The Catswold Portal

Much later she managed to bring a spell-light dully gleaming against the tilting slabs, light swallowed by the dropping chasm beside which she fled. From far below came the churl of the stream hurrying down toward the Netherworld. And as she approached her own world she thought more kindly of Efil. Maybe she had been too hard on him. Efil had offered her a kingdom, offered her all that was his. In bedding her, he had only been trying to save the heritage he had so foolishly let Siddonie control.

She wondered if she and Efil together really could free the Netherworld. She wondered if they could stop the need for war, make every land free to govern itself, and if they might free the Catswold from their self-imposed exile. She remembered Halek saying once, when she and Mag had visited him in his village, that Siddonie longed to destroy the Catswold’s stubborn independence, to break their spirit.

When she stopped to rest beside the stream, half of her wanted to join with Efil, while the other half wanted to avoid him. And there was within her, as well, a fierce, painful hunger to turn back again to the inexplicable world above.

But whatever she did, she must tell Efil that Vrech had found a changeling boy. No matter what she felt about Efil, no matter how he had deceived her, she must do this for him.

When long hours later she began to smell the deep green scent of pine she ran, bursting out from the tunnel into the familiar Netherworld night. She crossed the stream, and knelt, and snatched up Netherworld earth in her hands. Her cheeks were wet with tears.

She looked for Vrech’s stallion, but it was gone. She wondered if Vrech, returning, had seen the pony behind the bushes. When she reached the pony she laughed at his impatient pawing. Quickly she swung onto his back, released him from the binding spell, and gave him his head. He flattened his ears and bolted for the palace.

Near the palace she slid down and loosed the pony in his pasture. Approaching the palace wall and slipping in through a side gate, she could see lamps burning in the scullery. And though it seemed to be very late, the big dining hall was brightly lit, and she could hear voices and laughter. She moved to the back of the palace, looking up at Efil’s vine-choked balcony.

Chapter 22

She climbed the vine and swung onto Efil’s balcony. She thought as she moved to the window to look in that maybe she would regret her return. Yet she must do this; she felt compelled to bring news of the changeling boy to Efil. She could see through the partially open draperies that the room was dark. She turned the latch and gently pushed the door open—it was jerked from her hand, and someone grabbed her arm, pulling her in. A spell-light shone in her face.

“Melissa!” Efil laughed drunkenly and pulled her into his arms. He stank of wine. “Where have you been? This is wonderful. Where did you go yesterday? I woke and you were gone.” He began kissing her and fondling her.

She pulled away and moved to the mantel. “I have something to tell you, Efil. Something important. You weren’t asleep?” She glanced toward the bed, then watched him light a lamp by snapping his fingers in a showy spell. He was really very drunk.

He said, “I just came in. Supper was endless. She’s all worked up about the damned dwarfs in the north and their silver.” He moved the lamp to a table; its light leaped up across his face to form unfamiliar contours. “She can’t get the dwarf nation to settle on a king elect without turning it into a battle over silver taxes. What difference? She takes what she wants anyway.” Again, eagerly, he reached for her.

She moved away and sat down on the bench before the cold hearth. “Please listen. This is important.”

He sat down close beside her, smiling indulgently, and began kissing her neck. She pushed him away, prying his fingers loose. “You must listen, Efil. Vrech has found a changeling boy. He has found a boy to be changed for Wylles.”

He stared at her, frowning. “There hasn’t been time. She only—you’re not serious? But of course, you’re mistaken.”

She shook her head. “There is a boy in the upperworld who looks exactly like Wylles. I have been there. I saw him.”

He laughed, reaching for her. “You wouldn’t go there…not alone, my love.”

He was exasperating; she wanted to slap him. “That is where I went yesterday. I followed Vrech. He has brought the boy to live in the garden by the portal. Six houses,” she said, trying to hold his attention. “Six houses surrounding a hillside garden. There is a door opening into the hill—a portal. Vrech has the boy living there, the child is the same age as Wylles. He looks exactly like Wylles only fatter, healthy, and strong.” She wished Efil was sober. “Don’t you understand? I followed Vrech up. I saw the boy. I talked with him myself.”

Efil rose and moved irritably to the mantel. He stood looking at the row of dusty wine bottles, seeming not to see them. Absently he lifted one, wrapped a spell around the cork, and drew it forth.