Read Online Mythago Wood - 1 by Robert Holdstock - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Robert Holdstock
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at me. There was no smile from behind
the mask of mud and browning leaves. His eyes shone, but they were narrowed and
lined. His hair was slick and spiky. He was naked but for a breechclout and a
ragged skin jacket that could not have supplied much warmth. He carried three
viciously pointed spears. Gone was the skeletal thinness of summer. He was
muscular and hard, deep-chested and heavy-limbed. He was a man made for
fighting.
'You've got to get out of the wood, Steve; and for God's sake don't come
back.'
'What's happened to you, Chris . . .?' I stuttered, but he shook his head and
pulled me across the clearing and into the woods again, towards the south track.
Immediately he stopped, staring into gloom, holding me back. 'What is it,
Chris?'
And then I heard it "too, a heavy crashing sound, something picking its
way through the bracken and the trees towards us. Following Christian's gaze I
saw a monstrous shape, twice as high as a man, but man-shaped and stooped, black
as night save for the great white splash of its face, still indistinct in the
distance and greyness.
'God, it's broken out!' said Christian. 'It's got between us and the edge.'
'What is it? A mythago?'
'The mythago,' said Christian quickly, and turned and fled back across
the clearing. I followed, all tiredness suddenly gone from my body.
'The Urscumug? That's if? But it's not human . . . it's animal. No human was
ever that tall.'
Looking back as I ran, I saw it enter the glade and move across the open
space so fast I thought I was watching a speeded-up film. It plunged into the
wood behind us and was lost in darkness again, but it was running now, weaving
between trees as it pursued us, closing the distance with incredible speed.
Quite suddenly the ground went out from under me. I fell heavily into a
depression in the ground, to be steadied, as I tumbled, by Christian, who moved
a bramble covering across us and put a finger to his lips. I could barely make
him out in this dark hidey hole, but I heard the sound of the Urscumug die away,
and queried what was happening.
'Has it moved off?'
'Almost certainly not,' said Christian. 'It's waiting, listening. It's been
pursuing me for two days, out of the deep zones of the forest. It won't let up
until I'm gone.'
'But why, Chris? Why is it trying to kill you?'
'It's the old man's mythago,' he said. 'He brought it into being in the heart
woods, but it was weak and trapped until I came along and gave it more power to
draw on. But it was the old man's mythago, and he shaped it slightly from his
own mind, his own ego. Oh God, Steve, how he must have hated, and hated us, to
have imposed such terror on to the thing.'
'And Guiwenneth . . .' I said.
'Yes . . . Guiwenneth . . .' Christian echoed, speaking softly now. 'He'll
revenge himself on me for that. If I give him half a chance.'
He stretched up to peer through the bramble covering. I could hear a distant,
restless movement, and thought I caught the sound of some animal grumbling deep
in its throat.
'I thought he'd failed to create the primary mythago.'
Christian said, 'He died believing that. What would he have done, I wonder,
if he'd seen how successful he'd been.' He crouched back down in the ditch.
'It's like a boar. Part boar, part man, elements of other beasts from the
wildwood. It walks upright, but can run like the wind. It paints its face white
in the semblance of a human face. Whatever age it lived in, one thing's for
sure, it lived a long time before man as we understand "man"
existed; this thing comes from a time when man and nature were so close that
they were indistinguishable.'
He touched me, then, on the arm; a hesitant touch, as if he were half afraid
to make this contact with one from whom he had grown so distant.
'When you run,' he said, 'run for the edge. Don't stop. And when you get out
of the wood, don't come back. There is no way out for me, now. I'm trapped in
this wood by something in my own mind as surely as if I were a
the mask of mud and browning leaves. His eyes shone, but they were narrowed and
lined. His hair was slick and spiky. He was naked but for a breechclout and a
ragged skin jacket that could not have supplied much warmth. He carried three
viciously pointed spears. Gone was the skeletal thinness of summer. He was
muscular and hard, deep-chested and heavy-limbed. He was a man made for
fighting.
'You've got to get out of the wood, Steve; and for God's sake don't come
back.'
'What's happened to you, Chris . . .?' I stuttered, but he shook his head and
pulled me across the clearing and into the woods again, towards the south track.
Immediately he stopped, staring into gloom, holding me back. 'What is it,
Chris?'
And then I heard it "too, a heavy crashing sound, something picking its
way through the bracken and the trees towards us. Following Christian's gaze I
saw a monstrous shape, twice as high as a man, but man-shaped and stooped, black
as night save for the great white splash of its face, still indistinct in the
distance and greyness.
'God, it's broken out!' said Christian. 'It's got between us and the edge.'
'What is it? A mythago?'
'The mythago,' said Christian quickly, and turned and fled back across
the clearing. I followed, all tiredness suddenly gone from my body.
'The Urscumug? That's if? But it's not human . . . it's animal. No human was
ever that tall.'
Looking back as I ran, I saw it enter the glade and move across the open
space so fast I thought I was watching a speeded-up film. It plunged into the
wood behind us and was lost in darkness again, but it was running now, weaving
between trees as it pursued us, closing the distance with incredible speed.
Quite suddenly the ground went out from under me. I fell heavily into a
depression in the ground, to be steadied, as I tumbled, by Christian, who moved
a bramble covering across us and put a finger to his lips. I could barely make
him out in this dark hidey hole, but I heard the sound of the Urscumug die away,
and queried what was happening.
'Has it moved off?'
'Almost certainly not,' said Christian. 'It's waiting, listening. It's been
pursuing me for two days, out of the deep zones of the forest. It won't let up
until I'm gone.'
'But why, Chris? Why is it trying to kill you?'
'It's the old man's mythago,' he said. 'He brought it into being in the heart
woods, but it was weak and trapped until I came along and gave it more power to
draw on. But it was the old man's mythago, and he shaped it slightly from his
own mind, his own ego. Oh God, Steve, how he must have hated, and hated us, to
have imposed such terror on to the thing.'
'And Guiwenneth . . .' I said.
'Yes . . . Guiwenneth . . .' Christian echoed, speaking softly now. 'He'll
revenge himself on me for that. If I give him half a chance.'
He stretched up to peer through the bramble covering. I could hear a distant,
restless movement, and thought I caught the sound of some animal grumbling deep
in its throat.
'I thought he'd failed to create the primary mythago.'
Christian said, 'He died believing that. What would he have done, I wonder,
if he'd seen how successful he'd been.' He crouched back down in the ditch.
'It's like a boar. Part boar, part man, elements of other beasts from the
wildwood. It walks upright, but can run like the wind. It paints its face white
in the semblance of a human face. Whatever age it lived in, one thing's for
sure, it lived a long time before man as we understand "man"
existed; this thing comes from a time when man and nature were so close that
they were indistinguishable.'
He touched me, then, on the arm; a hesitant touch, as if he were half afraid
to make this contact with one from whom he had grown so distant.
'When you run,' he said, 'run for the edge. Don't stop. And when you get out
of the wood, don't come back. There is no way out for me, now. I'm trapped in
this wood by something in my own mind as surely as if I were a
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