Lucy Milligan walked slowly, her feet dragging on the flag-stoned path to her favourite place, at least on this rainy Friday morning anyway. She had to teach a class of apathetic first-years about T.S. Elliott, and before this ordeal by fire she felt that she simply must have a coffee. The bells over the entrance tinkled as she walked into the brightly-lit (far too brightly-lit was her judgment at this moment) campus coffee house most absurdly called Beans 'n' Buns. That name always made her smile, and it was no less true today, even despite the bone-chilling April rain and the nerve-chilling prospect of her upcoming tutorial session.
"So, Lucy," said a cheery, lilting voice from behind the counter. "You here for your usual morning brew?"
"Thanks Sonya, yeah," said Lucy, turning to look at the waitress with a grateful smile.
"One Latte and a blueberry muffin coming up!"
Lucy went to her usual table set in a corner where she could read her books in peace and opened her lesson-binder. How were these first-years going to understand Elliott? She loved his work with a passion, but how was she going to be able to translate that love?
"April is the cruelest month," she said to herself, and suddenly Sonya was there placing a steaming cup in front of her.
"The Waste Land?"
"Yep," said Lucy. "The Waste Land. Likely one of the hardest things in English Literature, and I have to teach it to a bunch of first-years who would rather text their friends than pay attention in my tutorial class."
"Well, I'm sure you'll manage. You always seem to. Just be grateful you're not teaching them Joyce's Finnigan's Wake!" Then Lucy heard a wonderful thing; she heard Sonya laugh. It was the sort of laugh that you knew bubbled up right from her spirit. She laughed the way Lucy thought a flower might laugh when it received the sun and water which infused it with life. Ever since she had come to Buchanan College for her PH.D., Lucy had been coming to its campus coffee house, and every time she did, Sonya was there ready with a cheery word, a smile, and true kindness which seemed to shine out from her deep, hazel eyes. She knew nothing about the woman accept that she worked here, but somehow she had found herself over the past two years telling Sonya things about her own life that she would never think of telling just any waitress.
"Well," said Sonya with another refreshing laugh, "I'll leave you. But don't stay too long in rats' alley." The best thing about Sonya was that she could quote from any book or poem which Lucy mentioned to her. She always wondered why Sonya had not taken a professor's job with all that she knew. Why was she stuck being a waitress?
Lucy went back to her reading, making notes of things to remember to cover with her students. She wanted to get through the "Burial Of The Dead" section this morning if she could, but even this first part which was relatively short was crammed full of allusions’ to other literary and even operatic works, not to mention mystical belief-systems such as The Tarot and even famous renaissance art, that she just couldn't think of a way to engage the students. It was bad enough that their tour through this defining work of modernist poetry was to consist of this morning's tutorial class and an online lecture, but such was the way of things. Inevitably, the most difficult texts were left until the end of term when the students were simply marking time between the handing in of major papers and the beginning of the examination period. Perhaps she cared too much, but she did not want to be thought of as a failure. However, this term she thought that failing was inevitable; she had been saddled with a singularly disinterested group of students for whom this course was supposed to be their "bird" elective, and she wished that there could be even one student in her section that was even half as interested as she had been in all things literary during her first year as an undergraduate. Why, she could recall times when she forgot to eat supper because she had been engrossed in reading Chaucer, Spenser, or her all-time favourite and the subject of her PH.D. dissertation, Sir Thomas Mallory. For her, books were the way she made sense of the world. People often jokingly said that literature was her religion, but there were times when she actually felt this to be true; so perhaps her expectations of her students were a bit unrealistic. Still, she wished that even one might show a true interest in what she was trying to teach.
These gloomy ruminations were soon interrupted by the appearance of a tall, handsome man at her side. This was David Greenaway, her boyfriend and unofficial watch-dog. He always insisted on escorting her to every class, and he never failed to turn up here at Beans 'n' Buns on these early Friday mornings.
"Well Lu?" David always greeted her that way. He never said "hello" or "hi," and he was the only one who insisted on calling her "Lu" to her great consternation.
"Hello David," she said absently. "What brings you here?"
"You do," he said. "I cannot resist your enchanting ways!" So, Lucy thought, he's in a romantic mood today; we'll see how long that lasts.
"Let me walk you to your class," David said. Lucy knew what that meant. Her reading was over and she'd have to eat and drink up quickly or he would be angry. She didn't like David Greenaway when he was angry, and she had learned after almost two years of moments like this one not to cross him. So she put her things into her portfolio, downed her coffee and swallowed her muffin as quickly as she could, and they started to walk out.
"Lucy," said Sonya as they passed the counter. "That will be eight-fifty please."
"Here," said David, a steel glint coming into his blue eyes, and he threw a ten-dollar bill on the counter. "Keep the change. Honestly," he said, turning to Lucy. "Do I have to clean up your messes for you all the time?"
"I was going to pay," she said.
"You're so dreamy sometimes that I think you'd forget your head if it weren't attached. Now, come on!"
Suddenly, Lucy felt her hand seized in a strong but reassuring grip. "If you need to talk," said Sonya in an emphatic whisper, "I'm always here." Lucy felt the woman's strength, and nodded her thanks. Then she let David take her out into the rain again.
Sonya watched them go.
"Well, Sonya Parish," she said to herself. "You're meddling again, but if ever someone needed a friend right now, that young woman does. And," she said aloud to the empty room, "if that young man ever had an enemy, it's me."
Lucy's tutorial passed without incident, and that, she reflected later, was the literal truth. No one raised a hand, no one responded to any of her interactive questions, and no one even asked her about the final exam which was looming on the horizon. Instead, Lucy talked and wrote, drawing arrows between Elliott's lines and the titles of major literary works of the past, and showing how James Fraser's The Golden Bough figured into the structure of "The Waste Land" as a whole, and still they all sat, staring at their blinking smart-phones and laptops and refusing to participate in any way. At last, when the class was breaking up, Dr. Tegan Russell, the professor for whom Lucy was a teaching assistant, came in. Tegan, as she preferred to be called, was a soft-spoken woman in her early forties with raven-black hair, intense dark eyes, a lilting Welsh accent and a tremendous knowledge of literary history. She was uncompromising in her marking, but very helpful to those who asked it of her.
"Well," she said now, as Lucy was wiping the white-board clean of her spidery marker-scrawl, "how goes the battle?"
"I feel as though I'm talking to a bunch of brick walls," she said. "I remember in my first year of English how intrigued I was by Elliott and his use of the Fisher-King mythology. Sure, I didn't fully understand the poem, and I can't say that I do even now, but I wasn't totally disengaged. I even took the suggestions you gave in our last T.A. meeting and they just didn't work! I give up!"
"Look," said Tegan. "Come to my office and we'll have some tea. You're free now, I think?"
"Free?" said Lucy, a sardonic smile crossing her face, "Why I've got nothing but time, time in which I should be writing, but in which, alas, I am not."
"Well then, a good hot cup of Earl Grey is just what you need."
The two women walked across the quad, Lucy taking two strides for every one of Tegan's, and she wondered how a woman who was not much taller than herself could walk so quickly. However, she reflected that though Tegan Russell was soft-spoken, she was dignified and confident. Lucy, on the other hand, felt as though she needed to yell, to talk as much as she could so that people would take her seriously. This was probably due to the fact that she was the youngest of five siblings, and that her bookish tendencies had not been respected by anyone in her family besides her father. Once he had died, there had been no one to tell her how proud her achievements made them. So here she was, walking rapidly in Tegan's footsteps, seeking the approval she still desperately craved, and watching in awe as this woman moved through life at Buchanan College with all its competing professors and clamoring students without ever having to raise her voice above its habitual gentle tone.
Finally, after taking many twisting paths past decorative gardens wet with potential growth, and moving in and out of the shadow of carven stone archways slick with rain, Tegan's pace slackened as she came to the long flight of steps which approached the English building. As Lucy mounted behind her, once again the huge oak doors with their rich reliefs of fig-trees and grape-vines arrested her attention. She had attended other colleges, but none with such a sense of history and grandeur about it as this one. She had always liked this building, with its gothic archway and large wooden doors, and the two lions which stood proudly in the atrium. She had spent many years crammed into stuffy and non-descript buildings, resenting the fact that the updates and decorative touches seemed to be reserved for the more public and money-friendly disciplines such as Scientific Research and Business Administration. Here at last was a building worthy of the great works that were discussed and decoded within its oak-paneled recesses, and she loved everything about it, even the absence of an elevator. No matter how many stairs she had to climb, it seemed to her that an elevator would have marred the perfection of this truly awesome structure.
Traversing various richly-carpeted and darkly-paneled hallways, and climbing several flights of stairs crammed with students, they soon came to Tegan Russell's office, a very small room with just enough space for a shelf full of books, a desk, and two chairs. However, there was a decorative fountain in the shape of a dragon which spit water from its mouth on the desk, a replica of a Saxon broadsword on the back of the door, and the strains of soft music coming from Tegan's computer-speakers.
"What is that music?" Lucy was intrigued by the rich harmonies and the resonant bells which occasionally accompanied the acapella singing.
"Russian Orthodox liturgical chant," said Tegan, beckoning her to a seat. "I find it soothing." Then, producing the by-now familiar blue thermos and two China cups, she poured them both out some tea.
"Thermos-tea isn't the best," Tegan remarked apologetically, "but it'll work for the present. Now, tell me about your thesis troubles."
Tegan Russell was Lucy's primary faculty advisor, as her specialty was in Medieval Literature, and the King Arthur cycle in particular. "Let me guess," she said, before Lucy could collect her thoughts, "It's the lily-maid again."
"Well," said Lucy. "You have to admit that Elaine of Astolat is a problem. She just appears out of nowhere in Mallory and then just disappears as quickly as she came. How do I discuss her in relation to the cycle as a whole?"
"Can you not use her as a consequence of Lancelot's obsessive love for Guinevere?"
"I suppose," said Lucy, "but I think she deserves more than that somehow. Mallory went to the trouble to put her in after all."
"You speak of her as though she's a real person, Lucy. Remember, you're studying the structure of La Morte D'arthur in relation to other Arthurian cycles which came before. Right?"
"I suppose."
"Well, you're not likely going to be able to give every tale or every character an equal share of the book. Right? Don't forget that if you get too bogged down in the details, you'll go off on too many tangents and the thrust of your main contention could be lost."
"You're right," she said resignedly. "Lately, however, I find myself more interested in writing poetry than in writing this thesis. I think Elaine of Astolat is my excuse for stalling."
"Ah," said Tegan. "Poetry eh? Now you've caught my interest. What have you written?" Lucy took a blue spiral notebook from her bag and handed it across the desk. As the ripples of music rose and fell, she watched as Tegan flipped past the poems she had already read and found Lucy's latest efforts. She always felt a little invaded when others read her work, but it was different with Tegan. She had been showing these feeble jottings of hers to her professor for two years now, and she knew that this woman would criticize her work dispassionately, but also tell her if it touched her emotionally or simply lay flat on the page. For her, a poem was never truly finished until Tegan had seen it.
"Lucy," Tegan said, finally handing the notebook back, "these are not like the poems you've shown me before. They're very good as usual, but they disturb me. Why is the narrator feeling trapped? Why are there always dark tunnels with no light? What is pursuing the narrator? Your other poetry has been stark at times, but this seems to speak of desperation and fear. Now, you know that I have never been a proponent of directly self-reflexive readings of an author's work, but well, I just hope you're alright."
"Oh, I'm fine. I'm just experimenting," Lucy said evasively. "I'm just working with odd images which seem to come out of the blue sometimes."
"If that's true," said Tegan, "why do you look like I've just frightened you to death? You're white as a sheet!"
"Look, Dr. Russell," said Lucy, on her dignity, "you're just my thesis advisor and my boss. You don't need to be my confessor as well." She had no intention of discussing her personal life with this woman, however helpful she might be in literary matters, and she knew what Tegan was getting at. She knew of Lucy's relationship with David, and Lucy had sensed for a long time that she had wanted to mention him. She wasn't always able to hide the bruises, after all.
"I wasn't trying to be your confessor," said Tegan, seeming unperturbed. "I'm simply concerned for you."
"Well, I can take care of myself, thank you very much."
"Very well," said Tegan. "Let's make an appointment for our next thesis meeting." Lucy felt more comfortable about this subject of conversation.
"What about next Wednesday," she said, her colour returning, "at the usual time?"
"Right," said Tegan. "That'll work."
"Listen," said Lucy. "Thanks for the tea." She paused. "And the sympathy too. I'm sorry I was so angry."
"I understand, girl. Don't worry. It's a stressful time of year. It gets to us all."
"I'll see you Wednesday, I suppose."
"Don't forget about the faculty mixer tomorrow night! I need someone to talk to." Tegan smiled. "There are few enough around here with whom I can have lively discussions."
"Right," said Lucy. "I forgot about tomorrow. I suppose, however, that I should get going."
She drained the last of her tea at a gulp and went out. She was walking through the lion-flanked atrium when suddenly David was beside her.
"Well Lu, did you forget?"
"Forget what?" She hated when he was vague.
"We were going to meet after your class was over."
"Well, the prof wanted to talk with me and--" He silenced her with a tight grip on her wrist.
"You know that we always meet after your classes when you have free time. Now, come with me," he said and dragged her out the huge, oaken doors, down the long flight of steps and through clusters of students to his car. It was a little red car, some sporty Italian model, and he always drove too fast for his own or his passengers' good.
"Lu, I don't like being kept waiting," he said as he sped along the college's main road. "I can't stand not knowing where you are. You know I love you, right?"
"Yes," she said mechanically. She knew what was coming next.
"Good," he said, "then you'll know that I do this out of love," and while keeping the car straight as an arrow with one hand, he leveled an open-handed slap at her cheek with the other.
"Now," he said as the blow still stung. "How did we get this bruise?"
"A door," she said. "I ran into a door."
"Very good. You learn very quickly. Now, I have no time to spend with you. You've wasted it. Get out of my sight!"
He pulled the car over just long enough for her to get out, and as soon as the passenger-door was closed, he gunned the engine and sped away, leaving her uncertain of where to go or what to do.
The rain fell thick and fast as Lucy began to walk. She walked and walked along the familiar campus paths, sobbing heavily all the while. The blow to her cheek still smarted, and as she wandered aimlessly, she could feel it stiffening and swelling. True, this kind of thing had happened before, and always when she was in this state, she wondered why it was that she was still with David. After all, in the two years they had been with each other, his mood-swings and violent turns had frightened her more than once. However, she also knew another side to him: charming, debonaire, suave, and gallant, and it was this side which seemed to win out in her mind every time. Still, in all this time, she had never felt free enough with him to consummate their relationship. She had wondered more than once if the beatings would stop if she could just let herself trust him enough to give him what he wanted, but part of her was always hesitant, and she had managed to evade the issue for almost two years. Still, perhaps she was not being an adult about this. Perhaps he had a right to be angry with her. She just wasn't sure of anything anymore, and she hated feeling like this.
Suddenly, she looked up from her thoughts, and realized where she was. She was near Beans 'n' Buns, and she suddenly wanted a hot drink more than anything in the world. Seeing a nearby clock, she was surprised to find that she had been walking for almost three hours, and by now, her cheek hurt her terribly.
"Alright," she said out loud. "I'm cold and wet, and I can't stand to go home yet. So, java it is."
She opened the tinkling door to the shop, and soon the coffee-scented warmth enveloped her like a blanket. This time, she decided not to stop at the counter right away, but instead went to her usual corner table, sat down, and took out a book of Keats's poetry.
"Lucy?" Sonya's lilting voice was hard to resist, and the cinnamon-scented latte she had in her hand was even more compelling. "You, my dear, have been crying." Lucy saw real concern in Sonya's hazel eyes.
"Yeah," she said, still sobbing, but trying to seem engrossed in "The Eve of St. Agnes."
"You've also been hit, and hard!" Sonya gently removed the book from Lucy's hands and placed it on the table. "Let me see!"
"No, no," said Lucy quickly, trying to pull away. "I ran--"
"If you tell me that you ran into a door once more, I'll think you're trying to insult my intelligence. Now come on. I know what happened well enough. Wait here a second." She went to the kitchen and returned quickly with a towel filled with ice cubes.
"Just put this on your cheek. It'll lessen the bruising. Look, I'm going on my break in a few minutes. I'll come over and sit with you, shall I?"
"Sure. Fine." Lucy knew what was going to happen next. Everyone she knew gave her the "you've gotta leave him" speech. Even Sonya herself had done it several times. Still, they just didn't know David. They didn't understand him the way she did. Ah well... If it eased Sonya's conscience to talk to her now, she thought she could endure it. Placing the ice on her cheek, she tried to go back to her book, but the usual spell that this poem cast upon her seemed not to come this time. Instead of flowing with Keats's musical phrases, it danced before her eyes in fragments, and she finally put it down in frustration and turned her full attention to the latte that Sonya had left for her.
"There," said that woman as she took the seat across from Lucy some minutes later. "I'm glad to be off my feet for a little, and I'm glad you found your way here. Now, I know I've said this before, but I really do believe that you're in danger as long as you're with David Greenaway. He doesn't treat you with respect, and it seems to be his way or the highway. I've seen that too many times to ignore. Take what happened this morning, for instance!"
"What happened?"
"He fairly dragged you out of here, not to mention the way he paid for your purchase as though you had forgotten."
"I did forget. I really did. It's like he says. Some days, I would forget my head if it weren't attached."
"Forgive me," said Sonya, "but I call myself a pretty fair judge of character, and you are nothing if not conscientious."
"He's just impatient sometimes, I guess. I don't know why, but he just is." Suddenly, she heard herself speaking as though from outside her own head, and she let her voice trail off in total, abject shame.
"Oh God, Sonya! Oh God! What am I saying?" She began sobbing again, and Sonya reached out to where her trembling hand lay on the table and took it in her thin, strong one.
"Do you think you can go on this way? Child, you can't!"
"Child?" Lucy laughed through her tears. "You can't be much older than I am. Why call me child?"
"It's a manner of speaking. No offense intended. Please believe me that I want to help you."
"Then get those Tarot cards you read for people. Read my fortune. Just don't let it read 'death by water'."
"Very well, if you truly want to have a reading, I'll do it, but you really must forget everything that Elliott mentions about The Tarot in The Waste Land, you know. It is used for purely associative purposes." and Sonya withdrew from the pocket of her skirt a decorative drawstring bag and opened it, producing a pack of large cards. "You've never asked me to give you a reading before, Lucy. You've always scoffed when I've read for your friends."
Lucy had indeed scoffed at this trick of Sonya's, but her friends had all told her about "that funky waitress in Beans 'n' Buns who tells fortunes," and now, today of all days, she wanted the subject changed from David to anything else at all, so in desperation she made the suggestion.
"Well, maybe I'm not scoffing now," she said, eyeing the cards with feigned interest.
"Alright then. Lay your hands on the pack and ask a question."
"I want to know what will happen in my future," said Lucy, and watched as Sonya cut and shuffled the cards.
"Many people use the Tarot as a game," Sonya said slowly and solemnly, "but I do not. Though the cards are symbols only and do not of themselves tell fortunes, the reader and the questioner can often find meaning in what seems to be chaos. Alright. I am ready to lay the cards."
She turned up the top card and placed it upon the table. Lucy saw a lightning-struck tower with someone seemingly falling to his death out of one of the windows.
"This is the card that signifies the situation," said Sonya. "The tower. Change. Destruction of the past to make way for the future." She turned up another card and laid it crossways upon the first. Lucy saw an image of a skeletal figure carrying a bloody scythe and riding a pale horse. "Death" was written on the card, as well as the letters XIII.
"Death? And isn't that the number thirteen in Roman Numerals? What does the Death card mean?"
"Whenever this card comes up for people, they are troubled by it," said Sonya. "But don't be afraid. The Death card is not about death, but about what death represents to us. It is the last change, the last transformation. The Death card is about transformation, and laid here, it is another influence working in concert with or in opposition to the first." Above the crossed cards, Sonya laid the third card. "This is the crown, potential, the ideal of the situation." Lucy saw a triumphant horseman riding through a cheering crowd with a wreath upon his head and another upon the end of the wand he carried in his hand. "The six of wands," said Sonya. "This is about success and victory, as you can see." Sonya laid the rest of the cards one by one, calling out their names as she did so. Below the crossed cards came The Devil. The card to the left of the crossed cards was the King of Pentacles. The card to the right of the cross was the Queen of Cups. In a column laid to the right of the cross were: The Fool, The Wheel of Fortune, The Chariot, and the world at the very top.
"Here is what the cards are saying to me," said Sonya after contemplating the images before her. "You are approaching a time of change, a time of choice and a time of destiny. I think it involves David very prominently."
"What do you mean?"
"The King of Pentacles," said Sonya. "It may be about money, or craft, or worldly power, or about a person related to those things. David's an artist."
"Well, as it happens," said Lucy, "he is also from a rich family. But what about The Devil?"
"Bondage," said Sonya. "Bondage to the passions of one's soul, some sort of addictive behaviour. You know, there are a lot of trumps in this spread."
"Trumps?"
"There are twenty-two trumps, which collectively are called The Major Arcana," said Sonya. "When they appear in a spread, they usually denote major influences, over-arching ones upon the questioner, and you, my dear Lucy, have a lot of them here. I think you are approaching a very traumatic time filled with upheaval and change."
"I know what you're trying to say," said Lucy. "You're using these cards to tell me again that I should leave David."
"Am I? How?"
"The Devil and the King of Pentacles," said Lucy. "You made them mean that I'm addicted to David, or have been in the recent past."
"Did I? Is that what I said they meant? The biggest thing that the cards can do for us is to help us see our psyches spelled out in front of us. The images are archetypal, to be Jungian about it, and they act on us unconsciously. Go on. Tell me more of what you see, or what you think I'm making you see."
Lucy didn't know if Sonya was mocking her or not, but she decided to play along.
"Well, The Fool," she said. "He looks like someone courting disaster blindly. He's just dancing at the edge of a cliff! That's supposed to be me, supposed to be my refusal to see something right in front of me."
"As it is," said Sonya with a smile in her voice, "the card is placed in the "self" part of the spread, representing the emotions and feelings of the questioner. You didn't know that, did you?"
"No," said Lucy. "I actually didn't!" She was really becoming interested now despite her earlier skepticism. "What about the card above it?"
"This is the "house" card, the influences surrounding the questioner. The Wheel represents patterns, fate, destiny if you believe in such things. And above that, we have the questioner's hopes and/or fears, and that is The Chariot. Perhaps you seek forward movement but are afraid of the unknown. Note the sphynxes drawing the chariot."
"And The World? What is that?"
"It means integration, wholeness, completion. A more mystical reading of it would be that it means absolute perfection, the perfected spirit. Still, think of it as meaning resolution, perhaps even salvation of a sort. Look Lucy," she said as she gathered up the cards. "I can't make your choices for you, and I know you're tired of my sad refrain, but I have seen the way that he treats you and, quite frankly, it frightens me."
Lucy listened in silence to Sonya's musical, strangely-accented voice. When she spoke, she reminded Lucy of one of those forties movie stars like Bette Davis or Jone Crawford, but there was a strange note in her accent that she couldn't place; the timbre of the voice itself was rich and musical but with a crystal lightness that reminded her of the falling of water in Tegan Russell's decorative fountain.
"I'm not saying these things out of judgment or spite against David. Do you believe that, child?"
"Again with the "child" bit," said Lucy, but this time she was laughing. "I know what I have to do, but it's very hard!"
"Well, do it here if you like. At least in a public place he won't try anything much, and if he takes you off somewhere, I can get the authorities involved, or if need be come running after you both myself." Lucy smiled and spontaneously took Sonya's hand again.
"You're a very special person, Sonya Parish. Thanks a lot for putting up with me."
"It's the least I can do," said Sonya, "for a friend."
"Friend? Me? But I'm just a customer."
"I don't often lecture my customers. We're friends now, and that's not a term I take lightly."
"Alright then," said Lucy. "Friends it is. And now, I have to go and try to explain why I've missed my third curriculum committee meeting in a row."
"Very well," said Sonya. "Till we meet again!"
After doing some fast talking to her committee chair at the English building, Lucy finally felt free to go home to her little studio apartment. Still, something made her change her direction, and bending her steps away from the student district: a place of multi-level row-houses and converted Victorian-era buildings, she made her way into the richer part of town; soon, she found herself entering a cul-de-sac of swanky condominiums with well-manicured lawns and expensive cars in the parking areas, and stopping at David's door. She knew that knocking would be of no use since she could hear him using his electric grinders on the soap-stone which he often used for his sculptures. She knew that she had his permission to enter without knocking, so she did so, making as much noise as she could so she wouldn't frighten him.
"Well Lu?" He put down the grinding-tool and Lucy watched it swing on its flexible hose. "How was the rest of your day?" Lucy often marveled at the way in which he seemed to forget the anger of one moment as soon as the next moment came along.
"Well," she said, "it went alright I guess. Look David, can we go for a coffee later?"
"No," he said. "I've got lots of work to do. Still, we'll see each other tomorrow night at the faculty mixer." Lucy contemplated this. David was the nephew of Peter Buchanan, the head of the department and the patriarch of one of the oldest families in the township of Thornton. She knew that she would be David's conquest there, would be paraded as a trophy before his uncle, the Master of Buchanan Hall. As it was, Lucy knew that Dr. Buchanan did not like her very much, but she also knew that he regarded David's relationship with her as a good thing in a long line of disappointments, so she knew that if David did not show up at his uncle's party with her in tow, he would be taunted and teased, and he desperately needed his uncle's approval. Still, she had to act now, or she thought she never would.
"David," she said. "I have to talk to you."
"Very well," he said, removing his dusty leather apron. "Talk."
"David, we can't go on with this. I clearly make you angry far too often. Really, I think we should just call things off."
"You think? You think we should call things off? Since when are you the decision-maker in this relationship? Still, if you'll agree to go to the mixer with me tomorrow, I'll think about your request."
Lucy hated herself in that moment, but she was frightened to remain in his house and wanted to leave as quickly as possible.
"Alright," she said. "I'll go to the mixer with you."
"Good," he said, taking her in his arms and kissing her roughly on the mouth. "Good girl. Now, I must to my work again. Tomorrow's Saturday and we'll see each other at five, when I shall whisk you away to Buchanan Hall for wine, dinner and delightful conversation. And," he said, suddenly tightening his grip on her shoulders, "if you breathe a word of your wish to leave me to anyone there, I will make you wish you had never spoken!" Pushing her away, he sat down at his bench again, and Lucy, seeing her chance to depart, left him to his stone.
That Friday night passed as slowly as eternity, with Lucy sitting alone in her basement apartment and making cup after cup of tea while conspicuously not writing her thesis. Every time she sat down at her laptop and placed her hands upon the keys, she began to feel nervous and jittery. Of course, she knew that the gallons of tea she was drinking weren't helping her nerves, but she also knew that David was really scaring her now, and when she thought of him, she remembered The Devil card which Sonya had told her meant bondage. The idea of the devil had always frightened her, and even though she had learned that creatures like that had once been symbols of fertility and the life force, images of the cloven hooves and the goat-like horns, the tail and pitch-fork still conjured up deep fears in her mind.
The worst thing she had seen in the card were the two smaller devils chained to the pentagram at the large devil's feet. She fancied that they had once been free human beings, but that their bondage had destroyed them and turned them into mean, vindictive monsters. Was that really what was happening to her? Was she addicted to David? Something made her come back to him again and again despite the hurts and the bruises, and despite all the tears she shed. Still, what did that say about her? She remembered when she had first met him. Some classmates had dragged her to the local art gallery for the opening of a show featuring a "new and exciting" local artist. This had been about six months after her arrival at Buchanan College, and she had gone under protest, having a lot of last-minute cramming for her comprehensive examinations to do that evening. However, her classmates, a great bunch of girls who were always encouraging her to break out of her shell, kept raving about this young artist, and soon, she was intrigued enough to follow them whithersoever they went.
The gallery was a converted lumber mill. It was wide and airy, with polished wood floors throughout and interestingly-patterned woven rugs placed at intervals in the various halls. In the central room, a bar had been set up, and Lucy, still dwelling on Hardy's use of irony despite the lush surroundings, found herself drawn irresistibly toward it, and before she knew it, she was sipping chardonnay and munching on shrimp. Meanwhile, she finally began to notice the art around her, and was surprised by its ferocious beauty. Strange, angular shapes melted into flowing branch-like structures, and vaguely anthropomorphic creatures bristled with claws, teeth and protruding, dinosaurian spikes. The sculptures did not look so much constructed as grown, naturally grown and shaped by the elements. And, standing next to what was clearly the centre-piece of the show, a winged creature which had the head of a snake and the body of a horse, was a man who also seemed to have been shaped by ancient forces. Lucy caught his eye without really meaning to, and before long, David Greenaway was standing next to her: tall, blonde, statuesque, and ruggedly handsome in his goatee.
"These events are tiresome, aren't they?" He had managed to disengage himself from the centre of a knot of chattering, birdlike women, and now that she was able to look more closely at him, she realized that he was not much older than herself, a young man in his twenties.
"I don't know," she found herself saying stupidly. "I haven't been to anything like this before."
"In the room the women come and go, talking of Michelangelo." Lucy was hopeless for a man who could quote from great works of literature.
"You know Elliott? I--I'm an English student." Again, she wished to crawl into the nearest convenient hole. He was so witty and urbane, and she? She sounded like she had just fallen off the turnip truck.
"Well," said David, "let us go then, you and I," and Lucy suddenly began to giggle. Who in the world would consider "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" to be a pickup line?
"But it's not over yet," she said.
"What does that matter? I've made my appearance. Come. Say goodbye to your friends and we'll measure out our lives with coffee spoons." As lucy recalled it now, she had felt as though this strange, intense man was looking right into her soul, and she had gone with him, to Beans 'n' Buns as a matter of fact, and they had sat until the place had closed, talking about anything and everything, and then, he had driven her home.
So their time together had begun, but Lucy had learned very quickly that David was a man of changeable moods, and it seemed that the more she tried to anticipate him, the more she would anger him. He had seemed to be a man of culture and sophistication, and it was this which kept her coming back, but as Friday night became Saturday, and as she used her last tea bag, she knew at last and truly that he would never change, that she could not make him change. She had to try to free herself of him, or of whatever her position as his girlfriend seemed to give her, and to find a new identity for herself without him. Still, would he let her go without a fight? She supposed that she would find that out after tomorrow night's festivities.
Now, she finally felt able to sleep, so she went to her small mirror and began brushing her hair. Before bed, she always used a hundred strokes on her mouse-brown hair, having begun the habit as a teenager. She hoped that the constant carding and combing would transform her thin, lank locks into full-bodied, rich-hued tresses. Still, for as long as she could remember, it had lain flat, straight as a pin, and had done nothing for her equally-flat face or her dull, brown eyes. She had experimented with different hair-styles, and every kind of makeup she could think of, and now, all she used her makeup for was to hide the marks that David's abuse sometimes left upon her skin. She had always fancied herself to look weak, and now, examining the shiner that David's latest lesson had given her, she realized that she was as weak as she looked, and she knew that this must change before it was too late, before she gave up completely.
Five o'clock came on Saturday afternoon, and David, always punctual to a fault, knocked on Lucy's door and decorously presented her with a corsage for the occasion. Slipping it lightly upon her wrist, he took her hand and almost waltzed her up the basement stairs of the house in which her small apartment lay, and led her to his car.
"Your chariot awaits," he said, as he held the door for her. She thought briefly of the Chariot card in Sonya Parish's tarot deck, and contemplated what was going to happen after the party. Would David let her go? She wished the night was over, but she knew that it would be an eternity of keeping up appearances and hiding the revulsion she now felt for this man who was now treating her like a princess.
David drove out of Thornton and along many winding roads, and as the car meandered its way through the countryside dotted with newly-budded trees and fields which lay ready for spring planting, she remembered other drives they had taken into the country: long afternoons spent lying together under the shade of willow trees which grew by the banks of the Hollythorn River. They had talked about so much and at those times, he had seemed so far above her that she felt certain that he would be a truly great man one day.
It had been David who had introduced her to the writings of H. P. Lovecraft. She had asked him one day what inspired his work, and he had lent her a volume of Lovecraft's best stories. She, who had always dismissed the horror genre as inferior and not worth her time, had spent days and nights utterly engrossed in the tales of legend-haunted Arkham, and by the time she had finished the book, she felt that she understood David a lot more. As he had proven at the gallery, Lovecraft was not the only author with which he was familiar, and the depth of his knowledge about art history had always impressed her.
But beyond all this was his attentiveness to her at these times. It had only taken him a few weeks to learn her list of likes and dislikes, and he had always been careful to respect them. Although it seemed silly to her now, this had been a major point in his favour during the entire duration of their relationship. It was difficult to believe that all the beauty and the romance had degenerated into his idea of her as some sort of possession, and what was worse, her willingness to be treated that way. Now, at last, she would be striking out on her own, and though the prospect of being a social zero without a boyfriend again frightened her, she knew that however special some of her life with David had been, it had only been a facade for the abuse.
So she sat in silence in the passenger seat of his fancy car, trying not to look at him and noticing instead the fields lying golden in the afternoon light, until a large pair of wrought-iron gates could be seen in the distance. He pulled up to them and got out, pressing a button on the stone wall beside them and announcing their names to the disembodied voice of Maxwell, Professor Buchanan's butler. He, in turn, promptly pressed a button on his end which caused the gates to swing open, and David drove the car through. Well-kept lawns and gardens greeted Lucy as David drove up the long sweep of the main drive, and soon the house proper came into view with its deeply-mullioned windows and its cornices and battlements. Sir Thomas Buchanan, the man who had built this estate in the early seventeen-hundreds, had been interested in making it look as much like the castle he had left in Scotland as possible, and very few updating touches had been given to the outside since that time. Of course, indoors, there was every modern convenience that money could buy. However, if you looked at the house from the outside, you would expect to meet cold, drafty halls, flickering torches, and perhaps even a ghost rattling its chains in greeting.
David pulled the car into line with several others along the drive, and the two of them got out. Maxwell was waiting in his livery, and he efficiently conducted them into the entrance-hall and took their coats. Then he pointed the way to the drawing-room, where Lucy could hear the soft strains of Chopin wafting from the Steinway Grand which sat enthroned as centre-piece. Lucy knew who was playing; along with being an English professor, Peter Buchanan was an accomplished musician. He was the epitome of grace and dignity, and he often entertained his guests with his pianistic virtuosity.
"Well Lucy! Hello there! You decided to come after all!" Tegan Russell rose from the divan on which she had been reclining and came forward. "And Mr. Greenaway. It's pleasant to see you again."
"Dr. Russell," said David. "Charmed, I'm sure," and he deftly took her hand and planted a kiss upon the ruby ring she wore. "Ah," said Tegan. "It looks like your uncle has finished his performance." Lucy watched as a tall man with black hair came towards them carrying his familiar silver-topped walking stick. He seemed never to be without it. Lucy had seen him time and again stocking solitarily and silently across the campus with this stick, looking as though he were the master of the universe. His cheek-bones were high and pronounced, and his nose was hawkish, and Lucy had always been intimidated by him, ever since the first day she had sat in his office to discuss her thesis options.
"Every thesis must be approved by me, Miss Milligan," he had said, and she knew from his tone that he was not the sort of department chair who used a rubber stamp. He would scrutinize her work closely, she had thought at the time, and indeed, this had been the case. It had taken many drafts for him to accept the proposal, and now, she did her best to avoid him whenever possible.
"Good evening, miss Milligan," Peter Buchanan said now, as he sauntered over. "I see my nephew has not declined to grace us with your presence. Please help yourself to a drink and some Hors-d'oeuvres. Come, David," and Lucy watched her strong, handsome boyfriend follow this man as though he were an obedient puppy.
After a moment standing awkwardly on her own, she went to the bar and ordered a chardonnay, and then went to join Tegan where she had moved to sit in a recessed window-seat.
"It's a beautiful evening," Tegan said, looking out the window at the falling sun. "I believe we will be dining al fresco tonight."
"Well, there's always a good spread at these shindigs," said Lucy absently. Her eyes were drawn again and again to where David stood with his uncle, seeming deep in conversation in a far corner of the room.
"You wondering what they're whispering about?"
"What? Oh. No. It's just that, well, Dr. Buchanan is sort of mesmerizing. I never realized that David had that same quality."
"Well, they are relations, after all."
"It's funny, you know," said Lucy. "I never realized the resemblance between them so strongly as I do now."
"But they really look nothing alike!"
"Not their features," said Lucy, "but the way they stand, the way they move, that quality they seem to have of hypnotizing anyone who is near them. They both have the most intense eyes, don't they?"
"Well, Peter himself is enough to intimidate," said Tegan. "Are you saying that David intimidates you?"
"No," said Lucy quickly: too quickly she realized. "No, not at all. He's just intense. That's all."
"Well, surely there are other things to talk about besides Peter and David. Leave them to their business and let's talk about something more interesting."
While Lucy and Tegan talked animatedly and other guests arrived, the wine continued to flow, and soon Peter Buchanan opened the French doors of the drawing-room and led his visitors onto a terrace which was laid out as elegantly as any dining-room could be. David came and escorted Lucy to a seat, and the dinner began with antipasto and salad, and proceeded through several courses. For dessert, there was a lovely Tiramisu which was one of Lucy's favourites, and she ate it with a relish. David seemed to pay no attention to her during the dinner, but instead joined a lively conversation about politics and economics with the men. Lucy discussed Spenser and Yeats's animosity toward his writings, and she and a small, grey-haired woman in horn-rimmed glasses, Dr. Tomkins, had a very spirited debate as to whether Spenser really was a poet or merely a sell-out and sycophant of the virgin queen. To Dr. Tomkins, Spenser was nothing more than a flatterer with no poetic gifts whatsoever, and did not deserve to sleep next to Chaucer at Westminster. Lucy, who had studied both in great detail, spiritedly disagreed, but the debate was all in fun. She and Dr. Tomkins often had such debates when she had taken her Erly Modern Literature seminar course.
Finally, the coffee was served, and though there had already been numerous toasts made during the evening, Peter Buchanan decided that he must make a speech. He did this every year at the end-of-the-year mixer, and every year, his speech was the same. Lucy paid little attention to it and instead, sipped her espresso gratefully, glad for once that David was not criticizing her for anything. As Peter continued to discuss the challenges and changes which the department had faced over the past year and was going to face in the next, Lucy felt herself growing light-headed, and tried to count the glasses of wine she had drunk. Try as she would, she could only remember three, and she knew that this would not normally affect her, but she also reflected that her sleep had been fitful last night, so perhaps she was just tired. Still, she was on the verge of asking David to take her home, no matter what scene it might cause, when a round of applause told her that Peter's speech was finished.
After Peter had resumed his seat, the guests dispersed into little knots, some retreating into the drawing-room and some moving off through the gardens. She and David still sat at the small, round table where they had eaten dinner, and Lucy noticed the rise of a large, round moon in the sky.
"Admiring the moon, dearest?" She hated when David used such romantic terminology. It always seemed false to her.
"It does look beautiful," she said however, overcome by the brilliance of the risen orb, and noticing vaguely that she was slurring her words.
"Let's go somewhere alone, love. We really must talk."
Lucy was uncertain, but David was being very kind, and perhaps, she thought, he was actually making an effort. So she let him lead her away from the terrace and across the gardens to a gazebo which stood on a little hill. The two entered beneath the roof and sat on a bench, and David took her hand in his, seeming to stare at it intently.
"David? What's the matter?"
"I keep thinking about your revelation of last night, Lu. I've decided that I can't bear to lose you. I just can't. Come. Kiss me." He drew her to him, and began to kiss her, but something made her draw away.
"What? Reluctant tonight? Come. Don't be afraid of me." He took her more tightly into his embrace, and suddenly, he laid her on the bench as though she were a rag doll.
"David? What are you going to--" Her question was stopped by his hand being clamped upon her mouth, and soon he pulled her dress up and began to undo his own pants.
"There's no point in screaming, Lu," he whispered savagely. "No one can hear you here anyway."
Lucy found herself growing weak all of a sudden. Her head swam worse than before, and her mind was fogged by some strange feeling of indifference.
"There," said David. "The drug is finally working."
"Drug?" Lucy slurred the word through thickened lips. "The coffee. You poured it. I remember now."
"Yes," said David, "and now at last I'll be able to have what I'm entitled to. I've waited for you for almost two years after all, and that, my dear, was long enough."
"No," she said, but the word stuck in her throat, and she fell limp, and felt from far away the pressure of him on her and in her, doing what he wanted to do with her at last, and instead of being romantic, she found it bestial and horrible. Yet, there was a part of her mind which seemed to float above her body, watching David thrusting and thrusting himself into her, and it seemed to mock her, calling her a weakling, a child, and urging her to "do it! Do it!" Do what? What could she do? Strangely, she thought that her mind spoke in Peter Buchanan's honeyed, purring tones. Why was that? Still, she decided to ignore what she heard and tried to fight against David, but she was unable to make her limbs respond to her will.
Then even as she wanted to fight, she seemed to fall into some strange half-conscious dream-state. Suddenly, David wasn't David anymore, but some sort of wolf. She thought he was biting her and licking the blood away from her left arm. Then somehow she felt him turn her over, and she felt claws raking her back violently until the blood flowed there as well. Again the wolf's tongue licked the blood, and yet somehow she knew that it was David licking the blood. She was utterly bewildered until she heard snarls and growls, and another larger wolf appeared to fend off this one. It didn't pay attention to her, however, but left her, melting into the night from whence it had come, and she thought that she saw the David wolf following after it, this time the very image of a whipped dog.
"Wake up, Lucy. Wake, please!" Lucy heard the voice of Tegan and felt a sharp pinch on her arm, and as she moved her head, she felt the pain in her back and realized that what she thought had been a dream had actually been real.
"What happened?" Tegan looked deeply into her eyes and Lucy knew that she saw fear there. "How did you get those--teeth marks!" Tegan's last word was almost a scream. "No. No. It can't be!" Lucy thought she was having hysterics. "Look. Can you stand up? I know it'll hurt, but can you?"
Lucy didn't respond in words, but she did stand up, leaning on Tegan for support. The drug must have worn off somewhat, for she was able to make her legs obey her even though they shook.
"We need bandages. I have a first-aid kit in my car. Just walk with me, and we'll get out of this."
"He's a wolf. A wolf! I--I--" Lucy felt faint but it passed off, and Tegan took her unhurt arm, fixed her dress as best she could, and led her across the lawns to her little car. There, she found some gauze and some tape, and bandaged Lucy's arm and the wounds on her back, first rubbing them with disinfectant which hurt terribly.
"Now, we're leaving. Forget David. Forget everything. There's someone we have to see."
Lucy fell in and out of consciousness and did not recall the drive from Buchanan Hall, but at one point she was ushered into a dark building and up a steep set of stairs. She then heard Tegan knock loudly upon a door and a voice call: "Come in," and she saw a hand holding the door open and Sonya Parish standing there looking very serious. Despite her disorientation Lucy stared at Sonya with wide eyes, and though she felt weak and light-headed she noticed that for once Sonya's hair was not put up under the usual hairnet that she wore as a waitress. Instead, the red-gold locks streamed loose, imparting a strange, unearthly look to her pale face and captivating, hazel eyes.
"Why are you here, Tegan? And why is she here? You and I are not to associate where witnesses can see," Sonya said quickly and in slightly harsh tones.
"I know, Miss Parish. I know, but you must see what has happened to her. I didn't know what to do."
"Why am I here? How do you know each other?"
"No questions now, Lucy," said Sonya, an almost stern note coming into her voice. "Take her to the couch, Tegan. I see you've bandaged her wounds. I'm sorry, Lucy, but I must inspect them."
Lucy couldn't believe this. Shouldn't she be in a hospital? Why were these two women talking like this? How did they know each other? Tegan led her into the living-room and laid her face-down on the couch, and then Sonya came over and gently removed the bandages from her arm and her back. Lucy felt her fingers in the wounds, and there was something soothing in her touch which she could not quantify. Suddenly, a charge seemed to come from Sonya's hands, and she felt the wounds knitting together. She was frightened, but she heard Sonya's voice speaking to her softly and confidently.
"Lie still, child. You should sleep for a while, and then we three must talk."
Lucy lay quietly and drifted in and out of consciousness, her fragmented dreams punctuated with the soft conversation of her two rescuers.
"It has been a long time, Daughter. I hope you are well."
"I'm not here as your daughter, Sonya. I just couldn't think of anyone who could help Lucy."
"As you say. Still, I am glad to see you again."
"I'll stay as long as I can be of help to Lucy, but I plan to take her out of here as soon as I can. She should be in a hospital."
"Don't you know by now that this was no mere physical attack? Doctors may be of no help to her."
"If she dies because of this, I'll blame you, Sonya!"
"You must do as you see fit, of course. Now please sit down and I'll make some tea. We must watch how she sleeps."
After this, true sleep finally claimed Lucy for its own and she welcomed it with no resistance.
When she woke the moon had sunk, and Sonya presented her with a hot cup of tea.
"Now," she said sitting beside Lucy on the couch. "You must tell us what happened." Lucy saw Tegan sitting in a chair across the room and seeming very frightened.
"It was David," she found herself saying almost despite her wish to forget all about the strangeness of that night. "He raped me and drugged me, and then, well, I had this weird dream, or I thought it was a dream. Suddenly, David was a wolf, or seemed to be, and I felt him bite me and lick the blood, and then somehow he turned me over and clawed my back."
"He meant to kill, child," Said Sonya. "It was indeed your David who was the wolf. Tell her, Tegan!"
"It's true," said Tegan with downcast eyes. "He's more than he seems, and so am I, and so is Sonya."
"And so, I'm afraid, is Professor Peter Buchanan," Sonya put in ominously.
"Okay," said Lucy. "Suppose we all stop talking in riddles and get down to facts? I'm tired and I think I have a fever coming on, and I've just been healed of my wounds by the touch of a woman I knew till now as merely a waitress in a coffee house. I want to know why I'm not at the hospital now!"
"This isn't easy to explain," said Tegan slowly, glancing at Sonya for some support. Sonya meanwhile had taken Lucy's wrist in order to feel her pulse, but then kept hold of it while Tegan spoke.
"You have heard of werewolves, I think," Tegan began.
"Of course. Everyone's heard of werewolves, but only in stories," said Lucy.
"Well then, you know that werewolves are controlled by the cycles of the moon, and that when the moon reaches its full they transform from men into their wolf's shape."
"Again, yes," said Lucy, "but you keep talking as though all this was real!"
"Please," said Sonya quietly. "Don't interrupt."
"Well, though I didn't know it till tonight," Tegan continued, "I now know that David Greenaway is a werewolf, and he may be something more, though I'm not certain of that."
"Something more? What do you mean? I'm sorry I'm interrupting," Lucy hastened to add, "but I still don't know what you're talking about."
"Well, first of all," said Tegan, "the legends are true. There are werewolves who are controlled by the moon's cycles, but there are others as well, others who have moved beyond this half-instinctual state. They are called shadow-walkers, or that is what they call themselves."
"It is, in fact, what we call ourselves," said Sonya, "for Tegan and I are both members of this kindred. Now please, tell us more of your ordeal, Lucy."
"Well," she said, hardly daring to look at either of the women after this strange revelation, "I remember another wolf, a bigger wolf coming and fighting David off. I remember seeing the big wolf leaving and David following after it. Was that, could that have been Peter?"
"Yes," said Sonya. "Peter Buchanan is a very powerful shadow-walker, though not in a good way. David, I suspect, is not a full shadow-walker, but rather a common werewolf, obedient to his uncle through a hypnotic power that Peter holds over him. I furthermore suspect that David was killing you without Peter's permission, and that was why he stopped him. Make no mistake, Lucy. Peter has no concern for you in the least, and now that we know the truth about David, it is best that you end things with him."
"So is that why he's so angry all the time? Because he's a werewolf?"
"Alas," said Sonya, stroking Lucy's hand again, "no. His attitude is all too human. The fact that he's a werewolf has little or nothing to do with it. Now, did you say you felt feverish? Let me see." She laid a hand on Lucy's forehead and frowned. "I don't like this fever. We shall have to watch it closely. You may stay here with me today. The coffee house doesn't open on Sundays, and I think you need monitoring."
"But Sonya," Tegan said. "Surely now we could take her to a hospital. The wounds might have caused an infection."
"No," said Sonya. "I told you before. This is not from the wounds, or not only from them. Tonight will again be a full moon, and then we shall see what will happen."
"Do you mean that, oh God! He bit me!" Lucy felt the colour draining from her face. "He bit me! No! He bit me!"
"We will know more tonight, child. You really ought to sleep. I'll get you some aspirin to try to bring down the fever. It may be nothing at all to worry about. Tegan, I'm glad you brought her here. Please don't feel guilty. Peter Buchanan has many powers, not the least of which is to fog the mind of young or inexperienced shadow-walkers who set foot on his estate. Please go now. I will keep Lucy safe and tell her more about what she needs to know, if, that is, she needs to know it at all."
"She shouldn't be drawn into this! It isn't fair!"
"Indeed not," said Sonya, "but so our paths are laid sometimes. Now, leave her to me, daughter."
Lucy heard the last few words through a haze of oncoming sleep, and before she knew it, she had fallen back upon the couch, and had drifted gratefully away.
The moon was riding the sky outside Sonya Parish's living-room window when Lucy finally awoke properly and came to herself. Her day had been filled with a fitful sleep, in which strange phantoms seemed to come and go before her eyes. However, what finally brought her out of it was the sound of Sonya's clear, musical voice singing some long-forgotten ballad about a Gypsey-rover.
"Well?" Sonya's song had ceased when she had noticed Lucy sitting up. "How are we feeling now?"
"I don't know," said Lucy. "I don't feel right. The fever's still here I think, but it feels, well, like a fever of the soul or something. I don't know what I mean."
"Ah, friend Lucy. Can you describe it?" said Sonya. "It is a fever of the soul of sorts. Tell me, do you feel wild, or only weak?" Lucy pondered. There was something wild in her, but it seemed drowned in fatigue and despondency.
"I feel lost," she said after a moment. "I feel utterly lost and alone, even though I know you're here."
"I feared this," said Sonya. "Lucy, I'm going to tell you something that is very difficult for me to say, and will be even more difficult for you to hear. If David had only bitten you, you stood a fifty-fifty chance of becoming a werewolf like him. His bite was not deep, though it did draw blood. However, because he clawed you the way he did, he had changed his mind and had decided to kill you. When Peter stopped him, he left you in a strange state between being turned and being killed. We call this shadow-fever. There wasn't enough intent in his bite to turn you, but there was intent in his clawing you to kill, though he was interrupted. I can heal you, Lucy, but it will mean choosing one of the two paths now coursing through you. I can, if you wish, strengthen David's intent to kill you, though it is against my own better judgement to do this. Yet, if it is your will now to die, I will grant it to you, though it be at great cost."
"But," Lucy said, "I don't want to die! I mean, this thing inside of me wants me to think that I want to die, but I really don't, or I think I don't."
"The other choice, then, since I cannot reverse what has happened, is to turn you fully, to join you to me in the shadow-bond. Tonight will be the last night of full moon for another month, and it is only at the full moon that I will be able to do this. The trouble is that I do not think that you could survive for a month, but that, I suppose, is the third choice. I could leave you like this and let the shadow-fever take its own course, but I believe that you would die in insane agony, and that I could not bear to see, though I would be with you to the end if you asked."
"But all this talk means nothing," said Lucy, trying to rise from the couch, "unless you prove it to me. Change! I want to see you change."
"Very well," said Sonya, and with no further word spoken, a sleek, white wolf stood in front of Lucy, piercing her with its green gaze. Into her mind came Sonya's familiar voice speaking words of reassurance, and then suddenly Sonya stood before her again, seeming to be just as much herself as she had always been.
"Alright. I believe you, but I want to know more," said Lucy. "I can't choose without more information."
"If you let the night pass without choosing, you will surely die. I know that this is an impossible choice, child, but I must have your answer."
"Tell me one thing first," said Lucy. "Why do you insist upon calling me a child?"
"Because," said Sonya, "I am much older than you are, though I don't look it."
"Are shadow-walkers immortal?"
"Generally not," said Sonya, but there are some among us who, for some reason unknown to any of us, live longer than a normal human does. Most grow old at a predictable rate, and though the shadow-life in them keeps them strong, it cannot fight off death. Yet I have lived in many places, and seen many lives of men and women come and go. When I was turned, this town of Thornton was nothing but wild woods, and Buchanan Hall had not yet had its first corner-stone laid."
"What about Tegan? Is she like you? Why did you call her daughter?"
"Quite simply," said Sonya, "because I was the one who turned her. It was ten years ago, and she had come to the coffee house crying. I had asked her what the matter was, and she told me she had been diagnosed with inoperable Cancer."
"You cured her Cancer?"
"I slowed it. It may one day claim her, but for now, she is a shadow-walker, though she has been unwilling to delve deeply into the mysteries of our folk."
"If you turn me, will you have to bite me?"
"No, child," said Sonya. "Biting is considered a form of rape with us, or with most of us at least. I would simply lay my hands upon you as I did before to heal you, and soon, we would be bound to each other by a transference of power."
"Will it hurt you?"
"It will be painful for both of us. We are in essence giving each other part of ourselves, but it will pass."
"My hands are cold and numb," said Lucy suddenly. "I feel so cold! Alright! Alright! I don't know what's going to happen, but I'll let you--let you make me what you are."
"I do not do this joyfully, Lucy. Believe me when I tell you that I wanted to be your friend for friendship's sake, and never thought for a moment that you would be drawn into this other life I lead."
"Well, I'm ready to take that chariot-ride I guess," Lucy said, half smiling. "Hitch up those sphynxes." Sonya laughed, despite the gravity of the moment.
"Alright then. We'll take the ride together."
No matter what came and went in her life afterwards, Lucy Milligan never forgot a single aspect of the next few moments. She noticed the sweet and pungent scent of the incense that burned on Sonya's mantle, which Sonya said was called Nag-Champa and came from India, and she saw the candle burning in a vase on Sonya's table. Then Sonya beckoned her to a seat on the braided rug in front of the couch, and took both her hands in her own.
"What are you doing? Is it starting yet?"
"No," said Sonya slowly, as though she were in a trance. "No, I am determining if this is indeed the only way for you. Ah... The fever grows and will not be abated, and if it is left to itself, you will die. Alright," she said now, resuming her normal tones. "That's done. You need to be turned or to be killed. Say again which you will have."
Lucy pondered for a moment. She felt that she would be at peace if she let Sonya kill her. She didn't want to think about David anymore, or to live with the knowledge that he had raped her. Still, there was a part of her mind which screamed that living at any cost would be better than dying senselessly, and after what seemed to her a prolonged battle, it was this part which spoke when she looked straight into Sonya's strange, hazel eyes, and said:
"Turn me! Do it!"
"Alright," said Sonya, smiling, and Lucy saw definite knowing in that smile, as though Sonya had been watching the workings of her mind. "Turn your back. I must lay my hands upon your shoulders."
Lucy did as she was told, and Sonya placed her two hands on her shoulders as though to massage them. Again, the charge came from those fingers into her, but this time, it seemed to travel straight to her heart. Her breath caught in her throat as the coils of power tightened around her, and she suddenly wondered if Sonya really could be trusted. Then, all of a sudden, she felt herself slipping away, and she heard a strange voice ringing in her ears.
"Sophia Ellen Parish, you are accused of being a witch and have been found guilty. I, Sir Thomas Buchanan, sentence you to be hanged by the neck until dead for the crimes against men and against God which you have committed in this place. You will be taken hence to the town square at dawn on the morrow, and hanged before the townspeople for an example to them of what happens when anyone consorts with the devil." Suddenly, she heard Sonya's own voice, responding to the judge's decree with defiance.
"Will you hang me? Will you hang me because a few of your crops failed? I have never consorted with the devil in my life. Indeed, the devil does not enter at all into my beliefs! Yet, if you do hang me, know this. You will never have a moment's peace on your soul, because you have shed, like Judas, inocent blood."
"Take her to the dungeon," Sir Thomas Buchanan seemed to say in Lucy's mind, "and leave her there till sunrise!"
Lucy felt her body snap like a released spring, and suddenly, all that she had heard faded away, to be replaced only with a feeling of peace and tranquility. Soon, however, as Sonya's hands still lay motionless upon her shoulders, this peaceful feeling changed. It was like a drum was beating in her head, first slowly and soporifically, then faster and faster, so that soon she felt as though she might fly away at a mere thought. Meanwhile, Sonya's hands seemed to clamp tighter upon her, and Lucy feared that she was in the grip of something that neither of them could control. However, just when both the physical and the inward pain became almost unbearable, Sonya's hold relaxed, and she turned to face her. She saw tears in the woman's eyes and was frightened for a moment until she realized that there were also tears standing in her own eyes.
"Is it, is it alright?"
"You heard it," said Sonya, "didn't you? You heard the judge sentencing me."
"I--I--i suppose so, but I didn't mean to."
"I have never experienced someone being turned probing so deeply into my mind before," she said. "To live as long as I have and be protected, one must build shields and blocks to intrusion of that kind, but you, you tore through them all as though they were nothing. I must know what this means. I will have to consult with others at a later time. For now, the process is not yet complete. First, you must change into your wolf's shape."
"How?"
"Let yourself go," said Sonya. "Let the moon course through you. This first change will be purely instinctive." Lucy stood up and went to the window, where she saw the moon's pale radiance shimmering before her, and she looked at it, feeling it inside of her filling her with some unnamed power. She felt one with the moon, willing to let it influence her, and then suddenly, she knew that she went on four paws, and in the mirror, she caught the reflection of a fawn-coloured body, sleek and powerfully-muscled, and she knew that now, at last, she was as she must be. She had found her element, as though she were a fish which had been drowning in air one minute, and was thrown gasping into the water the next.
"Now," said Sonya's voice in her mind, "remember yourself. Remember that you are Lucy Milligan, and change back." Lucy could not speak, but she growled savagely and tried to leap for Sonya's throat, only to find that Sonya was no longer there. No, that wasn't right. Sonya was no longer solidly there. It was like Sonya was all around her, not as a human or a wolf, but as a strange and terrible force.
"You will change back, Lucy Milligan, or be lost forever!" The voice seemed to bounce off the walls of her mind until she had no choice but to obey, and with an effort, she found herself remembering who she really was, and soon, she stood again at the window as before, all wolfish ferosity forgotten.
"The moon's power is very difficult to resist at first, I know," said Sonya, as the two sat down again on the couch, "but to become a full shadow-walker, one must learn to move beyond its influence, to master it, rather than it mastering him. When you have gained a little in strength, you will realize that you can use your shadow-walker abilities not only when the moon is full, but at any time, provided of course that the sun is down. That is one part of the legend that remains true for us. In daylight we are ordinary humans with very little of the shadow-life in us. Though as we grow in power, we are able to sense others of our kind around us even in the day-time. Now, there is one more thing we must do to complete the turning."
"What?" Lucy's reply came out sharper than she had intended. She wondered if she had in fact growled rather than spoken. She found herself still angry at having been compelled by Sonya to cease being a wolf, and all she wanted now was to resume that form, to leap from the window and run howling into the night. Still, she managed to listen to Sonya, and indeed, there seemed to be a power in Sonya's voice which held her still, unable to change no matter how much she wanted to.
"There is a reason we have named ourselves shadow-walkers," said Sonya. "Do you recall when I compelled you to change back into your human shape?"
"Yes. You seemed to melt away and yet to be very very present."
"A shadow-walker can exist like this, as conscious energy. This is our true state, actually. It is the state when our senses are the most acute, and it allows us to travel very quickly from one place to another, provided of course that we do not try to cross the sea."
"Why would that matter?"
"It is simply one of our rules. If you try to leave the land on which you were turned while you are in shadow-form, you will cause yourself great pain, and you will weaken and fade, and if you are not careful, you could lose your life entirely."
"Well, there goes my long-dreamed-of trip to England then, I guess."
"Your prospects need not look so bleak as all that, Lucy." Sonya laughed softly. "If you travel to another continent as a human, your shadow-senses will be somewhat disoriented for a while, but if you reside in the new place for long enough, you will develop a relationship with the energy there as well."
"But the moon's still the moon no matter where you are on earth, isn't it?"
"Yes, but the moon is not our only source of power. We depend on many things for our abilities, and apparently, one of them is the unique relationship we develop with the land of our turning. A lot of what we are is still a mystery to us. However, the night is moving on. Enough talk for now. You and I must become our shadow-selves in order to complete the bonding process. From then on, you will be my daughter, just as Tegan Russell is."
Sonya took Lucy's hands in both of hers, and Lucy felt them melting, almost dissolving into her. Then suddenly, she too was melting, becoming one with the space surrounding her, and becoming one with Sonya's shadow-self in the process. They swirled together in a mingling which was more intimate and more frightening than she had ever known, and suddenly, time meant nothing. Life meant nothing. Only this eternal moment was all there was, and she was herself, all masks removed, in contact with another self, equally naked, and there was peace all around her and in her. Then, just as abruptly, she felt Sonya's hands clasped tightly in her own, and once again, they were two women, sitting beside each other, but somehow, there was still a joining of the mind and the spirit.
"Do you understand now?" Sonya's voice spoke directly into her mind, and she suddenly found herself answering back without words:
"Yes, Mother. I do. Thank you for this gift."
"Good," said Sonya now audibly. "The moon will be gone soon, and you, Daughter, should sleep. I have to go and be a waitress, but it is wise for you to stay here for another day."
"As it happens, I have no classes today, so I can. Exams are starting tomorrow, and today is a study-day for the students."
"Very well then. Go into my room and sleep in a proper bed, and when I come again to see you, we'll talk more about this new life you've begun. Take anything you want from the fridge, and sleep well."
Lucy went into Sonya's neatly-kept bedroom and lay down upon the bed. She heard Sonya herself preparing to get a few hours' sleep before her shift at the coffee house downstairs, and then, suddenly, she heard nothing more. Sleep came as a welcome balm to her spirit, and she let it come without protest.
When Sonya came back from her day's work, Lucy had a modest meal of rice and beans prepared for her. Together they ate, and Sonya asked detailed questions about how Lucy had felt as the sun was going down, and Lucy's answers seemed to make her happy. In truth, Lucy found it difficult to put the feeling into words. She felt as the night came on as though her blood were singing in her ears, and as though her mind was singing to the earth and the sky. She even briefly felt the wolf-self emerging, but she managed to fight it off and to stay in human form. She knew that there was a new place in her mind, a new repository of instinctual and intellectual knowledge that had not existed hitherto, and it was this which she found challenging to put into words. However, Sonya seemed to understand what she meant, and just let her go on trying to make sense of it without interrupting her. When Lucy could not say anymore, Sonya simply smiled quietly at her and said:
"Good. Things are progressing apace. Now, I think that tomorrow, you can resume whatever duties are left to you at the college, and then, perhaps you and I will take a vacation at a place I keep."
Lucy put Sonya's kettle to heat for some late-night tea, and then she felt that she had to ask the question that was burning uppermost in her mind.
"Sonya, can you tell me more about what I heard? About your--your trial?"
"It is something of which I do not speak willingly, child, but since you know some of it already, I will tell you.
"The trial took place in this very settlement, before the town proper was even a town, and before Sir Thomas Buchanan had built his hall on the hill. In fact, what he so sententiously referred to as 'the town square' was little more than a cleared plot of ground where a small church and the town hall had been built. The settlement was made up of farms, and the church and the town hall were our only meeting-places.
"My mother was Emily Thornton-Parish, wife of Hubert Parish and daughter to the original founder of the settlement, Captain James Thornton of the good ship The Wild Swan. Sir Thomas Buchanan had come from Scotland to be our magistrate, and he was of a very puritanical frame of mind. My mother and I shared several folk traditions which had been handed down from our ancestors, among them being herbal cures, honouring the spirits of nature, and the art of bringing babies into the world. Sir Thomas Buchanan knew this, for till then, we had made no secret of these practices, since the settlers knew us to be of good repute amongst them. However, Sir Thomas did not share this fellow-feeling.
"Instead, when the crops failed after months of heavy rains, he accused me (for my mother had died earlier that spring) of being a witch, and brought me up to stand trial. It, of course, was no fair trial, but all the people in the settlement came to watch it, since it was one of their own who had proven to be the traitor in their midst. Suddenly, all the cures in the world and all the successfully delivered babies were not enough to secure my good name, and I was sentenced as you heard."
"But you're still here. How--"
"The night before I was to be executed, I met a woman in the make-shift dungeon of the town hall-cum-court-house. She was named Honoria Douglas, and she had languished there long uncared-for and unwanted. She too had been accused of witchcraft some months before. She had been a broom-maker whose husband had died, leaving her with a considerable sum of money, who had come to the colonies to make a new life for herself. She, however, had been distrusted by the men of the settlement, and as they wanted her land for themselves, they denounced her as a witch. She lived where the grand old hall of the Buchanans now stands.
"Mistress Honoria was old and frail by now, and she was almost blind with long enclosure, but she spoke to me as I came weeping into the prison. She asked me if I wanted to leave, and I said that I did. Then, she began to tell me about herself and about what she was. She, Lucy, was a shadow-walker, but she was dying. Still, I did see a change in her when the sun went down. She seemed to gain new strength and vitality, and before I knew it, she was a dignified woman who looked to be about my age, which was twenty-three at the time.
""If I turn you, Sophia Parish," she said to me, "you will be able to pass through these walls to freedom. I, however, cannot teach you as I should do, for I am dying. Still, I pray that you will find others of our kind to help you into your power."
"I agreed to the turning, and once the bonding was complete, she told me to leave her quickly. Without further ado, I did as she asked, melting through the walls as though they were not there, and once outside, I became a wolf and ran and ran. Still, as dawn was approaching and as the last star was falling, I felt myself becoming human again, and there was a terrible pain deep inside of me. Suddenly, I heard a voice in my mind.
""Go forth, Sophia Parish, and learn. Learn of your own power, and teach others with your loving spirit." Then, the pain increased, and I knew beyond any doubt that Mistress Honoria Douglas was dead."
A long silence ensued, in which Lucy fell to thinking of how courageous Sonya had been to take this choice, when in comparison, death by hanging was much more ordinary a path to take. Still, how had Sonya passed her years? Who had taught her about herself? Someone had to have taught her things, for she knew a great deal.
"Sonya," she said suddenly. "Do all shadow-walkers read Tarot cards as you do?"
"Oh goodness no," said Sonya, her clear laugh ringing out. "That is something which I picked up when traveling with some Romani--some gypsies. Yes, I spent some years as a gypsy, and as a nun, and as a rich lady, mistress of my own house, and now, I am a waitress in a coffee house at a small New England college. All in all, it has been a fascinating life."
"You were a nun?"
"Yes, I was. Needless to say, I did not turn into a wolf at the drop of a hat in that life, but I hope I did some justice to the vows I took."
Lucy was incredulous. "Why, if you added up all the years, you would be more than--"
"Yes, yes," said Sonya, "but please don't mention the number. No woman wants her actual years reckoned up before her eyes," and she laughed merrily again.
"Can I ask how many people you have turned in your time?"
"Yes. There have been three, you included."
"Only three? How can that be?"
"We are not in the business of turning people every day, Lucy. In fact, though it always seems to come down to it in the end, it is not our joy to do it at all. Yet, in every shadow-walker's life, someone comes along and wishes, or needs, to be turned. All my turnings were needs rather than wants. No, I have spent my time being a shadow-walker rather than making new ones. Still, it's because of this knowledge that I have obtained over the years that I hopefully will be able to teach you a thing or two."
"Sonya, who was the third person you turned?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Who was the person besides Tegan and myself that you turned?"
"Well, you'll know sooner or later, I suppose. The third person I turned was none other than Dr. Peter Buchanan. He too is older than he seems, child. He was the brother of Sir Thomas. He was the brother of the man who sentenced me to death."
Lucy was dumb-struck. Dr. Peter Buchanan was over three-hundred years old? Her whole world seemed to be collapsing around her, and yet that other part of her mind, that new storehouse of ancient knowledge she now possessed, told her beyond any doubt that Sonya had spoken the truth.
"How am I supposed to just go on with my life? Everything's so different now!"
"I know it is, and I'm sorry for it, but if you do neglect your duties, your stay at the college could be shortened, and no matter how powerful we may be at night, it is our duty to live our regular lives during the day, to maintain a foothold among other people, and to remain as covert as we can. So, when dawn comes, I will bid you farewell for the present, and if we see each other in the coffee house, we must speak to each other as we have done before."
Lucy allowed Sonya to give her her bed once again, and slept deeply after the long night of tale-telling. When she woke the next morning, it was to a brilliantly sunny day, the kind which come in April as a wonderful gift amidst the days of falling rain which seem to be the usual offerings from Mother Nature at that time. Walking slowly along the street to her house, she wondered whether David would come and find her, or whether he had finally discarded her in disgust. She fervently hoped that he had taken the latter course, but she had no way of knowing for sure.
There were two exams for her to proctor that day, and she kept half an eye on her students while losing herself amid the pages of her battered copy of "Sir Gawain And The Green Knight," which she often read when she wanted to escape. She loved letting the aliterative Middle-English sounds wash over her, and on this day especially, the idea of the "pentangle," or the "endless knot" embossed upon Gawain's shield was very appealing to her. Here was a symbol of eternity, of chivalry as the poem stated, and this symbol gave Gawain the courage he needed to fight the mysterious green knight who had not died, even though his head had been stricken from his shoulders. Now, Lucy felt bound up in a quest of her own, a quest to discover herself, and she sought for courage wherever she could find it. She had just learned a mountain of information in two days, and had been changed into some sort of being which was a werewolf but even more than that, and yet here she was now, quietly proctoring an exam in Modern British Literature. To top everything off, her own professor, her own employer indeed, was also one of this race to which she now belonged. How on earth was she supposed to just forget that and pretend as though this were not the case? None of this made sense, so for now, she was reveling in words and images, letting Gawain and his quest take her away. She would think about all this mystery and magic in her own life tomorrow, or so she thought, but just then, Tegan herself came into the examination-hall.
"Hello, Lucy. Do you know you're alone here?"
"Oh." Lucy slowly lowered the book and looked at her. "I guess I was just lost for a while."
"It's time for you to go now." Lucy heard something in her voice and saw something in the face which she knew so well that she had never seen before. Tegan seemed suddenly reserved and uncertain, embarrassed and reticent.
"Tegan? What's wrong?"
"Do you really have to ask? Certainly, you should not ask it here, and you should not have to ask at all." Tegan was suddenly hard and cold. "I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I'm sorry about what happened to you."
"Well," said Lucy, a little frightened at Tegan's changes of mood, "it's all too new for me to talk much about it anyway. Thanks for bringing me back from my wanderings, and," she said in a quieter voice, "thanks for the other night. How did you know I was in trouble?"
"I just--I just had a feeling. Please don't talk more about it, Lucy. It's time for you to go. Remember our thesis appointment tomorrow!" And as abruptly as she had entered, Tegan Russell left the hall, striding away with purpose in her gait.
Lucy was perplexed, to say the least. She decided that when she could, she would try and find out why Tegan seemed so conflicted with her identity as a shadow-walker. To Lucy herself, though it was strange and new, it was also exciting and intriguing. She couldn't wait to learn more about her new abilities, and she wondered what her time with Sonya would be like.
The next few weeks passed in a blur of marking papers and calculating final grades, so that Lucy had little or no time to consider her new, nocturnal life. Though, every time the sun set, she did begin to feel more alert, and as the moon began to wax again, a thing which she now noted with the precision of an astronomer, she felt the wildness coming nearer to the surface. Still, the frantic pace of the work which she had to do kept it at bay, and if ever she was at Beans 'n' Buns for a late-evening pick-me-up, she could sense Sonya keeping an inner eye upon her, and giving her strength to control herself.
Again and again, she wondered what Sonya had meant when she had said that Tegan had not wanted to delve too deeply into the shadow-life. Was she frightened? Did she resent Sonya's doing this to her? Lucy just wasn't sure, and she didn't dare ask her professor about any of this. As for Tegan, she maintained her usual demeanour: professional, helpful, courteous and kind, but with no more intimacy than was usual with her.
When Lucy was not working, she walked. She had always been fond of walking, and Thornton was a very picturesque little village set amidst hills and forests. The towns-people had done a very admirable job in making sure that not all the fine, old trees were cut down, even despite the town's history as a great centre for lumber. Here, Buchanan College with its lofty towers and bastianed gates dominated the scene, but set out around it was a strange collection of buildings: from historical churches to modern tourist boutiques, and above the town, high atop its steep hill overlooking the winding Hollythorn river, stood Buchanan Hall. True, from the town itself, it could not be seen clearly, but Lucy felt it there, had felt it there ever since her coming to Thornton, as a brooding presence, somehow portentous in its massive grandeur.
For her, all this quaint New England charm had been quite novel, since she had, till then, spent her life in large cities. Her world had been of steel and glass, and now it was stone which prevailed, stone and trees and, to her at least, silence. Even the busiest summer day in Thornton, filled with tourists and their cameras, had an almost monastic quality of silence about it to her, who had been used, from childhood, to busy streets and roaring subways. When she had first arrived, she had thought it a perfect paradise of solitude, for that was what she had craved while growing up in a house with several siblings, and now, after two years, she felt as though this was her home. Indeed, she had been spending less and less time with her family during vacations, and it was only now that she realized why. Thornton was where she wanted to stay, where she wanted to make a life for herself.
It was on one of these solitary rambles, about three weeks after the end of term, that she saw an all-too-familiar little red sports car speeding towards the crossing at which she was now waiting for the light to change. David stopped the car abruptly, causing others to honk in frustration and, flicking on his turn-signal, got out to stand beside her.
"Well lu?" His familiar greeting sounded hollow in her ears, and she could hardly believe that he was even standing there.
"Well David?" She glared at him, no longer submissive to his whims. "What on earth could you have to say to me now?"
"I--I wanted to say--" David was stammering. Lucy couldn't believe her ears. "I wanted to say that I'm sorry. I'm sorry, and I'll leave you alone."
"Do you really mean that? Do you know what you did to me?"
"No, I actually don't. I mean, I know what I was doing to you when I was, when I was still myself, but then, it was all a blur. I don't remember how we parted."
Lucy looked him full in the face, and realized that for once, he was speaking the absolute truth. She wondered if he even knew himself to be a werewolf. She suddenly felt an unexpected sympathy for him, despite the remembrance of his past insults to her.
"Well," she said then. "I guess there's nothing more to say."
"Wait," said David suddenly, urgency pulsing out from him. "Wait. I was told by my uncle to see how you were doing. He wanted to know very badly. I could lie. I could say that I never found you."
"Why do that?" Lucy forgot everything that Sonya had told her about Peter Buchanan for the moment, as her caution and suspicions were drowned in the terrible realization that for David, being a werewolf was at best an affliction, and at worst, a complete mystery to him. "Why lie? Just tell him what he wants to know. Maybe, maybe it'll be better for you if you do."
"Well, alright, Lu. Thanks. I hope you'll--I hope you'll be alright."
"Why would I not be?"
"Right. Of course. Well Lu," he said, beginning to turn away, "till we meet again, if we ever do," and without another word, he strode to his car and ran the light in his haste to get away.
As Lucy walked across the street, she suddenly recollected what Sonya had told her about Peter Buchanan, and how unfeeling he had seemed to be on that fateful night at the gazebo with David, and she found herself wondering if she had just made a grave error in judgment not to take David up on his offer to say that he had never seen her. Would Peter care? Would he suspect what might have happened to her? And worst of all, would he suspect her true nature, and who had turned her? Still, perhaps she was making all this up in her own mind. She decided to go and talk to Sonya and tell her about the encounter. perhaps she would know what to do.
As the sun began to go down, she felt the shadow-life stirring within her. She longed to run, to run and never to stop. The earth began to sing to her, and the moon bathed her, even though it had not yet risen above the horizon, and she found herself standing motionless outside the coffee house, almost without knowing how she had come there.
"Star-gazing, are we?" Sonya's musical voice floated to her from the open door, and it brought her fully to her senses.
"Have you a seat for a weary pilgrim, Miss Parish?"
"Indeed I have. Come in and take a load off those feet of yours, and," she whispered very softly, "tell me what's got you so worried."
Lucy followed her mentor through the door, and, striding to her usual table, waited while Sonya fixed her a coffee and went about her business, and a few patrons finished their drinks and left. Once the place was all but empty, Sonya came over to the table.
"Well? Time for truth, Lucy Milligan." Her voice was light and sweet, but Lucy sensed the hardness behind it. She knew that Sonya meant business, so she decided not to make small talk.
"I was walking today," she began, "and I ran into--into David. He--he apologized for his, for the fact that he had--had--" She felt too sick to utter the words. "He apologized for that, but he didn't seem to remember that he had tried to kill me." Why was "kill" an easier word for her to say than "rape"? She was angry with herself. "I mean," she said after a pause, "I don't think he actually knows he's a werewolf."
"And?" Sonya was looking at her fixedly.
"And he told me that his uncle had asked him to find me, had asked him to report back and tell him how I was. Then, he offered to lie. He offered to say that he had never seen me. I felt so sorry for him. He suddenly was not the David Greenaway that I knew. So I told him not to bother lying, and then when he left, I recalled that Peter was a shadow-walker, and I wondered if he would suspect me of being one as well."
"There are some things you need to know." Sonya sat for a moment, gazing out the nearby window, seeming to be lost in her thoughts.
"Lucy," she began slowly. "Peter Buchanan was very young when I bonded with--when I turned him. I too was very young in the shadow-life."
"But you said that you needed to turn him."
"That is what I tell myself, alas. The fact is that I saw a boy suffering, and I wanted to stop it. I took it upon myself to befriend him, to make him trust me, and then I turned him while he was too ill either to resist or to consent."
"But I don't understand."
"Peter Buchanan was Sir Thomas's brother, but he was actually a half-brother, for Sir Thomas's father had married for a second time after his first wife had died. Then, he himself died, leaving Peter in the care of his older brother. Sir Thomas was a youngish man when he came here from Scotland, and he was full of zeal for puritanism. He corresponded regularly with the Reverend Cotton Mather, and couldn't wait to find some sin or other to stamp out.
"Well, through all this, Peter grew up in the care of some West Indian slaves, and when I met him, he was wandering alone at night, having been walking in his sleep due to a very bad fever. He was a sweet boy. He was, I judge, about ten years old at this time, and he looked on me as some good angel sent to protect him. At this time, I was living hand to mouth, trying to make my way out of Thornton, but still lacking the resources to leave. So, Peter brought me food, and let me sleep in an unused out-building of Sir Thomas's small farm, and eventually, he looked on me almost as a mother, and I, fool that I was, began to think of him as my son.
"He never knew me as a wolf, but I think he sensed something about me that was strange and novel. Well, as time went on, his fevers worsened, and one night, I saw him sleep-walking in the fields, and I followed him at a distance, to make sure he would be alright.
"As it was, he suddenly collapsed and lay as though dead, and I was very frightened. So, I went to him, and looked him full in the face, and knew, as we shadow-folk do know sometimes, that he would surely die if something were not done. Yet, I knew nothing about the code we live by. I knew nothing about the fact that free will should be respected. All I knew was how Honoria Douglas had helped me, and that I wanted to do the same for this dreamy-eyed boy who loved and trusted me.
"There was, of course, a full moon that night, and my blood was singing to it. My whole self wanted to make Peter live, so without thinking of the consequences, I placed my hands upon him, and suddenly, he began to revive. Before either of us knew it, Peter had become a wolf, but when I told him how to change back, he did not listen, but ran and ran, leaving me far behind. I think that some other shadow-walker must have found him in that state of wild ferosity and have taught him many strange and secret mysteries--mysteries of mesmerism and mental domination, but I did not see him again for many years, and when I did, he was a powerfully-built man who looked much as he does now, and when he saw me, I could tell there was murder on his mind. He believes that I abandoned him, that I am a fiend incarnate. He used to call me Lady Alabaster, for my pale complexion, but he never knew my name. Yet, I cannot help wondering what shadow-walker did find him, because he has powers which are the equal of my own, if not greater."
"Did he ever come back to Thomas?"
"That, I do not know. I left Thornton soon after I lost him, and Thomas, being a rather selfish man, did not waste much time in searching for him. Yet, he grew up somehow, and must have had help in learning about his new abilities. Still, where he went and what he did are mysteries to which I have never found the answers."
Lucy felt a lump in her throat. "Does he, does he know that you are in Thornton now?"
"I doubt it, but I cannot be sure. I have not very often made use of my abilities in such a way as might be noticed by another shadow-walker, and a waitress in a coffee house can usually come and go without much notice taken of her. Still, I have been told that he came here twenty years ago, and has lived at Buchanan Hall, as a distant descendant of Sir Thomas, for all that time."
"But what about you? You're calling yourself Sonya. I'm no Russian expert, but I've read Crime and Punishment. I know that Sonya is simply a diminutive of Sophia. Wouldn't Peter figure you out pretty quickly?"
"If," said Sonya smiling, "I were the type of person to be featured in the town papers or on the evening news. But, Lucy, one of the easiest things to do when you are trying to keep yourself unnoticed is to hide in plain sight. I learned that Peter had come back here, so I came too. He has distinguished himself among our kind as someone without scruples, and I felt that it was my duty to keep watch upon him. So, here I've been these fifteen years now."
"And have you always worked here?"
"I have indeed," said Sonya. "This is a university coffee house. Its population changes very quickly, and no one is usually around long enough to remark my unchanging appearance. And yet, there are customers of mine who still come here and have been coming here almost since the day I started. Again, it is very interesting to notice that people often do not look twice at those who jump to do their bidding. But now," said Sonya, standing up and stretching, "we must make our plans I think."
"Plans? What plans?"
"You and I, Lucy, will be going on a retreat, if you're willing of course."
"A retreat?"
"I have a small place on a remote island in the middle of a mountain lake in Vermont. I'll tell you which trains to take to get there, and I'll meet you, or have someone meet you at the nearest train station in seven days' time. Can you make the trip?"
"I, er, yes, but why? What's this all about?"
"You have to learn. You have to know more about yourself. Ask Tegan if she would like to come as well. She's always welcome." Sonya gave Lucy one of her winning smiles, collected her empty cup and saucer, and left her alone to ponder this new phase in her equally new life.
By the time Lucy had a chance to speak to Tegan about her upcoming trip, three days had passed since its proposal. Lucy knocked softly on Tegan's door, and Tegan opened it awkwardly. The room was no longer the neat space which Lucy remembered. Instead, boxes littered the floor, and all the book-shelves were standing empty. Even the replica Saxon sword which had hung on the back of the door was missing.
"What's going on?"
"Lucy," said Tegan, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, "I don't know how to tell you this, so I suppose I had better just say it. You'll be working with Dr. Edmonson from now on. I've taken a job back home in Wales."
Lucy's jaw dropped. "But why? Is it, does it have to do with--with what happened?"
"No, no," said Tegan, though Lucy was unconvinced. "No, the timing was just right, I suppose. My parents are getting on, you know, and it would be much better for them if I could be nearer to them."
"So, when are you leaving?"
"Almost immediately. I'll have these boxes shipped, and then in two days, I catch my own flight. Now, what were you coming to ask me?"
"Well, it was about a trip I'm taking with--with our mutual friend. You were invited to come as well."
"Ah. Please tell her thank you, but that I obviously cannot come now."
"Have you even told her you're leaving?"
"Why should I? She does not need to know all my affairs. It's bad enough that she knows as much about me as she does know." Finally, the genuine resentment was coming through loud and clear, and Lucy could not believe it.
"Why are you so bitter?"
"Because I made a mistake. I let that woman talk me into something which should not have happened. I should have died."
"Is that--" Lucy bit back tears. "Is that how you feel about me?"
Tegan kicked a box out of her way and came closer to Lucy.
"No, no, of course not. You were drawn into this by others. I simply took the offered chance without weighing the consequences."
"But you have someone who can show you how to live, can help you to learn about the gifts you have been given."
"Maybe so," said Tegan, "but I don't want the gifts. I didn't want them at the time, and I don't want them now. I wanted to live. I was frightened of dying and of pain, so I let her interfere in my life, but now, I want to forget all about her and all she represents."
"And so you're running away? You didn't run away when I needed help. You must have sensed what was going on."
"I did, that's true. And I hated to have to take you to her, but I knew no one else who could help. Until that night, I had not seen her since the night I was turned."
"And she didn't seek you out?"
"No. She respects free will too much. I received enough information from her on how to control myself, and then I just went on with my life, which is what I want to do now. So, I'm sorry about your thesis, and I'm sorry if I have offended you, but it's time for me to leave. I wish you all the best in your studies, Lucy. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must finish packing up this place."
Lucy left without saying another word, but she found herself crying as she walked past the stone lions and out of the English building. This was all her fault. She had let David take advantage of her, and now she had driven Tegan away. As she wended her way homeward, she was no longer sure that she wanted to take Sonya's offer of a secluded retreat. What would Sonya say when she told her that Tegan had left the country? Could a shadow-walker's mental abilities stretch across the sea? Would she ever see Tegan again? How could Tegan deny her true self and hide from it? Lucy just didn't know what to make of it all, and all she wanted to do right now was to hide in her basement apartment and not talk to anyone.
Yet, when she got home, she found a note stuck under her door, written in a very formal hand. It was from Sonya, giving her directions as to what trains she should take and telling her that a Matt Andrews, owner of the single cab in the town of Smallbury, Vermont, would be meeting her at the station to drive her to where Sonya herself would be waiting. After reading the note, she thought briefly of tearing it up and forgetting all about it, and then she thought of Tegan's bitterness. I don't want to end up like that, she thought. I have to take what's offered me, and I have to tell Sonya about Tegan. I owe that much to both of them. So, after two days of frantic thesis-writing and one day of laundry and packing, she headed out to the sleepy Thornton railway station and waited for the train which would take her away into unknown adventure.
The train ride was what she had expected, complete with the chatty elderly woman who insisted on disturbing her every time she got to an interesting place in the book she was reading.
"Well, you're a lovely young woman. And where are you bound?"
"I'm going to Smallbury."
"Why! That's further than I go. It's only a whistle-stop! What could be waiting for you in that little town?"
"I have a friend there. I'm spending some time with her."
"Well, I can't fathom why anyone would want to live away out there, but to each his own, I guess."
"Freemont! Freemont is the stop," said the conductor, and at last, to Lucy's great relief, her verbose companion left her.
By now, the train had come into the hills, and Lucy put her book down in favour of the romantic countryside which flashed past her window. She wondered how far she would have to ride, and then suddenly, the conductor came into her car and stopped by her seat.
"Miss? Miss Milligan? Do you want Smallbury?"
"Yes, sir."
"Alright then. You'd better get your bags together. This is the end of the line for our train. In fact, if you were not traveling there, we wouldn't go there unless we knew we were to pick someone up."
Lucy obeyed the conductor's advice, and soon, the train pulled into a station which looked like it was out of the nineteenth century. There, a kindly station-attendant met her, and ushered her into a small but well-appointed waiting-room. She thought that it was one of those places which had been originally meant for ladies to cool their delicate heels after having traveled a long way in a stuffy, steam-powered train. She was about to resume her oft-interrupted reading, when the door opened, and a fortyish man dressed in jeans and a t-shirt came in.
"You'd be Miss Milligan," he said laconically.
"Yes, and you'd be Matt Andrews?"
"That's me. I'm here to take you to the landing-place for Wolf Island. Miss Parish will meet you there with the boat."
"How much will I owe you for this?"
"For Miss P?" He smiled. "I wouldn't dream of charging any of her friends. She's a legend here! We call her the Lady of the Lake! Now, come along."
Matt's car was big, black and elegant in its decrepitude. It was old, but it was also somehow majestic, and Lucy felt like a real lady, being escorted through the tiny hamlet and out along the shores of the lake. One thing she noticed above anything else as she watched the scenery was that Smallbury was not a town for tourists. It did not dress itself up, or deck itself out in gay and gawdy finery. Instead, it was just itself. It was just a small, mountain town, with A-frame houses and a few small store-fronts in the centre of town: a place for people to live out their days after a long life's work, she thought. While the town had paved roads, as soon as the houses began to thin out, the roads turned to gravel, and the houses gave way to poplars and mountain ashes as far as the eye could see, and these were reflected in the lake, which looked as blue as the bluest of diamonds. It lay some feet below the road, and when Matt finally stopped the car, Lucy realized that it would be something of a hike from the road to the dock.
"There," Matt said, pointing with a browned and caloused hand, "is where you will await Her Ladyship. I'll bring your bags down if you like." Lucy thanked him, and together, they made their way down the rather precipitous slope to the wooden dock where she was to await Sonya's coming.
"I'm sure I'll be seeing you again, Miss Milligan. She should be along soon. Will you be alright?"
"Are you kidding? Look at this view! I could cheerfully wait here all day!"
"Alright then. I've got to get back to town. Bye for now!"
"Bye, Matt, and thanks very much."
She watched him toil up the hill and then sat down on her suitcase. The sun was beginning to dip, and glancing at her watch, she realized that it was almost six in the evening. A clear bell sounded far off in the distance, and Lucy wondered if it was the clock at the Smallbury town hall. Whatever the bell was, she found that it imparted something magical to the already idyllic scene. The lake stretched still and unbroken before her, and in the distance, she could see a conical island. Around her, the trees whispered in the light breeze, and created an enchanting interplay of lights and shadows, and suddenly, with hardly a sound, out of the shadow of the island came a slendour, brightly-painted skiff, and seated at the oars was Sonya herself. She truly did seem like the Lady of the Lake, for she wore a deep green shawl around her shoulders, made of some light, diaphanous material which moved as the breeze moved. Lucy watched her deft handling of the oars as she brought the boat alongside the dock and stowed them.
"I'm glad you could come, daughter," she said in her soft, musical voice. "Here. Take my hand, and I'll help you into the boat, then I'll bring the bags." Lucy stepped gingerly into the boat, feeling the reassuring touch of Sonya's strong hand as she did so, and seating herself on the bough thwart, waited while Sonya carefully set the bags in strategic places soas to keep the boat balanced in the water. Soon, all was ready, and Sonya took her place behind Lucy, and Lucy turned to see the curve of her back as she bent once again to the oars. In a few powerful strokes, Sonya had cleared the dock, and soon, they were out on the broad lake, moving steadily towards the island.
"Is that Wolf Island?" Lucy looked at the massive shadow brooding over the boat as it drew nearer.
"Yes," said Sonya. "We'll coast it until we find the landing-place. There's a small cove on the lea-side, and the path from there is not as steep as it would be on this side."
Lucy looked at the land as Sonya brought the boat around. It was as though a piece of the countryside of the mainland had been picked up and dropped by some gargantuan hand into the centre of the lake, as though some monumental artistic force had said: "This lake needs something to give it focus." Then, she suddenly thought that perhaps the island was the eternal thing, and the lake merely an encroaching nuissance. She pictured the island, with its ridge behind ridge of massive trunks stretching skyward, as a towered and ramparted castle which perhaps some sorceress had doomed to remain isolated, cut off from the living world by a swath of never-receeding water. Suddenly and incredibly, she knew what this island was. Oh, perhaps it was not in a river, and perhaps there was no finely-molded tower with a tapestry-loom set into its uppermost chamber, but suddenly and amazingly, it was as though something out of legend had come to life. For, as Sonya rounded a small point, Lucy now saw a finely-curving hill, at the bottom of which was a low dock, and, creating a natural avenue, lines of willows trailed their branches up into the interior of the island.
"You're not the Lady of the Lake," Lucy breathed. "You're the Lady of Shallott! This is like poetry come to life!"
"Well, I hope my fate is happier than that of the lily maid," said Sonya, "but I do agree about the beauty of this spot."
Soon, the boat was moored, and Sonya helped Lucy out and brought the bags as well. Then, along the willow-path they climbed, and Lucy walked carefully, trying her best to avoid roots and rocks as she went, until the trees ended, and a small, cleared space of ground revealed a log cabin with a small shed behind it.
"Come in," said Sonya, holding the door for her. "I've got some supper heating for us. I suppose you'll be needing it after your long train journey."
Lucy was grateful to be indoors again. Oh, she loved being outside as well, but it was always nice to have a roof over her head at the end of a long day. Still, she reflected, perhaps the day is not over yet. The sun hasn't even set yet.
Sonya led her through the small house, giving her tours of the kitchen, a small parlour and two bedrooms. The bedrooms were up a steep set of stairs, little more than a ladder, as they had been converted from a storage-loft. They were low-ceilinged, but the view from their dormer windows was impressive. They faced the back of the house, and that faced the tumbling windward side of the island. Lucy couldn't wait to sit up here in her room when a real mountain storm was brewing and to see the trees bending inward towards the house and the lake frothing with white-caps.
"Well," said Sonya after showing Lucy to her room, "I'll leave you to get yourself settled, and I'll call you for dinner."
Lucy spent the next half hour putting her things in order and lying down on the fouton which served as her new bed. She wondered what the next few weeks would bring, and wasn't entirely sure if all of it would be pleasant. Yet, here she was in an idyllic paradise of nature, with a woman who seemed to be by turns a simple cottager and then some elemental goddess who had been molded and shaped by the winds themselves. Still, she reflected, gazing at the knotty pine panneling on the walls of her room, she herself was like Sonya now. She knew there was power in her as well, but somehow, Sonya seemed far above her, out of reach and almost inaccessible. Yet, when her cheery "Come and get it" floated up to Lucy from the kitchen, she suddenly wanted to be with her more than anything in the world.
As she made her way down the steep and narrow stairs from her loft bedroom, Lucy smelled the delightful fragrance of what could only be potato and leek soup, and indeed, as she approached the table, she found that this was in fact what was on the menu, along with large and thick-cut slices of corn-bread dripping with butter.
"Home-made," said Sonya, ladling soup into two bowls, "but hearty. I trust you'll like it?"
"Mmmmm! It smells just like the soup my Grandmother used to make when I was younger! Wonderful!" Sonya placed the heavy saucepan back on top of the Franklin stove which stood mounted upon bricks in the corner of the kitchen, and returned to the table with a pitcher of milk from the fridge, the only electrical appliance in the cabin. As they began to eat, Lucy could hear the chugging of a generator, and judged that it was in the shed behind the house.
"This is a wonderful place you have here, Sonya," she said, taking a ceramic mug and pouring some milk for herself. Then, she looked at the third chair in which nobody sat, and thought of Tegan, and, as if in answer to this thought, Sonya said:
"I'm glad you like it. Do you think Tegan will be joining us? Did you have a chance to speak to her?"
"Well," said Lucy, swallowing some soup, still hot from the pan so that her throat burned, "well, I'm not sure. I mean, well, no, she won't be coming."
"What is it? What did she say to you?" Lucy knew that her sadness had registered on her face, as well as her fear of having to relay the news of Tegan's departure to this woman who was, for all intents and purposes, a second mother to both Tegan and herself.
"She--she left, Sonya. She's gone home to Wales. She says she has a job there. I think she's been gone for two days now."
"Strange," said Sonya. "I think I would have felt her leave. I think I would have known it. But then," she mused reflectively, "perhaps not. Perhaps our bond has weakened over time. I wish she would have let me teach her, and if she has caused you to second-guess what we're doing here, I want you to feel free to tell me." Lucy saw the glint of tears in her eyes, but chose to ignore it. "After all," said Sonya, blinking furiously, "it is your will which matters the most in the work which we have before us. You must be committed to it if this time is to be productive, and I have no intention of keeping you a prisoner here."
"But I am committed! I am!" Lucy paused, her spoon halfway to her mouth. "You don't, you can't--I mean, you don't understand how I feel! I mean, I have a mother, and she's lovely. I love her dearly, but well, she and I are two different people. Oh, you and I are differetn as well," she added hastily, "but yet we're not. There's a kinship between us, and I think it even existed before--before the turning. I mean, that's what I feel. Perhaps you don't."
"Ah," said Sonya, now smiling. "Indeed I did feel it. I told you, if you recall, that if I call someone a friend, it's not a light matter to me. Well, I stand by that statement. I'm glad that events have come out this way. Now, finish your soup, and then, you and I will really talk."
Lucy did as she was bade, and soon, she and Sonya, after putting the dishes into the dish-pan full of boiling water, went to the parlour. There, Sonya beckoned Lucy to a seat on a wicker sofa, and she herself sat in a wing-chair near to the window. Lucy looked around the room and noted the last thing she had expected to see in this out-of-the-way place: a large, ornately-carved harp standing in one corner.
"Do you play?"
"Only as a hobby," said Sonya nonchalantly, but Lucy sensed that as with so much else, she was understating her ability.
"Now, I'll give you your first lesson. The first and last law of the shadow-kindred is this: no shadow-walker may harm another. This is no mere moralistic law, but a true taboo. If one shadow-walker is responsible for the harming of another, I mean directly responsible, there will be great pain for that one. For whatever reason, we are all acutely aware if another of us is hurt or killed, but if we are responsible for the injury, this knowing becomes a pain almost past enduring. Any shadow-walker who has killed another is usually much weakened and will never have full mastery of his or her abilities again, except in very rare cases when a more powerful shadow-walker can draw out the pain from the killer's soul. This, however, is an act of ultimate sacrifice, and will usually result in the drawer's death."
"So no one ever kills anyone then?" Lucy wished that all humans could experience this. The world might be a better place then.
"No shadow-walker, or very few anyway, ever kills another directly," said Sonya, "but those of us who seek power for its own sake, those like Peter Buchanan, use others to kill. They either bribe them with money or promises of power, or else they dominate their will." Suddenly, Lucy saw, and indeed felt, a chill pass through Sonya's frame as she sat, sober and erect, in her chair. However, just as quickly, the erie feeling passed, and Lucy felt a shield going up in Sonya's mind. "This far, and no farther," was the feeling she now received. She wished that Sonya wouldn't hide things from her, but perhaps there was a reason for it, so she let it go.
"So," said Sonya, recovering her composure, "this life is not without its dangers. The important thing to do is to learn about yourself. Knowing yourself will help to keep your intent clear. Do you remember that I said that David had left you in an in-between state?"
Lucy nodded.
"Well, that was because he had begun with an intent to turn you, following the instinct of his werewolf nature, but then something else, some unknown element, took over and he wanted you dead. People often think that the werewolf turns a victim merely by his bite, but this is not the case. It is the will behind the bite that does it, and with shadow-walkers, the intent behind a given action is even more important.
"I will show you something," and she went outside for a moment, returning with a small bird she had found. It was half-dead, a baby who had fallen from its nest, and Sonya, with loving care, stroked it in such a way that its wing, which had been broken, mended. "Now," she said, displaying the bird in such a way that Lucy could not deny its honest, living presence, "comes the hard truth." Again, she stroked the bird as before, seeming still to caress it lovingly, and when she opened her hand again, the bird lay dead, its wing once again broken, and its eyes cold and lifeless. No blood was visible, and there was no mark of injury save the already-broken wing, but Lucy knew without a doubt that Sonya had killed it.
"This is the truth," said Sonya, "that by our intent, the most inocent-looking of our actions can be either beneficial or harmful. As it is, this bird needed to die. Once I touched it, its parents would have had nothing to do with it, and it was too young to fend for itself. Still, you must know that I took no pleasure in this act."
Lucy didn't know what to say, and while Sonya went to place the bird outside, she sat and pondered. There were clearly depths to this woman which she could not yet understand, and she wondered if she ever would come to understand them fully. Sonya had just killed something. Worse yet, she had healed it only to kill it a second later. However much displeasure this had given her, how was Lucy supposed to live with that knowledge? How was she supposed to live with the fact that she herself could both cure and kill, heal and harm only as her will dictated? Suddenly, she was very very frightened, and when Sonya returned, her reddish-blonde hair caught by the candle-light in the room, Lucy looked at her with even more respect and fear.
"I don't understand you," she said simply. "I mean, I know what you're saying, but I don't understand you, you yourself!"
"You will," said Sonya. "You will. This power inside of us is like the energy behind all energy. It is neither good nor bad. It is what it is, and it is the wielder's own will which determines what it will do. I have, at times, seen shadow-walkers infused with such amounts of this power that they lose all their humanity, and dwelling in shadow-form, they become servants of this force, cold and without emotion, their intent taken by the blind intent of this energy. They are worse than even the common werewolves, for they have reverted to an instinctual state and yet still have the powers they gained from the shadow-life. To sense their thoughts is to sense a tornado in your mind, and to bring them out of this ecstasy is very difficult, though it can occasionally be done by those highly-adept at thought-probing. I sense that this is going to be one of your gifts, given the amount of information you inadvertently learned about me in our first bonding."
"But I'm sitting here now," said Lucy, "and I have no idea what's behind your eyes, what's in your mind."
"No, and you should not," said Sonya with a gentle laugh. "I am shielding myself, as you should learn to do. Right now, I can tell that you are still very disturbed that I killed the little bird, for instance. I can sense your thoughts flying to and fro like leaves in a wind."
Lucy was taken aback. "So I'm completely open to you?"
"If, that is, I make the effort to read you, yes. I can, of course, ignore your thoughts and put them out of my mind, but tell me more about the experience you had of my trial."
Lucy closed her eyes for a moment, trying to recall the moment when Sonya had turned her.
"I remember that I suddenly heard Sir Thomas's voice, and I heard your voice. I didn't see anything, and yet somehow I knew where you were. I think, I think that somehow I felt your feelings. I don't know."
"Well," said Sonya, "we shall have to test this gift of yours, but first, I'll make us some tea," and leaving Lucy once more to her thoughts, she went into the kitchen and put a kettle to heat upon the cast iron stove.
Lucy heard the clatter of dishes as Sonya washed them, but still she sat unmoving, and it seemed as though Sonya was perfectly content to let her just sit, sit and look out at the dark sky full of low-hanging stars and the shadows of trees moving in a fitful breeze. Was she really here? Was all of this a dream? Even as she heard the clatter of the dishes and the hissing of the kettle from the kitchen, Lucy still felt a certain unreality about her situation. Then, all at once, the room went cold. All warmth and joy seemed to disappear like the snuffing of a candle, and she felt the chill creeping to her heart, and suddenly, she heard a scream resounding in her head, and a man's voice saying:
"Scream all you like, madam. No one can hear you, you know," and then the woman, for it had been a woman she had heard, screamed again.
Then, Lucy felt a hand on her shoulder, and for an instant, she thought it was the man from her vision. However, sitting up suddenly and turning, she saw only the face of Sonya, Sonya looking at her, evidently frightened at something she saw in her face, and though she still heard screaming, she recognized it as the singing of the kettle on the boil, and slowly, she relaxed.
"You're alright now?"
"Yes," she said, shrugging off the fear.
"I'll bring the tea in," said Sonya, looking long and steadily at her again before leaving her.
"I just fell asleep," said Lucy in response to Sonya's further inquiries as they sipped their tea. "I must have just had a strange dream. I have no idea what else to think."
"Well, it must have been some nightmare indeed! You looked as though you had seen a ghost!"
Lucy finnished her tea, and stood up to put her cup in the kitchen, and suddenly, her legs buckled and she would have collapsed if Sonya had not caught her.
"Bed for you, I think," she said. "You've had a long day, and you're overwhelmed. Anyone could see that," she added as Lucy looked at her questioningly. "I did not have to read your mind to know it. Come. Can you manage the stairs?"
Lucy said that she could, and indeed, the strength was rapidly returning to her limbs as she, with Sonya's aid, stood up again. Soon, she lay snugly in bed, watching the dancing of the tree-shadows outside her opened window, and almost before she knew it, she had fallen deeply asleep, all fears, all hopes, even all thoughts forgotten.
A riot of bird song came to her ears, and Lucy opened her eyes to see a clear, pale sky with no sun yet visible. For a moment, she was unsure of where she was, but as she sat up quickly, the sharp bump of her head on the low ceiling of her attic bedroom brought her to recollection again. Being unable to sleep, she got up and dressed hurriedly, and going quietly past Sonya's room, she made her way silently down the stairs and out the door. She decided to explore a little before Sonya woke, and she began with the shed. This was a simple structure, containing various tools and of course, the steadily-chugging generator, squatly sitting in one corner and singing its unending song. Behind the shed was a wood pile, and to the left of this was a well. Lucy saw that there was a hand-driven pump at the well, and she wondered if the water jug needed refilling. Further behind the shed, she saw the outhouse, and after using it, she walked back to the house to see about the water.
She found the large jug empty, and went to fill it at the well. She enjoyed the rhythmic pumping motion as her own hand brought the water up from the depths of the earth. She often forgot that this, in fact, was where all water came from. She thought that she would remember it from now on, however, and once the jug was filled, she found a wheel-barrow and used it to wheel the heavy jug, really a tank, back to its place beside the back door in the kitchen. As she entered, she heard sweet singing, and then she saw Sonya at the stove.
"Well," the latter said, turning to the door. "You're out early, and you brought more water! Thanks very much! Just leave the barrow there and come in and eat." Lucy did so, leaning the vehicle up against the side of the house, and came in to find a wonderful breakfast of porage and fresh fruit waiting for her.
"Once we've eaten," Sonya said, "I'll show you the island." Lucy was glad for the sweetly-flavoured porage, as well as the tea and assorted fruits which Sonya had provided. She was hungry as she had never been hungry before. She thought it was due to the fresh air here, and she ate with avidity. Sonya, however, ate sparingly, and it was on the tip of her tongue to ask if anything was wrong, but Sonya seemed so cheerful that Lucy thought she was worrying unnecessarily.
"You'll notice I keep no coffee here," said Sonya conversationally.
"I never thought, but yes. I guess you're sick of it?"
"Yes indeed! When Beans 'n' Buns closes for the summer, I feel as though I never want to see another cup of coffee for as long as I live. Of course, by the time the fall comes, I'm happy to be back there, but for now, away with that cursed bean!" Lucy joined in Sonya's merry laugh, and soon, all her worries about Sonya's seeming lack of appetite were banished to the far recesses of her mind, where she hoped they would stay. They were, after all, unfounded. They had to be. Besides, the day promised to be a beautiful one, and Sonya was going to show her the island. What could ever go wrong on a day like this? But even as she thought this, the memory of the chill of last night came over her, and she looked again at Sonya, who continued to pick almost absently at her food, and she thought: even here, perhaps, there be dragons.
The morning was passed in amiable companionship as the two women hiked over all the island. Lucy was amazed to find that deep in the very sentre of the island, at the very top of its conical summit, a little waterfall spilled into a stream which meandered its way all the way to the lake. There was a certain pool in which Sonya said she often fished for trout, and in the neighbourhood of the pool, she told Lucy, was the hunting and living ground of a pack of wolves.
"Why would wolves live all the way out here? I thought they'd always be on the mainland."
"Well," said Sonya, "there have always been wolves here. That's why it's called Wolf Island. In fact, I picked it for a place to live precisely because there are wolves here."
"You enjoy living with beasts who could tear you flesh from bone?" Even as she said this, Lucy knew she had made a blunder.
"You forget, Lucy, that I could tear them if I so desired, whether as a wolf or as a human being. They tend to sleep during the day, so they'd only ever meet me at night."
"Okay! Okay! I suppose you're right."
"Besides, wolves tend to sense the wolf nature in us. If we're lucky, one may even befriend us, or even a pack may decide that we belong to it. There is a wolf here who knows me, though he is not a full member of the pack. They let him hunt with them, but it seems as though they sense something off-putting about him. I still haven't figured him out yet. Perhaps you'll meet him while you're here."
As the sun climbed higher, the tour was over, and Sonya left Lucy while she went into town for supplies. Lucy spent the afternoon alternately reading and lounging on a bench outside the cabin, and by the time Sonya returned, the sun was setting, and low black clouds, rose-tinged on their western edges, were creeping in from the east.
"We'll have a storm tonight, I think," said Sonya, as she brought the groceries in. "I'd better get the wood in before it rains. Will you put these away?"
Lucy put the groceries away as best as she could, and soon, she heard the thumping of an axe as Sonya chopped kindling. Then, there was a large clap of thunder, and immediately following this, the rain fell in torrents. Lucy wondered why Sonya had not come in out of the rain, and she had just decided to go and look for her, when she suddenly saw through the driving rain the dim white shape of a wolf at the back door. For a moment, she thought it was Sonya herself in wolf form, but as she moved cautiously towards the beast, one look in the eyes convinced her that it was a mere animal, with no human intelligence there. There was no "Sonya" feeling from it in the least, but it looked at her steadily and strangely, wanting her to follow it she thought.
"Alright," she said, "and went out into the rain. The wolf loped away and she went with him, and soon, they came to the wood pile and its chopping-block. There was Sonya, very much in human form, but standing as though transfixed. The axe was upraised in her hand, and Lucy feared lest she should carelessly let it fall. It was as though Sonya was sleep-walking. Lucy remembered her mother having turns like this, and she knew that it was not wise to shock the person if you could help it. Still, she thought, the thunder is enough to wake the dead, so I'd better get her inside before more of it comes.
She turned to look at the wolf, but was amazed to discover that he had vanished. She supposed that he had done what was needful for his friend, but that now, he had to return to his own business. So, she carefully approached Sonya and took the axe from her. As soon as she felt the tug, Sonya loosened her grip on the tool, and let Lucy put it down on the block. Still, however, she stood unmoving, her arm still raised as if in mid-swing.
"Sonya?" Lucy spoke quietly and calmly, though every nerve was taught with alarm. "Sonya Parish? It's me, Lucy Milligan. Do you know me?"
Sonya turned to look at her, and though her eyes were vacant, Lucy knew she had recognized her voice.
"Alright now, Sonya," she said. "It's alright. You can put your arm down. You don't have the axe anymore." She didn't think that this would work, but amazingly, Sonya responded by putting her arm down, and she looked as though she wanted more instructions.
"Okay now, Sonya," said Lucy, still in her quiet way. "Can you find your way back to the house?" She knew that if she were to touch her, Sonya might involuntarily lash out at her. Sonya nodded, and moved behind Lucy as she turned to walk the way she had come. Once inside, Lucy got her to sit down, and then suddenly, she herself began shaking all over.
What should she do now? What could she possibly do for Sonya? She knew that this was not sleep-walking, but something much stranger. Sonya was in the grip of something dark. Lucy knew that as surely as she knew her own name. Then, just as she thought she might scream out of sheer frustration and terror, Sonya's eyes snapped open and she gasped audibly.
"No," she said wildly. "No! You can't do it! No! Please!" The last word was a scream barely held in check, and Lucy came hurrying toward her and shook her.
"Sonya! Come out of it! Come on!"
Soon, the other woman's rigidity relaxed, and she turned to Lucy.
"What did I do? What did I say? Tell me, for God's sake!"
"Well, when I found you, you were standing out in the rain, axe upraised, but you let me take the axe from you and you let me guide you back to the house. Then, just now, you seemed to be telling someone not to do something, and you sounded as though you were in pain."
"I--I don't remember it clearly. Yet, I know I was fighting with a very strong force, a very strong mind I mean. How did you find me?"
"A wolf led me to you, if you can believe it," said Lucy. "He was white, and at first, I thought he was you, but then I knew he wasn't."
"I call him Gwynn," said Sonya. "I don't know if he knows his name, but that's how I think of him. He came and found you?"
"Yes. He was just sitting at the back door when I looked out to see if you were alright."
"Well," said Sonya, "I shall have to thank him for his help. Perhaps I'll let him have the steak I was going to make us for our supper. I can't make it now."
"But there's still wood in the box," said Lucy. "Could I make it for you?"
"No, child. There's some sliced chicken in the fridge, and some vegetables. Could you make us a salad with that do you think? I'm afraid that this ordeal has weakened me."
"Let me help--"
"No! Please go and make the dinner." Then, after a pause, Sonya added more kindly: "Perhaps I will be better later. I'm sorry I shouted at you."
Lucy had never seen the ultra-composed Sonya so raw and nervous. Without saying another word, she went and prepared the salad, and soon, she heard the soft strains of a sad tune coming from the strings of Sonya's harp. Perhaps Sonya wanted to banish her own fears with the music as Lucy was trying to do with the chopping of vegetables. All she knew was that something was terribly wrong here, and that Sonya wanted to keep it from her. Perhaps she did this out of love or kindness, but Lucy found herself wondering if Sonya really did think of her as a child, too young and inexperienced to know about the real cruelties of the world, even of this strange world of shadow-walkers. Yet, Sonya had shown her the bird, and that stark revelation would not have been shown to someone whom she thought of as a mere child. Still, Lucy wished that her mentor would confide in her. She wanted desperately to help this woman who had done so much for her, and who, besides, was such a special person. Lucy hated to see her hurt, and longed to ease the pain which she knew still lingered somewhere deep under the layers of strength and resolve which Sonya was using now to mask it. Whatever had happened out there, the trance was only the external manifestation of something deeper, more elementally painful, and Lucy feared that she could do nothing to help, and that she was really ill-equipped to help if it ever happened again.
Still, as she set out the dinner things and glanced into the parlour, she saw Sonya sitting easily and stroking the harp with sure and caressing fingers, and then she almost screamed. For there, on the floor, seeming as obedient as any dog, lay Gwynn the wolf, looking adoringly up at Sonya as she played. Yet, as Lucy took a step in, a low growl issued from Gwynn's throat, and she stood rooted, not wanting to cross his invisible territorial boundary.
"Hush, Gwynn," said Sonya, stroking the pale head. "Don't you think you've had enough music for tonight?" And with that, she got up, opened the front door of the house, and stood back for Gwynn to pace slowly out.
"There," she said when he had left. "He's gone now for the night."
"Does he often do this, come in like this while you play your harp?"
"Actually," said Sonya, "this is the first time he has come into the house. He has often sat outside the window, but this is the first time he actually whined at the door."
"I guess he just wanted to be sure you were alright. You must have frightened him as much as you did me. Dinner's ready, by the way."
Sonya stowed the harp in its corner, gave it a quick buff with a cloth, and followed Lucy into the kitchen.
"Well, this looks lovely," she said, "and began to eat the improvised chef salad with a will."
"I'm glad to see your apetite's come back," said Lucy. "I have to admit that you worried me at breakfast."
"Lucy, I'm sorry I'm worrying you. I hope you never have to find me in that entranced state again. I assure you that it is not a common thing with me in the least."
"Well," said Lucy, getting herself a glass of water from the big jug, "I'm sort of used to it. My mother has been known to sleep-walk, and I learned how to deal with her from a doctor she saw once for the condition. I'm just glad it worked with you too, or I wouldn't have known what to do. But, after we got into the house and as you were coming out of it," she finally said after a long silence, "it seemed as though you were in pain."
"Pain? No," said Sonya quickly, (almost too quickly, Lucy thought.) "No, I must have been dreaming, or remembering something. Now," she said, changing the subject, "I want to test your mental powers. Do you know that there is a proveable statistic for ESP?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that if I laid down five concealed cards, the average time that a person without much ESP would get a card right is one in five, or five out of twenty-five. This is averaged over a thousand deals, of course. Do you know what my own average is?"
"No," said Lucy.
"Fifteen. Fifteen right guesses out of twenty-five. Ten seems to be the average for most shadow-walkers with this sort of ability, or so the Parapsychologists among us say."
"Parapsychologists?"
"Yes, there are a few out there. They study themselves and others of our kind in private, but they do share their findings with us from time to time."
"So what," said Lucy. "We're going to play guessing games now?"
"In a manner of speaking, yes," said Sonya, and while Lucy cleared the dishes, she got out her Tarot cards and laid five face-down on the table.
"Now," she said. "Close your eyes and think about the first card." Lucy did so, and she saw The Tower from the reading that Sonya had given her more than a month ago now.
"The Tower," she said.
Sonya turned it over, but to Lucy's consternation, the Six of Cups was there instead.
"Try again," said Sonya patiently.
"There's a woman who's blind-folded and surrounded by swords," said Lucy, almost without hesitation.
Sonya turned the card over, and indeed, that woman was there, and the card was the Nine of Swords.
Good," said Sonya. "Next?"
"Oh, oh, I don't know. I just can't see anything. Is it The Devil?"
Alas, it was not. It was the Five of Pentacles.
Lucy tried the two remaining cards, and first, she saw a family in a boat, rowing across a river under a grey sky, and when Sonya turned the card, that was the exact image printed there, and the card was the Six of Swords.
The last card she tried to focus on kept showing her The Tower again, but when Sonya turned it over, Lucy saw not a tower, but a woman seated on a throne, a sword held in her right hand. This was the Queen of Swords.
"Let me try something," said Sonya musingly. "Look at the Six of Cups."
Lucy did so, and she saw a happy little scene of cherubic children gathering flowers in baskets.
"Now, what do you feel when you see this picture?"
"I'm not sure," said Lucy. "I don't really feel anything. I find the whole thing a little too cheery for my liking, actually. It just sits there, flat and, well, obdurately perky I guess."
Sonya gave one of her wonderful clear laughs. "Alright," she said. "Now, look at the Nine of Swords and tell me what you feel."
"I feel that this woman is trapped, that she can't get out. She's blocked on every side, and it's like the walls, or swords, are closing in on her. I don't like that feeling."
"Alright," said Sonya. "Now, I want you to try to sense what I'm thinking about. Let your mind go blank and focus on me."
Lucy tried to let her mind go blank, but she could do nothing but hear her own thoughts, which were rather absurd in their mundanity. She knew that she was thinking about the supper she had just had, and she was wondering when the rain, which was still falling steadily, would stop, but she got nothing from Sonya.
"Well?" Sonya spoke aloud out of what seemed to Lucy a long, long silence.
"Nothing. I can't hear anything or sense anything."
"Alright. We'll try again."
Immediately, Lucy knew. She knew that Sonya was thinking of something very sad, of the death of someone close to her.
"Angelica Foster," said Lucy, almost unaware of having spoken. "You're thinking of Angelica Foster and how she was killed at a frat party nine years ago."
"Good," said Sonya. "Now, this is very important. What came to you first, the name, the circumstances or the feeling?"
"It was the sadness," said Lucy. "The sadness led me to the rest."
"Lucy, you have a very rare gift. I believe that you are an empath. This is your primary gift. The others can be trained, and they will be if I have anything to do with it, but your primary gift is sensitivity to emotion. Empaths often make very good healers."
"Are you an empath then?"
"No," said Sonya, "or not primarily. I have learned something of the empath's skills, but my main gift is knowledge, direct knowledge of what is passing in another person's mind. You take the more dangerous and tortuous path, and arrive at knowledge via the heart. I have been told that this is a very heavy burden for a shadow-walker to bear, but if I can, I'll help you with it. Now," she said, gathering up her cards, "if we can in all this rain, we should try and sleep."
Lucy looked at her, and all at once remembered her weakness of a few hours before.
"Are you alright, Sonya?"
"I will be," she said, sighing heavily. "I will be. Until tomorrow, Lucy."
"Alright," Lucy replied, uncertain whether Sonya was hiding anything from her. "Goodnight!"
The rain finally ceased towards dawn, but Lucy was not aware of this. After lying down on her bed fully clothed, her next recollection was a beam of sunlight slanting in at her bedroom window, and when she looked at her watch, she realized that it was already ten o'clock. She wondered why Sonya had not woken her before now, but then she decided that Sonya likely had her own things to do and just wanted to let her sleep if she was so inclined.
Changing out of the clothes she had worn yesterday and into a fresh pair of jeans and a sweat-shirt, Lucy made her way downstairs to the kitchen, where she found a bowl, a box of cold cereal and some fresh fruit waiting for her. Sonya must have gone out, she thought, and poured herself some Cornflakes, drenching them in milk from the fridge, and taking an orange from the ornate fruit-bowl in the centre of the big, butcher-block table. As she ate, she could hear the birds outside as they went about their nest-building and mmating rituals.
It's still spring, she thought. I'm used to being at places like this during the summer. It's hard to believe that May is only just over half-gone. Ah well, I'm glad I can be here so early in the season. Look at that little sparrow!
She laughed to herself as she saw a little, fat sparrow hopping along the limb of a birch-tree which grew on the border of the clearing where the cabin was. He looked for all the world like a little old man running to and fro doing his shopping. Now, he would have a twig in his beak, and now, perhaps a leaf. Then suddenly, a line from a Sunday School hymn came into her mind.
"I sing because I'm happy. I sing because I'm free. His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me." Suddenly, as she finished her cereal and put her dishes in the dish-pan, she found herself singing aloud, in what she had always considered her slightly off-key bellow. Yet, now, today, she didn't care what she sounded like. She knew that her voice was not the equal of Sonya's, for instance, but she was singing from her heart, and that was what mattered. As she ended her song, she suddenly heard a rich harmony blending with her melody-line, and she turned to see Sonya herself in the doorway, her cheeks ruddy with the cool, morning breeze, and a bucket full of fresh fish in her hand.
"We will have a lovely dinner tonight," she said cheerily. "I hoped that you wouldn't sleep the whole day away, but I admit that when I finally went out and you were still in bed, I wondered if you were alright. Still, I thought it best to let you lie if you would. Last night was shocking for us both, after all."
Lucy remembered Sonya standing motionless, the axe brandished above her head, and when she contrasted that form with the woman who stood here now, she could hardly believe that last night had even happened. Surely it had been a dream. Surely--but no. Sonya had just mentioned it, so that proved that it had not been a dream.
"Come," said Sonya, laying down the bucket. "Don't look so worried. It's passed now. I want you to forget all about it. We're here to relax and to learn, not to brood about frightening things. Now, let me show you how to fillet a fish!"
Lucy's stomach turned at this prospect, but she fought her rising gorge and let Sonya show her the ins and outs of a filleting knife and how the bones lay in the trout she had caught. In no time, the fishes were properly cut and packed in the fridge, and though Lucy had not overly enjoyed the process, she was glad she had learned something new.
The afternoon was spent out on the lake, with Lucy learning how to row and Sonya watching birds through a pair of benoculars. Sonya gave Lucy patient instructions, and even when Lucy managed only to row in a circle, she still did not get angry.
"Rowing is a skill that takes practice," was all she would say, or, "Keep going," and Lucy would keep going. She felt that she would do anything that this woman asked of her. She was so wonderfully alive and vibrant that Lucy really did think of her as some elemental force rather than merely a woman. Merely a woman? But surely not. She had lived for three-hundred years or more. Surely in all that time she had somehow managed to transcend mere womanhood and even humanity. Yet, a muttered curse escaping Sonya's lips as a bird she was watching was startled by some unknown noise on the shore made Lucy realize that for all her long life and wise ways, Sonya was really just like herself, a human filled with hopes and fears, joys and frustrations.
The day had turned into one of those warm May days which are harbingers of summer, and Lucy had abandoned her sweat-shirt for something cooler. Sonya had once again dawned her deep green shawl, which, she explained, was to keep off the sun, but her sunset-coloured hair she had left free. As lucy turned from time to time to look at her, she thought once again of Tennyson's Lady of Shallott. Sonya could have been the model for the Waterhouse painting of the same name which Lucy had in poster-form over her desk back in Thornton. She, with her mouse-brown hair, her dull eyes and her short stature simply could not compare. Where Sonya was like a graceful willow, she herself felt like a squat and prickly cedar-bush. Still, inside there was a bond. Inside, she was now who she had always wanted to be, or at least she hoped she was.
"Alright now," said Sonya. "Let's take her back home now. I've seen the birds I needed to see," and Lucy, now finally getting the hang of how the oars moved, turned the boat sharply and rowed steadily towards Sonya's dock.
When they reached the cabin, Sonya got out a cast iron skillet and began to cook the fish. She bad Lucy boil some potatoes which she had peeled earlier that morning and had left in a pot of water, and once the potatoes were boiled, Lucy mashed them with lots of milk and butter, and soon, the dinner was prepared. Sonya had cooked the fish with herbs and white whine, and along with a small salad, the meal was enough to fill Lucy twice over if she'd had a mind.
"Well," said Sonya, doling out the fish. "Your arms must be tired!"
"A little," said Lucy, desperately trying to control her shaking hand as she moved her fork from plate to mouth, "but they'll be alright. What will we do tonight for our lesson?"
"Tonight," said Sonya, "I think you must learn to be a wolf."
"Learn to be a wolf? I can already become a wolf."
"I know that, and that is not what I said. I said that you must learn to be a wolf, to think like a wolf. The wolf-nature has a lot to offer when it is controlled by a human will, and tonight, you and I will run together as wolves." Lucy saw a glint come into Sonya's eye that she had never seen before. It was sheer, unadulterated wildness which sparkled there in the depths, and for an instant as she herself felt it too, she knew that Sonya saw the same thing in her eyes.
"Do you mark the sun's decline? No, don't look," added Sonya peremptorily. "Just tell me what you feel."
"I feel that yes, the sun is going down, and the night is coming back. The night is what I am, where I belong I mean."
"Good," said Sonya. "Now, finish your dinner, and you and I will be a part of this night!" The words hissed on her lips, and Lucy was almost afraid of the sudden tention and wildness which was coming from her. Still, she knew that Sonya was still herself and wouldn't harm her, so she ate quickly, cleared the table, and soon, was standing with Sonya outside the back door of the cabin, awaiting instructions.
"Now," said Sonya in that same tense voice, "taste the night with all your being. Draw it into you. Let yourself melt into it. Now!" The final word was drawn out until it had become a howl, and Lucy saw Sonya beside her now in wolf's shape, and what was more, she herself was now a wolf, pacing beside her mentor, fawn body beside white body, into the dense arborage of the inner island.
"Remember," said Sonya's voice inside her mind, "to use your sense of smell. It will tell you much about your surroundings." Lucy did so, and was amazed at what she could notice. She smelled a hundred different animals either hunting or sleeping nearby, and she smelled the trails of other wolves, and even the trail of a skunk, though she knew that it had not sprayed its tell-tale scent into the air.
Suddenly, Sonya took off at a trot, and Lucy found herself needing to follow. Sonya ran round and round, leaping fallen logs and crawling under low-hanging branches, and all the while, Lucy pursued, happy to be playing like this. Then, the two came together and began playfully wrestling. Lucy now knew what her mother's Golden Retriever Ramsay felt like when he and another dog started fighting over a toy. All she wanted to do was to win, to win at any cost, but at the same time, she knew that they weren't fighting to kill. This was merely a practice-session, and she let herself enjoy every minute of it.
Then, all at once, Sonya's body went limp. Lucy was afraid that she had done something to injure her friend, so she changed quickly back into human form again. Sonya, however, was still a wolf, and she was shaking in every limb the way Ramsay would do when a storm rumbled over top of his dog-house.
"Sonya," Lucy said and thought desperately. "Sonya? Change back. You've got to change back! She reached out her hand and stroked the soft, white fur. "Come on, Sonya! Change back! Please!" Then, she remembered what Sonya had done when she had found herself caught up in the wolf-change. Quickly, hardly knowing how she did it, Lucy took shadow-form. Surrounding Sonya, she told her in no uncertain terms that she had to change back, and soon, Sonya herself was standing there, still shaking violently.
"The house," she said. "We must get to the house!"
Lucy lost no time. Resuming her human shape again, she took Sonya's hand and led her back to the house. Once inside, Sonya went to the sofa in the parlour and threw herself down upon it.
"I'm sorry," she said, through sobs that wrenched her body. "I told you not to worry. I have been trying to protect you, Lucy, but I have failed. Still, I hope that nothing will truly find us here."
"But what happened? What frightened you?"
"The Source," said Sonya in a far-away voice. "I touched The Source, or it touched me. The Source, Lucy, the force behind what we are. It--it wants me, somehow. I don't understand it, but it wants me. Please take my hand. It's still seeking for me."
Lucy took Sonya's hand and knelt beside her. She was really frightened. Anyone could see that, but for Lucy Milligan the empath, the effect was doubly strange. She could feel waves of fear coming from Sonya where she had always felt composure, impacivity and strength.
"It's alright," she kept saying over and over again. "It won't find you. Surely you can keep it out."
"I think," said Sonya, beginning to regain her composure, "that it seeks for all of us at some time in our lives. It is drawn to us as steel is drawn to the magnet. Did you ever stop to wonder who the first werewolf, or the first shadow-walker was?"
"Well," said Lucy, "now that you mention it, I never thought about it. Still, there had to have been someone to start it, didn't there?"
"Yes," said Sonya, "and no one knows who that was, but many of us have a theory that a powerful shaman or druid or witch or magician, call it what you will, once touched that force which now gives us life, and drew some of it into himself. Perhaps he was a werewolf, and perhaps he was a full shadow-walker. We'll never know for sure, but we believe that this person was likely ambitious for power, and it was only much later that the code by which many of us live was born."
"But what is this force, this Source as you call it?"
"It is blind dynamism. It is power without purpose. It seeks to change, only to change. It was this magician, we think, which created the idea of the werewolf or the shadow-walker. The source had no such idea, and still hasn't. We believe that it functions on instinct alone, exists in the background of the world and is drawn to those whose rhythms closely match its own. It is we humans who have limited its scope, but if once a human can move beyond limitations of form and thought, anything may be possible. We believe that having tasted a limited form of consciousness, The Source now seeks for itself sentience, true awareness. It seeks to have intent of its own, rather than serving the wills of others. Still, this is all a theory only and has not yet been proven."
"You're minimizing this, Sonya," said Lucy. "You're minimizing your terror. I felt it, remember? I understand what you feared and still fear."
"Here," said Sonya, sitting up and making room beside her. "Sit down for a moment."
Lucy did so, and Sonya again took her hand. Again, despite everything, Lucy felt the strength of that hand, the resolve in Sonya's touch.
"We'll deal with whatever comes together, right?"
Lucy agreed silently, only squeezing Sonya's hand in response. Now, it was her turn to cry, and she didn't want Sonya to see her do it.
"Cry, Lucy," said Sonya. "You are allowed, you know," and she suddenly pulled Lucy into a strong embrace, letting the girl cry on her shoulder until all her tears were shed.
"Now," said Sonya, when Lucy's crying had subsided, "I think a little music is in order," and she got up, still a little unsteady on her feet, and walked to the chair nearest to the harp. She drew the instrument to her and began to play, and suddenly, softly, she began to sing. The song was in Welsh, Lucy thought, though she did not know what it meant. She had heard several Welsh songs during her thesis appointments with Tegan, and she had become familiar with the deeply wild and musical phonetics of the language, even if she did not know the language itself.
"The song is called Hiraeth," said Sonya as she ended. "'Hiraeth' is a word that means 'longing,' but something more than longing. It is something fundamental to the human spirit."
"The song is beautiful," said Lucy, tears coming into her eyes again. "It seems like it's being sung by an exile when you sing it."
"An exile," said Sonya thoughtfully. "An exile. Well, perhaps. It is true that I have adapted myself to whatever time I have found myself in, but a part of me is still Sophia Ellen Parish of the settlement of Thornton Village."
"And," Lucy said, "you must have seen your share of death."
"It is true," said Sonya with a sigh. "Death has dogged everyone I have ever known, and yet it strangely eludes me. It is an odd existence, to be sure. But now, my girl, the clock informs me that it is nearing midnight. Perhaps we both should be in bed."
Lucy wouldn't hear of Sonya tackling the stairs alone, even though the latter professed that her strength had returned after the strange turn she had just experienced. Once Lucy had seen her teacher safely into her room, she went to her own and shut the door behind her. The night was dark, but not dark with rain. It was simply and finally black, that inky, velvet blackness that only dense tree-shadows can provide far away from cities and their glaring luminosity. She found herself thinking of that thing, that entity which was not truly an entity that had touched Sonya's mind. How could Sonya protect herself from it? How could Lucy help her? A part of her felt ancient as the hills and twice as weather-beaten, but most of her felt like what she was: a young girl faced with new and strange facets of existence that she could not begin to fathom. She looked again at the night, and all at once, it was no longer her domain. It was something massive and brooding, waiting for its time to strike and to--what? To what? What could this force, this Source, this blind dynamism really do? If it was only energy, what could it do to Sonya? Lucy shook her head to clear it, got undressed, and shutting off the flashlight which served her for illumination in this room, slipped under the covers, leaving the night to itself at last.
"Aaaaaah!" Lucy heard the scream before she fully realized it to be coming from her own lips. She had a dim remembrance of the dream from which she had just awakened, but mostly what she remembered was the extreme terror which it had engendered, and just as she was certain that Sonya had not heard her momentary fright and just as she had resolved to turn over and try to sleep again, Sonya herself appeared in the room, the beam of her flashlight playing over her face and shining briefly into Lucy's own, causing her to blink and rub her eyes furiously.
"I'm sorry," she found herself saying. "It was nothing, just some dream or other."
"No," said Sonya. "It was not just some dream. It was a frightening dream."
"But I shouldn't have screamed and wakened you. I'm really sorry. I feel so silly!"
"It's alright, Lucy," said Sonya, sitting on the edge of the fouton. "I wasn't sleeping anyway. Do you recall the dream?"
Lucy wanted to do anything but recall the dream, but she knew that Sonya always had a reason for asking such things, so she tried to think, despite her fear, and soon, she was able to relate something of it to her friend.
"I was somewhere, somewhere in the dark," she began, "and I was cold. I remember it was cool there, I mean. But well, at the same time, I wasn't really there. I was observing sort of. Someone else was there, though I couldn't see who it was. It was a woman I think, and she was pleading with someone to help her before it was too late, and well, I felt how frightened she was. I was convinced that she was dying, and I wanted to get away, but I couldn't go anywhere. I knew she didn't know I was there, but I also knew that I was lost, lost and alone, and well, so was this person, this woman."
"Take my hand," said Sonya suddenly. Lucy did so, feeling only now the coldness of her own hand in comparison with Sonya's warm touch.
"I'm not certain that this was simply a dream," said Sonya. "Your hand is chilled, and there's no reason for that, but it could be a sign that you really were where you thought you were, in the spirit I mean."
"I've heard of such things," said Lucy. "Do you mean I had an out-of-body experience?"
"Yes," said Sonya. "You may have, though I don't know why." She looked reflectively up at the slanting ceiling and seemed utterly lost in her thoughts for some minutes. Suddenly, a chill seemed to pass through her, and Lucy felt her hand shaking.
"Are you alright?"
"Yes," said Sonya. "I'm sorry. I was just thinking, and I think," she said, letting go of Lucy's hand and rising, "that sleep is out for both of us for what remains of this night. I'll make us some cocoa."
"That sounds lovely," said Lucy, and the two of them made their way down the stairs to the kitchen.
While Lucy lit candles, Sonya put milk to heat on the stove and got cocoa and sugar from a cupboard. She hummed a tune while she worked, and Lucy was surprised to note that it was a bit of Gregorian chant. It was the Salve Regina, a prayer to the Virgin Mary, and Sonya now sang the words aloud in a high and sweet tone, well-practiced and well-disciplined. Lucy had an interest in medieval music, and she had heard this chant on several recordings, but here it was being performed for her live and in person by someone who, she knew, had sung it every evening at the close of each day for some years.
"Were you praying?" Lucy asked later, as they sipped their cocoa.
"I suppose," said Sonya. "Lucy, I don't know whether you should remain here much longer. I would hate to see you leave, but I cannot--I cannot be sure of myself right now. I don't want you to come to any harm because of me."
"But Sonya," said Lucy. "You told me that we would see things out together, whatever those things would be."
"I know," said Sonya, "but I think I was being selfish. I wanted a companion in this, this whatever it is, and there is much strength in you, Lucy, but it is as yet untried. I don't think I have the right to ask you to test yourself on my account. Tomorrow, you and I will go to the mainland. I'll get some supplies for the house, and then Lucy, I think we should get you on a train back to Thornton."
"Look," Lucy said. "I can't pretend to understand what you're fighting against or what you're going through, but you saved my life. You helped me when no one else could have, and even before that, you tried to look out for me. You saw what I couldn't see--about David I mean, and well, I--I love you, Sonya. You're a sister, a mother, something very close to me. I can't just leave you."
"I'm afraid, Lucy, that something is coming that I'll not be able to control or to stop. If you were harmed by what seeks me, I would never forgive myself. It is precisely because I look on you as a daughter that I want you to leave this place." Lucy saw tears standing in Sonya's eyes and felt them in her own as well. "The choice, of course, is yours."
"Then I'll choose tomorrow."
"Ah," said Sonya, a slight smile playing across her face. "Look out there! It seems that tomorrow is coming sooner than we expected."
Lucy looked out at Sonya's request. The first streaks of dawn were coming into the eastern sky, and suddenly, she found herself very very tired. Sonya, however, seemed wide awake.
"Lie on the sofa if you like," said Sonya, and Lucy did so without hesitation, and as she drifted off into sleep, which this time was thankfully dreamless, soft harp music accompanied her.
It was ten o'clock when Lucy finally woke, and after a quick breakfast of tea and toast, she and sonya went down to the boat, and this time Sonya sat at the oars, leaving Lucy to her thoughts. Neither of them spoke on the trip across the lake, but when they got to the dock, Lucy suddenly wondered how they were going to get into town.
"It isn't far," said Sonya. "We'll walk." And so they did. The road was practically empty of traffic, and the day was fine, and after an hour's brisk walking, Lucy found herself on the outskirts of the town, and Sonya was beside her, looking radiant and full of life, and she suddenly turned to her and looked her in the eye, and said quietly:
"Sonya, I'm not leaving. I can't leave."
"Then it's settled," said Sonya. "We'll have a fun day in town, and we won't bring the subject up again," and she set off. She looked as fresh as a daisy, but Lucy thought there was a certain heaviness in her step, and she resolved to help her no matter what the cost.
The first two hours passed productively enough, with Sonya ducking in and out of various shops and Lucy trailing in her wake, bewildered by the meandering ways of the town. Soon, however, they came in sight of a used book-store, and Lucy said that she wanted to look inside. Sonya agreed, and they decided to meet again outside the book-store at three o'clock and to go for a late lunch or early dinner at a nearby outdoor cafe.
Lucy opened the door, bells announcing her arrival to anyone within earshot, and suddenly, she felt herself to be cocooned in the pleasant quietude and sweet and musty smell of aging paper, dusty leather and well-cured ink. She had entered many a used book-store in her time, only to be disappointed by shelves and shelves of dog-eared romances and mysteries, used paperbacks which had even been the rejects of the four-for-a-dollar rummage sale before they had ended up in these literary rag-and-bone shops. Occasionally, however, she had entered a shop which really cared about used books, used hard-covers, perhaps even some first editions: a shop whose usually-bespectacled proprietor would be able to tell you the complete history of even the most obscure book in the building. This shop was one of the latter. It contained glass-fronted cabinets galore, and as Lucy's eyes got used to the subdued light inside, she realized that it was not for the casual reader.
"Hello," said a short, cherubic-faced man from behind the counter. "You appear to be my first customer today. Are you looking for anything in particular?"
"No," said Lucy. "I just love books."
Her eye fell on a beautifully-bound single-volume edition of Tolkien's The Lord Of The Rings, and lingered there longingly.
"Is that a first edition?"
"Indeed it is," said the man. "Many come just to look at it, but no one has bought it yet."
"Well, count me as yet another admirer," said Lucy. "I don't have the wherewithall to possess such a thing."
She conned more of the titles ranged in their display cases. There was Chaucer, Hardy, a collection of First World War poets, and then, suddenly, she saw it. It was a neatly-embossed pocket edition of Milton's Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained bound in one volume.
"May I see that book?"
"Yes. Put these on," and the man handed her some thin, surgical gloves, and retrieved the book from its cabinet. Lucy inspected the book, carefully thumbing the pages and noting their gold-leaf borders.
"How much would this cost?"
"I'd say it would be worth about one-hundred dollars. It is old, dating back to perhaps the eighteen-eighties, but it has been knocked around a bit as you can see. However, it is beautiful."
Lucy took out her credit card almost before the man finished his sentence, and soon, she was standing outside, her new treasure protectively cradled next to her in her jacket pocket. Here was something she could understand, something solid and real, something truly normal to her, and despite the fact that it had cost her more than she could comfortably afford, she did not regret the expense in the least.
Before long, Sonya joined her and the two of them walked over to the outdoor cafe. The day was cool but bright, and Lucy looked forward to dining outdoors.
"Well," said Sonya. "Order anything you like." Lucy ordered an iced tea, a spinach and orange salad, and some mushroom rizoto. They sat and ate, looking at people passing on the street, and then Lucy suddenly froze, her fork half-way to her mouth, and stared. Along the road was coming a familiar red sports car, and sure enough, it was pulling up beside the fence which enclosed the cafe.
"What on earth is he doing here?" For one brief moment, she thought of disappearing inside the small building which housed the kitchen and asking to use the restroom, but Sonya, seeming to sense her panic, stopped her with a look.
"There's nothing to be done now," she said steadily. "Let's just see how this plays out."
At last, the engine was shut off and David himself, looking strangely haggered and care-worn unfolded himself from behind the wheel. Lucy could now see that the passenger-seat, that seat in which she had sat so many times, was not empty. A woman emerged, looking just as care-worn as David, and walked beside him through the wicket-gate and over to where she and Sonya were sitting.
"Well Lu?" David's voice sounded hollow, but he still greeted her in the usual way. "Fancy meeting you here!" Lucy had the impression that she was listening to a ventriloquist's dummy speaking, and it unnerved her. Then, turning to the woman beside David, she had a further shock, for here, in the flesh, stood Dr. Tegan Russell, though greatly changed. Her cheeks were drawn and hollow, and her eyes seemed over-bright, and she moved unsteadily on her feet, as though she had been drinking. She didn't utter a word, but Lucy could see the fear in her eyes.
"David," she said carefully. "What are you doing here?"
"We were merely taking a ride," he said, again in that mechanical tone. "I wanted to prove something to Dr. Russell here, and now I have. Oh, and Miss Parish," he said, turning a look of intense hatred upon Sonya, "I was told to give you a message. You should stop resisting the inevitable. What must be will be. Your day of reckoning is coming, and soon."
"Mr. Greenaway," said Sonya. "You don't look well. Neither of you do. I might be able to help you."
"He said you'd say that," suddenly broke from Tegan's lips. "He told me what you did to him. He told me your idea of helping, but then, I should know, shouldn't I? You did the same for me! Well, thanks for nothing! He can have you as far as I'm concerned."
Still, behind her anger, Lucy knew that Tegan was deathly afraid. Even now, in the daylight, she could feel Tegan's fright, and she thought she could even sense some of what the woman was thinking. When she tried to turn her thoughts to David, however, she encountered obstinate solidity and blank nothingness. He seemed to have no thoughts and no emotions, and this frightened Lucy even more than his dire wornings had done.
She turned her attention to Sonya, and saw her sitting still, listening to Tegan's anger and letting it happen without protest. Lucy thought at first that she was saddened by it, but then, upon closer inspection, she felt that Sonya had seen something in Tegan that she had not. She decided to change the subject.
"What were you trying to prove to Tegan, David?"
"Just this," he said, coming closer to her, "that we didn't need her help to find you and your friend. The truth is that we can have you any time we wish, and we wanted her to know that. Now, Dr. Russell, we need to leave." They both turned as one, walked slowly through the gate, and were in David's car and off before Lucy could think of anything to say in parting.
"Well," said Sonya, "there it is. I now understand more than I did, though there are still questions that need answering. Let's finish and go, shall we?"
"I'm not hungry, but I too understand more than I did. I know now who the woman was in my dream or my out-of-body experience or whatever you want to call it. It was Tegan, and before, on my first night here, I had a vision. Peter was torturing someone. I think he was torturing Tegan!"
"Eat, Lucy. We both need to eat," was all Sonya's reply, but Lucy could tell that she was trying hard not to cry.
They both managed to eat their meals, and as they were paying, Matt Andrews appeared.
"I got the perishables from the market, Miss P," he said. "Is this the rest of the stuff?" He pointed to some bags ranged around Sonya's chair.
"Yes, Matt," she said. "Thanks for giving us a lift."
"Hey," he said. "Your advice has brought me good luck over the years. It's the least I can do," and he picked up the bags and walked out of the gate. Lucy and Sonya followed him, and soon, they were sitting in his elegant and aging car, driving back the way they had walked only this morning. That walk now seemed a lifetime ago to Lucy. David had found them, and Tegan was not home in Wales. What did all this mean? What did Sonya understand now? What was this day of reckoning David had spoken about? She didn't know the answers to any of these questions, but she had a hunch that Peter Buchanan was involved in all of this, and she resolved to talk to Sonya about it as soon as they were alone.
Matt helped them down to the boat-dock with their bags, and Sonya stowed the bags in the boat while Lucy handed them to her.
"I hope you'll both be alright over there," said Matt. "The night's fixin' to set in stormy again." Lucy herself felt this. The humidity had increased over lunch, and dark clouds began to roil and race in a wind which was rapidly picking up speed. However, the sun still showed in spots, so she estimated that they could make the crossing alright.
"It could be a bit of a rough crossing," said Sonya to Matt, "but I've been through worse and lived to tell about it." Lucy found herself idly wondering if Sonya had been on The Titanic. You just never knew with her.
"Well, alright," said Matt, "if you're sure. I'll leave you to it then. Bye for now!"
"Goodbye, Matt," said Sonya, "and thanks for everything." Matt stalked back up the hill and got into his car, and Sonya stood carefully in the boat and helped Lucy to board.
"We'll be home before you know it," she said when Lucy was safely seated in the bow, and sat to the oars with a will.
The rain had begun falling in earnest by the time they had moored the boat, and it was a wet and slippery time as they carried the bags up to the house. Suddenly, Lucy remembered the book in her pocket and hoped the water hadn't damaged it. As she took it out, Sonya came over from putting the food away to inspect it.
"Ah," she said admiringly. "You did find a treasure! Mr. Tillerman always has an interesting selection, but I don't remember seeing this before."
"Those Victorians really knew how to bind books," said Lucy.
"Indeed yes," said Sonya, and Lucy was struck once again by the fact that Sonya had actually been alive in a time which to her seemed as remote as the coast of Africa. "I recall many a volume done in this style."
"I suppose you do," said Lucy, and she found it difficult to keep the annoyance from her voice.
"Lucy, are you alright?"
"Alright? What do you mean? How could I possibly be alright?" The words were out of her mouth before she could bite them back, and after she had said them, she found herself unable to look Sonya in the face. "Damn," she said quietly. "God damn, I'm sorry! I just hate what happened today!"
"Alright," said Sonya. "This calls for something special. Help me finish putting the food away, and we'll share a little something I have on hand."
The food was away in a moment, and Sonya got out a dark bottle from under the counter, and two snifters.
"Have you ever had Cognac?"
"No," said Lucy, "but it's one of those things I've always wanted to try."
"Well, here we go then," and Sonya poured two measures and handed one glass across the table to Lucy. "Sip it slowly, and be sure to sniff it first."
"I just don't understand you," Lucy said after her second glass. "You're a walking contradiction! You read Tarot cards and sing the Salve Regina, and you're a waitress with a very expensive bottle of Cognac and a cabin away to hell and gone, and well, you gave someone the gift of life and she threw it back in your face and you didn't even say anything to her! How could you let her say those things to you today?"
"Tegan? Tegan is very frightened. Something has spooked her. For me to engage her in that state would be futile. Besides," Sonya said, "for all I know, she may be absolutely right."
"Oh come on!" Lucy was very angry now, and the singing of the coming night and the singing of the cognac in her blood added urgency to her thoughts. "She's not right! He's not right!"
"He? He who?"
"Peter! Peter Buchanan! Damn it, Sonya, we have to stop him! I know you're fighting and resisting that force, that thing, all the time. It can't go on like this! It just can't!"
Lucy downed a third glass of cognac almost without thinking, and then she stood up and began pacing. She paced from table to back door to table again, and Sonya simply sat there and watched her, letting her live with the emotions now boiling inside her. Suddenly, all the fight went out of her and she slumped into her chair again, and Sonya, still without speaking, put the kettle to heat.
"I'm making us some tea," she finally said, "and then I want to lay the cards, and I need your help to look at them."
"Why would you need my help?" Lucy was miserable now. "You're the one who knows all about this stuff, not me!"
"Lucy, two heads are better than one, and in my current state, I need all the help I can get. You're right. I am resisting with every ounce of strength that I have, but I need to look further into this--into what David said."
Lucy sighed heavily and watched as Sonya brought the cards over.
"Now," said Sonya, "put your hands over mine on the pack and we'll both concentrate on David's warning." Lucy made to comply, when suddenly Sonya took up the cards and separated them. "I'm removing the suits and focusing only on the trumps, the major arcana. We need as much clarity as we can get, and in questions like this, suits can muddy the waters. Alright. Now, place your hands over mine."
Lucy did so, and was surprised to feel the chill in Sonya's hands.
"Your hands, Sonya! They're--"
"Shhhhhh," said Sonya soothingly. "Don't think about that now. Just think about David's message."
After some minutes of silence, they suddenly both decided to move their hands, and Sonya, as though returning from a million miles away, took up the cards slowly and began to shuffle them. The shuffling went faster and faster, and then Lucy watched in awe as Sonya's hands danced as she dealt the ten-card spread Lucy had seen in the coffee-shop.
First, there were the two crossed cards. Lucy saw the familiar image of the tower struck by lightning, and crossed over it was the figure of the blind-folded man dancing at the edge of a cliff. This was The Fool, she remembered. Then, above the cross was The Hanged Man, a man suspended by his ankle from a beam, and beneath the cross was The Wheel of Fortune. To the left of the cross was a card called Strength. It showed a woman standing with her hands holding open the jaws of a lion. To the right of the cross was Judgment. This showed an angel blowing a trumpet. Then, in the collumn to the right of the other cards were, from bottom to top: The Hermit, showing a man with a torch climbing a mountain; The Magician, showing a man with a staff calling down power from on high; The Chariot with its mysterious sphynxes, and The High Priestess, showing a woman sitting in front of a temple and holding a scroll.
"Now," said Sonya. "Tell me what you see."
"I don't know," said Lucy, feeling embarrased. "I guess there's the tower with sudden change, and that fool who doesn't see the change coming."
"Alright, and?"
"I don't know what this one with the hanging man means, but I guess that this change has to do with a pattern, because of the wheel."
"Good," said Sonya. "The Hanged Man is an interesting card. Have you ever read any Norse mythology?"
"Not really," said Lucy.
"Well, one of their gods, called Odin, was once blinded by his son. His son wanted power, but Odin had the last laugh. He was blind, but he let himself be hung upside down from The World Tree, and because of his sacrificed sight, he received the wisdom of the magical runes, and was able to still retain his seat as King of the gods. The Hanged Man is about that kind of sacrifice, letting go of all resistance and allowing whatever will come to come." Lucy didn't like the sound of this, but she said nothing, allowing Sonya to continue. "In the recent past is Strength, the kind of strength which comes from steadfastness rather than from aggression, and in the immediate future is Judgment, as in The Last Judgment. It will be my day of reckoning, Lucy. That much is clear."
"But what about the last four cards? What are they about?"
"The Hermit is our journey I think. It's about finding truth, following the light of truth. The environment in which that journey is being taken is signified by The Magician. This represents creative potential, and could also represent the director of that potential."
"You mean Peter," said Lucy, "don't you?"
"Yes," said Sonya. "I think there's more to Peter Buchanan than any of us knows. I don't know what it is, but I know that some consciousness is behind the activity of that primal energy which has been trying and trying to invade my mind. If it is Peter, then his mind is very powerful indeed, and I don't think I'll be able to stand up to him if he tests me."
"So The Chariot's about mystery? About the fear of the unknown?"
"Yes," said Sonya, "and The High Priestess is also about mystery, but this is Mystery with a Capital M, like Holy Mystery or Sacred Mystery. I feel that whatever is coming is necessary, necessary in a fundamental way. I feel that by the end of it, I'll know why I have been given the long life I've led."
"So you have to just sit here and wait for what's coming?"
"In a sense, yes. Sometimes the hardest thing to do is to stop resisting. However, with whatever time we have left, I'll try to teach you what I know."
"What do you mean?" Lucy was alarmed by Sonya's talk. "You don't think you're going to die, do you?"
"I have absolutely no idea," said Sonya, "but I know that I will be changed somehow. I know that my life has been drawing toward some inevitable point. I knew that one day Peter Buchanan would try to have his revenge for what I did to him, and now that day has come, or will come soon, and you, somehow, are mixed up in it, though I don't know how as yet. That is why I have to try to prepare you. It will not be long, Lucy, before I must stop fighting. In a few days, I will not have the strength anymore, and then it is that we must simply surrender to the moment."
"That sounds bleak," said Lucy.
"Perhaps it is not so bleak as it sounds, my daughter," said Sonya, reaching for Lucy's hand. "There are other powers besides that one which seeks me. If you believe in God, then call on Him. If you believe in yourself, then trust yourself."
"I trust you," said Lucy. "I trust in your strength."
"Then do so if it makes you feel better," said Sonya heavily, "though I fear that I may not be worthy of such trust."
The next few days passed as slowly as years for Lucy. Not only was she anxious about David's warning and the mysterious presence of Tegan in David's company, but the weather had turned traitor. Rain fell in great sheets all day and all night, and dense clouds obscured both sun and moon. She and Sonya became prisoners of the rain, spending long hours indoors with book or harp in the day, and longer hours experiencing the fullness of what it meant to be shadow-walkers at night. Lucy learned what history Sonya could tell her, and spent time learning how to exist as her shadow-self. At these times, Sonya stayed in human form, and when Lucy asked her why she did this, she was evasive.
As the days passed, Lucy noted the moon's increasing presence in her blood at night, and she realized with surprise that this would be the third full moon since the night on which she had been turned.
"June is coming," Sonya said one night. They had finally been spared the rain and the two women were sitting out on the lake in the boat. It was a warm and beautiful night, the moon now almost full visible, and the stars shining brightly in a sky clear of clouds. "This night should be a June night."
"Yes," said Lucy, "I suppose it should." She found herself looking at Sonya now as she had done again and again over the last few days, for as the days had passed, she had begun to look worn and tired. Oh, she still did the chores that were needed and seemed energetic enough, but Lucy knew that a battle was being fought behind Sonya's eyes in which she could take no part.
"You see it then?" Sonya's question startled her.
"I--I--yes," said Lucy finally, "and I hate seeing the tiredness that comes into your eyes at odd moments. I hate not being able to do anything for you. But Sonya, maybe we could forget it for a while. Maybe we should head back to the island and just spend the night as wolves as we tried to do before. I'm so restless that I can't even think straight!"
"We'll go back if you like," said Sonya, "but I'm afraid that I can't join you in your lupine excursion." She laughed softly, and Lucy found herself thinking back to that Friday morning in Beans 'n' Buns when she and Sonya had laughed over Elliott of all things. So much had happened since then.
"Come," said Sonya, setting the oars in their locks, "let's go. I know that the last thing that you want to be doing right now is sitting still in a boat no matter how lovely the night is." And with several powerful strokes, she brought the boat around and under the shadow of the island. Lucy thought how ghostly it looked in the moonlight, and then wanted nothing more than to be a part of this night, to let it wash over her and possess her.
"I'll see you at the house," she said to Sonya as they climbed out of the boat, and all at once, she was off in wolf's shape through the forest.
Sonya stood alone in thought, uncertain of what must be done next.
"Well, Mistress Honoria," she said to the darkness, "where do I go from here? Have I perhaps lived too long? How can I keep this young girl safe?" Just then, as if in answer, a white shape appeared beside her and she knew it at once for Gwynn.
"Gwynn," she said, stroking his matted fur. "I want you to find Lucy and stay with her." As she said this, she tried to impress what she meant onto his mind. She was never certain of how much this wolf could understand, but she felt easier in her mind when she saw him run off in the direction that Lucy had gone.
"Alright then," she said again to the darkness, "I've done what I can do. Now, I'm ready." But no answer came, and the darkness remained dark, and the moon still cast its erie glow over the trees.
Lucy ran and ran, not caring where she went. She felt the moon's influence on her and felt herself inhabiting the wolf's skin, and suddenly she knew that nothing mattered but the moon and the night. When Gwynn found her, she was even more excited, and decided to lead him a merry chase if she could. Over logs and under limbs they ran, Gwynn always keeping just a step behind her, and then, finally, she turned to face him. Circling and circling, they took fighting posture, and began to playfully nip one another. Lucy loved this honest joy, this natural happiness. For once, she could forget all the gloom and doom of Sonya's talk and just live for this moment, be fully present in this night. Soon, she found herself rolling over and over in a heap with Gwynn, and she lay exhausted, noticing however that Gwynn was suddenly standing on full alert.
"What is it?" Lucy resumed her human form on seeing his fright, for it was fright rather than mere defensiveness. Gwynn was suddenly shaking all over, and she had no wish to be caught unawares. Looking in the direction Gwynn looked, Lucy realized that they were not far from the house.
"Is it there?" She felt silly asking this wolf questions, but Gwynn seemed to understand her, for he moved off in that direction, taking slow and tottering steps, but moving steadily nearer to the house nonetheless.
"Well, if you can do it," she said, her own fear making her voice shake, "then so can I," and she followed Gwynn's white bulk as it paced before her to the edge of the moonlit clearing. Suddenly, just at the edge of the trees, Gwynn stopped dead, really cowering now, and Lucy was about to go past him when a voice made her jump.
"No!" It was Sonya's voice, and she was in definite pain. "You can't help me now," she said again. "Gwynn, don't let her come nearer!" At that, Gwynn seemed to gain new resolve, for he stood up and began pacing back and forth, barring Lucy's way through the last few trees to where Sonya lay, spread-eagled on the ground, almost as though she had been tied to it with invisible ropes. Her eyes were wide and staring, and her mouth was twisted into a terrible rictus of pain and sorrow beyond telling.
"Take the boat," she said with great effort. "Leave me and forget you ever knew me."
Lucy didn't reply, but began to feel for Sonya's mind with her own. It was difficult to find her in the storm of pain, and there was another obstruction, something which seemed to burn as she touched it, but she kept going.
"It's The Source, isn't it?" She finally said this aloud.
"Yes," said Sonya, "and if I stop fighting it, I know this pain will end."
"If you must stop fighting," said Lucy, crying and shaking all over, "then don't forget me. Don't forget yourself!" And suddenly, through all the pain and the pity which stabbed Lucy's heart, a ray of hope came streaming, for there, on the ground, mercilessly assailed by pain past enduring, Sonya Parish began to sing. It was the Salve Regina, and she sang it now as if her heart would split in two.
Lucy didn't care what would happen to her. Suddenly gathering herself, she leapt straight over Gwynn and landed not far from Sonya. Now, she could feel the energy whirling around her, and in that moment, she looked into Sonya's eyes.
"We're in this together," she said, and touched Sonya's hand. It was ice-cold, and when she felt the chill, Lucy thought it would freeze her very heart.
"Together," said Sonya. "Together, Lucy Milligan." Lucy felt for Sonya's pulse, and she was alarmed to feel it slowing. However, she had not much time to register this fact, for all of a sudden, she felt something take her, change her into shadow-form and whirl her away from Gwynn, the house, Wolf Island and Sonya.
During the past few days, she had learned how much control she could exert over her environment in shadow-form. Though she seemed to have no body, she knew that she was still solid, still real, still able to manipulate objects and propel herself through space. It was less like moving in air, however, than like swimming through water. She had to consciously push the air out of her way in order to move through it, but once she had mastered this trick under Sonya's patient instruction, she found it easy to do. She was reminded, in fact, of the times she had spent diving on vacation with her parents. She had always wondered what it would be like to just exist in the water like the fish did, without all the clumsy breathing apparatus weighing her down, and now, as a shadow-walker in shadow-form, she finally thought she had some idea. It was wonderfully intoxicating to be a part of the air, to spread yourself out on the wind and let it take you, and then suddenly to decide to change direction and to master the wind.
Now, however, in this whirling madness of flight, she had no control. She felt paralyzed, unable even to think. She was caught in an undertow and she had no choice but to ride it out. Fighting was just too much effort, and the force which propelled her was far too strong for her. She knew this without knowing how she knew it, but she knew it as a dead certainty, with no room for argument. She wanted to think about Sonya, to wonder how she was and to try to reach her with her mind, but all she could do was not do anything. Every attempt at exertion failed, and every attempt to determine where she was going was met with blank nothingness, the same blank nothingness she had encountered in David during their last meeting. She knew that she wanted Sonya to be here with her, to tell her that it would be alright, but all she could think of was the last sound she had heard as she was pulled away. Sonya had suddenly screamed: a long, deafening scream of pain, and at the same moment as though in sympathy, Gwynn had howled. It was these sounds which rang in Lucy's consciousness while it lasted, and when it finally gave way and fell silently into the blank nothingness, the sounds followed her into the void.
She was lying on something hard. This much she knew at once, but it was a long time before she knew anything more. Where she was or what day it was or indeed who she was remained impenetrable mysteries for now. She began to hear a voice, someone crying perhaps, and she wondered for a moment if it was herself, but as she came more fully awake, she realized that the sound of the sobbing was located outside of her own head. She tried to move, but she hurt all over, and the hard surface on which she was lying made it impossible for her to do more than feebly lift a hand to her head.
After some moments, she was able to open her eyes, but was dismayed to find that only darkness was visible. She still heard the sobbing, however, and wanted desperately to make it stop. Not only was it disheartening to her, but the sound of it hurt her head terribly. Slowly, her eyes became more-or-less accustomed to the darkness, and she could make out tall shapes, dim and bulky, and it was from behind one of these shapes that the sobbing was coming. Suddenly, she decided to investigate the sound, and though it hurt to do so, she used all her strength and tried to sit up. As she moved, her head connected with one of the dark shapes she had seen, and there was a tinkling sound, like glasses being knocked together in a toast. No, she thought, not glasses, but bottles. Wine bottles. Why would wine bottles be here? And where was here, by the way? She felt her head to see if she had injured it, only to encounter a very tender spot near the nape of her neck which must have been injured sometime before. But how long ago had that been? And who was crying? She decided to try her voice, though her throat was dry and she now found that she had begun to shake in every limb. This place was chill, and though she was wearing a jacket, the chill seemed to go right down to her bones. Nevertheless, she couldn't stand the pitiful noises coming from the darkness, so she resolved to try to speak.
"Hello?" What came out was a croak, but she tried again. "Hello? Who's there?"
"Lucy?" The voice was somehow familiar, but she couldn't place it. Still, as soon as the person pronounced the name Lucy, she knew it for her own.
"Yes," she said now. "It's Lucy. Lucy Milligan."
"Thank God!" There was palpable relief in the voice, and as the woman, for it was a woman who had spoken, moved toward her, Lucy recognized the lilt of a Welsh accent, and suddenly, she knew that Tegan Russell was beside her, taking her hand and chafing it between her own, and sobbing now with joy.
"When you came here, I thought you were dead. I thought--I thought I'd killed you."
"You? What do you mean?" But all at once, Lucy understood, and this sudden understanding imparted yet greater chill to the air. She pulled away from Tegan in disgust.
"It was you! You told them we had gone away!"
"More than that, I'm afraid," Tegan said. "I let him--Peter--reach into my mind and find Sonya's imprint there. It was like a scent to him. All he had to do was to follow it, and there you were at that cafe. I didn't believe, Lucy. I didn't believe he could really do it, but somehow he was able to make David drive right to where you were."
"Why? Why in God's name did you do this?" Lucy couldn't believe what she was hearing.
"He said that he could cure my Cancer," said Tegan, looking at the floor. "It came back, Lucy. I really was going home as I told you. I wanted to die with my family, and to get away from this shadow-walker business for good. But as I was leaving the college one night, Peter appeared beside me. I mean it! He just appeared, out of nowhere, and told me that he could help me. He said he could do more for me than any doctor, if only I would do something for him. He wanted to know who had turned me. I'd tried so hard to keep my true nature hidden, but I suppose he had seen it long ago."
"So you told him? Just like that?"
"He said--" Tegan fought back more tears. "He said that he could not only reverse my Cancer, but could turn me into a normal human again. I want that above all else, Lucy. Don't you understand that? I hated Sonya for what she did to me, and so I told him. I told him her name, and let him find her through me. I didn't know about your part in all this though."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better? Sonya could be dead now for all I know. If you had seen her face or heard her voice, you would certainly have regretted your actions. Even you wouldn't wish on her what happened! But what is my part in all this, as you put it? Where are we and what am I doing here?"
"We're in Peter Buchanan's wine cellar, and I think you're bait. You and I are both bait, I think. It's clear to me now that Peter cannot help me. In fact, ever since he brought me here and probed my mind, I have not seen him. Only Maxwell and David have been my companions. Oh," she said after a pause, "and these vintage bottles of course."
"What? No pit? No Pendulum?" Lucy began to laugh wildly in spite of her anger, and before long, Tegan joined her.
"No," she said, "but I think there's an amusing little amontillado here somewhere." The two women rocked back and forth, their laughter ringing off the walls and ceiling of the cellar like the laughter in a nineteenth-century madhouse.
"Tell me," said Tegan when they had fallen silent. "How did you come here? I woke up and saw you, and I thought you were dead."
"I was brought here in shadow-form," said Lucy, remembering only then how it had happened. "I was torn away from Sonya, and I have no idea if she lives or not." Her anger had returned with full force.
"Oh," said a voice behind her, "don't worry, Miss Milligan. Your Sonya isn't dead." Lucy turned, pain filling her at the sudden movement, to see Peter Buchanan standing framed in a shadowy doorway, his silver-topped stick in his hand. "Did you think I wished her dead? Never! Death is nothing compared to what I have planned for Sophia Ellen Parish. Now, I have come here to invite you ladies to dinner."
"Dinner? How can you talk about dinner?" Lucy was incredulous.
"I'm simply issuing an invitation. At six o'clock tonight, my nephew and I will be dining on the terrace. You are wanted there." Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and left, closing the door and locking it behind him.
"God I hate this!" Lucy stood up, still in pain, and began pacing between the wine-racks. "I don't even know what day it is or what time it is!"
"It's about noon," said Tegan. "At least, if my watch can be trusted it's about noon. I found you here this morning, if that helps you."
Lucy's pacing was interupted by Peter's nattily-dressed buttler, Maxwell, who came in carrying a folding tray with two meals set out on it.
"You might as well eat," said Tegan, as Lucy looked suspiciously at the food. "I don't think that poison is his style."
"Well," said Lucy, "David drugged me. I wouldn't put anything past these people." However, even as she said this, the smell of the chicken soup and egg sandwiches came to her nostrils and she suddenly realized how hungry she was. She ate and began to look more closely at Tegan. There was a thermos of tea sitting on the tray, and as Tegan took off the lid, Lucy noticed her hand shaking and saw pain reflected in her eyes.
"Earl Grey," said Tegan. Nothing like it, eh?" She smiled ironically and poured two cups, handing one to Lucy. Immediately, Lucy found herself remembering how, on that Friday morning in April, she had sat with Tegan over her own thermos of Earl Grey as they had discussed nothing more pressing than the challenges of writing a thesis about Arthurian literature, and she had pushed Tegan away because she had been afraid to talk about David's abusiveness, and ashamed to admit that she was with him because it gave her pleasure to say that she was in a relationship with a young up-and-coming artist. Now, all was changed, changed utterly, as Yeats would have it, and she found that she barely knew this woman sitting across from her.
"Tegan," said Lucy, concerned at the obvious signs of exhaustion on the other woman's face. "You said that the Cancer had come back. How--how long did the doctors say you had? What kind of Cancer is it?"
"The brain," said Tegan. "They thought I might only have three to six months left. I don't always have pain like this, but it is getting worse. She suddenly dropped the china teacup she was holding and clutched her head, falling backwards and lying prostrate on the floor. Lucy was appalled!
"How can he keep you like this?"
"There's something that will help," said Tegan through clenched teeth. "In my pocket. Needle." Lucy found the needle, and suddenly, she recalled her father. He too had been a Cancer patient, and Lucy had learned to inject him near the end with the only thing which would keep him sane: Morphine. She thought she was going to throw up, but seeing Tegan writhing in pain gave her a steady hand. She administered the injection, and then found herself unable to look at her professor. Instead, she rummaged in her jacket pockets, and suddenly, her fingers closed upon a small, hard-covered book. She pulled out the book and looked at it. She held it to her nose and inhaled its honest fragrance, and suddenly, she remembered standing in the used book-store in Smallbury. She wanted to cry with the memory of that lovely half-hour, that half-hour before the darkness had come, but a moan from Tegan took her from her thoughts. Suddenly, not knowing what else to do, Lucy opened the book and began to declaim lines from Paradise Lost, hoping somehow that it would help Tegan to relax. For her, the clean, Miltonic verse was a balm better than sleep, and she hoped it would produce the same effect on her professor and fellow-literature enthusiast.
The only interruption in Lucy's reading came when Maxwell entered and removed the tray, cleaning up the broken china without betraying any concern at the woman now sleeping a light sleep of drugs on the floor. After he left, Lucy continued her reading, speaking the lines in as steady a voice as she could manage, pausing only occasionally to sip some water from a pitcher which Maxwell had provided, or to bathe Tegan's clammy forehead with a piece of fabric she had torn from her jacket. How were they going to get out of this? Would Sonya come? As she thought of Sonya, into her mind came the Salve Regina, but always, it was drowned by that long, long scream of pain. On and on she read, turning pages and speaking lines, and trying not to hear that scream in her head, but as Tegan slept on, breathing steadily now, just as her father used to do when the meds had taken hold, the memory of Sonya's face and her voice raised in that terrible cry ripped through her head again and again. How on earth had she ended up here? How could she get away, and why in God's name was Tegan not at a proper hospital?
As the afternoon wore away to evening, Lucy still speaking Milton's lofty words, Tegan began to stir. She woke just as Satan was surveying Adam and Eve in the garden, and Lucy noticed a smile cross her face as she became aware of what Lucy was reading.
"Lucy," she said now. "It's five-thirty. I think we'd better prepare ourselves for this dinner."
Lucy put the book away, assessed Tegan's condition as best as she could, and decided that she was on the upswing which often accompanies Morphine. She didn't know how long this would last, but she thought that Tegan would be alright to move.
"How is the pain?"
"It's gone for now," said Tegan. "I feel more-or-less like myself."
"Good," said a voice that Lucy knew all too well, and David walked into the cellar. "It's time for you both to join us for dinner." Lucy again had the impression that David was not a real person but something mechanical. She wondered if there was any part of the real David left, and she resolved, no matter what might happen, to try to reach him.
"Come on," he said now, and pulled Tegan roughly to her feet. Lucy stood up and came behind the other woman, in case she needed support ascending the stairs, and all at once, she was out of her prison, out of the coolness of the cellar and into the civilized parts of the house. The halls and passages were confusing to her, but at length, here was the drawing-room and the french windows which led out onto the terrace where she had dined on that night which now seemed so long ago.
"Ah," said Peter Buchanan as they came out into the evening air. "I am glad you both could join me! Come! Sit!" Although Lucy knew that he was merely acting the part of the gallant host, she was surprised to find herself being at least somewhat won over by his charming manner. He had always by turns intimidated and intrigued her, and even though she now knew him to be a man of no conscience, the intrigue was still there.
Lucy was seated next to David, and Tegan was placed at Peter's side, for all the world as though this was truly an intimate dinner between friends. Wine was on the table, and Peter poured liberal glasses for everyone. For a moment, Lucy thought that he would propose a toast, but seeming to think better of it, Peter put down the glass he had been holding and sat back in his chair, as though expectantly waiting for something.
As the huge clock in the drawing-room chimed the hour of six, Maxwell appeared with a large dish which was covered with a cloth. At least, Lucy thought it was a cloth at first. However, when Peter removed it, she sat in horrified stupifaction as she realized that it was a pelt of some kind: a sleek, white pelt.
"Now is the time for the toast," said Peter dramatically once Maxwell had retreated. "Please stand and drink with me to absent friends!"
Notwithstanding the fact that Peter had said that Sonya was not dead, the sight of this wolf's skin covering the dinner filled Lucy with dread. Tegan, who apparently had not recalled Peter's statement of a few hours before, stood mechanically, as though out of long habit, and then let her glass slip from her hand and crash to the flag-stones below.
"You're sadistic!" Lucy hardly knew what had possessed her, but the anger she had been feeling for the past few days was now able to be directed towards a worthy recipient, and she was not going to lose her chance. "I know this isn't Sonya's wolf-skin, but to do that to Tegan! Look at her! She's in shock!" Lucy made to move toward her professor, but Peter stopped her cold with a look. It was as though all the energy had been drained from her limbs, and she could do nothing else but sink into her chair once more.
"Still," said Peter, "you know what this beast is, do you not, Miss Milligan?"
"Yes," said Lucy, looking fixedly at the pelt, now neatly combed as though it had been prepared to make a coat for some eccentric and wealthy sportsman who sought a trophy of his latest kill. When last she had seen it, it had been a living and undulating mass of matted fur pulsing with the rhythm of the night. Still, she knew without a doubt what beast had worn it. "I know. He was called Gwynn, and he was very special! Now where is Sonya?"
Peter turned his intense gaze upon her again, and Lucy suddenly flinched, as though she had been stung or slapped. Only now did she begin to realize that Peter Buchanan was even more than a mere shadow-walker. There was something in him that was malevolent beyond reason, and it was this conscious evil which frightened her the most.
Peter then removed the skin of the wolf from the dish, and there was a simple brazed fish in a white wine sauce. Lucy had half-expected to see Gwynn's noble head centred neatly upon a silver platter. However, she supposed that the effect of the grotesque mixed with the utterly civilized was what Peter had been going for. He was trying to keep her off balance by any means necessary. Suddenly, Lucy knew for certain why this was. Peter was frightened of her. Something in her caused him fear, and he wanted to keep her weakened and scared for as long as he possibly could.
"That's--that's not Sonya?" Tegan managed to mumble these words.
"No," said Lucy, "but he was Sonya's friend, and he protected me last night."
"You'll be happy to know," said Peter, "that Gwynn did not die alone. His dearest friend in the world got to watch him being torn to pieces. That must have shaken her a great deal! It's a pity, but it had to be done. Now, help yourselves to the fish! We don't want it to get cold, now, do we?" He spoke in a tone which was deliberately dripping with sarcasm, but every time Lucy tried to interrupt him, he bound her still with a look.
Suddenly, she found herself taking some of the dinner and eating it as though nothing untoward had occurred. A part of her mind knew that she was not in control of herself, but the larger part was overwhelmed with the taste of the food and the bouquet of the wine. She saw Peter gracefully bend to retrieve Tegan's broken glass from where it shattered, and was utterly dumb-struck to see him come up with the cut-crystal goblet, now whole and unharmed as though it had never been smashed.
"Have some more wine, Dr. Russell," he said, and refilled the glass, handing it to Tegan, who began to sip delicately at it. Lucy knew that she too was being controlled by Peter's will, but seeing Tegan bending to his whims was more than the part of her mind which was still free to observe the situation could stand. This part of her mind began to scream for Sonya, and, as if in answer, something came creeping into her mind, like the flame creeping along damp wood. For an instant, she thought it was nothing, and then, all of a sudden, this new impression tore through the fog with which Peter had enveloped her, and she found the strength to move.
"I've had enough of this," she said, and stood up to try to reach Tegan.
"Oh no," said David's voice, "not so fast." Lucy knew by now that it was Peter who controlled him, that it was Peter who made his lips move and his body act. Still, she remembered all the times he had hit her, all the times he had made her feel worthless, and she swore that she would never let him touch her again. He made as though to grab her wrist, but before his fingers closed upon her skin, he pulled away, suddenly stricken.
"What?" For one brief moment, Lucy knew that David himself had spoken, and she tried with all her might to reach him with her mind. She felt his bewilderment, and tried to use that as a bridge to the rest of his mind, but once again, Peter's power enshrouded him, and slowly, with great effort, it began to enfold her again as well.
"Come with me," said David's voice, and he took her by the shoulders and propelled her away from the table. At first, Lucy was too disoriented to realize where she was being taken, but all at once, she felt boards under her feet, and the part of her mind which Peter still had not managed to reach was able to inform her that she was in the gazebo again, that gazebo where David had taken her on the night of the faculty mixer.
"Why are we here, David?" It took an immense effort for her to form the words. All she wanted to do was to be silent and stay still. That was what Peter was telling her to do, but the one free part of her mind had managed to give her enough strength to ask the question. Was this Sonya helping her? Lucy wished with all her heart that she could know where Sonya was now.
"We're supposed to be here," said David. "We have to finish what we started."
"Started? We didn't start anything. Do you remember what happened that night?"
"We have to finish what we started," he said again, and began suddenly kissing her. These were cold, impassionate kisses. Peter was manipulating him like a puppet, and despite her revulsion at his touch and her horror to have the taste of him on her lips, she couldn't help feeling sorry for this man who had been caught and dominated so completely.
"David," she said to him with her mind. "David Greenaway! Listen to me. Remember who you are!" At that moment, he seemed all at once to be utterly confused. Again, he was bewildered and unsure of himself, and this time, Lucy took her chance. Hardly knowing what she did, and acting purely on instinct, she placed her hands on his shoulders as they stood facing each other. She began to recall the night of the mixer, and tried with all her might to show it to him, to project the memory into his mind. All at once, she began to see other things and to hear them as well.
"Peter," David was saying. "I don't know who this woman at the coffee shop thinks she is, but she tried to interfere with me and Lucy. She wants to turn her against me for some reason."
"What did you say her name was?" Lucy felt herself to be a part of the scene, observing but not active in it. Peter and David were sitting in Peter's drawing-room.
"Parish, I think," said David. "Yes. Sonya Parish."
"Don't worry," said Peter. "We'll deal with Miss Parish, and we'll use your Lucy to do it. Just leave everything to me. Tomorrow night will begin it. We'll make Lucy the cause of Miss Parish's downfall."
Then Lucy saw herself and David, locked together and struggling, and then she saw David change into his wolf's shape and begin to bite her. Then, in mid-bite, he seemed to recollect himself. He looked up as though he had heard a noise or had seen a ghost, and then he managed to turn her over and began to claw her back.
"Remember, David! Remember!" They stood now locked together in a frantic embrace which was by no means tender, and David suddenly gasped and fell to the floor. Lucy had to force herself to let go of him, but she managed to remain standing. There was big, strong, intimidating David, lying on his back on the floor and shaking with sobs.
"I admit it," he said after some minutes. "I wanted to rape you. I wanted to have you. But then I was a wolf, and though it seems strange to say it, I only realized at that moment that I was a werewolf. My instincts took over and I resolved to turn you, to make you like me. I'm sure that's what Peter wanted. Then came the realization, and I was horrified. I thought you'd be better off dead than in his hands, so I tried to do it. I tried to kill you."
"But he showed up," said Lucy.
"I suppose so," said David, slowly sitting up. "I don't remember anymore, and soon, I'm sure, I'll forget all this again, forget that I'm a monster and just go on being one forever."
"Look," said Lucy, and changed her form. The effort was very painful. She could still feel Peter exerting his influence upon her, but somehow, she felt utterly beyond him as well.
"Don't be frightened," she said into David's mind. "Come closer. I'm a wolf, but that doesn't make me a monster, and you don't have to be a monster either." Even as she said this, however, Lucy could smell the blood-lust which came from him, and before she knew it, David had transformed as well, and had begun pacing around her. She knew she had no other choice, and prepared to fight him. Slowly, they sized each other up, and then they were all teeth and claws, snapping jaws and blood and growling. They fought for what seemed to Lucy like hours, but was in reality only a few minutes, and Lucy tried very hard to avoid dealing David any serious injuries. However, she could not predict his movements at all, and when she tried to touch his mind with her own, she began to understand the differences between common werewolves and shadow-walkers. When David was in wolf form, there was no rational mind to which she could appeal. All she could do was to hold her own and try to tire him out. However, as the fight lasted, it was Lucy who was tiring. She realized that David had been a werewolf for a long time, and that despite her rationality, she was still only a very young shadow-walker. If Peter were to show up now, she thought, I wouldn't stand a chance.
Suddenly, David managed to get the better of her and knocked her flying into a bench. She struck it with her head and went sprawling on her back, paws in the air and breathless. She was conscious of her belly and her throat which were now unprotected, and as David moved in for the kill, she found herself unable to move and even unable to think. She knew now that she had not moved beyond Peter's influence, but that he had awaited a time in which she was most vulnerable in which to strike. Now, no part of her mind was free of him, and no part of her body would respond to her feeble attempts at movement. David was now standing over her, one of his paws on her neck so she couldn't breathe, and his bloody teeth ready to bite deep and kill her with one stroke. However, just as he was about to bite, he suddenly leapt away as though he had been burned, and Lucy heard something which frightened her even more than the prospect of dying.
"Lucy Milligan," said a cold, remote voice, seeming to come from all around her. "I seek Lucy Milligan! Lucy Milligan, come forth!" The coldness of the voice was unnerving enough, but as Lucy heard it pronounce the syllables of her name, she knew at once whose voice it was, and it was this which had truly frightened her; for that voice, seeming to come from the depths of the earth or the vast distances of space belonged to none other than Sonya Parish. Sonya had come. Finally and amazingly, Sonya had come, but was it truly Sonya who was speaking? Lucy changed back into human form and was surprised to find David also changed.
"What is it?" He was really scared now. No amount of control on Peter's part could touch him now through his fear.
"I don't know," said Lucy, "but I don't think Peter bargained on it, whatever it is. Come on. Let's go." She took David's arm and led him out of the gazebo.
Lucy felt drawn toward the terrace again, and with deliberate steps, she led David across the grounds. A cold, clear light seemed to bathe the terrace in a glow brighter than moonlight but with the same ghostly sheen, and in the glow, Lucy could see Tegan sitting motionless in a chair, and Peter standing equally motionless. He seemed to be staring at something within the light, and as Lucy got closer, she could just see the outline of a human shape wavering and shifting as though it were caught in a fitful wind. Indeed, as she came nearer, Lucy realized that the light was not just light, but it was the only way that her eye could take in what was actually there. If she closed her eyes, her mind perceived what seemed to be utter chaos, but what was, in fact, purpose unbounded, and dynamism barely kept in check. She knew now what had happened, or thought she could guess near enough. Sonya had been taken by the thing that she had called The Source, that energy behind all energy, but some part of her was still in control. At the core of this whirling mass of mental movement was a place of calm, a place of stillness past anything that Lucy could even begin to understand. She found herself wanting to crawl inside that stillness, to be there with Sonya. Yet, she also recalled what Sonya had said about those who found themselves in the grip of this power. They needed to be drawn away from it, and it would take a very strong mind to reach through the ever-shifting patterns of thought to find the person at the centre.
Lucy continued to advance, David clinging to her arm, and at the edge of the terrace, the pull of The Source finally took hold of her and she was bound utterly still, unable to move. This was ten times greater than the pull of the night before, and it was all she could do to keep her head while being inundated with this pure potential. She did not know what to do next, so she did the only thing she could think of.
"I'm here," she said. "I am Lucy Milligan."
"Yes," said Sonya's voice in that same, cold tone. "It is you. You are safe?"
"I think that's a relative term," said Lucy.
"You are unhurt, then?" The voice asked these questions in Sonya's own accents, but with none of the concern she would have shown.
"I am unhurt," said Lucy. "Will you let this woman go?"
"That is impossible," the voice said. "We are one now. The voice I am using I have not stolen. I cannot let her go, because she is not a prisoner. We have become a new self, a single consciousness."
"Can you change your form? Can you become like us? Human?"
"Humanity is irrelevant," said the voice. "I am what I am."
"Was this your plan, Peter? Has everything gone well for you?" Lucy was almost crying now. To hear Sonya's voice saying words like that was to be stabbed again and again with hot knives.
"This was not his plan," Sonya's voice said. "He foolishly thought he was the master here, but he was incorrect."
"I wanted her to be taken," said Peter, "but I thought--I thought she would be fully consumed! I thought she would arrive here, and then I planned to have her taken, but I can't stop this now." Lucy heard the fear in his voice, but was amazed not to feel the fear in his mind.
"Now, Lucy Milligan," said the voice of Sonya, "you will judge. Who will be changed and who will be left alone? To change is the only constant. Therefore, someone must be changed. This one, perhaps?" David was lifted bodily off the ground and made to revolve slowly in mid-air.
"What do you mean by change?"
"The mind that is now a part of me would use the word 'kill,'" said the voice. "This one hurt you. Shall he be killed for his crimes?"
"Crimes? What do you know of crimes?" Peter was growing even more frightened. "You can have no sense of morality!"
"Lucy Milligan, shall this one be killed?"
"No! He's done a lot of things in his life," she said, "but he doesn't deserve to die. Let him go!"
"You have judged well," said the voice, and all at once, David was back on his feet.
"Now, what of this one?" Tegan was pulled to her feet, but Lucy thought that the pulling seemed more gentle than that done to David. "This one betrayed you, and she is in great pain. Shall she be changed?"
"If you mean killed, then no," said Lucy, "but if she can be healed of her disease, then yes, if she will have it of course."
"Alas," said the voice, with perhaps a tiny trace of compassion, "she is like the bird. Killing would be her only escape now."
"Please," said Tegan, "don't kill me. Please don't let her kill me, Lucy."
"Can you take some of her pain away?"
"That is possible," said the voice, and a beam of light shot straight at Tegan's temple. Her face relaxed and she resumed her seat.
"And now," said Sonya's voice. "Peter Buchanan, come forth and be judged!" Lucy was amazed to see Peter being pulled across the terrace toward that wavering human shape in the centre of the light.
"You cannot judge me," he said. "You helped me, and I helped you!"
"You thought to control what cannot be controlled," said the voice. "However, that is irrelevant. You will be judged by this girl. Let her see you as you really are, and then she will judge."
Lucy was mystified, but since she was unable to move and could only look on, she could do nothing but let events play out.
"Why did you plan this revenge?" The voice was merciless in its questions. "Speak the truth!"
"I was turned by a young woman when I was scarcely ten years old," said Peter. "I called her Lady Alabaster. I was ill, and she said she could heal me. She did not tell me what I was becoming, but simply turned me. So, when I became a wolf, I was frightened, and I ran away from her."
"Go on," said the voice.
"I thought she would find me, but she did not do so. So, I wandered alone, and then I met--I met the other."
"The other? Who was that?" Lucy found herself becoming intrigued by the story in spite of the oddity of the situation.
"That doesn't matter," said Peter, "but suffice it to say that this other showed me much more than I could ever have known."
"What did this other show you?"
"It was this," said Peter. "It was The Source. It was pure potential, and it seemed to speak to me and to take me into itself."
"He gave his humanity to become one with me," said Sonya's voice. "Show her!" Lucy watched in stunned silence as Peter suddenly broke apart. It was not the way most shadow-walkers took shadow-form. That was a blurring and a melting of the body. With Peter, his body suddenly blew into fragments of nothingness, and without it, he himself was nothing, invisible. Lucy reflected that he didn't even have a presence in the same way that shadow-walkers in shadow-form did. He truly had given up himself, the thing that made him Peter, and had become a puppet.
"Resume your shape again," said the voice, and at its command, Peter was himself, looking as completely human as anyone else. "Do you understand your place now, foolish one? You thought you were master, and indeed, you have been given great power, but if you think yourself to be beyond death, then you are severely deluded."
"Miss Milligan," said Peter. "Don't you see? It has a consciousness now! It must be stopped!"
"And can you stop it?" Lucy almost spit the words at him. "Can you, who are nothing but shadow yourself, stop the very thing that gives you existence?"
"He's not really alive?" David suddenly spoke. "He's not really alive? No!" He was by now mad with fear and emotion, and before anyone could stop him, he had become a wolf again.
"David!" Lucy screamed with all her might, and tried to break free of the spell which bound her, but to no avail. She could only watch as David in wolf's shape went up to Peter and attacked him. David bit and fought and clawed and snapped, and not once did he draw blood.
"Your creature is rebelling," said the voice, cold mockery ringing in every syllable. "What will you do now?"
"David," said Lucy. "Stop this! You'll only be hurt!" Still, she could do nothing to help him, and with one swift motion, Peter cast him aside as though he were a rag doll, and soon, David had resumed his human shape, and he lay motionless on the flag-stones of the terrace, a pool of blood spreading from under his head. Lucy looked down at him, and despite all the hurts he had caused her, she found herself crying. His death had been without reason and senseless, and it was this more than anything which showed her Peter's true self, or lack thereof.
"I alone can kill him," said the voice. "If you lose this chance, he will still be able to take what does not belong to him. Tell her the rest of your story!"
"You would kill your own creation?" Peter was mocking now. "Whether you are Sophia Ellen Parish or whether you are the force which gives shadow-walkers their powers, you created me. You made me what I am, and now you would kill me?"
"Wait," said Lucy. "Of course David wasn't really your nephew, but you took him and turned him, and you have just killed him. Why shouldn't you receive the same treatment? And besides, no one has made you what you are. I think you did that all by yourself. Alright, so you were turned without your consent. It was a mistake, but what you did after that was your own doing. You were ambitious. You wanted power, and you took it."
"The force came to me," said Peter, "when I was ten, and when it was done with me, I was a grown man. I had lived in a timeless void for many years: a void without comfort or warmth, and it was to this existence that your Sonya Parish consigned me. Now, though the effect has been somewhat different than I had expected, this is what I've consigned her to. Let her exist there, forced to share her consciousness with a thing which is without remorse, without pity. Let it take her and change her as it changed me! Even if it kills me now, I will have achieved my end, but you, Lucy Milligan, seem to be the one link, the one foothold that my dear Lady Alabaster has maintained in this reality. You, therefore, must die!" Suddenly, Lucy found herself being pulled towards him, and his intense gaze was on her, and she felt the life going out of her.
"This is how you live," she managed to say. "You take the lives of people and live on them."
"Oh," said Peter, "not people. Shadow-walkers! Their life-force is the only thing that helps me maintain myself in the face of this cold and blind thing. Lucy began to sink to her knees, and then to crumple in a ball at Peter's feet, when suddenly, Tegan stood up, brandishing a knife. She managed to stab Peter, though the stabbing had no effect, but the disruption managed to break his hold on Lucy, and suddenly, life began to flow into her again.
"Damn you," said Peter, and flung Tegan across the terrace with a movement of his mind. She fell directly in the centre of the light, and Lucy wondered what would happen to her.
"Well," said the voice, as though nothing had happened. "Shall he be killed?"
"Why ask me? Why make me the judge?"
"It is what you are. You are the judge. That is all."
"Emotions," said Lucy, sudden understanding dawning. "Emotions are what you want. Sonya is in there somewhere! She's not letting you have her emotions, so you want to use mine, because she won't let you act until you have my opinion!"
"What are you saying?" Peter looked fixedly at her.
"I'm saying, Peter, that your Lady Alabaster is a very strong woman! You haven't won a thing here tonight!" Lucy wanted to jump for joy. "She's still in there! You're not in control anymore and neither is The Source. It's Sonya! She's forcing something that is unthinking to think before it acts! This is amazing!"
"Answer, Lucy Milligan," sonya's voice said. "Shall he be dealt with?"
But before Lucy could say a thing, Peter had suddenly summoned every ounce of strength in him, and had fled the scene, drifting away on the warm, night wind.
Lucy's mind became clearer with the departure of the thing that had been Peter, but still, she remained rooted where she stood, trapped by the influence of the energy which had almost consumed Sonya. She stood silently, pondering all that had happened and trying to digest the realization that had but lately come to her. Though it seemed as though Sonya had succumbed, there was still a part of her that hadn't. She had not let The Source take her emotions and turn them to its own ends. She had, instead, clung to Lucy as a life-line, and had made this generally instinctual and unthinking force use her as a compass to guide its actions, thereby saving her life and preventing it from destroying anyone else. The mention of the bird had started Lucy thinking, and now she remembered how frightened she had been when Sonya had healed and then killed the baby bird back at the cabin, but at the same time that she had wondered whether Sonya really lived by a moral code, Sonya had explained herself, and as disturbing as it was, Lucy knew that she had done what was in the bird's best interest. For The Source to mention that bird and then compare it with Tegan showed that Sonya still at least partly guided it, that Sonya's soul, for lack of a better word, was even now not lost.
"Lucy!" Tegan was speking from inside the light. She had fallen very near to the wavering and shifting human shape, and Lucy now saw her getting to her feet. She was amazed! How could Tegan even move, when she herself was unable to even think about moving? Then, just to test this, she did try to move, and found herself able to raise her hand and then to wiggle her fingers.
"I'm here," she said. "I'll try to get to you."
"No," said Tegan. "No. It's alright. I think I can find--"
But at that moment, Peter suddenly returned. This time, he was the very picture of The Magician in the Tarot deck. He came rushing in as though borne on a strong wind, and when he had taken his human shape, he stood with his stick upraised in his hand.
"Do you know what this is, Miss Milligan?" Lucy didn't respond. "It is the staff of the first shadow-walker. Did you think I was beaten?"
"What? What do you mean?" Lucy looked at the familiar black staff which had been inlaid with silver and was incredulous.
"I took it from his tomb. It took a lot of time and effort to locate it, but though he has long-since moldered into dust, this staff has remained to this day! As soon as I touched it, I knew it for a shadow-walker's tool."
"It is much more than that," said Sonya's voice, ringing like steel in the night. "It was the first thing to hold a piece of The Source. It was the first connection between mortals and the undying. It can, if wielded by one who is wise, command me."
"Precisely," said Peter, flourishing the staff above his head.
"Beware," said Sonya's voice. "Do you not wonder why it has survived so long? It has become more than its maker intended. It can destroy and it can create. It can cause pain and it can cause pleasure. Use it not rashly!"
"Oh no. Not rashly, but I will use it," said Peter. "I will," and drawing himself to his full height and pointing the staff directly at the wavering shape in the centre of the light, he said in a loud, clear voice: "Kill Lucy Milligan!"
Lucy felt the energy try to touch her, but in that touching she also felt the definite presence of Sonya. At the same time, she could feel Peter using all his power to direct the energy, but it was as though he was repelled, as though he was using the wrong end of a magnet to try to pick up a piece of metal. At that moment, Tegan came running out of the light, and with all her strength, she managed to wrench the staff out of Peter's hand. She swung it wildly, and it came crashing down on Peter's head. He did not break apart this time, but the staff seemed to sink right through him as though it were cleaving him in two. There was a scream of pain from him, and suddenly, he was not there.
Tegan stood unsteadily on her feet, but then, without a word, she handed the staff to Lucy. It was made of some dark stuff like Ebony, and it had silver markings on it that Lucy could not understand.
"Was this why he thought of himself as powerful?" Lucy was out of breath, but she barely managed to ask the question.
"I saw him use it once," said Tegan. "He used it to--to reach into my mind."
"Lucy Milligan," said Sonya's voice from the light. "You may command me. You have judged them, and now you must judge for the one whose voice I use."
"You have to let her go," said Lucy. "If she has taught you anything in this joining, then you should understand why you must let her go."
"She will never be truly free," said the voice. "She will be left hungry for what she now knows."
"I don't think so," said Tegan, surprising Lucy. "I think she's better than that. I tried to tell you before, Lucy. She's still in there. I found her! Maybe I can help you to free her!"
"I can't risk it, Tegan. You're in so much pain!"
"Do you think you can walk in there yourself?" Lucy had to admit that she thought she could not.
"Then it's settled," said Tegan.
"Alright," said Lucy. "This is my judgment. Let her go, if we can find her. Let her go and never try to invade her again! If you retain any consciousness after you leave her, then remember what I've said."
"Very well," said the voice. "There is another whom I can claim. He thinks he is immortal and a master of time and tide. Now, he will be my hands and eyes and voice. I will not lose the consciousness I now possess, but I will trade your friend for the other. He will furnish me with what I need."
"Do you mean Peter?" Tegan looked horrified. "Surely he's--he's dead now!"
"He died a long time ago," said Lucy, "but enough of him remained for him to fancy himself a master of energy. He must have fed on shadow-walkers all his life, using their life-force to keep himself seemingly one step ahead of this, this Source as Sonya calls it."
"But if it really claims him this time, what will happen?"
"Look," said Lucy. "I don't care anymore! And besides, why do you care all of a sudden? You never cared anything about what Sonya did for you or any of this business. Now, you're suddenly concerned for the future of all shadow-walkers? All I know is that I just want Sonya back!"
"Alright," said Tegan, sighing heavily. "Maybe I've had a change of heart. Maybe I want her back too. We have to at least try."
She reached out and took Lucy's hand, and together they advanced into the cold, silver light. Lucy tried her best to shield her mind from the weight of the chaotic thought-impressions which were crowding in upon her, but then, all of a sudden, there was utter peace. Here was the eye of the storm, and standing there, as real and solid as ever, was Sonya. Lucy reached out a hand to touch her friend, and she had to pull it away, for though Sonya looked to be solid and real, she felt as though she were made of electrical current.
"Tegan," said Lucy. "Have you ever been in shadow-form?"
"Only once," said Tegan, "during the bonding. I don't know if I could do it now."
"Take my hands," said Lucy, "and let yourself go."
"No," said Tegan. "I can't!"
"If you don't, then Sonya really will be lost. Can't you feel her concentrating to stay herself?"
"Yes," said Tegan. "I--I never knew how strong she was!"
"Well, come on then. Take my hands, and we'll help her!"
Tegan took Lucy's hands and Lucy showed her what it was like to change into shadow-form. When they had both made the change, they moved towards Sonya, and though it hurt terribly, they both managed to merge with her.
"Now," said Lucy, "we have to leave this light. Come on!" But all at once, she found herself unable to move, unable to contemplate leaving that place of calm security. Here was something which she imagined that only unborn babies felt. Here, she could exist without pain, without care, without worry. Here, she could be truly herself. This must have been how Sonya had felt when she had finally stopped resisting. Or no. This was what Sonya might be able to feel if she did stop resisting. Lucy wanted to tell her friends to stop fighting. Tegan could be free of pain here as well, she thought. It would be perfect peace.
"Lucy," said Tegan. "Lucy! Come on! She'll come with you. She knows you. Come on!" Lucy felt Tegan begin to move through the light: Tegan, who must have felt this freedom from pain as well. Tegan, who wanted nothing more than to be free of pain was moving back into pain, and in spite of the feeling of peace that was suffusing her, Lucy felt herself drawn in Tegan's wake, and she knew, somehow, that Sonya would follow her where she led. At last, this thought, the thought of freeing Sonya, reached her, and she found herself free of the intoxicating warmth at the centre of the light.
"Alright," she said, her whole self feeling as though it were being torn in two. "Alright!" Back through the light she went, and it was like she was swimming through freezing water. She didn't know how Tegan had proven the stronger, but she was glad that someone had shaken her from her intoxication.
"You're almost there," said Tegan. "Keep moving!" Finally, Lucy felt herself pulling free of the light, and soon, Sonya too was free, and suddenly, all three women were in human form again, and the light was gone. Only the moon, sinking now, cast its beams over the terrace of Buchanan Hall, and only the sound of the light wind playing in the trees roundabout came to Lucy's ears.
"Lucy," Sonya said, now sounding completely like herself. "Lucy, are you alright?"
"I feel like I've been run over by a truck," Lucy replied from where she lay on the hard flag-stones of the terrace, "but I suppose I'm in one piece." She began to look around her, and there was Sonya, some five feet away from her to her left, and Tegan to her right. The latter had been thrown beneath the outdoor dining-table. Her head, Lucy noticed, was resting on the wolf-skin which Peter had casually cast aside at dinner.
"Then it's true," said Sonya, also looking at the skin of the wolf pillowing Tegan's head. "When I saw Gwynn die, I was not certain whether it was illusion or truth I was seeing."
"How much do you remember of--of what has happened to you?" Lucy was uncertain how to describe the recent events.
"I remember it all," said Sonya, in a surprisingly steady tone. "I remember everything from the time I--we called for you. You were the last thing I touched before I was taken, Lucy, and it was your name which rang in what part of my mind was still my own. It took all my effort to emerge enough to speak it, but once I did speak your name, I knew that I could tread water, as it were, could stay at least partly in control.
"I think you did the same for me," said Lucy. "When Peter was influencing me, there was part of my mind which wanted you to come. I called and called for you, and then all at once, it was like there was light at the end of a long, dark tunnel, and I was able to think a little more clearly. I was able to show David the truth about himself." All of a sudden, she turned, and saw where David's body lay, the blood now turning dark brown where it slowly dried around his head. "I'm sorry he died, you know. I mean, I'm sorry for the way he died. It was senseless and stupid."
"Yes," said Sonya, "but he tried at the last to break free of Peter's mastery of him. That has to count for something."
"God," said Lucy, tearing her eyes away from David and back to Sonya, who was now sitting up. "What are we going to do?"
"We have to help Tegan," said Sonya. "Look at her!"
Lucy moved closer to where Tegan lay, and bending over her, realized that she was in excrutiating pain. Her face worked spasmotically, and her forehead and hands were bathed in a cold sweat.
"Did helping you do this to her, Sonya?"
"I can't say for sure, but it cannot have been beneficial to her."
"Still," said Lucy, "if it weren't for her, I would have gladly remained in that peace you had created for yourself."
"It was a shield of sorts. I didn't mean it to be a trap. It was a way for me to try to preserve my sanity."
"Where on earth did you find the strength to do that?"
"I'm not sure I found it on earth at all," said Sonya mysteriously. "I'm not very sure of anything right now, Lucy. The only thing I am sure of is that Tegan needs help, and she needs it now." Lucy watched as Sonya bent low and spoke softly to Tegan in Welsh.
"It's her first language," Sonya said. "She'll respond more readily to it."
"Dyma fi," said Tegan with great effort. "I'm here, Sonya."
"Da iawn. Very good," said Sonya. "Now, can you tell us how you're feeling?"
"I feel cold and I'm in pain, but could you come closer? In this darkness I can't see you. Is Lucy here?"
"Tegan," Lucy said. "I'm right beside you. Sonya's near your feet and I'm near your head. You can't see us?"
"Oh God," said Tegan. "Oh God! It's happening!"
"What? What is it?" Lucy was very frightened now. She instinctively took Tegan's clammy hand in hers. She wanted desperately for Tegan to be alright.
"Blindness is often the thing that preceeds death in a case like this," said Sonya. "I'm correct in thinking that you have again declined treatment, am I not?"
"Yes," said Tegan. "I didn't think chemotherapy would do any good. I hoped you had cured me. Even though you told me that you could not cure me, I hoped that you had. I felt betrayed by you and doubly so when the Cancer returned. I know it was foolish, Sonya, and I'm sorry. Please forgive me. Please, before I die!"
"Cariad," said Sonya. "Dearest! There's nothing whatever to forgive! But will you acknowledge our bond now?"
"I can't help but do so," said Tegan, attempting to smile but instead grimacing horribly. "I realized it in the light. I realized, at last, that you are more to me than I ever believed before. I know that Lucy is my sister, and I know that in the shadow-bond, you, Sonya, are my mother. I'm sorry I took so long to understand!" Tegan began to sob violently, and Lucy, unsure of what to do, moved out of the way and allowed Sonya to take her place. She watched as Sonya took Tegan's hand between her own, and spoke gentle words of comfort.
"Come now," she said. "I never doubted that you would come to it in the end. I'm only sorry that I left you to yourself for so long! Perhaps I should have tried harder to gain your trust."
"No," said Tegan. "It wouldn't have worked. You told me everything I needed to know. You prepared me as well as you could, and still, I pushed you away. I was determined to forget what you had done to me. It was only when Lucy was in trouble that I knew I had to seek you out, and I hated doing it, Sonya. I hated coming to you like a dog to heel! I thought I'd failed somehow. Still, I knew I couldn't help Lucy, and I hated that as well. I was angry at the world, Sonya. No amount of help from you would have changed that."
"Tegan," said Sonya softly. "Will you let me help you now? There is, unfortunately, only one thing I can do for you, but I'll do it, if you ask it of me."
"Wait!" Lucy was indignant. "I know what you mean. It's like you said when you were inside the light. You said she was like the bird! There's got to be some way for you to help her besides that way!"
"What bird? What are you talking about, Lucy?" Tegan tried to move, but she was shaken by a violent spasm and could only lie still, while Sonya held her hand in silence.
"She's talking about killing you, Tegan! My God! Hasn't there been enough death here?"
"Lucy, come here please." Tegan was using all her strength to speak, and Lucy had no choice but to obey her.
"I'm here," said Lucy, when she was close enough to see Tegan's eyes, wide open and staring at nothing, and the muscles in her neck standing out as her body was racked with shivering.
"There are times, Lucy, when death is a blessing. This may be one of those times."
"My father said the same thing," said Lucy. "He wanted me to kill him if the pain got too bad, but I wouldn't do it. I thought he was crazy, and I refused. In the end, I watched him die in agony, but I watched him fight too, fight very hard, and besides, Sonya told me that for one shadow-walker to kill another would cause the killer great pain."
"It doesn't matter," said Sonya. "If Tegan wishes to die now, I am willing to help her do it."
"But you're still so weak after your experience," said Lucy. "Would you have the strength?"
"Yes," said Tegan, "she would. She would have all the strength I could give her. Lucy, I know something about Sonya that you don't."
"No," said Sonya in a peremptory whisper. "No!"
"Yes," said Tegan. "She has to know. While you and I were in the light, I felt for Sonya, and when I found her, I realized that she was dying. This experience was too much for her, Lucy."
"How do you know this, Tegan?"
"It is her gift," said Sonya. "Whereas you have the gift of sensing emotions, Tegan has the gift of sensing disturbances in the body. She is a healer, a natural healer."
"But I thought all shadow-walkers could heal people," said Lucy.
"It's true that we all can learn to heal wounds and such," said Sonya, "but it is a rare gift to be able to set right the balances of the body, mind and spirit. Tegan, as I know now, has this gift. I am not sure if anyone could have helped her with the Cancer, but it would have taken one with a gift like her own to attempt it."
"But are you really dying, Sonya?"
"I may be, Lucy. I don't know, but the night is almost gone. Whatever we decide must be done soon, and Tegan and I must do it. You cannot be a part of it, but I will ask you to stay near. There may be things for you to do when we have finished."
"Lucy," said Tegan, again with great difficulty. "I want you to know that it was my honour to teach you. I wish with all my heart that I could see you graduate. You'll make a wonderful professor!"
"Please," said Lucy. "Please don't talk like this!"
"Lucy," Tegan continued urgently. "I have to tell you something else. It came to me while we were in the light with Sonya. It's something about Peter's staff. As you recall, I held it for a moment."
"Yes," said Lucy. "I do recall that, but what could possibly be so important? You really should rest!"
"I will rest soon enough," said Tegan sardonically. "For now, please listen. You will be the one to discover the staff's true nature. You, and only you, are able to find out to whom it once belonged. I only saw fragmented images in the light, Lucy, but I don't know if they were real or my own imagination. However, you seem to be able to read people, and I think you may be able to read this staff as well. It will recognize you now, as The Source recognized you through Sonya."
"But tell me what you guess, Tegan!"
"No. I don't want to influence you. I think you'll understand what I mean if you attempt to learn more about the staff. That's all I can say now."
"But there's one thing I don't understand," said Lucy. "How were you able to overcome the lure of that peaceful place at the centre of the light?"
"I finally learned something very important," said Tegan, her words beginning to slur. "I learned that we get no peace in this life. You see, Lucy, ever since I was turned, I wanted to run away from it. I wanted to live in my comfortable world of books and essays, and I kept denying my true self. But when I was finally confronted with that peace which Sonya had made for herself, I felt it pulling me in and I suddenly knew that if I succumbed, I would be doing what I had always done, and I didn't want to run anymore."
"Okay then," said Lucy. "Can't you just keep fighting now? Isn't dying now just running away again?"
"No, my girl," said Sonya. "She wants to fight, and this is the only way she can."
"I want to fight for Sonya, Lucy. If I can help her, then at least my death will have a purpose."
"Alright then. Alright. I don't like this, but I suppose I understand it." Lucy moved aside and sat moodily on one of the wicker chairs which dotted the terrace.
"One last time, then, Sonya," said Tegan. "If you help me die, I'll try to help you to live."
"Very well," said Sonya, and Lucy watched her raise Tegan tenderly to a sitting position, and then sit facing her. They took each other's hands, and Lucy saw Tegan's hands glow brightly, and soon, Sonya's face had taken on the same warm lustre, and there were tears in both their eyes. Then, for a few moments, there was utter silence, but soon, out of the silence came Sonya's clear, ringing voice, and the song she sang was that mournfully-sweet Welsh song about longing which she had sung for Lucy to the harp's accompaniment some days before. 'Hiraeth' was what it was called, Lucy remembered, and as Sonya sang, soon Tegan joined in with a rich alto, and the two sang and sang and sang, until at last, Sonya laid Tegan gently down again on the soft fur which had once belonged to Gwynn the wolf, and Tegan's body relaxed, and she lay motionless, a truly radiant smile on her lips, and her eyes still seemingly fixed on Sonya's face in an expression of deep and tender love.
"It was a good death, my Tegan," Lucy heard Sonya say. "May you have the peace you always sought! Sleep well!" And Lucy saw her dissolve into inconsolable grief, and she forgot her anger and confusion in her need to comfort her friend, and soon, the two women were in each other's arms, weeping uncontrollably. Lucy had only shed tears like this once in her life, and that was at the burial of her father. She had decided to stay and watch as the casket in its protective vault was lowered into the freshly-dug grave. She had thought that this would bring some finality for her, but instead, it had caused her to imagine him, her once vitally active father, lying alone and frightened in that cold, dark hole. She had needed tranquilizers for the next six weeks to help her sleep, and even then, her dreams had been disturbed.
Now, she was crying for Tegan and for Sonya, and even for David's senseless death, but most of all, she was crying for herself. She already felt abandoned and alone, even though Sonya was still warm and solid and alive. She knew that even if Sonya didn't die now, she could not help being changed by her experience with The Source, and Lucy was frightened that Sonya would soon move beyond her forever. So, while she could, she held Sonya close, and let her cry on her shoulder, and she did the same, crying until she felt she had no more tears in her.
By this time, faint streaks of red were stirring in the east, and she and Sonya found themselves standing still, surveying each other at arm's length.
"Well," said Lucy weakly. "How do you feel?"
"I feel as ancient as time itself, Lucy. I feel utterly spent. However, I cannot sleep yet. I have to talk to Maxwell."
"Maxwell? Why?"
"I am quite certain that as Peter's butler, he has been cleaning up Peter's little messes for years. He will know how to deal with David's body, and I'm sure he will have Tegan's body shipped to Wales for proper burial."
"But what about the police? Shouldn't they be called?"
"I think they will be called," said Sonya. "I think Maxwell will know just who to call in order to keep all this quiet, and I'm sure, with a little coaxing, he will let us stay here for the day, and then, with any luck, we will be able to make our escape."
"Do you think Tegan was able to--to help you?"
"There's no way to know," said Sonya, "until tonight. If the shadow-life stirs in me tonight, then all will be well. If it does not, then, you and I will talk."
"I can't bear to think about it," said Lucy, beginning to cry again.
"Then don't, daughter. Nothing's carved in stone as yet. Now, just wait here, if you can, and I'll find our man for all seasons."
Lucy collapsed again into the wicker chair, and was almost asleep where she sat, when suddenly, a terrifying thought woke her. What if Peter came back while they were still here? She had no guarantee that he was truly destroyed, after all. She knew he had been hurt somehow by the blow that tegan had dealt him with the staff, but she knew nothing of his nature or how quickly he might be healed. If his human shape really was simply a facade, then perhaps he was here right now. Perhaps he had witnessed everything that had happened. But no, she reflected. His influence was definitely not here now. While it was true that her night senses were leaving her now that dawn had come, she knew somehow that he truly had departed, though she had no idea whether he now lived or was dead, if indeed he could die. The Source had told her that Peter could be destroyed, but only it could do it. However, it had also talked about making his consciousness work with it somehow, perhaps in a similar way to how Sonya had functioned. But Sonya had been strong enough to at least partly turn its instinctive power to her own ends, forcing it to reason before it did anything. If it sought reason in the thing which had been Peter Buchanan, Lucy thought, it wouldn't find much.
But what exactly was Peter Buchanan now? When he had attempted to drain her of life, Lucy had realized that he was some sort of vampiric being. He wasn't an ancient like Sonya, who was, though long-lived, still human and mortal, but he was something else. He had allowed his humanity to be consumed by The Source, to be changed somehow. Now, beneath his human disguise, he was pure energy, and he needed to replenish himself, so he fed on shadow-walkers. Lucy wondered if there were more of these beings about. Sonya had not mentioned them to her, but perhaps Peter was the first one she had met.
Then there was the staff! For years, she had seen it only as a gentlemanly affectation of Peter's: an eccentric prop for an eccentric man. Every time she had seen Peter walking across campus, he had been carrying this curious thing, and now, here it was, a mystery to be solved. Here was a staff which seemed to be countless years old, and which may, if Peter was telling the truth, have belonged to the first person to be touched by The Source, perhaps the first person to become what would later be known as a shadow-walker. And Tegan had told her that she would be able to discover who this person was? Why her? Personally, she never wanted to see the damned thing ever again, but she knew enough about Sonya by now to know that she would not let it lie. It was, after all, a shadow-walker artifact, and if there was one trait that was strong in Sonya, it was her sense of history.
Suddenly, Lucy just couldn't think anymore. Her brain seemed totally unable to form ideas. At first, she thought that Peter had returned, or that The Source was crowding in upon her with its chaotic eddies of mental energy. However, the heaviness of her eyelids convinced her that it was mere fatigue that she felt: fatigue brought on by all the events of the day before, and despite all her efforts, she found herself succumbing to it, and sinking numbly into sleep, even as the first birds of morning began to sing.
When Lucy woke, she felt warm and well, and was surprised to find herself lying down, and in a proper bed in a proper, if palacial, bedroom. As she slowly opened her eyes, she further found that she was lying between soft, silken sheets, and that her bed was a large, four-poster with curtains hung all around it.
"I'm in Mr. Rochester's bed," she said, laughing. She felt the same way now as when she had first tried a piece of real Turkish Delight. Ever since she was a little girl, she had thought of Turkish Delight as something immpossibly sweet and wonderful, only existing in the pages of C. S. Lewis's The Lion, The Witch and The Wordrobe, but when she was eighteen, she had visited a British import store, and had bought a box of the sugary confection, not knowing whether she would like it or hate it. As it happened, she fell in love with it, but her joy was still greater to be eating a food which, till then, had never existed for her beyond the pages of one of her favourite books.
Now, sitting up in this massive bed, she found herself thinking of books such as Jane Eyre, in which wealthy people slept in curtained retirement between silken sheets. She had never been in a room like this before. There was a fireplace set into one wall, and the walls were painted a deep, sky blue. There was a large chair and ottoman near a table with a good-sized mirror attached to it, and she could see, through a door, the clean, white fixtures of an imaculate bathroom, complete with a large, deep, claw-footed tub. Suddenly, she wanted to have a bath more than anything, and since she thought she would not sleep anymore today, she resolved to pamper herself.
As she climbed out of bed, she caught her reflection in the dressing-table mirror, and what she saw frightened her. She was bruised and bloodied, and though she was in a clean night-gown, she still felt damp and out of sorts. Besides, as comfortable as the bed had been, now that she was moving, she realized that every part of her body ached, and then, as she contemplated her battered appearance, she remembered that these aches were nothing to the pain in her heart. Tegan was dead, and David had died senselessly, and what would happen to Sonya? Had her experience with The Source been too much for her after all? Lucy fervently hoped not, but until she saw her again, hope would have to content her.
Meanwhile, she noticed some large, soft-looking towels just waiting to be used, and she resolved to take that bath she had planned. Even if Peter himself were to barge in, she didn't care. She just wanted to be clean again, and to wash away the external, if not the internal aches of the night before.
The water was set just how she liked it, and as soon as the tub was sufficiently filled, Lucy stripped naked and stepped gratefully into it. She sat, letting the water and scented soap caress her body, and then, once the water began to cool, she let it out and found the softest and largest of the towels in which to coccoon herself. Finally, when she could not dry herself anymore, she found the clothes she had worn previously hanging neatly on a clothes-horse in the walk-in closet, and she noticed that they had been freshly laundered. Now fully dressed and washed, she finally decided to look out the window. The sun was high, and she reflected that it must be about noon, and suddenly, she felt very hungry.
Just then, as though in answer to the growling of her stomach, there was a knock on the door, and a young girl in a crisp maid's uniform came in and informed her that luncheon was being served in the drawing-room. Lucy found herself suddenly frightened that the master was suddenly in attendance once again, but as the maid led her through the upstairs galleries and passages and to the grand, front staircase, she looked over the railings into the entry-hall, and was overjoyed to see Sonya herself walking slowly towards the double doors of the drawing-room. She noted with dismay however that Sonya was leaning heavily on the staff, the very same walking-stick that had been Peter's habitual prop. There was something vaguely foreboding in this sight, both because of the frightening associations which the staff brought up in her mind, and because it always dismayed her to see Sonya looking weak or vulnerable.
"I'll leave you here, miss," said the maid, and went quietly back along the upper floor, likely taking the servants' staircase to the kitchen or something, Lucy thought. Meanwhile, she moved on her way, her body only aching marginally less than it had when she had first woken up, and, crossing the great hall, found her way eventually into the drawing-room. A small table had been set up there, and Sonya was seated with her back to the french doors, and Lucy saw her watching her entrance with an appraising eye.
"It's a genuine pleasure to see you, Lucy," she said, and Lucy heard the tiredness in her voice.
"I'm glad to be seen," she said, smiling at her friend.
Sonya then beckoned her to a seat across from her, and Lucy found herself looking through the french windows. The terrace was spotless, and the fountain in the garden sparkled in the sunlight.
"It's as though nothing had happened," said Lucy, taking a forkfull of salad and chewing it thoughtfully. "Do you think Peter will be back here?"
"I'm sure he will," said Sonya. "He has not managed to blow his cover amongst the general population."
So then what about you? Can you stay here?"
"I Not only can, Lucy, but I must. Now that we know just what he has become, he needs closer tabs kept on him than ever. Until last night, I was under the impression that he was a very powerful shadow-walker. I now know that he is something different. He has forfeited the rights due to a shadow-walker. He is now officially the enemy, preying on our kind. Till now, I have been able to delude myself into thinking that he merely enjoyed his luxurious existence and the power that he held over both ordinary humans and shadow-walkers. I cannot delude myself any longer."
"But he knows you now! He'll find you and kill you!"
"No he won't. He knows I have been touched by The Source. This will make him afraid of me. I learned much from my experience, Lucy, and it will take some time for me to figure all of it out, but I think I know more about him than he ever wanted me to know. It is true that he will try to harm me, and you too, for that matter, but that is why we must keep the staff."
"Well I don't want it," said Lucy. "I never want to touch that thing again."
"Do you remember what Tegan told you? I believe that you will touch it, and you will be the one to discover its true nature. Still, for now, it will function as an excellent aid for me while I recover."
"Do you think--do you think you are recovering then?"
"Yes," said Sonya. "It is not my time to leave this world yet, my girl. Meanwhile, you and I should finish lunch, and then we will be able to leave."
"Let me guess," said Lucy. "You got Maxwell to use one of Peter's limos to take us back to Smallbury."
"Not quite," said Sonya, "but we are going back to the cabin, and Maxwell will not be telling Peter anything about us."
"Why would he be so helpful?"
"Let us just say," said Sonya coolly, "that money has changed hands. Besides, it will take Peter some time to recover fully enough to regain his human disguise, so by then, no evidence that we were ever here will remain."
"But the staff will be gone! Won't he want it back?"
"No," said Sonya. "Once it was used to attempt to destroy him, it ceased to do his will. If he were to touch it now, or even be in its presence, it would cause him great pain. So, he will likely know that we have taken it, but he will also know that it is something he can never search for again. So, it will not give us away."
"Alright then," said Lucy. "Let's eat, and then, let's go home!"
After the meal was finished and had been deftly cleared away, Sonya took Lucy out to the drive, and they walked slowly together to the front gate. Lucy looked back when they had exited the massive portal, and she knew that she could never look at Buchanan Hall in the same way again. Till now, it had been a picturesque structure which had afforded her much in the way of contemplation, but now, it was the place where she had experienced the greatest changes of her life. She didn't know whether she would ever be able to enter its grounds again without feeling physically ill, but despite her revultion, she found herself drawn again and again to the mullioned windows and the battlements, the widow's walk and the wrought-iron gates. Suddenly, she found herself saying without intending it:
"I'll be here again someday, and I'll confront him, and on that day, what stood long will stand no more."
"Perhaps so," said Sonya musingly. "Perhaps so. Now, our chariot has arrived at long last."
Lucy looked down the hill, and saw Matt Andrews in his big, elegant antique, and for a moment, she thought she would cry with joy.
"How now, Miss P?" Matt pulled the car to a stop in front of the women, and, seeing the bias in Sonya's gait, helped her quickly into the front seat. Lucy climbed into the back, and soon, they were speeding away down the hill and along the Hollythorn river and away, leaving Buchanan Hall to fade in the dust of the road and the tears which still occasionally fell from her eyes when she thought of what Tegan had done for herself and for Sonya.
In about five hours, which seemed less than that to Lucy due to the periodic cat-naps she found herself taking, Matt pulled the car to a stop at the usual place just above the dock. This time, however, he accompanied them all the way down, and there was a boat like Sonya's except for the fact that it had an outboard motor attached, and Matt himself sat at the tiller and the two women took their seats further forward, and soon, they were roaring across the lake as fast as the little prop motor could carry them. At the landing-place in the bay, Matt asked Sonya if she would like some help up to the house, but she politely refused, gripping the staff in one hand and Lucy's shoulder in the other.
"I have all the help I could need, Mr. Andrews," she said, a deep serenity in her voice and a broad smile on her tired face. "Thank you, as always, for your help."
"Well," he said, "I don't know how you ended up there, but I'm glad I could be of service. I'm sure I'll see you soon."
"Indeed you will," said Sonya. "I'll be here for a long time yet."
"Good," said Matt. "It wouldn't be the same round here without the lady of the lake, you know. Well, I'll leave you to it then. Bye for now!" And with a casual wave, he resumed his seat in the stern of the boat and steered it slowly out of the bay. Lucy watched him until he had coasted around a point of the island past which she could no longer see, and then she turned toward the hill lined with willows, and walked slowly with Sonya toward the familiar shape of the house, now shadowed by the fast-setting sun.
"Well," said Sonya, her hand upon the latch of the door, "here we are at last. Will you make us some tea?"
Lucy obeyed readily, and the two of them sat in Sonya's kitchen, drinking cup after cup of strong, sweet tea, until they both felt their eyes growing heavy with sleep.
"Will you sleep down here tonight?" Lucy wanted to do what she could to ease Sonya's suffering and make her comfortable. "If so, I can get some sheets and such for you."
"Thank you," said Sonya. "I would appreciate that. I'll have to rest for a few days, I think. I won't be able to teach you much, I'm afraid."
"That's alright," said Lucy. "I think I've learned enough for a while. Besides, it's my job to help you right now."
"Far be it from me to argue with Lucy Milligan," said Sonya, laughing her musical and clear laugh. "We will have to resume our teachings in earnest soon, however. There is still the matter of the staff."
"Alright," said Lucy, "but first, bed!" She found some clean sheets and a fluffy pillow, and as soon as she had made the sofa into a bed, Sonya crawled between the sheets and Lucy watched her until she had fallen asleep. She then took herself off to her own room, and finally feeling safer than she had felt for some weeks, she was able to let herself drift into the land of dreams, and to wake again in the morning, well-rested and truly refreshed.
It was now the twenty-first of June. For the past few weeks, Lucy had lived in a dream of domestic bliss, taking care of Sonya as she regained her strength and maintaining the house on Wolf Island as well as she could. All the horror and fear of the night at Buchanan Hall were drowned in a succession of small tasks and in hours of amiable conversation. During this time, Lucy learned more about Sonya's varied life than she had ever learned before, and with each story, she came to love her even more. She was happy to see the pain gradually leave Sonya's face as the days passed, and as days turned into weeks, Sonya was able to move around for short periods of time without help. However, it was only today, on the longest day of the year, when she had truly become her former self, for as the sun had set in a brilliant haze of gold and red, a light had come into her hazel eyes that Lucy had not known was missing till it reappeared, and she suddenly knew that Sonya was again fully connected to her in the shadow-bond, that the shadow-life was coursing through her again at full capacity. She found herself turning to Sonya where she sat beside her on the back deck of the cabin, and saying, through a lump in her throat:
"You're really back! It's really all over now!"
"The first is true enough," said Sonya, watching the fireflies weaving their magical tapestry of light and shadow in the dusky air, "but the second? I know that these past few weeks have been rejuvenating for both of us, daughter, but we still have a responsibility, a responsibility to all shadow-walkers and even perhaps to all of humanity."
"But there's been enough horror and tragedy! Tegan, and even David! I don't want to think about it anymore."
"Will you then make Tegan's mistake? Will you run away from who you are? Remember Tegan's prediction! She said that you would be able to unlock the secrets of the staff, and I believe that she is right."
Lucy listened to Sonya's musical voice as she spoke what she herself knew to be true, and she heard love in the words, but also something hard and indomitable which frightened her.
"I bet that you could command me to help you," she found herself saying. "Would you do that if I refused?"
"No," said Sonya. "Never. But what are you frightened of?"
"I'm frightened," said Lucy, "of you. I'm frightened of The Source. I'm frightened of myself and of the staff and of all this!"
"You are young, after all. Sometimes I forget that. Will you show me that night, Lucy? Please! Show me what you saw and heard. I know you can do this. You did it with David."
"But I showed him his memories. I don't know if I can show you mine."
"You can, Lucy. All you need to do is let yourself be open to me."
"But I still have nightmares, Sonya! Don't you understand?"
"I want to help you, Lucy. Please try."
"Alright," said Lucy. "This is what it was like for me," and she began to remember her feeling of helplessness, and the relentless coldness in Sonya's voice, and the way Peter threw David aside, and the fear in Tegan's eyes, and the way that Peter split apart and began draining the life out of her.
"I'm sorry about all this," said Sonya. "I'm sorry you had to be turned in the first place. If you no longer trust me, I'll understand. Perhaps I can find someone else to help you as you grow into your full strength."
"No," said Lucy. "No. I still trust you. It's myself I don't trust. I couldn't save you. It was Tegan who saved you, not me!"
"You both saved me, Lucy. I know that you are capable of great love and deep trust, and if what happened at Buchanan Hall has shaken that, then I'm sorry. However, I know now that you will be able to probe the staff. When you do, may I join you on the journey?"
"When? I haven't even said if I will, yet. I know what Tegan said, but I don't want to be taken like you were, and if this staff is connected to The Source in some fundamental way, then it would be easy for it to invade me. Right?"
"That is why I would like to be with you. I will be able to protect you from the possible negative effects of probing the staff. We will be able to protect each other. And, if we do find anything out, then you'll have a witness other than yourself to verify it. We will have to inform others of our discoveries."
"Well," said Lucy, "alright. Should we do it now?"
"If you wish," said Sonya. "I'll prepare things. We'll do it in the parlour. For now, you should try to clear your mind of all fear and all love, and focus on the peacefulness of this night. Let it fill you. You are a part of it, and it is a part of you. It will be your way home, your sign-post back to yourself. Alright?"
"Alright," said Lucy, and watched her mentor walk purposefully into the cabin.
Some minutes later, Sonya called her, and Lucy, now thoroughly lulled by the dancing of the fireflies and the night noises around her, slowly stood up and turned to face the house. Pausing only a moment on the threshold, she soon joined Sonya in the parlour, and Sonya, who was sitting on the floor surrounded by pillows and cushions, beckoned her to sit beside her. The staff lay on a cushion in front of them, and Sonya now took it and placed it across their two sets of knees.
"Now," she said, "you must touch it, not only with your fingers, but with your mind. Remember that it is, in essence, a living thing. It has a heart and a memory, and it will tell you its story if you let it. I will also be in contact with the staff, and will be with you whatever happens. Are you ready?"
"Yes," said Lucy. "If you're sure you're up to it."
"Don't fear me, Lucy. I am stronger than I have ever been." Lucy watched Sonya beginning to caress the staff with her finger-tips, and there was an almost ferocious expression on her face for an instant.
"It's The Source, isn't it? It's calling to you."
"It's alright," said Sonya. "It will forever be with me now, tempting me to come to it again, but I do not intend to succumb. Come now, touch the staff!"
Lucy felt her fingers drawn to the glossily-polished wood, and the silver markings in an unknown language seemed to pulsate with an inner light. Suddenly, she gripped the staff tightly in her two hands, and Sonya did the same. Together they sat, holding onto the staff the way a person riding a rollercoaster might hold onto the safety-bar as it plummeted down the first big hill, and indeed, Lucy began to feel as though she were on some strange sort of amusement ride. The silver markings burned brighter and brighter before her eyes, and it felt to her as though the earth were shifting and swinging where she sat, and then all of a sudden, she stood on, or floated above, a windy hill, Sonya beside her. It was a night of full moon, and there were strange stars overhead.
"Do you know this place?" Lucy was surprised that her voice sounded so solid and real, for she felt anything but. She felt a little as though she were in shadow-form, but she knew that she was unable to manipulate her environment. It reminded her of the dream she had had in which she had seen Tegan at Buchanan Hall, if it had been a dream, of course.
"I do not know it," said Sonya. "Let's see what will happen."
Their eyes were drawn to a circle of stones on another hill, and soon, they found themselves floating higher, as though to obtain a better view. Lucy felt as though she were a camera being guided to its focus by some unseen force, and soon, she found herself looking directly into the circle, where a lone figure stood, a black and silver staff held in its hand. As she looked closer, she saw that he was a young man, tall and lithe, and with deep, piercing-blue eyes. For an instant, she thought she was looking at David Greenaway, and she felt a chill pass through her entire being.
"He looks like David," she said to Sonya. "It's amazing!"
"It is his eyes, daughter. It is only his eyes you recognize. Come. Keep your focus!"
Lucy had felt herself moving away and had seen the vision begin to blur, but at Sonya's word, she returned to her original place beside her, and the vision resolved itself into clarity again.
A bonfire burned in the midst of the circle, and the man began to pace around it, staff still upraised. Suddenly, he began a slow, deep chant in an unknown language, and Lucy found herself being spell-bound by it. It was as though she were hearing the language of the stars to hear this man chanting, and when she managed to look to Sonya, she saw a pure joy on her face that she had only seen once before, when Sonya and Tegan had been locked in the transfer of power which had brought Sonya to health and Tegan to a peaceful and painless end.
The man too seemed enraptured, a true joy in his skill as a magician coming over him, and as the fire leaped high into the night, his chanting went faster and faster, and he began to dance. Suddenly, Lucy knew beyond any doubt that he was calling for the dead to come to him, and indeed, shades began to appear, strange, ghostly forms with no defining features, but to him, it was clear that they were familiar and friendly visitors. It seemed then that he began to converse with them, and though Lucy could hear no words from the pale spindles of light which milled around the magician with the staff, it was clear by the expression on his face that they told him of doom to come. In fact, their words caused such anxiety in him that he faultered in his movements, and suddenly, all the ghosts were gone, and he tried again and again to summon them back, but they would not come.
All at once, the fire burned white-hot, and Lucy knew, again with that deep sense of certainty which sometimes came upon her, that this was no longer a natural fire. Here, instead of the clean, red-orange flames of burning wood, was the same cold light she had seen on the terrace at Buchanan Hall. Here, now, was The Source. But what exactly was it? Was it truly the source of all life, or was it something small an insignificant which became more when it came in contact with this strange, wildly-brilliant magician? Here, at last, Lucy would find the answer to this question that had eluded even Sonya's keen powers of perception.
The man with the staff clearly sensed the power which had entered his circle, and though he knew it to be alien, he was also desperate to avert whatever doom his conversation with the dead had revealed. Lucy could feel his deep sorrow and distress, and she saw him confront the energy, seeming to touch it with his mind. He wanted power to stop whatever was coming, and Lucy could tell that he was bargaining with this force, and suddenly, he raised his staff high, and it began to burn with the cold, white fire of power. Then the power flowed into him and the light of The Source changed from silver to gold, and suddenly, a wolf howled in the distance, and he, his thought only dwelling on the sound for a split second, quickly changed into a wolf. At this point, of course, he dropped the staff and all the cold fire was gone from the stone circle, and only the man in wolf's shape stood there, howling his terror and ecstasy into the night. Then, he looked to where the staff lay on the ground, and this seemed to recall him to himself, for as soon as his gaze fell upon the silver markings, he stood in human form again. Slowly, he bent down and retrieved the staff, quenched the fire with a word, at which Lucy marveled, and then the vision faded.
"Is it done, Sonya?"
"Wait," said Sonya. "When it is done, we will know."
Lucy did wait, and it seemed as though the whole universe was waiting with her. She felt utter nothingness surrounding her, and just as she thought the chill and blackness was becoming too much for her, suddenly, the sound of crying gulls and roaring waves reached her ears. She and Sonya began floating again, and they passed over villages and farms, palaces and towers, great domes and spires more vast than any cathedral or sports stadium she had ever seen, and soon, a great harbour came in sight. There, several noble ships were setting sail. Flags flew from their masts, and sails billowed out on a strong wind. The sun was rising, and the ships were moving slowly into the blue-gold brightness where sea and sky met. Soon, all the land seemed empty, except for the tall, young man with his black and silver staff. He watched the ships pensively, shielding his eyes with his hand from the sun's glare, and when the last sail had faded from view, he turned away from the harbour and trudged inland. As he turned, Lucy saw great clouds boiling in the west. Once, when she had been on vacation in the Karribian, she had seen the approach of a hurricane. To her west, the sun had been setting with its usual brilliance over the western edge of the island, but to the east, great black clouds had been blown toward her, seeming to swallow up what was left of the day in a thick, dark mass. Now, this was exactly what was happening, and as though in answer, a great mountain in the centre of the land suddenly began to spew fire and lava. Lucy wondered why the man had not been on any of the ships, but as she saw him turn to face the on-coming storm and the tongues of flame and smoke which roiled skyward, she knew. She knew that he wanted to do everything he could to save his land, and part of her wished she could come to his aid. Suddenly, Sonya spoke over the rumbling of the volcano and the roaring of the approaching storm.
"I was wrong, Lucy. I do know this place. I never thought to see its fall for myself, but I know this place. This is Atlantis!"
"You mean there really was such a place?" But even as Lucy said this, she knew it could be nothing else. Time and time again, poets had written about the fall of the land which, for them, was a symbol of humanity's greatest achievements, but Lucy had never believed that it was real. Now, she was seeing its final doom approaching, and one solitary human pitting himself against the wrath of elemental nature.
First, she saw him approach the volcano and try to calm it, whispering soothing words to it as though it were a living thing. Then, the vision changed again, and he stood confronting the storm, back again in the stone circle, and it was night. He called for The Source again, and it seemed to come at his bidding, still appearing as that warm golden light into which it had changed when it had first come into contact with him. He directed it towards the oncoming wall of rain and sea-surge which was encroaching, but it was to no avail. Soon, the water came surging up the hill on which he stood, and he slowly turned away from it, finally knowing that he could do nothing else. However, with the last of his strength, he called The Source again, and suddenly, he dissolved into it, becoming a shadow in the midst of golden light, and soon, the light bore him away eastward across the waves, through a clear, cool night, and the surge and suck of the storm was left far behind.
Lucy was alarmed as she began to follow him out to sea, but suddenly, she felt a bubble of pure peace surrounding her, and she knew that Sonya was shielding her. Silently, the two of them floated across the vast and trackless wilderness of water, until they saw the man, all power gone from him, lying naked and helpless on the edge of a cliff above a rugged and weather-beaten coastline. Surrounding him were a number of small, dark-skinned men, carrying hunting-spears and bows, and they were clearly uncertain of how to treat him. However, they saw the staff which he still held, and to this, they gave their full attention. They clearly seemed to view him as some sort of an authority-figure, and as they made a stretcher of branches, they looked again and again at the staff, as though it were a thing both holy and frightening. Finally, they seemed to know that he would die without their help, so they carried him away from the cliffs, toward the forest which seemed to be their home.
Now, the visions began to tumble over each other. The man was healed by some of the dark women, and then he lived alone in a cave, and then years and years seemed to pass. The forests began to give way to forts and villas and walled cities, and then Lucy understood why. Soldiers from the east and south had come, and through it all, the man had observed and had watched from his cave in the side of a hill near a spring, and the people had begun to revere him as a god, though he never did anything for them that they could see. Instead, he had reveled in his power, and had learned much about himself, but he had never turned anyone. In all the years since his becoming the first shadow-walker, he had never made another one, and Lucy found this most perplexing.
Then, as more years passed, great long-ships sailed to the south coast of this land, and men with fair hair, wooden shields and long swords emerged, and would have made war against the people of the villas as well as those of the forests, but a treaty was made with them, and then the soldiers from the forts left the land and returned to their own home. Then, Lucy saw the man with the staff at the side of a dying king who was clothed in purple, and he now looked older, toughened by wind and weather, but Lucy knew that great strength was still in him. Then, he was at the side of another man, a young man on a field of battle, and he himself clothed the boy in the dead king's mantle, and suddenly, Lucy knew who both the young king and the man with the staff were.
"Sonya, it's Merlin! He's Merlin, and that young man there is Arthur! I'm sure of it! Look! We're at the battle of Badon Hill. Here's the banner of the cross and the virgin which Arthur used as his standard! Merlin was the first shadow-walker!"
"He was the ancient of all ancients, then," said Sonya, "but I can only concur with what you've said. This land is unmistakeably Great Britain, and those tribesmen who helped him were most certainly those whom the romans named picts. But how then did he die? How, if he were an ancient, and alive even now, did he die?"
As though in answer to Sonya's question, they were pulled again across the sea, and now floated above a great grove in an ancient forest.
"Broceliande," said Lucy. "In Britany!"
Merlin suddenly appeared, leaning heavily upon his staff, and with him was a beautiful young woman. Her hair was as black as a raven's wing, and she seemed to fawn upon him with great affection. Lucy knew what was coming, and did not want to look, but if Merlin was indeed to die now, she wanted to see how it had really happened before all the storytellers had gotten a hold of the tale.
Their language was unknown to her, but she was surprised to hear Sonya translating, albeit brokenly, what they said.
"You are mysterious to all, Merlin, but not to me."
"You, Vivien, are young. You know little of me but you think you know much."
"I love you, and I want to know all of you. Show me!"
"You want my power, Vivien. You want what you know nothing of. If you want my power so badly, then I'll give it to you. You will know what it is to live the life I have led. Do you want it?"
"You know I do," she said. "Do you think I have not seen you change form upon occasion? Recall that when I met you in the king's wood, I was about to shoot you, taking you for an ordinary wolf. Others say that you have been a hawk and even a fish, not to mention the various kinds of men you have seemed to be."
"Alright then. Sit on that fallen log, and I will give you my power." Lucy watched as Merlin performed the bonding ritual with which every shadow-walker was fammiliar, and she reflected with awe that he himself had been its inventer. Once Vivien had been turned, Merlin seened to weaken for an instant, but then he rallied
and all at once, he raised up the staff of Atlantis, and chanted in the ancient language of that land, and The Source appeared, casting a sun-like glow around him.
"I know what you mean to do to me, Vivien," he said. "We have shared a bonding deeper than that of lovers, and I have learned your plans for me. I accept them, but before I go, I will limit your power to make mischief in the world. I know that you will have a long life, and now that you've gained access to my power, I will limit what you can do with it. You and all your line will only be able to change into wolf's shape, and that only after sunset, and you will only be able to turn others, to make them like yourself when the moon is at its full. What's more, I know that you who will to work evil will always be balanced by those who will to fight against it. The Source itself is neutral, but it will always seek a balance of forces, for if all those who are like us were destroyed, it too would fade from existence. It was I who caused it to exist for so long, and it will continue to exist for as long as those like us call upon it for power."
Then, to Lucy's surprise, Vivien herself went forward into the light, and with her contact, it turned again to its native cold and silvery hue. She became caught up in it even as Sonya had been, and suddenly, her voice came from the centre of the light in the same, cold way that Sonya's had, and again, Sonya translated for Lucy.
"You have lived too long, old man! You have stood with Arthur long enough. It is time for him to be on his own and to be at the mercy of what must come to him."
"You know nothing of this power you seek to command, Vivien," said Merlin. "It will consume you, body and soul!"
Suddenly, the light was gone, but Vivien stood alone, power eminating from her even as it had from him when he had first touched The Source.
"It made you, Merlin, and you made me, but now, I am far beyond you, for I have both your power and the powers of that which came before you. Well, as you say, good and evil must be balanced, and for every light, there must be a shadow." Suddenly, she took him into a tight embrace, and Lucy had the fleeting thought of a boa constricter killing its prey, and then, Merlin stood still, unbreathing and unseeing, and Vivien entombed him in the trunk of a hollow tree. As a final gesture, she put the staff beside him, seemingly unaware of the aid it could be to her, and suddenly, she became a wolf and ran off into the night.
"It should be over, shouldn't it?" Again the blackness was around Lucy, and she felt herself deeply chilled, but all of a sudden, light and warmth came to her again and there was a vision which seemed just beyond her focus.
"Lucy, what is it?" Sonya evidently could not tell that this other vision existed.
"There's something wrong. Something isn't right about the last part of that vision. I need more strength, Sonya. Can you call The Source?"
"What are you asking me to do? I know now, Lucy, that that which we call The Source is not a force for good or even for neutrality anymore. Vivien's mind control imposed upon it her own ambition, even as Merlin had first given to it his love for the land of Atlantis. I will not call The Source, Lucy. It is too dangerous."
"But I need more strength! I think that the way Merlin was entombed is a false memory. I can't understand how I know it, but it seems false to me."
"Call on Merlin, Lucy. I have a feeling that he will answer you somehow."
"What? He's dead, isn't he?"
"We do not know, do we? Just do it! He will hear you if he is not dead. Trust me!" Lucy was uncertain, but there was such conviction in her voice that she could do nothing but obey her.
"Merlin," she said with a quaver in her voice. "Merlin? I need your true memory. Vivien has covered it up somehow. Show me where you are now!"
The vision then came into focus for her and she could tell that Sonya now saw it too. Merlin stood seemingly completely without life within invisible walls, but suddenly, he spoke from his prison, and Lucy was surprised to find that she could understand his speech.
"So," he said, looking at Sonya, "the girl with the sunset locks has returned at last!"
"What? Do you know him, Sonya?" Lucy could not believe it.
"I saw him once in a vision," said Sonya. "I was living in Wales at the time and fell asleep on a mountain called Cader Ydrys--Arthur's seat. Legend has it that if a traveler is benighted on that mountain and falls asleep, he will either become a poet or else go mad, and I, benighted on that mountain, dreamed of this man. He said many things to me and I wondered if he were only a creation of my own mind, but now that I see him like this, I realize that we actually touched minds briefly. I also think that it was his influence as well as your own, Lucy, which kept me from succumbing fully to The Source back at Buchanan Hall."
"You are correct, Lady of the Sunset, and now, I think you need my help again, but you must beware of Vivien! She will know that you have found me. You, little one," he said, his eyes on Lucy, "asked for answers. I will try to provide them. In the vision you had of my memories, you saw Vivien place me into a hollow tree with the staff beside me. In reality, she did much more than that. She placed me alive in another dimention, in a tower she had constructed with a mere thought, and then she took the staff for her own. To anyone who finds me, it will appear that I am pent in only by walls of air, but to me it is a high stone tower in which there is no door and only one window. It may be you who will release me one day. If you have a hope of doing this, however, you must keep the staff. I know you have it with you, and now that you know the origins of your power, I hope you will use it less wrecklessly than I did. Now that you have found me once, you can find me again with the power of the staff. Do not forget this!"
"We will not forget it, Merlin," said Lucy.
"Ancient One," Sonya said, "if it is in our power to do so, we will defeat your enemy, and we will work to find a way to free you if we can."
"You have a heavy burden to bare, you with the sunset-coloured locks," he said, looking straight at Sonya. "I will give you what I have to give," and he raised his hand and chanted in the language of his birthplace, and suddenly, Lucy saw Sonya glowing with light. "You will have the powers I once had to shape The Source, the True Source I mean, to your own ends. I can see that you have lived a long life and wish to be a force for good amid a world of evil."
"I thank you, Merlin, but can you not give Lucy the full power you once possessed as well?"
"You yourself can do so if you wish, but remember her youth. You have had many turnings of the earth in which to grow into the power which I discovered by accident. This one, though strong and faithful, has barely even been born into this life as yet."
"Yes," said Lucy. "I don't want all that power just yet! But is it alright for Sonya to have it, sir? I thought it would be too much of a temptation."
"If she sought her power from the energy which took her, she would have been tempted. It has been corrupted. If Vivien had killed me, this true Source would have died too, but since I remain alive, however imprisoned I may be, it has remained with me and its essence is mine to pass to whom I will. Till now, Vivien has possessed the staff and has blocked me from acting. Now that your Sonya has it, she will be a fit adversary for Vivien and those whom she has tempted to her side. Now," said Merlin after a contemplative silence, "it is time for you to find your home again. We will meet again soon. Farewell to both of you!"
He waved his hand again and Lucy suddenly felt as though the whole world was fading around her, and then, with a jerk which shook her entire body, she found herself back in Sonya's parlour, lying flat on her back on some cushions, all the energy seemingly gone from her limbs. She was surprised to hear the music of Sonya's harp being skillfully played, but when she looked to where Sonya had been sitting beside her, she found her where she expected her to be, sitting still as a stone and caressing the staff lovingly. Who then was playing the harp? She looked to the corner where it usually stood and found it tilted slightly backward as though someone were indeed playing it, but there was no one sitting behind it that she could see. The music was very peaceful, but all at once she was frightened. It reminded her of the profound peace she had felt in the centre of the light when she and Tegan had rescued Sonya back at Buchanan Hall. She knew she had to move or at least speak if she was to avoid becoming entangled in the strange mesmeric feeling which was slowly coming over her, but she had been severely weakened by her experience with the staff, and now she didn't know what to do. Suddenly, the harp music abruptly stopped and Sonya rose to her feet, staff in hand.
"You who have entered my home," she said clearly and with just a hint of The Source's coldness in her voice, "show yourself and do not hide! Know that I can make you appear if I wish to but that I will give you this chance to confront me of your own free will!" Lucy saw a great light coming from the staff, and suddenly Sonya was alive with it, the centre of a brilliant golden radiance which illuminated only her. Lucy saw her piercing eyes on her for a moment, and she soon found herself growing stronger. Before long, she moved to stand beside Sonya who then cast the golden light around her as well.
"It will protect you," Sonya whispered as an indistinct form appeared standing behind the harp. Lucy watched in fascination as this form gradually resolved itself into the figure of a woman: a woman with hair as black as the blackest of raven's wings.
"Vivien!" she found herself gasping. "Vivien's here!"
"You are very observant, Miss Milligan, though I really haven't used that name in many years!" As she placed the harp back in its corner, she moved out of the shadows and Lucy now saw her whole appearance. She was dressed in one of those smart suits which are emblematic of the busy female corporate executive, and as she spoke, Lucy caught the tones of a high-powered New York City woman who was used to getting exactly what she wanted exactly when she wanted it.
"As for what my name is now," she continued, "that isn't important. It changes quite a lot when I am forced by necessity to assume this most primitive corporeal form. I have been forced to do so now because you have something that belongs to me."
"This staff was never yours except as spoils from your conquest of the man you knew as Merlin! You will not get it from me while I live!" Sonya stood at her full height and though she was no taller than her who had once been Vivien she seemed to tower over her with the power emanating from her and from the staff.
"Go ahead," she said now. "Try to call The Source to your aid!"
"You really are a fool, Lady Alabaster! Do you not understand yet?" The cold silver light now came to envelop Vivien, and Lucy stood dumb-struck as it seemed that personifications of the sun and the moon faced each other. "I don't have to call The Source to my aid! I am The Source! What you refer to as the True Source may look impressive, but it is nothing to the ancient and primal energy to which you are both bound. You are my daughters, my creatures. I created you and I can destroy you!" Suddenly, Vivien raised a hand and the silver light seemed to tear a hole in the golden wall of protection which Sonya had built, and Lucy watched in utter helplessness as Sonya seemed to crumple in a heap at Vivien's feet.
"No! No!" Lucy screamed in pain and rage. "You won't do this to her again!"
"Let it happen, Lucy," said Sonya. "Let it happen."
"Yes, Lucy," said Vivien in a voice dripping with false sweetness. "Let it happen! And you, Lady Alabaster! You think that Peter wanted his revenge on you. That is certainly true, but it is only a part of the truth. I have watched you all your life, and I believe that you will be a worthy heir to my legacy."
"I want no part of your legacy," said Sonya from her place on the ground. "You know that I resisted you before. I will resist you again!"
"Your mother in the shadow-life died just after she turned you. You had no one at the beginning to show you what you could do with the power you have. But I am here now, and I am the mother of you all!"
"Sonya," Lucy said. "Call The True Source! Let it guide you! Surely it will help you!"
"I'm sorry," said Vivien, "but Sonya is coming to realize just how strong my power truly is!"
Lucy knelt at those words and managed to find Sonya's hand, and looking deeply into her eyes, she tried to lend her some of her own strength. She felt Vivien's dark gaze upon her and the energy began draining from her limbs, but into her mind came the syllables of the Atlantean language that Merlin had spoken when he had given Sonya his power. She had always had a good ear for languages, and now, even though she had no idea what the words meant, she began to chant them in a slow and solemn voice which hardly seemed her own. This seemed to break the hold that Vivien had over Sonya and she too began chanting the ancient words. The two women slowly rose to their feet and the golden light grew brighter again; it was only then that Vivien seemed to realize what had actually happened.
"How do you know those words?" She sounded as though she were in pain, though her face betrayed no sign of weakness.
"I think you know," said Lucy while Sonya continued to chant and to fix Vivien with her hazel eyes. "She's turning the staff to its original purpose now! It is a thing of beauty and of creative power, not of ambition and destruction! If you want the staff, you'll have to find another way to get it!"
"Yield, Vivien!" Sonya spoke in a hard, clear voice, but Lucy could tell that it was a deeply human voice. "It is time for you to admit defeat!"
"Be careful, Sonya Parish! If you destroy me, everything you are will cease to exist! Remember what Merlin said. There must always be a balance. I am inextricably linked to all shadow-walkers. I am the source of all your powers! Even if you were to survive because of Merlin's help, you would consign your protege and all others of your kind to madness or perhaps even death. Would you do that?"
Lucy suddenly found herself speaking and clasping Sonya's free hand even more tightly than before.
"Do it! Do it! This can't go on any longer! I would die to see you free of her!"
"But I am free of her, Lucy. I cannot destroy her even though I may have the ability. She is correct. However, I can do to her what she has done to Merlin," and in the blink of an eye both Sonya and Vivien had disappeared. Lucy was frightened, but in five minutes Sonya reappeared, the staff still in her hand, and a fierce light of triumph in her eye.
"Well? Is she in prison?"
"She is in her own dimention," said Sonya simply. "I could not truly imprison her without the knowledge of other shadow-walkers, for it would affect them if they could not access The Source of their power."
"Does this mean that Vivien knows whatever we do?"
"Vivien, such as she is, is only the mask that The Source wears. Her true self has been consumed by it as I would have been. There's a reason why she mentioned back at Buchanan Hall that Peter Buchanan would be her hands, eyes and voice. It is very difficult for The Source to use the Vivien persona now. She hides this under a disdain for the human form, but there is a reason why she took Peter when he was so young. She was grooming him to become the new mouth-piece which would replace Vivien. I believe that Peter and I must stand opposed in the end, but for now, Vivien is still available to The Shadow-source and she will be back someday. We fought in a place beyond time, and I only barely got the better of her. She is weakened for now, but she cannot stay that way forever."
"The Shadow-source?"
"That is my name for The Source which took me, Lucy, in order to differentiate it from the True Source which would have been ours if Merlin had lived and had turned people other than Vivien. It is true that I will always be a shadow-walker, but Merlin has shown me the truth of what we could have been. It is indeed what we must become in the end if we are to grow into our full potential. I know now, for instance, that I can take any form I wish to. I wish you could share this with me, Lucy! It is very beautiful!"
"It's enough for me to be a shadow-walker I think," said Lucy. "I just hope that our bond won't be weakened because of this."
"Never fear that, Daughter!" Sonya knelt before her and took both her hands, gazing up into her face. "You and I are bound by much more than the shadow-bond, though that will stay strong between us. We are soul-kin now, Lucy. We have shared joy and sorrow, tragedy and triumph, and I know that we will share them again. I have had many people in my family of the heart, Lucy, and you are certainly one of them, my only living daughter in the shadow-life. Where Mistress Honoria could not help me, I intend to help you. I intend to fulfill Tegan's dream as well of seeing you graduate. Face it, Lucy Milligan. You're stuck with me."
"Well, one thing I can say now," said Lucy, "is that I hope this is all the excitement we're going to have this summer! I'm almost yearning for long sleepless nights sitting in front of my laptop and searching for words to describe the intertextuality between Mallory's La Morte D'Arthur and the French Vulgate Cycle."
"You'll have enough of those in time, I'm sure, but to stay sleepless now would be foolish. Don't worry," Sonya reassured Lucy as she gave an involuntary shiver. "The darkness is gone for now. We will be alright if we go to bed. Anyway, the dawn is coming."
Lucy moved toward the window and saw faint streaks of grey coming into the eastern sky. Even as she did so, she felt the shadow-life fading from her and would have collapsed if Sonya had not caught her.
"Come on," she said as Lucy righted herself. "Let's get you upstairs."
As Lucy lay in her bed, she heard a sudden riot of birdsong outside of her open window, and she wondered if she would even be able to fall asleep with the sun that would shortly be slanting in. It was true that the drawn shade would keep most of it out, but its heat was going to make the upstairs room an oven soon. So, it was with a faint and fading surprise that she found herself almost immediately dropping into sleep, and whether the room was hot or cold that morning she never knew, for her sleep was deep and unbroken.
It was after six that evening when she felt well enough to come downstairs, and at first she looked in vain for Sonya. The sun was low in the sky and the shadows were lengthening in the cleared plot around the cabin, and as she could not find her friend inside, she ventured out behind the house as she had done on her first morning here. A spritely singing came to her ears as she rounded the corner of the house to where Sonya kept a herb garden and she stood in wonder, thinking for an instant that she had walked into the thirteenth century, for as Sonya bent to her work in the garden, she sang in her clear and rich voice:
"Sumer is ycumen in. Lhude sing cuccu! Bloweth Sed and groweth med and springth the wde anew. Sing cuccu!"
"Well, she said as she came closer. "Now I find you a scholar of middle-english part-song? Is there anything you don't know?"
"Ah Lucy!" Sonya stood up at hearing her voice and taking off the gloves she had been wearing fairly ran toward her, her face flushed with wind and sun and her hair flying free around her shoulders. "I'm glad to see you up! I checked on you several times today but you were so deeply asleep that I didn't want to disturb you. Come in and I'll make you something to eat!"
Lucy protested that she didn't want Sonya to go to any trouble on her account but the latter wouldn't hear of it, and when they had entered the kitchen she immediately set to work cutting vegetables, frying chicken and boiling potatoes.
"You need something hearty after last night," she said simply, and in about an hour's time they were both sitting in their familiar places across the big old table with steaming plates in front of them.
The sun was in its final decline as they finished dinner and Lucy was grateful for Sonya's talkative mood. She herself barely knew what to say about the events of last night, but Sonya seemed to anticipate her unspoken thoughts and began the conversation without prompting.
"You know, Lucy," she said as they sat over their after-dinner tea, "when we began this journey together back in April, I never thought that it would come to this point. I expected that you would have to learn about being a shadow-walker but I never thought you would be tested so terribly. Please believe that if I could have shielded you from all of this, I would have."
"I know, Sonya. I know. I would have done the same for you as well if I had the power."
"You are a good friend, Lucy Milligan. I was lucky to find you!"
"You've saved me in so many ways, Sonya: you and this whole ordeal. I know now that I can be a whole person by myself if I have to be. I ran into David's arms because he said kind words to me. I guess that after my father died I wanted a strong male presence in my life more than I knew. It was you who made me see that life with David was not really love. Thank you!"
"Lucy, the cards would not have revealed themselves in the way they did if you yourself hadn't seen the truth already, but I am glad I could be of help to you when you needed it. If you ever need that kind of help again, I'll be there."
"Will you? Can you? You seem so different now. When I look at you, I see the golden light on your face and I feel the power in you. It's not the same as mine anymore, Sonya, and I feel that you're just too bright for this world now. I can't explain it any better than that."
"If you see The True Source's light upon me, Lucy, then you are seeing with your heart. It is true that I have been changed by my contact with Merlin and his power, and I have much to learn from him if he will teach me, but I am still myself. The True Source cannot overpower me as did The Shadow-source. It simply lies within me and waits for my word to act. It is devoted to the service of life, for Merlin bound it with the knowledge he had as an Atlantean magician."
"So how did Vivien turn it to her own ends? Did it split in two or something?"
"It is something like that. The True Source would not have remained if she had killed Merlin, but I think that she knew even then the intertwined natures of her own powers and those of her mentor and enemy. The True Source was left with him in his prison, and Vivien thought that he would never be found by any who would come after her. The problem now is that The Shadow-source is stronger than The True Source, because there are more who call upon The Shadow-source for power. Our only advantage is that The Shadow-source was limited in its power by Merlin and it cannot be freed from those limitations unless it reunites with The True Source."
"So Merlin has made you a target then!" Lucy was indignant on behalf of her friend. "Did he know he was doing that?"
"He knew that The True Source needed to be active in the world once more. He also knew my heart, Lucy, and I think that if you probe me with your own empathic gift, you will understand why he chose me."
Lucy felt a chill go down her spine.
"He chose you because you could kill the bird and because you were able to put your own love and even my disgust aside to do for Tegan what needed to be done. He knew that if you have to, you will use your power to destroy The Shadow-Source, even if it means that The True Source will be no more: even if it means putting an end to the race of shadow-walkers for all time."
"Well, fortunately, there's a long way to go before even contemplating such an epic event, so while there is still time before us, we must inform others about this new discovery if we can. There will be resistance, and I think that battle lines will be drawn rather quickly, but the hardest part will be finding others who will be worthy of The True Source's power. You will have to help me in this."
"Gladly," Lucy said, "but how?"
"You will have to help me with your empathic gift. We will have to find shadow-walkers with a dedication to doing good, for I have come to know that if The True Source touches an evil or ambitious heart, the shadow-walker will be consumed in fire. It is one of Merlin's safeguards which he managed to develop after Vivien had betrayed him. During this time, of course, you will be learning more and more about what it is to be a shadow-walker and preparing for the day that you will receive The True Source for yourself. Of course, all this is dependent on your own free will. Even now, you are free to leave all this behind and to live the life you had before."
"Sonya Parish," said Lucy decisively, "I've found what I am supposed to be. If I am to be a shadow-walker, then so be it. Even now, I won't leave you or the life you've given me. I know there will be hard times ahead, but I know that living this life will be worth all the challenges."
"I pray that it will be so, Lucy. I pray that it will be so. Now come! Have some more tea!"
Lucy stayed on Wolf Island till the end of June, when she was forced to return unwillingly to Thornton to take up her duties in the English department once again. She had been given charge of a six-week intensive summer course on Shakespeare's tragedies, and while she had been excited when she had been given the news of this first official teaching-post of her scholarly career back in March, she now sat on the train back to Thornton and found herself dreading the blank stares of her students and the hand-cramps she would get from writing on the white-board. Yet, if she were honest with herself, she knew that the class would not be all that bad and that most of her current negativity was due to the fact that she was leaving the comparative peace of Sonya's little world behind her. Now, as she watched trees and telephone poles race by her window, she recalled their last hours together.
Sonya had woken her before sunrise that morning, and as soon as she had finished packing, she had been summoned from her room to the place where the boat was kept. As Sonya had taken her bags and had lowered them carefully into the centre of the small craft, Lucy had stood in wonderment gazing around her at the dawning day.
"I wish I were able to stay longer," she had said with a heavy sigh. "I feel like we have so much more to do!"
"You're right, Lucy," Sonya had replied as she straightened up. "We do have a lot to accomplish, but it need not be done all at once. Right now, it's best for you to return to your life and for me to live mine here for a time. I will likely spend many hours in contact with Merlin over the next few weeks, and when you and I do meet again I will share with you all I can about what he tells me. I also intend to test my new powers and I cannot do that anywhere else but here."
"I was thinking," Lucy had said then. "Merlin told Vivien that she and all her line would only be able to change into wolves at night. Does this mean that you can access your power during the day now that Merlin has shown you The True Source?"
"Just watch," Sonya had rejoined with a small smile, and as quickly as she had done back in her little apartment above the coffee house she had changed form again: but instead of assuming her familiar wolf's shape, she had become a large hawk which immediately had flown up and circled the island three times while crying its fierce and defiant cry to any who would listen. As she had watched this magnificent spectacle, Lucy had seen the rising sun gild the tips of the hawk's wings with golden fire, and for an instant she had almost felt herself being borne aloft upon the currents of the wind. Her heart had exulted with the freedom of that flight, and when Sonya finally had come to rest in front of her once more and had resumed her human shape, Lucy could think of nothing else to do but to take her mentor into a tight embrace.
"Sonya," she had said, tears of joy beginning to drip down her cheeks, "do you remember that day in the coffee house when you read my fortune?"
"How could I forget it, especially in light of subsequent events?" Sonya had given one of her clear and joyous laughs.
"Well," Lucy had pursued, laughing too and standing back a bit, "the outcome card was The World. You said it meant completion and integration, wholeness."
"Yes?" Lucy remembered a definite knowing smile playing across Sonya's fair features.
"Well, even with all the fear and tragedy we've just been through, I feel somehow that the card was right. I've found a sense of wholeness I think. Right now I feel better than I have since my father's death."
"I'm glad for you, Lucy. I'm really glad. Enjoy it! Promise me you'll enjoy it!"
Lucy recalled now as the train slowed to take a rather sharp bend in the track the intensity in Sonya's voice and on her face as she had asked for that promise. It reminded her of the fierce cry of the hawk, the cry which defied all comers to hinder it in its ecstatic flight. It had been as though Sonya was urging her to take what happiness she could before it slipped away. However, at the time she had simply responded with a nod of her head. Now she longed for just one more moment on that willow-draped path to say with all her heart:
"I promise, Sonya. I will enjoy it with every breath in my body!"
The day had turned out to be one of the finest yet of the early summer, and as Sonya had guided her little boat skillfully across the lake, Lucy had done little else but look at her: at the freshness in her face, the merriment in her eyes and the wild beauty of her sunset-coloured hair as it had moved in the wake of the boat's passage over the still, calm water.
"It's like you've been reborn," she had remarked as Sonya's powerful arms had pulled rhythmically at the oars.
"Perhaps," had been the reply. "Perhaps," and soon the boat had pulled up to the town’s landing-place, and before long Matt's majestic antique had appeared on the road above.
"Well, Miss P.? I hope all's well with you and yours," he had said by way of greeting.
"Indeed yes, Matthew," Sonya had said in a strange and formal tone which Lucy had conjectured to be the accent of her long-ago girlhood. "All is most definitely well."
"You leavin' us then, Miss Milligan?" Matt had picked up Lucy's bags and they had all begun climbing the hill away from the lake.
"Believe me," Lucy had said with a sardonic laugh, "it is not by my own choice. Still, the work's got to be done, I suppose."
"Well, I'm sure you'll be missed round here."
"Aye," Sonya had chimed in, "missed but not mourned. I'm sure you'll see her again, Matthew."
"I was talkin' about yourself, Miss!"
"It's difficult to pine for a part of your soul, Matthew. Lucy and I will both be quite alright until we see each other again."
"As you say, Miss P. As you say."
"Sonya," Lucy had whispered as Matt was busy stowing the bags, "I just want to say thanks, thanks for everything."
"No thanks needed, Child. No thanks needed. You just keep an eye on that sign in front of Beans 'n' Buns. As soon as it reads 'open,' make sure you come in for your usual."
"My usual, eh? If I know you, Sonya Parish, I'll get anything but my usual!" The two women had laughed uproariously and had clung to each other in their mirth.
"Be well, my girl," Sonya had said as Lucy had climbed into the passenger-seat of Matt's car, "and have a safe journey!"
"I hope the rest of your summer is peaceful," Lucy had said, and as Matt had begun to drive away, she had watched Sonya turn to face the lake, and the last sight of her friend that she had seen had been the glint of sunlight which had turned her red-blonde hair to burnished gold.
Her train trip back to Thornton as the afternoon declined was mercifully uneventful. No one spoke to her except in matters of necessity and she spoke to no one. She simply spent her time gazing out the window. She found that she had no interest in reading for once. At first she wondered why this was, but in the end she realized that it was because her real life over these past few weeks had become much more interesting than any mere book. She had become a part of something very important now, and though she had just begun to understand what being a shadow-walker really meant, she felt at last that she had found a better way to make sense of a senseless world. Now there was actual evil that she could oppose and actual good on whose side she could fight. Now she could actually make a difference.
Pretty good for a bookworm, she thought as the train pulled into Thornton Station.
Finally reaching the house which she shared with several other students at about eight o'clock that evening, Lucy was surprised to find a long, oddly-shaped package propped against the door into her basement apartment. A sticky note was attached bearing a few hastily-scrawled words.
"Hey. This was left for you by someone from the English department. Randy."
'Randy' was Miranda Charles, one of the girls who had a room on the top floor and for whom Lucy had acted as in-house essay editor upon occasion. She briefly thought of seeing whether Randy was in and asking her about the particulars of who had left the package. She had a fleeting thought that Peter Buchanan had left it and that it would do her some harm if she opened it.
"Beware of faculty chairs bearing gifts," she said to herself and then shook her head and maneuvered her bags and the oddly-shaped package through the door without further hesitation.
Turning on the light she laid the package flat on her bed and examined it. It seemed to be covered in layers of packing material and there was a note stapled to one side. Prying this off Lucy sat down at her desk to read it. As soon as she saw the neat but thin handwriting, she almost wept with some unnameable mixture of joy and anguish, but when she saw the words she found herself smiling even through the unshed tears.
"Lucy," the note read, "I'm sorry I was so harsh with you in my office today. I feel that I owe you an explanation. Some years ago now I was diagnosed with a very aggressive type of Cancer. I found myself at Beans 'n' Buns during a sleepless night and I ended up confiding this to our mutual friend. She may have told you something of this. I don't know. I'm sure you can guess the rest of the story. I know she thought she was helping me, Lucy, but the truth is that she did not do me any service. As it is, I have to tell you now that the Cancer has returned and I'm declining chemotherapy and the other treatments that have been offered. That's really why I'm going to Wales. I want to die with my family around me.
"Still, I wanted to leave you something to remember me by. I had planned to give it to you once you had graduated, but as life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans, to paraphrase that master-poet John Lennon, I'm leaving it with you now. I'm leaving it with one of your fellow students. I hope he'll get it to you before you leave. Treasure it well, as I will treasure the time you and I have spent together. Your friend, Tegan Russell."
Lucy laid the note reverently on the desk and went to undo the package. After unwinding many furls of plastic and foam sheeting she carefully removed the replica Saxon sword and a small velvet box. Inside the box was the ruby ring that Tegan had worn at the faculty mixer back in April. Lucy put it on her finger and was amazed to find that it was a perfect fit. Then she took up the sword in her two hands and brandished it, looking at her self in the mirror and declaiming her favourite lines from Tennyson's 'Ulysses':
"Come, my friends, 't is not too late to seek a newer world. Push off, and sitting well in order smite the sounding furrows; for my purpose holds to sail beyond the sunset, and the baths of all the western stars, until I die. It may be that the gulfs will wash us down: it may be we shall touch the Happy Isles, And see the great Achilles, whom we knew. Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho' we are not now that strength which in old days moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are; one equal temper of heroic hearts, made weak by time and fate, but strong in will to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield." Then in a softer voice and with a lump in her throat she said:
"Don't worry, Tegan. I will treasure your gifts, both these and all the others you have given me. You were right, you know. Your hunch was right. I got to speak with Merlin himself! I wish you could have met him! I wish so many things for you!"
"Lucy!" She was startled out of her wits to hear a female voice seeming to come from behind her. She turned slowly to look for the owner of the voice but only the empty room confronted her.
"I'm not really hear, Lucy," the voice continued, and she finally recognized it as belonging to Sonya. "I just wanted to see for myself that you had gotten home alright."
"I'm fine," she said quickly, and she really felt fine too. She stood in the middle of her room and found the shadow-life coursing through her, and suddenly the air seemed to open in front of her and she could see for an instant of eternal time from her room into the woods around Sonya's cabin.
"How is this possible?" She asked this of Sonya whom she could now see clearly standing with the staff upraised in her two hands.
"It is one of the new powers I possess. It is a way for you and I to communicate if need be. This is only a window, however, not a door. We can only see each other through this opening."
"You picked a very strange time to speak, Sonya! I was--I was talking to Tegan."
"I wondered why you looked so pale! I'm sorry for surprising you! While I was establishing contact, I thought I heard you reciting poetry. I'm glad you chose those lines from Tennyson. They're very appropriate for our situation."
"I thought they were as well," said Lucy, "and now that I have this sword, I can at last free my inner shield-maiden!" She began to laugh and Sonya laughed as well. In fact, the last thing she heard as Sonya's communication-window closed was that clear spring of joy which habitually seemed to well up from her heart, and she felt that she was beginning to understand and experience it for herself.
"Fight, Lucy," Sonya's voice continued, "but never forget Life's joy!"
"I won't," said Lucy placing the sword carefully in a corner, "no matter what!"
THE END