by John White
Hardly noticing the piles of human and animal bones scattered around the foot of the altar, John and Eleanor leaped up the long stairway which zigzagged to its summit. They climbed with astonishing agility, excitement lending an unwonted spring to their steps. Once they reached the bone-littered top they stared in shock not at an inert and bloodstained body, but of Gaal, standing, living, but sorely wounded. The altar was large-more like a stage than an altar, and he stared at them across the litter of bones, his face pale and sweat-soaked.
"Gaal-oh, Gaal!" was all Eleanor could say. John could not speak.
Gaal turned and faced the temple. With determination he said, "My death is upon me, but my task is not finished yet. Give me your sword, John." John drew it from its scabbard, tendering him the haft. Gaal grasped it with surprising firmness. Then lifting up his head he called in a loud voice, "The time has come! Be what you are and were meant to be! Come, that we might have done!"
His cry echoed strangely across the stone-encircled temple grounds, and as it did so the figure of Pontificater the dragon rose from the temple roof, stretching his great wings and whirling into the air high above the temple.
John gasped at the sight. "Look at him-look! See? He'she's changing! What's happening?"
It was true. As Pontificater began to cover the intervening distance, the dragon's shape and color began to change. "He's changing into a horse!" Eleanor almost screamed.
"A flying horse! Remember his dream-you know, the one about the white mare?" John gasped.
Many matmon and Regenskind had spotted Pontificater, but the children never heard the crowd. Nor were they aware that their pursuers, four of the red dwarfs, were now standing behind them-not that the matmon were any threat. Astounded to see the living figure of Gaal sword in hand, they seemed unable to move. Only when they saw hurtling out of the sky toward them the terrifying figure of a giant white-winged horse did they tumble helter-skelter down the altar steps. Even John and Eleanor ran to the edge of the altar, crouching, to get out of the way.
Pontificater landed. He knelt among the litter of bones before Gaal, bowed his beautiful horse head and said, "My Master, I would serve you."
"That you shall, Pontificater!" Gaal said quietly. "Help me to mount, John."
Pontificater lowered himself further, but even with his belly on the altar the flying horse's back was still at shoulder height. John was proud and more excited than he had ever been, yet there were tears in his eyes as he made a stirrup with his hands and hoisted Gaal on to the bare back of the winged horse.
For a moment Gaal looked down at them, his pale face grave. "Are you sure you'll be O.K?" Eleanor asked hesitantly.
"Take heart," he replied. "Victory will soon be in my hands. Don't be afraid. You will see me again once I have broken the power of Death."
"But you're wounded," she said.
The merest suspicion of a smile stole into Gaal's eyes and his lips twitched slightly, but he said nothing. Then he urged Pontificater to his feet. The great wings spread, gleaming a dazzling white in the sun, and the horse sprung into the air. There was a sudden outcry from the crowd. Then so quickly that neither their eyes nor their minds could take it in, a hurtling mass of red streaked above their heads. It was a winged red serpent that lunged viciously at Pontificater and his rider as it flashed by. In seconds, the red and the white, the serpent and the white-robed figure on the horse, were spiraling upward, each struggling to gain advantage.
`John! Where did it come from? What on earth is happening?"
John said nothing. His head was craned back like Eleanor's as he followed the desperate maneuvering, the lunges, the incredible balance the wounded Gaal displayed as with the Sword of Geburah he struck again and again at the snake.
John's fists were clenching and unclenching. "That's right, Gaal! Oh, good, good! That was beautiful-did you see how he-?"
"I think the serpent's wounded."
The red creature fell away and downward, writhing as if in pain. Then it spread its wings again, and for a moment it seemed as though it was about to renew its attack. But it failed to rise. The beating of its wings was weak and awkward. Gracelessly it struggled down to where the black bull had stood only moments previously. Slowly it began to change. The wings fell away. The serpentine body shortened and thickened, and grew legs.
"Gosh-it was the black bull. It turned into-"
"It's Lord Lunacy. He must have different forms. Maybe he can turn himself into anything," John said.
"Gaal's coming down with Pontificater."
With all the grace that the serpent had lacked, the winged horse glided to a landing beside the bull. Pontificater knelt, and Gaal slid from his back. The bull had also knelt, and its head fell wearily forward. Sword in hand, Gaal surveyed it. He spoke softly but his words were clear, seeming to float through the still air to the most distant watchers with the greatest clarity. "Your time has come," he said. "Your power has now been broken, and death has lost its sting. For a little while you will make trouble. But your dying is now beginning." The bull made no sound.
Gaal placed his sword on the ground, strode to the bull and placed his right foot on the creature's head. Then seizing the horn nearest him he tugged at it, tearing it from the bull's head and flinging it aside. The bull gave a roar of pain. He seized the second horn and tossed it aside too. Then he returned to Pontificater, picking up the sword which he raised above his head. Lifting his head skyward he cried with a voice that must have echoed among the invisible stars, "The task is accomplished! It is ended-done!" He released the sword and it rose of its own accord, flying upward to find its home in John's scabbard.
For several moments Gaal stood looking at the watching crowd. Throughout his battle with the snake he had seemed full of surprising vigor and strength. But now the terrible effect of his wounds became evident, and he began to sway in weakness. Even so he remained in control. Quietly he sat down. Then he lay down on the ground, as if he were merely tired and had chosen to fall asleep.
For several minutes the bull stared stupidly at Gaal's reclining figure. The crowd was silent. John's body ached with the tension, and Eleanor's eyes were wide and staring. The bull limped a feeble pace or two toward Gaal. It lowered its head as it had done previously-almost as though it was about to toss the body with its absent horns. Then, seeming to change its mind it turned toward the temple and faded into invisibility.
Anxiously the children surveyed the strange scene from their vantage point on the altar. "Made himself invisible-huh?" John muttered, referring to Lord Lunacy. "Probably gone back inside the temple to lick his wounds. Gaal should have finished him off once and for all."
Eleanor placed a hand on John's arm. "He's dead, John. Gaal's dead. He said he would die and, and ... now he has. Oh, what shall we do?"
They watched Pontificater lean over his dead master, lowering his head to nuzzle him gently. Then catching Gaal's leather belt between his teeth he slowly raised the body, so that it hung limply. Spreading his wings he took flight, circled the altar once and then deposited his burden softly on the altar. Gaal's body lay awkwardly, sprawling face down with one arm beneath it, and the other doubled in an unnatural position. "It is fitting that he should rest a while here," Pontificater said. "There was an altar here long before the temple was built. It was a simple altar in the old days, erected to make sacrifices to the High Emperor."
But now John stared at Gaal's body. He felt tense and anxious, yet at the same time dreamy and out of touch with reality. Was it all real? Too much had happened for his emotions to catch up with events. Without thinking he carefully straightened the body so that it lay on its back.
"Here, raise his head for me," John murmured as he removed and rolled up his blue woolen cloak. Eleanor hesitated for a second, then bit her lip and obeyed. Carefully John inserted the woolen bundle beneath the head, and Eleanor lowered it gently.
Eleanor was crying. With trembling fingers she began to tidy the strands of hair that had fallen abo
ut his face. "I wish we could wash the blood off him," she said softly.
"I don't know where we'd get water."
For the first time John noticed the keys that hung from Gaal's belt. "Eleanor, look! I never saw those keys before. They're just like-"
"-like the ones Lord Lunacy wears-the Keys of Torment and Death. Lord Lunacy's were made of iron, just like these."
"I wonder what it means."
Eleanor shrugged and turned to Pontificater. She reached out a hand and cautiously began to stroke the flying horse's nose. "You look terrific," she said softly. "I'm so glad it-it happened like this." But their main thoughts were for Gaal. Later they would spend a great deal of time talking with Pontificater about his remarkable change.
John stood and looked at the multitude. "What will the crowd do, I wonder?" People and matmon began to swarm slowly toward the altar, their necks craning upward in an attempt to see what was happening.
Eleanor looked up, her hands still busy with Gaal's face. "They're different," she said. "They're not moving like they were." Gone were the lackluster movements and the vacant stares. Before long a densely packed mob had surrounded them.
"I hope they don't get the idea of coming up here," John muttered. "What do they want?"
"They won't come any nearer," Eleanor said. "The altar is supposed to be sacred. The widow Illith told me that if you can be on the altar and not die you must be a god-at least that's what everyone believes here."
John smiled. "So we get to be gods, do we? But how come the matmon got up here."
"They're supposed to be gods too-leastways the red-haired ones."
"Huh-some gods!"
The menacing crowd had stopped twenty yards from the altar, leaving a circle of empty space where no one was inclined to tread. There was a certain amount of shoving and pushing. "Who are you?" a man called out.
"We are the servants of Gaal!"John replied. Pontificater, who had been lying got to his feet behind John, and at the sight of him the first rank of the crowd began to press back against the people behind them.
"How did we get here?" another voice called. And with that there arose a perfect hubbub of anxious shouts. "What are we doing here?" "Did you bring us?" "Where are we?" "Why are we here?" "Are you in charge of us?" "You're only children. Are you children of the gods?"
John and Eleanor stared at each other. A look of dawning wonder appeared on their faces. After a few moments Eleanor drew in a deep breath. "My name is Eleanor, and this is John. We come from a world that's a long way away-another world that's different from this-and John is the Sword Bearer." A low murmur rippled through the crowd like a wave, and Eleanor continued, "You have been under enchantment. An evil being, Lord Lunacy enslaved you and brought you here."
"It is a lie! A monstrous lie! Don't listen to her!"
John saw the same red-haired matmon that had been watching him earlier, the one who eventually set out in pursuit of him, pushing his way to the front of the crowd. Angrily John shished the Sword of Geburah from its scabbard, and held it high. A throbbing blue light broke over the heads of the crowd, illuminating their faces. The red-haired matmon stopped almost as though the light had frozen him, his face a mask of terror. "Let any who dare contest our words beware!" John called out, wondering where the words were coming from. "Him shall the Sword of Geburah devour! And let the inhabitants of Bamah know that Gaal the Shepherd, Son of the High Emperor has set them free from the evil enchantments of Lunacy!"
For a moment there was silence. Then again from the crowd came a hubbub of voices saying things like, "Bamah! We are in Bamah!" "I am from Merodach-how did I get to Bamah?" "Bamah? How can it be? Only yesterday I was in-or so it seems!"
Again John cried out, his voice ringing powerfully over the heads of the crowd. And again he wondered how he could dare to utter the words that flowed so effortlessly from his lips. "You were brought here by the Enchantment of Fear, and Gaal by his death has set you free. Beware lest a worse fate befall you! Return to the places from whence you came. Tomorrow as dawn breaks this city of Bamah will be destroyed by an earthquake. Only the temple and the circle of stones will be left standing."
"It is also a lie!" the matmon cried. "There will be no earthquake!" And though his voice trembled a little, he stood defiantly in the front row of the crowd, his pale face lifted up to John's. "You are a deceiver-you who call yourself the Sword Bearer!"
John strode to the stairway and began to hurry down the altar steps. At least his legs did the hurrying, but his mind had nothing to do with it. "What on earth am I doing? Why did I talk like that and say those things? What's happening to me? It must be the sword. I hope I'm not going to have to fight him-" Yet his feet hurried him downward, indifferent to his misgivings.
Once at the bottom of the steps he strode, still with an apparent confidence he was far from feeling, toward the defiant matmon who now stood a pace or two in front of the crowd like a pathetic little island cast away from the shore of the people. Pathetic indeed, for John could see as he approached him, the point of the Sword of Geburah leveled at the matmon's throat, that the matmon trembled.
Nevertheless his head was held high. "Kill me if you must. I know it will be useless for me to fight with you, but bow to you I never shall!"
Again John found himself saying things he had never planned to say. "I demand no homage for myself. Gaal is your true Lord and will rise again from the dead. To him you will bow."
The matmon's voice was hoarse and tremulous. "Lord Lunacy is my true Lord. I have sworn him fealty."
"Lunacy is madness and Lunacy has deceived you. He has used you as a dupe and will put you to death when he has finished with you. What is your name?"
The matmon hesitated. A subtle change seemed to take place in him. Then he said, "Billingrath, my lord, Captain of the Guard of the Circle of Light."
"Have you wife and children, Billingrath?"
The bearded face flushed. "A good wife and three young ones, my lord." He paused. "My lord, I have seen wondrous things this day. There is much I do not understand. What makes you say I am deceived?"
"Did the Lord Lunacy tell you what the issue of today's battle would be?"
"He said there would be no battle."
"Nevertheless, there was a battle. There was also a victor. Who was it?"
The matmon hesitated. "Your Gaal is dead," he said.
"Yet who was the victor? Who tore the horns from the head of the bull? And which of the two slunk away in shame?"
Again there was a pause. Then quietly and dully the matmon replied, "Your Gaal was the real victor. Dead or alive he bore himself nobly, and he won truly. Would that he lived still."
"Then the Lord Lunacy lied to you?"
Again there was a long pause while John waited. At last, his head hanging low, the matmon said, "You are right, my lord. He lied to me."
"Yet you trust everything else he told you?"
The matmon still hung his head. "Do not delay, my lord. Put me to the sword now."
John sheathed his sword. With a stern and set face he said, "For your children's sakes and in the name of Gaal the merciful I will spare you. Only see that no further ill-considered word fall from your lips."
Turning to the crowd he raised his voice and cried, "Do not delay! An earthquake is coming. This city is to be destroyed!"
No one moved and once again John, still marveling at his strange way of speaking cried, "Do you fail to understand? The city is to be destroyed! Leave at once!" Slowly the people began to withdraw, talking to one another in astonished tones.
He turned and made his way toward the altar steps again, and as he did so he heard the matmon cry, "Earlier I planned to kill you. Yet you showed me mercy."
John turned and saw that in spite of what he had said Billingrath was kneeling on one knee. The matmon surveyed him with an indecipherable expression on his face. "You say this Gaal will rise from the dead?"
A wild doubt filled John's mind. Gaal had said he would conquer de
ath. And John himself had just finished saying that he would rise. Would he? Nevertheless, he nodded and said, "He will rise."
"You will stay with his body until he does?"
John had not even thought about it. Once again he found himself saying things that seemed daring and strange. "Yes," he said quietly. "Would you join us while we watch?"
"I am not worthy of such an invitation."
"It is true," John said. Billingrath's face suddenly fell. But John continued, "None are worthy to follow Gaal. But he makes those who follow him new. And that is what I sense in you. Come, watch with us." With growing gratitude, Billingrath took John's hand and the two ascended the altar together.
John and Eleanor sat together, craning their necks to stare unhappily at the vultures that circled high in the late afternoon sky above them. Eleanor whispered, "Who told you about the earthquake?"
They had their backs to Billingrath and Pontificater who sat watching Gaal as, speaking very quietly, they were making each other's acquaintance. "Nobody told me," John said. "It just came out of my mouth. I don't know why I said it-it came through my mind with a rush almost faster than I could catch it, but it sort of made sense. I mean-I knew it was right."
"Are you sure?"
He paused. "Well, no-now that you ask me, not really. And yet in a way I am. Only-I mean, when I start to think about it logically it seems crazy. I kept on saying things like that-all the time the sword was in my hand."
"Mebbe you're going be a prophet like Mab was."
John shook his head. "Oh, that's crazy."
Pontificater was giving Billingrath an account of how he had been changed from a dragon to a giant flying horse. "... and as I perched up there on the temple roof it all began to come back to me. I had forgotten about it dreamed about it-you know how these Freudian mechanisms work." There was a blank expression on Billingrath's face and Pontificater continued, his voice softening, "I had not been born a dragon but a white foal of a white mare, in a meadow far from here. I knew that there was something about one of the sorcerers that seemed familiar. It was enchantment. I was a dragon because of a spell."