As he walked hand in hand with the feathered woman Vincent found it hard to doubt her. Walking with her seemed natural and comfortable. She motioned for him to take the lead, and at first he moved slowly, adjusting his pace to her small form as he did to Catherine's. But gradually he became aware that no matter how long his strides were, the Owl Woman stayed effortlessly at his side.
Soon Vincent found one of the stone markers he had left in the darkness. There were many passages in the maze, but now that he could see, it was inevitable he would eventually come upon one of junctions which would take him home. After several deadends, and some backtracking, he found one of the yellow marks he sought. It was an arrow pointing to the left.
He looked down at his companion. "Is this real?"
"Darlin', you need to go home. Is it important how you do it?"
He shook his head and clasped her hand firmly as he started up the tunnel.
The maze unraveled before them without error. One marker led to the next, and Vincent began to hope this escape was genuine. With growing strength and certainty, he walked faster, hurrying toward the water he craved, and to his home beyond. At last they came to the end of the winding chambers, and he helped the Owl Woman over a boulder which separated the maze from the river.
Before them lay an enormous cavern with the river vanishing into a great hole in the center. In his thirst, Vincent rushed toward the river's bank, but the instant he lost the Owl Woman's touch he stopped and held out his hand. She came to him, and as he drank, she knelt with him and ran her fingers softly over his cheek. He stopped for a moment and looked into her eyes. "Thank you." She smiled, and he drank until his thirst was gone.
She did not lift her eyes from the page. "Reality is such an illusive thing, don't you think?" She looked up. "Wasn't it John Keats who said nothin ever becomes real till it is experienced?" Turning her look upon Vincent she asked, "What are you experiencin' now, Vincent?"
He sighed. "Confusion...uncertainty."
"Because of Father's proposal..." It was half question, half statement.
He nodded as he finished his meal and slipped his legs into his sleeping bag. "That...and Brigit's book." He frowned. "All of Father's arguments are valid. Catherine and I are walking a treacherous path. Every moment we spend together is forbidden and filled with danger."
She nodded with a half-smile. "And made all the sweeter because of it."
He frowned. "I will be home soon. What will I tell Father?"
"Tell him what is in your heart."
"And if we are wrong? If Catherine and I are as foolish and irresponsible as he says we are?" Vincent cringed at the possibility.
She smoothed his hair. "You will find the answer, darlin'."
"How will I find the answer when I do not even know what I am looking for?" He turned his head from her, gazing beyond the river.
"Vincent, don't make it so hard. You are lookin' for one thing, and one thing only." She touched his face, "You are lookin' for the truth." With a smile she added, "When you find the truth, you will find yourself...and you will find Catherine."
He sighed again. "And where do I look?"
She tilted her head, and her green eyes sparkled in the magic light. "Ask Brigit, Vincent. She has already walked the path." She nodded sleepily. "Just ask Brigit." And with that she put away the book and pushed Vincent down into his sleeping bag. Pulling the blanket up around his face, she kissed him lightly upon his cheek, and removed her light. In the quiet darkness, he was surprised how easily sleep came.
The walk homeward along the river was pleasant, and the mysterious woman was a quiet companion. Her nearness was familiar, and even when she was very personal in her caresses of his face and hands, he felt no discomfort. Her touch was like Father's, commanding and gentle, with none of the emotions he experienced with Catherine's touch.
More than once he reasoned that she was an extension of his subconscious. He had only two explanations. Either something within himself had found the way through the maze, or he was still back in the tunnel in the darkness, delirious and dying. He chose to believe the former.
It was wondrous to see the cavern in the light she gave him. He saw colors and formations he had never seen before. He was amazed that the river was inhabited by tiny fishes and snails, and high up in small cracks in the ceiling he occasionally could see crystals which sparkled and glittered.
The Owl Woman herself was the most fascinating of all the sights. She was not beautiful in the same way Catherine was beautiful. It was more as if she personified the beauty he expected to see. Her face was the face of Brigit, if she were a thousand years old and immortal. She looked neither young nor old, but timeless and serene. Wisdom and magic shown in her green eyes, and the feather cape moved about her almost like a living thing, whispering and sighing in the currents of air she created. Once when he had to ford an inlet of the river, she needed no rocks to step upon, rather she seemed to float upon the water.
They walked until Vincent felt a day had passed, then he again spread his bedroll and spent a peaceful night.
The second morning he awoke feeling better than he had in a long time. Home was only three days away, and much of that distance would be familiar to him.
Suddenly, Vincent was pulled from his thoughts as he recognized the section of path he had evaded two weeks ago. In this place, the river passed through a gorge with only a narrow walkway at its side. The walls of the passage tilted inward, and the river's course twisted and turned, allowing very little visibility ahead.
Off to his left was the secondary tunnel leading steeply upward. This was the way which Vincent had come before. As he turned to step into the smaller tunnel, the Owl Woman resisted. She indicated the path through the gorge. "This is the way home, darlin'."
Vincent stood unmoving, his hand resisting the gentle pull of her fingers. "It is not the only way."
"It is the shortest way."
He answered softly, "I know."
"But you would choose the longer path?" His blue eyes fell away from her questioning gaze. "Why, Vincent?" He turned his head until the mass of golden mane protected him from her view. Gentle fingers reached up to bring his face around to her. "And could it be because once long ago you came upon him in there?"
Vincent whispered, "Him?"
"Vincent, darlin'," she spoke almost sadly. "Let's not be playin' word games. I know him almost as well as you do."
His eyes flashed to hers. "You have seen him?" She nodded. A frown creased his forehead between his upswept brows. "Father could never see him."
"No, I suppose not."
Vincent hesitated. "If Father were here right now, could he see you?"
"Do you think he might not?"
Vincent tilted his head and looked very hard into her face, "Are you a vision, or a waking dream?"
The Owl Woman laughed lightly. "Darlin', are you aware you have just quoted from Mr. Keats' ode?"
He made no response, except to intensify his stare.
A gentle shimmer passed over the Owl Woman's feathered cape, and she squeezed Vincent's hand. "John Keats wrote that ode to a nightingale, not to an owl, Vincent. However, we do share the night -- nightingales and owls...and you."
Still he made no attempt to answer.
The soft feminine voice continued, "In Keats' poem, the nightingale brings the poet great joy in the midst of a pain-filled night. I'm thinkin' you can identify with that experience."
Vincent's gaze fell as the word "Catherine" flashed through his mind.
"Joy and pain." She frowned. "The nightingale almost led the poet in the ode to his death, Vincent."
He shook his head. "It was not the bird, it was the ecstasy of her song."
"And fair maids have the power to kill unicorns."
Vincent snatched his hand from hers and stated, "I am not a unicorn."
She slipped her fingers back into his. "And neither are you truly a man."
Vincent winced at the truth in her words. "What am I then? Do you know?"
"Darlin', I would gladly tell you the answer if I could, but my gift is wisdom, not knowledge. I can be tellin' you nothing you do not already know."
His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. "Why? Are you only a dream?" He thought for a moment, then asked again, "Could Father see you?"
"Would Father see me?" She smiled. "Most men see what they expect to see." She gently tugged him again toward the river path.
Vincent was still not ready to follow her. "And you think I expect to see him on this path?"
"I'm thinkin' there is only one way to find out."
He hesitated. "It has been fifteen years..." Trying to build his own confidence he said softly, "Perhaps he was only a boy's hallucination."
"Perhaps. But, Vincent, whatever it was that you and Father battled together after Lisa left...it is a secret you will not tell your Catherine, and it is a thing Father will not speak of. It still shadows your thinkin' and causes you to avoid the direct path. Will you go on pretendin' you never knew him, or will you be facin' what lies before you?"
Vincent was certain she was referring to more than just the pathway along the river. "And if he is waiting for me there?"
"Then at the very least you will be knowin' your enemy. There must surely be an advantage to that."
He looked from her to the twisting river before him, and knowing the truth in her words he took the first steps beneath the overhang of the gorge.
Although the path twisted and turned, it was level, and walking here was not difficult. Vincent was very grateful for the Owl Woman's all-pervading light while he warily searched each new corner and crevice as it came into view. He had been here once before, and the memory of what he had encountered still quickened his heart. If the Owl Woman knew his fear, she did not share it. She smiled at him and lightened her grip upon his arm. Unconsciously, Vincent reached with his left hand and held her fingers more tightly against him.
He could not remember exactly how long this passage was, but minutes lengthened into hours as they traveled, and he was certain they were nearing the exit and the familiar safety which waited beyond. With a sigh of relief as they came around another bend Vincent looked down into the Owl Woman's eyes and felt rather foolish. Perhaps it had all been a boy's dream...
"Vincent."
Terror. If anything upon this earth could bring terror to Vincent's heart it was that voice. Velvet and ice, taking Vincent's fragile claim upon humanity and twisting it into a creature with Vincent's face and Vincent's voice...and the eyes of a beast.
With the sound of his own pulse in his ears, Vincent recoiled and lifted his eyes.
There, upon a high rock between the path and the river fifteen feet below...he sat in a squat, poised to spring, but still almost casual as he waited with both elbows on his knees and his chin resting upon his fists. "It's been a long time...Vincent." He spat the name with honeyed venom. "But I waited for you...I always wait for you."
Vincent stepped back, forgetting to breathe, but feeling the pounding of his heart within his chest. This was a thing that had no right to be...a mistake in the pattern of life.
"What? No welcome?" He extended his hands to both sides. "No greeting for an old friend?"
Vincent lowered his chin protectively against his throat as a low growl rumbled deep within him. He slipped out of his packs, dropping them to the ground as he stepped in front of the Owl Woman.
The dark figure laughed. "No need, Vincent. I have no interest in owls. My taste runs to finer things...softer, sweeter things." His eyes narrowed. "Lisa was soft...and very, very sweet." His tongue ran across his bottom lip, then came up to trace his cleft.
To his horror, Vincent could feel the heat of that tongue against his own lip. He snarled and intensified the growl.
The creature reacted with a grinning snarl of his own, then again he laughed. "Remember, Vincent. It is you who came here to me...I did not come to you." He paused and tilted his head. "At least, not yet." His eyes glistened in the brilliant light. "But now...I think it will be my turn. Where shall we meet next, old friend?" He smiled slowly. "Ah, yes. What better place than Catherine Chandler's balcony?"
Vincent gave a roar of warning and would have moved forward except for the pull of the Owl Woman's hand upon his shoulder.
"No?" The figure shook his head. "Pity." After a pause he asked, "Have you told her about me yet? I think not. How do you think she will take the news...knowing that when she moves into your arms she is holding me too? And some day...when she kisses your lips..." His tongue again traced his dark lips and came to rest against a lower canine, and heshook his head. "Maybe not the balcony. I can better see myself in Catherine Chandler's bedroom. Haven't you wondered how the lady's skin would feel as she crawls between those silk sheets? Do you think she is as smooth and soft as Lisa was...?" He grinned at Vincent's horror. "We left our mark on Lisa, you and I." He tilted his head in a mocking leer. "I can see those nice white silk sheets now...stained with Catherine Chandler's blood."
With a deafening scream Vincent tore himself from the Owl Woman's grasp and lunged toward the leering face. Ripping at the despised flesh with his claws, he pulled the heavy weight from its high perch and rolled backwards, dragging his antagonist with him. Vincent's head hit the ground hard, sending his senses reeling dizzily as his teeth sought the throat above him. For an instant Vincent felt hot breath against his face in the darkness. Long claws tore at the front of his vest, and he heard the rip of fabric.
In an attempt to escape his disadvantage, Vincent twisted his body, bringing his right shoulder between himself and the creature. Pushing hard against the floor, he lifted his back from the ground as his own claws raked a long path down the threatening arm. With another twist down and away, Vincent was free. But instantly he was taken from behind. Roars and growls filled the chamber as Vincent whirled.
Long furred fingers encircled Vincent's throat, and the voice near his ear taunted, "Remember me, Vincent. I wait for you. I always wait for you," he paused, "...and her." The stranglehold tightened around Vincent's neck dulling his senses.
Vincent's foot slipped at the rim of the precipice which fell away to the river, and for a heartbeat he teetered dangerously at the edge. Pushing back from the dropoff he found his balance. Then reaching behind him, Vincent grasped the head and shoulders of the being at his back and lifted him up and over his own head, sending his adversary soaring into the space above the river. He heard the splash as the body hit the water, and Vincent's chest heaved as he stood staring downward, waiting. A roar came up from below, accompanied by the sounds of the creature coming up out of the water. Then Vincent felt a pressure on his shoulder, and he whirled offensively.
"Vincent." The Owl Woman touched him lightly. He blinked at her, vaguely aware that she was carrying his packs. "Leave him, Vincent." Vincent did not move. "I'll be takin' care of things here. It is for you to go find Brigit."
Vincent shook his head.
"Darlin', I'll not be arguin' with you." She took his arm and quickly pulled it through the strap on the first pack and then handed him the second. "You have a responsibility Above."
Again he shook his head. "I can't leave you."
"Of course you can. I've near served my purpose, and now it is for you to complete yours." She touched his face one last time.
Vincent glanced down at the dark form which was scrambling onto the river bank fifteen feet below him.
"Go, Vincent, now." She pushed him away as the creature started up the bluff.
Vincent frowned. "I can't. Your light..."
"You don't need my light, darlin'. You haven't needed it for two days." She took her hand from him, and Vincent looked down into her face, realizing she was right. He could see her eyes sparkling softly in a twilight dimness. She pulled away from him. "Go! He is almost here."
Vincent reluctantly backed away from her. Then he turned and walked a short distance. He looked back, and the Owl Woman's voice cautioned him in parting, "Remember, Vincent. Find Brigit. Don't see Catherine until you have found Brigit!"
A roar filled the air behind the fragile woman and blended with a softer voice. Vincent could no longer see her.
Suddenly nothing was more important than leaving this place, and Vincent broke into a full run. Plunging headlong up the path, he ran until his side began to ache and his breath came in great gulps. Still he ran, not knowing whether he was driven by the fact he was leaving the dark terrors behind or that every step brought him nearer home. His head throbbed as a dizziness clouded his vision. The passage's dim light grew steadily brighter as he raced into more familiar surroundings. Then suddenly the brightness exploded into a surge of brilliance which drove Vincent to his knees, and he collapsed, unconscious beside the river of his youth.