I was lost in capturing their different visages for quite a while. I’m not sure how long I’d been feeling the earth beneath me pulsing without realizing it. But once I did, I couldn’t ignore the subtle but real sensation of a heartbeat matching mine. Not frightening. More companionable. Once again, I felt as if I had been called to this place. That it had been waiting for me. And I for it.
I put away the sketchbook and continued to follow the stream deeper into the woods, not aware until it was too late that I’d entered a labyrinth made of yews at least seven feet high.
A wave of panic hit me. I hadn’t told anyone where I was going. These woods, which had been suffused with enchantment, now seemed to be saturated with diabolical spirits. Could they be trapping me here? Was that even possible? My fear began to overwhelm me. I felt dizzy from the solid walls of never-ending green. If I had to, could I break branches and create a tunnel through a hedge to escape?
I turned a corner and found myself at a dead end. I doubled back. But then I faced a choice of two ways to turn. The one I took led to yet another dead end. My panic grew. Stopping mid-step, I shut my eyes. I had to find a way out, rely on something other than sight. Listening hard, I heard birds. I saw a wren fly overhead and land on top of the maze wall, which was about twice my height. Listening harder, I heard insects. But neither the bird nor the bugs could help me crawl or fly out of these evergreen confines.
But perhaps I could do it on my own. My mother had taught me an exercise during my sightless year that allowed me to project my astral self and see through my third eye. Very dangerous if not done correctly and a little frightening to experience. She’d allowed me to do it only under supervision with her voice leading the way. I hadn’t tried it in years, but I needed it now.
I extended my arms until my fingertips brushed the leaves so that I’d stay tethered—a key aspect of the exercise, my mother had warned, because an astral self can have a very hard time, if not an impossible one, reconnecting to a corporeal body if it doesn’t have a bond.
Feeling the glossy leaves, I relaxed my breathing the same way I did when I put on the blindfold. Once I calmed, I focused on the sound of the wren whistling and threw my energy up toward her. Seeing, in my mind, my opalescent aura rising from inside the labyrinth toward the wren sitting on a hedge top. Reaching her, I sat beside her on her perch. And then I peered down. I saw myself standing, arms reaching out. I looked at the configuration of the tunnels, followed the pathways, and saw the way out. And then, still with my eyes shut, I commanded my feet to step in that direction, making sure my fingers were touching the foliage the entire way.
I thought of my mother as I kept moving, hearing her instructions in my mind. When I’d reached the exit, I connected back with my corporeal self and opened my eyes. I’d come out on the opposite end. In front of me was a stone cottage. Relieved that I’d escaped, I stood and caught my breath, aware for the first time that for the last several minutes, I’d been running.
“How did you find your way here?” I heard the man’s astonished question before I saw him. Searching in the direction of his voice, I saw a shadowy figure inside the house, looking out through an open window.
I started to answer, but he was gone. A moment later, the front door opened. A dog ran out and came right up to me, tail wagging. I recognized Pepin, the brown-and-white puppy from the pier the day before. His owner, the silver-haired man, was close behind.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said.
As he came toward me, I felt that same warmth I’d felt on the pier. It had been a long time since I’d responded in any way to a man, but seeing him again, I felt a flutter of anticipation.
“I think I startled you just as much.”
“Not many people wind up here. I was surprised to see you.”
“I got lost.”
“I know,” he said, nodding as if he understood that I didn’t just mean today, didn’t just mean here.
The dog was jumping around my feet. I petted him.
“Where did you start from?” he asked.
“I’m staying at the castle.”
“You walked from the castle?”
“Yes. Through the gardens into the forest and got turned around somewhere.”
“The gate into the forest was unlocked?” He frowned, concern in his topaz eyes.
“It was.” I’d stopped petting the dog. Pepin barked for more. I leaned over and gave him more pats.
“But it’s never unlocked.” He studied me, taking me in, considering me intently. It reminded me of how my mother looked at people, searching inside them, testing them, seeing if she could trust them. Maybe he was an adept?
I caught myself. It was too soon for me to assign qualities before I had any reason to.
As if he realized what he was doing and how I was reacting, he reached down and pulled the dog back.
“Pepin, don’t be a pest,” he said. Then, rising, he smiled at me. “I hope you weren’t lost for long. The forest is a mean one. She can do that.”
He’d said she can do that, but what I heard was she’s meant to do that.
I was getting the distinct impression that he was disturbed that I’d gotten this far into the forest, as if it was his fault.
“Where are my manners? My name is Gaspard Le’Malf.” He held out his hand.
I took it and felt a slight, almost unpleasant electrical vibration. A warning. My mother had schooled me to recognize the slight and subtle signs that identified people who were like us and in touch with realms beyond our own. Had he felt the shudder, too? Was he aware of his ability? Of mine? His face remained impassive. Alerted, I needed to be on guard. Not everyone uses his or her power for positive outcomes. He could be the best friend I would find at the castle or a true foe.
“Do you live here?” I pointed to the cottage.
“I do. I’m the groundskeeper for the chateau.”
“Then I need to compliment you. I’ve been walking about, and the gardens and fields are beautiful. It’s all enchanting.”
He nodded in thanks. “You could say it’s been my life’s work.”
“I followed the stream . . . Did you plant all those mosses and ferns, or are they indigenous to the area?”
“About half and half. You know, very few people notice the stream. Fewer still ever make it to the waterfall.”
“Really? The sound was so inviting, how could anyone resist?”
“Not everyone notices the sound. And you made it through the labyrinth . . .”
“You say it as if it’s hard to believe.”
“Actually, it is. It’s quite complex. How long were you inside?”
“Not long. Ten minutes?”
He was staring at me now. “I see.”
“Why?”
“I’m only aware of one other person who has made it through without any missteps.”
“Who was that?”
“It was a long time ago, before my time. Just a story. The labyrinth was designed more than two hundred years ago.” He shrugged. “Are you thirsty? Would you like some water or cider before I take you back?”
I realized I was parched and, even more, wanted to see the inside of his cottage.
“Cider would be wonderful.”