The dream
I dreamt
by the chill lake-side.
….
2
Dreaming
….
The sound came again. It was pure. High. Piercing. Reverberating.
A musical note? A voice? A call? Slim could not be certain. It could be a bird or maybe even the call of an animal, a thin echoing howl or a shrill bugle or a mewling screech. He was listening intently and watching Alamo's reactions at the same time. The horse would warn him quicker than his own instincts if they were about to run into a dangerous animal. But Alamo did not react. His ears remained pointing forward and his head was steady. It was almost as if he could not hear the sound at all.
Slim could, though. Just on the edge of hearing, a melancholy strand of music which drew him onwards. It was like the fragile thread of a spider, leading him through the trees, through the mist, calling and luring him ever upwards.
Well, upwards was the right direction! He urged Alamo on again.
As they neared the plateau at the top of the range, the sound became clearer, though no louder. A silver bell struck lightly would have made much the same sound. A bell - with a crack in it? Soon Slim could distinguish someone singing single notes and words, which fell into the misty silence one at a time like drops of ice.
C … ome …
The sound seemed to quiver, as if the singer was letting out a long shuddering breath.
C … ome …
There was desperation, isolation, heart-wrenching agony in the plea.
Find … me …
His heart turned over. Whoever it was – and it sounded like a woman, a young girl even – they were in a pitiable state of need. His one desire now was to find the singer and to rescue them from the terrible desolation which filled the drifting music. He spurred Alamo into a gallop, regardless of the blind trail and invisible ground beneath them. He could think only of getting to the source of this appeal, to the plateau and to the lake.
The ground, mercifully, began to flatten out. They must have reached the top. As they did so, a faint glow showed through the mist ahead. It was as if horse and rider were charging down a tunnel, the sides milky-white and opaque but the far end a bright halo growing steadily in size and intensity. Despite the fact that Alamo was galloping flat out, they seemed to be travelling slowly … so slowly … as if they were wading through deep water clogged with ice which dragged against the chestnut's legs and slowed the urgent, demanding pace to a crawl. Would they never reach the end of the tunnel?
As they neared the halo of light, Slim had an extraordinary sensation of being wrenched out of the world he knew and thrown helpless into the unknown. Yet, as the light shattered around them and they burst out into the open, everything looked entirely normal. The plateau spread before them and the lake lay in frozen calm in the middle of it. The mist clung to the skirts of the forest and rose up to form a huge dome over the upland. Everything was very still except for the violent thudding of Alamo's hooves.
Wondering why he was in such an all-fire hurry, Slim reined in his horse so they did not thunder precipitously into the lake itself. It took a few moments of adjustment before he realized that the halo of light had not, in fact, been shattered, but had refocused itself on another area and object.
Crouched by the shores of the icy lake was a woman.
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A woman's whim, that was what Slim was going to think of this mission. As he made his way steadily up the mountain in the hope of finding his partner, Jess was absolutely certain of his reaction. He knew also Slim was far too courteous and too kind to give voice to his misgivings or to refuse to help Ann. On the contrary, Slim would always put the needs of others first and, whatever the circumstances, he would not leave a woman to suffer while he could do something about it. Jess was deeply appreciative of this. His own motivation for trying to rescue Stede went far beyond the responsibility he felt for his friend and sometime companion. Jess trusted Ann on a much deeper level than perhaps he was prepared to admit. If she needed his commitment, he would never deny it. And besides, he knew instinctively she was justified and something was terribly wrong. He saw again her haunted eyes and the deep fear behind them - such terror was totally unexpected in a young woman who had already faced considerable danger and hardship to be with the man she loved. "Men have disappeared. Last year a young lieutenant on furlough. The year before, three deer hunters never came home. Before that, Snakey Sanders, the trapper and a youth who'd come north to homestead with his parents. Over the years, women have lost their husbands, sons, brothers, the ones they loved … they talk in the shadows of something that takes young men. Now, at the turning of the year." He heard the dread in her voice: "Something lures them out there, Jess – and something holds them!"
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The pale, bright halo hung around the woman like a cloak of light, capturing Slim's gaze inescapably. It shimmered and pulsed as she rocked backwards and forwards, keening softly in tones which pierced right through the heart of the listener, especially one as tender-hearted as Slim. He eased Alamo to a halt while he was still some feet away from the crouching figure and slowly dismounted.
As his feet touched the ground, she became still and silent. As he began to approach her gently and cautiously, she rose lightly to her feet. As he stretched out a hand to help her, she turned and faced him.
She was incredibly beautiful. She stood glowing and slender and proud, as if the anguish of her song had never been. She was dressed in the bridal clothing of a squaw – a long tunic of the finest white doe-skin, intricately ornamented with colourful beads and glittering with polished elks' teeth. Her feet were bare, despite the bitter cold. But she was not a squaw. Her long hair was a deep, rich gold. Into it were braided dark flowers, which stood out vividly in contrast. Her face was perfectly sculpted and totally serene, but her eyes were wild.
Slim moved slowly, cautiously, feeling that this was someone who had no reason to trust other human beings, even though he could not have said how he sensed this. His hand was still outstretched to help her to her feet and a subtle power seemed to vibrate from her fingertips to his. Then their hands met – warmth upon cold, strength upon fragility, certainty upon mystery. She smiled.
You came … You found me …
In his head, the haunting melody continued, though there was no sound in the air. He understood meaning without words, intention without any vocal expression. She smiled. It was enough.
Take me home …
Alamo was standing a few feet away, his head lowered and his wide, dark eyes regarding them warily. He had made no attempt to graze or drink from the lake. If a horse could be spellbound, this one was. Slim clicked his tongue, the usual sound which would summon his mount to him. Alamo did not move a muscle.
Slim felt torn between a need to keep hold of the woman and the necessity of getting close enough to his horse to mount. He pulled gently on the hand enclosed in his and felt her move, seemingly not by taking any steps but as if she drifted above the ground as she followed him, so light was her footfall.
When they reached Alamo, the horse still did not move, but the ripple of a shudder ran across his coat. Slim reached out with his free hand, caressing the lowered head. "Easy, now, boy," He pulled the woman closer and bent to lift her into the saddle. As he did so, he could feel how tense Alamo was with an instinctive urge to flee. If the horse had spotted a pack of wolves, he could not be more keyed up to bolt for safety. Slim hastily swung himself up behind the woman.
Take me home!
The poignant song echoed in his head again and he felt his heart leap with longing to carry the woman to safety, to warmth and security and to shelter from the piercing grip of winter. She was so delicate in his arms, bones light as a bird's, flesh chill and smooth as old silk, and her hair heavy with the scent of the braided flowers. It did not occur to him to ask what flowers bloomed in the icy end-days on the threshold of winter.
He urged Alamo forward and his steed began to pace along the lake, his hooves brushing through the withered sage. The woman leaned sidelong in Slim's arms, her beautiful face upturned towards him as she sang without words, without sound – a song of loneliness and longing and love.
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This was turning out to be a labour of love – but love for whom? He could not help feeling that he had lost two friends now … and, far worse, had left the woman he cared for so deeply, left her alone as well.
Smoke made nothing of ascending the steep mountain slope, but Jess hunched down in the saddle, pulled his coat tighter and jammed his hat even further down over his eyes to shield his face from the chill moisture of the air. His collar was turned up round his ears and he blessed the long-ago day when Slim had insisted he spent some money on a robust winter coat. He was still so cold he could barely remember the heat of Texas in summer but he knew now that the Wyoming winter wouldn't last for ever, even though this year it seemed to be making a mighty early start. Doubtless the seasonal change was what had sent Stede out hunting again, along with loving the wilderness in a way which he never would farming. And would he be grateful for this search which suggested that he couldn't care of himself? Definitely a labour of love and probably a thankless one! Jess reflected. And he wondered about a man turning aside from his natural inclination, for love - or so it seemed. Would it really work? Was a man capable of changing because of the love of a woman? Perhaps changing out of all recognition? Jess remembered the times he spent riding and fighting and drinking and getting into all manner of wild trouble with Stede.
And he remembered his first sight of Ann, when Stede had practically dragged him along to meet the woman for whom he was prepared to give up everything. Jess couldn't blame him. From the very first moment, Ann's unique integrity had hit him like a blow to the guts, shaking him profoundly and making him, for a moment, question the prior claims of his friend. But when he met her, Ann had already committed her heart and soul to Stede. She was not head-over-heels in love – she was deeply and realistically in love with the man she had chosen and was willing to share equally, with open eyes, both prosperity and adversity. Jess was a second-comer, too late, without a chance. He hid his true feelings well, but deep inside he wondered if, somewhere, there might be another woman like her: a woman who would work all day next you, walk through the desert beside you and stand face to face and undaunted, letting you know when she thought you were wrong. But it was an ideal, a hope, which he locked firmly away in the part of his mind which was not ruled by his heart. What mattered now was finding Ann's man.
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He had forgotten that he was hunting for a man.
Horse and rider and their slender burden drifted across the desolate upland, skirting the icy lake. The great dome of mist towered over them and yet glowed with the diffuse light of the distant sun. There was no movement in the air except that generated by their own passage – a passage leading still further into the remote, rocky heights. But the barren earth seemed yield up a fragrance as they passed. The slender column of the woman's neck was wreathed with her flower-entwined hair like a garland. Her skin was cold, her hands icy, and yet, as they moved, a warmth seemed to follow them, a hint of summer, a glow of autumn, but without the promise of any spring. The air grew thick and stifling, suffused with the odour of dank soil and decay; it clung clammily to the skin, somehow conveying heat and chill at the same time. Light pressed in upon them, gilding the dull earth and dark rocks with eerie splendour. It enclosed man and woman with a pallid halo, eclipsing all other vision.
He had forgotten that he was hunting for a man.
The woman and her beauty filled his eyes and his mind. Her despair and desire filled his heart. All that mattered was to carry her to safety. And safety lay ahead, in the narrow, shadowy canyons from which the river feeding the lake issued. The roar and hiss of the winter flood mingled with the rising moan of the wind along the cliff-face and both were blended into the woman's plaintive song:
Autumn is long past and gone,
the squirrel's store is full,
the harvest's done:
no more sweet roots and honey-dew,
the hunting fails, the darkness falls,
I wait for you.
You do not come.
Slim knew what the song meant. This woman had been abandoned by some tribe on the winter trail, with the ruthless realism which left the weak and helpless behind to pay the price for the safety of many. But why had they left her? She was young and healthy and had no visible injury. Although she was light and slender, she was by no means frail. Slim could feel the core of pliant and indomitable strength in her; she was not one to give up and lie down by the wayside to die.
Who had she been waiting for? Was this the reason she had been left behind? Whoever it was, they had not come to her aid.
But he was here now. He had rescued her and he would not desert her as she had been deserted and abandoned before. She was of his own blood and, though she might have lived as a squaw, she was a white woman and had a right to his protection. He wondered that no-one had been trailing her, desperately seeking her, although he knew how hard such a quest would be.
He had no idea where they were going but he knew he had to continue riding until he reached the end. He had no idea how long he had been riding nor how long he would go on riding. Time and distance no longer trammelled him. He was not bound by the confines of human life. Some power rooted in the very earth itself was pervading and empowering him. In this instant and for eternity, he was dedicated invincibly to the woman.
Alamo stumbled and snorted, his head flung up and his eyes wide with the impulse to flight. Slim reined him in hard, determined that his mount would obey, even if he was not calm. They were in a narrow gulley between towering rock walls, the stormy waters foaming at their feet, the knife-edge wind driving mercilessly into their lungs. But immediately before them, horses were tethered in a picket line, their hides steaming as if they had been hard-ridden, their heads lowered in thankful rest. To the right was an archway in the rock-face, a doorway leading to refuge, to safety, to the security not of a temporary lodge but of a house of stone.
I have waited s-o-o long …
The words were caught and wound into the sighing of the wind. The woman stirred in Slim's arms, her eyes brilliant, her mouth smiling. She took him by surprise and slid to the ground. She pivoted on her heel, twisting and swaying in a kind of dance as she led the way into the shadows beyond the arch. Slim dismounted and hitched Alamo with the other horses, disregarding the chestnut's frantic attempt to resist. It was the first time his horse had ever refused to co-operate with him and the surprise of it made him angry and more determined than ever that it would obey him. He tied the tether-rope in a fast knot to the picket line and turned to follow the woman, stooping under the low doorway.
They were not alone. Beyond the archway= a narrow cleft pierced the heart of the mountain, twisting and turning in a tortuous fashion. It was not a cave, but a fissure in the rock-face with a slit of translucent sky far, far above them. In the dim light he could just make out seated figures occupying the niches and recesses of the winding walls. They made no move or greeting. But the woman was outlined with the radiance of deep satisfaction.
They did not search! They did not rescue me! No-one came to claim and pluck the Ice Flower …
Pure agony infused the words. Yet she was smiling at him still. Her beauty held all the warmth of summer, the glow of autumn, and the fragrance of her flowery hair filled the air. How could he fail her? How could he leave her in her suffering and forget that she existed? He could not do it. He would never do it. He would not be faithless like the others.
Then you came …
He moved across the slippery rock floor in a dream. All he could see was her wild eyes and the heart-breaking appeal in them. Eyes which should be closed with loving kisses and never have to look on horror and betrayal again.
Slim bent his head …
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Jess bent low over Smoke's shoulder, scanning the tracks at the lake edge. At last! A clear and evident trail to follow! He was certain the hoof-prints were Alamo's: he'd shod the horse often enough and knew his weight and the length of his stride and how he pecked with the near fore when he was nervous.
Alamo had been nervous!
Jess straightened up and leaned forward to run a gentle hand over Smoke's ears and crest. The grey was alert, but still relaxed. No sign of the tension which Jess could read from Alamo's tracks. Still, there was reason to be cautious – cautious but also swift …
He nudged the grey into motion and they cantered purposefully along the edge of the lake. Alamo's tracks were clear and fresh. Below them, Jess could detect the prints of another horse, recent, within the last few days. And below those he thought he could make out fainter, older tracks – much older – all heading in the same direction.
Urgency overtook Jess. His mind said caution, but his heart and something in his spirit were driving him to the impetuous reckless action with which he so characteristically responded to any threat to those he cared for. He sensed an evil reaching out for Slim and, regardless of what common sense or logical thought might suggest, he would not let it triumph. And he had a responsibility for Stede. He had not forgotten that he was hunting for Ann's husband, but instinct and logic said the two quests were related. All he had to go on was the tracks. He would follow them to the end. He urged Smoke into a gallop.
They raced across the plateau and into the winding labyrinth of canyons, each one deeper and narrower than the last. The trail was clear, despite the way the mist was narrowing down to limit their options. The light was fading. The cold wind stirred and began to bite them in the face. The sense of impending doom increased with every stride.
Suddenly Smoke dug in his forelegs, sliding to a halt, braced and with his head flung up. He let out a shrill snort of fear and was instantly answered by a deep, pleading whicker from Alamo and the strangled cry of another horse. Smoke's eyes widened, riveted on what was immediately in front of them, and so did his rider's.
Alamo was tied efficiently to a weathered picket rope. It was weathered because it has been in place for a very long time. It had been in place for a very long time because the horses tied to it were nothing more than bony skeletons, held together by tatters of hide and sinew. All except Alamo and the dun next to him, foam-streaked from its struggle to escape, a horse which Jess instantly recognised as Stede's.
Jess hastily backed up his mount until the hideous sight was hidden. Then he slid to the ground and dropped Smoke's reins, trusting to his training that, despite the circumstances, the grey would stay where he was. He moved quietly and slowly to Alamo. The chestnut ducked his head and rubbed vigorously against Jess in an ecstasy of relief. Jess spent some minutes caressing and soothing the horse before turning his attention to the knots restraining him. Alamo had been tied without the usual quick-release knots which would have made it easy to free him. Jess did not waste time trying to unpick them. He just used his knife to slash the rope tethering Alamo and did the same for Stede's dun. He led the pair out of sight of the grisly picket line and encouraged them to stand with Smoke. Then he took in his surroundings.
He was standing at the bottom of a narrow gulley between towering rock walls - the translucent sky far, far above, the stormy waters foaming below, the knife-edge wind driving mercilessly through. To his right was an archway in the rock-face, a doorway leading to …
Jess moved silently, stealthily, into the shadowy entrance. He paused a few feet inside the archway to let his eyes adjust to the gloom. There seemed to be a phosphorescent glow around the hollows and recesses of the twisting walls. And in that glow, he was able to examine the inhabitants of the cleft …
He saw pale forms, death-pale, every one of them. His outstretched hand encountered icy skin and frozen bone. His senses were suffused with the odour of dank flesh and decay. He saw starved lips in the gloom, gaping wide with a horrible warning.
Jess drew in a shuddering breath and steeled himself to move forward. Slim was somewhere ahead, deep in this hideous sepulchre, and Jess was damned if he was going to leave him there! With infinite care, he took one stealthy step after another, moving like a dark shadow through the eerie light, moving like a living wraith among the all too solid dead, moving with inexorable purpose. Past a young man in the dark blue of a cavalry officer … past three figures in the leather gear of hunters … past the moth-eaten furs of a solitary trapper … past a boy in ragged dungarees … past many bodies, motionless, encased in bonds of ice …
At length he reached the end of the gauntlet of frozen watchers, the very end of the cleft. Slim was right in front of him, his head bent, his body stooping low in homage to –
Jess hit him a back-handed blow across the mouth.
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Slim's eyes flashed open and his mouth snarled: "What the hell was that for!"
"Slim, wake up, for God's sake! Wake up! We've got to get the hell out of here!"
Hell summed it all up.
The blow had reconnected Slim's entranced vision to reality – a reality staring him in the eye. He was bending low over a mummified, frozen corpse. The remains of the face leered up at him. The body was emaciated, pared down to the bare bones of humanity. The skin was gelid and gilded with frost. But the long braids of blond hair were still thick, framing the contours of the skull and tumbling across the bony shoulders and skeletal torso.
"Come on! Move!" Jess's hand on his arm was urgent, imperative, dragging him away from the horror to which he had committed his heart. Jess's voice insisted: "We've gotta get out of here!"
Quite why he felt such a sense of urgency, Jess could not explain, unless it was the realisation that no man had ever left this place alive. He hadn't bothered to count the bodies on his way in, but there were enough to suggest the process had been going on for years. There was great power stored in the very walls of the cleft and he could sense it pulsing in dead air of the narrow hollow between. He didn't want to breathe a lungful more of that air than he had to.
He wrapped an arm round Slim, horrified to feel how cold he was and how sluggish his movements had become. They stumbled back towards the entrance, Jess half-towing, half-carrying his partner. Already the chill was seeping into their bones and their breath dragged ice into their lungs. The dank air was so thick it felt as if they were wading through it, one laboured step after the other. An invisible wall of power pressed them back, barring them from the light and warmth of humanity.
But at last the archway was directly before them. Jess released Slim and gave him a vigorous push in the direction of freedom. "Run for the horses and get on Alamo!" he yelled in his ear. "Understand?"
Slim stared at him in a horrified daze. "Aren't you coming?"
Jess glared at him. "Stede's back there. I saw him. And I ain't leavin' either of y' in here. Now move!" His hand struck Slim again between the shoulder-blades, so that he stumbled and lurched towards the threshold. "Get the horses ready. We're gonna need a quick getaway!"
Drawing a deep breath of the relatively clean air coming from the doorway, Jess turned and plunged once more into the depths of the cleft. This time he did not move cautiously. Speed was essential. He raced back down the slippery, sloping floor to the recess where he had seen Stede.
The young man was crouched in the same position as all the other frozen corpses, his head bowed on his chest, his arms tightly folded. For a moment, Jess doubted that he was breathing. Then he saw a tenuous mist issuing from the immobile man's lips. The movement of his ribs was just discernible. His skin was deathly white and coated with a faint rime like frost. There was no way he was going to be able to walk out of there as Slim had. Jess paused to consider how to move him. That was his mistake. He should have grabbed and run.
A single note rang out in the frigid air. The compulsion to turn towards the sound was irresistible. The music began to swell, weaving a net of sparkling brilliance in the gloom. The appeal to common humanity and universal justice burned with an implacable power. He was being rendered powerless by his own pity and duty to protect all women. His limbs were bound, his throat convulsed, his whole being shaken by the power of the emotion which was bearing down upon body and soul. The only thing that mattered was to serve and protect and embrace the singer.
But Jess had seen the fate of those who did. He had seen the reality of the one who sang. With every ounce of his stubborn will, he strove to resist the enchantment. The song was mesmerizing and the demand to right the wrong done to this woman compulsive. But he knew in his heart he could do nothing. The tragedy was far in the past, the opportunity to rescue the victim from her horrific situation long gone. He had come here in the service of a living woman, to fulfil loyally the rights of friendship and to make a real difference to her future.
Jess clung to the thought of Ann in desperation. He remembered her warmth, her generosity, her integrity, her laughter. He remember the teasing question: Why hasn't some woman snapped you up? He'd made a joking reply about escaping on a fast horse, but clung now to the true answer: Because I still want a woman who is married to someone else! He asked for nothing but to be able to do anything in his power to serve this woman, who deserved so much respect for her faithful, unconditional love for her husband.
He wrenched himself away, turning back to the man he had come to rescue. He was clinging in his mind and his heart and his soul to real love and rejecting the insidious lure of calamitous magic. He bent and hefted Stede over his shoulder and ran.
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