Avilion (Mythago Wood 7) by Robert Holdstock Page B

was not a dream that had drawn him in, nor even a memory; it was an uncertainty. He could remember the long journey through the valley, from the place of fire, from the stone, to this quiet place where he had waited. He could remember the horrors and the struggle against the unseen and unknown presences that inhabited this land, sufficiently so to feel an echo of that terrible time.
    But he could also remember the joy and delight, the hope and calm that rose in him when, sitting on this very rock, he had seen a shadow become a shade; and a shade become a form; and the form shape itself into the a woman he had known.
    The woman had stepped out of the valley and come to him. And her wounds had healed, though she was bedraggled and scratched by a journey that had taken her through her own hell and hardship.
    But the blood and bruising on her body had not mattered, only the smile and glow of relief when she had seen him.
    ‘I’ve found you,’ she said.
    ‘Yes. I knew you’d come.’
    Steven remembered how she flowed into his embrace, all strength gone, letting his own strength hold her. She seemed so small. So light. Her fingers sought his hands, clutched them hard. Her breathing became calm. Her hair was matted with time and travel, with forest and river. It was a mat of copper, long, unkempt, smelling strongly of toil.
    ‘The return was very difficult,’ she whispered. ‘The return was very difficult. I hope I’m safe now.’
    He remembered how he had held her, pressing his face against hers, opening her mouth with his, welcoming her with all of his body and clutching her to him, not letting her go, tasting and remembering everything about her.
    And when she started to cry he picked her up and carried her home.
    And when she slept, he sat by her and listened to the words she spoke in her dreams, the same words, over and over.
    ‘The return was very hard. I hope I’m safe now.’
     
    A small foot gently kicked Steven on the shoulder. The valley cleared in his mind’s eye and became the steep-sided shadowy pass that he had brought his daughter to see.
    Yssobel was standing on the rock, looking down. The breeze was catching the tassels on her fur leggings. Her hair, red like fire in this strange light, was flapping over her face. The look in her eyes was questioning, not alarmed. ‘Where were you?’
    ‘Dreaming,’ Steven replied.
    The girl looked down the valley.
    ‘I liked the story. I’d heard some of it from Jack.’
    ‘You told me.’ Steven had taken his son through the same ritual two years before.
    Yssobel stretched out her arms in front of her, fingers pointing before she turned her palms so that they seemed to embrace what she was seeing. A moment later she let her arms drop.
    ‘The girl who came back through the flames was my mother.’
    ‘Guiwenneth. Yes.’
    ‘But who was the hunter? Who was waiting?’
    ‘Who do you think?’
    ‘Jack didn’t tell me. But it’s obvious. It was you.’
    ‘Me. Of course.’
    Yssobel shivered. She was still standing and Steven could see that she seemed uncomfortable. So small a girl, so much expression in her face. He asked, ‘What is it?’
    ‘I was just thinking. I was thinking about how long you waited.’ She looked down, meeting his gaze. ‘How long did you wait, daddy?’
    The innocent question was like a blow to his head and heart. ‘If I knew the answer to that, my darling, I’d have been able to move away from this place. I waited a long time. But I don’t know how long. All I know is that I waited too long. By the time Guiwenneth came back, I was too much a part of the valley. I can never go home.’
    Yssobel frowned. ‘But you are home. This is your home.’
    Realising that he had made a mistake, Steven stood and gathered the girl into his arms. ‘Yes, of course. This is very much my home. But we’ve talked about my childhood and you know I had a home a long way from here. At the edge of the wood. That’s all I meant. I can’t go back to