The dark of night spilt in through the window, flooding the room inside with an impenetrable blackness. Deep in one corner something stirred, a flash of white cloth in the darkness. A pattering of bare feet on firm wood floor, a quiet breath. Suddenly she burst forward, a swirling mass of copper hair and white silk. Out, through the door and down the stairs. The steps barely make a sound as she flies down them. She stumbles, falls and lands in a heap on the floor. Scrambling up and continuing her mad run towards the door. At last, the cool night air flies in and catches her full in the face. She pauses for a moment, a breath, and then she is gone once again, flying through the night. Her pale, bare feet glide along the cobble stones, her eyes frantically scanning the horizon for any hint of life. Soon, her feet no longer feel the cold, wet stones, but and softer, warmer footing. Now her eyes no longer see houses, no longer search for figures, shadows in the night. Now her eyes look forward, blissfully ignorant of the black shapes of trees rushing past on either side. She lets her muscles unclench, and flies free, through the tree trunks and undergrowth on a path only her fleet feet can find. Yet her sense of freedom does not last, for all too soon she hears another pair of feet running through the undergrowth. She hears each twig crack, each hot and heavy breath. Then the stars come out from their hiding place beyond the clouds. Their cool blue light falls down in shafts, bathing the forest gloom in clear, bright light. Her hair flies out behind her as she runs, her head spins around to see her hunter. His black form, his flaming lidless eyes, his gaping jaw exhaling heavily. She has no breath to gasp, let alone to scream. She runs on and on through the undergrowth. But she is tired, while he is ready for the chase. Each time she seems the be ahead, his breath warms her neck, his hand sends cold shivers down her back. Now a thin mist begins to rise from up ahead. The cool, thick cloud rolls in over the hunter and his prey. Soon, she can no longer see ahead, nor can she hear his steps. Her feet find their path and she slows, trying to catch a few precious gasps of cool night air. She begins to run once again. Faster and faster, farther and farther. Almost there, pounds the rhythm of her feet, almost there gasps each painful breath. But now she hears another pair of feet, once more. Suddenly, the fog melts away to reveal a black shape, a shadow, with lidless eyes of flame. He roars, but she does not understand. “ Let me through”, she pants. He begins to run towards her, picking up speed with each step. “Dear gods, let me through”, she prays. Now he is but a few feet in front, his flaming eyes cast a golden glow on her pale face; her copper hair; her own eyes, the color of a still pool into which have fallen stars. For a moment he stops, stares at the eyes, the face. A moment is all she needs to fly ahead. Now she is in front; his roar of rage shakes the ground. “If only to the pool, just to the pool”, she thinks, pleading with whatever force may change the outcome of this mad dash, this last hope. His hand is on her sholder, on her back. He grabs and holds firm as the cloth tears, revealing her bare shoulder to the mercy of his claws. Hot, red blood over sweating white skin. The fire in his eyes burns brighter yet, his pace quickens. The final remanents of the mist are clearing, letting the shining silver surface of the pool slip through, the starlight shining out of its depths. Nearly there, nearly there. The pounding rhythm of her feet, her heart is lost in her pursuer’s bellow of rage, of loss. To him, each beat of her heart is a note, a melody, a song. The blood pounding through her veins is precious, and the waters will not claim her from him. With a final burst of effort he propels himself with a mighty leap through the air, the mist. His flaming eyes set on her form, only an arm’s reach away, his hand reaches out, he grabs at the mane of copper hair flying out behind the running form. So close and yet so far, for her feet have already brushed the surface of the silver pool, felt the cool water reaching out in ripples to pull them in. As she moves farther and farther away from shore, she hears less and less of his cries, his sobs, his roars. Soon she is swimming, her dress floating about her in a mass of rippling white, her hair like flames underwater. Blood from her wound cascades down her back, staining the white cloud on which she floats, leaving a trail flowing back to shore. The small rivulet of blood teases him, tempts him to follow out into the water, but he holds back, knowing the consequence. She swims on and on through the silver water, ripples flying out to all sides, splashes echoing around the glade. Now she can see the centre of the pool. A large black rock juts out from the waters, its sides glistening with drops of rainwater, its base shrouded in a watery mist. The water grows shallower now and soon she can walk once again, a pale and dripping form climbing out from the arms of the pool. Her feet find steps carved into the rock that eyes could never see and she begins her climb upwards. After the first few steps she slips and falls back down into the waters. Her body is weak from the strain of the night and she wishes she could just stay there, slowly sinking into cool calm waters of the starlit pool. And yet some remanent of willpower pushes her on the restart the climb. This time she does not slip, but climbs carefully to the flat top of the rock. There stands a shrouded figure. It is a man, his face is hidden and he stands in the shadow of a doorway. Though he hides himself as best he can, she knows whose face hides beneath the shroud. A face all children are born trusting, though now she had grown to hate it.
“Traveller, wish you to cross?” His voice is also known to her.
“Yes, I do so wish.” His shroud slips from his eyes, the color of water like hers.
“Then come forward” She does as he bids and bows her tired head. He slips a thin silver chain over her pale neck, she shivers as it touches her bloody wound.
“Once you have crossed, there is no coming back. Know this ere you make your choice.”
“My choice is made.”
“What wish you to keep?” At this she ponders a moment, her eyes wander.
“This night, my last night.”
“As you wish…”
He raises his hand and a shiver spreads from her forehead to her fleet, tired feet. She is living again the night, the chase, the fear. She staggers, then stands firm. Her eyes open. “I am ready.”
He bows, almost mockingly, and gestures with one hand to the doorway. It is a small doorway, made from the same dark and wet rock on which the two beings stand. Around the edge are written words in an ancient tongue, long since not spoken in this world. If she had understood the lines, they would have been as a nursery rhyme of old:
Has the world be cruel, ‘stead of kind?
Or has your life simply run out of time?
For whatever reason you may need,
I’ll take you from this world with speed.
Be warned, though, child of that world or this
For you may cross but once lest things go amiss.
So with this warning I let you past,
Though these steps may be your last…
Without reading the warning of the doorway, she walked boldly forward, her hair and gown billowing out behind her in a cool night breeze. As she stepped over the threshold, she looked back one last time at the sunrise she had always know. Then she turned her back on all things safe the gapping hole of the door, and with a brisk step she crossed the doorstep. The shrouded figure sat staring at the empty space once held by his child and spoke aloud the final lines of the poem:
Into a world you now call home
Into the world you will now roam.
But, my traveler, take care,
For you can hide your fears nowhere.
With that the shook off his cloak and began the climb down the steps towards his boat, and back to his home, over waters that now glinted a pale grey in the early phases of the sunrise.
