When he threw the skirts aside in a flutter of cotton flowers, he found Wendy, naked as a jaybird, sitting in his lap, legs crossed, toes pointed, arching her back, and running her fingers through her long, black hair. She was smiling, and her eyes were hidden beneath her lashes.
She looked up in mock surprise, and gave a little squeal, drawing her tresses before her breasts. “Oh, Mr. President Raven, sir! I didn’t see you there! Please don’t tell anyone! I’ll do …” and her voice dropped to a throbbing, husky whisper, “ … anything … !” She batted her eyelashes at him.
Raven reached out and took her naked shoulders in his strong hands. She laughed happily and writhed in his grip. Then she looked up suddenly, “What’s wrong? Why haven’t you ravished me yet?”
He said, “I am worried about Storm-Princes. What if, you know, during moments of passion, they are getting loose? What if I must be like a monk from now on, eh? This worries me.”
Wendy said, “I’ve got a plan! A great plan!”
Raven said, “What is this plan?”
She leaned forward, caressing her fingertips along his beard and the corded muscles in his neck, pressing her rounded body up against his, and she nibbled on his ear, whispering, “Well, stop worrying, silly boy!”
Raven looked philosophical for a moment, frowning and nodding in thought. Then, grasping his nude wife in one hand, he leaned forward and roughly brushed off the deck with the other. Red and white phones, historically significant pen-sets, important documents, bills awaiting signature, and treaties with foreign nations were swept to the floor. He pushed his wife back onto the green blotter, and, while she squealed and struggled enthusiastically, he had his way with her.
Later, they sat naked in the Presidential chair, her on his lap, with his voluminous cape wrapped around them, looking out at the rain. She said, “Let’s see if we can do this while floating!”
And she began to lift up a little ways into the air.
“Eh, darling, what are we doing if someone walks in?”
“I don’t know. Charge admission? Here; hold on!” They kissed.
Raven said, “Mm. Did I tell you that I love you, my little bird, eh?”
“I love you, too. And you know what else?”
“Mm? What else?”
“I love it that there will be fairy-tales running loose in the world again! Things are just going to be so weird from now on! It’ll be great!”
III
Galen Waylock had taken a nap, and when he woke, he found himself garbed in a robe of white samite, with a garland of bay leaves on his head. He looked up at his grandfather, who sat nearby, staring into the bowel of the Chalice.
The unicorn horn stood, point in earth, upright between them.
It was dusk, and Galen’s bow was beginning to glow more brightly against the darkening background.
To their left and right were the scattered ruins of Everness, rain-drenched tapestries and paintings beaten into the dirt, fragments of marble statues, broken faces and arms strewn across warped and shattered floorboards. Some rooms in the north and south wings were still standing.
In between the walls had been toppled, and burning footprints, larger than any footprint of man or titan, had smashed, smoldering, through the center of the tower, breaking it and scattering the stones. A path of devastation led to the broken seawall. The statue of the winged horse, which once had been atop the central tower, was lost.
Lemuel asked, “What did they say?”
Galen sighed. “The gods who dwell on Kadath will not aid us to rebuild; they wish never to become involved in any wars on either side, either of Mommur or of Acheron. But they treated me with grace, and gave me this robe to wear.” He sighed again and plucked the bay-leaf crown from his head, and held it, staring down. Then he said, “There are no powers to aid us. Can we reestablish the wards merely with human effort, and with the magic at our command, Grandfather?”
“We shall see. Do you remember the central tower?”
“It’s the first thing I memorized, Grandfather. Earth moon, heavenly moon, fiery moon, weeping moon.”
“And all the details of the scrollwork in the door-frames? The signs on the scales of the white-and-scarlet dragons intertwined about the foundation?”
“Four gates for the seasons, twelve arches for the hours of daylight; three hundred and sixty-five bricks, each named after a saint on the calendar of saints. Of course I remember the towers. What are we going to do about the books?”
Lemuel smiled. “I had a long time, and I was very bored, when I was fifty. You probably don’t remember when I had that photographer come in. He took pictures of everything. Everything. Originally I meant it to show that I hadn’t moved anything, in case the Royal Historical Trust ever questioned me. I also had the books microfilmed. It will take some time to have those records shipped here from England.” And his smile was good to see. More briskly, he said, “But for now. We have to create the tower tonight. Men die without their dreams.”
Galen lay down in the grass.
“There was one other thing, Grandfather …”
“Yes?”
“The dream-colts wouldn’t come when I called.” He spoke in a quiet, sad, small voice.
“Well. Things change,” said Lemuel. But he was thinking of when he had seen his first dream-colt as a child.
“I just wish …”
“Yes, Galen?”
“I just wish Dad was here.”
“Well. He’ll come around.”
“How come he got so upset when I shot him?”
“Well. He and I had an argument about that once.”
“Grandpa? How come it didn’t work? What’s wrong with his legs?”
Lemuel said, “Go to sleep now, Grandson. Remember the tower.”
Galen shut his eyes, and said, “Morpheus, escort me to your wide kingdom …” And he was asleep before he finished the sentence.
Carefully, Lemuel poured some of the living energy from the Chalice of Hope into the mouth of the unicorn horn; and a drop of living light soaked from the buried tip into the earth of Everness. “I know what is past shall live again in time … ,” he whispered.
A part of the twilight sunset came down out of the sky, the color of deep purple clouds, and became a tall figure robed in dusk and shadow. His crown was two black swan wings, a star of light burned within the diamonds of the necklace he wore, the toes of his boots did not quite brush the grass tips. In his hand floated a slender wand of heavy gold. His right eye was covered by a patch; his left eye burned gray and clear.
He cast no shadow.
Behind him, her silky white coat shimmering with captured glints of lambent light, stepping with fawnlike step, more graceful than grace herself, came the Unicorn, mother of the dream-colts. A pleasant scent came from her, like springtime grass. She looked at Lemuel with lavender eyes, so that he forgot who he was for the moment.
A timeless time passed while Lemuel stared.
Eventually he spoke, “Oberon, I offer you the guest-courtesy which is your foremost law, neither to strike nor slander nor carry away; nor, as my guest, can you do anything to work my harm or discomfort, nor overstay your welcome. The Earth has witnessed my words.”
“I accept the invitation,” came the solemn, kingly voice, “Nor have I given you cause to fear me, dear Bedevere.”
“Why these long generations of deception, sky-father?”
“‘Deception’?”
“I was taught you gave the Key to us, to keep in trust; in fact, Merlin stole it, corrupted your champion, and founded a kingdom on Earth of peace and justice. In fact, you need us to wield the Key. I saw what happened to you when Azrael directed it at you.”
“Where is the deception in any of this? Merlin would not have valued any freely given gift; he is a scavenger-bird, and will only treasure what he steals. Does it offend you that I need your house to serve me? Dreams need the hands of men to make them real, even as kings need patient and faithful knights
to make their kingdoms. Kingdoms fall when dreams die; Lancelot proved that. Anton Pendrake, even now, seeks to restore the dreams of this land. Are you offended that your ancestors were ordered never to use that Key? Truly, truly, I tell you, there are deep, dread powers who walk the nightmare-world, and men are not wise enough to traffic with them. Your race could not even banish war when war was no more than the enmity of man for man. Now War is a living creature, a god, and walks in flesh among you. How many years before Pendrake can banish him this time? Remember, pride was what tempted Morningstar to fall, and now he is quenched in the depth of the sea.”
“And I wonder, Oberon, to hear the same contempt for mankind that came from his lips come from yours!”
“If a father will not let his children play with matches, is this contempt?” Oberon’s voice was soft, but there was an echo of ancient strength in it; and Lemuel wondered how old this being was to whom he spoke. Lemuel really had no idea from whence Oberon had come, nor, truly, what he was.
“What have you come for, Oberon?”
“To forgive you.”
Lemuel was astonished. “What?”
“You failed to wake the sleepers when duty required; for that failure you are forgiven, for Morningstar, frightened, was defeated merely by the name and rumor of the heavenly knights I have sleeping in the Autumn Stars. But do not be deceived by Anton Pendrake’s overweening vainglory. It was not he, but you, who conquered; and your only weapon, the weapon you carried in your heart, your patience, your faithfulness, and, yes, your loyalty to me. Your chief weapon, one even angels could not face, was your willingness to end this Earth that a better world be born.”
Lemuel was silent, staring up at that half-hidden, twilight-shadowed, and kingly face. “I accept your forgiveness. Why do the powers of the dream-world no longer bow to the seven sigils? Why do the dream-colts no longer come when called?”
“You know why. My servants are my own. Until you renew your fealty to me, they will not obey.”
Lemuel was silent. Then he said, “I need to learn more of you before I can take such an oath.”
“I have brought the mother of all dream-colts here to speak with you.”
The Unicorn stepped shyly around Oberon, who had draped his hand across her mane. She spoke in a voice like a woodwind: “Beloved, in your hand is the relic of my dead husband; it is the only part of him which still abides on earth. I ask, in pity’s name, that you restore it to me, for it is mine.”
“What shall you do with it, great lady, if I give it to you?”
Oberon spoke up, “I would unlock the gates of paradise.”
Lemuel said, “And I cannot?”
Oberon said, “What spirits will make your works in dream’s high kingdom? I have ten thousand times ten thousand angels and lios-alfar at my command. Enough to remake the world entire. Have you spirit enough to raise even a single tower?”
Lemuel did not know how to answer.
The Unicorn said, “If you seek to keep my husband’s horn, I charge you to use it with all wisdom, all compassion, all mercy.” Oberon looked surprised, and took his hand slowly from her mane.
She said, “There are creatures in the deep which can overwhelm the earth; and so they shall, if the ways are opened in the mist between this Earth and that other world. Your protection, heretofore, was that the mists of Everness made men forgetful to the dangerous wonders around them. Will you now raise the mists, and call on men to forget these dreadful happenings? When they wake to-morrow, all will seem no more than a fading dream.”
Lemuel said, “Will the dead be made alive again, or will the widows of all the men who died fighting Acheron simply forget why they weep?”
Oberon said, “The Cauldron of Rebirth is mine. Have I not already promised to restore to pure and uncorrupted flesh those who bow to me?”
Lemuel said, “What need I do to raise this mist?”
The Unicorn said, “Only Oberon knows the names that compel Forgetfulness.”
Lemuel shook his head. “Pendrake would never agree.”
Oberon said sternly, “I do not ask him.”
Lemuel looked up, drawing a deep breath. “But you must. Yes, I have served with great patience and faithfulness all these years. But you forget that I do not owe my fealty to you, Lord of the Autumn Stars, but to the original founder from whom our grant comes. Only Arthur or his heir can revoke my powers. The heir of Arthur is Anton Pendrake; he bears the sword. I have been charged by him to restore the House of Everness; look; here is my mark.”
And he opened the throat of his shirt, and exposed his shoulder. Where the flat of the magic blade had touched him, a golden stroke of light seemed to gleam from his flesh. He touched his shoulders with his two fingers, and touched his fingers to the earth. “I call upon the world to witness.”
The Unicorn said, “Beloved, I see you still work heaven’s will with your heart, even if you say with your lips you do not. Henceforward, for as long as your are faithful, I say to you, my children shall come when you call.”
Oberon bowed. “I forgive this, your lack of courtesy as well. Like Merlin, you would not return the stolen horn; but, like Merlin, you may yet do my will, whether you will or no; for they say that all spirits do my works, those who rebel no less than those who obey.”
Oberon turned and walked away up the hill. The Unicorn followed, and where she stepped, leaves and flowers came forth from the burnt earth.
At the top of the hill Var was waiting for them.
Oberon said to Var, “Come. Your wife is waiting. A place had been made ready for you at my table, and you will be given white raiment after you bathe in my Cauldron, and wash your years and tears away.”
A light like that a silvery lamp might shed, or a lowflying star, appeared through the tree-boles, glinting in the darkening gloom; and Var set off toward it down a path which had not been there a moment ago.
Oberon turned and looked back down into the twilight at the ruins of Everness, the toppled brick, the destroyed beauty.
In some places the shattered beams of wood still smoldered.
He asked, “Eurynome, why did you so suddenly speak to allow him keep your horn? Why did you offer your children again to bear him aloft?”
She said, “It is not your place to question me, young one. Yet for the sake of the Demiurge who first wore your crown, I will answer: I saw a deeper power in the blood of Everness than we had guessed, and I foresaw that he would call upon the Pendragon for aid. They can do little without the spirit-world to do their work; and yet, great Oberon, how many spirits, in this land, are loyal to your dream rather than to the Pendragon’s?”
“That remains to be seen.”
“Then see; for I foresaw this.” A nod of her head, a sway of her horn, drew his one-eyed gaze back toward the ruins.
Softly and gently as a dream, a tower came into view above the ruins, with four great gates looking toward the four quarters of the earth. Runes of power were written on the doors, and on the crown, the statue of a winged horse reared.
Even as they watched, the tower seemed to grow solid against the setting sun, and then it cast a shadow.
“The tower is still surrounded by ruins and rubble,” said Oberon.
“But it is a beginning, and Galen has recalled his home in loving detail,” said the Unicorn in the soft music of her voice.
“I see now what made us bow,” said Oberon, “but I will not ponder it. If not Lemuel, and if not Galen, then the Guardians to come will one day swear fealty to me, recall their oaths, and wake the sleepers. Go ahead then, with my courtesy and thanks return to the One Unicorn, whose image you bear, and carry her this message for me: I ask that the Unicorn’s third race of children, the dream-colts of Celebradon, may continue their services to Everness, so that the Guardians will regard us with favor and gratitude. And one day they will forget their pride, remember me, and the horn shall be mine once more, as it was in the age when I overcame Ouranos. But for me, now it is my turn to pract
ice patience.”
And, putting his hand once more on the mane of the Unicorn, the King of Dreaming drifted away down the paths toward the twilight, and faded into shadow. A haunting music hung for a time in the air where he had passed.
IV
A haggard man dressed in a cloak of feathers with a blue hood paused on the ridge, leaning on what looked like a walking stick, but was not.
In the valley were smokestacks. The blaze from the foundry, even during the day, flickered like white petals around the upper edge of the blast furnaces. Here were streams of molten iron pouring from spouts in sprays of sparks, and gushes of black smoke rose up like ghosts toward the blue sky.
He walked down to the foundry. When he came to the locked gate, he stared in horrified distaste at the chains, the lock, as if these all reminded him of some terrible thing. Then he raised his staff and spoke a spell; the lock came undone, and the chain rattled and slid aside.
Closer, the stink of molten metal and fire hung in the air, and he heard the endless throb and roaring of machinery, of wheels turning, pistons driving, restlessly.
It was quieter when he walked into the huge warehouse-space standing to one side of the iron works. Here was Prometheus, sitting cross-legged on the concrete floor with pieces of disassembled machinery strewn to his left, papers covered with drawings and diagrams before him on the floor, and several computers, built with an oversized keyboard and mouse, stacked on shelves to this right. All the wall behind him was composed of angled planes of dusty windows. Sunlight in dusty beams made bright rectangles on the floor.
Prometheus was dressed in a blue pinstripe suit, vaster than ship’s sails, which some tailor, in return for the publicity, had made for him. On his finger was a ring of black adamantium, which he had forged from the severed links he once wore.
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