thick with potential thunder. The sky was filmed over with haze, and the sun, so bright and majestic yesterday, was now nowhere to be seen.

"Will we get a storm tonight, do you think?" Kate asked as they turned onto the main highway. "I hope so! Storms on the lake are magnificent!"

"You always had a sense for the dramatic," said Ellen, slowing down to let a truck pass. "I always found those storms frightening. I don't exactly know why, but well, they always seemed to happen at night, and they always seemed vaguely menacing."

"Interesting," said Kate in a musing voice. "Very interesting!"

"Sure," said Ellen. "It's interesting for you to have a neurotic friend!"

"Well, aren't you glad I am your friend? Who else would put up with all your idiosyncrasies?" Ellen said nothing but turned up the volume on her iPod, and for the next three hours, the witty lyrics of Gilbert and the snappy melodies of Sullivan filled the companionable silence that lay between them.

Kate slept for much of the journey, and only Ruby tried to turn her attention from the road ahead by poking her head up at intervals from the back seat. Still, Ellen was happy to drive without speaking. She had a lot to think about. Firstly, what exactly did Kate know about her dreams that she didn't? Why had she brought up that painting of Evangeline? Surely a sentimental poem about an exiled Acadian girl had nothing to do with her, and yet, as she thought about it more carefully, she realized that Kate was right. Uncle Arthur had never actually told her that the painting was about the poem; he had simply never denied it when she had made the guess. Would anything come of telling Uncle Arthur about these dreams? She suddenly recalled a book she had read once by C. S. Lewis. In it, a young woman had experienced a series of terrifying dreams, and some friends of hers had told her to go to a certain house, and when she had gone there, she had met someone who had changed her entire perspective on life simply by being who he was. If I saw the face of the woman whose voice I hear in my dreams, she thought, would it look like the woman in the painting? Is there really more behind all this than an overactive imagination and an overworked brain? She could hardly believe it, but given Kate's reticence, she was seriously beginning to wonder.

When the paved highway had given way to gravel, Kate finally stretched and yawned.

"Just in time for the St. Sophia mountains," Ellen said, laughing. What they called the St. Sophia mountains were really a series of hills along a section of the road which snaked this way and that for the space of twenty miles or so, at the end of which lay the school, nestled amid verdant pastures and begirt, save for where the drive cut through, with a somewhat sinister-looking wood made up of oaks, ashes and elms. The wood itself no longer belonged to the school, as it was now in the hands of a nature conservancy, but it was still called Benet's Wood by those living near it, and students from St. Sophia's still rambled among the trees whenever they had the chance. Indeed, Ellen and Kate had spent many fine days among the leaf-shadows, and once, Kate had even spent a night alone in a certain clearing which was said to be the haunt of elves or fairies or some other magical creatures. Ellen had asked her about it the next day, but she hadn't said much about it. She thought now about that time as she negotiated the hilly stretch of road, and she suddenly found herself saying, without exactly meaning to:

"Kate, do you recall that night you spent in the haunted clearing by the arch?" The arch had come from the boys' school where Uncle Arthur had taught before coming to St. Sophia's, and it stood as a memorial to that school which had been torn down. It was gothic in design, and suspended from its key-stone was the seemingly ancient school bell, now silent except for when the odd student would ring it for a prank.

"Why were you thinking of that?" Ellen wasn't sure if she had imagined it, but she thought there had been a harshness in her friend's usually even-toned voice, as though she was frightened that Ellen would discover something she was trying to hide.

"Oh, I don't know. I just wondered why you never told me what happened that night."

"It--it just wasn't worth mentioning," she said. "I did it because Amelia Evanston dared me, and I won the dare. That's all!"

"Alright. I guess I just wondered." Ellen was taken aback, and she knew now from the tone in her voice that Kate was deliberately hiding something.

"Well," she said as the 'mountains' ended, "there's the old girl!" Kate performed a queenly wave in salute to the venerable old school, and Ellen looked fondly at the wrought-iron gates and the sweeping drive which led to the grand front doors. The school had once been the ancestral home of the prosperous Benet family who had made their money as lumber-barons hereabouts, and when Miss Sophia Benet had decided to turn it into a school for girls, very little of its exterior had been changed. Even now, when the closure of St. Swithun's academy for boys had turned the Sophia Benet Seminary for Young Ladies into the co-educational St. Sophia's Academy, the school still looked like it should be the seat of a country squire out of Silas Marner or Middlemarch rather than a private school for the privileged children of wealthy people.

"We should tour the place while we're here," said Kate dreamily.

"And perhaps go to the wood?" Ellen wanted to bite her tongue but she couldn't resist speaking.

"Just drop it, Ellen!" Kate almost yelled , and then, in a softer tone she continued: "We'll talk about it later. I promise!"

Ellen let it drop as the road, now level once more, wound away from the school and Benet's Wood still marched past, some branches of the ancient trees overshadowing the way ahead. With the overcast sky draining slowly to the colour of pitch and the trees casting long shadows as the car moved under their eves, she suddenly felt the sense of approaching threat which haunted her dreams now alive and real in the waking world. A chill crept down her spine and she found herself pushing harder on the accelerator till they were beyond both school and wood, and the lake on which the 'Palace of Art' lay had taken their place. As soon as the wood fell behind, the menacing feeling began to dissipate.

"We must be almost there," said Kate. "I'm glad! Ruby's getting restless and I don't know how much more of the three little maids I can take!" Ellen was happy to hear the joke.

"Yep," she said. "We just have to take the lake road," and as she said this, she turned the car onto a road that followed the curving shoreline, hugging it as closely as a lover for another ten miles, until a small stone cottage appeared on the left, the sign proclaiming it as 'the Palace of Art' suspended from the veranda roof by chains and swaying gently in the fitful breeze from the lake.

"Who goes there?" a jovial and booming voice called from the porch, and as Ellen pulled the car into the small driveway beside the house, the owner of the voice-- a tall yet slightly stooped elderly man--came down the steps, leaning on an old-fashioned gentleman's walking-stick for support.

"I'm afraid I don't know the password," she said as she got out of the car.

"Ah," said Kate, extricating herself and the madly-excited Ruby from their long imprisonment, "but I do! It's 'chocolate!'" and, quickly searching on the floor beneath the dashboard, she pulled out the box of assorted truffles they had bought on their way out of town and held them out for the man to take.

"Oh lovely, but more lovely by far to see the both of you," and he drew both women into a warm embrace. "Now, we'd better get you and your little four-legged friend into the house before the storm comes!"

Arthur offered his arm to Kate in his usual courtly fashion, and soon, the little procession had moved up the steps and through the screen door, Ruby bounding along on leash at Kate's side.

"Is there anything else you need from the car?" Arthur was moving toward the door again but Ellen blocked his way.

"Even if there were, Uncle," she said, "you would not be the one to get it. Let's all just sit down and be comfortable for a bit!"

"Of course, my sensible niece. You're correct as usual," and propping his cane in a corner by the door, he sat down in his usual chair near the window. Ellen took a seat on the sofa across from the fireplace, and for Kate, there was only one seat that she would ever think of taking--the small stool which stood next to her harp in the corner nearest the grandfather clock.

"I don't know how well-tuned she is," said Arthur apologetically, "but I've kept her safe for you, Sister Katherine." This was the first time he had addressed her by name, and Ellen was surprised to hear a note of subdued awe in his voice.

"Oh please, Uncle Wart," Kate said, using an old nickname she had called him during her obsession with T. H. White's The Once and Future King. "You don't have to use that name if you don't want to."

"But it's your name now, isn't it? And seeing you as you look now, I can't call you anything else. So, Sister? Ellen? Will you take some tea? It's iced, of course," he hastily added as Ellen cocked an eyebrow at the fan which was working hard to try to keep the room cool.

"Ah! That would be wonderful," both women said in unison, and Ellen watched as he moved stiffly to the kitchen.

"He's aged, Kate," she said quietly to her friend. "He looks tired and his hands shake."

"I know," said Kate. "Still, he would have told us if anything were really wrong, wouldn't he?"

Ellen was prevented from replying by the reappearance of her uncle carrying a tray with three tall glasses filled to the brim with ice and cold tea, complete with lemon wedges slit down the centre and placed on their edges.

"This is refreshing," Ellen said as they toasted each other's health and drank.

"It's the least I can do for my two favourite people in the world," said Arthur, beaming at them, "and my favourite dog, yes, Mistress Ruby. I'm sorry!" Ruby was sitting by his chair and had begun thumping her tale vigorously as though inviting him to include her in the conversation, and--a thing which Ellen always found hilarious--when he began to stroke her silky ears, she began to thump even louder.

"She knows who her friends are," said Kate in a quiet and far-away voice. "Thank you so much for letting me come, Uncle Wart!"

"I'm just glad that Ellen here found the time!"

"Well," said Ellen, "as it happens, I have even more time than I thought," and she told the story for the third time of how Brian had piled on the straw that had broken the camel's back, except that this time, she left out her parting line.

"Well," said Arthur in his best sage's voice, "if I may be Polonius to your Laertes for a moment, I tell you this above all. To thine own self be true, and you seem to have done that admirably. As you know, I could not believe it when you took that job in the first place."

"You were disappointed in me," said Ellen.

"No," said Arthur, "I think I was disappointed for you. You are a bright young woman, Ellen Mitchell, and that lawyer-fellow was not worthy of your time or your talents!"

"Hear hear," said Kate, setting her glass down so hard on the coffee table that the harp responded in sympathy.

In the silence that followed, Ellen heard the first spatters of rain falling on the kitchen skylight, and looking out at the lake, she saw it begin to churn and bubble as the wind picked up.

"Looks like we made it just in time," she said, and as though on cue, a flash of lightning tore open the sky for a moment, and a low rumble of thunder caused Ruby to start and coaxed yet more vibrations from the harp.

"I've got dinner in the oven," said Arthur, " so you won't starve, and I thought that tonight we could have a celebratory glass of something to truly toast your arrival. Is that permitted for you, Sister Katherine?"

"Yes, Uncle Wart, it is. We often have wine at the convent on special occasions."

"Well," said Arthur, "I have something even better than wine, but I'll keep it a surprise until after dinner," and with a mischievous smile, he went once more into the kitchen to check on the food. Indeed, Ellen could smell his famous Quiche Loraine, and her mouth began to water at the thought of the always-perfect pastry he managed to make for it.

"And will you, Sister Katherine," said Arthur as he came back into the parlour, "grace us with a song or two? The dear harp is lonely and wants playing, you know!"

"I'll be glad to do my best," said Kate, "but not till I've had your surprise!"

"Would you like some music now? I find the sound of the rain rather depressing. What about a little Gilbert and Sullivan?"

"For the love of all things lemon-scented," they both replied, simultaneously using an old expression they had invented during their school-days, "please, no!"

"Oh, very well," said Arthur, "then we'll have Flanders and Swan," and he went to his ancient high-fi and put on an album, and soon, they were all laughing and singing along as the humorous comic duo entertained their audience with their blend of light music and leaping lyrics.

"At least it's not The Gondoliers," said Kate with a sigh of relief. "I mean, I love G and S, but over three hours of G and S?"

"I wasn't thinking," said Ellen with a smile.

"Ah," said Arthur. "I understand your aversion now! You need a break! Well, I have lots of music here that has nothing to do with pirates or pinafores," and he went to turn over the record.

By the time Flanders and Swan had sung their hippopotamus song and the last applause had faded, Arthur was calling them into Supper and Kate was feeding Ruby. Ellen was right about the quiche Loraine. It was perfect as always and went down wonderfully as the storm raged outside. She only began to realize now how unsafe her dreams had been making her feel and how much she had missed her uncle and his wonderfully homely house. This time, she did not forget to wait for Kate to say grace, and she was surprised to see her uncle bowing in silent respect while the prayer went on.

"You're not a Catholic," she said to him when the meal was concluded and Kate was taking the dog out for her evening constitutional. "You don't even believe in God, do you?"

"You're right. I am something of an unredeemed pagan, but what I believe doesn't matter," said Arthur. "Sister Katherine is my guest and I should respect her beliefs."

"But she's Kate, Uncle! She's still Kate!"

"She is much more than she was when I saw her last," said Arthur, "and I wish to honour that."

"Sometimes, I don't understand you," said Ellen in exasperation.

"No," said Arthur, clearing the dishes, "I suppose you don't, but you will, Ellen, and perhaps sooner than you think."

"Enigmatic Uncle Arthur again, eh? Well, go on and be enigmatic. You and Kate can be as enigmatic as you want. I'll figure you both out yet!"

"What a horrid night it is!" said Kate now from the door where she was drying Ruby's fur and paws. "It's the perfect night for staying inside and telling ghost stories! The wind has even freshened and it's actually turning chilly!"

"Well, finish drying that sopping lump you call a dog," said Arthur," and then you can come in and have the surprise I promised!" As he spoke, he got out some small liqueur glasses and began pouring a thick golden liquid from a very familiar bottle.

"Here you go," he said, bringing the glasses to the parlour which was becoming chilled with the change in the outside temperature. At least, Ellen thought it was due to the falling thermometer, yet even amid the comfortable surroundings, something gnawed at the edges of her mind and that same feeling of imminent threat she had noticed near Benet's Wood now stole upon her again.

"Could we light a fire, Uncle Arthur?" She knew this was preposterous in the middle of summer, but she was surprised by his ready assent and his immediate preparations, and by the time Kate and the slightly less-sodden Ruby came in, a cheerful blaze was roaring its way up the chimney to the delight of all present.

Kate sat down on her stool, took the glass that Arthur held out to her and sniffed it appraisingly.

"Is this what I think it is? Is it? Can it be Benedictine?"

"It is indeed," said Arthur, "the genuine article! If this doesn't take the chill off, then nothing will," and he leaned back in his chair and took a slow and loving sip.

Ellen and her uncle were each on their third glass of the sweet but strong liqueur when Kate, now well warmed and contented, pulled the harp from its corner and began tuning its strings quietly, and as Ellen and Arthur continued to converse, she played a few melodies to get the touch. Then, as the conversation died in a companionable silence, Arthur asked her to sing, and then a wondrous thing happened; Ellen saw her friend suddenly transformed. The firelight glowed on her smiling face and her hands, sure and confident, moved back and forth over the strings, but her voice, having been trained for several years in the Gregorian chant that her convent still used, rose even clearer than it used to, and she began a song whose words were unfamiliar to Ellen but which Arthur seemed to know and seemed to love. When she had finished, tears stood in his eyes and he rose, moved the harp carefully out of the way, and clasped Kate's hands in silent admiration. Then, in a broken voice he said softly:

"You did it! You set 'The Hound of Heaven'!"

"I told you I would, Uncle Wart," she said, "didn't I?"

"What on earth is 'The Hound of Heaven'?"

"Here," said Arthur, "taking his Kindle from where it lay on an occasional table. "I have it here somewhere," and fiddling for a moment, he gave the tablet to Ellen. There on the screen were the words Kate had just sung, and she read them over in silence for a while before handing the machine back to her uncle.

"That's a massive undertaking," she said, "and a difficult poem! I'd never read it till now!"

"Uncle Wart recited it to me once," said Kate, "and I've loved it ever since!"

"And where was I when all this reciting of poetry was going on?" The old feeling of jealousy had overtaken her again, and she could not stop herself from asking the question even though she knew it was childish and mean.

"Oh," said Kate evasively, "I really don't recall."

"Lying does not become your calling or your nature, Sister Katherine," said Arthur, "and it's time that it stopped. I'm sorry I've forced you to do it for all these years."

"What? What the hell do you mean? What has she been lying about, Uncle Arthur?"

"Before we tell you what we have to tell you, Ellen," said Kate calmly, pulling the harp to her once again and fingering its strings quietly, "I think you need to tell your uncle about the dreams you've been having."

"Dreams?"

"Yes," said Ellen. "I've been having these dreams for the past few months and they've frightened me quite badly," and pouring another glass of Benedictine, she told Arthur what she had told Kate the night before.

"Well," said Arthur after she had finished her story, "this does put things in a different light I think. What do you think, Sister?"

"I think you can't keep this secret anymore, Uncle Wart," said Kate with a sigh, "though I must admit that I myself don't understand everything about it."

"You will," said Arthur heavily. "You both will, but first, I need some tea."

"That sounds good," said Ellen, who was feeling the Benedictine rising to her head as they spoke, and she helped Arthur get the tea things ready while Kate continued to play the harp and the rain continued to pound mercilessly on the skylight.

"We'll begin with the painting there," he said as they sipped their Monk's Blend from large, steaming mugs.

"Yes," said Ellen. "Kate said I should ask you about it."

"What you need to know," said Arthur, "is that I painted it from life. That is, I painted it from a memory of real life. Evangeline, or so I called her for she never told me her real name if she had one, was a woman I knew once, a number of years ago."

"Well, what’s so secretive about that?"

"You’ll see," said Arthur. "Be patient!" but for a while, he did not speak, as though he were collecting his thoughts, and in that silence came the feel of that creeping chill again, until, as it threatened to envelop her body and soul, Arthur suddenly broke the spell by resuming his tale.

"I had just come to St. Sophia’s as Head Master," he said, "and had purchased this cottage to be near to the school. One misty night, I was strolling in Benet’s Wood, and in a little-traveled area I came upon a small cabin. I was, as it happened, lost, and the light in the window of this quaint little hut was inviting. So, with the mist rapidly condensing into a fog and a chill rain coming on, I went to the little door and knocked. I could hear the strains of harp music from within, but at my knock they ceased, and a woman’s voice bade me enter if I were in need of help. I did so, and there I beheld the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She was dressed in a mantle of deep green and had flowing red hair, and her eyes were a beautiful grey-green in the light of the fire over which was suspended a pot filled with something which smelled delicious!

"The woman sat on a low stool, a harp--that very harp, actually-- next to her, and in a far corner was a cradle where lay a small baby. I was dumb-founded as I took all this in, but the woman now stood and came toward me.

"’Be welcome here,’ she said, and her voice fell on my ear like audible moonlight. ‘Would you have some soup?’

"’I didn’t mean to intrude, Ma’am,’ I said stupidly, ‘but I’m lost.’

"’Not lost now,’ she said, ‘but found. Come! Eat!’ and she placed before me a steaming bowl of the best chicken soup I have ever tasted.

"’Who are you?” I asked when I had eaten. ‘Have you lived here long?’

"’Oh, I have lived here always,’ she said, ‘and as for my name, it is not important, but you may call me what you wish,’ and suddenly, I looked out at the tall trees which leaned their boughs over the roof, and some lines from Longfellow came into my mind.

"‘This is the forest primeval,’ I said half to myself, ‘and if you won’t give me a name to know you by, Ma’am, then I shall call you Evangeline.’

"’Very well then,’ said the woman, ‘and you are the namesake of the great bear, are you not? You are named Arthur?’

"’How did you know?’

"’It is a gift of mine to know the names of those whom I meet,’ she said. ‘But now, the rain is ending and the night is clearing. I believe you will know your road home now.’ Indeed, as I stepped out of the door, I did know exactly where I had got turned around.

"’Thank you, Evangeline,’ I said. ‘If you ever need anything, I live just beyond the wood at the cottage on the lake.’

"’Go well, Arthur,’ she said, and I found myself walking rapidly through the trees, and when I looked back to see if I could get a last glimpse of the little hut, it lay so well hidden that it was as though it had never been there."

"But this sounds too fantastic," said Ellen. "It sounds like something out of a medieval romance! Next thing you're going to tell me that she came pounding on your door on a wild and windy night begging for your help!"

"Believe it or not, Ellen, that's very close to what did actually happen," said Kate in her maddeningly rational and quiet voice.

"Just let him tell it, please," said Ellen, staring daggers at Kate and finding herself angry that this look provoked no response, all the while knowing that it could not do so if Kate couldn't see it.

"Well," said Arthur, pouring himself another cup of tea, "about three months after this, on the first day of May, I was grading some papers late at night and there was, in fact, a knock at my door. I opened it to see Evangeline standing there, her baby in her arms and her harp slung across her shoulders.

"'Come in,' I said. 'What can I do for you?'

'What I am going to ask of you,' she said, 'is something very difficult. I need to stay here for some time, Arthur. My cabin is gone.'

"'Gone? Whatever do you mean?' and then I thought of some of the locals around here. If some of the more self-righteous sort had got wind of a single woman living in Benet's Wood with a baby, they might have taken matters into their own hands. 'Did someone destroy it?'

"'In a manner of speaking,' she said. 'All you need to know now is that it's gone. If you would rather I left, I would understand.'

"'No,' I said, for I couldn't bear to think of her homeless. 'please. I have a room you can use.'

"So, for what remained of that spring and the whole of that summer, she stayed beneath this roof. She seemed like a woman out of time. Her face was ageless and her eyes seemed to hold secrets which I could not fathom. My sister and brother-in-law met her on their annual visit and they liked her at once.

"'You should marry the girl,' Maureen said, 'and that baby could grow to be a help to you in your old age, as the saying goes!'"

"Wait, so my parents knew this Evangeline and they never told me about her?"

"They only knew her briefly," Arthur went on, "and, though I think we both loved each other with a true and abiding love, so did I, alas!"

"So she just left? That was pretty mean of her," said Ellen.

"No, she did not just leave. She was forced away, wrenched out of my very arms by a strange, silent and utterly chilling wind. It blew as hard as a tornado, but it made no sound and almost took the breath from my body. It happened as September was coming in. Evangeline had been agitated all day, and if you knew her, you would understand how odd this was, for she seemed always to carry her own inner peace about with her. Today, however, she was pacing nervously around and around this room and nothing I could do would calm her. Then, in the darkest part of the night as we both sat wakeful, the silent wind came. It filled this little room with its own strange darkness, and I knew that Evangeline was afraid, so I reached for her hand. Just as I did so, I saw her hand, her arm, and then her entire body begin to glow with a light like the sun, and she stood tall and faced what had come to seek her out.

"'You may take me,' she said, 'but you will not hurt the people in this place!" Then she began to speak in another language. It sounded like warm water running over rocks, and her voice as she spoke became more resonant and sonorous. It was then that I knew clearly for the first time that she was a creature not of our human world.

"Suddenly, the wind grew in intensity and tried to take her from where she stood, and I ran up to her, not knowing if I would be burned by her newly-revealed power and not, I understood later, even caring very much. She let me take her in my arms, and as I did so, it was as though I held a living fire, though it did not burn me. All it did was fill me with warmth and light, and she whispered as the evil thing finally took her that she loved me and asked me to take care of the baby. Then, both the chill and the fire were gone, and I was only prevented from falling to pieces then and there by the sound of a little cry from the cradle in the corner.

"'Well, my dear,' I said to the little girl, 'your mother has had to go away and we two shall be very lonely for her. However, as I named her once, so I will name you. I think you will have to grow up to be very courageous, and if you're anything like your mother, you will be. However, I will give you what help I can, and I will give you a courageous name.'"

The teacup fell from the stunned woman's hand and shattered on the hard wood floor as she grasped the implications of what her uncle had been saying. A courageous name, she thought. Could it really be? He had always told her that he had been the one to name her, but was this, all this really true? The fragments of broken china unregarded for a moment, she sat utterly still, breathing hard and trying to compose herself, for she knew that when Arthur had spoken of naming the baby with a courageous name, he could only have meant one name: Ellen, for the word 'elen,' which meant 'courage' in Anglo-Saxon, was pronounced the same way as that name, and so it was that she now came to acknowledge what he meant. The baby left in his care by the woman from another world was none other than herself. She hardly dared believe it, but from the way that her two companions were waiting patiently to see how she would react, she knew that it must be true.

"So," she said, fighting a lump in her throat that was the size of Texas, "you're saying that--that I was the baby? My parents weren't my real parents and you're not my real uncle?"

"No," said Arthur. "Once I knew that the one I had called Evangeline was not coming back, I asked Maureen and David Mitchell to raise you as their own, and so they did, adopting you and giving you the best of care until--"

"Until they died," said Ellen, "when I was seven."

"Exactly so," said Arthur. "They were killed in a fire. Do you remember it?"

"I remember the smoke," said Ellen slowly, trying to piece things together, "and I remember someone carrying me out of the house. I don't think I knew her, but I remember that she had--" Her voice trailed off and she gasped.

"Ellen? Are you alright?" Kate made to go to her but Ellen told her to stay where she was.

"It's just that," she said, "I think the woman who carried me out had red hair and green eyes. I remembered thinking how much she looked like me! I never saw her again, but I thought of her as my guardian angel after that."

"The official report on the fire stated that it had been caused by faulty wiring," said Arthur, "but I never believed that for a moment. David Mitchell was an architect and he had designed that house himself, hiring the best men he could find to work on it. No, I think that this darkness, this evil presence killed them so it could get to you, having finally understood that you were more than just a child whom Evangeline had been protecting. She brought you to me, and it was then that I noticed how weak she was.

"'It took a great effort for me to save her, Arthur,' she said, 'and now I must return whence I came. Do not tell her of me until you must, and protect her with your life! She may grow into her power yet, but for now, she must remain oblivious to it. If they, the dark ones, notice her before she is ready to face them, she will be lost and with her will go all hope. For now, I must go and stand between this little one and the darkness, and if we all have good hope, you will live to see me again,' and with that, she simply vanished in a flash of light."

"So," said Ellen, bending down to pick up the broken crockery just to keep herself occupied, "you think it's this Evangeline's voice I've been hearing in my dreams?"

"I know it is," said Kate, "from how you described it."

"You see, Ellen, Sister Katherine has also had an encounter with Evangeline."

"What?" This was too much. "I think you're both crazy!"

"No, Ellen," said Kate, still quietly, "we're not. Now, finally, I can tell you about that night in the wood, the night when I went there on a dare from Amelia Evanston!"

"So did you find her stirring soup in her cabin?" Ellen really didn't want to sound so harsh, but all this was making every nerve in her body thrill as though she were inside a bolt of lightning, and the fact that her two dearest friends in the world had kept it from her for so long was making her more and more angry by the minute.

"No," said Kate, "but I found out later that where I spent the night was on the site where the cabin had been."

"That's true," said Arthur. "After Evangeline left me that first time, I went to see where her cabin had been, and I found a clearing where there hadn't been one before. The ground showed no signs of fire or any other destructive force. It was just that a clearing had been made, and now I could see how close to the grounds of the school the cabin had been. So, as a kind of memorial gesture, I obtained the St. Swithun's arch as the developers who had bought the old school were beginning to tear it down, and I got them to move it into the clearing along with the bell. Very few people know this, but I ring that bell every year on the first of May and the first of September."

"Right," said Kate, "and I found him doing it once. I had gotten lost on one of my walks, but I could hear the bell and knew what it was, so I found my way to the arch, only to find Uncle Wart. He was surprised to see me, naturally, but he didn't get angry. It was then I conceived the idea of spending a night in the wood. I can't say why, but standing under that arch at that moment, I felt that the wood was close to something magical, or perhaps was magical itself, and I decided that I wanted to do it. So, as young people will, I began gossiping about it to anyone who would listen, and once Amelia dared me, there was no turning back. So, on the day of Midsummer when, as we all know, fairies and sprites come to make merry in the woods, I put my plan into action. I thought you might come and find me, Ellen, but after what happened, I was glad you had not."

"Enough with the suspense already! Tell me about this mysterious encounter!"

"Well," said Kate, apparently choosing to ignore the stinging bite that Ellen herself knew had come into her voice, "the night was warm and wonderful, one of those perfect June nights you read about in books, and I had chosen to spend it in a sleeping-bag near the arch. So, after dinner in the school refectory, I made my way out to the arch and Amelia came with me to make sure I really meant to do it. She, however, soon got bored of waiting for me to fall asleep, so she left and went back to the school. None of the teachers knew about this, or if they did, I think the only one was Miss Paulson, but she never told me not to. She just patted my shoulder that day after Geography class and told me that it looked as though it was going to be a fine night for fairy-hunting."

"Millie Paulson was a local girl," put in Arthur while Kate paused to take breath. "She knew about the legends of the wood, and I think she secretly wanted to go with you that night, Kate, but instead, she told me what you had planned, and I, likely at the peril of my job as Head Master, chose to pretend that I hadn't heard her. I wanted Miss Evanston to be brought down a peg, I'm afraid, and I thought that if anyone could do it, you could by taking this dare. Besides, I felt sure you would be safe, for I was convinced that Evangeline still watched over Benet's Wood from wherever was her true home."

"So," Kate went on, "I spread out my sleeping-bag next to one of the uprights of the arch and I began to read--what else?--'A Midsummer Night's Dream' of course! Well, just at the point when everyone was in love with the wrong people thanks to Puck and his mischief, I suddenly heard a voice beside me.

"'You are Katherine,' the voice said. It was a woman's voice, and it did not ask this as a question, but spoke it as though it were a pronouncement. It was as though she were conferring a title or something.

"'Yes,' I said, uncertain if I had been imagining it. I do that sometimes you know, imagine voices speaking my name, especially as I'm sliding toward sleep, but usually, those are the voices of people I recognize, and this voice was utterly unlike any I had ever heard before. It was rich and musical, and there was an odd lilt to its words as though perhaps English was not its native language. Then, I looked to my left, and I saw a light." Ellen still did not entirely understand what Kate meant when she said that she could see light, but she knew that her friend could tell whether a lamp was on or off and could see the brightness of the sun. Still, knowing this did not help her to imagine what seeing brightness without the light showing you anything was like any more than Kate could truly know what the colour blue looked like no matter how many times it was described to her.

"Yes," Kate said now, "I tell you I saw a light. It was as bright as the sun and felt just as warm, and it was from this light that the voice came, and when I heard it, it--well--thrilled me from my head to my toes. It was like the pleasurable equivalent of a chill down my spine, only I suppose there was terror in it as well. At any rate, she--the voice I mean--continued speaking and I could not choose but listen."

"Like the wedding guest and the ancient mariner," Ellen said, just to have something to contribute.

"Yes," said Kate, "I suppose so. Anyhow, as she continued to speak, I began to realize that I was not so much hearing her voice with my ears but with my mind. It was an odd sensation!

"'You are Katherine,' she said, 'and you are able to hear my voice. That is good. I have tried for so long to speak to someone but none have heard me till now.'

"'What can I--uh--do for you?' At this point, I really thought I was going mad.

"'You can deliver a message, if you're willing,' said the voice, and then she spoke some lines of verse which I'll never forget.

"'The shadows are growing, but do not despair!

 The darkness is flowing, but light still shines fair,

 For the exiled one will reclaim what was lost

 And the namesake of courage will pay a high cost

 To know herself truly, and so come to be

 The fisher of shadows, unfettered and free!'

"'This is the message?' I suddenly felt as though I were in a novel by Tolkien.

"'Yes,' said the voice, 'and you must give it to Arthur Collins, the ruler of your school. He will tell you what it means if he knows it is from me.'

'Who shall I say has sent it, ma'am?'

"'Tell him it is from the one he named Evangeline,' and with that, the light suddenly went out and I knew, somehow, that she had been forced to end the conversation due to some weakness or other."

"What do you mean you knew? How did you know?"

"There was a chill in the air as the light faded," said Kate, "and I felt certain that this--this presence had been removed forcibly by something which was as dark and cold as the presence had been bright and warm. Also, after the light disappeared, I felt unbelievably tired and could do nothing but lie down and fall asleep. While Evangeline had been with me, I had been almost too alert, but now, I felt weak and exhausted, as though I had been running uphill for hours.

"The next morning, I showed myself with twigs in my hair and dirt on my clothes to Amelia, and she promptly paid me the money we had wagered and did not, I noticed, talk much about it among her friends. Then, as soon as I could, I found some pretext to see Uncle Wart in his office and I tried to tell him what had happened. He hushed me pretty quickly though and told me to come with him to his cottage that afternoon. It was our usual day for playing Chess, I now remembered, so no one would suspect anything if I went. However, he did tell me one thing before I left the office, and that was that I should not tell anyone else what had happened that night. That was quite alright with me, because I was still convinced that I had experienced some kind of hallucination and was in no mood to be teased about being crazy. So, over the tactile Chess board that afternoon, Uncle Wart told me who Evangeline was and whom she had meant to describe as 'the namesake of courage' in the verse. It was then that he recited 'The Hound of Heaven' to me, for something about that verse, he said, had reminded him of the poem."

"And now," said Uncle Arthur, poking the fire which had begun to sink low, "I think the verse is coming true. It was no accident that Kate called you last month, Ellen. I asked her to do so, because I've felt that strange, chilly feeling around here lately. I knew that now was the time for you to be told of your true nature and history, and now, here we sit together while a storm rages outside and while a chill creeps ever closer. Can you not feel it?"

"I can," said Kate, "like on that night in Benet's wood. I'm suddenly feeling very sleepy."

"So am I," said Ellen, "and frightened. In the dreams, I'm told to wait and be still, but it seems now that waiting is the very worst thing we can do."

"Yet I think, for now, that this is what we have to do," said Arthur. "I also think that we've talked enough for tonight. Your usual room is prepared."

Kate went out once more into the driving rain with Ruby, and when they returned and had dried off, Ellen sat alone by the dying fire.

"Has Uncle Wart gone to bed then?"

"Yep," said Ellen, "he has. I suppose he is now sleeping the sleep of the just, having duly kept and then divulged his secret at the appointed time, but will you be able to do the same, Sister Katherine? How could you have kept all this from me, even after I told you about the dreams?"

"Believe me, Ellen, I didn't want to do it! I hated keeping it from you, but we did it to protect you! Now, will you join me while I pray Compline?" Ellen still felt betrayed, but she also felt the creeping chill of which Arthur had spoken, and she thought that anything, even Kate's prayers, would be better than silence. So she listened once more to Kate's strong voice reciting the psalms, and when she got to the prayer which asked that 'God's holy angels dwell herein to preserve us in peace,' she found herself echoing the petition whole-heartedly.

Soon, the two friends were in their usual room which was off the central hall of the cottage, and making ready for bed. Ellen was amazed to see Kate without her habit, and delighted to see her brushing her long nut-brown hair as she used to do when they had shared a room at St. Sophia's.

"Wow!" she said.

"Wow what?"

"Well, I mean, you look so much--so much younger or something without the wimple. I guess I'm glad to see you're really still you under all those wrappings."

"I guess it would look strange," said Kate, "and I'm sorry again about not telling you the truth. Please don't be angry with me anymore!"

"Oh, it's not just that," said Ellen. "It's you and Uncle Arthur. I mean, you've always been such friends, but to me he's always been--well--different, somehow."

But he loves you, Ellen! You know that!"

"I know, but I also know that you two have shared some secret rapport all these years, and well, I suppose I'm jealous. Still," she said after a pause, "I suppose I'm too old for such silliness."

"I often wondered if you felt that way," said Kate. "I'm sorry that you did, and I'm sure he would be too if he knew."

"I'm sure he would," said Ellen. "Well, goodnight, Miss Moreland!"

"Sleep well, Miss Dashwood," came the response from the other bed, and Ellen turned out the light and, to the sound of Ruby's peaceful and regular breathing, she fell quickly asleep.

Chapter Three: Frost and Fire

This night too passed dreamlessly for Ellen, or indeed if she did dream, nothing remarkable happened, so that when Ruby's searching nose made itself known the next morning, she patted it happily and got out of bed. This she did quietly, not wanting to disturb Kate, only to discover that Kate herself was already up and sipping tea with Uncle Arthur on the covered porch.

"Well then, young Ellen," Arthur called as she passed the parlour window, "will you finally be joining us?"

"I will," she said, opening the screen door and stepping out into the early morning light, "if there's any tea left, of course."

"Sure there is," said Kate, in her habit once more. "Come and have a cup, and then I'll ask you my favour."

"There's a favour?"

"Only a small one, I think," said Kate, and Ellen sat on one of Arthur's wicker chairs to enjoy the morning.

"Were there any dreams?" Uncle Arthur asked matter-of-factly, as though terrifying dreams were just an everyday occurrence to most people.

"No," said Ellen. "I slept well again last night, and after all you told me, I didn't think I would!"

"Perhaps the dreams have served their purpose," put in Kate. "Perhaps they'll leave you alone now." Yet, barely had these words been spoken when Ellen became aware of the chill again. She knew now that it did not belong to the air around them, because the day was setting in balmy and beautiful.

"No," she said. "I don't think it's that simple. The chill is back. Can either of you feel it?"

"I don't know," said Arthur. "It's harder to feel it--for us I mean--in the daytime."

"For you?" Ellen was taken aback for a moment, but then she realized what he meant. I'm not like them anymore, she thought. I'm something else, someone else, but I still feel like ordinary Ellen Mitchell, so when is this hidden power supposed to show itself?

"Oh, I see," she said aloud. "I suppose it all doesn't feel real yet."

"Well, we'll deal with what comes when it comes, eh?" said Kate reassuringly. "Now, about that favour I wanted to ask!"

"I live to serve," said Ellen. "Ask away!"

"It's just that I want to go to mass in town. Would you be able to drive me? It would give Uncle Arthur a break from our incessant chattering, and besides, I just feel the need of it this morning."

"Alright," said Ellen. There's an RC church in Benet's Corners, right?"

"Right," said Kate, "and if we go soon, we can make the eight-thirty mass. Very few people attend at that time on a Sunday, so it won't be so hectic."

"At least let the poor girl have some breakfast before you go," said Arthur. "We can't all have your ascetic discipline!"

"What you call ascetic discipline," said Kate with a clear laugh, "I call rest for my irritable bowel! All that rich food and drink from yesterday is playing havoc with it! Still, Ellen should have something if she wants to. You're right."

"No," said Ellen, "I'm perfectly fine to go now if you'd like." The truth was that she felt that even if she wanted food at that moment, she would not be able to eat it. The chill lay heavy on her mind and heart, and she thought that a little activity would be just the thing to chase it away. Accordingly, in a few minutes, they were in the car, Ruby once more queen of the back seat, and driving back to the junction where the road split off to veer around the lake at the edge of Benet's Wood.

Once back on the main county road which had taken them through the St. Sophia 'mountains' the day before, it was not long till they came upon the little hamlet of Benet's Corners. It was a typical tourist-town complete with fancy boutiques and five-star dining, but the Catholic church was set in a pretty little neighbourhood away from all the frills and fripperies. Ellen got the feeling that actual people lived here, whereas the houses nearer the centre of town looked too conspicuously clean and neat, so that it needed no signs proclaiming that there were rooms to rent to announce that these were trendy bed-and-breakfasts. No, in the houses near the church there were children playing, old men desperately trying to keep their lawns from baking in the heat, and people out walking their dogs. The church itself stood on a little rise of ground, a modest building to be sure, but boasting--as Ellen saw upon entering--a fine stained-glass window depicting Christ blessing the little children. Kate had been right about the quiet they would find here at this hour of the day. Only a few elderly women knelt in the front pews as the two younger ones came in. One or two peered round to look at Kate in her habit, but for the most part, they were left in peace.

There was only a tiny choir made up of three black-gowned women, one of whom played the organ, so the hymns were simply and quietly sung. The priest was an elderly man whose voice was cracked and faltering, but he still managed to give an edifying homily about love and sacrifice.

"To love without giving," he said, "is not to love at all. Would you rather that your spirit sang, or that it only blared like a trumpet or clanged like a cymbal? To say we love and then to demand something in return is no way for a Christian to live. Remember that, sisters, and let your spirits sing!"

"Father Murphy gives an excellent homily," said one of the kneeling women as they made their way out of the sanctuary at the end of the service. "Don't you think so, Sister?"

"I do," said Kate.

"It's too bad that he only says the early mass! The younger ones who like to sleep in could do with his instruction!"

"I'm sure they could," said Kate, and quietly urged Ruby to a faster trot. Ellen knew what these women could be like with Kate, and she didn't want her friend to have to endure a ten-minute diatribe on either the evils of the younger generation or the inspiring example she was setting for them as a nun who was blind. Thankfully however, Father Murphy himself came up, and it was then that Ellen realized that he and Kate knew each other.

"Katherine Matthews," the old priest said, "as I live and breathe, and in the holy habit of religion too I see!"

"Hello, Father Peter," Kate said. "This is my friend, also a former student at St. Sophia's, Ellen Mitchell."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Miss Mitchell," and he held out a hand for her to shake.

"So," said Ellen, "this is why you wanted to come to eight-thirty mass!"

"I admit it," said Kate. "I just had to see if Father Peter was still here."

Ellen stood by as the priest and the nun conversed about recent church politics and about Kate's decision to join the Sisters of St. Agnes, and she noticed something very peculiar. The old women who had been so attentive to the young Sister Katherine were now avoiding her like the plague. It took her a moment to realize why, but when she did, she found it difficult to keep from laughing. Kate had intruded on their time with Father Peter. They were jealous of her, because, Ellen realized, they were actually Father Peter fans! She could imagine them on a Kateless Sunday, flocking around him and clucking their tongues about how the younger generation just didn't care about church the way that they did, and she imagined the mild Father Peter tolerating them and gently placating them with a pastoral platitude or two until they had vented their ancient spleen and had turned for home, deeply convinced within themselves that they were justified before God and man for yet another week.

"Well," said Kate at length, "thanks for the chat, Father!"

"God go with you, Sister Katherine," and he blessed her with the sign of the cross before turning to his group of ardent admirers.

"I'm glad I got to see him again, Ellen! Thanks for driving me!"

"Oh, you know," said Ellen absently, "anything for a friend! Kate," she added carefully, "what would you think about taking a walk in Benet's wood?" They were almost at the car when Kate suddenly pulled Ruby up short and Ellen almost ran right into her.

"You can't be serious! Are you looking for trouble?"

"Oh, I don't know. I guess that after all those stories you and Uncle Arthur told last night--well--I guess I just wanted to see the arch and everything again. Lord knows I passed it without a second glance often enough when we were at St. Sophia's."

"Well," said Kate, opening the passenger door of the car and folding the seat down so Ruby could clamber into the back, "I suppose it couldn't hurt to go there in the daytime."

"And then we'll go and see Mrs. K., alright?" Mrs. K. was Mrs. Dorothea Keller and she owned Keller's Kreamy Konfections, a candy and bake-shop near the centre of town that they used to frequent during their school days. People had often urged her to change the name of her store, the triple K bringing up associations which were anything but sweet, but, as Ellen had seen on their way to church, the sign still stood outside the tiny white building, and she was pleased to see that a line had been added: 'Open on Sundays!'

"Mmmmmm! Her Eckles cakes were to die for!"

"I know, so let's get my mad errand over with, and then we'll go and buy some of those yummy cakes!"

"Ellen," said Kate as they climbed into their respective seats, "I'm not six years old and getting a shot at the doctor's."

"I'm sorry! I know!"

"I would go with you to Benet's Wood even if we weren't going to go to Mrs. K.'s afterwards. It's just that I felt duty-bound as your friend to warn you against it."

Ellen felt foolish at these words, and even more foolish because she had to admit, to herself if not to Kate, that she didn't even know why she was doing this. I just feel I need to go there, she thought to herself, and soon, the car was speeding back toward the wood as fast as she could make it go.

The best approach to the wood, they decided, was to pull into the stretch of drive of St. Sophia's that lay outside the gates and to go into the trees on the left. The clearing with the arch lay a fair way in from this point, but it was the entrance that lay nearest to it and that was the most traveled. For a while as they walked through the closely-leaved forest aisles, Ellen could see the bulk of St. Sophia's at intervals between the moss-laden trunks. However, after about five minutes, there came a point where only woodland surrounded them and even the few cars on the gravel road were barely audible.

"It all seems so much bigger now!" she said quietly. "I thought I'd find it less impressive than I did!"

"It feels just like it did on that night," whispered Kate, and just then, Ellen looked down at Ruby.

"She senses something too," she said. "She isn't even trying to chase that squirrel I just saw running up that tree ahead of us!" Ruby was notorious for her interest in squirrels, this being a source of great annoyance to her mistress. Now, despite the wood being filled with the bushy-tailed creatures, she walked sedately at Kate's side, ears, eyes and nose alert, but it was as though something bigger or more intense than a mere squirrel was attracting her attention.

"It's like," said Kate dreamily, "it's like that chapter in The Wind in the Willows called 'The Piper at the Gates of Dawn'! You know the one, where Rat and Mole encounter Pan on the island?" Ellen did know it, and as she looked at the dog again, she realized that Kate was exactly right. Ruby was moved by the canine equivalent of reverent awe for some nameless thing which haunted this place, and as the clearing with the St. Swithun's arch drew nearer, that same feeling began to come upon her as well. However, she was dismayed to discover, that was not all she felt, for the creeping chill was here too.

"Are you sure we should continue on?" Kate's voice was suddenly small and frightened.

"Do you feel it too--the chill?"

"I don't know," said Kate, "but I feel certain that we're--we're not alone here," and as these words were uttered, Ellen knew them to be true. Beyond any doubt, she knew that they were being watched or spied upon in some manner, and suddenly she was angry.

"I'm sick of being afraid!" she shouted, and as some startled birds flew up from their interrupted business, she began to march firmly on, Kate and Ruby following a few paces behind.

The arch stood massively monumental in the centre of the clearing, and Ellen tried to imagine how this place had looked when Uncle Arthur had been benighted near the little cabin in the fog and rain. Here, on this summer day, the sun's rays shot down upon the shining bell where it hung in the very centre of the arch, and above it could still be discerned the Latin letters, now faded by wind and weather, of the school motto of St. Swithun's: 'Sapere Aude', or 'Dare to know.' Ellen had always liked this motto much better than that which St. Sophia's had inherited from the honest and upright Miss Benet, which was 'Nec Temere, Nec Timide'. This was translated as 'neither rashly nor timidly,' but it seemed very timid indeed when compared with the bold imperative which now greeted her eyes, be it ever so faded and worn.

"The motto's still there," she said now, "and the bell of course." Then, for a wild moment, she felt that this situation was utterly absurd. How could this old pile of stone really be the haunt of strange and seemingly supernatural beings? It was just the clearing in Benet's wood where lots of students used to come and picnic on fine days.

"This is silly," she said now.

"No!" Kate's voice held an unusual note of command. "You can't turn back now! Think of the motto! Maybe nothing will come of this, but you know you have to dare!" Ellen knew that her friend was right, but she thought that some preparations should be made first.

"Kate," she said now, "I'm going to walk through the arch. I'm sure people have done it a thousand times without anything miraculous taking place, but I'm going to do it now and see what will happen. Will you come with me?"

"I'll come," said Kate, "but I think Ruby had better stay behind." Indeed, Ruby seemed transfixed beyond belief. She sat perfectly upright with her back against a tree, and no matter how she tried, Kate could not get her to move.

"Is she alright?"

"I honestly don't know, but she obviously does not share our adventurous spirit."

Neither do I, really, Ellen thought, and stroked the dog's head. Ruby simply stared straight ahead at the arch and not even her usual happy tail-thumping accompanied the caresses.

"Alright then, girl," said Kate lovingly. "We'll be back," and the two women walked forward hand in hand, the sunlight on the shimmering bell momentarily blurring Ellen's vision.

As they came directly under the arch, the sun seemed to dim before her eyes and a profound stillness fell over the wood. In it, she could sense the pull of two opposing forces: the chill and silent wind that Arthur had described and some other nameless thing which stood against it, trying to prevent it from making contact with either herself or Kate. The meeting of these two powers created a strange kind of nothingness where she stood, but as the moments passed in this timeless void, she knew that the chill was growing while the force that stood against it was weakening.

"Leave this place!" The voice came out of the stillness like a gentle breeze, but Ellen saw only the dimming of the bright day.

"Are you--are you the one? Are you--" She found it very difficult to speak, as though the very air was being pulled from her lungs.

"It is her," said Kate with the same difficulty. "It is Evangeline!" Then, in the smothering silence, there was a sound which seemed to release both of them from the spell of that stillness. It was a scream that sounded utterly inhuman, but it caused Kate to scream in sympathy.

"Ruby!"

"Go now! It is not safe for you here!" Ellen tried to move, but Kate was faster. She tore her hand away and bolted back through the arch, running quickly to the side of the panic-stricken dog. Ellen could see Ruby still sitting against the tree, but her eyes were wide and staring, the hair on her neck stood out stiffly and her mouth lay open in a silent perpetuation of that first howl, whether of pain or terror Ellen could not be sure. Kate went up to her and laid her hand on the black head, and suddenly, she too began to scream.

"Ellen! Oh God! Ellen!"

"I cannot protect them," came Evangeline's sad but peaceful voice. "You must do it. You must find it within yourself to free them from the dark presence!"

"But--"

"No time for doubts, now," said the voice. "Listen to me and speak as I speak. Do not worry if you do not understand the words!"

Ellen then heard the most beautiful-sounding language she had ever heard in her life. This must have been what Uncle Arthur had meant when he had described Evangeline's words as sounding like warm water running over rocks. To her, it sounded like spoken sunlight, and soon, she found herself echoing what she had heard. The words came from her mouth, but they seemed to be drawn from some deep well of wisdom she had never known was a part of her. As she spoke, she saw the day brighten around her once more, but Kate was enveloped in a cloak of clinging and viscous darkness.

"Go to her, my child! Free her! You and I will meet soon!"

Ellen wanted to say a hundred things in that moment, but seeing Kate surrounded by this mysterious menace was too much for her. Running back through the arch, she began again to speak the unknown words which Evangeline had taught her. At her approach, she felt the darkness give way, and soon, both Ruby and Kate were released from the invisible bonds which had held them still.

"Kate? Are you alright?" Ellen took her friend's hand but the latter pulled it away quickly and stood motionless.

"My God, Ellen!" she said after a moment. "It was like--like--" She seemed unable to go on, and Ellen was surprised to see the usually-composed woman before her dissolve into tears.

"It's alright, Kate! It's alright now!"

"No it's not, Ellen! I heard you speaking just then! You freed us, and now, you remind me of--of her!"

"Come on," said Ellen. "Take my hand!" She suddenly began to feel very weak. When she had confronted the shadow, she had felt a surge of power surrounding her, and evidently, Kate had sensed it as well.

"You were all on fire a moment ago," she said now, "but now your hand is cold!"

"I know," said Ellen. "I suppose we should be heading to the car."

"I think we should do more than that. I think we should head home to Uncle Wart's!"

Ellen agreed to this, the thought of Keller's Kreamy Konfections forgotten, and they walked slowly, arm in arm, back toward the drive of St. Sophia's in silence. Ruby seemed none the worse for wear after her ordeal. In fact, she seemed to act more normally than she had on their trip into the clearing. Squirrels, birds and moving leaves now held endless fascinations for her, and Kate let her sniff and stare at will without correcting her. Ellen's head felt as though it were on fire, but her body felt chilled despite the heat of the day. She would be glad to get home and to get some good food into her. It was only now, as they approached the edge of the wood, that she looked up at the position of the sun.

"Kate! My God! The sun! It looks like it's about three o'clock! We came here at about ten!"

"My watch says the same! What do you think this means, Ellen?"

"It should be about noon, I think," said Ellen, trying to reckon up the time they had spent in the wood, "but it's later! How is that possible? That--that experience can't have lasted longer than five minutes, surely!"

"I--I don't know," said Kate. "I--I sort of lost myself for a while. I remember going to Ruby, but then there's nothing until I heard your voice and saw--saw you as you really are. That is what I saw, isn't it?"

"To tell you the truth," said Ellen, pressing the button on her key-fob that unlocked the car doors, "I don't know what you saw."

"You were--it was beautiful! It was like that night when Evangeline spoke to me. I wonder why I didn't see her light when she spoke to us today?"

"I didn't see anything either," said Ellen. "Everything was sort of dim and unreal underneath that arch."

Ruby bounded into the back seat of the car and lay down heavily.

"She looks like I feel," said Ellen as she climbed in on the driver's side. "If you saw some sort of power in me, it's not there now!"

The drive back to Uncle Arthur's cottage was uneventful. Ruby fell asleep as soon as the car started moving, and Ellen was glad when she could finally climb out of the baking heat of its interior and stand again in the fresh air. The car had air conditioning, but it had not had time to really get going on the short journey, so by the time she pulled into Uncle Arthur's driveway, she was sweating buckets. Still, her skin felt clammy and she shivered as she climbed the steps of the porch, Kate and Ruby behind her.

"Well," said Arthur as they entered the house, "how was church?"

"Church? Oh yes," said Kate. "It was lovely!"

"The rest of your day must have been exciting if it put church out of your mind, Sister."

"Exciting isn't the word for it," said Ellen, flopping exhaustedly onto the couch.

"Ellen! You're as white as a sheet!"

"I know," she said. "We--we went to the arch."

"And encountered trouble, I think?"

"Trouble, yes," said Kate, "but something else as well. Evangeline was there."

"Her voice was, at any rate," said Ellen, "but so was that chill, and it--it hurt Kate and Ruby, and she--Evangeline--she helped me to free them."

"It was incredible," said Kate. "Ellen was magnificent!"

"But now you look ill, Ellen!"

"Once the--the power was gone," she said, trying hard to find words, "I--I felt weak. It was as though the power was too much for my body or something!"

"Can you eat anything?"

"I could," said Kate, "and I think Ellen should."

Arthur got some devilled eggs and cold cuts out of the fridge, and along with tall glasses of iced tea, a lovely late lunch was had by all. At first, and despite her earlier hunger, Ellen felt as though she could not possibly eat, but as the others began to dig in with avidity, she soon found her appetite again.

"Did anything out of the ordinary happen here today?" she asked Arthur as she helped him put away the lunch things. She had regained some equilibrium after eating, but she still felt very tired.

"No," he said. "I spent a peaceful day with my latest book and several cups of tea. What possessed you to go to that clearing, may I ask?"

"I just felt drawn there. I wanted to see how it looked again, to see if it would seem different now that I knew about--about Evangeline. She was trying to help us," she added, as though coming to the strange being's defence. "She just--just couldn't, I guess."

"But she showed you how to do it?"

"I think," said Ellen, only realizing this for the first time now, "I think she helped me to remember! Of course, after it was over, I promptly forgot everything again, but in the moment, it was as though I was speaking a language I had known a very long time ago, maybe in some other life."

"Perhaps," said Arthur as they walked back into the parlour and sat down, "perhaps that's just what it was!"

"Really, Uncle Wart!" Kate said, once again idly plucking the strings of the harp. "Reincarnation?"

"No, Sister, no. I don't mean that. I simply mean that perhaps there is more to this story than any of us knows. What if--what if the baby I cared for and have watched grow into a fine and talented woman is only a sort of mask--a disguise for something which is much, much older?"

"You speak more truly than you could possibly know, Arthur," said a rich and beautiful voice which could only belong to one being in the world.

"Evangeline? Do I really hear you speak? Why can't I see you?"

"You will, Arthur," she said, "if all goes as I hope, but for now, I have only a little time, so please listen! First," she said when all sat attentively silent, "Katherine, are you alright?"

"I--I think I am," said Kate.

"She seems to be," said Ellen, "but I, on the other hand, feel so weak!"

"I was afraid of this," said Evangeline, "and now I must tell you why it is."

Her voice was growing fainter as she spoke, and Ellen could sense that it cost her great effort to continue, but she persisted, and they all sat in fascinated attention while she did so.

"I told you, Arthur, that I had lived here always. This was, for me, quite true, though I do not believe that your minds would see it that way. To you, my existence would take the form of another world, lying closely upon the edge of your own, but another world nonetheless. For me, it is simply a state of being. Place has little meaning for those of my kind, and even when I am in human form, I am not mortal. If some accident were to befall me, I would immediately revert to my true form, which to you is manifest as light, warmth and a voice. However, I can assure you that it is much, much more."

"I do not remember you even so much as cutting your finger when you stayed with me," said Arthur.

"That is so," the voice continued. "However, I am certain that you recall plenty of accidents occurring to the one whom you name Ellen as she grew."

"I sure do," said Kate. "You ran into more walls and fell down more stairs than I did!" Ellen laughed, but her laughter died at Evangeline's next words.

"That is because, right now, she is mortal. I had to disguise you, Ellen, as a mortal if I were to keep you safe from those who hunted you. You see, Arthur, the chilling wind you felt take me from you was never truly after me. It was always after Ellen."

"But why? Why am I so special?"

"Because you are the first child to be born to one of us while in human form. We too have children, but to describe to you how it is done is too difficult. However, I bore you as anyone in your own world would have, for I was exiled from my world or mode of existence at the time."

"Exiled?"

"Yes, for there is another thing you need to know about yourself. You are half-mortal. I loved a mortal man many, many years ago by human reckoning, but he was killed soon after we lay together. He went to fight under the banner of the Cross and Virgin at Badon Hill and he died on the battle field."

"What? What on earth are you talking about?" Badon Hill was a battle mentioned in ancient chronicles as having been one in which King Arthur had participated.

"In those days, our comings and goings among your kind were much more frequent," Evangeline continued, "and I had befriended a magician and priest who was an ally of the young king, and that was how I met the man who would become your father, Ellen. It was because of him that I had promised to help Arthur, but after he died, I hated everything mortal and I returned to my own place, swearing never to be involved with humankind again."

"But you came back for the king as he lay dying," said Kate in sheer awe. "The myths speak of three or four queens who bore him away--perhaps to Avalon!"

"I did," said Evangeline, "myself and three others. We prevented him from dying, and it was this which earned us the punishment of exile. We were given the choice of the mortal forms we would take, and seeing the nobility of the dying king, I felt compassion for the people he left behind, so I chose to become human. The others were scattered across your world and existed as animals or trees, but since I was determined to be a human, I was placed further forward in time. The judges did not wish me to interfere again in human affairs, so they placed me here in that little cabin in the woods. There, I felt the life growing inside me, and it was there that I bore my child. I was forbidden to use my powers in this world, so when the shadow-beings came for the child, they thought I would allow them to take her."

"But who are these other things--these shadow-beings?"

"They were like us once, but they went another way. They were more like yourselves, always seeking for gain and glory, and they began to command a dark power which soon consumed them."

"Are they demons?" asked Kate.

"No more than we are angels. We are all flawed beings, but we have tried to follow the way of light and nobility. Did you ever wonder why your myths contain stories about beings of light and beings of darkness? We are the truth behind all that."

"But why did the dark ones want the child?"

"They wanted her for their own. They wanted to make her one of them. When I bore you, Ellen, you were balanced between my world and the world of the dark ones. You had never tasted our true mode of existence, but if you could have, you would have known your true self at once. Now, however, your mortal half has grown very strong and the balance of power which I have maintained between the light and the dark is shifting. I am growing weaker, you see."

"But what do you mean? I still don't understand."

"When I prevented the dark ones from taking you, Ellen, I had to use my powers, but I was not allowed to return fully to my world. So, I have done the next best thing. I have stayed between the worlds, holding back the shadow from you so that you could grow up, and now, I think you have grown strong enough as a mortal to have the chance to claim the other half of your heritage."

"What do I have to do?"

"That you will know soon enough, but now, I cannot speak anymore," and with what sounded like her last ounce of strength, Evangeline said the now familiar and incantatory words: "Waite! Be still!"

"I thought never to have heard that voice again," said Arthur quietly, and when Ellen turned to look at him, she noticed his eyes brim-full of tears.

"You really did love her," she said.

"Yes, Ellen, I did, very much, and I have loved no one in that way since her. She was--is--a very special person!"

"Is she a person? I mean--" The words faltered on her lips. "Am I--well--a person?"

"I believe she has genuine emotions and sensibilities similar to our own," said Arthur. "She wouldn't have gone to such lengths to protect you if she hadn't!"

Ellen thought about this and knew he was right, but the idea of her being something other than human still galled her.

"She seems so incredibly sad," said Kate. "I wish we could help her in some way!"

"It sounds as though she wishes Ellen to do just that," said Arthur, "but the time is not quite right yet."

"How on earth am I supposed to just wait and be still? I hate all this!"

"What could you do now, prey tell? Do you recall the language you spoke or even the sound of its words?"

"No, Uncle, I suppose I don't, but I can't just sit here!"

"I have an odd feeling that you won't have to just sit here for too much longer," said Kate, "but for now, we might as well try to pass the time as best we can. What say we go out in the boat? You still have the boat, don't you, Uncle Wart?"

"I do," said Arthur, "but it hasn't been used for a very long time. I can't row anymore with these ancient arms of mine, but yes. Perhaps you two could use a bit of fun out there on the lake."

"Will you--will you be alright alone?" Ellen still felt tired, but she wanted to try to fend off sleep for as long as she could manage it.

"I'll be perfectly fine. Ruby will stay with me. Won't you, girl?"

"She doesn't look like she wants to do anything else," said Ellen. "I hope she's really alright after that--that incident at the arch."

"The incident at the arch," mused Kate. "That sounds like a lovely title for a story!"

"Well," said Ellen, "I promise you can write it if anything ever comes of it besides this blasted laziness of mine!"

"Well then, let's get a move on," and with that, the two friends went laughing from the room.

It took some hard shoving to get the little row-boat out of its refuge and down to the lake, but once done, it was wonderful to drift happily with the waves and to feel the wind on face and hair. Ellen thought that the effort of rowing might be too much for her, but once begun, it proved to be invigorating. She found the cobwebs finally loosing their hold on her mind, and by the time they had reached a small island where they used to picnic and fish when they were girls, she was feeling more like herself than she had all afternoon. But what did this mean: feeling more like herself? Who was she? If she ever came to know that other world or mode of existence of which Evangeline had spoken, would she still be Ellen Mitchell, niece of Arthur Collins and friend of Kate Matthews, or would she move beyond all the things which she now thought important? Would she forget all that she had known and done and been? She hoped not, and in another way, she hoped never to have to find out.

"Well," she said as she ran the boat up onto the sand, "here's Astolat!" They had named the island for the secluded home of Elaine, the lily-maid who died for love of Sir Lancelot in Le Morte D'Arthur by Thomas Mallory.

"We used to have so much fun here," said Kate. "It was always so quiet and far away from everything!"

"I know," said Ellen. "That's why I thought of coming here now. Are you reading any books lately?"

"Yes, actually," said Kate. "I was just about to start one," and as they sat among the reeds at the edge of the lake, she took out her portable braille computer and began to chant, in her best poetry-reading voice, the opening stanzas of The Lady of the Lake by Sir Walter Scott.

"You really should have been born in a different time," Ellen said as they rowed home. "I mean, you could have been a bard or something."

"Sure I could," said Kate, "if I were a man!"

"I suppose that's true."

"And then there's all the plagues and fevers they had then, and the lack of proper waste-disposal facilities. No, Dear Miss Dashwood, give me my time and my place. I want no other!"

"You know," said Ellen, "now that I think about it, that's how I feel too. Still, I suppose a change is going to come."

"Yes, I suppose it is at that," agreed Kate.

"Well, let's hope it doesn't come too soon! I came here for a vacation, not for fear and strange secrets!"

That night, they had a small supper of sandwiches, and Kate played the harp once more while Ellen and Arthur sipped tea and read, stopping occasionally in their respective books to read interesting passages aloud.

"I want it to be like this always," she said as Kate was dozing, her head on her hand and her other hand lazily stroking Ruby's nose. "I don't want to be anything different. I'm Ellen Mitchell!"

"Yes you are," said Arthur, "and nothing in this world or any other can change that. Still, if trouble is brewing again between these two powers, then I think you'll be called upon to choose a side. I'm sure that we will do everything we can for you, Sister Katherine and I, but in the end, you'll have to act alone."

"But it's like they're all--even Evangeline--making me act. They're choosing my path for me!"

"I know it seems like that," said Arthur, "but it will be up to you, ultimately, to choose what you will do."

"Yes," said Ellen bitterly, "but for now, I must wait and be still."

"Just so," said Kate, lifting her head, "but remember what happened in the dream you had on Friday when you did! You saved others as well as yourself by ceasing to struggle!"

"Well, if that's all I'm supposed to do, Kate, then I'll do it right now! I'll just sit here and do nothing, and then everything will be alright!"

"Don't be angry, Ellen! I don't think that's what the dream was telling you. Another way to wait and be still is to accept what's happening, to come to terms with it and to stop fighting it. Though I have no idea how exactly you go about doing that."

"No," said Ellen, all the fatigue from the afternoon returning upon her with full force. "Neither do I. However, I think I must get some sleep now."

"You still don't look entirely well," said Arthur. "Perhaps the morning will be better for you."

"Let's hope so," said Kate, and rose to take Ruby for her final relief-ritual of the day.

"Uncle Arthur," she said when Kate had left the room, "if I go--if I have to--change, I don't want to forget all this. I don't want to forget St. Sophia's or Kate--or you,"

 and then sobs, deep and gut-wrenching, left her speechless for several seconds.

"I don't think you will forget anything of this life, Little Nell," said Arthur, using one of his pet names for her in childhood and laying a hand on her shoulder, "and I know, no matter what happens, that we will never forget you! Now, dry your eyes and get to bed. I think sleep is just the ticket for you now," and he gently propelled her down the short hallway and into the room she shared with Kate.

"Goodnight," she managed as the sobbing subsided.

"Sleep well, my girl," said Arthur as he quietly closed the door.

As Ellen got ready for bed, she could hear Arthur and Kate talking in the parlour. She didn't notice what they said, but was relieved to hear, as Kate came down the hall, that she had challenged him to a Chess game the next day.

So they weren't talking about me then, she thought. Good, and as Kate entered the room with Ruby at her heels, she buried herself under the light covers and fell fast asleep almost before she had closed her eyes.

Chapter Four: To Fight or to Flee

Ellen woke up shivering. The cold sweat which had begun that afternoon had really got going now, and though she knew the room where she slept to be warm, the gentle breeze from the open window felt as biting as a winter wind. She looked at her iPhone's clock read-out and was dismayed to discover that it was only three o'clock in the morning. How would she ever get back to sleep now? Her head ached terribly and her lips felt parched, and as she moved around in the bed to try and get comfortable, something which sounded like thunder pounded in her ears.

"Ellen," said Kate sleepily from the other twin bed. "Are you alright?"

"I think," she said, every syllable ringing through her head as though it were the stroke of a hammer, "I think I have a fever!"

"Let me check," said Kate, now fully awake and springing from her bed.

"Yes," she said, laying a cool hand on Ellen's brow. "You definitely feel feverish to me. I have some pills in my bag. They should help you sleep anyway."

Ellen lay still and watched as Kate rummaged in her bag and brought out a bottle of Tylenol.

"Here," she said. "Take as many as you need. I'll get you some water."

When Kate returned, Ellen swallowed four pills with the water and tried once more to get comfortable.

"Are you hot? I can get you a cold cloth," said Kate, sitting on the edge of Ellen's bed and stroking her head to try to soothe her. Ellen felt her friend's deft touch and recalled times while they were at St. Sophia's when Kate had been the one suffering and she had tried to make her feel better. Kate used to get terrible migraines, and, Ellen suspected, still did, for she never went anywhere without a whole drug-store full of pills.

"No," she said. "I'm cold! I can't seem to get warm!"

"Well," said Kate, "hopefully the pills will take some of the chill away by bringing your temperature down. Hang on a minute," and before Ellen could protest, she was out of the room and down the hall.

Soon, she was back, carrying the low stool and the harp from the parlour.

"If this doesn't help," she said, sitting down to play, "then nothing will."

"But don't wake up Uncle Wart," said Ellen, using Kate's nickname for her uncle unconsciously for the first time.

"Even if we do wake him," said Kate, "he can't object to this," and she began to play as Ellen had never heard her play before.

"What piece is that?" She knew she was slurring her words. The pills were obviously beginning to work their magic.

"Oh, I don't know," said Kate absently. "Something I dreamed perhaps."

"It sounds like--" Ellen was rapidly falling asleep and her voice came thickly, "like Paradise," and soon, her eyes saw not Kate by her bed, but the radiant form that Arthur had described meeting all those years ago, and she was not in the 'Palace of Art' now, but in a small log cabin.

The lady in green whom Ellen knew by now must be Evangeline stopped playing just then, and in the silence, Ellen could hear a bird beginning to trill its matinal song.

"You must eat," Evangeline said.

"But am I really here?"

"Does it matter? You will be strengthened if you eat what I have to give," and Ellen could now smell the most delicious breakfast-time smell she could think of: oatmeal porridge cooked with apples and cinnamon. Evangeline pulled a chair close to the fire, and Ellen, who had been lying in a small bed, now stood up and went to it.

"When you have eaten," said Evangeline in her utterly compelling voice, "you and I must talk."

Ellen felt the hot cereal sliding down her throat as though it were something holy. She did feel her strength coming back and the cereal warming her as she ate. There was also some water to go with it, and when she drank it, it felt cool and refreshing, as though it went straight to her soul and fed a hunger in it that she hadn't even known was there.

"Now," said Evangeline, "I have some things to say to you."

"But how? I thought you were--were weak and couldn't talk to us anymore."

"You are nearer to me now in dream, Ellen. I have created this meeting-place so that you and I may talk freely. You know what happened when you tried to meet me directly being unprepared."

"I don't know if I was trying to meet you," said Ellen, "but I just wanted to see the arch after--after all I'd heard about it."

"However that may be, it was very hard on your body to stand in the place where I and the dark ones who seek for you exist, and your presence there allowed those other beings to move further into your world and to attack someone you love."

"I didn't know that would happen," said Ellen.

"This I know, and I do not blame you for it, but it was necessary for me to create a neutral way for us to meet. So, putting a certain piece of music into Katherine's dream and having her play it in your hearing, I was able to open a door for you to come to me in this representation of the cabin where you and I once lived."

"Representation?"

"Yes. It is not real as you would understand the term, but to your mortal senses it appears real. It is necessary to create this place and to appear to you as I do now, for your body and mind would be overwhelmed if you saw where we truly are as it truly is."

"Alright. I suppose I understand that."

"Well then," said Evangeline, "hear what I tell you. You have been woven into a tapestry of events and forces which was not of your choosing. This is true of all mortals, but for you, there is another depth to things. The warp was laid down for you across the loom of time with the threads of eternity, and now it is necessary for you to lay the weft so that the tapestry can be completed."

"What?" Ellen was completely lost.

"Your will and your choices are what I am speaking of," said Evangeline. "You alone will know what you must do and when you must do it, but the shuttle will fly on without you if you are not careful, and perhaps another's hands will weave a different pattern. I have given you all the aid I can for now. If you come again to the clearing in the wood, perhaps things will be different for you than they were. Still, it is always your right to turn away, to leave this path and to take another. No one can counsel you but your own heart. Remember! You are Ellen!" and suddenly, in a rush of noise like breaking waves and in a blur of colour like light through a prism, she found herself once more in her own bed, and there was sunlight pouring through the unshaded window.

"Well," she said aloud, "I do feel better."

"Good," said Kate from where she now lay in her own bed. "I don't know what happened last night, but I ended up playing that harp for a really long time--at least three hours! It was as though my fingers were moving of their own accord!"

"I know," said Ellen. "You helped Evangeline to be able to meet with me."

"Really? Curiouser and curiouser, said Alice! Well, I'm glad I could help, though I don't exactly know how harp music could have done any good."

"Nor do I," said Ellen, "but I suppose I'll know more when I've shuffled off this mortal coil, or whatever I'm supposed to do."

"But you don't need to die, do you? Oh Ellen!"

"No," said "Ellen, "or I hope not. It's just that I feel a little like Hamlet this morning. I'm stuck, Kate. A part of me wants to forget all this, but another part knows that I can't."

I can't, she thought but did not say, because if I do, I'm afraid the evil that took Evangeline before will harm those I love if she can't hold it back anymore.

"It does seem an intolerable choice," said Kate kindly. "Still, perhaps it can wait a while. Could you eat some breakfast?"

Ellen started to say that she was ravenous, but realized as the words were on the tip of her tongue that she was only repeating a morning formula. You were supposed to feel hungry after a night's sleep, weren't you? So why did she feel blessedly full and satisfied?

"No," she said. "I feel as though I don't need to eat. In the dream or whatever it was, she fed me some really wonderful oatmeal! I can still taste it!"

"Interesting," said Kate. "Very interesting! Well, perhaps you could do with some tea then?"

"That I'd be only too glad to accept," said Ellen happily, and after washing and dressing, the two sat again on the covered porch, a pot of strong tea between them and Kate munching a piece of thickly-buttered toast.

"Well now," said Uncle Arthur, appearing a few minutes later, "and how did we sleep last night? Still no more dreams, I hope?"

"Oh," said Ellen, "there was a dream, or well, I think it was a dream. Kate actually had a hand in bringing it on!"

"Oh? I was unaware that you were a mistress of dreams, Sister Katherine!"

"It was her harp music," said Ellen. "Surely you heard it?"

"Not the least vibration of a string," said Arthur. "I slept very soundly."

"Well," said Ellen, "I woke up feeling feverish and Kate helped me to try to sleep by playing the harp, but the music was something I'd never heard before, and Kate's playing was really fine! I mean, I love your playing any time," she hastily added, "but well, your technique was just so different this time!"

"Don't I know it! It was all I could do to keep up with what my fingers were doing! Still, I thought I'd dreamed the music or something."

"Apparently you did," said Ellen. "Evangeline told me that she had caused you to hear it, and that somehow, this had opened a door for me to meet her in--as she put it--a neutral place."

"You met Evangeline face-to-face? I thought she was too weak for such things now!" Ellen could see her uncle's excitement and curiosity, so she told the story of the cabin and the oatmeal and the words that Evangeline had said.

"I wish she'd just tell me what she wants me to do," she said at the end.

"I don't know if she particularly wants you to do anything," said Arthur. "It's just that she knows that you will have to make a choice. Events will force you to choose one way or another, but she knows that you have the chance to preempt that inevitability."

"That isn't what it feels like. It feels as though I've been drawn into all this against my will. When I started this vacation, the only worry I had was what sort of job I'd find when it was over! Now, well, I don't know what it's all about!" And yet, that was not entirely true. All the while she had been speaking, a part of her, lying calm and clear as a mountain lake at noonday, knew exactly what was being asked of her. She had to make a choice between the two lives coursing within her, and she knew that only one choice would save both the world she knew and the world that waited for her arrival.

"Well," said Kate finally after a long silence, "I don't envy you your position, Ellen, but I'll help you in any way that I can."

"Of course," said Arthur. "After all, we were the ones who engineered your coming here at this time in the first place. We can't leave you alone now!"

Ellen smiled at her two companions with true affection, but she knew something that they did not. Somewhere deep inside herself, she knew that in the last analysis, whatever she did, she would have to do without their aid and comfort. They were her friends, it was true, but this darkness had the power to harm them and she knew, despite their confident resolve, that they could not stand against it. For that matter, she herself did not know if she could face it and triumph, but she knew that she would have to try somehow. Still, she reflected, nothing could be done just now. That clear and calm part of her would tell her when the time was right, but for now, she had to find ways of keeping herself occupied with whatever her mortal life had to offer.

"Uncle Wart and I are going to play a game of Chess," said Kate. "Would you like to watch?" Ellen normally loved to watch this spectacle of two minds battling against each other over a board of black and white squares, but today, she felt she needed some activity.

"No," she said, "but I think Ruby could use a long walk. Mind if I take her, Kate?"

"Not at all," said Kate. "Let her swim if you want to! She loves the water!"

Ellen clipped Ruby's worn leather leash to her collar and, as the two combatants prepared their strategies of faint and attack, she and her four-legged friend walked amiably out into the blaze and burn of a bright August Monday morning.

"I sometimes wish," she said to Ruby as they rambled, "that I had the life of a dog. Everything's always a new experience, and you always know where you fit in life. Still, I don't know if I'd like to be ordered about so much. I got enough of that from Brian O'Hara!" Stopping to let Ruby christen a bush, she realized that she had quit her job only three days ago. It felt as though time had stopped ever since Kate's arrival, or perhaps, she amended, ever since the dream which had caused her to sleep through Kate's arrival. She suddenly began imagining what the irrepressibly optimistic Jenny Hargrove might say if she told her of her current predicament.

"Well, El," she heard Jenny's cheery voice saying, "I suppose that all you can do is try, right?"

All she could do was try, but try to do what? What was she being asked to do? That calm part of her mind, the part she thought of now as the Evangeline-part, remained obstinately silent. She had once heard a professor giving a lecture on Shakespeare state that in Hamlet, the tragic choice he made was not to act right away. Usually in tragedies, the reversal of fortune of the hero proceeds from his choice to commit a certain act. With Hamlet, this professor stated, it was his wavering which eventually led to his downfall.

"He was given a very simple task by the ghost, and in those times it would have been taken for granted that the son of the dead King might challenge his brother. Hamlet, however, was a thinker rather than a doer, and because he thought too much, he allowed Claudius to find out his plans." She recalled thinking then that the melancholic prince had reminded her of herself. Where Kate was always willing to try new things, she often hung back until she perceived that it was safe. She would take risks, it was true, but it needed a lot of mulling and brooding for her finally to screw her courage to the sticking-place, as Lady Macbeth counselled her husband to do. Why, she thought all of a sudden, was everything coming down to Shakespeare?

By this time, she and Ruby had reached a sheltered spot on the lake with a bit of sandy beach curving down to the water's edge. Ellen found a few sticks, took off Ruby's leash, and began throwing the sticks for her to bring back. The dog was delighted with the game and so, in her way, was she. It was good to see happiness, she thought, and seeing Ruby romping through the water and pouncing on the sticks, only to come bounding up to her again just waiting for another one to fly magically through the air caused the weight on her heart to lift a little.

"Silly dog," she said as Ruby gathered the last stick and dropped it at her feet. "I think you've had enough of that for one day, and I know my clothes have!" So, sodden and smiling, she reattached the leash and walked slowly home, trying to dry as much of the lake as she could off of both her clothes and Ruby's flattened and clinging fur.

When they finally returned to the cottage some two hours after setting out, the Chess game was still in full swing and Ellen, having changed her clothes, sat down to watch the proceedings. Kate was playing white and it looked to Ellen's eye--that of a rank amateur it was true--as though she was being beaten handily. Only her queen was left to defend the king, along with a few lonely pons scattered about the board, while Arthur still had a knight, two rooks and his queen strategically moving in for the kill.

"Do you wish to concede, Sister?"

"Not yet, Uncle Wart," said Kate, and pushed a pawn one square forward. It was then that Ellen realized what Kate was doing, and she wondered that Arthur hadn't seen it. Using her queen as a defence for both the forward pawn and the king, she managed, after innumerable dodges around Arthur's prancing knight to get the pawn to the eighth rank without it being captured. The queen first picked off one black rook and then the other, and now she only had the knight to reckon with, Kate having captured more of Arthur's pons than he had of hers, so that even though she had the fewest valuable pieces, she managed to get that vulnerable pawn all the way to the other side of the board and so to promote it. The typical promotion that a pawn could receive at this point, Ellen knew, was to the rank of queen, but instead, Kate chose to make it a knight and soon, his king almost completely undefended, Arthur was mated and the game was over.

"Well," said Arthur, shaking his opponent's hand over the board, "your strategy and tactics have improved!"

"And yours, dear Uncle Wart, have not diminished! I haven't played such an intense game for a very long time! I run a Chess club at school, but I haven't found any students who truly love the game. Oh, they find it challenging and fun, but none of them understand its subtleties. They just enjoy capturing pieces and mating each other as a kind of blood sport. The more pieces topple, the better the game is for them, but Chess isn't like that really. Chess is more like espionage. Each side is constantly trying to understand the other, to think how the other intends to move and so to preempt the other's advances."

"I see," said Ellen, "but why did you only make your promoted pawn into a knight? Why not just queen it?"

"Because I thought that the two queens would get in each other's way," said Kate, "and besides, I still had my queen. She can move as a bishop moves or as a rook or even as a pawn, but the one thing she cannot do is move the way a knight does, and I needed the knight's simultaneously bidirectional move in order to check and then mate Uncle Wart's king."

"Yes," said Arthur, "you have a cunning mind and a finely-honed sense for opportunity!"

"Well," said Kate, "they do say that it only knocks once, after all!"

She's right about that, Ellen thought, and for want of anything better to do, began bustling in the kitchen and preparing lunch.

"Kate and I will have to go into town tomorrow and replenish our provisions!" she called after giving the fridge a quick once-over. "We seem to be eating you out of house and home, Uncle Arthur!"

"You'll do no such thing," said Arthur, now joining her at the counter where she was chopping vegetables for a salad. "I can't have my guests doing my shopping for me, can I?"

"But we're not your guests, Uncle Arthur. We're family!"

"Still and all, it just wouldn't do. Besides, I have my groceries delivered nowadays, Ellen. All you need to do is to add any items you may want to the list I keep here on the refrigerator door."

"Oh very well," she said, "but we don't want to be a bother to you."

"A bother? Do you know how quiet it can be in this place? Even the sound of the lake can become monotonous after a while. Why, sometimes it's as though--as though--" His voice suddenly trailed off and Ellen turned to him in concern. What she saw brought back the sensation she had felt during the incident at the arch. Arthur stood there, hands hanging limply at his sides and an expression of utter emptiness on his face. His eyes were fixed open in the stare of a catatonic, and his breathing was shallow and laboured.

"No," she said loudly. "You can't have him! I won't let you have him," and then in desperation, she tried to remember the words that Evangeline had told her to say the day before, but try as she would, nothing would come but bits of Latin. So, she started to say them, not knowing what else to do.

"Salve Regina! Ave imperator! Deus ex machina!" Then, not knowing what else to do, she screamed louder than she ever had in her life: "Evangeline! Help me!" A part of her mind wondered why Kate hadn't rushed in when she had screamed. She felt as though her voice could have torn the fabric of the universe to shreds in that moment of terror beyond telling, but then she thought of Evangeline's dream-words: "Wait! Be still," and so she did. Looking into the vacant eyes of the man she loved better than a father, she waited. She was still, and then, without warning or preamble, words came tumbling out of her from that deep and clear pool of thought which she called the Evangeline-part of her mind. Most of her mind could not understand them, but she knew on an instinctual level that they were words of challenge and command. They spilled and spilled out of her just the way that Arthur had described hearing them, and this time, she needed no prompting of any kind. Soon, she saw the life coming back into the old man's face, but in a moment, there was another reason for her to be concerned, for all at once, her own dear Uncle Arthur was kneeling at her feet and looking up at her in utter astonishment.

"My little Nell," he said. "My little, little child! Not so little now, eh?"

"Oh Uncle! Please don't do that! Please don't kneel!"

"I'm sorry," he said as she helped him to his feet, "but I saw you just then--transfigured, even as she--as Evangeline was on that last night! It was taking me, Nell! It was taking me and I couldn't stop it, but you stopped it!"

"God only knows how," she said, "but really, I think you should sit down!"

"I didn't even feel it coming! I told you it was harder in the daytime, but did you feel it?"

"I--I don't know," she said. "I may have done, though to tell you the truth, I've been so taken up with my own thoughts that I likely missed it. I'm sorry I let it get so close!"

Just then, they were both startled by the sound of the screen door squealing on its hinges.

"What was that?" Ellen ran into the parlour at top speed, only to find Kate standing there with Ruby.

"She seemed to have to go out again," she said, "but when we got to our usual tree, all she did was run around and sniff."

"So, Ruby," said Ellen, patting the dog's nose as she nuzzled her hand, "you were more on the ball than I was, eh? Good girl!"

"What?" asked Kate. "What happened?"

"The--the darkness tried to take Uncle Arthur," said Ellen, finding to her shame that tears were filling her eyes, "and--and--"

"And I was saved by the light," said Arthur. "Your friend found her hidden power, Sister Katherine, and she saved me!"

"I've seen something of that hidden power myself," said Kate. "It's a force to be reckoned with!"

"Well," said Ellen, "it was pretty frightening! We were just talking and then he--he went away--went still!"

"In my head there was screaming," said Arthur, "terrible screaming that wouldn't stop! Even now I can still hear it!"

"Shut it out, Uncle! For God's sake shut it out! Kate, play him something. Can you?"

"I'll try," said Kate. "Come on, Uncle Wart, and sit down," and she tenderly led him to his habitual chair.

Ellen listened to the harp's melodious chords while she finished preparing lunch, and by the time they sat down to eat, everything had more-or-less resumed its normal tenor. Still, she could no longer avoid what had to happen, not when the darkness was pressing so closely upon those whom she loved. Yet, was it prudent to simply walk into its clutches? What good would it do her or anyone else if she laid herself open to the evil influence of these dark beings only to be destroyed by them in the end? Surely she had a lot more to learn before she could meet them in open confrontation, and yet she knew that there would be no time for her to learn what she had to know in any sort of safe manner. Evangeline, her true mother by all accounts, was weakening. Did that mean she was dying? Could these beings die or somehow cease to exist? She didn't know, and this was another maddening thing: the lack of knowledge about what she was dealing with. How could she do what she was planning to do without more information?

"Ellen," Kate was saying, "were you listening?"

"No, Kate," she said, her reverie broken at last. "What were you saying?"

"I was asking if you'd like to go into town. Uncle Arthur and I think it would be a great idea--you know--to try to get our minds off--off all this here," she finished feebly.

"You know what, Kate? I think that would be just the thing! Let's go to Mrs. K.'s and stuff ourselves silly!" She suddenly knew something very surely. She knew that she wanted nothing more than to spend this afternoon with her dearest uncle and her dearest friend in uncomplicated comfort. After all, she didn't have the faintest idea what tomorrow might bring.

Dorothea Keller still held court at her sweet-shop, though she did so now enthroned in an electric wheelchair. No longer did she bake her own scones or stir her own fudge, but she had minions to do that work for her and, Ellen was pleased to discover, she had also put in an ice cream freezer.

"Had to," she said in answer to Ellen's excited enquiries. "In the last ten years, this town's become infested with summer people! Course, during the week there aren't as many, but on weekends, it's all we can do to keep the ice cream flowing! But if you're from St. Sophia's, perhaps you'll want something more traditional? One of our specialities?"

"Well," said Kate, "I'd love one of your eckles cakes!"

"Excellent choice, Sister," Mrs. K. said, and dispatched one of her disciples to fulfill Kate's request.

After everyone had bought something--Ellen having chosen ice cream after all--they left the little shop and went to a little park in the town square where there was a decorative fountain with a stone seat attached. The day was hot but breezy, and all three of them luxuriated as bees hummed and birds twittered, and Ellen watched as Ruby, now free of her harness for a while, rolled happily on the grass at Kate's feet.

"She knows how to enjoy herself," she said, licking melting ice cream from the edges of her cone with relish and looking up at the fluffy white clouds now drifting lazily overhead. "It's turned out to be a glorious day!"

"Indeed it has," said Arthur. "It's been a long time since I sat in this park!"

"I don't remember the fountain," said Kate.

"No," said Ellen. "It's new."

"They tried to refurbish this old square a few years back," said Arthur, "in an effort to make it feel more welcoming. I suppose it has worked, to a point at least. To me, it still feels stuffy and puritanical, only now it's dressed in borrowed bohemian weeds."

Ellen understood what he meant. Behind all the new paint and the flowered borders still stood the brooding courthouse and post office, along with sundry other local government buildings which, from within the square, seem to dwarf the shops such as Keller's Kreamy Konfections and render them slightly less interesting than did the view from the streets which their fronts faced. This town was trying to change, Ellen thought, but at heart it was still what it had always been: a town filled with hard-working people who barely ever set foot beyond its boundaries through whole runs of years. How could they know that on their very doorstep was a world which would both awe and frighten them out of their senses if they ever saw it? So far, they had been kept safe. So far, everyone had been kept safe by whatever Evangeline had done to maintain a balance between light and dark. She knew now that if she could stop it, she would, and she could not wait or be still anymore.

The evening passed amicably. No one seemed to feel like talking, and that was fine as far as Ellen was concerned. Kate read more of the Scott poem aloud and both Ellen and Arthur listened to her, transfixed. Then, as the moon rose round and full in the sky and both Arthur and Kate headed for bed, she sat wakeful and gazed out at the gently-moving water of the lake. Now was the time, she thought. Now was the hour when she had to put her plan into action. Kate and Arthur might worry, but she couldn't think about that now. All she could do was try to get away as quietly as possible so that no one would come after her. It was imperative that no one else be put at risk if she could prevent it. So, as a loon sent up its evening call and moths circled lazily around the porch light, she went quietly out of the cottage, put her car into neutral, and pushed it down the driveway and some distance down the road before climbing in and starting the engine. In a few minutes, she had parked once more at St. Sophia's, the school standing stark and silent in the pale light from the moon, and as she stood for a moment and surveyed it, some words from a Daphne DuMaurier novel came into her head: 'Last night, I dreamt I went to Manderley again.'

But she was not dreaming. Now, all her senses were preternaturally acute, and though the school looked mysterious as she gazed at it, it was not to the school she was heading. The time for waiting was over, and so, with firm steps she headed into the trees and along the brush-laden path through Benet's wood. She carried a flashlight, and in its beam she saw strange shadows which she knew were made by the overhanging boughs, but which still caused her to feel a vague sense of unease nonetheless. As the clearing with the arch came into view, the chill came on her so strongly that it stopped her breath for an instant. However, after a moment, though she still felt its relentless power, she knew that she could face it. She thought back to her alleged dream of the night before, remembering how Evangeline had said that her food would strengthen her. Was this what she had meant? She hoped that it was, because as the arch neared, the chill grew stronger and stronger, buffeting her silently as she moved deeper into it.

"I'm here," she said now, and she was surprised to find that she did not know whether she spoke to the darkness or to Evangeline. The flashlight now falling from her hand with the intensity of the force that surrounded her, she grabbed for one of the supports of the arch to steady herself, and she continued to speak. "You've wanted me for a long time, I know. Well, here I am," and without another word, she walked underneath the arch, and as she did so, the chill and silent wind caused the St. Swithun's bell to swing wildly to and fro and to ring out warningly. Ahead of her, filling the arch, was a shifting and wavering wall of mist. She knew that she must walk into it, but it looked very wet and very cold. She thought that her heart might freeze in her chest if the mist touched her, but the thought of being taken by the strange wind was even more terrifying, so though she could see no end to it, she walked into the swirling mass of white, and as it surrounded her, she suddenly felt the ground beneath her melt away, and then she was falling, tumbling over and over in a vast and death-white void, and as her body fell, so fell her mind until darkness enfolded it, and there was nothing but nothing.

Chapter Five: A World of Wonders

The nothingness did not last forever, but try as she would, she found it difficult afterwards to explain, whether to herself or to anyone else, just how it finally resolved itself. For instance, though she had felt herself falling through what seemed like infinite space, there was never a definite sensation of landing or even of slowing her descent. In fact, the first thing she could clearly recall was not a sensation at all but a sound: the sound of gently-flowing water. She knew that she was not in the water, but it took her an eternal moment to realize that she was lying on her back with good, hard earth beneath her and that the water was running some way off to her left. Cool air caressed her body, and as she opened her eyes, she found that a gentle sunlight was falling on her face and shining through the droplets of mist which hung in the air and turning them to tiny prismatic rainbows. The grass had the deep green hue of spring-time about it, and though it was lush and living, it was also short, and the turf in which it was rooted felt vital and springy as she moved to assess her situation more thoroughly.

She was not hurt, she soon found, and she still wore the clothes she had worn when she had walked underneath the St. Swithun's arch in Benet's Wood. However, she found as she looked harder at her surroundings that she was not in a wood now, but in a meadow. Around the edges of this flat and open ground grew green hedges of holly and hawthorn, and they all seemed to be covered in the same misty dew which she saw in the sky. The hedges seemed to glow with it as though they were bespangled with gems, and as she stood up, she realized that her hands and face had begun to glow as well. Indeed, her skin felt damp with the dew and mist, but it was not an unpleasant dampness. It was as though she had been walking on a very hot day and had suddenly come under the spray of a lawn-sprinkler or a passing shower of rain. She felt clean and pure, and her heart was light with a joy she could never have thought possible.

The flowing water now caught her attention, and as she approached it, she realized that it was a swiftly-moving stream. The water ran clear over a rocky bottom, and she could see, as it flowed, the rocks in fantastic riots of colour: golds, vermilions, and living greens. It was a truly beautiful sight, and for a moment she was certain that she had died and that this was Heaven or Elysium. This stream looked nothing like she had imagined the river Styx to look, but she knew that it must be something not of the world into which she had been born. However, the real joy came when she looked across the stream, and saw what she took at first for Benet's Wood, but a wonderfully-transfigured version of that place. Tall trees rose stately against the misty blue sky, and from every full green leaf there spilled that same translucent wetness which she saw clinging to the hedges on this side of the stream. She suddenly felt a deep and inexpressible longing to be among those trees and to follow the broad and well-marked pathway which she could see snaking away into the glowing forest.

"I'll do it," she said. "I'll follow the path!" After all, the stream seemed to be inviting her to cross. There were stepping-stones laid for her to use, and she knew that she could cross without danger. As she approached, she suddenly had the urge to remove her shoes. She wondered if this was how Moses had felt when confronted with the burning bush. For her, it was not merely one bush that burned, but all the trees of the wood seemed bathed in unconsuming fire, and she knew that she had to approach them reverently. So, removing her shoes and socks and discarding them on the near bank, she waded happily into the cool and living water.

As soon as her feet touched the first stepping-stone, she felt a thrill pass through her such as she had never felt before. Gone was the creeping chill of the night in Benet's Wood. Now, there was only joy and well-being and a sense that the water of the stream was purifying her, body and soul. Her heart laughed as the flowing water seemed to laugh, and soon, she herself was laughing and feeling the life of this place coursing through her. The stones were easily-crossed and the stream, though swift, did not knock her off her feet, and in a trice, she was finally among the tall trees of the glowing wood.

The trees looked like any ordinary trees she had ever seen. She could recognize oaks, beeches, alders and willows among them, but the glowing dew which seemed to spill from them made them look like the sort of trees which might be on Mount Olympus or in some other god-haunted place. Before proceeding along the path, she went up to one of the oaks and touched its knotty trunk, and it was only then that she realized that the dew was not simply falling from the sky and landing on the trees; it was coming from the sky and also coming from the trees. It was even coming from herself now. She was in a land where the light was liquefied, and where the life in things was more apparent, more manifest than it was in her own world. She stood for a long moment under the great oak's massive shadow and allowed its living presence to meld with her own, for this was also something she had noticed since coming here. If she let her mind be still when looking at an object, she could begin to know its nature and she knew, somehow, that it was also learning something of her at this time.

This is Eden, she suddenly found herself thinking, and then, for no apparent reason: but if it is Eden, then there must be a snake in the grass. Ah well, all she could do was walk further into the wood and see what would await her in this strange place. So, letting the oak's strength fill her once more, she left it gratefully and followed the path which was edged on both sides with beautiful blue stones.

As she walked, she felt no regret for her shoes, for her feet found nothing to sting them, not even so much as a loose stone or a fallen twig. She found herself thinking as she walked along how pleasant it was to go unshod, and how if she did so in her world, she would likely suffer death by a thousand cuts before she had gone even a mile. Here, everything was clean and clear, and the earth of the path was flat, but it wasn't hard. It was springy, like the turf in the meadow had been, and was carpeted with a lovely green moss which exuded a wonderful and fragrant oil where her feet bruised it.

"I'll have to tell Kate about this--this myrrh-moss," she said, trying to find a name for the balm-excreting growth. "She'll absolutely love it!" Indeed, as she walked further on, it was as though she were being bathed in a cloud of incense. It reminded her a little of the incense she had smelled during special masses at Kate's convent, but there was a difference, and for a moment, she could not discover where it lay. Then, all at once, it came to her. This fragrance was not of something being burned or consumed, but of something spending itself naturally as it was meant to do. However, this spending did not mean decay or death. It was simply an eternal out-breathing of the life which beat even in this simplest of organisms, and this, to her surprise, made her eyes fill with tears.

"This is what life should be," she said aloud. "Death is simply wrong!" She had never thought this way before. In fact, ever since her parents had died, she had formed an opinion that death had to be a necessary part of life. She had even come to romanticize it so that she could deal with the fact that they were gone, but now, surrounded by the glowing and pulsing life of this wood, she knew deep within herself that death need not be the only way. Beauty needed never to decay or turn to dust, and life, if it could only be strengthened somehow, could grow into its full flowering in her own world as it had done here.

But, she suddenly thought, was the world of Uncle Arthur and Kate, and even Jim Parker really her own world, or was this world her true home? Perhaps this was why she felt so joyous and light. Perhaps she had truly been a fish out of water there, and now, finally, she had found the world where she truly belonged. But where, in fact was she? The path still ran clearly before her, and as she walked, she saw things darting in and out of the trees on business of their own. First, she saw a silver stag being chased by hounds and hunters in old-fashioned costumes, and the sounds of the hunting-horns sent up echoes which died slowly and sweetly on her ear and seemed to dance far away on some unseen mountains. Then, she wondered if she was actually dreaming, because from a thicket on her left came the sound of a merry shepherd's pipe, and soon, a little creature which could only be a faun danced along the path beside her for a few moments before moving off along a branching way. Indeed, there were many such branching and meandering paths as she continued on her way, but the only way she seemed to wish to go was along the path bordered with the blue stones.

She walked and walked, not caring where she went, until she came to a vast and open space where stood a well and a bucket, with a small dipper hanging from the crank of the windlass to which the bucket was attached by a golden chain. She suddenly found that she was thirsty, so, drawing nearer, she looked at the stones which surrounded the well and realized that a legend was carved into one of them.

"Draw and drink," it said, "and if the well thunders, you will have good adventure!" She felt certain now that she must be dreaming, for this was exactly like an episode from one of the Arthurian romances she had written about for her Doctoral dissertation. However, since her thirst was great, she decided to chance the well. The water looked clear and cold as she drew up the bucket on its chain, and as she dipped the small dipper into it, she heard a deep, booming note from under the stone lip of the well-head, and water sprayed up and drenched her in its cooling shower.

"Well," she asked the well, "what happens if you rain on me? Your legend doesn't say anything about that!" Still, she did not find herself sodden. In fact, as soon as the water had fallen upon her, it began to bead and float away as though she were covered with eider-down instead of with jeans and a t-shirt.

By the well, she now noticed, were bushes filled with lovely berries, and just as she had realized her thirst upon seeing the water here, now, as she looked at the ripe and round fruit before her, she found that she was unbelievably hungry. So, without further ado, she gathered as many berries as she could, and sat down on the edge of the well to eat them. The sun here was clear and golden overhead, its light no longer hindered by a canopy of closely-leaved and overhanging branches, and the berries tasted more refreshing than had any berry she had ever tasted back at home. Again, she realized why this was. The berries were unhindered by the heavy air of her world and the heavy hand of man. They were what berries were meant to be. They were the paragon of berryhood, she thought, and as she bit into each, she noticed that each tasted slightly different from all the others, so that each was redolent of its own unique individuality, while at the same time being shining examples of what it was simply to be a berry.

"Well," she said, "so far, the adventure is turning out to be a good one, but I think I'll fall asleep if I sit here any longer."

"Well then," said a rich and resonant male voice beside her, "perhaps you need some guidance!" and turning to see who the speaker was, she saw the most beautiful man she had ever seen. His eyes flashed electric-blue and his hair was of fine gold. He looked like a statue of Apollo come to life, and from him there came a fierce and burning radiance. Indeed, his eyes compelled her so that she had to look into them, but she saw dancing madly in their depths a kaleidoscopic array of colours swirling and mingling, and then, without warning, she felt herself falling and caught even as she fell in strong arms. However, her mind was lost amid the shifting and changing hues and she was utterly unable to think or to speak, for the mad, wild beauty of this creature--she could not call him a man--suffused her mind and overwhelmed her.

"Forgive me," his magnificent voice said as he laid her gently down by the well. "I had thought to come to you in a way that would not cause you undue fright. Indeed, when she who has sent me knows of what has happened, she will likely have some words of admonishment for me. However, I will fulfill the errand on which I have come. You are expected," and suddenly, all suggestion of a human figure was gone from him, and there stood instead a winged unicorn of the purest white, his horn the same electric-blue she had seen in his eyes. She lay still for a long moment and gazed at the wondrous creature, and then, though he was now in animal form, he spoke once more.

"Can you rise now?" Indeed, at the sound of that rich, golden voice she felt as though she could rise and would, what was more, follow him wherever he would lead her, but all she could think to say in response was:

"Yes." Now on her feet, she went to the unicorn where it pranced and pawed the earth as though eager to be off.

"I'm sorry," she said, "but you see, I've never ridden any kind of a horse in my entire life!"

"Even so," he said, "you shall have to ride if we are to come to her whom you call Evangeline in a timely manner."

"Could she not have come for me herself?"

"No," he said, and there was a deep note of sorrow in his tone. "You shall see why when we meet with her. Now, if you will step onto the stones of the well, you will be able to mount quite easily."

"But there's--no saddle!"

"It will not matter," he said. "I will not let any harm come to you," and with those words, she found that she no longer had any fear, and, stepping onto the well-stones as he had bidden her, she found that she could climb onto his back very easily indeed. Once she had done so, he unfolded his great wings which looked as though they were enamelled with silver, and beating them slowly and carefully at first, he soon ascended into the air.

That flight, only the first of many as it turned out, was something Ellen never forgot. She saw the thickly-forested land spread out below her like a map, while the sun spilled directly down upon her, edging the unicorn's wings with a filigree of finest gold. As he bore her speedily along, she began to feel the same kind of communion with him which she had felt with the oak at the edge of the stream, only this time it was even more intensified. Here, she knew, was an intelligence something akin to her own, and while he was in unicorn's shape for her benefit, she knew that he was the same kind of being as both Evangeline and, at least partly anyway, herself.

"May I--" she shouted as the wind of their speed rushed past, "give you a name, sir?" She felt very awkward, but she had to call him something after all.

"If you will," he said, "though in this place, we do not name each other with words. We simply know each other's natures and that is name enough."

"Well, if you'll forgive me, I still have a lot of human habits, so if you don't mind, I'll think of a name for you," and, racking her brain as the forest changed from predominantly oaks to pines beneath, she suddenly recalled a Welsh name which Kate had always loved and which, she had explained once, meant 'bright one.' "I'll call you Gwydion," she said, and instead of speaking, he whinnied what sounded to her like an assent of casual indifference.

On and on they flew, and the further they went, the more sublime and grandiose the landscape became. First, there were rugged and pine-clad slopes, the green of the trees being shot through with threads of silver where fall-fed rivers tumbled pell-mell down deep and rocky gorges. Then, as the pines began to thin, she could see mist-covered valleys between the ridges, some with crystalline lakes at their centres, and all thickly-carpeted in a gay and parti-coloured profusion of floral splendour. It was only now, when the trees had ceased altogether, that she began to look at the massive peaks on the horizon. At first, they looked as though they were capped with snow, but as they drew nearer and nearer, she began to realize that they were made of a translucent rock like glass or crystal, and as with so much in this world, the sun's rays on their glistening sides clothed the tall and impenetrable spires in robes of rainbows. Indeed, as Gwydion flew into the midst of these sun-gilded monuments to glory, she found that she had to close her eyes or be blinded with their awe-inspiring magnificence.

"They seem to go on forever!" she said breathlessly.

"Yet they do not," said Gwydion, and as he spoke, she saw that he was preparing to descend into a deep and cup-shaped cleft between four of the highest peaks she had yet seen. Down and down he went, and soon, only the shadows of the mountains could be seen rising high and out of sight and seeming to lean toward each other the higher she gazed. As they neared the earth, she realized that what she had taken for a sheer and steep-sided valley was actually gentle-sloped, almost like an amphitheatre, so that the cup she had seen from far above was more like a saucer as she descended into it.

Gwydion landed softly and she managed to clamber awkwardly off his back. Looking around, she saw the slopes of the circular valley covered in a carpet of lush and waving grass and dotted here and there with flowers of all imaginable colours: Daisies and daffodils, pansies and poppies, violets, lilies-of-the-valley, and further up, bushes covered in the richest array of roses she had ever seen. The floor of the valley was carpeted in more of the thick, green stuff which she had named myrrh-moss, and that combined with the perfumes of the afore-mentioned flowers bathed the entire scene in a cloud of such fragrance that she could believe that Heaven itself had settled in this place. It was then that she noticed, in the centre of the open space before her, a large pavilion of green and gold silk with a curtain of blue velvet covering its opening.

"You are to enter," said Gwydion, raising a hoof to point at the curtain. "She awaits you."

"But where is this place?" Ellen suddenly found her inquisitive nature reasserting itself. Till now, she had been awed by so many strange and beautiful things and she was so grateful to still exist after her long and dark plunge that she had moved through this world happily as in a dream. Even so, she wondered now why she had needed to travel such a long way to see Evangeline, when the night before, she had been brought to her by the mere sound of a tune on the harp. Still, she thought, she would get no answers standing out here. If Evangeline was really behind that curtain, then she had to speak to her and try to figure all this out. Yet, as she approached the curtain and placed her hand on the rope which would open it, she was surprised to find herself trembling. Was this really where she was supposed to be? Had the dark power perhaps created this world of illusion to distract her? If those dark ones were similar to Evangeline in power and ability, then perhaps they could do what she had done in bringing to life the idea of the cabin, and perhaps, when she opened the curtain, she would only find fear and a trap. However, she would find nothing at all if she continued to hesitate out here. Indeed, her hesitation seemed to have infected the whole valley, for a deep hush had descended and not even a bird sang as she stood there pondering.

"Alright," she said aloud to the quiet land. "I'll go in," and pulling back the curtain, she stepped boldly across the threshold.

The interior of the pavilion was spacious and opulent, with richly-woven rugs on the floor and silken cushions ranged against the walls. In the very centre stood an ornate bed hung with tapestries in greens and golds, and the daylight filtered down through the opaque fabric of the walls and roof with a subdued softness as of moonlight. Ellen walked forward, conscious now of her bare feet and workaday clothes, but at first, she could see no one at all until, that is, she approached the bed and an unseen hand pulled aside one of the hangings. It was then that all her suspicions of a trap seemed all-but confirmed, for as the curtain was moved aside, the sight which greeted her took her breath away. There, reclining on velvet pillows was an utterly unrecognizable figure. It was, she discerned, a woman, but her face was wizened and yellowed as with age, and her hair stood out in wisps and was the colour of bone. The hand which had pulled aside the intervening tapestry was now extended in greeting, but Ellen now saw with horror that it was more like a withered claw. However, what truly terrified her was the fact that this ghastly and skeletal form was dressed as she had seen Evangeline dressed in her dream of the cabin. The same deep green clothing now hung upon the figure and billowed out from it as though it were a death-shroud, and suddenly, the comparison between that figure and a scarecrow was so strong that Ellen fleetingly wondered if she was seeing a hateful mockery of that beautiful and vital woman whom she had been told she would meet here. Still, the grey-green eyes seemed alive, and though the thin lips drew back in what looked like a grimace of pain, she realized that the woman was actually attempting a warm smile.

"I am glad you are here, Ellen," the grimacing woman said in Evangeline's rich and unmistakable tones, and the shaking and bony hand gripped hers.

"Your--your hand is cold," she said uncertainly.

"Yes," said Evangeline, "and I suppose my appearance is quite frightening for you, but it is important that you see me this way. It is the best way for me to show you what has been happening to me."

"Can I--can I help?"

"You will have to help, my girl. I did not want it to come to this, but for various reasons which I shall now attempt to explain, it has. However, I suppose you have many questions. Draw some cushions near and make yourself comfortable, and I will do my best to satisfy your curiosity."

"I can't--I can't stand to see you like this," said Ellen as she did as Evangeline asked, and against her will, she found that tears were spilling uncontrolled down her cheeks.

"And yet, my child, it is necessary that you should. I have told you before that I have grown weak, and until now, I have been saved from what is now happening to me, but the strength I lent to you in what you perceived as the cabin was too much."

"Then why the hell did you do it?" She was sobbing now in pain and rage, and Evangeline was silent while she tried to bring her emotions under control.

"I did not know it would be too much, Ellen. Indeed, if it had not been for my young friend who brought you here, even the strength I gave you would not have been enough to bring you from your own world to where you are now. The darkness was closing in on you even more fiercely than your mortal senses could perceive, and if he had not aided me, we would have lost you in the gulf into which you were falling when we saved you."

"Then I really was falling? Where--where would I have ended up?"

"It is not a question of place or of ending up anywhere. In fact, the falling would have gone on forever, for the darkness was overtaking what you might term your soul, and if it had succeeded, you would have been completely consumed, except that because you are truly mortal, you would have remained in your fleshly form, unable to fight or to reason, or even to call out for help."

"But you saved me, you and--him--Gwydion?"

"We did. We gave you a way to experience this place--our way of being by means of your mortal senses."

"Like--like the cabin?"

"Exactly. This place, the wondrous world you have experienced, is the same as the cabin. In a way, it is the cabin, for it is yet another mask pulled over our true way of being so that you will not be overwhelmed by it. The dark ones wished you to be overwhelmed and to take advantage of your vulnerability. We, however, wish you to be strengthened and to learn what it is to be one of us."

"And if I do this, if I learn who I am, then I can help stop whatever it is that's happening to you?"

"It may be," said Evangeline sadly, "but it is more important for you to take this journey for your own sake rather than for mine."

"But--will you--can you--die? Will this--this weakness--uh--kill you?"

"It may very well consume me, yes," said Evangeline, "but if it does, I will have no regrets if by it you will fulfill your destiny. Still, the time for such thoughts is not yet awhile, so please do not cry anymore. We have much to discuss."

Ellen looked at the shrunken figure in the bed and suddenly saw the same radiance she had seen coming from Gwydion in his attempt to emulate human form, and though she had not thought it could be possible, that brilliance cast a beauty even over the jaundiced and pain-racked features so that for an instant, she thought she had seen Evangeline undisguised, and she felt a blade of hope, as piercing and keen as despair, enter her heart and kindle there a fire of determination and resolve such as she had never felt before.

"Now then," said Evangeline, the radiance fading now, "shall we talk?"

"Alright," said Ellen. "What shall we talk about first?"

"First, you should know one thing beyond a doubt. Your body is truly here, or as truly as possible at any rate. If someone were to go to the arch in the clearing, they would not find you there."

"So," said Ellen, "could I--could I die here?"

"You could," said Evangeline. "The dark ones are still trying to encroach upon you, to break through the barriers we have erected, and if they do so too soon, a direct encounter with our mode of existence will break your mind and destroy your body."

"I can understand how that might happen," said Ellen with a slow smile. "Your friend did bring me here, it is true, but not before he dazzled me with his undisguised brilliance. He tried to take human form, but he evidently cannot do it so well as you can."

"Ah," said Evangeline with a clear laugh. "I told him not to try it, but he is fascinated with humankind and has wanted nothing more than to learn the trick of being as one of you."

"I don't know why he should," said Ellen. "His winged unicorn is much more interesting."

"At least it is of use to you in this place. Your Gwydion has asked if he might accompany you on your journey."

"Journey?"

"Yes. You must make a very special journey. Gwydion knows where you must go and he will be your guide, but when you encounter challenges, you must meet them unaided by him, but you must remember that we are still between your mortal world and our incorporeal one, and the dark ones will try their best to defeat you so that you do not come into your own, for if you win through to the end, you will become their greatest nemesis."

"The fisher of shadows?" Ellen found herself remembering the verse which Kate had recited.

"Yes," said Evangeline.

"But why must this journey happen? Can't you help me to change?"

"No," said Evangeline. "It is necessary for you to face the challenges ahead of you. You'll understand their full purpose in time."

"And if I wish to return to my old life and not to take this journey?"

"Alas! I'm afraid you cannot do that now. The dark ones have blocked your way back and we cannot protect you from their influence due to my weakened state. I had always meant to give you a choice even now, Ellen. I hope you will believe me. I wish things could have been different."

"Well then, I suppose the only other option for me now would be to remain with you till--till the end."

"That is your right, yes. So you see, you do still have a choice even now."

"Alright then," said Ellen, standing up and beginning to pace, "I'll do whatever I'm supposed to do, but why all this medieval romance stuff? Couldn't you have just created the cabin again? Wouldn't that have taken less--less energy perhaps?"

"What you see around you is drawn from your own mind," said Evangeline, "but you have not attained sufficient knowledge of your true self to exert any influence over what you see. If you had, you yourself could have created the cabin and come to me simply by the power of thought. However, we know the wonder and delight which these legendary tales have caused for you, and we also know that you have much to learn before you can fully embrace our way of being. Therefore, this journey with its attendant tests is designed to help you to do this. However, not all the tests have been designed by us. As I said before, the dark ones seek to destroy you, and if they can do so by infiltrating this world and attacking you when you are at your most vulnerable, then so much the better for them. Still, you will not go without protection," and raising a thin and blue-veined hand, she suddenly pointed at Ellen and the light dawned briefly again. In its glow, she caught a glimpse of her reflection from one of the silken walls, and was amazed to find herself wearing--of all things--leather greaves and gauntlets, good strong boots and a mail-shirt of closely-woven rings. She also had a helmet on her head and a sword-belt around her waist, and at her hip was the sword itself.

"This sword with its scabbard and belt," said Evangeline, "is the only thing here which is exactly what it seems to be. The rest is illusion for your benefit. Consequently, the armour cannot be pierced very easily, but it will leave you if you grow weak. The sword, on the other hand, is yours for as long as you can keep it. However, if it should meet with some accident, then you must cast it into the nearest body of water."

"But that sounds like--" Ellen gasped. "You mean--you mean that this sword is--is--Excalibur?"

"What other sword would you have," said Evangeline, a ghost of her formal regal beauty flitting across her features, "from her who once bore the title of The Lady of the Lake?"

"But surely I couldn't wield such a sword as that!"

"Try it and see." Ellen put her hand to the hilt of the longsword and pulled it from the scabbard, realizing that for all its size and heft, it seemed to balance perfectly in her hand.

"It has become yours now," said Evangeline. "Bear it well!"

"I'll try," said Ellen, putting the bright and bejewelled thing once more into its sheath.

"That is all I can ask of you, my daughter. Now, it is time for your journey to begin in earnest. Come," and with that, Evangeline rose unsteadily from the bed and, taking off her own cloak, laid it across her daughter's shoulders. Ellen was speechless as she came beside her mother to help her, and together they went through the blue velvet curtain and out into the open air. A wind had risen. It caught at Evangeline's skirts and almost threatened to carry her away, so light and frail she seemed, but Gwydion still stood in unicorn form, patient and calm, with perhaps a trace of sorrow in his deep and liquid eyes.

"They follow us fast," he said, "but at least she is now protected."

"Indeed," said Evangeline, "and with all the protection that I am able to give. I pray it will be enough! Now, Ellen, there is no time to lose. You must climb onto Gwydion's back. The wind will bear you away, I'm afraid, but with any luck, Gwydion will set you on the right road even despite this interference."

"But how can we leave you like--like this?" Ellen could see what the wind was doing to Evangeline and she did not like it. Every moment it increased, and every moment she seemed to diminish somehow.

"You cannot help me now, even if you wish to. Please! Do not delay any longer!" Ellen heard definite pain in the voice, and faced with what looked like utter despair if she remained, she clung to the one tiny ray of hope which Evangeline had offered, and so, climbing once more onto Gwydion's ivory back, she allowed herself to be borne away, whether by his strong wings or by the rapidly-rising whirlwind, she never clearly knew.

Chapter Six: The Cave Beneath the Cliffs

As Gwydion flew amid the eddying blasts, Ellen realized that with the wind had come thick masses of boiling black cloud. She wondered how her companion could see anything in the storm-driven darkness that surrounded them above and below. Indeed, she herself could not see even a hint of the landscape over which they were passing, if, of course, they were flying over land at all. To her, it was as though all the bright and phantasmagoric beauties of this world had been blotted out by a monstrous hand holding an enormous pen filled with black ink, but for all this, Gwydion neither slackened his pace nor seemed bewildered. The blackness went on and on without stint or measure for what seemed like hours, but as they continued flying, she began to notice the strength of the wind lessening, and after a while, the cloud or moving darkness seemed no longer to churn and bubble. Instead, it lay flat and unmoving like a wall directly in their path, and for a moment, she feared that it had become solid. However, once Gwydion had moved through it, there was a strange rosy light beyond, and at first, after all that time in what had seemed eternal blackness, she did not recognize it for what it was: the light of a sunset on ocean waves.

“We are coming to the place of your first test,” he said as the ocean spread out below them on every side, and for an instant, Ellen was afraid that her dream of the super-heated sea was coming true. However, her fears were allayed when at length they came in sight of land: a low and shelving beach of shingle which sheltered under huge and cyclopean cliffs. These were not as the mountains surrounding Evangeline's valley had been, however. No rainbows clung to their faces. Instead, these cliffs were beetling and rugged, and the rock they were made of looked as though it would flay the hands or feet of a person who was fool enough to try to climb them.

"This place does not look very inviting," she remarked as the unicorn landed on the beach.

"No," he said, "but you are to begin here," and he gestured with his head to the arched opening of a cave which she could just make out in the side of one of the cliffs. Fortunately, the opening gave directly onto the beach, so there was no need for her to climb the tumbled and boulder-strewn chaos that stood before her. However, as she peered into the cave's mouth, she realized that it was pitch dark inside and that she had no light.

"How am I supposed to see in there?"

"Perhaps you are not meant to see with your eyes," said Gwydion in a soft but unrelenting voice.

"Well," said Ellen, "I can't very well wait out here. Can I?"

"I will be waiting for you when you come through," said the unicorn.

"You mean if I come through, don't you?" and with a rueful smile, she bent her head and felt for the size of the aperture so as to gauge its width.

Once inside, she took one last look at the circle of sunset sky behind her, and with nothing else for it, began to grope her way along the gently-sloping passage in which she found herself. To her surprise, the walls and floor of this tunnel were not rough as the cliffs had been. In fact, they felt akin to something like finely-polished marble. She had removed her gauntlets in order to use her hands more freely, and she had been frightened of encountering more of the pitted and jagged stone which had looked so ominous from the air, so that when her now bare hands came into contact with the smooth, almost glossy surface, she suddenly felt strangely light of heart. Also, though the passage was dark, it was not silent. The sea boomed continually in her ears, and at times, above its roar, she thought she could hear a plaintive and melancholy voice, though for a long time, she was convinced that the latter was a trick of her ears or her brain.

As she walked, she felt that the passage, while continuing to slant gradually upwards, was also bending just as inexorably to the right. It was as though she were climbing inside some enormous marble snail's shell. Where could this strange passage be leading, and how long would it continue before something--anything!--happened to break this infernal monotony? The sound of her boots on the rock floor was beginning to become maddening in the extreme, and as she moved on up the meandering spiral ascent, she was now quite certain that the voice she had heard further down below was not a product of her imagination.

"Help me!" it said in tones of deepest anguish and despair. "Please, help me!" and it repeated this mournful chant again and again until it sounded to Ellen as though the sea itself were calling to her.

"I'm coming!" she finally called in desperation, though to tell the truth, she had no idea how to reach the owner of that voice, if of course it had an owner and did not belong to some dangerous will-o'-the-wisp which might lead her into a trap. This was what she most feared since her most recent conversation with Evangeline: that the dark beings who sought to seize her would play upon her pity and her sympathies in order to catch her unawares. Still, that voice was so unbelievably sorrowful that she found it impossible to harden her heart towards it, so on and on she trudged, feeling her way along, hands outstretched to either side, and seeking for its source as speedily as she could.

The coiling corridor wound on and on and up and up until all at once, the walls along which she had been trailing with her hands disappeared and her footsteps began to echo in a very different way than they had done hitherto. Met by this new turn of events, she could do nothing at first but stand hesitant and unmoving while she tried to assess her surroundings. She suddenly wished that Kate was with her. She had always been mildly amazed at how much her friend could learn about a space simply by the way her footsteps sounded on the floor or the way voices echoed from the walls. She had tried several times to learn this skill, but had given up in frustration in the end. All she could discover now was that the chamber or cavern she had entered seemed vast and high-ceilinged. She knew that the voice for which she was searching was coming from somewhere across the empty space, but she had no idea how she could simply strike out into the unknown without any kind of light. She had read her Poe and was fearful of pits, even if pendulums did not come into it, and thinking of the heights to which she had climbed for the past several-thousand steps, she shuddered to think of falling down some hidden shaft to an unknown and unfathomable depth. What was more, even though she was certain she had left the beach far below her ages ago, she still heard the primordial and rhythmic heaving of the sea all around her. This unnerved her even more as she wondered if the beach and the cliffs were little more than a high promontory of rock set in the midst of the limitless wastes of salt waves. Still, she thought, the voice was calling and she had to come to it; this, she felt certain, was the test, and now that she heard the voice more clearly, it sounded as ancient as the hills, and whether it was masculine or feminine was very difficult to determine. What was most striking to her was the way it pronounced the word 'please.' The S-sound was very long and drawn out, so that the echoes it left in its wake had barely time to completely cease before it began speaking again.

Finally, Ellen knew that she had to find her way across the vast and likely-vaulted chamber somehow, so drawing Excalibur from its sheath, she pointed its tip toward the floor and moved it along in front of her as she walked. She felt horrible using such a beautiful weapon as this as Kate would have used her white cane, but she could see no other way of accomplishing this portion of the journey. Within a few steps, she was completely lost. All she could do was keep traveling along what she hoped was a straight line, but the echoes of her footsteps confused her rather than aiding her, and the voice's repetitive pleading sent up even more echoes. Then, without warning and though it was already rather cool here, the creeping chill made itself felt again. For a while, she was able to walk calmly onward despite the fear which prompted her to hurry madly ahead, but eventually as the chill crept closer and closer, she could no longer stand against her instincts, and putting the sword away, she broke into a swift, blind, demon-dogged run, all thoughts of potential dangers ahead and the voice with its mournful moans driven from her mind.

The echoes seemed to multiply exponentially as she sped forward, and then abruptly and in mid-plea, the voice which had been her only guide in this place ceased. It was as though a hand had been clamped firmly over the speaker's mouth, she thought. However, with the voice now hushed, she heard something else. Even amid the still-audible pounding of the waves, she began to hear tiny and sinister whispers. She could imagine evil-faced little imps hiding behind unseen pillars or crouching in unguessed corners waiting to trip her up or to snatch at her with clawed and fleshless fingers. The whispers said nothing that she could understand, but as she ran they seemed to grow in number until it sounded as though a whole football stadium of these strange little creatures was thronging just beyond her reach and would, moreover, only appear to her out of the corner of her eye before vanishing mischievously, if, that is, she were in a position to see them. In fact, it was the very darkness which cowed and curtailed her, causing her to continue to exist in a narrow world of pounding feet and laboured breathing, until without warning, what she had feared upon first entering this vast space now seemed to be happening; she was falling.

The ground had ended without her being aware of it. It was almost as though it had melted from beneath her feet, but she knew later on that she had simply run so fast that the force of her flight had sent her hurtling into an abyss which had lain unsuspected in her path. She fell and fell, finding no ledges or footholds of any kind. There was only the sheer and smooth marble-like rock on every side of her, and beneath her there was only more and more emptiness, until just as she was beginning to fear that this pit was actually bottomless, she suddenly bumped hard against something, or rather two somethings as she discovered upon further inspection.

She found that she was in fact wedged between two outcroppings of rock: her feet jammed against one and her back against the other, and it was this narrowing of the shaft which had ended her precipitous plunge. What on earth could she possibly do now? As she reached overhead in a vain attempt to find something with which to pull herself up, she realized that she was suspended in the very centre of the shaft and that the shaft itself was wider than the span of her outstretched arms. There was no possible way of climbing up, and she dared not move off of the ledges or rocks between which she was pinned, for if she did, she would only continue to fall and she feared what might be waiting for her at the bottom. On one hand, she felt that this was a dismal way to begin what had promised to be a glorious quest. How on earth could this be a test? If the test had been to avoid the pit in the first place, then of course she had failed, but if there was something for her to find here, she could not figure out for the life of her what it might be. Incredibly, while she sat thus immobile, she fell to thinking of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and wishing for cupboards filled with food and drink to come floating past her down this deepest of rabbit holes. However, failing that, she needed to do something about the cramp which she could feel forming at the small of her back. Accordingly, she managed to feel behind her with her hands until she found the top of the ledge or shelf against which her back was pinned, and through a series of movements worthy of a Yoga master, she pulled herself up until she was sitting completely erect, her feet now dangling in empty air.

As she leaned back in order to stretch the offending muscles, she was surprised to find that instead of an unyielding wall, she was sitting against something soft. For a moment, she was grateful for this unexpected cushion, but this feeling did not last, for it did not take her long to begin thinking of what sorts of creatures might live in a dark place like this. For all she knew, this soft thing might be the body of some immense spider or other subterranean terror which she recalled from any number of fantasy novels that she and Kate used to read, and this thought made her pull away with such a sudden start that she was in danger of tumbling headlong from her precarious perch. However, just as she found herself slipping on the ice-smooth surface, something behind her suddenly squeezed her tightly as though in strong arms, and she managed to right herself just in time.

"Now you've come," said the voice she recognized from her journey up the spiralling passage, "you mustn't let your fears overwhelm you." Ellen was surprised at the calm with which these words were spoken as she compared it with the desperately lonely lamentations she had heard before.

"Are you," she began, "the one I'm supposed to help?"

"I may be," said the voice somewhere close to her left ear, "if you are the child of the exiled one. She promised me that one day, her child would come for me, even if she herself could not."

"Come for you? Are you imprisoned here?"

"In more ways than one, yes. I was brought here for trying to help the exiled one against those of the dark. You call her Evangeline, I think?"

"Yes, but how did you know?"

"You are telling me of yourself all the time as we sit here. Can you not hear the truth of me? Be still a moment and listen!"

Ellen knew what the voice--a woman's voice she now realized--meant. She had learned things about Gwydion simply by being in his presence, and so too had she learned the slow ages of the oak at the edge of the far away stream. So, she now did as the voice said and was still, and soon, into her mind there came the story of a wondrous existence which was brought to an abrupt end by this long and interminable imprisonment. Still, other than knowing that this being was an immortal like Evangeline, she could not be certain that she was truly of the light. Something in her had dimmed or had been lost, and this made her very difficult to read, whereas even at her weakest point, Evangeline simply radiated truth and strength.

"I understand now," said Ellen, "and I'm sorry for what has happened to you, but I'm afraid I can't help you. I fell down this pit because of the dark ones, and now I see no way to get out again."

"It is true," said the voice, "that you are new to this life, but you carry the protection of Evangeline with you, so you must know that there are hidden powers within you which you have yet to discover. No mere mortal could be clothed with the protection we can give. It would burn them to ashes by its touch. However, I can sense the mark of it upon you, so that means that you are one of us."

"If you mean my armour," Ellen said, "I don't see how that can help in this situation."

"It may appear to you as armour, but to me, it is much more. I suppose that if you cannot see it as it truly is, my attempt to describe it would fall on deaf ears, and I further deduce that if I were to tell you that we are not in fact in a pit right now, you would not understand. Ah well, perhaps it is better that way."

Ellen was duly puzzled at these words, but chose to pass them off for the moment.

"So," she said, "you think that I can help you out of this place?"

"I do," said the voice with great confidence, "and I will tell you how. You have within yourself the capacity to change your surroundings."

"Evangeline said that I can't do that yet."

"That is simply because you have not learned, my young one. To speak the truth, all you will actually be doing in this instance is lending me what strength you can. I will use that strength to set us free." Ellen grew suddenly wary.

"The fact is," she said, trying to bring her diplomatic skills to bear, "I can't exactly read you. I don't want to go lending any strength to just anyone."

"That is very astute, and all you can do now is use your own judgment."

"Well," said Ellen, "if Evangeline said that I would come, I suppose that means she knows you, and I doubt she'd want me to help a dark being break out of prison, so tell me what I must do."

"Place your hand on me," said the voice, "and open your mind. I will do the rest."

Ellen did as she was told, and felt a smooth and glossy skin beneath her hand. It also felt strangely cool, she thought, but she wondered if this was some effect of long imprisonment and let it go. For the first few moments, nothing seemed to happen, but all at once, she felt an electric tingling move from the top of her head down the arm which was in contact with the owner of the voice and out through her fingertips. Meanwhile, the sides of the pit seemed to be shifting and changing, slanting further and further outwards until they could be as easily climbed as a gentle slope, and then, to her utter astonishment, she suddenly found that the ledge she was sitting on was level with the chamber floor above, and the owner of the voice was now moving away and telling her to follow, which she gratefully did without hesitation, fearing that the pit would resume its normal shape if she delayed too long. On and on the voice led her, calling her name as she followed it over the pit that was now not a pit and across the vast and open space, and even though it echoed off pillars and roof, Ellen knew where the real being was at all times, for now she listened with her mind as well as with her ears. Now, there was no chilling wind and no sinister whispering to plague her, only the light and leaping female voice calling her onward in sure and steady tones. This voice, she reflected as she walked, did not sound like that of Evangeline. It had its own unique qualities which were no less beautiful but which, she knew, she would be able to recognize as belonging only to that particular being if she heard it again. Another thing she noticed was the sound of her booted feet on the stone floor, whereas the owner of the voice seemed to make no sound whatever as she moved, and yet she was always just ahead and just out of reach.

Before long, they came to what appeared to be the end of the chamber or hall and entered a tunnel which sloped gently downward. This time, however, the general direction of the tunnel was straight and it was wider than the one by which she had ascended. Ellen now kept her right hand on the wall while the owner of the voice could now be heard and perceived to her left, and under her steady directions could soon be heard another sound. For a while, the echoes of this strange place made it difficult for Ellen to place it, but as it drew nearer and took on a definite direction to her ears, she realized that it was the sound of running water. They were journeying beside some sort of underground river, which, it appeared by the sloshing sounds her boots made on the tunnel floor, was wont occasionally to overflow its banks. In fact, as they kept on their course, with the combination of the puddles and runnels of water on the floor and the slope which was gradually becoming steeper, the way began to be more and more treacherous. Ellen could not understand what would make a subterranean flow of water such as this swell to bursting. No rain could augment its habitual volume as above ground, so what could be causing such floods?

Little did she know when she asked herself that question that in a moment, the answer would literally sweep her off her feet. It has been said previously that the slope down which Ellen and her mysterious companion were traveling was becoming progressively steeper. This was still the case, and what had been a gradual grade of the raked floor of a theatre had now become slightly less sheer than the face of a cliff. Using the wall for support, Ellen was able to negotiate it, but without warning, the river all at once exploded upward in a shower of steam and water, and as the condensation began to settle down, falling on her like a fine warm rain, she slipped in one of the new puddles it had formed and found herself plunging into the swiftly-tumbling torrent. She tried to swim and to keep her head above the foaming roar, but the current rushing down the descent was too strong for her and she felt her armour weighing her down. So, all she could do was try her best to keep breathing while all the while water was being forced down her throat and into her eyes and ears even despite the helmet she wore. Every time she gulped some air, her attempted calls for help were choked by fits of waterlogged coughing, and as the river rushed along, it dashed her against its rocky banks as though she were a piece of driftwood.

Then, Just as she feared that she was becoming too weak to go on, she felt a strong grip around her waist supporting her and dragging her out of the middle of the current and toward the bank with steady persistence. Soon, she was sitting against the wall of the tunnel, dripping and out of breath, but thankfully freed from the doom-filled death-race which the river had become.

"I--I don't know how--how to thank you," she said between coughs.

"Thanks are not needed," said the mellifluous voice beside her, "but it would seem that we must take another course to find our way out of this place."

"Is there one?"

"Yes, but it will be somewhat dangerous to you. Did you see what happened to the river before you fell?"

"Yes," said Ellen. "What was that?"

"The river runs into a gulf of fire which is fuelled by the heats and pressures from deeper down in the earth, and when it boils over, the steam rises up and condenses as it touches the cool of the rock of the roof and then falls in the form of rain. This is where the four elements that your ancient philosophers believed were the basis of all life meet."

"I find it interesting that the basis of all life was about to kill me," said Ellen sardonically.

"It is indeed strange," said her companion, "and we will have to encounter the fire later, but there is another passageway branching off from this one a little way up the slope that we can take."

"But if you were imprisoned in that pit," said Ellen, "then how do you know where to go?"

"Because for me, this whole place is the same. It is in fact not a place, but a state of being. However, because I know what I know of you, I know how this place is being presented to you. Also, while we have been traveling, I have been in contact with her whom you call Evangeline."

"You have? Is she alright?"

"That I do not know, but because of our conversation, she has told me how to help you."

"But what is this place like to you? Can you show it to me? I want to understand," said Ellen.

"I will try, but it may be too much for you even as an image in the mind."

In the silence that followed, Ellen began to have second thoughts. The sound of the river seemed to be fading, and into her mind came, not the image of a place, but a strange kind of nothingness, and all of a sudden she felt cold and weak, as though her very soul were being drained of its vitality.

"Do you understand now?" The serene voice seemed to come from an immeasurable distance and it took all her will to banish the darkness before she could respond.

"I--I do," said Ellen, "but what I don't understand is how you can be so calm and steady and remain in this darkness without going insane. Already you are seeming more and more like--like her--like Evangeline."

"Your strength has aided me, Ellen. Now I must aid you against the dangers of this world, and to do that, I must see it as you see it. So, if you are ready, I will lead you to the other passage."

"Alright," said Ellen. "I'm wet and miserable, so I might as well move as sit here shivering."

No further outbursts from the meeting of water and fire were apparent as they made their way up the incline, Ellen actually clambering on hands and knees to avoid slipping backwards, and soon, she heard a new echo off to her left. Turning into this new passage, she found that the floor was smooth and dry, and before too long, she found what she least expected: a flight of steps spiralling downward. There was even a banister that she could follow, and still the voice led her calmly on. The air grew warmer as they descended the steps, and what Ellen had thought would be a short flight turned out to be very long indeed. She wondered how many times the spiral had turned back upon itself and was trying to determine this, but by the time they reached the bottom, she had given up on this most insoluble mathematical problem out of sheer frustration. By now, the air was quite hot, whereas throughout her whole journey in this place it had been cool, almost as though she were traveling in some kind of fruit cellar. In the distance, she could hear the roar of erupting flames, and with growing horror, she found that both the voice's steady instructions and this lower passage's general direction were leading her straight toward what she imagined as a wall of killing heat. All her fears came back as to the owner of the voice's true nature, but as though she sensed this sudden panic, she reassured Ellen that she would help her deal with the fire when they came to it. This new passage meandered this way and that for several hundred steps, but soon, it opened out as the earlier ascending passage had done into a larger chamber. Ellen feared a new assault like the one which had tricked her into the pit of the prisoner, but the voice's calm encouragement seemed to banish all fear to a faraway corner of her mind, so she walked on as all the while the maniacal roaring of the fire drew ever nearer and its heat began to bathe her bare hands and face with sweat.

The thunder of the flames soon rose in a deafening crescendo and Ellen's companion was no longer able to give her verbal directions. However, she was surprised to find that words were coming into her mind just as though they had been spoken aloud. She wondered if she herself would ever learn to communicate this way. It seemed very efficient, because with the words came emotions and images, so that it was as though she were now suddenly able to see again, even in the pitch darkness of this tunnel. The fire felt very near, it was true, but no light from it seemed to penetrate the blackness before her, not, that is, until when the welling chasm from which it flowed was right before her feet. Now she seemed engulfed in a lurid radiance which almost blinded her, stinging her eyes with tears and blurring rather than clarifying her surroundings.

"You could not jump this chasm," said the voice in her mind, "but I will make a bridge for you. You will be able to crawl across the gulf on my back."

"Uh, alright," said Ellen aloud, and being guided by the voice's mental promptings, she soon found the strangely glossy and cool surface she had touched while trapped in the pit, and with slow and careful movements, she inched her way out onto the strong yet flexible body which dipped down lightly in the centre of the fissure but then began to slope upward as she reached the far side. She felt as though she were a daredevil doing some death-defying feat on a living tightrope, and indeed, even through her boots she could feel the heat of the fire on her feet as she progressed. She was reminded just then of the dream of the dragon attacking the castle, only in that dream she had been sitting on a wall of stone and not crawling awkwardly over--what? Almost for the first time she began to wonder just what shape the owner of the voice now took and was amazed that she had not thought about this before. Of course, with her new-found faculty for communing with the beings she met here, she knew that outward form was slowly coming to have less and less meaning for her as time went on. Finally, she felt herself crawling up the last slope of this living bridge, and as soon as she felt the stone under her hands once more, she moved a little further so she could safely climb off, and then she walked some way down the tunnel so as to move a little out of the heat of the perpetual conflagration below. Here, however, the light seemed clearer. She conjectured that some imperceptible wind had blown smoke (though she had not smelled any) onto the side of the chasm from which she had just come, for now, the fire's light burned clear and bright, showing her the rock walls as almost mirror-like surfaces and the floor of an equally reflective stone. The roof, she now saw, was hung with stalactites of ruby, diamond, emerald and all manner of precious stones, and as she stood gazing in awe at the splendour which had lain hidden from her till now, she noticed a shadow moving along the floor, and turning, she saw something which filled her with another kind of awe, for beside her was a diamond-shaped head with two eyes which burned crimson in the firelight shining on either side of it, and a fanged mouth which she knew must contain killing poison, and suddenly, all the breath went out of her and she stood mesmerized, looking at the green and brown body, damasked in diamond patterns and glistening with a reptilian gleam in the glow of the flames.

"You are frightened," said the voice which she had trusted to guide her all this way, and it came from that dangerous mouth with its forked tongue and poison-filled fangs, and this was too much for Ellen's already overburdened emotional state; for instead of speaking, running or confronting the serpent now waiting calmly at her side, she stood transfixed, the multicoloured opulence of the roof seeming to spin before her eyes, and without warning and for the second time since she had come to this strange world, she fainted.

Chapter 7: The Sword and the Serpent

The first thing she knew upon regaining her senses was that she could hear someone humming. The music was unknown to her, but the voice could only belong to one being, and for a moment, all she wanted to do was to run, to flee as fast as she could, but to flee from where and to what place? She barely knew herself at present, let alone her surroundings, and besides, the voice's humming was very serene and soothing; it soon put all thoughts of flight from her tired mind. She lay still for a long while and just listened, just drank in her surroundings as best she could without using her eyes. She was afraid that if she opened them there would be pain, and it was only after yet a longer time of remaining perfectly motionless that she remembered she had been wearing a helmet when her head had struck the floor of the rocky passage in her sudden faint. What had caused her to lose consciousness? This question took a long time to be answered, but when she recalled the huge serpent with the beautiful voice, she suddenly needed to open her eyes in order to see where this being was in relation to herself. However, what she saw was neither the rocky passage nor the huge serpent, but a young woman, delicate and graceful as a small bird, dressed in a robe of greens and browns and with jet black hair and brown eyes which were calm and deep who sat humming while tending an open fire nearby.

"You are awake," said the woman as Ellen slowly sat up. "That is well!"

"You're--you're not--not that thing anymore?"

"No, thanks to you," said the woman. "I was trapped in that form by my enemy, though it did turn out to have its uses, did it not?"

"I'm--I'm sorry I was so frightened, but it was the contradiction! Something deep inside me has never liked snakes of any kind, and the fact that I never knew what you were--well--I suppose I felt--betrayed or tricked or something."

"I quite understand what you mean," said the woman. "I have been among mortals before. I know how the mortal mind tends to work."

"Still," said Ellen, "I think something in me is beginning to change."

"Perhaps," was all the woman's answer, and Ellen thought she heard a tiny bit of disdain in her voice. However, seeing as this woman had apparently saved her life and gotten her out of the underground world in which she had been wandering, she decided to let it pass without rejoinder.

"Where are we?" She knew that they were on a beach of sand and that the sea was beating against it some way off, but no cliffs cast their rugged and bolder-pocked shadows over her and no shingle protruded from the fine white blanket upon which she sat. The scent of salt and seaweed was heavy in the air, but mingled with it was the comfortable smell of wood-smoke.

"We have been freed from the darkness by another companion of yours," and as though in answer to these words, the piercing cry of a bird of prey was heard, and a beautiful falcon which Ellen knew at once to be Gwydion glided down from the evening air and brought fish to the woman who expertly cleaned them and rapped them in leaves and placed them on some rocks at the edge of the fire to be cooked. "He knew you to be in trouble when you fainted, and managed to break through the last remaining defences of the prison to free us. Now come! This will strengthen you," indicating the fish, "and then, we must talk."

The fish was very good indeed when it had been cooked, and there was lovely water from some spring or other, Ellen guessed, by its freshness and metallic taste. It reminded her of the water she had tasted in her dream of the cabin, and this brought forcefully to mind the plight of Evangeline, of whom, it must be confessed, she had not thought very often just lately.

"You said," she began tentatively, "that you had been in contact with Evangeline."

"That is so," replied the woman as she carefully stirred the fire with a sharp stick.

"I just wondered--well--whether she is alright. When--when we left her, it seemed as though the dark ones were attacking her."

"So they were," said the woman, a deep sorrow coming into her voice, "and so they are. Indeed, so they have been doing ever since she drew them away from you and the mortal man whom she loved and still loves."

"But I thought she was holding them at bay somehow!"

"She was," Gwydion, now once more in his unicorn's shape and standing just outside the circle cast by the light of the fire, put in softly, "but the only way she could do so was to allow herself to be assaulted again and again and thereby to keep your location a secret from them."

"Do not worry too much, Ellen," said the woman. "She would not have sent you forth to your testing if there were no chance of your both being saved."

"But that's just it," protested Ellen. "There's only a chance! What if I fail? What if the dark ones cause me to fail?"

"It is true that this is what they are trying to do," said the woman. "They found you vulnerable in the cavern and played upon your fears. However, they also led you to my prison, thinking perhaps to trap you there as they had done me, but they neglected to understand the kinship between us: the ability that we have to understand each other and to aid each other in times of need. This is their great flaw. They still have this ability, but they use it to ravish the minds of their victims, to rest from them all that is best and wisest in themselves and to feed on it. Indeed, this is what I wished to talk to you about. You may know that though I have become stronger since I was freed by your aid, there is still something missing. Compare what you know of me to what you know of the one you call Gwydion there, for instance."

Ellen did not have to exert her mind very greatly to feel the presences of both Gwydion and the woman, and as she did so, she realized that what the woman said was true. In Gwydion's being there throbbed a nameless and pure joy welling from within him: a vital strength which she knew would burn her to cinders if it were fully revealed. In the woman, however, there was something almost viscous, something clinging like cobwebs of darkness which impeded her. It blocked her from whatever was the source of this joyful strength that seemed to flow from every object in this world.

"I--I think I understand," said Ellen, "and I'm sure I would help you if I could, but--"

"You have not heard what I would say as yet," said the woman quickly. "Long ago in your way of measuring time, I wished to help your Evangeline and to relieve her of some of her burden in keeping back the dark from you and your loved ones, and in attempting this, I drew the notice of a particular being of that camp who was a great master of what you might call magic. He wished to take vengeance on me and so turned me into a serpent and cast me into his prison, but as he was casting the spell, Evangeline stepped between us and reflected the changing spell back upon him, thereby transforming him into a serpent as well. She in turn imprisoned him in a place of light, but he had taken much of my strength and power, and now he has it in his keeping."

"How can someone have another's strength in their keeping?"

"I am told that if you were to see it with your mortal eyes, it would appear as a sword of surpassing beauty, even greater than the one you bear, but if you were to look into its nature, you would recognize it as belonging to me."

"Evangeline has told you this?"

"Indeed yes," said the woman. "You see, aiding me is your second test. You are clothed with protection which I do not possess, and you bear a real sword with which, perhaps, you may hurt or kill this serpent so that I may obtain what is rightfully mine and be healed of the wound which he has given me."

"Where is this place of light?"

"Gwydion can take us there," said the woman, "but that is for tomorrow. Now, it is for you to sleep."

"But is it really night?" Ellen saw the first stars of evening coming out as she asked the question, but as so much in this world was for the benefit of what the woman and Evangeline kept insisting on calling her mortal senses, she felt that the question needed asking despite what her eyes were showing her.

"You have been given the rhythm of days and nights here," said the woman, "to better aid you. Take this night for truth, and get some rest. As it happens, I must do so as well. I, right now, am almost as mortal as you, and as I tried to show you back in the cave by the river, that prison further compounded the loss of strength which allowed the dark one to gain the upper hand in the first place."

"I--I see," said Ellen in a hushed tone, recalling all too clearly the sense of powerlessness she had felt when only being shown a dim reflection of the truth of where they had been traveling for the past--how long had it been since she had first entered the cave under the cliffs? As she tried to reckon up the hours that might have passed during her sojourn in that dark and labyrinthine place, she found her mind spinning back upon itself even as the spiralling passages had done.

"Is this--" She searched for words. "Is this the same sunset I saw when I first went into the cave?"

"It is," said Gwydion, a note of pride coming into his voice that she knew well. It was the kind of pride reserved only for a teacher whose student has begun to master a difficult process which the teacher has longed to see him or her accomplish. "For me, no time as you would understand it passed between the time when you went into the darkness and when I felt your distress and came to your aid."

"But I thought you weren't allowed to help me with my tests," said Ellen.

"You had already passed your test," said Gwydion, "and our companion here would not have been able to aid you herself in her serpent's form, so I was allowed to enter the darkness and take you out."

"I'm glad of that," said Ellen with a prodigious yawn, "but I suppose it is true. We should rest while we can."

"I shall watch the fire," said the woman calmly, and then she began to hum and to sing in a strange and lilting language which went to Ellen's heart like good wine, and before long under this soothing and revivifying influence, she rolled herself in the rich cloak that Evangeline had given her and lay silent on the sand, the slow movements of the stars keeping time to the woman's soft chanting and her own breathing growing slower and deeper until at last she closed her eyes in profound slumber.

When she woke, the fire was burning low and there was more fish for breakfast. Gwydion stood nearby just as he had when she had gone to sleep, and her other companion still sat tending the dying flames and gazing lovingly at the sky and the sea.

"Did you not sleep?" she asked as she came closer to the smouldering blaze.

"Sleep would not have helped me as it did you," said the woman. "It was enough for me to be still and allow the life of this world to flow into me, and besides, I will only regain my full strength once your task is accomplished."

"Well then, I suppose we should get started. How long will it take us to get to this place where the dark magician is imprisoned?"

"In actuality, we will be there instantaneously, but for you, I am certain that several hours, perhaps a day, will pass until we arrive."

"Can Gwydion carry both of us?"

"He must," said the woman, "for I do not have the strength to travel on my own. So, if you will partake of this fish, then we will be off."

Ellen sat silently and ate the last of the fish and pondered her situation. It seemed as though Gwydion and this new companion had a kind of double vision which allowed them to see this world or mode of existence the way it actually was but also to exist in the constructed environment that was for her benefit. Time in this place was utterly incomprehensible to her. The only way she could even begin to make sense of it was to think of it too as a manufactured part of this world, but as she continued to spend more of this illusory time here, she realized that the Evangeline-part of her mind was slowly beginning to grow and to reveal to her small glimpses of the truth behind what her senses were showing her. Still, how a journey could take both a day and no time at all caused her mind to recoil in frustration. However, all she could do was let things play out as they would, and now, all she wanted was to gain as much strength as she could. It sounded as though she would need all her wits and then some to defeat this strange being who had robbed her new companion of some vital essence which would look to her mortal eyes like a very beautiful sword. That something could look like one thing and yet be another was something she had learned in the caves, but that time, the contradiction between the woman's strength and kindness and her serpentine form had baffled her and had roused all her human fears of the unknown. Would she in fact be up to this next test? She might actually have to use her own weapon to kill something, and even if it was a being of the dark, she was not certain that she would have the will to drive home a fatal blow.

"You doubt yourself, Ellen," said the woman once the last bit of fish had been consumed.

"I suppose I do, yes," said Ellen, "but I still intend to go through with this test."

"You were truly well-named, and it is your courage that will aid you the most."

"Speaking of names," said Ellen tentatively, "I know they don't mean much to you, but is there a name that I could call you? I mean, I do know you. I know who you are apart from anyone else, but it would just help my human side to get accustomed to you."

"Well," said the woman, an amused smile playing across her face, "As I told you before, I have been among mortals before now and have borne various names. The name I most recently used while in this particular form is from your Celtic lands. I was Tara, a name I took from the ancient seat of Irish kings." She pronounced the name as 'Tahrah,' and as Ellen tried it over and over in her mind, she found that it suited her very well.

"Alright then," she said with a conviction she did not wholly feel, "Gwydion, Tara, let's be off!"

Tara sprang nimbly onto Gwydion's back and then aided Ellen, who was still having trouble with this, to mount successfully by making a step with one of her own feet. Ellen sat in front of her and Gwydion, after unfolding his huge wings, took off into the air and began to fly inland, leaving the sea and its iridescence behind. The beach ended rather abruptly and gave way to fields and forests as far as the eye could see. Little rivers could be glimpsed at intervals between the belts of massive trees, but no mountains were in sight on this journey. In time, the tall forests gave way to high moors bathed in purple heather and adorned with crags which stuck up like broken teeth, and then there was a low green country filled with reeds and rushes and threaded all through with little brooks and pools. Ducks and other water-fowl could be seen hunting for food and teaching their babies to fly, and as the sun began to set, Ellen saw a large and placid lake stretching away before her, and on the horizon, there was a conical mountain-isle set like a jewel in the very centre.

"We'll make camp here," said Gwydion. "Yonder is the place where you have to go, and as ever, I am not allowed to accompany you."

"Then how are we to get there? That lake looks deep and cold," said Ellen as the unicorn began his descent.

"The new day will show us what is to be done, I'm sure," said Tara, leaping to the ground and then aiding Ellen to dismount. "For now, we will have some time to rest."

Ellen was glad for this time of relaxation, for despite the growth of the immortal part of her mind, her mortal limbs and buttocks were feeling the effects of sitting a horse for several hours without a break, and even though Gwydion made an excellent winged unicorn, it did not logically follow that such a magnificent creature would, as far as her body was concerned at least, be any different than the most ordinary of horses. So, it was with a grateful sigh that she found a fallen log on which to seat herself and watched while the sun dipped slowly into the lake and turned the distant island into a gilded fairy castle. She suddenly longed for Kate to be here so that she could describe to her the beauty of this sight, and this thought made her wonder how things were back at the 'Palace of Art'. Were they freed from the dark influence which she had seemingly brought upon them? Now that the dark ones were pursuing her here, had they left her loved ones alone? She fervently hoped that this was the case, but she had no way of knowing, and then she remembered that while she was here, no time was passing in that other world. No one likely would ever know she was missing, as long as she came back of course. If she didn't come back, however, what would happen? Would anyone know she was dead? There was too much for her to think about in that particular pile of thoughts, and soon, all the beauty of the evening was dimmed for her by both the weight of sorrow in her heart and the flood of tears in her eyes. She began to sob uncontrollably and was content to do so without comfort, but she was surprised to find a strong hand slipping into hers and a soft voice reassuring her in gentle tones.

"This is a painful time for you, is it not?" Tara asked when her sobs had subsided.

"I'm sorry," was all that Ellen could say.

"You need not apologize. Even the bravest person must confront fear and loneliness. Do you recall my cries for help in that dark place? I too felt lost and alone, and it was only your coming which reassured me that there was still truth and beauty in the world."

"But I don't even know what I'm becoming by taking this journey!"

"Whatever happens, my friend, always remember that you will still be yourself. You will still be the self that I have seen and that those who love you have known all your life. In fact, I believe that you will know more of yourself than you ever have before when this time of testing is done."

For some reason, this did not sound altogether reassuring to Ellen. However, looking again at the distant island awash in the rosy glow of a picture-perfect sunset, she realized that only by going there could she eventually find her way home again. So, while Tara gathered some wood for a fire and lit it with a flint and steel she carried, she decided to simply enjoy her evening.

"Where did you get that flint and steel?" she asked Tara as she took her place at the other side of the fire.

"I had it with me when I was changed, and it came back when I resumed this shape."

"But how? I don't understand!"

"What you see as an implement for starting a fire," said Tara patiently, "both is and is not what it seems. It is all the protection which I can give to us against the dark. I have limited powers, but I still do have powers of a sort. If they manifest themselves in this place as a flint and steel and its power to light a fire, then that is what is truly happening in your eyes. However, on another level, it is simply what strength I can spend to keep the pursuing enemy away."

"Are they pursuing us?"

"They are pursuing you, Ellen," said Gwydion from where he stood. "Never forget that!"

Ellen could understand the evil beings pursuing her in the caves by the sea, but here in this peaceful land of reeds and willows, could it really be possible? As the sun's light began to fade from lake and island and the shadows of the graceful willows lengthened and then disappeared, frogs and crickets began singing in a hundred hidden places amongst the sedge and eelgrass which grew richly along the gently-sloping shores. How could anything dark find her here? The fire burned merrily and Tara kept a silent vigil, carefully poking the fire and adding wood when it was needed, and as Ellen stared into the dancing flames and the simple darkness of night surrounded her, she suddenly began to understand something of what the other woman had tried to explain. The fire was really a fire; her senses showed her this, but as she watched the lithe form of her companion working on it, almost sculpting it with care and precision, she began to see past the flames to something that lay behind them, and she knew that if she could let the Evangeline-part of her mind guide her hand, if she were to plunge it into the midst of the heat and smoke, it would not be burned. All it would touch would be energy, pure energy such as radiated from Evangeline upon occasion. She also knew that this fire which was at the same time not a fire would aid them against the chilling presence of the dark beings as surely as an earthly fire will keep wolves and other predators away from people camping in the open.

"Is it difficult for you to keep this up? It wouldn't do for you to face your enemy in a weakened state."

"Do not worry," said Tara. "All is well and will be well until the morning. Do you think that Gwydion is simply doing nothing while he stands there?"

Ellen had forgotten about Gwydion, but now she looked at him and let the Evangeline-part of her mind begin to see him, and she began to notice a constant outflowing of power which washed over herself and the woman who sat serenely across from her. She sometimes found it difficult to remember that he too was like Tara and Evangeline, since he most easily assumed the shapes of animals and had been their mount during that day-long flight, but as she let her mind dwell on his inner nature, she realized that he was no mere beast of burden. She could not believe she had forgotten this, but now she knew that it was her mortal senses which were blocking her from seeing the truths that surrounded her, and for the first time since discovering this new part of her mind, she wished to be without those senses. Still, as she let the deep and knowing part of her mind assume more control over her perceptions, she began to feel as though she had drunk too much wine and the world's up and down seemed to change places. The sky was beneath her and the earth floated somewhere beyond her reach, and she felt herself plunging through time and space with no way to arrest her headlong tumble. However, just as she thought she would be lost, a soft voice recalled her.

"Ellen!" Tara said. "Ellen Mitchell! You are not ready to see truly yet. Come back! Open your eyes!"

It was only then that she realized that her eyes had been tightly closed and that the stars which seemed to engulf her were those which existed behind her eyelids.

"You must not overreach yourself," said Tara, coming and taking her hand once more. "If you do and there is no one to recall you, you will be lost. For now, your mind is mostly mortal, mostly grounded in the things of your mortal reality. To learn of our reality must be a gradual process."

"Yes, I can see that now," said Ellen, her stomach doing backflips as the world around her slowly reestablished itself. "I'm feeling tired now all of a sudden."

"That is understandable," said Tara. "You should get some sleep while you can. Tomorrow will not be an easy day."

Ellen found a comfortable place near to the fire and rolled herself in her cloak, and as she drifted off to sleep, she heard the other woman humming as she had done the night before, and just as the last shreds of the waking world disappeared from her mind, she realized that the tune she was hearing was the same tune that Kate had played on the night of her fever-dream. She felt as though she was borne away on the wings of the wind, and when she finally came to rest, she was again in the pavilion of Evangeline where a candle was burning by the richly-tapestried bed.

"Am I really here?" she asked.

"What do you think?" The face which swam into view in the flickering glow was even more deathlike than when she had seen it last. The hair lay in clumps on the silken pillows of the bed and the flesh was drawn so tightly over the cheek-bones that it was truly like looking at a hideous skull. The eyes had become pale and watery and were sunk deeply into their sockets, but as ever, the voice which came from that shrunken and almost mummified figure was sweet, musical and low.

"Why am I here?"

"Because a part of you wished to be, and your friends helped you to come to me."

"I hate seeing you like this, Evangeline!"

"It is necessary that you should, as I said before."

"So I can know what's at stake, I guess?"

"So you can understand the evil that the dark ones are capable of. Never forget that they killed your adopted parents!"

"Not to mention doing this thing to you!"

"I chose this fate," said Evangeline sadly. "Whatever happens, please know that I chose to do what I have been doing. Now, it is time for you to wake up and to face your second test. Go well, my child!"

"Thank you, Mother," said Ellen, tears filling her eyes for an instant. "I hope I may be worthy of you!"

"You have already done that by growing into the woman that you are, Ellen. Now, go forth to your testing with a cheerful heart! Tara will be of good help to you, and if you succeed in your test, she will be of good help to me also. Until we meet again, know that I am never far away!"

Again the feeling of being borne aloft came to her and soon, with no definite feeling of having landed, she found herself in her place by the fire with a cool and misty morning new and fresh about her. A fine rain was falling on her face as she woke, and as she gazed out at the island which was to be her place of testing, she found it clothed in cloud as though it were floating in the sky rather than in the centre of a lake. Indeed, the lake itself looked opaque in the misty morning light, and the shadows of the willows leaning over it made her think of that passage in Hamlet where Gertrude recounts Ophelia's death.

"There is a tree that grows aslant a brook," she murmured to herself, and slowly stood up and dusted herself off, dawning her helmet and gauntlets and preparing for whatever this day would bring her. The only question that still remained to be answered was how she and Tara were going to get across the lake to the island if Gwydion was not permitted to bear them. It was only as this question was occurring to her that she realized that Tara was not in her habitual place by the fire. Gwydion still stood there, however, so she knew she was not alone, but Tara's sudden departure had unnerved her. Had she decided to go and meet her enemy by herself? This seemed a strange thing to do, but Ellen could relate to that kind of thinking. Perhaps her weakness of last night had made Tara think that she was not up to the task set before her and so she had decided to take its completion out of her hands.

"Gwydion," she said, looking into the unicorn's fathomless eyes, "have you seen Tara lately?"

"I think she is coming now. Look over there," and following his gaze, she saw first some ripples and then the prow of a brightly-painted boat appearing around a jutting bit of shoreline, with Tara's long black hair cascading down her back which was bent to the oars. Though she could not see her face, she knew that she was rowing with grim resolve, and when she finally landed the boat and stepped out, Ellen could see that the effort had taxed her greatly.

"You should have woken me," she said reproachfully.

"You were not here to wake," said Tara simply. "In sleep, it is easier for you to travel as we do, and what you thought was a dream was actually a true meeting with Evangeline."

"Well, it seems like she is getting weaker," said Ellen.

"All the more reason for us to be off as soon as we can."

"Shall I row?" Ellen stood by the bright little boat and remembered the day she and Kate had spent on the lake by Uncle Arthur's cottage.

"You can try," said Tara, "but I am not certain you will be able to manage this particular boat on this particular lake."

Ellen took her place at the oars and Tara sat serenely in the prow after pushing the boat out of the shallows and into deeper water. As Ellen put her hands to the oars, she was surprised at how heavy they felt in her hands. They were balanced in their rowlocks, and so should have been as easy to move as were those of Uncle Arthur's boat back home, but as she tried to move them through the water, it was as though she was trying to row with fifty-pound bricks through a substance which, though it looked like water, was in fact as thick and sticky as if it were a lake filled with glue. She tried several times to move the boat out from the shore and toward the centre of the lake where stood the beclouded island, but though her arms shook with effort and the sweat stood out in beads on her forehead, she could make no headway. The oars seemed to be stuck fast in the water that was not water, and soon, she gave up in annoyance and consternation.

"It is alright," said Tara as they switched seats. "It is even difficult for me. For you, who are more than half a mortal, it would be impossible."

"But why?"

"Because the journey we take is not as it seems to you. The prison where my enemy dwells is in what you might call another dimension. This lake is in fact a vast gulf of time and space, as you would understand it at least, and I must conduct us across it."

Ellen sat still in the prow of the boat and gazed ahead through the mist at their place of destination. As Tara's sure and steady strokes brought them nearer and nearer, she could see that the island was not simply a mountain. It had a shore of reeds and willows like that on the edge of the lake, and where she expected to find trees climbing up the mountain, she saw only turf and rock, but at the top of the hill there seemed to be a crown of thick and intertwined hedges. As the shadow of the mountain fell over the boat, she felt the merest hint of that familiar chill which had nothing to do with the temperature of the cool morning, but she steeled herself against it and sat without moving while Tara slowly coasted the island to find a suitable landing-place, and as she jumped out and grabbed the boat's painter, she noticed that the fog which had seemed to cling to the sides of the hill from a distance now surrounded her with its own damp and clammy vapour.

"This is your place of light, is it?" The words were out in her habitual sarcastic tone before she could stop them.

"No indeed," said Tara with a winning smile and the clearest of laughs. "We have still a journey to go on foot till we come there."

"Up that?" Ellen looked with dismay at the forbiddingly-steep sides of the hill ahead and felt as though her heart might break at the fog-shrouded sight.

"We'll make it together," said Tara, but you must take my hand."

"Why?"

"Try to walk forward alone and you will see." Ellen did so, and for a while she made good headway, but as she moved further from Tara and the boat, the fog seemed to harden and thicken all around her and soon, an intangible yet impenetrable wall blocked her further progress.

"We are still in--in the gulf?"

"Yes," said Tara, coming beside her and taking her hand, and together they began to walk and now no further resistance presented itself. Still, to say that the going was without impediment would have been a lie, for Ellen could see the signs of struggle on Tara's beautiful face as they went, so that when they approached the first slope of the hill, she was concerned that neither of them would be able to ascend successfully.

"Is there--is there anything I can do?" she asked as they paused at the mountain's foot.

"I must focus all my strength to guide you across this void," said Tara in a tired voice, "but in the same way, I will need your help to climb the hill. We are both at the hill and in the void. I know it is difficult to understand, but while I am thus weakened, I will need your mortal strength as you need what strength I can give."

"Very well then," said Ellen resolutely, and gripping the other woman's hand more tightly, she strode forward, pitting her muscles and sinews against the slope that rose before her even as Tara was using all her strange inner power to allow her to pass through the oddly-impenetrable fog.

The terrain of the lower part of the island had been soft, even slightly boggy in sections, but as she began to climb the hill in earnest, Ellen noticed that her first glimpses of it had not revealed the whole truth of its composition. Only when her booted feet rang on the jagged splinters of rock which stuck up at intervals from the thin layers of turf did she realize how treacherous the going would be. The fog made it difficult for her to see very far ahead, and the steepness of the climb taxed both her body and her mind to great lengths. She could feel Tara using all her effort to propel them forward, but as they climbed higher and higher, the fog seemed to grow thicker and thicker, and despite her tight grip on Tara's hand, Ellen began to notice it becoming less yielding.

"How can the fog be getting thicker," she asked between laboured breaths, "the higher we climb? Surely we should be seeing the sun by now, if of course there's any sun to see." Tara did not answer, but Ellen felt her redouble her assault on the fog, and in response, she bent her back and climbed further up the acclivity with renewed focus.

There was a path of sorts which led straight up the mountain. It was well-beaten as though by the treading of many feet, but in places it had been so well and truly worn that only bare rock was visible, and while Ellen's boots were good for climbing, she herself was not as sure-footed as she would have liked to be in this situation. More than once, her burning and aching legs bade her crawl rather than walk, but just when she felt like giving up, Tara would squeeze her hand in silent determination, and for a while at least, she would feel a stronger burst of bodily energy. Still, notwithstanding these bursts of strength, by the time they finally reached the summit of the hill, Ellen felt as though she had been climbing for a hundred years. Her heart was pounding more rapidly than it had ever done before, her legs trembled and would have buckled if it were not for Tara's supportive arm around her waist, and her whole body felt utterly spent and exhausted. How on earth was she to help her new companion in a state like this? Sweat was pouring down her brow and stinging her eyes, and now that she saw the mass of holly and hawthorn hedges that crowned the hill up close, she realized that they were only a sort of decorative screen surrounding what looked like an adamantine wall of indomitable stone. The hedges seemed to grow to an impossible height, but the wall, she noticed, was even taller, and as she looked at the weather-worn stone peeping through its prickly clothing, her heart sank within her and she too would have sunk down on the ground in true despair if Tara had not prevented her doing so.

"Is that the boundary of the prison?"

"It is," said Tara, "but for some, it is no boundary at all," and with a sudden bold stride, she went up to a space in the hedges and placed her hand on the wall. As she did so, Ellen was amazed to see it dissolve into a wall of dazzling light, and as she was standing in awe and wonder, Tara took her hand and brought her through that strange barrier and into an even stranger place.

As soon as they stepped through the wall of light, it resolved itself again into stone, and on the inside of the wall grew wild climbing roses and all manner of fragrant creeping plants. Here, the sun shone brightly with no fog to veil it, and the earth was rich and brown and looked and felt as though it had been only lately turned for planting, yet the flowers and plants which surrounded her looked as though they were in the fullness of summer's blossoming. Birds sang in the trees and bees buzzed their way to and fro in their work, but even with all this movement, there was a strange kind of silence pervading this place. She felt again the awe which she had felt during her first trip into the clearing in Benet's Wood. Something awesome seemed to preside over this place, some intelligence or other which was august and sanctifying, and yet as she stood still and listened with more of her mind, she realized that another presence was here also: a thing of malice and cunning which writhed in agony under that high and sweet silence.

"Come now, Ellen," said Tara, breaking her concentration. "We must go forward to meet what we must meet," and together, they stepped further into this wild and beautiful garden.

Some way in, there was a path bordered by impatiens and flag-lilies, and it wound back and forth between flowering rhododendrons and sweet-smelling lilacs, until it ended at the very centre of the garden where stood a stone plinth. In the plinth, looking exactly like the illustration in one of her favourite King Arthur books during childhood, a richly-carven and bejewelled sword was stuck point first. The jewels encrusting the cross-hilt glinted in the sun, and the golden pommel reflected their splendour in gleaming profusion. Yet, as she looked at the well-tempered thing, she understood what Tara had meant. The sword was more than a sword. It was as though Tara had been missing a limb and she had found it, for as she gazed at the sword, she knew that it was intimately connected to the woman standing slight and elfin beside her. Immediately, she saw a deep yearning dawn in Tara's eyes, and then, gazing down, she saw the reason that Tara could not simply reach out and grasp the sword for herself, for coiling around the base of the plinth was an enormous and poison-green serpent. It appeared to be asleep or somehow stupefied, but Ellen could sense that this was only a faint. Tara seemed to sense this as well, for she raised her hand and her voice in a challenge.

"I have come," she said, "to reclaim what is mine!"

"Have you indeed?" The serpent darted its huge head out from behind the stone, and now Ellen could see its eyes which looked like multifaceted jewels as the sun danced in them. For a moment, she felt herself falling under a strange kind of lethargy, but Tara's hand on her shoulder recalled her, and she quickly turned her eyes away.

"And I see you've brought a companion," said the voice from the serpent's fanged and cavernous mouth. Ellen tried to decide what it sounded like, but all she could come up with as a good description was that it sounded too big for the space it occupied. It seemed to shake the blossoms on the bushes and to tremble through the very ground beneath her feet, and for a moment, she didn't understand how this could be, until she realized that she was not so much hearing the voice as feeling it, perceiving it with her mind. Indeed, if she could only have heard it with her ears, she knew that it would be raised barely above a whisper, for the serpent was, for all its huge bulk and mesmeric gaze, a weak and pathetic creature, pinned by some invisible chain to the stone around which it coiled and writhed.

"Could you find no better champion than this?" The voice was hard and mocking, and its scornful derision seemed to cut Ellen to the bone. At once, all her fears of being too weak and of failing assailed her, and were soon proven anything but groundless when the serpent reared its head up taller than either Tara or herself and she feared that it would simply crush them with its ponderous weight.

"Come, champion," it said now to Ellen. "Prove your mettle!" Then, with a bitterness which was like sharp knives in her soul, it began to laugh. This, however, was a miscalculation on its part, for if there was one thing she could not abide, it was to be laughed at. All of a sudden, even despite her fears, she drew her sword, and at the sight of Excalibur flashing like a sunbeam from its sheath, the serpent seemed to cower and to shrink away, but as Ellen had remarked earlier, it could not stray very far from the plinth.

"What's wrong?" she asked, all her sharpness of tongue coming out now. "Are you tied like a dog to that stone? Surely a great being like yourself would be able to break that chain?"

"Alas," said Tara, "he cannot. It is the sword which keeps him connected to that stone. He can never wield it and by its very nature it is a horror to him, but it is also something he desires hopelessly to possess, and it is this desire that keeps him fettered."

"But if you take it, then--"

"Exactly," said the serpent. "If she takes it, I will come for her and finish what I started. Care to help her now, mortal?"

"Perhaps you don't know who I am," said Ellen, taking a step nearer, sword at the ready.

"You think not? I know exactly who and what you are. You talk of dogs, Ellen Mitchell, when you are nothing more than a mongrel pup yourself? You may have freed this one from her captivity, but I will not give up the sword, and she will be forever doomed to a miserable and mortal existence."

"But she would be free," said Ellen.

"Free? free? Do you think she could ever truly be free?"

"It is true," said Tara sadly. "Now that I am here, I too am chained to the sword until I reclaim it, or die trying," she added after a breathless pause.

"Well then," said Ellen, "let's go to it, shall we? If I truly am her champion, then I challenge you, serpent! Come for me!"

The words were spoken boldly enough, but once she saw the huge and heavy head lowered to strike, it took all her resolve to begin dancing as she had seen Shakespearean actors do during fencing matches. In truth, she knew nothing of how to use a sword, but she found as she wielded the mythical sword of King Arthur that it seemed to leap and move in her hand almost of its own accord. She and the serpent dodged and ducked each other for a long while, and Tara tried again and again to take the sword from the plinth, but the moment her hand went out to grasp its hilt, the serpent would make a dart at her and she was forced again and again to retreat. Ellen danced and danced, her sword slicing through the air and almost touching the serpent's skin several times, but it expertly avoided her blows, while she could not always avoid its strikes. It was only the armour she wore that protected her and caused her to remain unwounded, she knew, and it was with growing dismay that she felt herself tiring with her continued efforts.

Meanwhile, Tara seemed to be looking on with the detached air of one who is bored with the entertainment being presented. All of her attention was focused on the beautiful sword, and Ellen suddenly realized that only she could stop the serpent. Tara's task was simply to reclaim the sword. She had no more power to do anything else. She wore no armour and carried no weapon, and while she had aided Ellen to come here, it was now Ellen's job to aid her the best way she could. Still she danced and still she dodged, trying to make herself a more tempting target for the serpent, but it still left her and went for Tara's grasping hand every time it so much as hovered above the stone-stuck blade for which she longed. Even as Ellen was in the midst of her desperate capering, she found herself comparing the two incarnations of desire which were before her. The serpent she could see was simply covetous. He envied and hated what he could not have, but his cupidity would not allow him to let it go. Tara, on the other hand, while no less a prisoner of desire, was a prisoner in another way. It was as though she had found the one thing which would make her complete. She looked at the sword as a lover might look at a beloved, and as Ellen watched her out of the corner of her eye, she knew that every moment without the sword was bitter anguish to Tara, though the pragmatic part of her mind could make no sense out of this whatsoever.

Then, all such thoughts were driven from her mind as she was forced to acknowledge the fact that she could not go on with this dance of death indefinitely, and since the serpent was a being of greater power and strength, surely it would eventually deal her a mortal blow. As though to confirm this, she suddenly felt her left boot stick fast in a patch of soft, wet earth, and try as she would, she could not pull it free. The serpent was coming nearer and nearer, seeing her thus pinned, and while a part of her wanted to surrender to its fatal advances, the stubborn part of her was stronger in its will to survive, and soon, though she could not free the boot, her foot at least was free and she began her mad movements all over again. However, what she did not realize was that the serpent had seen this new vulnerability in her defences and had decided to exploit it. Suddenly darting behind her, it made a quick thrust for her exposed heel, and as one of its fangs pierced the skin, she felt an instant and agonizing reaction, so that try as she would to remain upright, she soon fell sprawling and lay spread-eagled on her back. Her foot and leg were rapidly becoming inflamed, and somehow at the same time, the poison was sapping the strength from the rest of her body, so that soon, Excalibur, despite its perfect balance, was too heavy for her to wield, and it fell beside her in the rich earth, all its brightness extinguished for the moment.

At first, as she lay prostrate in her pain, she could think of nothing but the fact that she was failing miserably. Surely with her out of the way, the serpent would now make short work of Tara, but she suddenly saw a huge shadow descending over her, and in a few moments, she felt herself being bound fast by strong coils of the serpent's body, and she realized with growing dread that he meant to finish her off himself, not content to let the poison or the loss of blood from her streaming heel do it for him. Then, through the pain and the sense of failure which was rapidly shrinking her world while the heavy folds of scaly green muscle squeezed her tighter and tighter, she realized that it was the serpent's anger which was his weakness. Now that he was occupied in such an intimate way with her, he would not be able to prevent the sword from being taken. So, with all her might and just before her breath was stopped completely, she managed to cry out with both voice and mind:

"Now! Tara, now! Before it's too late!" Then, she neither new nor cared what happened next, for she lay in pain and darkness as the serpent gave one more convulsion of its great body and the fabric of the world seemed to tear open and then to vanish in a blurring haze of forgetfulness.

When next the world came into focus around her, it took her a little time to realize that the coils were now off of her, and then without thinking she sprang to her feet, lifting Excalibur from the earth and almost overbalancing on her pain-racked left heel. What made her move so quickly was the fact that Tara had now claimed the sword and was challenging the serpent with its keenly-burning blade. She came limping to her companion's side, and it was only now that she felt the native power now set loose from the slender body. Her hands glowed bright blue and her eyes, normally serene and dark, now blazed with hidden fire.

"I'm not dead yet," she said as she raised Excalibur, and she saw Tara cast her an approving and appraising look, and then all her focus was taken by the serpent's darting head. Ellen too addressed herself to this problem with a will, and as the two swords cut in and out of the serpent's path, he soon realized that he was slowly being advanced upon, and before long, the points of the two swords met in the middle of that huge and heavy head, each woman standing on either side of it. The serpent tried and tried to pull himself free of the blades, but every time he moved, he only succeeded in driving one or other of them deeper and deeper into him, and then suddenly he was falling, his massive head was plummeting to earth, and while Tara was able to wrench her sword easily free from the bloody wound it had made, Ellen had to use all her strength to do so before the head's great weight broke her arm. In the end, she was forced to leave Excalibur protruding from the head until the serpent had given his last violent death-throws and had expired in a pool of blood and venom.

"What happens now?" Ellen asked as a silence descended.

"Remove your sword and see," said Tara, and as Ellen did as she was told, the body of the serpent began to shift and blur, and soon it was swallowed up in a sudden gust of the familiar silent and dark wind.

"There," said Tara, and now she became as bright as a flame as Ellen watched her, even eclipsing the sun's noonday brilliance, and as she raised her sword high, it too disappeared, though Ellen knew that it remained a part of the beautiful being which now stood fully revealed before her for the first time.

"You have passed your test, Ellen Mitchell," said Tara's voice which was and was not the voice Ellen knew. It had become more resonant, less mortal, and now Tara herself was shifting and changing, and as Ellen feared another assault on her senses such as Gwydion had inadvertently given her when they had first met, Tara's shape resolved itself into what it had been, but the brightness of her did not fade.

"What am I seeing? Is the serpent gone?"

"The serpent is no more," said Tara. "We can cease to exist, both those of the light and those of the dark, but only when pierced by each other's power. You and I together used our power to kill him. Indeed, he was barely alive to begin with. If you could see this place as I do, Ellen, you would see that it is a place of piercing brilliance."

"It's enough that I see you as a person of piercing brilliance," said Ellen, a sudden compulsion to kneel before this magnificent woman coming over her.

"You are beginning to see things more truly," said Tara. "With every test passed, you will come to learn a little more of us and of yourself. Now, come! I must see to your foot," and putting a radiant hand into Ellen's mud and blood-spattered hand, she guided her through the garden to a stone seat near a fountain. The fountain bore no distinct shape, but as Ellen looked at it, she realized that it looked as much of the foliage in the garden did. It was a thing of twisting and interlaced stonework, the basin into which the water fell entwined with carvings of leaves and flowers and the surface of the water papered with white water lilies so thickly that they almost looked like a sheet of winter ice.

Tara, after seeing her seated carefully on the bench, went to this fountain, and cupping her hands, she filled them with water and held them out to Ellen as though they were the wine-cup of a queen, and indeed, as Ellen looked at the water held in that living and glowing cup, she wanted nothing more than to partake, but at the same time, she drew back in fear and awe.

"It will strengthen you," were Tara's words at seeing her hesitate, and knowing that she meant her good by the gesture, Ellen decided to brave the sublime intimacy of the situation and bent her head to sip the sparkling water from the shining hands held out to her. It was the best water she had ever tasted, even since her coming to this strange and awesome world. It was both like and unlike the water she had drunk at the well and by the sea. The same heady joy came to her with the first sip, but with it came something sweeter, higher. It was as though she were consuming some wondrous drink which conveyed to her the sense of that strange, presiding intelligence which seemed to imbue this place with the sacredness of a cathedral.

"Thank you," was all that she could say when Tara had given her several handfuls of the sweet and penetrating draft.

"Now," said Tara simply, "we will see to your foot," and taking some of the large lily-leaves from the basin of the fountain, she began to place them expertly over the still redly-welling wound, and with their cooling touch, the pain began to ebb, and this, together with the cleansing effect of the water she had drunk soon set her almost to rights.

"Now," said Tara, "we must leave this place. Too long under its influence would not be beneficial for you." Ellen understood what she meant, for the joy and life she felt moving in the air and earth around her was beginning to go to her head. She was beginning to lose herself in its wild abandon, and while there was no denying that this strange merging with her surroundings was pleasurable, she knew that if she was to face other tests, she could not let herself surrender to the ecstasy she now felt rapidly descending upon her as though she were the princess Danae being bathed in a shower of divine and living gold.

"Must we walk?" she asked, getting to her feet and realizing that though the pain in her heel had receded, it had not wholly disappeared.

"No," said Tara. "I would not ask you to do that after all you've been through. Come!" and suddenly Ellen felt herself being lifted bodily from the ground. All at once, Tara seemed a much larger being than she had before. In fact, she seemed to encompass Ellen, even while at the same time Ellen could feel her firm embrace. Soon, they were flying without wings or winged mount, and she was amazed to see how rapidly the hill shrunk to a dot far below as she was borne along in the wake of Tara's newly-reclaimed power. The lake looked as small as a pond as they floated over it, and the distance which had taxed Tara's strength so greatly during their boat-journey to the island now seemed as nothing, and soon, landing softly on the ground near where their fire had been, she suddenly resumed her more mortal-looking shape. All radiance was gone except for the new fire in her eyes, and Ellen was grateful for the respite that this change had given her senses.

"Where--what happened? Why don't I see your light anymore?" The flight had been quick, and Ellen was still out of breath as she stood with Tara by the shore of the lake.

"It is still there, Ellen, but you are no longer so close to it."

"What do you mean?"

"The place where we encountered the serpent was a place of truth, a place where the fullness of our world is more easily perceived by you. There, you saw me revealed in my power, but it was not my doing. Your eyes were beginning to see as we see. However, as you discovered, you could not stay in that place for long. You have still to grow accustomed to things here, but do not worry. After what I witnessed today, I have no doubt that you will do so. You put yourself in harm's way to save me, and that takes very great courage!"

"Well, I don't know if I did that," said Ellen. "I thought I made rather a mess of things really. I thought I was supposed to hurt or kill the serpent, and all I did was allow it to bite me and then let it try to have me for lunch!"

"That is strange," said Tara in a musing voice. "Did you notice that your boot had disappeared as soon as it left your foot?"

"No," said Ellen, "but it makes sense. Evangeline said that if I lose a piece of armour, I am really losing some of the protection she gave me. Still, if this place we were in is your place, then why should anyone of the light want me to lose the protection of the light?"

"I am not certain why," said Tara, "nor do I understand why your heel is bleeding through the bindings I put on it. I am forced to conclude that if I am unable to heal this wound, it is somehow necessary for you to bear it while continuing with the remainder of your tests. Still, I will do what I can while I can," and with that, she moved gracefully off into a grove of nearby willows, singing as she went.

"Well," said Gwydion, seeming to appear out of nowhere. "I see that you have passed another of your tests!"

"I suppose so," said Ellen, "but I lost a boot in the process."

"That is a bitter thing," said the unicorn, "but I trust you will be able to bear what comes with fortitude and patience."

"I don't know," said Ellen, "but knowing how strong Tara is now gives me hope for Evangeline."

"She will indeed be an aid to Evangeline," said Gwydion, "but I think she wishes to try and aid you before she goes."

"I don't exactly know why she should," said Ellen. "We barely know each other, and yet I feel as though I've known her forever."

"Shared adversity makes fast friends," said Tara, who had come up silently during this interchange. "Had I still a sword, Ellen, I would gladly offer it to you in service and fellowship. However, as it is, I will do what I can for your foot."

Tara, it turned out, had been searching the shore of the lake for certain roots and leaves which she now used to treat Ellen's wound. First, she spread some kind of sap or resin from one of the roots on the wound, and then, tearing strips from her own cloak, she bound some of the leaves she had found and soaked in water in a kind of poultice over the still bleeding cut which had a mild numbing effect.

"Now," she said, her ministrations being concluded, "I must attempt to probe the wound by other means. Do not worry, however. It will not pain you," and with these words, she seated herself on the ground in front of Ellen and took her bound foot in her hands. Ellen could feel the pulsing life in those hands and knew that they had the ability to touch her very soul. Flesh and blood meant nothing to this being. They were only a mask, a cloak to wear among strangers, and at the same time, as Tara sat silently contemplating what the serpent had done, she realized that this wound was not merely of the body.

"It is as I feared," said Tara at last. "This wound is deep and deadly, and if it remains uncured, you will eventually begin to sicken. The problem is that I have no way to cure such a wound. It seems to be woven into the tapestry of your life in such a way that for me to heal it now would be a grave mistake."

"Evangeline mentioned this tapestry," said Ellen.

"We have always tried to live in harmony with others," said Tara, "and not to interfere too deeply in the lives of other beings. Evangeline did so in the case of your King Arthur, it is true, but as it turned out, that event did conform to the pattern of his life and, what is more, to the pattern of the life of your race."

"Then why was she judged and exiled?"

"The judges who exiled her have since become beings of the dark," said Tara. "They had become very narrow in their thinking. They had decided that all interactions between our race and yours should cease, and when Evangeline refused this command and then went a step further by bringing a mortal here to live, they felt their authority being challenged and so exiled her."

"But how did she do that? How did she bring King Arthur here to live?" Because, Ellen thought, if she could do that, then why couldn't she just repeat the same thing with me?

"King Arthur was mortally wounded when Evangeline and her allies found him," said Tara. "They were able to put him into a profound sleep so that the shock of our world did not overwhelm him. Even now he sleeps, Ellen, and will only wake again when he is sent forth into your world at great need, if, that is, that day ever comes. You may come to see his sleeping place while you are here. Whether you will I do not know, but the fact remains that from what I can see of the way your life is progressing, it is necessary for you to have this wound and to deal with its effects throughout this journey. I can certainly heal it, but a sacred trust prevents me from doing so, though it pains me greatly to say it."

"Well then, I suppose I must be resigned to it. Do you know what my next test will be?"

"Alas no," said Tara, "and now, though I sincerely wish to stay by you as a friend and comrade in arms, I must be gone to do what I can for Evangeline."

"Well," said Ellen, taking Tara's hand, "I just want to say thank you for all you've done, and," she knelt painfully and drew Excalibur from its sheath. Offering its hilt to Tara who placed her hand on it gravely, she said:

"You may have no sword now, but I do, and my sword is for you if ever you need it."

"So be it, Ellen Mitchell," said Tara, and in a blinding flash of light, she was suddenly gone. She did not dissolve or fade, and she was not whirled away by any wind, but she was simply and completely gone, so completely that Ellen almost thought of her as a dream for an instant, till the pain in her heel convinced her otherwise.

"Well," said Gwydion, "I suppose you should be getting some rest. We travel on tomorrow."

"Do you know where we're going?"

"I will not know until you do, but I do know the general direction in which we are to head."

"I'm glad you're with me," said Ellen impulsively. "Thank you for deciding to come on this strange quest!" The unicorn did not reply, and indeed, there seemed nothing to be said. All that could be done now, Ellen thought, was to try and relax in the late afternoon sun and wait patiently. In fact, this seemed the best course of action for both her body and her mind. She was happy that the mists had moved off and that the island now glittered bright and clear in the centre of its encircling band of blue. Even despite all the fear and terror here, she thought, this really was a beautiful world, and she was grateful for the time to enjoy it, even if it might only be the calm before the next storm.

Chapter Eight: Welcome for the Wanderer

The afternoon melted into evening in a blaze of ruddy gold and Ellen began to wonder whether a fire would be necessary and how she was to build it. Looking around her, she suddenly spied Tara's flint and steel. Reaching out to take it, she reflected upon what it actually was and hesitated to touch it. Was she able to use such power for herself? Still, Tara would not have left it behind unless she had meant to do so.

"Do you fear to take this power to yourself?" Gwydion's voice was low and filled with concern.

"Well, yes! I know it's a flint and steel to me, but well, what is it really?"

"It is a gift from a friend. That's all you need to know for now."

"Alright then," she said, and with no further debate, took up the tools, and gathering some small sticks and fallen branches, she soon had a fire quite as wonderful and cheering to the heart as last night's had been. As she moved to pick up the wood, she felt a strange weight on her shoulders and chest. It seemed to increase as she exerted herself, so that by the time she had the fire going and was seated before it, she was out of breath. It was only now when she had time to reflect that she realized that the weight she felt was that of the chain mail she was wearing, and as she pondered this, she wondered why she had not felt it to be heavy before now. She had walked for what felt like hours in the darkness under the cliffs and she had fought a pitched battle with the serpent. Even the climb up the slope of the island should have made her notice that she was draped in steel clothing, but until now, she had walked and climbed and fought as effortlessly as though she were clad only in the lightest of exercise clothes. Even the wearying climb up to the garden of the sword had only been weary because of the fog and the strange solidity of the air through which she and Tara had moved. Now, however, though there was no fog and though the air around her was as gentle as any evening breeze she had ever felt, every movement was a labour and seemed to sap her strength.

"Are you alright?" Gwydion looked at her from where he stood very tenderly she thought, and the part of her mind which had some knowledge of the reality she truly inhabited could feel him lending her his joyful strength and vitality

"I think I am, though I am rather hungry."

"I am your servant. You've fought well today by all accounts. You deserve a feast in your honour, but fish, fruit and fresh water will have to do," and without another word, he changed quickly into his falcon's form and flew off, circling the little camp once and then diving deep into the crystal lake. When he returned, he held a great trout in his mouth, and placing it on a rock near her, he flew off again. Ellen looked at the fish and wondered how she was going to clean it. She had never cleaned a fish in her life, and what was more, she had no knife to filet it correctly. However, as she mused and wondered what she should do, she searched her things and found, where the flint and steel had been, a small dagger. Taking it up, she looked at it thoughtfully, and all at once, she knew that it had been the flint and steel, or rather that both the dagger and the flint and steel were only disguises for something else. This made her wonder what the fish really was, but soon, the needs of her stomach outweighed her curiosity and recalling all she could of the instructions for dealing with fish she had seen on the Food Network and read in cooking magazines, she set to work and in no time had it prepared and smelling delicious.

Gwydion then returned with a branch laden with berries and resumed his wonted unicorn's shape, and Ellen ate and drank well, sitting in his shadow and talking with him companionably until the moon had risen. All the while, she noticed his care and concern for her seeming to grow, and she could sense him trying to combat the weakness she could feel coming upon her from the now slightly more persistent pain in her heel and the now quite definite weight of her armour upon her body.

"Lord!" she said. "How did I sleep in this mail before? I couldn't possibly do so now!"

"Take it off for now," said Gwydion, "but remember that it is not simply what it appears to be. I am afraid of what this new weakness portends for you."

"What--what do you think it means?"

"As Tara said, I do not know exactly what it means, but I do know that unless it is cured, it will eventually sicken you."

"If only I had not lost my boot in that mud! It seems I'm failing before I've even really started!"

"You will not fail in your task so long as you do not let yourself give up, daughter of Evangeline!"

"I'll keep trying," she said. "I know I have to keep trying, but for now, I think I need to sleep."

"Do so then, and take what refreshment you can! I think you will find things easier to bear in the morning."

"I hope you're right," she said, and taking off the mail, she rolled herself in her cloak and lay watching the stars until she fell asleep.

She felt the morning come as though through a veil, as though her senses, once so sharpened, were now dulled with a great weight of nothingness. However, as she opened her eyes, things gradually became clearer to her, and as she donned her armour once again, now positively burdened by its weight rather than strengthened by its aid, she wondered again if this wound she had received was meant as part of her testing or was just an unfortunate accident.

"I don't know if you'll be able to carry me," she said to Gwydion as they prepared to go. "I feel as heavy as lead!"

"Nonetheless," replied the unicorn in his rich and golden voice, "it is the task I have been given."

As he mounted aloft, Ellen could feel the wind buffeting them again, and this time, it seemed to chill her to the bone. With the wind, much to her further consternation and dismay, came a bitter rain, which lashed at herself and the unicorn with such fierceness that she thought it might knock her from her none-too-secure seat astride his back. Still, stalwart and stoic, he flew on, beating his wings against the whirl of the wind as though he were swimming upstream in a fast-moving river. This journey seemed to last for hours, so that by the time Ellen next took note of her surroundings, she could no longer tell with any certainty how much time had passed since its outset. Through the driving rain, which was now tending to sleety snow at times, she thought she could see a light. Still, she wasn't sure if she should tell this to Gwydion or not; perhaps this was some trick of the dark ones. However, as it flashed out of the dripping darkness again and again and as they seemed to make less and less headway in their desperate flight, she decided that she had no choice.

"Do you see that light?" she asked in words, and then again with the Evangeline-part of her mind, though this was becoming more and more difficult to access.

"I do," he said. "Is that where we should go?"

"I know no more about it than you do," she said, "but if there is food and a fire there, I will welcome it!"

"Beware food and fire, friend Ellen," he said clearly into her mind. "They can hide many things that are far less pleasant."

"Well," she said, "you'll be with me. Won't you?"

"I shall," he said, and began circling down toward the still unseen source of the light.

When they landed, Ellen knew that they were again in a forest, but this wood seemed different than any other she had experienced so far in this place. While the woods she had been in before seemed just as ancient as did this one, where they had been venerable and also vital, this just seemed tired. She wondered if her own mood was colouring what she was seeing, but Gwydion confirmed her perceptions when he said:

"There is something here I do not wholly trust or understand."

"I know," Ellen replied, "but I think we have to keep on toward the light. I can still see it through the trees just ahead." And she could, shining between the intertwined boughs of massive pines, the light now seemed as bright as that coming from a lighthouse on a stormy day at sea. While the going was somewhat difficult under the trees, the canopy overhead did shut out at least some of the rain, sleet and wind.

"Lean on me if your hurt pains you, young one," said Gwydion, moving his glossy flank nearer as they walked. She did so, again drawing strength from him, but something told her that this was hurting him, so after a while, she drew away from him and walked on her own.

Before too long, a clearing appeared ahead, and at last, she was beyond doubt what must be the source of the light: a high and well-fortified castle which nevertheless looked welcoming to the weary traveler. Before they reached the gates, however, Gwydion suddenly changed into his falcon's shape again and flew up to sit on her shoulder.

"I can be with you in the hall this way," he said.

"Very well," she said, and using what strength she still had, limped and stumbled toward the gate in the outer wall.

"Who goes there?" The challenge was spoken in a warning though not unkindly voice.

"I am a traveler in this place," said Ellen. "I seek shelter and rest for a time from the storm."

"If you mean no harm to this place or its people, then you are welcome," said the sentry or porter or whatever he was, and silently, the gate was opened and she saw a drawbridge being lowered.

The porter met her as she came through the outer archway and conducted her along the drawbridge and into the inner courtyard. There, where the light was better, he looked her up and down. For her part, she saw that he was dressed in mail like herself, and on his helmet he wore the device of a book and an hourglass.

"This is the hall of the Philosopher King," he said, "and those are his arms."

"I see," she said.

"You, perhaps, are the daughter of the exiled one who is to be tested?"

"I am," she said, relieved that this person at least had known of her coming.

"Then you are most heartily welcome here, little maiden," said another voice, and out of the keep itself there stepped a man in long robes and wearing a circlet of gold on his head.

"You are the philosopher King?" she asked.

"I am," he said, "and I am required to give you aid and succour on your journey. I must also, I'm afraid, give you a test, but it is all for your own benefit, I assure you. Come along in now and I will have some women to attend you."

In she went, gwydion still in his falcon's shape on her shoulder, and soon, the women whom the Philosopher King had promised to send were with her in a small chamber, carefully removing her armour and washing her with great tenderness. Then, they clothed her in a green robe such as she had seen Evangeline herself wearing, and they brought her to a great hall of feasting. There, music played and wine flowed, and there many things were spoken that she did not entirely understand. Then, when all the food had been eaten and those present were hushed to silence, the Philosopher King stood up from his high table and bade her come forward to be honoured by him as a newly-returned wanderer.

"You shall go forth to your testing shortly," he said, "Daughter of the exiled one, but first, I will give you a book which will aid you in your quest." Gwydion's talons dug into her shoulder as she received the book, but by this time, she was feeling so well and warm and happy that she did not heed him.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," she said. "I will bear it well."

"Your armour and sword will be kept safely for you here, and you should sleep before your test, so I will bid you goodnight."

"Goodnight then, Your Majesty," she said, and before she knew what she was doing, she found herself back in the little chamber, being tucked carefully into bed by the women who had attended her earlier. When they left her, she could see Gwydion standing moodily on the nearby windowsill, and though she wanted to speak to him, she found that the Evangeline-part of her mind was now wholly dark to her. Thinking this to be merely the result of too much wine and not enough sleep, she decided not to worry about it and to just let herself drift away.

There was harp music. She could hear it from where she lay, warm and still, in the little chamber where she had been put to bed. She could also hear sobbing, and though a part of her knew it to be Kate's sobbing, she felt far too contented to even try to exert herself. She also thought she heard the scream of a falcon echoing in a way that suggested that it was being born away down a long corridor, but even this did not rouse her. At least, it did not rouse her body, though her mind and heart did seem suddenly to feel fear at the falcon's fading cries. Yet, as she tried to ponder just what it might mean, she found the wash of contentment sweeping over her again and soon, she sank back into profound slumber, all fears and all loves forgotten.

Chapter Nine: Bell, Book and Candle

When she woke, she was no longer in bed. Impenetrable darkness was all that she could see, but what she heard froze her very heart. She seemed to be in a windy wood, with branches lashing her face and cutting deeply where they touched, but above the wind she could hear the howling of wolves. In her hand, she carried a candle, and under her other arm, she had the book of the philosopher King. She wondered why the candle was not able to show her clearly where she was, but then she heard a voice seeming to come from the earth and sky around her.

"This is your test, little maiden," said the voice of the Philosopher King. "You must use the candle to read the book, and then you will know how to find what you seek. There is a tree in the centre of this wood on which are hung several bells. Only one is the right bell, however, and it is only that bell which will defeat the wolves. Do you hear them, little maiden?"

"I do," she said, "but how am I to get through this wood?"

"The book will assist you, if you read it aright."

Opening the book, she at last realized that the candle was meant as a reading aid only, for where its light fell on the pages, the letters stood out clearly and starkly. Ellen read much in that book which she thought might be helpful, all about how labyrinths are constructed and about the nature of bell-casting and the like, but everything she read seemed to be of no avail. She tried going always in one direction, hoping by that way to reach the centre of the wood, but the wolves always seemed to head her off. She tried listening to the sounds around her to see if she could locate the tree with the bells on it by that means, but nothing she heard could tell her which way to go. Feeling certain that the book was her answer, she continued reading and reading as she walked, but ever and anon, when she looked up from her perusal of its pages, she would find herself back where she had begun, the wolves seeming always a little bit nearer.

Then, the candle began to flicker. This was too much for her overwhelmed senses to deal with. She was angry now, once more feeling as though she were a mere pawn in someone else's game, and she was sick of it. Turning the candle's flame upon the book which was supposed to be her salvation, she watched as the book suddenly caught fire and burned all to cinders in a blaze of blinding flame and stinking smoke. Then, the candle seemingly having done its work, it simply disappeared, and she was left to her own wits and her own weakened will.

The wolves now approached more quickly, and she found she had no choice but to be herded by them wherever they would have her go. It was just as she had given up all hope of anything good coming of this strange test that she heard it, a soft but multitudinous chiming of bells just ahead of her. Putting out her hands, she felt the solid trunk of a tree before her, and with no thought for her wounded foot or the fact that she now wore no boots or armour, but the slippers and light shift that her attendants had given her to sleep in, she squared up to it and began to climb. Somehow, she managed to get into a fork of the great tree, and there, all around her, she found a forest of tinkling bells.

Even though she had burned the book, its influence still dominated her mind, and she set about recalling what it had said about the art of bell-casting. She knew that the purer the metal of which the bell was made, the purer the sound would be, and she listened hard with her ears--her mind being filled only with the urgency to pass this test--and went from one bell to another. However, as she touched a bell and set it truly ringing rather than just tinkling, it always sounded wrong to her, as though it were not a part of this world somehow.

Then, though she thought she had left them far behind, she heard one of the wolves beginning to climb the bell tree. Moreover, her arms and legs were beginning to feel so tired that she did not think she would be able to stay up here much longer. How was she going to find this special bell? What was it she was looking for? All her brains had availed her nothing, she was now forced to admit, but then she remembered the Evangeline-part of her mind. Trying very hard to break through the fog of anger, fear and fatigue, she worked to calm her mind long enough, and there she found, shining like a jewel within its depths, the words: "Wait! Be still."

It always seems to come to that, she reflected, but she knew now that there was nothing else she could do. Either the wolves would get her or she would find the bell. So, stilling herself despite the whirl of emotions now assailing her, she listened to the tinkling around her. Then, even above the roaring of the wind and the howling of the wolves she heard it, one ringing note which seemed to waken harmonic sympathies in her own nature, and letting her hand reach out of its own accord, she grasped what felt like an ordinary metal bell, but which was, she now knew, something of that living pattern she had begun to glimpse through and behind the shapes of things here. Taking it firmly from its branch, she rang it loudly, and the ringing went on and on, echoing and reechoing, calming the wind and sending the wolves fleeing away with yelps and whines of terror. The wood too was now gone and she found herself floating gently to earth in front of a gilded cage in which was imprisoned Gwydion the falcon, now hooded and leashed as for hunting.

"Did he do this to you, the Philosopher King?"

"He did, yes," said Gwydion, "and this hood and these bands are weakening me."

"I still have the bell," she said. "Perhaps I can free you with it."

"Perhaps you can, my friend, though I fear it may already be too late."

"Nothing is too late," said a sudden clear voice into the deepest part of her mind. It was Evangeline's voice. So, gripping the bell firmly in her hand for a second time, she rang it and watched as the cage, the hood, and even Gwydion's falcon's form fell from him, and he stood once again as a winged unicorn, ready to be gone.

"I do not know how far I can carry you," he said, "but I think I can find us somewhere where we may be refreshed. Can you mount?"

"I think so," she said, but as she tried, the bell suddenly felt very heavy in her hand and she had no choice but to drop it.

"I guess I can't take it," she said sadly.

"No. It is a part of this place or of its keeper," said Gwydion. "I dare say we will know more of it in time."

"Perhaps you will," came the now mocking voice of the Philosopher King. "Perhaps you will. Till then, I bid you farewell. You have passed my test, little wanderer. But do you have the strength to do what must be done?"

"We shall see," said Ellen, not having a clue what else to say, and mounting painfully onto Gwydion's back, she let him take her where he would.

Chapter Ten: Silver and Sand

Gwydion could still fly, it was true, but it was also true that his usually powerful wing-beats grew feebler and feebler as they went. The wind seemed less apparent now, and at least there was no more rain, but Ellen could not say that she was actually feeling better. On the contrary, she was still clad in nothing but a shift and some slippers, and her armour, and even the sword Excalibur, were nowhere to be found. When she asked Gwydion about this, all he would say was:

"You let the women undress you. This was as much as to say that you did not wish to keep the protection you were given."

"But it was so heavy, Gwydion!"

"I know it," he said, a tender sadness ringing in his tone. "If this is truly part of the tapestry or pattern of things, I cannot see how, but in these matters, I am no wiser than you, not being the weaver."

"And who is the weaver?"

"Why, the one who set the stars singing and the sun and moon dancing of course. But perhaps it is not yours to know this yet. Ah. I believe I have found our resting-place, and that is well, for I need it just as much as you do."

Down they dipped and found themselves in a place not unlike the one that Ellen had first found after her fall through the St. Swithun's arch. There was no myrrh-moss here, but there was lovely grass and a fountain which fed a pool at their feet.

"You may wash in this water," he said, "though I do not know if it will staunch your wound. Still, perhaps some good may come of it."

"And what about you?"

"I shall drink," he said, "for it is refreshment that i chiefly need." So, stepping back a few paces and sitting on a nearby stone, Ellen watched as Gwydion bent his lovely unicorn's head and drank from the pool. At the same time, she knew that he was not in fact drinking the way she might drink, but taking strength from the place where he stood, perhaps reestablishing a connection he had lost. It was difficult for her to perceive this clearly, and after a while, she thought it too dangerous to look deeper into things, but when he raised his head again, she knew that he had been at least partly refreshed. There was still something wrong, though; that she knew.

"I think you must both bathe and drink," he said, and she did so, stepping down into the pool and fearing that it would be cold, but finding instead that it was just cold enough to be refreshing without freezing her to the bone.

After some splashing and swimming, Ellen looked up. There was a moon in this place, and it shone on the water, seeming to turn it to silver. Then, as she looked again, she realized that it was not the moonlight which made the silver, but rather the blood from her wound where it touched the water. It was turning the water silver before her eyes, and as she raised a hand to look curiously at it, she saw it glowing with a pure, silver light from within.

"Gwydion? What is it?"

"This I know not," he said, "but it is beautiful. This water may be hallowing your wound for a time."

"I feel better," said Ellen, coming up out of the pool, her whole body shining silvery in the moonlight. "May I touch you? I feel that I could help you."

"I do not know what this portends," said Gwydion, "but it seems good." So, after dressing in what clothes she had, she went to the unicorn and began to caress him.

"You have your mother's very touch," he said. "I think it cannot make me whole, but it is freeing me from my pain."

"Have you been in pain all this time?"

"The cage I was in disconnected me from my fellow beings for a time. I had never known such loneliness."

"And yet you carried me all this way while you were in pain?"

"There was no other choice, little one," he said. "You needed my help."

"But now," said a strange voice that Ellen had never heard before, "she must have the help of others, young one." The voice was hard and cracked without a trace of pity or love in it.

"Do you know this person, Gwydion?"

"I am not certain, but she is correct. I must leave you now and go to your mother. I must rest and then stand with her against the assaults of those who would harm her--or rather--you." And without a chance of even saying goodbye, he vanished from under both her eyes and her hands, and she turned to greet her new companion.

"Have you come to test me?" This was not a challenge but an honest question, for when Ellen turned, she saw before her a weather-beaten face with harsh black eyes like two pieces of jet looking at her. The shape was that of a woman, and the voice, though harsh as the cawing of a raven, was also that of a woman, but Ellen could find no softness anywhere as she looked upon the short yet implacable person before her. She was a little stooped, but her wiry arms and her swollen-jointed hands looked strong. Ellen found that she was picturing her holding a giant pair of sheers, though as much as she tried to think of the mythical Atropos and her grim task of cutting the threads of human life when it was time, all she could conjure in her mind were the sort of novelty scissors used at ribbon-cutting ceremonies for the grand openings of new supermarkets or libraries or the like. This almost made her laugh, but the laughter died on her lips at the next words of her strange companion.

"Of course I have come to test you, stupid girl," she said. "Why else would I be here?"

"Can you tell me why my wound turned the water of that pool silver and why I started to glow like silver too?"

"I see no silver on you, stupid girl! As for the pool, I think you'll find that it is no longer there. Or are your eyes half-closed that you do not see what is right in front of you?"

It was only then that Ellen really began to notice things around her. The crone was right; they were no longer in the valley of the fountain and the pool. Instead, they stood on hot sand under a blazing sun, and Ellen could hear around her, not the gentle fall of water,, but the movement of dry wind through pathless dunes and the occasional cry of an eagle far off.

"Here!" said the woman, thrusting a gnarled and knotted staff into her hand. "Take this with you. We must keep a good pace if we are to cross this desert," and without another word she grabbed Ellen's hand in a grip like the hardest of iron and began dragging her along at an impossible speed.

This was worse than anything she had experienced so far. Not only was the woman inexorable in her speed and in the grip of her hand, but she seemed to have no compassion in her for Ellen's situation. Of course, Ellen herself did not try to protest; this was simply not in her character. She had always found that grim determination could get her through most challenges, and so she tried her best to keep it up for as long as she could. But how long was that? When would they finally stop? This was a question she could find no answer to, neither from the women who spoke to her in nothing but taunts, nor from her own inner self, the Evangeline-part of her mind. It was now silent, drowned under the heat of the desert sun and the endlessness of the desert sand.

They climbed dunes which seemed to shift and change under her feet, and then plunged almost headlong into deep valleys between the dunes, where the sun seemed almost hot enough to turn the sand to glass. Finally, Ellen's slippers gave way, and after some time, even her shift was falling about her in rags, and never in all that time could she perceive the fabled coolness of the desert night. Here, it was perpetually day, and it was also always noon.

The sun beat mercilessly upon her eyes, but every time she tried to close them against it, the crone would yell at her to keep them open. Her breath now came in painful gasps, her insides feeling as though they were on fire with the dry air and the endless particles of sand that kept getting into her nose and mouth. She longed for something to put over her face as a filter, but even if she had such a thing, she knew that the crone would not slacken her pace or her grip for a moment to let her use it. Stumbling several times and being hauled bodily to her feet was hard enough, but the crone seemed not to care a wit for any pain or hardship she might be going through.

"Please," she gasped at one point. "Please! Can we stop?"

"No stopping until I say so," said the crone. "If you weren't so helpless, you wouldn't have needed me, but as you are, you're stuck with me, stupid girl."

Ellen now saw ahead of her a dune higher than any she had yet seen, and though she thought she could never climb it, she knew that she would have to do so as long as she was with the crone. Just before they reached it, she tried to disengage her arm from the now-painful grip of the crone's rough hand, but it was no use. She seemed to be very weak indeed, and all she could do now was allow herself to be dragged up and over the high dune until she thought the skin of her feet would be torn away by the friction of the harsh sand.

"Stop!" the crone now said, pulling her up short and burning her feet further as she did so. "Do you see that ladder in the distance?"

Shading her eyes against the glare of the sun, Ellen did think that she could see a ladder stretching high into the sky. It seemed to be made of gold.

"I have brought you as far as I can," said the woman, "and besides, I am sick of the sight of you. You have no business being here at all, I think, and yet your task remains to get to that ladder. When you do, you will see what adventure awaits you."

"But what about you?"

"I'll meet you at the ladder. The staff will stand you in good stead if you have the wit to use it, which I doubt, but just keep walking toward the ladder. Run if you can, but I know that without me to help you, you might even have to crawl! It really is a stupid child!"

"Look here!" Ellen was angry now. "I'm sure you've dragged me here much faster than I could walk, and for that I'm grateful, but I won't crawl unless I have no other choice."

"Go then. Waste no time! It may already be too late!"

"No!" Ellen straightened at hearing Evangeline's voice seemingly speaking aloud in that dry and desolate place. "It is never too late, my girl! Just keep moving!"

"I will, Mother," she said. "Somehow I will."

"Hearing things now, are we? They do say the desert drives people mad! You'll see me again, girl!" And with that, the crone vanished from her sight.

"I am naked and alone," she said. "Perhaps this is what it really means to be human. Very well, I'll go on and try to find that strange ladder, but I'll do it for my mother, not for that crazy crone. Surely she's one of the dark ones and this wasn't actually a test at all but a trap. Ever since I went into the hall of the Philosopher King I fear I've been going wrong. Still, all I can do is what I must do. So, here goes nothing!" And on she went.

Chapter Eleven: The Ascent and Afterward

The desert stretched before her, but as she walked on, leaning on the rough staff she had been given for support, Ellen had to admit that the crazy crone had at least brought her past the dunes. This, however, was small comfort as it turned out, because here, the horizon was unbroken by any difference of topography. All around her was a flat plain of sand as far as the eye could see, except that when she shaded her eyes and looked in front of her, she could still see the ladder. It still looked golden in the relentless light, and as she continued walking toward it, she suddenly remembered a dream she used to have when she was a child.

In the dream, she would be walking down a paved road, walking lightly and joyfully on a sunny day. She was joyful in the dream because she knew that there was a ladder at the end of the road that would take her to some magical place. However, when she finally reached it, she realized right away that it was unclimbable for some reason. Either it was too flimsy to climb, or it was too difficult. Would this ladder prove to be the same? Would it even lead her anywhere?

She walked and walked, the pain in her foot, which had been lessened by her bathing in the pool, now having returned. As she went, the wind kicked up little dust devils which stung her eyes and temporarily blinded her, so that she had to stop until she could see again. Still, ever and anon came the cry of an eagle far off, and that always gave her hope. There was something defiant in those cries, something indomitable.

"At least something can survive out here," she said aloud, her voice now sounding almost as harsh as the crone's had done. "But then, what is out here? If this is just a place drawn from my own mind, then what does it mean?"

She half expected an answer to come floating down to her in Evangeline's clear, calm voice, but of course, there was none, only the hiss of wind on sand and the feel of now-definite sun burn on her shoulders. The ladder still seemed no closer to her eyes, but she hoped that this was a mere trick of the desert light. She felt certain that she had been walking this way for hours, though time was really meaningless in a place like this.

"I've been through the desert on a horse with no name," she found herself singing at one point, and checked herself. "You will not go mad, Ellen Mitchell! You have to get to the ladder! You simply have to! Now shut up and keep going!" But then, all at once, she couldn't keep going.

She had begun to sink. The sand she had just stepped onto was loose, not hard-packed. This sand must have been left by a dust-devil which had filled some sort of crater, and now, here she was, feeling it give way under her feet with no way to pull herself out again. In desperation, she tried maneuvering the staff so it might reach the firmer sand to her right, but every move she made sent her further into the loose and shifting mass until she was buried up to her waist, the staff pinned with her and of no help. She then tried digging with her hands, but again sank further. Then, into her mind came her Evangeline dreams and she decided that to wait and be still was her only option. So, calming herself as best as she could, though this was a very hard thing to do, she stood there, hoping against hope for something to happen. Still, when something did happen, she scarcely dared believe it.

The sand was to her neck now, but all at once, her hand felt something solid in front of her. On further examination, she realized that it was the rung of a ladder, not flimsy at all, but solidly real. Grasping this golden thing with both hands, she suddenly realized that she would not be able to take the staff with her.

"I can't carry it and climb as well," she said, "so I guess I just have to leave it behind." Even without the encumbrance of the staff, getting herself onto the ladder was very treacherous going. She soon discovered that what she held in her hands was, in fact, the bottom-most rung, and though she could reach the next one, she had to stretch her arms high over her head.

"Surely I'll sink all the way if I do that," she said, "but if I do nothing, I'll sink anyway. So, here goes!" And keeping one hand on the bottom rung for support, she reached up with her other hand to grab the next one. Then, by dint of much clambering and many false starts, she finally managed to pull herself up far enough so that her feet were now on the bottom rung, and in what seemed like no time, she had climbed beyond the shifting sand and was on her way.

Her hands and feet bled, for they were cracked with the heat, but even this hard climb was better than being buried alive in sand. So, despite the pain and the peeling skin on her shoulders and back, she moved on steadily and slowly. The ladder was not hard to climb; the rungs were metal but they were not hot. They were not too widely spaced, but when she looked through the spaces, Ellen could see nothing to which it was attached. Still, it did not wobble or shake, and she came to trust it almost as a friend.

Her trust in herself, however, was another matter entirely. Once, out of sheer curiosity, she looked back over her shoulder. She could still see the desert, it was true, but it lay a long way below her, and it was then that, though the ladder held firm, she herself began to shake. She tried to look up to steady her nerves, hoping that by now, she might see the top of the ladder, but no. There was nothing but ladder as far as she could see, and all at once, what strength she still had left her and she could do nothing but cling for dear life where she was. Climbing down was impossible even if she had wanted to do so, and climbing up seemed now utterly futile. What was she to do?

Just then, she heard the cry of an eagle, this time much closer to her than before. She did not know what this portended, but as she could go no further, she simply waited to see what might happen. What did happen was that indeed, a great eagle came wheeling down from high overhead and, picking her up in its talons as though she were a spider crawling on a web, it carried her off.

"You are coming," said a well-loved voice as they flew, "to your final test, Daughter of Evangeline!"

"Gwydion?" Her parched lips could barely form the word, but she tried again. "Gwydion? Is that you?"

"I was permitted to aid you one last time, my friend," he said. "I am well again, but for you, the journey is not over. I fear that this last test will be bitterer than all that have come before."

"Whatever it is, I'll try my best," she said, or her mind said, as her voice had again failed her.

"That is all that we can ask of you," he said, and soon, she found that she was standing on her feet again on bare rock. In front of her, to the right and to the left, rose a wall of fire as though it were a huge fountain springing from some hidden depth of the earth. It was lurid and red, casting no smoky pall, and the heat was incredible. Its roar was deafening, but from beyond it came the voice of the crazy crone.

"So you're here, stupid girl! I see you lost my staff! How very foolish of you! And you couldn't even make it up the ladder yourself! No, don't look for your companion. He's gone! It's just you, me and the fire now!"

"What do I have to do?" Ellen found that she had just voice enough to speak, though she felt sure that the crone would not be able to hear her over the sound of the flames.

"You have to walk through the fire, girl! You have to let it burn you, body and soul, until there is nothing left! That is your final test!" And then she laughed; it was a laugh to chill the heart of anyone, for it had no joy in it.

"Did you think that all this testing was for your benefit? I've called you stupid before now, but if you did, then you are even more ridiculous than I thought! Still, you're here now, and you can do nothing else but let the fire take you." Indeed, Ellen knew this to be true, for when she looked behind her, she saw no ladder and no Gwydion, only a sheer cliff plunging away into the fathomless depths of sky and sun, the sand lying almost invisibly far below. Still, there was a moment when she considered casting herself down. Perhaps Gwydion would come to save her. Then, she looked at herself: calloused hands, sunburned skin, clothes torn to unrecognizable shreds, and she wondered just what was so special about this body anyway. What harm could a little fire do her now?

"Alright," she said. "I'll go in," and without another backward glance, she walked into the heat, feeling its searing kiss all over her body.

"Come on! Come on! Faster, stupid girl!" The crone was still chiding her as she went, but she didn't care. She was now at the very centre of the fire.

"You're only losing your mortality, girl!" The crone's voice again, she thought, but there was something else in it, something almost encouraging. "Do what you came here to do, Ellen Mitchell."

Now she was certain. Something really had changed. The coldness in the crone's voice was being replaced by a deep singing, a joy as clear as the clearest water she could imagine, and it went to her heart like dew. On she walked, not knowing even if there was any of her left to walk, but also, curiously, not caring. Something was waiting for her beyond the fire, and she had to find out what it was. Then, just when she thought she could bear it no more, the fire was gone, and before her stood not the harsh crone of the desert, but a woman of majesty and grandeur beyond telling, who took her withered hand in a hand both soft and strong and led her to a seat.

"Now," said the woman, her voice now definitely changed, "you must be clothed anew."

"Where is Evangeline?" Ellen found to her surprise that these words came out easily.

"You will be brought to her soon. You must bring her a gift from me."

"And who are you?"

"Surely you no better than to ask such questions by now, child," said the woman, "but if you must name me, I suppose Cerridwen would do. That is what your heart has already named me, I think." It was true. Ever since she had known that the crazy crone was really this being of light and splendour, Ellen had decided that the Welsh goddess Cerridwen was what she reminded her of most.

"It is a good name," said Cerridwen. "It is like music."

"But what must I do?"

"You must take the gift I give you to the one you call Evangeline. Then, she will regain her strength and you will be free, or almost free."

"I suppose you can't heal my heel?"

"Alas no. You must bear the wound a while longer, I think. Still, it is not a mortal wound, at least not yet."

"Then I suppose there's no time to waste," said Ellen, standing up. AS she did so, she took note of her surroundings. She was in a place of cool mists and refreshing grass. The seat on which she and the lady had sat was of stone, and the lady herself seemed to be clothed in light. As she moved, she was surprised to hear the chink of mail and to feel Excalibur at her side once more.

"My armour!"

"You have received it anew by my hand. Never abandon it again, Fisher of Shadows!"

"No, I won't. I promise."

"Good," said Cerridwen. "Take this chalice and fill it from the fountain you will find not far from here. Ellen took the chalice from the lady's hand and began to walk, following the noise of water that she could hear. Soon, she found herself at a round, green hill from which issued forth a spring. Stooping down, she filled the cup and brought it back to the lady.

"Now," said Cerridwen, "we must part."

"Should I tell her who gave her the gift?"

"She will know, child. She will know. You called me when you rang the bell in the wood. You helped me to find my lost one. You will know more of this in time, but do not fear. She will understand when she sees what you bring to her."

"Very well," said Ellen, and before she could even say goodbye, she found herself in the valley with the pavilion, Gwydion standing sentinel as a unicorn.

"Go in, Fisher of Shadows," he said. "The hour is desperate, but you come in time."

Chapter Twelve: The Cup of Cerridwen

The pavilion still stood, but now that Ellen could see it up close, she realized that it was not as it had been. Great holes seemed to have been torn (or chewed, she thought with a shudder) into its silken sides and its poles were bent and leaned at odd angles. Compared with the sight of it as she had seen it before her testing, it broke her heart. The curtain still hung in the doorway, however, and when she entered, she found her surroundings much as they had been on that long ago day.

"She has waited for you, my friend," came Tara's voice.

"I'm glad you've been with her," said Ellen, "but I fear the fight does not go well even now."

"She and others have done what they could, my girl," said Evangeline, her voice still calm despite the spasms of pain that came and went in her skeletal face, "but what is that you bear? Bring it nearer that I may see!"

"I will give it to you, Mother," said Ellen, and held the chalice--a thing of finely-wrought chaste silver--out for the woman in the bed to take, but Evangeline suddenly sat up straight and, pointing an emaciated finger at the beautiful thing, said:

"No! I dare not touch it till I have tasted of its contents. Hold it, dear one, while I drink!" Ellen did so, letting Evangeline taste, and as she did, a wonderful thing began to happen. A light began to glow from within the withered body before her, and then, almost without any time passing at all, Evangeline herself, now tall and queenly as she had looked in Uncle Arthur's painting, stood clothed in glory before her.

"Now," she said, holding out a shining hand, "I will take the cup, for it is you who must drink of it, my girl."

"But she never said--"

"This draught brings enlightenment as well as strength, child. I know that you must now partake."

"Alright," she said, letting the cup be taken from her and then allowing Evangeline to set it to her lips. As soon as she tasted it, she knew what Evangeline had meant. She knew that this was the last thing she needed, the final thing that would help her to shed her mortal guise once and for all.

"You must do it, child," said her mother, confirming her thought, "or we cannot turn back the dark ones." So, hardly knowing what she did, Ellen Mitchell placed the cup of Cerridwen on a low table, and then the Fisher of Shadows drew Excalibur from its sheath. As she did so, she felt Tara and Evangeline on either side of her, and Gwydion too, now existing as they all must really exist. There was no trace of the pavilion and no trace of the valley, and she, the Fisher of Shadows, did not miss them. All she knew was that the dark ones wished to attack her mother and that she could not let that happen again.

The sword flew and flashed as it had done during her fight with the serpent, but this time, she knew it for what it was; for though it was indeed a sword, it was also a thing of the light, even as the cup of Cerridwen was a thing of the light. Moreover, she knew that she was not its true wielder but that it was letting itself be used by her in this hour of need.

The dark ones gave as good as they got, but soon, something happened that neither they nor the Fisher of Shadows had expected. A voice rose over the din of war. It was Evangeline's voice, and as she heard it, she who had been no great singer as Ellen Mitchell felt herself joining in the song. Soon, Tara and Gwydion were singing as well, and nothing the dark could do could stop it. The rich tapestry of sound swelled to a crescendo, beauty and strength blended in equal measure, and then, all at once, she understood. She knew the words she was singing to be her people's words, and she knew at last what they meant. They were the true words, the words now only half-heard in huanity's deepest dreams. They were not words of hatred or of malice; they were words of life, and against them, the dark ones simply could not stand. At last, they seemed to realize that they would not win this day after all, and with a gust of cold wind and a scream of pain, the whole mass of them moved away and were gone. The song came to an end naturally, and she was surprised to find herself standing once again on her feet in a valley near a pavilion.

"Must I still see things this way?" she asked. "Will I never stop being Ellen Mitchell?"

"You need not see it this way if. you will not," said Evangeline. "You are truly one of us now. Yet, I think there is a reason that your human senses have reasserted themselves. You see, it is you now who are constructing your own surroundings. I fear that all is not well with our friends, Daughter."

"But I thought I was drawing the danger away from them when I came here."

"It was well done," said tara, "but the dark ones did not play by any rules of honour or fairness. They may seek to make you pay for the losses they have taken at your hands."

"It is as Tara says," said Evangeline softly. "We must go to them, you and I."

"How do we do it?"

"This you will learn in time as well, my girl, but now, take my hand." She did so, feeling strength and love come into her as she did, and without any intervening sensation or disorientation, they stood in the hallway of the 'Palace of Art', listening to the sound of a harp being softly and sadly played.

All at once, Ellen remembered her night in the hall of the Philosopher King. She knew now that when she had heard the far-away harp music as she lay sleeping, it was this melody she had heard. She stood there cursing herself for not being roused to action at that time, and though she knew that the contentment she had felt in that bed had been the work of the master of that strange hall, she wished she had not allowed herself to be taken so thoroughly off her guard.

"Come," said Evangeline., interrupting her mental self-fladulation, "I fear we may already be too late."

"Kate?" Ellen, now feeling herself every inch a mortal, ran to Uncle Wart's room. Still, when she got there, she knew she was seeing it with new eyes. Kate sat still, Ruby by her side, and as Ellen watched her friend fingering the strings of the harp that had once been Evangeline's, she knew that Kate was doing more than just playing. She was also praying. As for Uncle Arthur, he lay writhing in pain, sweat drenching his sheets and running in rivulets from his face, and chills racking his body from head to toe.

"What happened here, Kate?"

"He just came down like this. I woke up when I heard him screaming, but you weren't in your bed. Where have you been?"

"I'll explain that later," said Ellen, "but now, we have work to do. Don't we?" She turned to her mother with those words, but what she saw reflected in the green eyes so like her own was resignation.

"We can do nothing for him, child," said Evangeline. "He is a mortal, and past a certain point, we are not permitted to interfere with mortals."

"But he can't die," said Ellen. "He's surely in this state because of the dark ones.. That makes it our business. Doesn't it?"

"No," said Uncle Arthur. "Little Nell, it's not only because of them. I have Cancer. I wanted to tell you about it during your time here, but it seems there was not enough time. I think the dark ones have just hurried it along a little."

"But couldn't we give him something? Couldn't we give him something--from us--that would save him?" She hardly knew what she was asking, but somewhere inside her, she did know that something could be done, though it would cost her greatly.

"I don't want it, Little Nell, even if you can give it," said Uncle Arthur. "I've lived a good life. It has been long and full. I can ask nothing more."

"He has the right of it, child," said Evangeline sadly. "This is their gift. They are given death as an end to suffering and as a doorway to new life. Because of this gift, I know that they will be more than we have ever been one day."

"But what if he dies and they take him?" This was Kate, who had now stopped playing the harp and had moved to take Arthur's hand. "What if they can somehow get him before he dies?"

"If that's what they're trying to do," said Ellen," we can't let it happen!"

"I watched another whom I loved die at Badon Hill," said Evangeline. "He was your true father, Ellen. He made a good death without doubt, but I could do nothing to stop it."

"Well," said Ellen, plucking up her courage, "I can stop this one," and before anyone could prevent her, she was at Arthur's side and reaching past his mortal self to find his immortal soul.

"Do you want to live, Uncle Arthur?" She said these words directly into his mind, hardly knowing what she did or how she did it.

"I do," he said.

"Would you live even if you had to leave this world behind?"

"I would," he said, "if I could be with my Evangeline."

"Then I bid you fight! Fight, and let me help you to fight!"

"Do it, Uncle Wart! I think I see what she's planning!" It was Kate again, but surely she could not have heard her.

"I too understand you, Daughter, though it will be bitter for you I think. Come," Evangeline said now to the shivering man in the bed, "and I will do as I did for another Arthur, my love. You will not be alone."

"Very well," he said, and reaching out his clammy hand, he clasped Ellen's own with a tenacious grip even as it shook.

"But you are not my little Nell now," he said. "You are like living fire, like her! You've done it then! You've become who you were meant to be."

"Perhaps so and perhaps not," she said, "but I will help you to live," and at those words, she felt something vital pass between them and she saw a light dawn on his face.

"Now child, there is little time," said Evangeline, coming closer and taking Arthur's other hand. "We must be gone from here or he will not survive."

"I've decided," said Ellen, "to stay here. I have to rest a while anyway, as I gave him what Cerridwen's cup gave to me. I will stay here and spy on the dark ones that reside in this world, Mother. I think that I'm uniquely qualified for this job."

"So you're no longer a pawn," said Kate, "but neither are you a queen."

"I can go between the worlds, or at least can send messages to you, Mother."

"But you still have so much to learn and to get used to," said Evangeline. "This is a costly choice you have made. And what of your wound?"

"We will cross that bridge when we come to it," said Ellen. "For now, this is what I must do. Kate needs me, if nothing else, Mother. She heard me speaking to Uncle Arthur in his mind."

"I heard it as though you were speaking aloud! What does it mean?"

"It means that you're sensitive to all this," said Evangeline, "and I believe my daughter is right. You will need the help of our kind again, and it may be that we will need yours. Either way, if this is truly what you wish, Daughter, then it will be so."

"Goodbye, little Nell," said Arthur, and as he rose, Ellen could tell that he had gained new strength. "We will meet again, I'm sure."

"Goodbye, Uncle Wart," said Kate.

"Goodbye, Sister. Do me proud as you have always done, and see that you take care of our Nell. Will you?"

"I'll do my best," said Kate. Then, with nothing more said, Arthur Collins and his beloved Evangeline were gone, and the 'Palace of Art' was never the same again.

Chapter Thirteen: Flesh and Fire

Then came a strange time for the Fisher of Shadows; a time when she was in the world but not of it. Kate was inconsolable after Uncle Arthur's departure, and while part of her understood this, much of her was uncertain of how to comfort her. She found that she was able to hold a human shape, but whenever she tried to touch her friend or even to speak with her in the old way, Kate seemed unable to bear it for long and would retreat outside or into the bedroom.

"You're too much for me, El," she said once. "Your voice seems to shake me to the core and your hand burns me like the sun! I know you're trying, but I don't know if I can take much more of this."

"I don't think you know," said Ellen, trying to calm the vital force which now always lay behind her words, "how much your own sadness affects me. I feel I know more of you than I have ever known, Kate, and it cuts me to the heart." She was dismayed beyond telling when all that Kate could do in reply was clutch her head in her hands and cover her ears.

"I'm too weak to stay here, Ellen," she said. "I wish I could help you or stay longer to see you into your new life, but I just don't know if I can."

"I know," said Ellen, this time speaking into Kate's mind and hoping that would be marginally better for her. It was, and once Kate had called Jim Parker for a ride to the train station, things were more convivial.

Evangeline's daughter was surprised that Ruby seemed still to follow her around as before. She wondered if the dog had been somehow inured to beings like herself because of the incident at the arch. All she knew was that the dog's presence was reassuring as she tried to negotiate her new way of being in the mortal world.

"I think you'll be sad to see her go," said Kate as she finished her packing.

"I will," she replied silently. "I will, Kate, but I'll be sadder to see you go."

"I bet it'll get better, you know. It's still your own voice I hear when you speak into my mind, you know. It's still you and you're still you. You just have to get used to things I guess."

"But I hate that I can't just talk to you, Kate! I want to hug you and tell you goodbye like normal people do, and now I can't!"

"Perhaps you shouldn't have stayed here," said Kate, and she felt the woman's fear as she said this.

She thinks I'm going to be angry with her, she thought. She actually thinks I'm not who I was, even if she says that I am.

"I don't know," she spoke into her friend's mind. "The wound is still here. I can feel it, but I think I have to find a way to be useful to those here if the dark ones are trying to mess with this world. This is where I lived and this is what I know, or what I knew at least."

"You can't see Jim, Ellen," said Kate. "You just can't. I'm sure he'd notice something in your present state."

"You're right. When he comes, I'll make myself scarce. You can say I went out to do errands or something."

"Shall we have one last trip to Astolat for old time's sake?"

"If you can bear it," said Ellen, speaking aloud in her excitement.

"I can," said Kate through gritted teeth. "I will bear it, Ellen!"

So, leaving Ruby to await the expected Jim, the two friends went down to the lake and out to the boat. It had been three days since the return of the Fisher of Shadows and the departure of Uncle Arthur, and Jim was due to arrive late in the afternoon. They consequently had much of the morning and some of the afternoon before them, and though Ellen knew that she could simply carry Kate wherever they might want to go, she longed for the simple pull of the oars and the feel of the water beneath the boat. So, soon enough, the two sat together, Ellen trying very hard to be only Ellen now and rowing for all she was worth, and before long, they had arrived at their favourite island.

Kate had made some lunch, but her friend declined it, taking instead nourishment from her surroundings. It was only in her newly-awakened form that she could realize just how alive everything was and she revelled in it. Every time the wind blew through her hair, a thing which she could let herself feel in a human way if she really tried, she longed to abandon all thought of humanity and to fly invisibly on the wind. She knew that she could do this if she wished, but she held herself in check for Kate's benefit, and though she did not eat, they talked companionably, Ellen only thinking her words into Kate's mind.

"What do you think you'll do now?" Kate asked practically.

"I really don't know. I know that the dark ones are here though, and perhaps I will be able to discover something of their movements that will help Evangeline."

"But you can go and be with them--the undying ones--if you want, right?"

"Any time I wish," said Ellen with a smile. "I could go right now if I chose. It's not really a place, you see. It's a way of being. Anchoring myself here is difficult, but I think it's the only way I can repay my debt to my mother for all the hardships she's endured for me."

"Still," said Kate, "I suppose it will be lonely. Will you stay at the 'Palace of Art'?"

"I think I'll have to, yes. Though I can't really stay anywhere, not like before. It's very different, Kate. Sometimes, I feel I know much more than I did, and sometimes, I feel very unsure of myself."

"Well, you can always call me if you need me. Even if your summons turns me into cinders, I'll still come running!" Ellen reached out and just stopped herself from touching her friend, but she tried to touch her with her mind.

"I love you, Kate Matthews," she said.

"And I love you too, Ellen Mitchell! Now, let's get home!"

When they arrived, Ellen knew that Jim was already waiting, so leaving Kate to make her way alone from the dock, she faded into the background. She did this by standing next to a tree and simply melting into it, living its life for a while. Yet, even though much of her was bound up with the tree's slow song of summer growth, she knew when it was that Kate had piled into the car, Ruby in the back, and Jim climbing behind the wheel. He had actually told her that he would take her straight home to her convent if she liked, and she had taken him up on this suggestion gladly. She knew Jim had wished to see her, but she dared not show herself, so she felt with her tree senses until the last vibrations of the car's departure had faded and then she emerged, though not in her human shape. No, all of a sudden, she decided to do what she had dreamed of doing on the island, and simply letting go of all suggestion of physical form, she rode on the wings of the wind, her senses pulling her along in Kate's wake. She was not entirely sure why she did this, but it was a glorious feeling simply to float and to flow along the air currents. She was herself, unhampered by human concerns, and yet she knew that she was sticking to Kate for some reason. Even when she tried to leave her friend, something kept pulling her back to follow her.

"Be careful," she told herself. "Don't lose yourself in all this novelty! Something is making you follow Kate, so you'd better heed that something." Then, the day fell into night and a storm rose.

Chapter Fourteen: Partings and Pledges

This storm was glorious for the Fisher of Shadows, because it was simply and solely a storm. No dark power had conjured it, and it portended nothing, so she rode it as though it were a wild horse, spinning with the spinning of the currents and revelling in the joyously-booming thunder. Gone forever, she hoped, were the feelings of menace that storms on the lake used to conjure in her. Yet, no matter how lovely it was, she could not wholly surrender to it, because Kate was still on the road below her, and she needed to keep track of her, even as Ruby might follow a scent for miles if given the chance.

The storm was not a large one, but it was fierce, and before long, Jim had pulled the car into a late-night diner. As he did so, the Fisher of Shadows disengaged herself from the rain and wind and, though she had not yet assumed a physical shape, her presence now waited as Jim, Kate and Ruby got out and went into the little establishment. She remembered stopping here sometimes in her former life, and she knew it for a friendly place, filled with the smells of coffee and french fries and the welcoming sound of a jukebox playing in the corner. Stilling herself, she let the storm rage around her, deciding whether to follow Kate inside or to stay out here. Then, without warning, she knew that she had to get in. Somehow, she had to find Kate, because a quickening of her senses had told her that Kate was in trouble.

In she went, still in her non-shape, and she knew that no one would perceive her, except perhaps Ruby, but she would cross that bridge when she came to it. Hovering near the tables, she found Jim in a booth, but there was no sign of Kate. Still, she knew that her friend had not gone far, and remembering her former woman's shape and its sensations just enough, she thought that Kate must have gone to the ladies' room. So, turning her mind thither, she soon found herself inside, and there was Kate, being bent backward over a sink by a man who was twice her size and who only wanted one thing, it appeared.

"Stop it, you bastard," said Sister Katherine. "Fuck off!" The man said nothing, only moaning and hissing through his teeth as he tried and tried to force himself past the knee she had raised for her protection.

"No!" Ellen screamed inside, but at the same time, she felt utterly helpless. However, something had to be done and it had to be her who did it, because there was no one else here.

Suddenly, she had an idea. Turning toward the full-length mirror on the back of the door, she remembered looking at herself a million times throughout her years as a human. She thought of every contour of her body, those she had loved and those she had hated, and simply willed them into being. She thought of her red hair, her green eyes, the freckles about which she had been teased during her time at St. Sophia's, and she built her body around herself as she had not done before. As she had done with the tree when she was hiding from Jim, she used that body as a cloak, a suit of armour and a shield. Suddenly, she knew herself to be completely enfolded by the flesh of her former body in a way she had not achieved since assuming her true being, and now, at last, she could come to the aid of her friend in a more-or-less natural way.

"Knee him, Kate,' she yelled, and though she knew her friend to be shocked, she also knew that she understood her even through her fear.

"Fuck off!" Kate said again, and drawing back her knee, she shoved it right between her assailant's legs and it hit him right where it counted the most. He wasn't able to scream, but he moved away quickly, and though Ellen wanted to stop him, she wasn't fast enough. Her flesh felt heavy on her as she tried to run after him, but as he stumbled out the door, Jim Parker was there, and guessing what had been going on, he caught him by the scruff of the neck and marched him away.

"Ellen?" Kate was crying and splashing water onto her face. "How did you come here?"

"You wouldn't believe it if I told you," said Ellen, and she really did feel herself to be Ellen again. "Are you alright?"

"You're speaking out loud and it doesn't hurt!"

"I know," she said. "I've found my cloak at last, Kate. I don't know if I'll be able to shed it again very easily. It's the wound, you see. It took all my strength to do what I've just done, but I'm glad to have done it," and taking her friend into her arms, she hugged her as they used to hug in the old days. Even through the flesh that now enfolded her being, she knew that she could, if she were stronger, simply melt into Kate and become a part of her, but that was not what she wanted to do. She had wanted to come to her friend's aid and she had done it, and if that had cost her the glorious freedom of riding on the wind for a time, or even forever, it didn't matter.

"I'm alright," said Kate, when they had pulled themselves apart. "He never did anything."

"Jim's dealing with him, I think," said Ellen. "I really like him, you know."

"He is a great guy," said Kate, "but I guess you don't want to see him. Right?"

"Right," said Ellen. "I'll get out of your way."

"But how will you get home?"

"I don't think distance is really a thing for me anymore," said Ellen, "if I don't want it to be. I'll be alright." And all at once, she knew that she would be alright.

"Goodbye then, Miss Dashwood," said Kate.

"Goodbye, Miss Moreland," said Ellen, "till we meed again, of course."

"Of course," said Kate, and calling Ruby from where she had been resting, she walked out of the room to meet Jim.

Ellen stood a while in the parking-lot after Jim's car had pulled away. The storm had now spent itself and the stars were just visible beyond the sodium glare of the parking-lot lights. The gravel of the lot crunched under her feet and she loved the sound. The crickets sang in the long grass at the side of the road, and she listened to them as she breathed in the night air. While she knew that she could never experience all this completely as she had done before her change, she was happy that some of it was still hers, at least for a while.

Kate was returning to her old life, but she had to make a new one for herself. She had to build it sensation by sensation, even as she had built her former body from its remembered reflection. As she thought this, she suddenly thought of the 'Palace of Art', and as she brought it before her mind's eye, she was in it, standing in the middle of the parlour without any intervening movement or change in herself. In front of her hung the painting, that painting of Evangeline which had started everything.

"Well," she said to it, "I'm back."

"So you are," said a voice behind her, and turning, she saw her mother, clothed now in splendour and standing serenely. "Is it hard to bear, my child, the body you have built for yourself?"

"The wound pains me," she said, "and I don't think I have the strength to shed this shape now."

"No," said Evangeline, taking her hand, "but you can if you are aided, and we will aid you as we can while you stay in the mortal world."

"Thank you," said Ellen. "I will be glad of the company."

"Come then," said Evangeline, and taking her in her arms even as she herself had done some moments ago with Kate, she brought her daughter into communion with herself in the way that only the undying ones can, and in that embrace, for a timeless time, she was no longer Ellen Mitchell and no longer the Fisher of Shadows. She was only loved,, and in that love she floated, gratefully surrendering all fear and all regret, until again she stood alone with only the painting for company.

"Thank you," she said, the warmth of her mother's embrace still clinging to her human skin. "I can bear it better now." And turning to the window, she saw the dawn come steeling into the sky. A new day was beginning, and she resolved to meet it. With a sigh therefore, she went to the kitchen and, as she had done a million times before, Ellen Mitchell put on the kettle.

THE END