Gaal the Conqueror

by John White

  "John, we can't be far away from the tower. Is that the lake below?"

  "Hm?"

  "Is that the lake below?"

  "I nearly fell over it. It was so close!"

  "I know-but where are we?"

  "I hate heights."

  Something about the dead and mechanical quality in his voice made Eleanor turn to look at him. His face was white and his eyes blank and staring. "You O.K.?" she asked.

  "Huh?"

  "His lordship is ill, my lady. Look at his visage."

  She touched him on the shoulder. "Here, give me the picture." Gently she tried to detach the chain from his hands, but he held on tightly. She touched his hands and then his face.

  "You're cold," she said. "Are you sick?"

  John slid into a sitting position, leaning the picture against his knees. Eleanor stared at him, a worried frown creasing her forehead. Then, uncertain, she sat beside him, her face distressed and concerned. Absently her fingers dug into her left shoe as though she were searching for something. A moment later she took it off and shook it upside-down.

  A small stone fell out. She replaced her shoe. Her fingers toyed with the stone, and without thinking she tossed it over the edge of the ledge. But it seemed to encounter an invisible wall and fell vertically to rest on the outer edge of the ledge. The expression on Eleanor's face changed to one of wonder as her eyes widened.

  "Are you guys O.K?" It was John who was speaking.

  "Us? We're fine. It's you we're worried about. You look ghastly.,,

  "I'm OX now, I think I can't stand heights."

  "Yeah, I remember how you were at the chasm in the tunnel."

  "Where are we?"

  "Where are we indeed! I have been thinking a lot about that." Eleanor nudged him gently, and then began to speak in a loud and rather unnatural voice. "I believe Shagah, by his very great power, has transferred us in an instant to a remote corner of the earth!" John and Authentio turned their heads and stared at her. Surreptitiously Eleanor winked at each of them in turn. "I am sure that we can find our way back again, but perhaps the time has come for us to use the magic Gaal has given us. Let us repeat together the words he taught us."

  John's face, still rather pale, expressed bewilderment. Eleanor snuggled as close as she could to him, pressing herself firmly against his side and dipping her hand into the pocket where she knew he kept the Mashal Stone. Carefully she drew it out with one hand, pulling the edges of John's cloak around the picture as she did so. Then, as she solemnly began to drape the chain of the Mashal Stone around their two wrists, she said in a loud voice, "Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee. Hickory dickery dock, the mouse ran up the clock, the mouse struck one, the mouse-"

  At that point they both vanished. More wonderful still-at least John found it so-the three of them were instantly back in the bare and moonlit room in the Tower of Geburah, still facing the hook on the wall. He suppressed a gasp of surprise, and for several seconds they both stood silent and invisible. They could sense the sorcerer standing behind them. Carefully John transferred the picture to his free hand. Now was his chance to place it over the hook on the wall.

  But Shagah had not finished with him. Before he could do a thing another vision appeared beyond the wall. It was as though they were looking through a wall of glass, and could see snow and ice and snow-covered pines on a rocky shore. Ian McNab stood facing them, blowing into his cold hands to warm them, and stamping his feet on the hard ice. He seemed unaware that he was being observed.

  John said nothing. He was sure something was wrong. But Shagah's soothing voice said, "These must be trying days for you, John. I know how much you want to see your father again. Well, look at him!"

  John caught his breath in a gasp. How could Shagah see them? They had the Mashal Stone on. "He must just assume we're here," John thought. But he knew that the person he saw truly was his father, and he also knew that he was seeing him as he was in that very instant. He had not, however, forgotten Shagah's treachery. John knew what he was expected to dosomething he had sworn never to do. He clenched his fists determinedly, but he was powerless to prevent the storm of love and longing that broke in his heart, its hurricane force sweeping his feelings in disordered tumult. Yearning possessed him.

  "Call to him, John. He'll hear you!"

  John took an angry breath, forgetting in his anger that Shagah still questioned his presence. "Do you take me for a fool?" he spat. "I know what you're trying to do." Immediately he realized his mistake. Shagah would now be certain they were there.

  "You exaggerate the danger," Shagah said quietly. "He won't die. Not immediately, anyway. But he would open a door through which you could both pass safely with him into Canada. I am not deceiving you. Call him and you'll see."

  Was he speaking the truth? Was this, perhaps the reason Gaal had summoned them here? Were they once again to "take the adventure that came to them?" But no, Gaal would never use Shagah as a messenger. John set his lips firmly and made no reply. His eyes were on his father who seemed so close. It was Ian McNab all right, every line on his face dear and familiar. And only ten yards away. John felt his heart would burst.

  He moved slowly to the figure. A barely audible cry broke from him and he pressed his face against the wall that had turned to glass-"Dad!" But no! He would not call to him. Instead he set his lips together again, and in his mind said, "Never! never! never!" His face was white, and his eyes.

  Then Shagah's venomous hatred seemed to triumph. What followed proved to be the most terrible experience John had ever undergone. He heard a voice, his own voice, ring out from behind him. He swung round in dismay to look at Shagah as the cry, a cry in a perfect reproduction of his own voice, sounded in his ears, "Dad, Dad, help me! I'm in trouble, Dad. Come quickly!"

  "No!" John was screaming. But it was too late. Ian McNab, a startled look on his face, was striding quickly across the ice toward the glass wall, as though nothing could stop him. John backed away quickly from the wall. "Get back, Dad! Get back! You mustn't!" His father heard him, but he heard the terror in John's voice more than the words themselves. He came leaping through the barrier. Immediately Black Sturgeon Lake disappeared and the wall was like any other wall again.

  But no longer was it Ian McNab they saw. Instead an ancient and feeble man who had lived for seven centuries, blue-robed, white-haired and bearded smiled joyfully at John. He moved forward but never reached him, stumbling with arms outstretched to crumple to the rocky floor, his glowing eyes still on his son.

  It was too much for John or any of them to take in, and for a couple of seconds nobody moved. Then John slipped out of the Mashal Stone and left it and the picture with Eleanor. He ran forward with a cry, "Oh, Mab, I mean, Dad! You shouldn't have come! It wasn't me who called. It was a trick! Don't die, Dad! Please don't die!" John bent down, putting his head on his father's chest. The old prophet's uncomprehending eyes were still on him, but they had begun to glaze. Death's presence was palpable. Mab's breathing stopped, and his eyes stared unseeingly.

  "Oh, no! Oh, no! John!" Eleanor knelt beside him, droppimg the Mashal Stone to become visible again.

  John lifted his head. "He's dead." He pronounced the words quietly, rose to his feet, and slowly drew his sword, saying as he turned to face Shagah, "Give me the picture, Eleanor!"

  He was trembling and white-faced, his eyes set and hard. Wondering, Eleanor placed the chain in his left hand. John's eyes never left Shagah.

  "He's dead. That's what you wanted, isn't it, Shagah? That's your spite, isn't it?"

  Shagah neither moved nor spoke. For the first time there was a hint of worry in his eyes. John was breathing heavily. Beads of perspiration bejeweled his white face, and the palms that gripped sword and the picture chain were wet and cold. There was a chill in his heart also, an icy chill of rage and hate. His voice was hoarse and venomous.

  "You're going to die, Shagah. You're going to die now! I am about to kill you for killing my father, and there's nothing you can do
when the picture is in my hands." He paused, breathing heavily. "I shall kill you, not with the picture, but with the Sword of Geburah, just as I killed the Goblin Prince!"

  Authentio stepped forward and placed his hands on John's shoulder. "No, my lord, no. This is not to be the way. We were ordered not to kill, but to imprison him in his own picture!"

  John never heard him. Slowly he advanced, and as he did so Shagah raised his hands in a gesture of fear, as if to ward off his attack. For the first time since they had known him, Authentio seemed discouraged, turning away and covering his face. Eleanor shuddered but saw what she must do. Acting too rapidly for either John or Shagah to anticipate her action, she snatched the picture chain from John's grasp, and with one clean and fluid movement flung it over the hook on the wall.

  A shattering roar of thunder and a blinding burst of light stunned them all. When their eyes recovered they saw that Shagah the Sorcerer was gone-trapped inside the prison of the picture frame, the prison of his own devising. Slowly through a swirl of color his head and shoulders began to emerge against the dark background of gray paint. Nobody spoke, and only John moved. With an inarticulate cry of rage he flung the Sword of Geburah at the picture.

  But his aim was poor. With its point buried in the wall beside the picture, it continued to quiver, throbbing a blue radiance that rivaled the light of the moon.

  With a dry sob John dropped his head. Yet even as he did so his eye fell on the Mashal Stone that lay where Eleanor had dropped it moments before. Dully he stooped and picked it up. Like the sword it glowed with blue light, and he stared at it as he had so often done before, longing to put it on to comfort him. Drawing in a deep breath he turned instead to Authentio.

  "Authentio," he held out the chain from which the mysterious blue stone dangled, "this goes to you now." The words were extraordinarily difficult to say, and the stone was extraordinarily difficult to give. But he gave it, feeling as though he was giving away everything he had and was. Open-mouthed and speechless, Authentio stared at the marvelous thing. But John, all his rage draining out of him, sat down numbly by the prone figure of Mab.

  For several minutes he sat white-faced and staring, holding the old prophet against him. Before long he began to rock backward and forward, his face slowly filling with pain, muttering, "You shouldn't have come! Oh, Mab, Mab, Mab, why did you come?" He began to cry and soon was sobbing softly, but hopelessly and inconsolably, his eyes hot and tearless. He remembered how he had discovered his dead grandmother only a few months before.

  Eleanor forced herself to leave him to his grief. She looked at the picture and its brass plate. Letters had formed themselves on the brass. Slowly she began to read.

  "What do you think it means?"

  Authentio examined the words, still visible in the bright moonlight, words that had appeared mysteriously, where none had been before. He shook his head. "Perhaps its meaning is that no one can move it until the time comes to move it. Did not Lord Lunacy say that would be the Sword Bearer or someone from the Sword Bearer's household?" They glanced back at John from time to time. Neither Eleanor nor Authentio meant to be heartless, but they did not know how to comfort him.

  John was in another world. His rage and hate had quite drained from him until it seemed to him that he had no feelings at all. His mouth was dry and he felt at the same time both very wide awake, yet with a sensation that everything around him seemed unreal. The fingers of his right hand clutched his father's blue velvet robe, while those of his right hand stroked the white hair mechanically. Eleanor turned from the picture, staring at him uneasily. Then-she moved close beside him, and after a moment Authentio followed suit.

  They were still there when Gaal came half an hour later on the back of Pontificater. John barely acknowledged his presence as he walked into the room. He was still fingering the dark blue velvet robe his father wore, the robe that brought back so many powerful memories from their time together in Anthropos. When at length he glanced up at Gaal he said, "It's your fault." He spoke quietly. If there was bitterness in the words there was none in his voice, which was dead, devoid of emotion. Gaal made no reply, but stared at the little group with infinite sadness.

  "If you'd come earlier, this wouldn't have happened," John continued. "It's all your fault. We took care of your old sorcerer. But look what it cost. Did you know this would happen?"

  "Have you learned nothing here, John?" Gaal's voice was gentle. John did not reply. Gaal sat down facing them across the body of the prophet. He took the old man's limp hands in his own. "Look at me, John. I talked to you about death by Rapunzel's tower. Do you remember?" John nodded but said nothing. The hopeless expression on his face did not change.

  "What did I say?"

  John shrugged. "You said you'd conquer death."

  "And did I?"

  "I suppose." After a moment he looked up at Gaal. "I knew Dad would come back I just knew it. And I didn't want him to."

  `John, I have conquered death."

  John's voice was low. "Yes, Gaal, I know." He wondered why Gaal could not understand. "Oh, Gaal, listen to me! Dad and I had such a good time in Canada. He took me places. We had fun together. Why didn't you come sooner, Gaal? I wish-" Feelings began to well up in him again.

  "John, listen to me." John continued to stare, his face struggling against grief. "What would you like me to do, John?"

  "What would I like-?"

  "Yes, just now you said, `I wish-' and then you stopped. What do you wish?"

  "I wish he'd never come back. That's what I wish." His voice, which at first had been low and hopeless became agitated and tearful. "I'm sorry I said it was your fault, though in a way it was. But Gaal, why? Why weren't you here? If you'd been here it wouldn't have happened!"

  "So what would you like me to do?"

  Again John shrugged and remained silent, so that Gaal had to repeat his question more than once. At last John said, in a dead and hopeless voice, "There's nothing you can do, is there? You can't turn time back. And now he's, he's-he's-he's dead." He said the word softly and breathily as though it burned his tongue.

  Gaal's face was grave, but there was a lighter note in his voice as he replied, "I seem to remember someone who said, 'Oh, don't be silly! Dead's dead. It can't be changed. You don't fool around with things like that.' Remember?"

  John did remember. And so, apparently, did Eleanor. She smiled, her lips parting with dawning wonder. John's memory began to produce pictures and sounds. He remembered the sense of hopelessness he had felt during the long night when Gaal's body lay under the stars on the altar of Bamah and the shock of finding a living Gaal after the earthquake. Gaal had rebuked him then. He looked at his father and began to tremble. When next he looked at Gaal, hope and fear struggled together on his face. "What do you mean? You mean-"

  "I mean I'll restore him to life if you'll ask me."

  John's tremor increased, and he rose to his feet. His breath came in gasps and his eyes were wide. "Do it then," he said hoarsely. "Do it now. Can you? Oh, please!"

  Gaal did not move. He still held the ancient prophet's hands and very gently he said, "Mab the prophet, and Ian McNab the father of John, wake up! It's time to celebrate!"

  Color crept into the pale and wrinkled face. The hands that had been cold and lifeless a moment before grasped Gaal's own hands. The dead man took in a breath and sighed. His eyes flew open, clear with intelligent light. "Well, well, well. And who are you?" he said, smiling at Gaal. He struggled to his feet.

  "Mab!" John cried. "Mab, oh, Mab! I mean, Dad!"

  With surprising youthfulness the old man stood straight Turning from Gaal the old seer took one long stride and seized his son. John was crying, "Oh, Mab-Dad-I thought I'd lost you! I thought-" By turns he sobbed and laughed convulsively. The blue-robed prophet held him close.

  Their rejoicing and embracing continued for some time, but before long the two of them were trying to catch up on each other's news. Gaal then spoke. "Your task is not yet finished.
"

  John looked surprised for a moment and then remembered. "The treasures!" He glanced in embarassment at the sword in the wall beside the picture, retrieved it and placed it in the scabbard beside him. Then with something like his old spirit he said, "Well, let's finish then." Tugging the old wizard by the hand he led the group up the steps to the top floor of the tower. Authentio, muttering the praises of Gaal to himself, hid the Mashal Stone in his clothing. He picked up the treasure bag and turned to follow the rest

  The Garden Room was not at all as John remembered it. No hillside opened out to them. Rather it was a plain room with an oaken table in its center. Carefully they placed the treasures-the book, the key and the orb (inside its own chest) in the center of the table. Solemnly John unhitched his belt and placed the sword with its scabbard beneath the table, as Gaal had instructed them.

  For a moment they stood and stared. "I guess that's it," John said, feeling strangely flat

  Eleanor sighed. "I'm tired." She glanced shyly at Gaal. "Let's-I mean, could we? Could we go down to the room with all those cushions and things?" She drew in a deep breath and sighed again. "Oh, Gaal, I could do with some sleep."

  But down on the ground floor they had trouble settling down. Indeed John and Mab talked quietly in a corner of the room long after the others had gone to sleep. But eventually even the father and son fell into slumber.

  In the morning, conversations resumed at full pace. With great formality Pontificater introduced Gaal and the old seer. Eleanor said to John, "I remember you explaining about time and saying your dad was hundreds of years old when he was here. But I never expected him to look like this!"

  Ian McNab, on the other hand was a little puzzled to account for Eleanor herself. He said, "You realize you'll be back to your own age when we-that is if we-get back"

  Eleanor laughed. "I wonder what it will feel like."

  Eventually Gaal said, "Come and eat with me."

  He led them outside to the aroma of freshly baked bread and of cooking fish. Stones large enough to sit on were arranged around a small wood fire. "Let me serve you," Gaal said.