Gaal the Conqueror

by John White

  Then the dog spoke. "The small wooden chest contains a jeweled orb. We are not to open it but, as you said yourself a moment ago, to take it to the Garden Room in the Tower of Geburah along with the key."

  "So you can speak," the dragon said. "Why didn't you speak before?"

  "I didn't dare," the dog said. "Why couldn't you just have left me alone? It wasn't just you I was afraid of."

  "So why did you run away?"

  "Because you breathed fire every time you came near me. And I couldn't afford to let you kill me just then."

  John's mouth was wide open. He stared alternately at the contents of the chest and at his two strange companions. What did it all mean? The dog and the dragon stared at each other with an intensity that was a little frightening. And the next time the dog spoke John's heart seemed to stop beating inside his chest.

  "Pontificater, you know you must kill me now, don't you? You must burn me to a cinder."

  "Yes, so I was informed," the dragon said.

  There was another silence. John's jaw dropped, even though he was certain they were joking.

  "Then get on with it," it said. "Do what you have to do. Kill me."

  "Hey! hey! HEY! Wait a minute!" John cried. "Are you both crazy? And you-" he glared at the dog. "You mustn't talk like that! You don't really want to be killed, do you?"

  No one spoke for a moment. Then the dragon said, "Personally I don't particularly relish the thought of-er-putting the creature to the torch. As I mentioned earlier, I hate the smell of singed dog hair."

  John was horrified. By now he had lost all fear of the dragon. "Are you trying to be funny? You can't make jokes about things like this! Stop it! Of course you don't want to-to burn her up! And you mustn't."

  For a moment nobody spoke. Then the dog said quietly and in a tone of infinite patience, "I know it must be hard for you to understand. You see, he has to put me to death. Gaal said so. Besides, I want him to. There's no other way."

  John turned and looked at the dog again. "I don't know who Gaal is and I don't care. But you're both mad. Killing is bad."

  "You yourself killed the Goblin Prince-" the dragon reminded him.

  Alarm bells rang loudly in John's mind, and he began to argue in earnest. "That's different. I already told you the Goblin Prince was only a thing-a nasty, evil thing," he snorted. And to the dog he said, "Why in the world would you want to be killed?"

  For a moment the dog hesitated. "There's a part of me that doesn't want to be. I'm afraid. But there's another part of meI can't really tell you what it's all about-but as soon as he's done it, you'll know."

  John shook his head angrily. "I don't want to know. This is crazy talk." There was a longer silence, which was broken by the dragon. "Your concern is entirely understandable. Indeed, it occurs to me that there are many historical precedents of the sentiments you express. On the other hand if you knew Gaal you would care very much about what he said."

  "Murder is bad," John retorted. "Who's Gaal anyway? Anyone like this Gaal who gives such instructions is a party to murder. I think he's worse than the murderer. I'm not going to stick around here if you both carry on like this. How can you both be so calm about it?" John was beginning to shout, but the dog continued in calm, measured tones.

  "We can be calm because we know it has to be," it said. "It will be all right. You'll see. I shan't remain dead. In fact ..."

  "Oh, don't be silly!" John said. "Dead's dead. It can't be changed. You don't fool around with things like that."

  "Please stay and watch what happens," the dog said.

  John was stunned. "You're really going to go through with it?" As he looked first at the dog, then at the dragon, he could see they were deadly serious. There was a strange understanding between them that he did not share. He felt that a night mare had come upon him, that nothing was real. As fear mounted inside him, he made a decision. "I'm going to leave you. You are both crazy-" his voice rose, and a half sob came from his chest. "I can't stand this. I can't. You're both absolutely mad. . ."

  He turned and walked toward the far side of the glade. His heart was beating and his hands were shaking. Cold had penetrated even to his bones, and like the dog he was shivering. Determinedly he did not look back until he reached the trees at the far end of the glade. Then, unable to resist the impulse he turned his head. To his relief he saw nothing to distress him. Neither the dragon nor the dog had moved. Both were watching him, and with a snort of anger he turned his head away, and plunged along a path into the trees.

  "They're insane," he muttered, quickening his pace and brushing back wet branches that impeded his progress. Such was the fury of his pace that before long, even though the pathway followed a gentle downhill course, he grew short of breath. But warmth had left him. Cold gripped his body and would not let go.

  He quickened his steps still more, partly to warm himself and partly because he wanted to be as far as possible from a horrible scene he kept trying to shut out of his mind-the picture of a black dog with a white patch on its forehead, perishing in the flames that enveloped it from a dragon's nostrils. Once or twice he was half tempted to return at least as far as the edge of the glade in order to find out what had happened. What, for instance would happen to the big book and the key? Who was this character Gaal? Would the dragon deal with Gaal's instructions about the contents of the chest? Would the dragon bury the dog's ashes? The thought of ashes made him snort. "An asher indeed! Nothing very noble about that! He ought to call himself cremator." He shuddered.

  In his haste he tripped several times, but his pace did not slacken. The path was now steeper so that soon he was slithering and stumbling over rain-slicked stones. Often through a break in the trees, he would catch a glimpse of the jade-green water below that was getting nearer. By and by he grew calmer, but no warmer. Even though he was very tired, something drove him relentlessly downward.

  Then another thought struck him with such force that he suddenly halted his downward progress. He should have fought the dragon! That was what he had been meant to do! After all, he was the Sword Bearer, and the Sword of Geburah was in his scabbard. Ought he to turn back?

  No, that would be useless. By now the dog would be dead. The picture of it as it had jumped up and licked its face came back to him. He could also see it walking its lopsided walk ahead of him as it had led him into the glade. And now it was dead. Filled with shame and with horror he sat down on a stump of cedar and began to tremble again.

  "I failed," he thought to himself. "That must have been it. I was supposed to fight the dragon. And I didn't. The dog is dead-and it's my fault. I was a coward." But the way it had happened was confusing. It wasn't as though the dragon had advanced threateningly on the dog and breathed fire. They had both seemed so friendly about it-talking about death as though the dog had only asked for its nails to be clipped. Yet even so he might have been able to prevent the tragedy.

  The rain had stopped, and a late afternoon sun was pouring watery rays through the trees, picking out the angles on tree trunks, leaves, stones and blades of grass and turning them into jewels. But John felt dirty and hopeless. Where was Eleanor? How could he find her?

  And there was another matter. Last time he had been in Anthropos, the all-powerful Changer had guided and helped him. But how could he hope for the Changer's help now he had failed so badly?

  Eventually he rose stiffly to his feet and continued down. In time he judged he must be almost level with the water, and before long the path and the land on either side of him leveled out. Then as the path turned a corner he was faced with an open space and a village.

  But it was the strangest village he had ever seen. Small bungalows that looked like the cottages in fairy stories were arranged in a circle. In the center of the circle squatted a low round building surrounded by hideous statues. It reminded him of a shrine or perhaps a small temple.

  The village was wrapped in unnatural silence. There were no people, no animals and no sign of movement. Yet clearly the
village was not deserted, or was it? All the houses were in good repair, but no smoke ascended from any of the chimneys. The grass was cut, the pathways well trodden, and there was no litter. John decided he would knock on one or two of the doors. Surely someone would respond. Yet the closer he got to the houses, the more uneasy he felt. The windows of the houses seemed like eyes that watched his approach.

  Soon he was behind the nearest of the houses, and eyeing curiously the cow barn and the chicken coop that obviously belonged to it. Feeling very much like a trespasser he peered into the barn. Everything was neat and orderly, though there was no sign of any animal. He next examined the chicken coop. And once again he found it clean and empty. He stared at the back of the house for a moment then began to walk round to the front of it. As he did so, out of the corner of his eye he was sure he saw movement, and swung round to face the low templelike building to which all the houses faced. A screen sheltered the opening, and he was sure, as he stared at it that he had seen some movement beside it. He was right. Briefly he caught a glimpse of two men as they passed behind the screen and entered the building. Although it was the merest glimpse, several details were striking. One man was tall, gray-gowned and cowled. But the other impressed John more.

  He was old, very, very old. But in spite of his age, everything about him suggested alertness and power. Thick white hair and a black velvet skull cap crowned his head. A black gown flowed from his shoulders to his feet, almost concealing a maroon silk robe that flashed briefly beneath it as he disappeared.

  John made his way quickly to the entrance of the building behind the screen. Light illuminated the area just inside the door, but beyond this he could see only blackness. "Hullo! Is anyone there?" His words were lost in silence, so he tried again. "Excuse me, I'm looking for somebody. Is there anybody there? Hullo! Are you there?"

  Still there was no answer. Cautiously he ventured inside a couple of paces, straining his eyes to see more clearly. He gained the distinct impression that he was looking into an immense room. The feeling was rather like being in a large marquee in the dark. Here and there he could see little points of light, but it was impossible to tell what they were. He held his breath and strained his ears. There was no sound.

  With extreme care John placed his right foot forward once more, and this time he was startled to discover that whatever he had placed it on was moving smoothly to the right, so that he almost lost his balance, and most certainly would have done so, had he not pulled back quickly.

  Not knowing what peril he might be facing he was about to turn round and leave the building. But suddenly he remembered the Mashal Stone. "It should be somewhere on me," he thought. "It shows things as they truly are. And who knows? It might even enable me to see in the dark. In any case it makes me invisible, and that may come in handy." For a few moments he groped for a pocket in the unfamiliar clothing he wore, and to his joy he found the shining blue stone with its chain, and slipped it around his neck. Immediately he was flooded with a sense of comfort. A strange yearning came over him, a yearning never to remove the Mashal Stone, but always to wear it.

  His eyes were now opened to see in the darkness. A whirlpool lay at his feet, a black and shining whirlpool that filled the whole building, spinning in uncanny silence. He stood at its brink where the water (or was it water?) moved slowly, increasing in speed as it approached the center, until it whirled at a dizzying and frightening rate before plunging into the black hole at the center of the vortex.

  It was then that John noticed the figure of a man, the tall man wearing the robe and cowl. He now was standing upright on the silent waters, and traveling in dizzying circles with the current. Either the man weighed nothing at all or the "water" was not water, for the man showed no more sign of sinking than if he had been standing on solid rock.

  But there was something even more puzzling. The man was only half size. It was almost as though he were a long distance away. And even as John watched him whirl ever closer to the center, he shrank steadily in size. Soon he was reduced to a dot, and then to a whirling streak before being swallowed into the hole. John drew in a breath and turned toward the door behind him. But there was no door to be seen!

  Startled, he glanced round the circular walls. He suddenly realized that without taking a step he had traveled halfway round the building while he had been watching the stranger. He had been standing on the edge of the whirlpool all the time without knowing it.

  What he saw next frightened him even more. The old man with the white hair and the black velvet skull cap stood facing him in the doorway, a drawn sword in his hand. John stared at him, his heart beating. Had he been detected as he had entered? Could the man see him even now? Surely not. It was pitch-black and impossible to see anything without the Mashal Stone. Therefore the old man must have seen him enter, but was perhaps unaware that he was now invisible.

  With a wild leap, John flung himself against the wall of the building. With his left hand against the wall he crept hurriedly back toward the entrance. The old man gave no sign of seeing him, constantly looking on all sides in an obvious attempt to locate him. "Perhaps he thinks I'm trapped by the whirlpool, and is just waiting to be sure," John thought. "And if I just creep past him ..."

  Even as the thought passed through his mind he was reassured to see the old man step forward onto the more rapidly moving segment of the whirlpool. Indeed, instead of just standing, as the first man had done, he began to step hurriedly, and with no apparent difficulty toward the center. John sighed with relief. "Danger over!" he thought. "I guess I shouldn't have come in here. But if I get out without being seen, no one else in the village will know."

  As he emerged into the evening sunshine, his fears had left him enough to begin to remove the Mashal Stone. Yet instantly he was aware of a strange reluctance. The stone was so comforting. But if he was to find anyone to ask about Eleanor, he could not remain invisible. Reluctantly, and with a surprising effort, he took it off. Then he turned to look back at the house he had passed a few moments before.

  Instantly he had another impression of movement, this time of a door closing. It was as though the door of one of the houses had been slightly ajar, but had quietly closed. His heart began to beat a little faster. Something about the village was unnerving him. And it was then he noticed the teen-agers. Where they had come from he had no idea. They formed a large group, most of them around his own age, and were playing with a ball the size of a basketball.

  Their game was anything but exciting. They stood in a circle and threw the ball to one another. Nobody spoke. The expressions on their faces never changed. It was as though they were playing in their sleep. However, one of them must have caught sight of him, for in an instant the ball was dropped and all of them turned to face him, staring at him with unseeing eyes. Once he had removed the Mashal Stone he had felt shaken by his experience inside the circular shrine, and now in addition he was unnerved by the odd behavior of the children. Nevertheless, he forced himself to ask about Eleanor.

  "Hi!" John said.

  No one moved or spoke. John tried again. "Hi-I'm John the S-I mean my name's John. I'm not from around here. I'm looking for a young girl called Eleanor. I think she's lost. Did any of you see her?"

  Still there was no response. They did not look angry or hostile, but there was something unnerving about the way they stared without moving. Nevertheless he decided to walk toward them. Perhaps they didn't understand English. Would signs help? How did you talk about a lost girl in sign language?

  The moment he moved they all began to walk toward him. They walked slowly and deliberately, every one of them in step, like puppets controlled by a skilled puppeteer. For a moment he hesitated. Then he continued. Soon they were standing in a strange and solemn semicircle round him. The girls wore rough gray dresses, and the boys were dressed as he was (minus the cloak) except that their clothes, like the girls' clothes, were gray. How could he make them understand? He remembered a book he had read about explorers travelin
g among tribes people.

  Smiling idiotically, and pointing with both hands at his chest he said, "Boy. John." They made no response. The line of their semicircle was lengthening. They seemed to be surrounding him. He tried to smile more pleasingly, grinning as broadly as he could. "Boy. John!"

  He pointed to three of the girls one at a time, still grinning and saying as he pointed to each one, "Girl," then again at himself, "Boy." By now it was clear that the circle was complete. As they closed him in their blank faces still stared at him like faces of mechanical dolls.

  In the village beyond, the doors of the cottages opened and little groups of gray-clad men, women and smaller children were emerging to move toward him, everyone of them staring blankly at him.

  In a desperate effort to get through to the members of the circle surrounding him he raised his voice, almost shouting his repeated formula, "John, boy. Girl."

  The members of the circle took a simultaneous pace toward him so that the circle grew smaller. John's grin froze. He raised his right hand to his throat in a vague gesture of fear and as he did so his hand brushed against the hard surface of the Mashal Stone. Gently he withdrew it from the pocket. Just let them take one more step toward him, and he would put the chain around his neck. It had always worked when he was here last time, though it had seemed to be powerless in Canada. It was time to act. Quickly he slipped the chain around his neck.

  It worked. He was invisible again-and oh, so comforted! There was nothing but space where his own body and limbs had been. He glanced up to see that their arms had swung level with their shoulders, their fingers and hands reaching out toward him as they moved gropingly toward the spot where he stood.

  Instinctively he dropped to his hands and knees and began to crawl toward the children on the side nearest the woods. Their movements were slow and uncertain, and strange thoughts began to flash through his mind. They did not seem to be dismayed by his disappearance. Had they seen him in the first place? Or were they in fact sleepwalking?