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"I want us to go to all those places. I want to see them now. I want to see them and live in them. I want to go farther even, places I never dreamed of seeing when I was alive. "
Something changed in her face.
"Did you know it would grow back?" she asked in a whisper.
"No. I mean yes, I mean, I didn't think. I should have known it would do that. "
For a long time she stared at me again in the same still, listless fashion.
"Does nothing about it all . . . ever . . . frighten you?" she asked. Her voice was guttural and unfamiliar. "Does nothing . . . ever . . . stop you?" she asked. Her mouth was open and perfect and looked like a human mouth.
"I don't know," I whispered helplessly. "I don't see the point," I said. But I felt confused now. Again I told her to cut it each night and to bum it. Simple.
"Yes, bum it," she sighed. "Otherwise it should fill all the rooms of the tower in time, shouldn't it? It would be like Rapunzel's hair in the fairy tale. It would be like the gold that the miller's daughter had to spin from straw in the fairy tale of the mean dwarf, Rumpelstiltskin. "
"We write our own fairy tales, my love," I said. "The lesson in this is that nothing can destroy what you are now. Every wound will heal. You are a goddess. "
"And the goddess thirsts," she said.
Hours later, as we walked arm in arm like two students through the boulevard crowds, it was already forgotten. Our faces were ruddy, our skin warm.
But I did not leave her to go to my lawyer. And she did not seek the quiet open country as she had wanted to do. We stayed close to each other, the faintest shimmer of the presence now an
d then making us turn our heads.
Chapter 5
5
By the hour of three, when we reached the livery stables, we knew we were being stalked by the presence.
For half an hour, forty-five minutes at a time, we wouldn't hear it. Then the dull hum would come again. It was maddening me.
And though we tried hard to hear some intelligible thoughts from it, all we could discern was malice, and an occasional tumult like the spectacle of dry leaves disintegrated in the roar of the blaze.
She was glad that we were riding home. It wasn't that the thing annoyed her. It was only what she had said earlier -- she wanted the emptiness of the country, the quiet.
When the open land broke before us, we were going so fast that the wind was the only sound, and I think I heard her laughing but I wasn't sure. She loved the feel of the wind as I did, she loved the new brilliance of the stars over the darkened hills.
But I wondered if there had been moments tonight when she had wept inwardly and I had not known. There had been times when she was obscure and silent, and her eyes quivered as if they were crying, but there were absolutely no tears.
I was deep into thoughts of that, I think, when we neared a dense wood that grew along the banks of a shallow stream, and quite suddenly the mare reared and lurched to the side.
I was almost thrown, it was so unexpected. Gabrielle held on tight to my right arm.
Every night I rode into this little glade, crashing over the narrow wooden bridge above the water. I loved the sound of the horse's hooves on the wood and the climb up the sloping bank. And my mare knew the path. But now, she would have none of it.
Shying, threatening to rear again, she turned of her own accord and galloped back towards Paris until, with all the power of my will, I commanded her, reining her in.
Gabrielle was staring back at the thick copse, the great mass of dark, swaying branches that concealed the stream. And there came over the thin howling of the wind and that soft volume of rustling leaves, the definite pulse of the presence in the trees.
We heard it at the same moment, surely, because I tightened my arm around Gabrielle as she nodded, gripping my hand.
"It's stronger!" she said to me quickly. "And it is not one alone. "
"Yes," I said, enraged, "and it stands between me and my lair!" I drew my sword, bracing Gabrielle in my left arm.
"You're not riding into it," she cried out.
