There was—I began now to perceive it—some arrangement, some pattern about those sparks. They lay thick in some places, thin in others, not at all in a few sections. A design perhaps, but one (the idea awoke sluggishly in a mind that had been overtired by my earlier efforts) that could only be properly viewed and understood if one could see it from above.
Could a person standing on one of the low walls see it? I leaned back against the curved wall, an uncomfortable position, to consider that. What good could it possibly do for me to make such an effort? This was only another unsolvable mystery and nothing to give me any aid.
The glitter grew steadily stronger. I could almost imagine that I saw mists of color flaring upward even as flames arise from wood being consumed. There was certainly something of import out there, tenuous, but perhaps having more substance than light alone.
In spite of my telling myself that this was a useless puzzle beyond my solving, I began to make my way, creeping from one of the enclosures into the next, toward that spread of radiance. While I was still some distance from it, I scrambled up on top of one of the dividing walls, teetered there, hands thrown out to balance me.
At first I thought that if there was any design I could not reach a height high enough to discern its outlines. However, the longer I traced one color to the next, or the joining of the glistening walls that, formed the base, the more I began to perceive that what I looked at was in reality the representation of a symbol I had seen before—carefully lined upon a sheet of very old parchment in the Abbey library.
The general outline was that of a winged creature, but not a bird or any of the fanciful, monstrous beasts Dalesmen were pleased to use to identify their House clans. The outspread wings, the point of one of which stretched quite close to the wall on which I now perched, were blue. Seeing that color gave me a little heart. It was well known that those places of the Old Ones j that held Power that was safe, or at least unharmful, to my race j were always touched with that color.
A round globe rested between the wings, the expanse marked by a circular center for the maze. This glowed amber-gold. While to the fore and back of that were other colors in bright gem shades, as if the thing wore a double crown, one at either side of what might represent either a bodiless head or a headless body.
The longer I stared at that pattern the clearer it became, while the colors were now bright enough to dazzle my eyes. I wavered back and forth on my perch, my weariness fighting against my will. Only I was as one entangled in a strong spell, for I could not turn my back and move away.
My hands closed about the gryphon globe, half expecting that to be afire, gathering force from what I looked upon. Perhaps I was too exhausted, had drawn too much upon its energy in the cavern, for it did not awaken.
If I were enspelled, that bondage held, not only held, but drew me. Still I did not walk straight toward the center; rather it was as if there was another in command of my movements. For some reason, I did not find this either strange or frightening.
My path from one space to the next was odd, sometimes I circled, sometimes I retreated a step, a whole square, a curve, then went forward at a different angle. I think I laughed lightheadedly when it struck me that I might seem, to any onlooker, to be engaged in the movements of some formal dance, such as we foot in the Dale keeps at mid-year when the kin gather for feasting.
Back, forward, sidewise, straight, my feet moved, sometimes having to squeeze into a space where my battered boots scraped both sides of the dividers. Still, to all things there comes an end, and at last I stepped across the final one of the low walls to stand in that golden center, not knowing why it was important that I be here, only that it was.
The light thickened as it streamed upward, walling me in with a veil I could no longer see through. It made a curtain, but I did not stir to sweep it aside; I had reached the place I was meant to be, from here there was no going on.
Now all my great weariness of body and mind settled in full force upon me, actually bearing me to the pavement, so that I wilted as if my knees were now as soft as the bruised flesh that encased them. I was thirsty, I was hungry, I was afraid. I would end here—there was no longer hope of reaching the world I had known.
I curled about in that gold-walled circle as might a child who has wept herself near to sleep. There was a dulling of thought and that pushed away the fear, banished the remaining scraps of wonder—then even memory. I watched drowsily, without marveling any more, the golden light grow thicker and thicker.
Now I could no longer see even the low wall from which it rose. The light billowed, began to spin. First slowly and then faster and faster. Because it made me dizzy to watch, I closed my eyes to shut out that whirl.
There followed a moment of cold, utter cold, sharp enough to bring a cry of pain from me. Then a feeling of deep horror that I was—elsewhere—in a place where no one of my kind should ever venture. Through this nowhere I was swept, or pulled, or pushed. I felt all three such urgings. The terror of the nowhere seeped into my head, drove out the part that was truly me. My inner self, so threatened, fled thankfully into deep darkness and I knew nothing at all.
I opened my eyes. There was no curtain of golden light enclosing me. Instead sunlight wrapped me round, so warmly that my mail shirt was an overheated burden, and my skin stung from a beginning burn. I sat up.
This was not the full light of day, through some opening overhead, that bathed me in heat. I did not still lie in the round of the circular chamber—I was in the open again!
Did I dream? I pinched my own flesh sharply between thumb and forefinger to test that—achieving so pain but no change in what I saw, No rock walls here, rather tufts of coarse-bladed grass and bushes. Not too far away a flock of birds weighed branches—as they pecked eagerly at a bountiful harvest of scarlet berries—so the whole growth, down to its roots, trembled and swung under their assault.
Very slowly, still afraid that I might break this spell—which was certainly good instead of ill—I turned my head. No, this was not deserted country. There were walls, or the remains of such. They stood at a little distance and it was plain they had been tumbled by time, their stone much overgrown with moss. One squat tower was actually topped by a small tree, which had rooted itself there to take the place of a keep lord’s banner.
How had I come here?
Just at that moment I did not care. What drew me was the harvest of berries. I knew their like. Had I not gathered such many times over—the excess being reduced to a thick jam for winter use? They had never looked so plump, so abundant in the Dales though. Now their sweet, yet slightly tart taste promised delight to my hot, dry mouth. I started for the bushes on my hands and knees, not sure I had strength enough to get to my feet.
The birds wheeled up and away, scolding angrily, as I began to raid their feeding place. I culled handfuls from the branches, crammed them into my mouth, their juice relieving my thirst, their substance my hunger. I ate without thought for anything else, without prudence. If this were a dream after all, it was the first one in which I had ever feasted with such satisfaction and delight.
After the first edge was off my thirst and hunger, I allowed myself time to survey my surroundings more closely. The bushes I attacked (I was raking berries from the third bush by this time) had been planted in order, in spite of their now sprawling growth, at what had once been equal distance from one another—a fact still visible.