The GoldenCity

The horses saw him and stopped, milling around in what looked like a haphazard manner until he realized that the mares and their colts had moved to the center of the herd. The horses had shaggy manes and tails and were smaller than the thoroughbreds of his world. Their clunky hooves were out of proportion to their bodies, and there was a pronounced ridge on their foreheads.

It felt as if his Light was entering into theirs and he sensed thoughts far more complicated than the hunger of the sea birds. These animals had a sense of themselves and each other. They could smell him, see him, and there was a memory of another vertical creature that walked on two legs.

The speed and power of the horses’ bodies gave them a certain pleasure, a kind of pagan joy. But something was wrong. His appearance had distracted the herd for a moment; they had ignored a more significant threat. The stallions snorted loudly as they kicked at the earth. Danger. Look around you.

Three lion-sized animals emerged from the grass and began to stalk the herd. Gabriel could see that they had large heads and massive jaws. Their fur was golden-brown, and they had distinctive red markings on their sides.

As these predators crept forward, Gabriel could feel them evaluating the herd. Which horse was old or small? Was there any sign of sickness or injury? For a brief moment they disappeared into a hollow, but the trembling grass marked their passage. When the animals reappeared, they had formed a crude triangle-with the largest predator in front and his companions on each side.

Fear passed through the herd like a wave of frantic energy, and the horses began running. A yearling horse galloped in one direction, stopped and realized it was alone, then tried to join the others. In that instant of confusion, it became the target, and the lead predator dashed forward with long, powerful strides.

When the creature leaped, the red markings emerged from its body and became stubby little wings that propelled it through the air and onto the back on its victim. Gabriel felt both the pain of the yearling horse and the exhilaration of its attacker. Down they went, the yearling screaming and kicking as it tried to break free. But the creature dug its claws into flesh, locked its jaws onto the horse’s mouth and nose, and held on tightly. Unable to breathe, the yearling made one last attempt to break free, then collapsed and died.

The horses stopped on a mound about a half mile away and looked back the fallen yearling. If the herd was a single living creature, then one part of the body had been sacrificed to save the rest.

One of the predators saw Gabriel and made a deep chuffing sound. Gabriel’s calm objectivity disappeared and he ran toward the next cairn, stumbling through the grass. In this world, at this moment, he was no longer the toolmaker who ruled all living things. It was humbling to realize how vulnerable humans were: a weak little primate with small teeth and useless fingernails.

When he reached the cairn, he gazed back across the meadow and saw the three predators feasting on their victim. A blood-red patch appeared in the middle of the green. And now he thought of the creature’s wings-wings of flesh, like a bat. With the addition of an eagle’s head, this creature would have looked like the legendary griffin. And what about the horses? The boney ridge on the forehead made them resemble unicorns.

Generations of Travelers had visited this Eden and then returned to the human world. Their stories had become transformed into myths and legends; the unicorn was a medieval symbol of purity, and images of the griffin decorated swords and palaces. But the power of such symbols had concealed the origin of the tales; the myths were a link to these parallel worlds.

***

The path reappeared at the edge of the plateau and followed a brook that meandered down from the hills. Huge trees with rough gray bark had thrust their roots into the soil and formed their own kingdom of green. Their branches were so heavy that they bent nearly to the ground, forming a canopy that sheltered the earth from the sunlight. The trees grew fruit that reminded Gabriel of dried figs, and this provided nourishment for song birds and small animals that resembled squirrels.

There was a flowery, sweet smell in the air. Gabriel sat beside the brook to gaze up at the trees. Entering into their slow sense of the world was like stepping into an enormous cathedral with dark spaces and light filtered through the panes of a stained-glass window. The trees were indifferent to time, but were aware of the squirrels scrambling through their branches, scratching the bark and squeaking in triumph when they found something to eat.

Gabriel knelt to drink and splash water on his face. When he opened his eyes, he noticed something for the first time. A stick about two feet high had been shoved into the dirt. Someone-or something-had marked this point.