The Line Between

Then, nearing sundown on the second day, he abruptly broke off the long mumbled conversation with himself. Between one stride and the next, he froze in place, one

foot poised off the ground, exactly as I have seen a stalking fox do when the chosen kill suddenly raises its head and sniffs the air. «Here," he said quietly, and it seemed not so much a word but a single breath that had chosen shape on its own, like a Goro's dream. «Here," he said again.«Here it was. I remembered. I knew.»

We had halted in what appeared to me to be the exact middle of anywhere. River off that way, give or take; a few shriveled hills lumping up that way; no–color evening sky baking above … I could never have imagined surroundings less suitable for a gallant last stand. It wouldn't have taken a Goro and two Hunters to pick us off as we stood there with the sunset at our backs: two small, weary figures, weaponless, exposed to attack on all sides, our only possible shelter a burned–out farmhouse, nothing but four walls, a caved–in roof, a crumbling chimney, and what looked to be a root cellar. A shepherd with a sling could have potted us like sparrows.

«I knew," he repeated, looking much more like his former superior self. «Not whether it would be here, but that it would be here.» It made no sense, and I told him so, and the yap–laugh sounded more elated than I had yet heard it. «Think for once, idiot! No, no — don't think, forget about thinking! Try remembering, try to remember something, anything you didn't learn at that bloody asylum of yours. Something your mother told you about such places — something the old people used to say, something children would whisper in their beds to frighten each other. Something even a fool just might already know — remember! Remember?»

And I did. I remembered half–finished stories of houses that were not quite … that were not there all the time … rumors, quickly hushed by parents, of house–things blooming now and then from haunted soil, springing up like mushrooms in moonlight … I remembered an uncle's absently–mumbled account of a friend, journeying, who took advantage of what appeared to be a shepherd's mountain hut and was not seen again — no more than the hut itself — and someone else's tale of bachelor cousins who settled into an empty cottage no one seemed to want, lived there comfortably enough for some years, and then … I did remember.

«Those are fables," I said. «Legends, nothing more. If you mean that over there, I see nothing but a gutted hovel that was most likely greatly improved by a proper fire. Let it appear, let it vanish — either way, we are both going to die. Of course, I may once again have missed something.»

He could not have been more delighted. «Excellent. I must tell you, I might have felt a trifle anxious if you had actually grasped my plan.» The pale yellow glow was rising in his eyes. «The true nature of that house is not important, and in any case would take too long to explain to an oaf. What matters is that if once our pursuers pass its door, they will not ever emerge again — therefore, we two must become bait and deadfall together, luring them on to disaster.» Everything obviously depended on our pursuers running us to this earth at the same time; if they fell upon each other in their lust to slaughter us, so much the better, but he was plainly not counting on this. «Once we've cozened them into that corner," and he gestured toward the thing that

looked so like a ruinous farm–house, «why, then, our troubles are over, and no burying to plague us, either.» He kicked disdainfully at the stone–hard soil, and the laugh was far more fox than human.

I said, as calmly and carefully as I could, «This is not going to work. There are too many unknowns, too many possibilities. What if they do not arrive together? What if, instead of clashing, they cooperate to hunt us down? Much too likely that we will be the ones trapped in your — your corner — with no way out, helpless and doomed. This is absurd.»

Oh, but he was furious then! Totally enraged, how he stamped back and forth, glaring at me, even his mustache crouched to spring, every white hair abristle. If he had been in the fox–shape — well, who knows? — perhaps he might indeed have leaped at my throat. «Ignorant, ignorant! Unknowns, possibilities —you know nothing, you are fit for nothing but my bidding.» He stamped a few more times, and then turned to stalk away toward the farmhouse — toward the thing that looked like a farm–house. When I made to follow, he waved me back without turning his head. «Stay!» he ordered, as you command a dog. «Keep watch, call when they come in sight. You can do that much.»

«And what then?» I shouted after him, as angry as he by now. «Have you any further instructions for the help? When I call to you, what then?»