The Pale Companion Read Online Free PDF Page B

sights.
    We walked a little further and descended from the high plain. We entered a wooded place, and the path narrowed so that the company naturally straggled out. After the airiness of the plain the forest felt enclosed, the full-leaved branches almost closing in over our heads. Beams of sunlight slanted through where they could manage it. Now I was trailing in the rear of the group, the nearest man a couple of dozen paces to the front. All at once, with a prickling sensation on my nape, I became conscious of being watched. If you’re a player this is a well-honed response, and generally an agreeable one. Or at least not disagreeable. This time it was definitely unpleasant. I glanced furtively over my shoulder and then, rebuking myself for cutting such a shifty figure, stopped and turned round to make sure that I was indeed the last of our ragged procession. Behind me the path curled innocently round a corner.
    But there was nothing, nobody.
    By the time I’d turned back again, the one or two players to the rear of our group had moved out of sight round the next bend. I was, for the moment, all alone in the wood.
    I put on a little speed to catch up with the fellow in front, Laurence Savage I think it was. Not wanting to appear anxious or winded, I walked on just a bit more briskly, head erect, shoulders tense, looking straight ahead. Still the prickling sensation continued. Despite my quicker pace I couldn’t catch up. The track through the wood took on a more snaky quality, with a new curve every few paces. The trees clustered more closely, as if trying to blot out the pale thread of path which separated them. At every bend, I hoped to come on a straight stretch and glimpse the diminishing backs of my friends. But all I gained was a few more yards of empty path hemmed in by walls of green.
    Then I wondered whether I’d somehow wandered off the right path onto some side-track. Yes, that must be it, of course. I stopped, breathed deep and listened. Listened for someone shouting, speaking, laughing. For the creak of the wagon or the wheezing of the luckless Flem, sounds which must surely carry back to me if the company was just ahead. Nothing, only the leaves rustling and the sound of something sliding in the undergrowth. I must have lost the right path, I told myself, though I couldn’t remember where it had forked. However, it should be simple enough to retrace my steps and . . .
    For some reason the image of the mighty stone circle which we’d seen on the plain came into my mind. And with that came the thought of the beings who had built it, no ordinary men to be sure.
    Then I saw it.
    Saw it move in the corner of my eye.
    Something whitish among the trees, off to my left.
    I tried to tell myself that it was a trick of the light. I moved a few steps forward. The white shape moved with me, on the edge of my vision.
    I stopped. So did the figure.
    With a great effort of will, I turned to the left in order to confront it head-on. I peered into the woods. Their innards were flecked with light where the sun penetrated, and there were infinite shades of green among the darker tones. Was it one of these, or a chance grouping of them, which I’d taken for the shape?
    I cleared my throat, wondering whether to ask if there was anyone there. I stayed silent, not wanting to appear foolish. Then, considering that it was foolish to worry about appearing foolish (after all, who was there to witness me?), I said: “Who’s there?” The words came out less crisp than I intended. But there was no answer, to my relief, and I did not repeat them.
    Once again I strode off, and once again the white form gathered to my left and kept pace with me, slipping and sliding among the trees as I walked increasingly fast down the path. Now I started to run, forgetting myself and forgetting too that I had taken a different path from my comrades and that each bound must be taking me further away from them. My only instinct was to break clear of