The Moonlit Pathway | Juliet Marillier #5
“Sophie. Sit down for a bit. I’m sorry I upset you.
Now listen. This document is an amazing discovery.
The language is called Lumina. It’s so rarely found that few scholars even know it exists.
I can translate, I think, but I don’t know what these dots and lines mean.
The versions I’ve seen before don’t have those. ”
“I’m pretty sure they’re the moves of a dance.” Good, I’m managing to sound like a normal person, not some snarly bitch. “The choreography. Perhaps the text is the story behind the dance. Can you really translate it?”
“I may need to study it for a while,” he says. “But yes, I believe it relates to dancing. Something about the full moon, and crossing a body of water, and… moving onto a different path.” A curious look appears on his face as he watches me. “I can’t tell if that’s good or bad, Sophie.”
I feel tears brimming. Tears of vindication. Tears of delight. “It’s good,” I say. “Provided we’re planning to break the rules. Where did you learn this Lumina?”
“From an old scholar in Brasov. He was generally regarded as too eccentric to be taken seriously. But even at eighty-two he was sharp as a tack. He took me under his wing, and we became good friends.”
“Is he gone now, then?”
“Oh, he’ll be somewhere out there among the ghosts of the forest, watching over us with great interest. Do you want to put this away safely now? Maybe time for a fresh pot of coffee and a plan?”
I nod. “Gavril. I’m sorry I shouted at you. But… next time ask first, all right?”
“I’m sorry I looked without asking, Sophie.
I won’t do it again, ever. I promise.” He reaches a hand to my cheek.
That brief touch is full of tenderness and promise.
For a moment I close my eyes and think of all the things I’d like to do right now, starting with throwing my arms around the man and holding him close. But common sense prevails.
“I’ll put that away,” I say. “You can make the coffee.”
* * *
Odd how things work out sometimes. We know we want to go out there, explore the forest, maybe make it to the lakeside.
We know the rules forbid it. Even if the old tales didn’t exist, the bears and wolves present enough of a threat to keep any sensible person out.
We know how lucky we are to be on the residency, and how doing this might ruin our future opportunities.
In the end, the decision is made for us when Belle comes knocking on our downstairs door.
She’s been crying, and there’s no choice but to invite her up into the study area and make her a cup of tea.
We don’t go out on the balcony. I’m not sure how she’d take the gargoyles.
We make a plan. The best day is Friday, three days away, because there’s an outing to a historic site for anyone who wants to go, ending with dinner at a restaurant. Anyone who doesn’t want to go can stay back and study.
“Were you planning to gather botanical specimens?” I ask Belle. “Could be tricky to conceal those with all of you sharing a room.”
She grimaces. “I can’t take anything like that home. Department of Agriculture rules. I’ll just have to take some brilliant photos and do some drawings before the specimens dry out. What time do the others get back on Friday? Best opportunity for photos is when the light starts to fade.”
“The darker it is, the harder it will be to find the way back,” says Gavril. “Even with torches.”
“It’s a full moon on Friday night,” I say.
“As for the bears and wolves, I wonder if they’re actually there, or just made up to stop people from breaking rules.
” It’s the other inhabitants of the forest that I’m more worried about, that’s if they turn out to be real.
The Balaur with its seven heads, which adds up to a lot of sharp teeth.
The Striga. Maybe we’re crazy even to consider this.
But when am I going to get another opportunity? Most likely never.
“I think the others will be pretty late back, if the outing includes dinner. Are the rest of the women going, Belle?” Gavril asks.
“As far as I know. Not sure about the men, but I suppose they’ll all go too.”
“Mm,” I say. “So we don’t make any visible preparations until they’ve left.
And there’ll still be staff here, so we’ll need to sneak out, and have an excuse ready if we’re spotted.
We could say we’re only going a short way into the forest, then heading down to the village.
Which I need to do tomorrow anyway; I’ve asked to chat with the women about dances. ”
“Will you need me to translate?” Gavril asks. “I should keep working on this, if I can.” He smiles. “I’ll catch up with you.”
“My Romanian isn’t too bad,” says Belle. “I’ll come with you, Sophie.”
* * *
It’s the day of the full moon, and we’ve walked a long way into the forest. Belle is busy with her camera, crouching or bending to take pictures of weird little toadstools of one kind or another.
It’s almost dark now, or as dark as it gets at this time of year, but apparently the bioluminescent fungi glow any time. It’s some sort of chemical reaction.
The forest is quiet, yet full of sounds. The rustling of leaves high above us; the scuttle of small feet in the undergrowth; a bird singing a plaintive song: Where are you? I can’t find you! And another responding from far off: I’m here! I’m here! The sound gives me goosebumps.
No wolves or bears. Let’s hope they’ve all had an early night. I did notice Gavril slipping something that looked like a knife into the small pack he’s carrying, but I decided not to ask.
The moon rises. From under these tall pines, we can’t actually see it, but the light is amazing. And now I spot the glint of water. We’re almost at the lake.
“Gavril?”
“Mm?”
“That’s the place. Just over there. To do the dance.”
He glances at Belle, who’s engrossed in her work and paying us no attention.
We’ve talked about how vital it is to stay together.
But the dance is important; just how important I didn’t realise until Gavril translated the Lumina.
Step onto the moonlit pathway. Enter a world of magic and wonder.
Honour the forest kingdom. I’d already converted the dots and swirly lines into dance steps. We even practised it once or twice.
“Belle,” I say, touching her on the shoulder. “We’ll be just over there, on the lake shore. Stay close.”
“Mm, I heard.” Her eyes stay on the thread-like fungi.
I walk out onto the shore, where the moonlight does indeed make a pathway across the water, first to a small island in the middle, and then, as far as I can tell, all the way to the other side.
I don’t see any nymphs, which is just as well.
But there is a sort of raft at this side, drawn up onto the shore, with a pole beside it, like an invitation. A ferry? No way.
“Ready?” I stretch out a hand, and he takes it. The moonlight carves his features into those of some storybook hero. I’ll remember this moment forever.
Gavril manages a smile, though I feel the tension in his body. “I’ll do my best, Sophie.”
The only music here is the song of night birds and the rustle of leaves.
But this stretch of shore is a perfect place.
It seems the moon agrees, for it edges over the trees and lights up our performance.
We lift our joined hands high and dance; forward, backward, circling, passing.
There’s something new between us now. A feeling like coming home.
A feeling like wanting to hold on. The physical longing, not to be denied.
And the sensation that I, that we, are part of the forest, belonging here as much as the owls and the nightingales and the tall trees and, yes, even those weird fungi.
We pass back-to-back, twirl, and end up facing each other with both hands clasped.
Now the dance is over, but we don’t let go.
I lift my face to his, and Gavril bends his head, and we kiss.
First a gentle touch, a kiss of friendship.
Then, in an eyeblink, our arms are around each other, and our bodies are pressed close, and the kiss is a whole lot more.
Oh, that feels so good. It feels so completely right.
A scream shatters the moment. Belle. “Stop it, stop it, get off me!” she’s yelling, and I can hear crashing sounds, and horrible grunting.
Visions of monsters fill my mind as birds rise from all around and fly away, shrieking.
Belle keeps calling out, but her voice is curiously muted now, as if she’s behind a barrier of some kind.
“Stay here,” Gavril says, pulling out the knife I spotted earlier and striding in the direction of the hideous noises.
But I can’t stay. How can I just stand here, a quivering mess, and let both him and Belle be killed by whatever-it-is?
Don’t lose your man, Sophie, I order myself. You only just found him!
I don’t run. I walk carefully, quietly, though my heart is hammering.
It’s not far. I see no sign of Belle. But there’s Gavril with bloodied knife in hand, facing a monstrous creature, all fangs and claws and evil eyes, its hair in weirdly curling locks that seem to have a life of their own.
The monster is staggering, wounded; blood drips from its side.
Gavril’s eyes speak challenge, purpose, focus.
The man’s a warrior. Where is Belle? Lying dead somewhere?
Then I spot her. Her head, only. She’s in the ground, buried up to her neck. Buried in what looks like a pit of thorns with a crazy, awful expression on her face. Are those thorns moving around, cutting into her? I have to help, I have to—
“Sophie,” Gavril says. “Hold on to her.”