Blood and Dreams: Lost Years II

by Richard Monaco

  “Ah,” I said. I was learning how it was. “Yet, I fear I like food and drink and the soft touches of fair ladies when it’s time for such things. Our poor bodies, while not by any means ideal vessels of the soul, still can be made pleasant and were formed in the image of God on high.”

  He laughed. It sounded like dry coughing.

  “God, is it? We are born and shaped by slime and chance. In the Kingdom, and in the Kingdom only, will the masters be preserved.” His glinting stare flickered around my face. “This physical corruption will be set aside.”

  I nodded. I thought I was now getting a grip on his philosophy.

  “I see,” I commented, “the soul will be freed at last.”

  He coughed laughter again.

  “You’ll learn the errors of that Christian nonsense,” he said, almost pleasantly. “I’ve vouched for you to the Lordmaster Clinschor. I have undertaken to initiate you.” He raised his small, long hand to my face. “When the slime of the self is frozen, it no longer decays.” Laughed. “You’ll learn, my dear Howtlande, ah, you’ll come to learn much.”

  He opened his hand and I saw the dimly glinting stone, saw an image in it, something I took for wonderful inlay work or fine painting, save that, I swear, it moved! The image moved! A tall, naked man (I first took him for our savior) with eyes like onyx. Fierce. His body seemed blended together with all manner of gold, silver, copper, lead, and jewels. The body seemed enameled, precious stuff. Yet he seemed to move in a world of crystalline palaces and shining artificial turf and vegetation of glass and stone.

  I blinked hard. It upset me to look at it. He coughed his laughter again. “A world made perfect. Life without slime. You have taken your first step towards the Kingdom.”

  I kept blinking. I kept telling myself I’d been mistaken. I had to keep my mind clear and free. Except my heart was racing and the sweat of fear broke out all over me …

  PARSIVAL

  Not even the woman, not even the ecstatic humiliation now. Nothing but lying naked on the silky padding, drained. Mind fumbling with dreams, even the stripes where she’d lashed me only a remote discomfort. I fumbled with thoughts. All edges were fuzzy …

  I wasn’t supposed to be there. Someone had that idea, and I was supposed to act on it. Somehow. The someone wasn’t telling me what to do about it yet. Or how …

  It was so soft and nice here in the silky fuzziness. Why get up? I didn’t want to get up. My eyes kept shutting. Sounds of the sea all around. Soothing … I was safe on an island. No sense taking chances, I told someone … someone …

  “Get up, you fool!” someone said. It was more of a dry croak. But I understood. “You have to do your duty.” Then I knew someone was myself. That was fascinating. I tried to sit up and promptly fell over backwards into blankness.

  Far away there were voices again. Female. I didn’t like one of them. The words were clear but meant nothing yet. I was small and warm, and they were far off and cold.

  “What good fortune, my lady,” one was saying. The nice one. “Is it luck, Chael?” asked the other. Her voice had no soft places.

  “You have both of them now.”

  “I don’t need Lohengrin.”

  Lohengrin. That stirred something important. I had to get up for that. Yet I seemed to sink deeper. And then the old man started to bother me. I didn’t like him. He was bald, bearded, familiar. His voice kept poking me like a sharp stick.

  He told me to be a man and escape the toils of these witches.

  Lohengrin, I thought. The old man kept nagging, so I opened my eyes and saw a world of blurs. I worked that out for awhile.

  All right, there was the ceiling. Walls … no one there now … good.

  Then I sat up. That was the hardest thing I could remember doing. I don’t know how long it took, but I did it. Breathed and gasped. Squeezed my eyes. Sighed and suffered.

  Eventually I got up and walked. No one came. The smoke in my brain gradually dispersed. When I slowed up, the old man’s voice nagged me.

  Christ, I finally thought, I’ve been drugged and spelled and penned like a sheep … My hands were thick when I made fists. My feet were lumps.

  I had to get out of there and find my son. I also wanted to ask certain parties a few terse questions. Collect my gear. Ask a few questions …

  The door looked solid, but someone was bound to come in. I could start asking then. My head was clearing. I could think of lots of things to ask. I paced and watched the door.

  It was getting easier. And I was thirsty now. After more walking I was ready. The spell had worn away. The drugs. I was angry. I’d had just enough nonsense to last me a season …

  I heard the bolt drawn softly back. I stood alongside the door like a happy wolf. It swung inwards and I was behind it. I hoped for a man this time.

  Well, I got half my wish because it was half a man. A humpbacked dwarf holding a steel-banded club. He tip-toed in with a sort of condensed violence.

  The woman was just behind. She had her whip. They must have been planning quite some entertainment. What a disappointment when I held back the door from closing as she absently tried to swing it behind her.

  I was upright and spunky. All I needed were some warm garments. Oh, I could tell it wasn’t all flushed out of me yet and my head was full of wildness from the sweet poison. It was strangely pleasant.

  “Greetings, noble folk,” I said, blocking the doorway. If I’d been myself, I’d have made sure no one was out there first.

  The dwarf didn’t miss a beat. He snarled, spun, and came for me with the club swishing air. She looked amused. She wore light, coppery armor that left lots of her pale and bare.

  “On your belly, slave,” she commanded. “You’re to be punished. “I actually felt a weakness briefly sag the backs of my knees. I nearly fell. Then shook my head and grinned. “Too late, pretty lady,” I managed to say. “Your charms have faded.”

  If she was impressed or concerned, nothing much showed. The dwarf came in range. His face seethed with nastiness and strange wishes.

  “My queen wants to speak to you,” she informed me.

  The dwarf swung a looping blow that was supposed to tap my skull and leave me as they’d found me. It was far too late for that.

  I caught the club and lifted him on the end of it. She snapped the whip (very delicately) for my eyes. The dwarf let go and rebounded in a nasty charge, scuttling for my legs. Rare sport.

  I was still vaguely numb, so the tip bit a line from my cheek. That woke me all the way up.

  “Enough,” I snarled. Kicked the dwarf with my left heel. He spun quite a distance. The next whipstroke curled around my forearm. That was that.

  I jerked her into my reach and reached. She was surprised. I kicked her behind harder than intended. She flew out into the room. Rolled, clutching herself and saying: “Oh!”

  I puffed a meditative breath and went out, carefully locking the door behind me. I was good and mad. Justified. The best way to be mad.

  I wanted my armor, my sword, and answers to my questions. Lots of answers.

  It turned out I’d been held in a tower. I wound down the long spiral stairs, past slit embrasures affording a good view of the island. I could see surf beating in the hazy distance under afternoon sun.

  At bottom there were half a dozen normal-looking guards.

  Good, I thought. Weapons. My head was finally clear.

  They were stationed around the circular chamber at various doorways and seemed interested to see me.

  “Who rules this miserable den of perverts?” I asked, politely. That attracted three of them. They moved to the center. Better and better. I was trembling inside with a furious need to vent my wrath.

  “Back to your cell,” one said.

  Another:

  “Send for the queen.”

  “Please do so,” I snarled. “I long to pay her the homage she merits.” Since they’d stopped, I advanced. “You,” I said to one, “give me your sword.’ He had a cutawa
y helmet, no visor. His face was pinched, his bony nose bent, broken and red.

  “Nay,” he said, “I think not.”

  Somebody guffawed behind me.

  “Beware he’ll strike you with his balls, Rasta.”

  “I’ll cut them off,” said that worthy.

  He aimed his blade to threaten my children yet unborn. How many times had I been threatened? Who can tell. I’ve noted that the lesser the skill, the noisier the mouthhole.

  I came on; he stabbed; I levered his sword from him and punched him in the back (needlessly, but I was raging). Felt a rib pop. He screamed and rolled around on the tiles.

  Everybody closed with me then and got in everybody’s way. I wasn’t at my best but neither at my least. Blood, yells, curses, hard impacts shredding armor and flesh. Two lived to flee and the master of murder was alone again.

  I put on somebody’s mail shirt, somebody else’s leather leggings and iron shin guards. They chafed, but badly dressed is better than undressed, as a three-legged-horse beats walking.

  Looking rustic, I think, I opened doors and poked into empty chambers until I found the great lady they called “Queen.” In her throne room, with lots of guards. I waved them off and stood before her. She seemed unimpressed.

  The sunny day filled the ten-foot windows all around. An airy spot. Treetops were on a level with us.

  “You’ve given me an evil time,” I told her. She had dreamy eyes, this Morgana. I thought of the sweet girl who’d died by my hand.

  “Parsival,” she said, tilting her head. Short reddish hair caught the light. “I was about to send for you. We’re all going on a quest together.” She leaned forward.

  “I’ve had just enough of those,” I told her.

  She wasn’t interested. A businesslike lady.

  “The old Kingdom,” she said, thoughtfully, “must be restored. My brother failed to hold back the dark ones. The Christian magic is too weak.”

  “The dark ones,” I said. I’d heard that before. “By all means, let’s keep back the dark ones.” I grinned. “First return my gear to me. Then we’ll restore the Kingdom.”

  “This is no light matter.” Her blue, dreamy eyes were cool now. Remote. I sighed. I always seemed to attract fanatics. “I need you.”

  The troops were closing a ring around me. The usual thing.

  “I’m Mister Death,” I said. “Haven’t you heard?”

  “I hold your son prisoner,” she informed me. Relatively good news. At least he was alive. “He’ll be freed after you and I accomplish our task. “

  “Restore the Old Kingdom.” Whatever that was. “Nothing to it. Consider it done.” I watched her face, not sure what I expected to see. At least she knew having Parsival surrounded guaranteed nothing.

  She was amused now. Stood up. The eyes didn’t quite look at me.

  I thought about it.

  “Where’s my boy?”

  “Follow along.” Gestured to the troops and walked beside me. We went out together, the men at our backs. She was lithe as well as young-looking. Why did she waste her days worrying about the Dark Kingdom? Baffling. And they said she was a great fighter as well as a witch. She wore a page’s tunic and a short sword. I wondered about the witchcraft.

  We passed through a long corridor and came out in a walled garden where the sun was just setting behind the outer wall. We worked through a maze of bushes and sweet herbs.

  In the center there he was. My boy again. His wrists were chained in front. He had a slim, fluffy bit of prettiness beside him on the grass. He was a straw in the same flame that had burned me since I was seventeen. There were times I feared he might be nurturing unnatural tastes. Nothing would surprise me in the way of disappointments.

  “Ah, dear Chael,” he said, “what an honor. Here is the world’s greatest knight.”

  I puffed out one cheek.

  “The world’s worst son,” I responded to his sarcasm.

  “I never doubted you thought that,” he said.

  “Please, please,” I said, waving a hand to brush away his words.

  “A sweet reunion,” said Morgana. The girl watched and looked uneasy. I wondered what had happened to my little friend. I hoped she was having her time of month and lay somewhere doubled over with bleeding cramps.

  “Why is he your prisoner?” I asked. “He isn’t. He need only keep his bargain with me, and he’ll walk where he pleases.”

  “Swim, you mean,” Lohengrin said. His mouth was half his trouble, more than half. “You could have just paid your debt, witch.”

  The boyish, hot-eyed lady shrugged. “That was yesterday,” she said, as if it meant something. The last sunlight was in my face. The herbs smelled satisfying. “We’ll leave together,” I suggested, “Hold out your hands.” My son was many things but never slow. I drew and slashed. The links snapped with a bright tinkle, jerking his wrists slightly.

  “A gift from my father.”

  Morgan was amused. She seemed calmly in control. I wondered about that. The witchcraft, I supposed, gave secret confidence. The girl looked very nervous. Her face was a little too long, I thought. Moony, somehow. A dreamer.

  “I wish you thought better of me,” I told him, He brushed a square, strong hand through his curly hair. I wished I had big, solid hands like that. Mine were very strong, yes, but prone to crack. Was he really my blood?

  “I don’t mock the gift,” he said, his dark, starey eyes watching me.

  “Wait for your birthday,” I told him.

  That was a mistake. His lips went tense.

  “You’re a month late,” he said. He was hurt. I felt badly.

  “Your domestic affairs are fascinating,” Morgana said. I was thinking how I always blundered where he was concerned.

  “Enough,” said Morgana. “I want to hire you both into my service.”

  “Hire?” I said. “Was the rack an advance payment?” my son asked. “No,” she said, “just the alternative.”

  “I woke with a good stretch this morning,” he said.

  “I don’t hire anymore,” I said. It wasn’t quite true, but I liked saying it. Lohengrin looked covertly around. Glanced longingly at my sword. “I have the price for you,” she told me.

  “Not my son’s freedom? He already has that, and we’re both strong swimmers.”

  “I just want the spear he brought me.”

  “I want the gold,” he put in.

  “Naturally,” she agreed.

  I shook my head.

  “This is silly. He’s coming home with me. We’re going to return whatever he stole to the rightful owner.”

  “Rightful?” She reacted. “To the best of my knowledge, that one died five hundred years ago.” “Well, one with a better claim then.” I thought about that. “What’s the point of all this?”

  “Just pay me,” said Lohengrin, “and ignore him.”

  Irritating.

  “Be quiet, Lohengrin,” I said.

  “I’m not an infant anymore,” he snarled.

  “Where’s the proof of that?” I wondered.

  “Nevermind,” she said to me. The lovely girl touched Lohengrin’s arm gently. I noted and exchanged a speaking glance with him. “I’m hiring you, Parsival,” said Morgana. “The price is your wife and daughters.” That sounded bad. I tapped the sword tip on the pavement. The sun lay in specks and sparkles all around us.

  “My wife?” I asked.

  “And daughters.” Her stare went into a remoteness I didn’t like. If this was acting, it was effective work. “Explain yourself,” demanded my son. His dark eyes were cold and furious. Whatever was wrong, he’d blame me. “This is truth,” she said. “She’s been taken by your enemies.” The girl, Chael, was working her lips together, restless, looking like she wanted to say something.

  Lohengrin looked fierce. I suppose he was.

  “Well,” I said, “am I supposed to be convinced?”

  She shrugged.

  “As you like,” she said. “Your family
was betrayed.”

  “I don’t believe you,” said Lohengrin. “It’s too convenient. “

  The witch started walking away, back through the maze of hedges. We followed. What else? She went on talking with Lohengrin.

  “Just tell me where you put it, and I’ll give you the gold.”

  He followed, a step behind me.

  “Ha, ha,” he said.

  He fled past me and snatched at her slim, bared neck under the sun-fired red hair. His hand was as big and hard as my own.

  She dipped her hip without looking back. He missed and staggered past, off balance. Her small foot flashed and caught him behind the knee. He went flat and cracked his nose on the path. I winced. He cursed. She turned around the next angle of hedge.

  No wonder she was unworried. I’d assumed we would overmatch the castle force. Not if there were two like her.

  “Foul whore,” he snarled, getting up and following again, in a fighting crouch.

  “Hold on,” I called out. “Leave her alone.” For his sake. His noseblood already spattered his face. I ran to follow past the young girl. Around the bend I was in time to see him spring, swinging his fist for her face as she turned and seemed lightly to touch his chest with her open hand.

  He dropped again, fighting for breath. The soft-looking girl went and crouched by his side. He fainted. I lifted my sword. She’d already taught me to kill women, I reflected, remembering the dead girl in my armor. She faced me now.

  “He’ll not die,” she assured me. Her eyes were hot, glassy blue. Her power was ecstasy. I could see that. “He can rest here. He will help secure his father’s loyalty in service.”

  “I’m not in service,” I said.

  “Yes, you are. And you can trust me.”

  “Poor Lohengrin,” the soft girl was murmuring to him.

  I dropped the swordpoint. “Oh, yes, I’ve seen that right along. Every moment sings

  the truth of that to me. It’s been a bright beacon in a cruel and unjust world.” She wasn’t amused. No surprise. She must have meant to use him to get to me. She’d have had no way of knowing I’d be following him. Or … was it some arcane craft, in fact? My mind wasn’t ever made up on the subject.