The Tarn of Eternity Part 11

No! It was real. The bushes at the edge of the clearing were moving, disturbed by the pa.s.sage of . . . He knew not what. He knew, though it had slipped into the brushes, it would return to his trail. Whatever it be, their destinies were intertwined.

But days ago I knew only my Mother, Theresa and her family well. And a few others but only to a small extent. Suddenly I walk and talk with G.o.ds, and G.o.ddesses - yes, and with imps. And I am followed by something, by a being unlike any other. What does it all portend? The thoughts repeated themselves as he view the clearing.

A foreboding crossed his mind.

One of us shall not survive the tasks of Zeus!

Ever northward he trekked. He did not know why, only that his feet were guided by Zeus. His quest was to the far north.

Game were plentiful, and he ate well. At times he partook of venison, at times of fish from the streams. Rarely, he ate not.

After one repast he knelt by a quiet brook, was.h.i.+ng his face and hands.

In the water he saw a visage not his own!

He turned quickly, rose to his feet.

The unseen companion had faded into the undergrowth.

"Come out and face me, coward! Do not skulk and hide, recreant!"

Perhaps a tree branch moved, perhaps a footfall was heard.

Then, nothing.

His eyes widened, as he thought to himself, I must be on my guard. Whatever it is, it becomes bolder with each pa.s.sing day.

He followed a stream, a path along its edge. The path widened as he climbed upward, and at times footprints could be discerned. A dwelling must lie not far ahead.

At evening he arrived in a small village at the foot of tall, snowpeaked mountains. He found an inn. Walls made from logs, with cracks filled with dried mud, and a rock fireplace as one wall, it formed one huge room. Animal furs, fur of deer, of bear, hung across from one wall to the other, sectioned off little bays where the traveler could rest in limited privacy.

Through signs and much nodding and handwaving Demo bartered trinkets for such a room. The nights were growing cold, and this brief respite was welcome.

Suddenly a man standing by the door turned toward him, growled in mixed language at him. Strangely, Demo understood.

"Is he with you? What is he, and why does he loiter in the shadows?"

They crowded through the open doorway, gazing southward to the ravine he had so recently traversed. They stared fearfully toward the shadows at the mountain's base.

A creature, perhaps a man, stood huge in the shadows. It neither approached nor yet retreated. Even so, from it a threatening aura seemed to radiate.

The watchers moved nervously, whispered low one to another.

"No, not with me," he responded

"Begone! We want not you, nor his kind. Return him his treasures. "

The inn keeper reluctantly parted with the baubles he had received. Two were missing. Demo started to argue, realized it would be to no avail. Reluctantly he left the shelter.

"I know that creature! He has visited our village before. He brings pestilence, death. Begone, the two of you, quickly!"

They gathered outside the structure. One reached down to pick up a stone, then several others. Demo loosed his bow and they quickly shuffled inside, cursing and threatening.

Demo continued north. He didn't look back. He knew well that he was not alone.

His queries about Medusa led him now to one domain, now to another. Time after time, each lead ended without location of the fabled damsel. Until, at last, in a village on the slope of the mountains, he received guidance that seemed to hold worth.

The sun had set, and evening stars were beginning to make appearance. To the north the little bear could be seen. The air had the feel of coming frost. The great hunter moved across the cold winter sky, followed by his faithful hounds.

"Feel the air, young man! Is there not a storm brewing? A blizzard? Medusa has been deserted by her lover. Her countenance is hard. The chill winds will blow, the lakes freeze over, and living things shall freeze and die. For her heart has grown cold."

The old crone rubbed her hands together for warmth, continued.

"Until she takes again a suitor, the world will suffer from her rejection. Even now, there, beneath the little bear, she waits in her icy cave."

The night wind began to blow and the chill crept through his clothing. "Beneath the little bear, then, will I find her?"

"She is there. And she is dangerous. If you value your life, end this quest. She strikes out in her anger, uncaring for any.

If you go on, beware the great white bear. He guards her by day, and by night." The old woman turned away, hobbled awkwardly to her frigid mountain hut.

She stood in the doorway, looked at him intently. "Your companion, why does he lurk in the shadows? He has nothing to fear from me."

He did not reply. He knew not himself the reason for the evil presence.

Game became increasingly scarce.

He was lucky when a rabbit crossed his path. And even these were few in number, lean in build. Scrub brush served to cook those few he killed.

The winds wailed, the snow peppered down, then settled in huge white flakes. At times the storm stilled and he traveled on in a world where day was night, night day. Across the skies strange colored images danced, twisting and turning. Here seemed a world deserted by Zeus, left to the ministrations of lesser G.o.ds.

The world was enveloped in a blanket of white. At times he sank into its depths. At other times, frozen, it supported him as well as solid ground. And still the snow fell, wind-driven.

With cessation of the wind he could hear, though from a far distance, the crunch of footsteps on the frozen snow. Hidden in the fog or by the falling flakes, the unseen companion was ever with him, ever following.

Even when the snow ceased the air held a strange opaque whiteness, as though the world were immersed in milk. At such times even his hand before his face was not visible. He dared not travel on, knowing he would circle helplessly in the blinding whiteness.

Slowly the white out lifted. The barren snow covered wasteland stretched endlessly.

He pressed on. There was little choice.

At times the storm died, the skies cleared. Crystalline bright the stars shone down. Still the hunter, now directly overhead and to his south, marched across the wintry sky. The pole star gleamed softly, a constant beacon.

But the storm quickly returned.