The Iron Tempest

by Ron Miller

  Bradamant had not felt so strong, physically and spiritually, in months. The mere presence of Melissa, she knew, had a great deal to do with her sense of well-being. Would she feel so well, she wondered, beyond the influence of the sorceress? She knew that there were drugs that caused the same evanescent sensation of euphoria and well-being as she was now feeling—was Melissa’s presence like that? Would she collapse back into depression and obsession once her quest was resumed?

  With all the anxiety of a child on Christmas morning, she quickly dried her body—and not without taking another moment to linger so appreciatively over its amazing metamorphosis that she courted being guilty of vanity. She found clothing hanging on pegs, including gleaming new armor with enameled scales as white and lustrous as rich milk or mother-of-pearl.

  In the hall beyond the bathing-chamber was a broad table burdened with a sumptuous quantity of food, beside which Melissa awaited with a smile. Bradamant, who only a moment before had not considered herself at all hungry, found her mouth suddenly awash with thick, sweet saliva. She hardly needed the sorceress’ invitation to pounce upon the various delicacies like a starving wolf. Although Melissa joined the girl at the table, Bradamant noticed that she only nibbled at a bit of Melba toast and sipped from a cup of clear water.

  “How long have I been here?” Bradamant mumbled through a spray of crumbs and saliva.

  “How long? That’s difficult to say. There’s very little in the way of objective time here. It’s usually pretty subjective.”

  “What do you mean?” Bradamant asked, thoroughly confused.

  “Well, what I mean is, ‘how long’ time passes here depends entirely upon who you’re asking. Let me give you an example that may answer both of your questions at once. How long do you suppose it took for your body to heal?”

  Bradamant hadn’t thought much about that, but she did seem as fit and healthy as she had been the day she had last seen Rashid—perhaps even more so. “I couldn’t have been in that bath for more than an hour,” she answered. “I mean, the water was still hot when I got out and I wasn’t the least bit wrinkled. I suppose I’m mistaken?”

  “No, not really. If you’d asked me that’s what I would have said. I would have said about half the time it took me to arrange this meal. But if I could ask your body how long it took, it would reply that it took more than two months. For Merlin, it may have been only a heartbeat. So who can say how much time may have passed in the world outside the palace?”

  Bradamant could only stare incredulously, not knowing whether to argue or laugh.

  “I told you that you’d be unlikely to understand,” the sorceress said, with a smile that took away any supercilious sting the words may have carried.

  “All right then, what time is it outside?”

  “Ah, now you’ve asked the right question! Well, I believe that the back of winter is finally broken and that spring is only a few weeks away.”

  “So much time lost!” Bradamant moaned. She dropped her food to the table, forgotten, and buried her face in her hands.

  “What is it, my dear?”

  “Every day takes me that much farther from Rashid. I fear I’ve lost him forever.”

  “What makes you think he’s lost?”

  “What do you mean?” Bradamant asked; then, as the full meaning of Melissa’s question dawned upon her: “Do you know where he is? Tell me!”

  “Please, Bradamant! Calm yourself!”

  “Don’t tell me to calm myself!” she snapped, leaping to her feet. “I must know where Rashid is! Don’t you realize that I nearly died searching for him? Why didn’t you say something when you first found me?”

  “That would have killed you,” the sorceress replied calmly, unruffled by the girl’s outburst. “You needed to be strong again.”

  “Why?” she asked with a terrible foreboding.

  “I must tell you a story first and you must promise to be patient.”

  “I don’t suppose I have any choice.”

  “You can listen or not, as you please. But only by hearing me out can you save your lover.”

  “Save? He’s in danger?”

  “Do you want to listen to me or not?”

  “All right,” she replied sullenly, dropping back into her chair and crossing her arms so violently sparks flew from her armor, “All right: I’m listening.”

  “Will you have just a little of this fruit pie? I had it made especially for you . . . There’s no need to look at me that way, my dear! Well, then . . .

  “The hippogryph carried your hero far beyond the confines of Europe, beyond the limits set by Hercules, limits which even the bravest mariner hesitates trespassing. That amazing steed mounted higher and higher into the sky, and sped faster and faster until it left even the swifts and eagles simply nowhere. I doubt that even the thunderbolt is very much swifter than the hippogriff. Straight as an arrow the monster flew, league after league, day after day, until finally an island came into sight, far below. Much to Rashid’s relief—for he was beginning to tire from keeping his grip on the monster—the creature began to spiral down toward the island in a lazy helix. You’ve no doubt seen hawks do this on still summer days. Yes?

  “As he neared the island, Rashid saw it was a place of uncommon beauty. Indeed, in spite of his hunger, fatigue and anxiety (I cannot add fear to the list, of course, since Rashid fears nothing), or perhaps because of them, he thought he had never seen a happier, lovelier land than this. After one final swoop, his great steed finally came to a rest and Rashid gratefully leaped to the flowered earth. All around him were well-tilled pastures and neatly groomed hills, soft meadows and limpid streams beneath shady banks. There were groves of laurel, of palms, myrtle, cedar and orange-trees, all offering cool respite from the searing summer heat beneath their thickly spreading foliage. Safe in the branches, nightingales sang melodiously. Among and between the roses and lilies chipmunks, squirrels, hares and rabbits were leaping with happy abandon. Deer, undisturbed by the presence of Rashid and the hippogryph, roamed indiscriminately as fawns and kids skipped nimbly around their legs. It all looked rather like a mural from some Roman villa, or perhaps some particularly naïve artist’s idea of the Garden of Eden.

  “Rashid, no longer trusting his mount, tied its reins to a heavy myrtle branch near a cascade of clear water that bubbled from a spring. He took off his helmet and gauntlets and shook his head. Dropping to his knees he ducked his head in the icy water, then drank deeply and thirstily. Regaining his feet, with water streaming down his neck and breast, he looked first at the sea and then the hills, enjoying the vigorous breeze that cheerfully rustled the treetops. He felt very vigorous, alive and feisty. Here I am, he was thinking, having traveled ten thousand miles or more, armed to the teeth and not a soul to do battle with.

  “There was a sudden commotion behind him and he whirled to see the hippogryph—”

  “Its name is Papillon,” Bradamant interrupted.

  “Pardon?”

  “The hippogryph. Its name is Papillon.”

  “I see. Thank you. Well, then, Rashid whirled to see Papillon shying like a horse confronted by a snake. He couldn’t tell what was upsetting the creature, somewhat surprised that there was anything that would spook the powerful monster. In its panic it was entangling itself in the branches of the myrtle. Unable to get free, it was pulling the tree to pieces. A storm of branches, twigs and leaves flew around Rashid.

  “Have you ever heard a log hiss in a hot fire? As when the heat penetrates to the soft core, turning the moisture to steam which forces its way from every crevice and interstice, making the log sizzle and hiss like a snake. In a similar way, the poor myrtle moaned and whined. Finally, it exclaimed in a sad, tearful voice, ‘Friend knight! If you are as good and kind as you appear, release this animal from my branches! I’m suffering enough without this additional and entirely unnecessary imposition!’

  “I suppose it’s needless to say that Rashid was astonished at this example of vegetable v
erbosity. Nevertheless, he wasted no time in releasing the hippogryph.

  “‘Whoever or whatever you are,’ he said, blushing, ‘whether ghost or god, please accept my apologies. If I’ve disarranged your branches or bruised your bark, it was only that I never suspected that a spirit dwelled within.’

  “‘That’s all right,’ replied the tree. ‘There’s little harm done after all, thank you.

  “‘I see from your arms,’ continued the spirit, ‘that you are Rashid, the great knight.’

  “‘Then you have the advantage of me,’ Rashid replied, ‘since I don’t know who or what you may be—may Allah’s hailstones forever spare you! If I may, now or in the future, be of further service to you, by way of amends for the hurt I have done you however inadvertently, then I swear, by the fair woman in whose keeping lies the best part of me—’”

  “He said that?” asked Bradamant. “Did he really say that?”

  “Well, of course he did. As I was saying, ‘I promise you,’ said Rashid, ‘by the fair woman in whose keeping lies the best part of me—’”

  “Oh!”

  “‘—that I shall undertake to give you every cause to thank me.’”

  “When the tree heard this, it quivered from crown to root and beads of dew oozed through every pore of its bark, like green wood will sweat when overwhelmed by the heat of a fire.

  “‘I’ll tell you my story, and who I am,” replied the myrtle, its voice softer than ever. ‘My name is Astolph—’”

  “Astolph!” cried Bradamant. “Duke Astolph? My cousin?”

  “Astolph is a relative?”

  “Yes! Through his father Otho he’s heir to the throne of the Angles! I remember him very well. Handsome and graceful and well-liked by everyone . . . especially by the ladies,” she added with a graceful blush.

  “Well, that’s very nice—but if I may go on: Astolph told Rashid how he was shipwrecked on this very same island of Cipangu. When he awoke, he explained to Rashid, he found himself on a beach above which rose a high castle. As he lay there, still too weak to stand, he saw a beautiful woman glide through a gate and descend onto the sand. Taking no notice of the man who lay not twenty paces from her, she walked to the edge of the water and began to call the fish from the sea.

  “‘I recognized her almost at once,’ said Astolph to Rashid. ‘It was the sorceress Alcina, of course.’

  “‘Morgan’s sister?’ he exclaimed.

  “‘Her twin sister, which is twice as bad as I was soon to learn. But on that beach, when I first saw her, I gave no thought to her reputation. All I could think was that this was the loveliest woman I had ever seen. What was more, I was certain she felt much the same about me, as I thought I could plainly tell from the expression on her face when she finally turned and looked at me.

  “‘I didn’t think twice about following her into her castle, where I was entertained by every conceivable luxury, so inflamed she was with love for me. The same fire burned within me no less ardently, I can tell you, and, should you be so unfortunate to glimpse her yourself, you’d see why. She’s impossibly beautiful and indulgent. Every imaginable delight is condensed in that delicious, delicate, sinuous body; every treasure in the world is concentrated in those secret vaults. Lost within her, I forgot all about the emperor and my family and my duty and my honor. Every Godly intention I ever had ended in her and went no further.

  “‘And in my conceit I was certain that she was equally enamored of myself. I believed her when she told me that she’d abandoned all her previous lovers in my favor—and I knew that they were numberless. She kept me by her side day and night—and I sat at her side as well, as she had made me her equal in the rule of the island and all its inhabitants. She spoke to no one else—only to me.’

  “The tree shook so violently that it threatened to bury Rashid beneath a flurry of branches and leaves. ‘Why do I torture myself by recalling how good and lovely she was, when it was by her own hand that I am as I am now?’

  “‘What happened?’ Rashid asked gently. ‘What did she do?’

  “‘While I wandered around the castle,’ replied Astolph, ‘happily blind in my infatuation, thinking that Alcina loved me as she had loved and would love no one else in the world, she had already reclaimed her heart and given it to another.’

  “‘She had found another lover?’

  “‘As she had done, I discovered, a thousand times before. She cast me out without a word. I’d existed in bliss for but two months. No longer and no less than any lover before me. Why hadn’t I suspected this earlier?’

  “‘I wondered that myself.’

  “‘Well, this is where you’ll understand the sort of monster she truly is. In order to maintain the purity of her reputation—without which her island would be shunned like the plague-spot it is—she transforms each of her spurned and disdained lovers into some feature of this lovely landscape you’ve been enjoying.’

  “‘You mean—?’

  “‘Yes. Some she turned into fir trees, some into fruit and nut trees, some into willows or aspens or poplars. Others became beds of flowers and vegetables, birdbaths and lawn ornaments; others were transformed into sheep and lambs and goats and pigs and chickens—I shudder even now when I think back on all the sumptious meals I enjoyed in the company of that damned witch. And that wasn’t the end of it! All of this island, every rock, pinnacle, cave, spring, stream and cascade, every path, meadow, hut, haywain, sundial, cast iron deer, mushroom, bird and insect, every visible feature of it is a testimony to her fickleness.’

  “Rashid leaped to his feet, looking with uncomfortable apology at the rock upon which he had been sitting. Had he just committed an unpardonable rudeness to some fellow knight?

  ”’And now you’re here and whoever’s currently enjoying Alcina’s favors is doomed to become a paperweight or doorstop. She’ll offer to share her scepter with you and you’ll reign over this island and her heart and think yourself the happiest of all mortals—but make no mistake, in two months’ time you’ll be joining the rest of the bric-a-brac in cluttering up the landscape. Well, there you are. I’ve warned you, for whatever good it may do you.’

  “This remarkable account certainly gave Rashid something to think about. He might not have believed it had it not been sworn to him by a shrub. He had sworn to help Astolph in your name, Bradamant, and would have done so gladly if he’d any idea how to do it. But he couldn’t imagine what he could do, other than to offer the plant a little water.

  “The only plan he could think of was to confront the sorceress boldly and force her to recant her spells. Having decided this, he said his farewells to the grateful plant and prepared for his trek, which Astolph said shouldn’t be long since the castle lay scarcely two or three miles distant. Rashid decided to ride Papillon, but with the beast’s great wings bound to its sides. He no longer trusted it to obey the bridle if he again allowed it to take flight.

  “As he rode, he resolved to do whatever was necessary to avoid falling into Alcina’s power. ‘I shall simply overwhelm her with force, if I go about it the right way,’ he told himself. ‘My inherent virtue should be proof enough against her magic.’

  “He had scarcely gone two miles when he caught sight of the castle, rising between where he stood and the distant shoreline. It was a very strange-looking place with its slender towers shimmering as though through a heat-haze. It was as brilliant, cold and translucent as blown glass. An odd, pleasant, melodic sound, carried by the faint breeze, drifted from it. Goading his beast, he began the descent into the valley. As soon as he entered the woods that surrounded the castle, he was barred by a high wall defended by a horde of monsters.”

  “Monsters!” Bradamant cried. “Oh, Melissa, I wish you wouldn’t drag the story out like this! Where’s Rashid now? What’s become of him? Is he well or is he hurt? Please! I must know!”

  “I know this is difficult, my brave girl, but it is necessary, as you’ll see. Please bear with me just a few minutes more and everythi
ng’ll be clear.”

  “If you say so,” was the girl’s surly reply, “but it’d better not be very much longer and it’d better be worth it.”

  “Patience. As I was saying, Rashid was facing a covey of uncanny monstrosities, no two alike—a blessing, he realized quickly, since there was not one of them he’d care to see twice.

  “The leader of these creatures, a monstrosity with its face in its stomach, barked at Rashid to turn around and return from where he came.

  “‘Not while I can still wield this,’ the knight replied, brandishing the point of his sword in the monster’s face. The creature’s only reply was to snarl and lunge at Rashid with its spear, but the knight skewered it by the force of its own rush and the loathsome thing burst like a pricked boil. Grasping his shield, Rashid leaped from the back of Papillon, flourishing his sword in every direction. The enemy came in overwhelming numbers, absolutely heedless of their companions whom Rashid was slicing, eviscerating and beheading left and right. The horrible things burst like fleshy piñatas. They poured over him like locusts, biting, scratching, clawing, stinging, sucking, licking and chewing. Rashid did the best he could, chopping away savagely. Fortunately, the monsters were unarmored—indeed, most of them were innocent of any adornment—not that helmet or cuirass or mail would have been of any avail against Balisard, Rashid’s incredible sword—and the brave knight was soon buried to his hips in wriggling body parts, drenched from head to foot in steaming gore and entrails. Not that it did him any good because for every creature he despatched, five more sprang onto him. To hold his own he would have needed the hundred arms of Briareus.”

  “But the shield! That was Atalante’s shield! Why didn’t he uncover it and use it?”

  “Who knows? Perhaps he thought it an unworthy advantage, to resort to such magical trickery in lieu of valor.”

  “True! That would be just like him!” Bradamant sighed admiringly.

  “Then again, he may have absent-mindedly left it attached to Papillon’s saddle.”

  “Never!”

  “In any case, he decided that he’d prefer to fight to the death than give himself up as a prisoner to such filthy beasts. And it looked as though that’d be the dénoument of this encounter: his death—by exhaustion if nothing else—seemed the only possible end.