He got down to the level again, and followed the river upstream into the narrow valley. Little was recognizable from the last time he’d been there. The snow had imparted a rounded and pillowlike appearance to all the rocks and ledges. All edges were softened, apart from the steepest rock faces, which rose bare and black and seemed to snarl at all this softness. And the spruce trees that grew on the valley floor and sides. The snow had found no purchase on them, either. Their green branches glinted with moisture and stood out with incredible sharpness against the white background.
In order to get the best view over the terrain, he walked as high up its walls as he could as he went up the valley. But he saw nothing of them. No tracks, no movements. Just a few crows that flapped over to a tree on the other side.
Only when he’d reached the place where he’d seen the angels the first time, where the river widened and became more shallow, behind the high hill, did he come down from the mountainside. The place was empty, but he stood there nevertheless, positioning himself roughly where he’d stood then, behind a jutting mountain ledge, which was now merely a gentle, almost imperceptible bump, and looked about him.
Its proportions were almost a shock. Over the years he’d returned to the spot in his thoughts again and again. There it was big and wild and shining. Here it was small and vacant. A few trees, a little hillock, a river so shallow that its surface was disturbed by the rocks underneath. The ground covered with snow, the air thick with mist.
Even so Antinous felt a shiver run down his spine as he stood there. He remembered how awful it had been. The suffering cry of one of the angels. The hands shaking. The eyes swiveling upward as the teeth sank into the fish’s flesh.
He became aware of a movement above him, and glanced up.
Perhaps fifty feet above him, almost obscured by the mist, one of them was flying.
Antinous quickly stepped over to the nearest tree and stood close into its trunk. The angel flew upward in ever-increasing circles, and had soon disappeared completely. He continued to stand motionless for a while longer. Then he began to clamber up the mountainside, reached the cave from where he’d seen them for the very first time, walked along the ridge, inspecting the terrain on both sides, as well as the sky above him, until he began to descend into the upper end of the valley.
When he’d got down, he saw the angel again. It was closer this time, soaring over the mountain ridge and down the steep valley side with outspread wings, perhaps thirty feet above the treetops. As before, Antinous darted under a tree. Just above him he heard a kind of cry.
Aooo! Aooo! Aooo!
His heart pounded rapidly. He shut his eyes, pressed himself against the tree, and remained like that until the soft beating of the wings had ceased and he was sure it had gone.
Then he continued up the valley. He was frightened now. But his fear was of a different kind to the one he’d felt the first time he’d seen them. Then he’d sensed that they meant him no harm. Their terror had had nothing to do with him. Now it was different. They had noticed his proximity. And they wanted that proximity to cease.
Partly because he had to rest, as the two ascents in the deep, wet snow had tired him, and partly because he wanted to reduce how long he was out on open ground as much as possible, he regularly took cover beneath the trees and stood there unmoving for a time before he continued.
Slowly he moved through the forest. The snow lay white between the green trees, which shone with moisture from the mist. Sometimes the snow would open to divulge a dark stream, and sometimes a bare, black circle under a tree, sometimes a steep rock face on mountain or hill. He had lost his sense of time as he walked, but, because he had started so early, he thought it must be about midday.
His gaze constantly swept the snow in front of him. Occasionally he tilted his head back and squinted up, now and again he turned to look behind him.
After a while he came to the edge of a slope that bottomed out into a flat, treeless area, presumably a bog. He stood close to a tree and let his gaze wander over the landscape beneath him. At first he saw nothing unusual. But he didn’t move, knowing that stillness eventually elicits movement in the forest, and he might have been standing there half an hour when he suddenly sensed something in motion. His eyes immediately turned to the spot. Something had stirred in the crown of a great oak tree perhaps fifty yards below him. The movement had stopped now, but it altered the nature of his vigilance: now his eyes were looking for something definite. And then they picked it out straightaway.
An angel was standing on one of the lowest branches, half hidden by the trunk. Antinous saw its head, the top of its body, one leg. It was staring down at the bog.
Was it keeping watch? Or was it just standing there, resting?
The snow fell silently. As long as he didn’t stir he was safe. But sooner or later he must move. Then he would have to hope the angel wouldn’t notice him, or had already left.
He had no idea how long he stood there. Because nothing moved, there was nothing for time to latch on to. He stood there, the bog lay there, the snow fell, the angel stared.
Then suddenly it crouched down, gripped a branch just above it, and swung to the ground. It sank to its knees in the snow, straightened up, and began to walk up toward him.
Antinous went cold with fear.
It was coming straight toward him. Its wings were red, folded down its back. The wingtips just brushed the snow each time a new step caused its body to sink. Its skin was pure white, like china or bone.
It walked between two spruce trees that seemed to stand apart on a small level in the sloping forest side, twenty yards farther down. It had an air of unconcern about it, and Antinous realized that it hadn’t noticed him. It walked as if it were quite alone. Despite this, his heart hammered in his chest. For it was moving closer and closer. If it carried on another fifteen yards in the same direction, it would come face-to-face with him.
He heard the sound of each step, the feet sinking into the wet snow, the faint rustle of the wings dragging across it, and finally even its breathing.
When it halted, it was five yards away from him.
Its eyes were red. Its hair as white as its skin.
It craned its head back and turned its eyes to the sky. Suddenly the face began to twitch. Its eyes blinked rapidly in short spasms, its upper lip was drawn up again and again. Then the fit subsided, and its head was jerked backward several times in succession, its mouth open.
Finally it became calm. It stood quietly looking into the forest for a while before slowly continuing up the slope.
Antinous waited a long time before venturing out. When he did finally leave his hiding place, he bent over the tracks the angel had left in the snow. They were like the others he’d seen. About the size of a human foot, but with claws instead of toes.
He began to follow the tracks up. They continued in the same direction for a while, before gradually changing direction, eventually making for the middle of the valley.
He caught sight of it twice more. Each time between the trees several hundred yards ahead of him. He was certain that it didn’t know it was being followed. There was no sign of hesitation in the footprints, it just continued straight ahead, and it was walking quickly.
How many were there here?
Up on the mountain there had been the footprints of two. He’d seen a couple in the air. They might be the same ones. But not this last. It hadn’t been on its guard for anything. It hadn’t noticed him.
So there must be at least three of them.
All at once he noticed he was hungry. The last time he’d eaten was at dawn, and then only some morsels of bread and biscuit. Since then he must have walked many miles through heavy snow. He was thirsty, too.