The gates of Daylily’s mind, which she had thought so heavily fortified, opened easily to the one who now sought entrance.
It found itself on a wide, blank plateau. The sky was dark as a moonless midnight, but the ground shone as though illuminated by a pale sun, though there was no sun to be seen. Desolation spread in vast, lonely sweeps, but here and there green places could yet be seen.
Searching, searching, searching for the lost . . . But the search is easier with eyes, with a body, even here in the landscape of a poisoned mind. So assume a body, assume a shape, assume . . .
Sun Eagle stood on the plateau. Or, if not Sun Eagle, then Sun Eagle’s form. A fine, strong, stolid form; a worthy host. And the thing inside Sun Eagle turned him to survey the world of Daylily’s mind. In the distance, it could still discern some places of growth where her memories remained unsoiled. It saw a field of rolling grass across which two mounted horses raced, their riders laughing in wild joy, urging, “Faster! Faster!”
But the green faded away into the desolation. The riders, flying so swiftly on their steeds, vanished the moment they left the lawn and stepped upon the wasteland. When they were gone, the green died and became part of the sorry whole.
The thing that was Sun Eagle continued turning in place. Dragon poison. This mind was full of dragon poison.
Good. That is good. They—we—I can use a mind like this!
A bird sang, and the form of Sun Eagle spun about, teeth bared in warning, hand falling upon the hilt of a stone knife. No bird could be seen, however. Instead, there was yet another place of growing life, closer than the last, near enough that every detail could be seen, clear and sharp as only mortal eyes perceive such things. It was a mountain stream shielded by trees thick-laden with greenery and flowering vines. Smooth stones formed a natural bridge across the stream, and on the far bank sat a lad just verging on manhood, handsome and fresh faced, a little sad.
“She loved him.”
The thing that was Sun Eagle did not startle at this voice. Unlike the birdsong, this rough growl, agonized and dripping with fury, was expected.
Ah, it said, using Sun Eagle’s mouth, and it turned, using Sun Eagle’s body, to look upon the speaker. So you are what she’s hidden inside herself.
A red she-wolf crouched on the cracked and suffering ground of that barren landscape. Every muscle in her body tensed as though prepared to spring, to tear, to destroy. Such could never be, however, for she was chained. Each paw was secured in rusty manacles that tore into her flesh, and from each manacle stretched a short chain that fastened to a stake driven deeply into the earth. The wolf could no more escape than fly.
But she strained against her bonds, and when she strained, the world of Daylily’s mind quaked.
“She bound me,” said the wolf. Saliva dripped from her panting jowls.
Why? the thing asked with Sun Eagle’s mouth.
“She does not know what I will do should she let me free,” said the wolf.
And what will you do?
Here the wolf laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. “Why don’t you free me?” she asked. “Free me and find out!”
The thing inside Sun Eagle did not tremble, but the body itself took a step back. It was, after all, only mortal.
Just then, voices drew its attention back to the scene by the mountain stream. A girl was crossing the stream. She wore rich green and a bonnet askew on her bounty of red hair. She carefully lifted her skirts as she stepped from stone to stone and asked, “What are you doing?”
“What are you doing?” replied the memory of the boy on the bank. The wolf and the thing that was Sun Eagle watched the girl and the boy sit together and talk beside the cheerful water.
“She thinks of him often,” said the wolf.
Who is he?
“Lionheart.” The wolf sounded sad. “She thought she would marry him. She thought she would live happily ever after. She thought this place”—the wolf cast baleful eyes across the great expanse of loneliness—“would be green and thriving forever.”
The thing that was Sun Eagle watched through Sun Eagle’s eyes. Though the sky was dark, in this small corner of memory golden sunlight shone through the branches and sparkled on the water, growing brighter as the two young people talked.
Then a name was spoken: Rose Red.
As sudden as the snuffing of a candle, the sun went out. The girl with the red hair stood. “We’d best be on our way,” she said, and there was no sunlight in her voice anymore either. “I left Foxbrush in a bramble somewhere, and I doubt that he’s extracted himself. I don’t suppose you brought a pair of gloves?”
She recrossed the stream, and the lad followed. The moment they stepped into the desolate ground they, like the two distant riders before them, vanished. The thing watching from Sun Eagle’s eyes saw the stream thin until it was nothing but a slow, muddy gurgle.
She hates him now? the thing asked using Sun Eagle’s mouth.