The Dark World | Page 2

helicopter came to take me back to civilization, the witch-doctor had told me a little. As much, perhaps, as he dared.
"You must hide, my son. All your life you must hide.
Something is searching for you -- " He used a word I did not understand. " -- and it has come from the Other World, the ghostlands, to hunt you down. Remember this: all magic things must be taboo to you. And if that too fails, perhaps you may find a weapon in magic. But we cannot help you. Our powers are not strong enough for that."
He was glad to see me go. They were all glad.
And after that, unrest. For something had changed me utterly. The fever? Perhaps. At any rate, I didn't feel like the same man. There were dreams, memories -- haunting urgencies as if I had somehow, somewhere left some vital job unfinished.
I found myself talking more freely to my uncle.
"It was like a curtain lifting. A curtain of gauze. I saw some things more clearly -- they seemed to have a different significance. Things happen to me now that would have seemed incredible -- before. Now they don't.
"I've traveled a lot, you know. It doesn't help. There's always something to remind me. An amulet in a pawnshop window, a knotted string, a cat's-eye opal and two figures. I see them in my dreams, over and over. And once --"
I stopped.
"Yes?" my uncle prompted softly.
"It was in New Orleans. I woke up one night and there was something in my room, very close to me. I had a gun -- a special sort of gun -- under my pillow. When I reached for it the -- call it a dog -- sprang from the window. Only it wasn't shaped quite like a dog." I hesitated. "There were silver bullets in the revolver," I said.
My uncle was silent for a long moment. I knew what he was thinking.
"The other figure?" he said, finally.
"I don't know. It wears a hood. I think it's very old. And beyond these two --"
"Yes?"
"A voice. A very sweet voice, haunting. A fire. And beyond the fire, a face I have never seen clearly."
My uncle nodded. The darkness had drawn in; I could scarcely see him, and the smoke outside had lost itself against the shadow of night. But a faint glow still lingered beyond the trees... Or did I only imagine that?
I nodded toward the window.
"I've seen that fire before," I told him.
"What's wrong with it? Campers make fires."
"No. It's a Need-fire."
"What the devil is that?"
"It's a ritual," I said. "Like the Midsummer fires, or the Beltane fire the Scots used to kindle. But the Need-fire is lighted only in time of calamity. It's a very old custom."
My uncle laid down his pipe and leaned forward.
"What is it, Ed? Do you have any inkling at all?"
"Psychologically I suppose you could call it a persecution complex," I said slowly. "I believe in things I never used to. I think someone is trying to find me -- has found me. And is calling. Who it is I don't know. What they want I don't know. But a little while ago I found out one more thing -- this sword."
I picked the sword up from the table.
"It isn't what I want," I went on, "But sometimes, when my mind is -- abstract, something from outside floats into it. Like the need for a sword. And not any sword -- just one. I don't know what the sword looks like, but I'd know if I held it in my hand." I laughed a little. "And if I drew it a few inches from the sheath, I could put out that fire up there as if I'd blown on it like a candleflame. And if I drew the sword all the way out -- the world would come to an end!"
My uncle nodded. After a moment, he spoke.
"The doctors," he asked. "What do they say?"
"I know what they would say, if I told them," I said grimly. "Pure insanity. If I could be sure of that, I'd feel happier. One of the dogs was killed last night, you know."
"Of course. Old Duke. Another dog from some farm, eh?"
"Or a wolf. The same wolf that got into my room last night, and stood over me like a man, and clipped off a lock of my hair."
Something flamed up far away, beyond the window, and was gone in the dark. The Need-fire.
My uncle rose and stood looking down at me in the dimness. He laid a big hand on my shoulder.
"I think you're sick, Ed."
"You think I'm crazy. Well, I may be. But I've got a hunch I'm going to know soon, one way or the other."
I picked up the sheathed sword and laid it across my knees. We