Delirium
From gloom to joy to anger to terror, all in the span of less than a day, Eilonwy thought - at least, as well as she could think, while doggedly slamming one foot in front of the other, trying hard to set her mind on anything but her own exhaustion.
The journey had begun unsatisfactorily and only grown worse, in her opinion. Still brittle and stinging from Taran's comments, she had angrily rebuffed his offer of a ride on Melyngar, and he had avoided speaking to her since, which ought to have suited her very well. The day was beautiful, golden with sunshine, balmy and warm, and it was impossible to sulk while she moved through the shimmering beams and dancing leaf-shadows beneath the trees, but she had carefully kept all her sprightly observations directed only at Fflewddur and Gurgi, who seemed to be sincerely cheerful. Taran had still managed to annoy her, however, by being too preoccupied to notice her lack of acknowledgement. There was nothing worse than ignoring someone who didn't realize they were being ignored. It was like spitting at a waterfall. She might as well have been invisible.
He had hung slightly back from their procession, looking nervous, and frequently glancing behind them. Before long his cry of alarm had startled them all under cover, from whence they had observed the slow, relentless approach of two cauldron-born. At once, the serenity of their march was thrown to the wind; their only hope was to outdistance the deathless warriors, and so they had broken into an endless, punishing run through the woods.
She had held up admirably for the first bit, she thought - particularly as she wasn't exactly used to so much running. It had almost been a pleasure at first, actually, or would have been had it not been their lives at stake. Achren had always forbidden running through the corridors of the castle, a rule with wisdom in it given that you never knew who or what sort of unsavory character you might collide with if you weren't careful. Eilonwy had often been driven frantic by having to sit motionless for hours of study, and frequently climbed the only two trees that grew within the courtyard walls, or scrambled over certain bits of masonry that were in enough disrepair to allow for good hand and footholds. But these brief exercises did not require very much in the way of endurance, and now, somewhere between midday and evening, with no food and only swift passes of water taken directly from the flask mid-flight, she was nearing the end of her strength.
She'd been hanging on to Melyngar's stirrup for support for the last hour, stubbornly denying her weariness, but her feet were growing heavier; it felt as though the very roots of the trees were reaching up to drag at them. Floundering, she gave up trying to distract her mind and concentrated only on picking each foot up and putting it down, on keeping her breathing deep and measured. Her heart pounded like a hammer inside her chest.
She had several moments of realizing they'd moved a short distance through spaces she couldn't remember - whether they were dark or light, thickly overgrown or clear, muddy or dry and leaf-strewn; she couldn't say; the details were completely absent, as though she'd been asleep. Presently at the end of one of these moments she came to herself and realized she was on her knees, and Taran was pulling her up by the wrist. "Come on," he urged, his voice sounding strange and distant. "It's all right; you're all right, keep going; you must."
She tried to say she knew that, and that he needn't be so commanding all the time, but nothing came out; she had no breath to speak it and no will to find it. Anyway he was pushing her forward, away from her own words, away from thought; she was outrunning her own mind; people lost their minds, didn't they, but you never heard of them just leaving them behind because they couldn't keep up. Maybe that was why...
...why the ground kept moving...
...and up close it smelled like...
...horse-sweat. It wasn't a terrible smell but it wasn't lilacs either, and why was her face pressed against it? It was like being smothered by a dirty, hairy blanket. Gods, why did the ground move, so...no, it wasn't the ground; she must be in bed, but it rolled like the waves in a storm at sea. A boat, then, and someone else sitting in it, holding her in a tight grip, someone she didn't like. And she didn't want to be there, but there was water all around and nowhere to go, so she screamed and screamed but no one came; only a bony white hand with sharp nails that covered her mouth...and...and smelled like horse-sweat. No, that couldn't be right. Achren's hands always smelled like rose-water and magic.
She opened her eyes and saw trees sideways, confused; silly trees, to grow sideways, didn't they know they'd fall over? There were strange noises all around; people breathing hard; low voices murmuring, garbled as though the speakers were underwater. Or maybe it was she who was underwater. The boat was still rolling and pitching underneath her...wait, no, she was draped over a horse, slumped forward into its golden mane. The hair tickled her nose and she tried weakly to brush it away, and only succeeded in tangling her hand in her own hair, which she stared at curiously. Her hair seemed to belong to someone else, some other hand untangling baby-fingers from brilliant red-gold strands that glittered in sunlight, and a soft voice laughing and saying no...no, love, mustn'tpullmummy'shair...
She whimpered without knowing why, and dropped the hand; it wasn't hers anyway, nothing was. The waves rocked like a cradle; no, that's right, it was a horse, a white horse, but they were one and the same, after all; Llyr's white horses capped every wave and she would just ride this one in, and perhaps eventually they'd get to land, if there were any worth getting to. Maybe they should just stay in the sea, where it was lovely and cool and dark, so beautifully dark...
Hard ground, the smell of earth, a pull at her shoulder and magic moved in her mind, an alarm. She opened one eye and saw...who was that? Oh, yes, that...that assistant pig-keeper, whose name she didn't know or just maybe wouldn't say, and he was trying to take her sword again. The power in it stirred restlessly at the affront and she grabbed the scabbard compulsively, muttering, "You never understand things the first time, do you? I suppose assistant pig-keepers are all alike." She wrapped her arms around the sword like a lover's embrace and the magic curled around her soothingly. "I told you before you're not to have it, and now I'll tell you the second time...or third, or fourth. I've lost count."
Before he could reply she was drifting again, in light and shadow, chasing something always just out of reach. No longer rolling like the ocean...they must have reached land after all, solid and strong; not safe, perhaps, but she held something, something that would keep them all safe...if she could just remember what it was...