Wolfsgate Valley, and the hunting of fully mortal maids became such a deadly business that it went entirely out of favour among princes.
‘But then there were no more sightings of the black wolf and it was thought that she had perished,’ my mother-in-law concluded.
It struck me that if she was right, I had been incredibly lucky to come safe from the bog. It seemed too much to put down to luck, but maybe I had been due a little good fortune by then.
I forgot the black wolf once I came out of the mist that shrouded the bog, for to my surprise it was dusk and the great bronze disc of the setting sun was casting a dull gold light over the façade of a large and imposing building of several levels behind a high stone wall. My heart leapt at the sight of it, and at that moment I heard the howl of a wolf, very close. I knew it was not the black wolf but a summoning to the kill by the pack leader, and I set off at a run towards a gate in the wall, stumbling and slipping on the stony, tussocky ground.
I heard another howl ahead and to the left and faltered, but then I began to run harder, remembering I was still following the path and would be safe so long as it was daylight.
The wall was further away than I thought and the sun was setting when the path suddenly forked, one side becoming a white paved way that appeared to lead directly towards the gate in the wall, and the other remaining the same worn and pitted track I had been following since the first day. If my husband had not been there, awaiting me in his golden wolf guise, I would have taken the wide pale path, which would have brought me to a pretty meadow full of wildflowers. Their scent would have put me into a sweet sleep from which I would never have woken.
Somehow of all the tribulations I faced during the three days of testing, that lovely, deadly meadow was the worst of them. The thought of it haunted me for some time after I was wed, and once I went into the Wolfsgate Valley to look at it. Standing a safe distance back, I saw the bodies of a dozen girls who had found a dreadful immortality there, and weeping, begged my husband to use his power to save them. He only kissed me, telling me it was my good heart that had won the aid of his mother by the Wolfsgate, in her crone guise. Then he sobered and added that he would have to touch the sleeping girls in order to wake them, and that none could walk on that meadow and stay awake, not even the king of all Faerie. He kissed me again and bade me pity the sleepers not, for they were said to dream endlessly of their heart’s desire, and perhaps it was a better fate than for them to wake and find their princes had long ago chosen another.
His words did not comfort me, and even now I sometimes think of that field of immortal sleepers with creeping horror, but this day, sitting with the heavy tapestry on my knee and waiting for my son’s chosen to come through the Endgate, it seems to me that it might be a peaceful end to a mortal life, to lie down in a meadow of flowers and dream forever.
Perhaps I will do that when I am old and weary, and see what dreams come to me. Perhaps I will do that if my son fails.
Cloud-Marie gives a soft gurgle, which is her signal that it is time for us to dine. One eye drifts upward and I shake my head, having made up my mind to wait until morning to look at the maid my son has chosen. After all, I must wait two more days before she can come through the Endgate, and better to wait until one of the nights is past. Knowing I cannot sit here for the whole time without eating or sleeping, I rise and Cloud-Marie and I go together to the kitchen to eat the food she has prepared. When the meal is done, I make my way to my chamber, bathe and put on my nightgown. Soon after Cloud-Marie arrives to comb and brush my hair before going yawning to her own little chamber.