The Dark World | Page 8

started the myth?" Edeyrn asked. "Long ago, there were many

gateways opened between the Dark World and Earth. On Earth,
memories of those days survive as superstitious tales. Folklore. But
with roots in reality."
"It's superstition, nothing else," I said flatly. "You actually mean that
werewolves, vampires and all that, exist."
"Ghast Rhymi could tell you more of this than I can. But we cannot
wake him for such a matter. Perhaps I -- well, listen. The body is
composed of cells. These are adaptable to some extent. When they are
made even more adaptable, when metabolism is accelerated
sporadically, werewolves come into being."
The sweet, sexless child's voice spoke on from the shadow of the hood.
I began to understand a little. On Earth, college biology had showed me
instances of cells run wild -- malignant tumors and the like. And there
were many cases of "wolf-men," with thick hair growing like a pelt
over them. If the cells could adapt themselves quickly, strange things
might occur.
But the bones? Specialized osseous tissue, not the rigidly brittle bones
of the normal man. A physiological structure that could, theoretically,
so alter itself that it would be wolf instead of man, was an astounding
theory!
"Part of it is illusion, of course," Edeyrn said. "Matholch is not as
bestial in form as he seems. Yet he is a shape-changer, and his form
does alter."
"But how?" I asked. "How did he get this power?"
For the first time Edeyrn seemed to hesitate. "He is -- a mutation. There
are many mutations among us, here in the Dark World. Some are in the
Coven, but others are elsewhere."
"Are you a mutation?" I asked her.
"Yes."

"A -- shape-changer?"
"No," Edeyrn said, and the thin body under the robe seemed to shake a
little. "No, I cannot change my shape, Lord Ganelon. You do not
remember my -- my powers?"
"I do not."
"Yet you may find me useful when the Rebels strike again," she said
slowly. "Yes, there are mutations among us, and perhaps that is the
chief reason why the probability-rift came ages ago. There are no
mutants on Earth -- at least not our type. Matholch is not the only one."
"Am I a mutant?" I asked very softly.
The cowled head shook.
"No. For no mutant may be sealed to Llyr. As you have been sealed.
One of the Coven must know the key to Caer Llyr."
The cold breath of fear touched me again. No, not fear. Horror, the
deadly, monstrous breathlessness that always took me when the name
of Llyr was mentioned.
I forced myself to say, "Who is Llyr?"
There was a long silence.
"Who speaks of Llyr?" a deep voice behind me asked. "Better not to lift
that veil, Edeyrn!"
"Yet it may be necessary," Edeyrn said.
I turned, and saw, framed against the dark portiere, the rangy, whipcord
figure of a man, clad as I was in tunic and trunks. His red, pointed
beard jutted; the half-snarling curve of his full lips reminded me of
something. Agile grace was in every line of his wiry body.
Yellow eyes watched me with wry amusement.

"Pray it may not be necessary," the man said. "Well, Lord Ganelon?
Have you forgotten me, too?"
"He has forgotten you, Matholch," Edeyrn said, "At least in this form!"
Matholch -- the wolf! The shape-changer!
He grinned.
"It is Sabbat tonight," he said. "The Lord Ganelon must be prepared for
it. Also, I think there will be trouble. However, that is Medea's business,
and she asks if Ganelon is awake. Since he is, let us see her now."
"Will you go with Matholch?" Edeyrn asked me.
"I suppose so," I said. The red-beard grinned again.
"Ai, you have forgotten, Ganelon! In the old days you'd never have
trusted me behind your back with a dagger."
"You always knew better than to strike," Edeyrn said. "If Ganelon ever
called on Llyr, it would be unfortunate for you!"
"Well, I joked," Matholch said carelessly. "My enemies must be strong
enough to give me a fight so I'll wait till your memory comes back,
Lord Ganelon. Meanwhile the Coven has its back to the wall, and I
need you as badly as you need me. Will you come?"
"Go with him," Edeyrn said. "You are in no danger -- wolf's bark is
worse than wolf's bite -- even though this is not Caer Llyr."
I thought I sensed a hidden threat in her words. Matholch shrugged and
held the curtain aside to let me pass.
"Few dare to threaten a shape-changer," he said over his shoulder.
"I dare," Edeyrn said, from the enigmatic shadows of her saffron cowl.
And I remembered that she was a mutant too -- though not a
lycanthrope, like a red-bearded werewolf