The Dark World

'We can bring back your true memories. And we will. They came to the surface for a moment, I think, just now. But it will take time. Meanwhile, you are one of the Coven, and Edward Bond is back upon Earth in his old place. Remembering – ' She laughed softly. 'Remembering, I am sure, all he left undone here. But helpless to return, or meddle again in what does not concern him. But we have needed you, Ganelon. How badly we have needed you!'

'What can I do? I'm Edward Bond.'

'Ganelon can do much – when he remembers. The Coven has fallen upon evil days. Once we were thirteen. Once there were other Covens to join us in our Sabbats. Once we ruled this whole world, under Great Llyr. But Llyr is falling asleep now. He draws farther and farther away from his worshippers. By degrees the Dark World has fallen into savagery. And, of all the Covens, only we remain, a broken circle, dwelling close to Caer Llyr where the Great One sleeps beyond his Golden Window.'

She fell silent for a moment.

'Sometimes I think that Llyr does not sleep at all,' she said. 'I think he is withdrawing, little by little, into some farther world, losing his interest in us whom he created. But he returns!' She laughed. 'Yes, he returns when the sacrifices stand before his Window. And so long as he comes back, the Coven has power to force its will upon the Dark World.

'But day by day the forest rebels grow stronger, Ganelon. With our help, you were gathering power to oppose them – when you vanished. We needed you then, and we need you more man ever now. You are one of the Coven, perhaps the greatest of us all. With Matholch you were -'

'Wait a minute,' I said. 'I'm still confused. Matholch? Was he the wolf I saw?'

'He was.'

'You spoke of him as though he were a man.'

'He is a man – at times. He is lycanthropic. A shape-changer.'

'A werewolf? That's impossible. It's a myth, a bit of crazy folklore.'

'What started the myth?' Edeyrn asked. 'Long ago, there were many gateways opened between the Dark World and Earth. On Earth, memories of those days survive as superstitious tales. Folklore. But with roots in reality.'

'It's superstition, nothing else,' I said flatly. 'You actually mean that werewolves, vampires and all that, exist.'

'Ghast Rhymi could tell you more of this than I can. But we cannot wake him for such a matter. Perhaps I – well, listen. The body is composed of cells. These are adaptable to some extent. When they are made even more adaptable, when metabolism is accelerated sporadically, werewolves come into being.'

The sweet, sexless child's voice spoke on from the shadow of the hood. I began to understand a little. On Earth, college biology had showed me instances of cells run wild – malignant tumors and the like. And there were many cases of 'wolf-men,' with thick hair growing like a pelt over them. If the cells could adapt themselves quickly, strange things might occur.

But the bones? Specialized osseous tissue, not the rigidly brittle bones of the normal man. A physiological structure that could, theoretically, so alter itself that it would be wolf instead of man, was an astounding theory!

'Part of it is illusion, of course,' Edeyrn said. 'Matholch is not as bestial in form as he seems. Yet he is a shape-changer, and his form does alter.'

'But how?' I asked. 'How did he get this power?'

For the first time Edeyrn seemed to hesitate. 'He is – a mutation. There are many mutations among us, here in the Dark World. Some are in the Coven, but others are elsewhere.'

'Are you a mutation?' I asked her.

'Yes.'

'A – shape-changer?'

'No,' Edeyrn said, and the thin body under the robe seemed to shake a little. 'No, I cannot change my shape, Lord Ganelon. You do not remember my – my powers?'

'I do not.'

'Yet you may find me useful when the Rebels strike again,' she said slowly. 'Yes, there are mutations among us, and perhaps that is the chief reason why the probability-rift came ages ago. There are no mutants on Earth – at least not our type. Matholch is not the only one.'

'Am I a mutant?' I asked very softly.

The cowled head shook.

'No. For no mutant may be sealed to Llyr. As you have been sealed. One of the Coven must know the key to Caer Llyr.'

The cold breath of fear touched me again. No, not fear. Horror, the deadly, monstrous breathlessness that always took me when the name of Llyr was mentioned.

I forced myself to say, 'Who is Llyr?'

There was a long silence.

'Who speaks of Llyr?' a deep voice behind me asked. 'Better not to lift that veil, Edeyrn!'

'Yet it may be necessary,' Edeyrn said.

I turned, and saw, framed against the dark portiere, the rangy, whipcord figure of a man, clad as I was in tunic and trunks. His red, pointed beard jutted; the half-snarling curve of his full lips reminded me of something. Agile grace was in every line of his wiry body.

Yellow eyes watched me with wry amusement.

'Pray it may not be necessary,' the man said. 'Well, Lord Ganelon? Have you forgotten me, too?'

'He has forgotten you, Matholch,' Edeyrn said, 'At least in this form!'

Matholch – the wolf! The shape-changer!

He grinned.

'It is Sabbat tonight,' he said. 'The Lord Ganelon must be prepared for it. Also, I think there will be trouble. However, that is Medea's business, and she asks if Ganelon is awake. Since he is, let us see her now.'

'Will you go with Matholch?' Edeyrn asked me.

'I suppose so,' I said. The red-beard grinned again.

'Ai, you have forgotten, Ganelon! In the old days you'd never have trusted me behind your back with a dagger.'

'You always knew better than to strike,' Edeyrn said. 'If Ganelon ever called on Llyr, it would be unfortunate for you!'

'Well, I joked,' Matholch said carelessly. 'My enemies must be strong enough to give me a fight so I'll wait till your memory comes back, Lord Ganelon. Meanwhile the Coven has its back to the wall, and I need you as badly as you need me. Will you come?'

'Go with him,' Edeyrn said. 'You are in no danger – wolf's bark is worse than wolf's bite – even though this is not Caer Llyr.'

I thought I sensed a hidden threat in her words. Matholch shrugged and held the curtain aside to let me pass.

'Few dare to threaten a shape-changer,' he said over his shoulder.

'I dare,' Edeyrn said, from the enigmatic shadows of her saffron cowl. And I remembered that she was a mutant too – though not a lycanthrope, like a red-bearded werewolf striding beside me along the vaulted passage.

What was – Edeyrn?

IV. Matholch – and Medea

UP TO now the true wonder of the situation had not really touched me yet. The anaesthesia of shock had dulled me. As a soldier – caught in the white light of a flare dropped from an overhead