Four

-mber."

This was starting to become really disconcerting, these flashbacks to my dreams. They seemed to have some bearing on what was happening but, for the life of me, I just couldn't figure exactly what that was. To say it was annoying would be putting it mildly. Actually, seriously disturbing would be a better way. Either I find out what was going on -- and soon -- or I should endeavour to keep a tighter rein on my subconscious -- as ridiculous as that sounds. But, despite the somewhat coincidental interruption, this wasn't the time to be trying to sort things out. My head was a-whirl just trying to keep track of what was happening in the present. The last thing I needed were flashbacks intruding on both my concentration and my sanity.

For the first time that day, I found myself wishing that I had brought some sort of knapsack or carrier bag. But then, when that day started, I hardly thought that I'd need to transport any souvenirs. I looked around in the nearby bushes -- just my luck that when I actually needed one, I couldn't unearth a thoughtlessly discarded plastic bag. Oh well, I'd just have to keep the golden sphere cradled in my arm until something better came along. After all, I was hardly likely to leave an obviously precious, and above all valuable, objet d'art in the middle of a mysterious wood that was getting more so by the moment. Come on, I'm a student!

But enough vacillating; it was time to press onward and see what else the day had in store. Turning to my watch, I was surprised -- and quite pleasantly so -- to see the liquid crystal digits had not even reached midday. I craned my neck upwards, trying to catch a glimpse of the sun -- although quite how I intended to use this as a marker for verification quite escapes me now. Let's just put it down to the state of mind I was in. Although I have a strong feeling that a lot of these -- should it be 'those' -- events are going to have to be ascribed to this -- or do I mean 'that' -- condition. Rats. Sorry.

Shifting the opulent orb to a more comfortable position -- I'm just glad that there were no mirrors or passers-by to observe how ridiculous or incongruous I must have looked -- I set off once again. Not exactly with joy in my heart but in somewhat lighter spirits than before and with only the slightest degree of nervousness for what I might encounter next. Given the progression of the dream recurrences -- not that one incident is a statistically valid sample size on which to make any kind of assessment -- was it likely that I would next encounter a sword of some sort? And would I find it or it find me? I think you'll agree that these were not exactly the best kind of thoughts to be harbouring at this particular point. But it would have been quite remiss of me to be entirely blasé about it, wouldn't it? So I compromised, walking that fine line between caution and outright fear.

And I carried on walking.

12:22.

I was still walking just over an hour later. As far as I could tell, the spiral had tightened inwards a fraction more but still there was no end in sight. The spinney and path appeared just as featureless as before. Nothing untoward had occurred. My arms were aching from carrying the metal sphere. Perhaps it was just the slight fatigue but it seemed to have increased in weight. It's interesting to note how slight tiredness -- or disinterest, even -- can have a dramatic effect on skewing one's perceptions of a task at hand.

I leant against a tree by the side of the path for a brief respite from the walking. For some reason my feet were aching more than I believed that they should be. Don't get me wrong, I know I'm not exactly the fittest of individuals, active pursuit of exercise being somewhat lower in priority than other things -- blame it on sadistic PE teachers at school -- to me. But even so, I tended to walk most places since I can't drive, cycling -- for undisclosed reasons -- terrifies me and public transport -- at least in Cambridge -- is far more inefficient and slower than just plain pavement pounding. It was as if I had travelled much further than time and the knowledge of my own pace were leading me to believe. Another mystery to add to the jumble.

It was as I let out a small sigh, prior to pushing off from the tree and resuming this journey, that I heard the sound again. An unusual synchrony, that of a sigh in stereo. I whirled around -- carefully of course, so as not to send the orb spinning off in some direction, thus putting me off-balance -- but, yet again, there was nothing discernible beyond the natural motion of the leaves under the guiding fingers of the breeze. "Come on Kieran! I know you're there!" I called out, in hopeful bluff. Naturally a significant part of me did wish that it was Kieran, following as part of a ruse to keep me disconcerted. Naturally. Focussing on that thought helped keep more sinister reflections at bay. "Andy!"

Still nothing. Hmmmm. Coincidence? Or just my imagination playing tricks on me? And not very funny ones at that. Sorry.

And I carried on walking.

13:22.

An hour later. My feet were aching. The orb most definitely weighed a tonne. And above all, I was hungry. I know it was a stupid notion but I seriously did consider jacking the whole thing in and going home. I looked around. Or at least making an attempt to. But had I come this far -- wherever 'this far' might be -- only to turn back when... well, it wasn't as if I had come up against some insurmountable wall or uncrossable pit. There was just nothing ahead.

Same old nothing.

Except for that shimmering light sparkling wanly from around the next curve.

Finally! Something interesting. Could this be my journey's end? Somehow I doubted it but hoping beyond hope that it wasn't just another tease or flashback inducer. I would be most annoyed if it were. Oh well, only one way to find out, I suppose.

Settling the sphere into the least uncomfortable position, I strode resolutely around the turn in the track And came face to face with a peculiarity. Directly in front, blocking the path from one -- suddenly densely -- forested side to the other, was a stranded 'curtain' -- that's the only way I can think of describing it -- of some kind. It was suspended from the highest branches of the two tallest trees, which had curved their way -- naturally or by design, I couldn't tell -- overhead so as to form an archway in limb and canopy. From these sinuously sturdy boughs hung a multitude of fibres, of varying thicknesses, which appeared to be woven from opalescence itself. In the filtered light of this copse -- and by dint of their material, it seemed -- they fairly fulgurated -- sorry, shone -- with a pearly glow and radiated, even to the fair distance at which I was standing, an intangible feeling of -- how's the best way of describing it? -- benign mystery. If I were of a religious bent -- as opposed to... sorry, Kieran's influence might have almost propelled that one beyond the boundaries of good taste -- or perhaps I was trying to compensate for his absence by proposing the sort of risqué insinuendo -- as we like to term them -- that he would have been certain to make or take advantage of, had he been there at the time. My apologies.

As I was saying, if I were of a religious bent, it's eminently possibly that I would have, or could have, interpreted this nacreous light as a symbol of the Pearly Gates and expected Saint Peter to be standing there, waiting to welcome me into the Great Beyond. But as it so transpires -- don't you just love that turn of phrase? -- I'm not, so such symbolism would be quite beyond my mortal ken. I daresay I'll be kicking myself if, upon my death, I find a 'No Entry' sign hanging on those self-same Gates for the mere fact that I didn't believe back on planet Earth. Ho hum -- how morbid these ruminations have become.

So what did we have here? A shimmering curtain blocking the direct route along the path with twisted, dense undergrowth preventing lateral progression around this obstacle. Coupled to the fact that visual inspection -- even if my acuity in the ocular department should happen to be twenty-twenty -- yields no clue as to what lies ahead. "Curiouser and curiouser," would be the observation of one grammatically incorrect little girl.

As I saw it, there were three potential continuations of this scenario should I decide to proceed. One -- beyond the curtain lay the object of my dreams, a realm of adventure and riches, a life far removed from the meagre one I was living then. Two -- beyond lay such danger and/or damnation that my life would surely have been forfeit -- though given events past and yet to come, this was not as bad a prospect as it sounds. Or three -- nothing happened, things simply carried on as always. Although, as a fourth option, I could always turn and walk away; walk back the way I came; walk back into my old life and await the next exciting round of lectures, supervisions and social joie de vivre. Given what you've seen or heard tell of my life so far, which would you pick?

A sigh again. Two deep breaths. Three second thoughts.

In for a penny, in for a pound. So, in the manner of yore, I girded my loins and prepared to set forth for parts unknown. Cool metal nestled reassuringly in the crook of my arm. I had a miniature trident in my pocket and I wasn't afraid to use it. I laughed lightly to myself imagining what Kieran would say if he could me now. A couple of determined footsteps brought me to the threshold. It was within striking distance now.

But as I reached forward to part the shimmering strands, a chill thought stopped me in my tracks. If this were a movie, there was a high probability that I would have felt the touch of cold steel at the small of the back or the nape of the neck by now. But... nothing.

Yet.

No gun barrel, no low, evil chuckle. Get a grip of yourself, Rav. Your life is not some adventure plot with machinations at every turn. But, just to be sure, I looked to my left. Nothing there. Looking back, over my shoulder... the path was clear. Looking to the right, still vacant greenery. Okay then -- just me being paranoid as per usual. Another sigh, this time of relief.

As I was about to put best foot forward, there was a most distinctive rustle from the bushes to my left, accompanied by the snapping of a twig. Thinking quickly and surmising this as a ploy to draw my attention from the real threat, I whirled around, ready to face an adversary to my right.

And felt the firmness of a gun barrel press in to the small of my back.

From my previous left. Double bluff. Mentally I cursed myself for falling prey to such a well-established ruse. Don't get me wrong, that's not to say that I wasn't scared. Of course I was. Some unknown assailant had, what felt like, a gun -- not that I had much -- sorry, make that any -- experience of being threatened with a firearm -- up against my back and was now moving it slowly upwards, gently tracing a line from its starting position to a point directly behind the heart. I can't adequately explain exactly what was going through my mind at that point or exactly how I felt. Unless it has happened to you, the written word is insufficient. But here goes...

I was anxious. Of course I was -- I still had a fairly healthy self-preservation instinct. And anxiety triggers adrenaline -- epinephrine for all you Americans -- which stimulates the heart, which makes your blood run faster. Adrenaline -- the action hormone, trigger of the FFF response. Fight -- armed as I was with the Orb of Obliteration and the Vorpal Fork of Ultimate Destruction. Flight -- from a speeding bullet that could induce cardiac arrest in under six inches. Fright -- most definitely and absolutely. You could baste the proverbial Christmas turkey with it.

I mean, I had no idea who this person was, which made it even worse. Was it a petty miscreant, simply out for an afternoon's stroll and a spot of light mugging? Perhaps a sadistic villain who lay in wait for the passage of innocents so as to have their evil way with them? Mayhap a gamekeeper or estate manager onto whose private land I had inadvertently trespassed? Or was it just Kieran -- or some other student -- playing a very, very sick joke? But as far as I was concerned -- and I most truly was -- I was in danger of losing my life unless I trod very carefully. I would bet anyone -- James Bond or others of his ilk notwithstanding -- good money not to feel the same.

Please bear in mind that all of these thoughts flashed through my mind in the merest of moments. However, it was a few seconds before he spoke.

"Wrong move."

Trying to control my voice -- without much success, I might add -- I endeavoured to make light of the situation I had the gross misfortune of finding myself in. Of all the rotten luck. There's a school of thought that say that we make our own luck -- if you happen to believe in the actions of fortune or Fortune -- so I shudder to think what I had done to deserve this. "I know. Queen to c1 would have been far more effective."

"Funny," he said flatly. Or at least tried to. I'm sure I detected the faintest of chuckles, as if he found the chess reference mildly amusing. I don't know why he should have -- it wasn't. And I also can't be certain whether it was the adrenaline that had heightened aural acuity or overstimulated the imagination but I am almost certain that I heard the near inaudible laugh echoed from behind me, a sound on the very edge of hearing. Probably fear propelling the images of there being more than one attacker, a veritable gang of thugs. I shivered. Silence.

And then he prodded with the gun barrel. As if for good measure whilst he composed his thoughts. "It would be best if you turned around and left. Go home. These woods are no place for a naïve student who has no idea of what he might stumble into." He left the threat hanging -- and my fevered imagination pictured me doing just that -- for a few seconds before adding, almost as a near-forgotten afterthought, "And drop the orb, kid."

For some reason, I found this to be a most peculiar situation. Perhaps it was just me but something about this guy didn't seem to fit. It felt like this wasn't exactly something he'd had much practice at, or at least, something he didn't exactly do on a regular basis. He seemed a little hesitant, his words too clichéd, his actions copied -- not that I could think of many variants of a 'stick-up', to put it crudely. And to my mind this gave me a trace of an advantage. Although things would be quite funny -- in spite of the deadly seriousness of the scene -- if this was a terribly inaccurate misjudgement. Oh well, I could only live -- or die -- in hope. Here went nothing.

"I don't think I should," was my carefully enunciated reply after some moments' thought. Hmmm, this sounds like all the trimmings for a deathwish, doesn't it folks?

"Why ever not?" He seemed genuinely shocked. Astonished, even, that I hadn't quietly complied with his instructions. Hadn't turned around and given up. Left him to his own devices, whatever they might be. And that -- I'm sorry to say -- was most galling. It was one thing for Kieran, as a friend, to ask for such ready acquiescence. But for this man, a perfect stranger -- even if he was a perfect stranger with a firearm -- nonetheless, to demand the same, was... was... downright irritating!

There was a terrible pause whilst he considered this. I began to think that I had made a terrible mistake.

But I really do have to give him full credit for his rallying remarks.

His voice took on a rather insistent tone, yet remained fairly soft. It didn't hurt -- too much anyway -- that he was using the gun barrel as emphatic punctuation. "What's to stop me from just shooting you now? Then both my aims would be fulfilled. You'd be gone. I'd have the orb. I'd rather it didn't come to that but you may have forced my hand, kid. Give me one good reason why I couldn't just pull this trigger right now?"

And then the world exploded. I crashed heavily to the dusty ground. Rather surprising though, was the fact that I still had sufficient presence of mind to roll forward -- coughing for the dust, mind you -- and through the opalescent shimmering strands.

Where my head contacted with an unseen stone. Ou-