The Sword Bearer

by John White

  So that was it Could it be? He had scarcely looked at the other side of the door through which he had passed and had never seen the outside of it.

  "What lies beyond it Sword Bearer?"

  John was about to reply, "The Changer is on the other side of that door"—but he changed his mind. "It would be simple enough to find out Why don't you open it?"

  Even in the lantern light he could see the pallor on Gutreth's face. Still with his hands on the saddlebag Bildreth laughed. "Afraid, my friend?" he said, addressing Gutreth. Nothing was said for a moment Then slowly Bildreth withdrew his hands from the bag, flipped the leather cover into place and walked to the door.

  He hesitated for a moment, then gripped the handle with both hands. At once he screamed and his hands flew into the air as he fell backward to writhe on the ground crying, "My hands! My hands! Oh, Mi-ka-ya! My hands!" But John was staring at the door. For a moment it seemed to wave like a curtain blowing in a breeze. Then it faded from view and disappeared. No sign of it remained.

  Bildreth's hands were badly burned, and for several minutes Gutreth, still pale and shaken, anointed them with ointment binding them with linen bandages from one of Folly's saddlebags. Then taking an axe, he strode up an incline behind John. Bildreth followed him, cursing softly as he looked at his bandaged hands.

  John stared at Folly. "Who are they?" he said, "And what do they want with me? Where are we, anyway?"

  "Where are we? Of course. Exactly. We are—how shall I put it—in a wood, among trees, if you know what I mean—"

  "Yes, but what place is this? Does it have a name?"

  "Ah yes, a name, how stupid of me. My poor scattered brain. A name you say. The name is Anthropos. You have heard of Anthropos, no doubt?"

  John shook his head. "No, but it doesn't matter. What are they going to do with me?"

  The donkey rolled his eyes, waggled his ears and sighed. "Wheels within wheels. Plots and counterplots—if you follow me." (John didn't, but he said nothing, hoping that Folly would eventually get to the point.) "We are—how shall I put it—reverting back to Mi-ka-ya, the Changer. Bildreth and Gutreth are against the idea. The Lord Lunacy told them you were coming and told them to capture you, shut you in the cave just above us. They are to cover the mouth of the cave with branches to conceal it. Lord Lunacy wants to talk to you."

  He rolled his eyes once more. "We're all kings, you know. I am King Folly, king of all donkeys. My stupidities entitle me to the high dignity. Bildreth and Gutreth are not of royal descent But they are—how shall I say it—entitled to their opinions. Don't you agree?"

  John said nothing. After a moment Folly said quietly, "I will tell Vixenia and King Bjorn of your whereabouts. Have no fear. You will be rescued."

  There was no time for further conversation for the Matmon returned. This time Gutreth lifted John and within two minutes he had been bundled into a rocky opening in the hillside. Both Matmon remained silent Gutreth released his bonds and the two withdrew, taking their lantern with them. A heavy boulder was rolled against the opening, and for a few minutes John could see chinks of light around it and hear the muffled sounds of the Matmon as they sought to disguise the cave mouth. Then came darkness and silence.

  John scrambled to his feet, rubbing his wrists and ankles gently. He groped his way to the cave mouth, felt the coldness of the rock in the entrance and traced the outline of the huge boulder that was rolled against it. For a while he strained his ears for sounds of the Matmon and Folly. But he could hear nothing. Then straining his muscles to the utmost he pushed against the boulder. It rocked a little. Again he pushed and yet again. He began to perspire and breathe hard. Then grunting desperately he strained until his head and heart were pound-ing. But he could move it no farther. The task was beyond him.

  Slowly he groped his way farther into the cave. In a few minutes he would explore it by feel. For the moment he would rest. He squatted on the dry sandy floor and leaned against a smooth wall. Curiously, he was not disheartened. His rage had subsided. Somehow Bildreth's injury at the mysterious door, coupled with Folly's remarks, had heartened him. He was not glad that Bildreth had been hurt, but encouraged to know the Changer's power was near. Warm memories of the Changer flooded his mind.

  His old shoulder injury, the injury inflicted by Old Nick's crowbar, began to trouble him again. A throbbing ache grew in his shoulder until he winced with pain. Suddenly light danced faintly before his eyes. As he stared, it took shape, forming a tall column, then resolving itself into the giant robed figure of a hideously beautiful man. His deathly pallor iliuminated the floor and walls of the cave. He was exceedingly tall so that his feet rested below the floor, and his head and shoulders could be seen through the rock above the ceiling of the cave. "I am the Lord Lunacy, disturber of moonlight" The voice was cool and musical.

  John said nothing. He could feel the slow thumping of his heart, another trickle of cold sweat down his back and the awful stabbing of pain in his left shoulder. He stared at the strange figure before him, wondering why it seemed as though life was being slowly pressed out of him. His mind began to freeze. A power greater than his own was taking control of his thoughts and feelings.

  "I am indeed sorry about all that has happened to you," the cool voice continued. "You have had a difficult time—a very difficult time."

  Suddenly as the words left the lips of the Lord Lunacy, John began to feel sorry for himself. Yes, he had indeed had a difficult time.

  "It's such a pity about the Changer," Lord Lunacy went on.

  "A pity? What do you mean?"

  "Well, he doesn't exist, you know. There is no Changer."

  "But I've met him! I heard his voice," John said, struggling against the power.

  "Yes, yes, of course. You've met him and you've heard his voice. It must have seemed very real to you." The voice of the Lord Lunacy seemed compassionate and concerned.

  "Oh, it did! It felt wonderful!"

  There was a pause. Then, "It was only a dream, you know."

  John's heart sank "It didn't seem like a dream," he said anxiously. "I mean it was so—well, like you said, so real."

  "That's the sad part about it. You see, it wasn't real. It was just a dream. I know all about dreams. They belong to the night, you see, and I'm the ruler of night."

  John remained silent, his thoughts powerfully shaped by the being before him. The Changer not real? What was real? Dismay softened his bones and weakened his muscles.

  "You're angry with the Changer, aren't you?" the Lord Lunacy asked quietly.

  "Angry? No. I'm not angry. What makes you say that?"

  "It's natural that you should be angry with him."

  John struggled to resist feelings that threatened to sweep him into darkness.

  "You just said he didn't exist. How can I be angry with him if he doesn't exist? You can't be angry with someone who's only a dream!"

  "You certainly can. And you are, aren't you? Don't be ashamed of it. Anger is normal. It's human."

  He felt trapped. The throbbing of his shoulder was almost unbearable.

  "I'm not angry!" he almost yelled.

  "And yet you shout."

  "But if he doesn't exist. . ." His voice was even louder.

  "It makes no difference. Let yourself be angry with him— even if he doesn't exist! What does it matter whether he exists or not? The dream creature has given you false hope. It has pre-tended to comfort you, then thrown you to the wolves." Furious-ly John struggled to cling to what he knew was true. The Lord Lunacy reached down a cold white hand and touched his fore-head, and at his touch something exploded inside him and John's confusion left him. Everything was revealed in clear lines. The Changer did not exist And John was angry. A few moments before he had felt almost stifled. Now a cold rage filled him, a rage with the nonexistent Changer, with his dead grandmother, with his father and his captors.

  "He abandoned you, of course."

  "Who abandoned me?"

  "Your father. He didn't
want you. He was and is an irresponsible drunk You hate him."

  "Yes." Of course he did. Why had he never realized it before?

  "You despise him."

  "Yes!"

  There was a pause. John's heart beat with fierce exultation.

  "In fact you hate him!"

  "Yes."

  "You never want to see him. You will not seek him."

  "No, I won't"

  "Then pull the chain from your neck and throw the ring and locket away."

  Mechanically John groped round his neck He was mildly surprised to find the string had become a fine gold chain. Pulling it over his head, he looked dully at what had once been his most treasured possession.

  "Give it to me!" John looked up at the specter. Its hand was extended to him. For the first time he nodced that the white glow was dnged faintly with yellow green. John's head began of itself to shake from side to side. He didn't want it to, but it was shaking. The shaking would not stop. Did he imagine it— or did a look of rage flash across the face of the Lord Lunacy? Slowly John replaced the chain round his neck. He had really wanted to give it to him and could not quite understand what was happening.

  The Lord Lunacy smiled slowly. "You know it is bad to hate and despise people? You despised the boys in Ellor Street, didn't you? You thought you were better than them. You hated them, didn't you? Face it You are evil."

  John said nothing. The pain in his shoulder, as fierce as ever, had become strangely pleasurable. The Lord Lunacy condnued. "So this means you are bad."

  Bad? So he was bad. But after all, what did it matter? What had he to lose? In fact, why not be bad? A feeling of strength grew inside him. It felt good to be bad.

  "You are feeling the power of evil within you. You always were evil. But until now you didn't know it"

  Still John did not speak His exultation did not change, even though the Lord Lunacy's words grated on him. He stared at the dead white figure before him, wondering vaguely how his head and shoulder could be seen through the rock when there was no hole. Solid things were not solid after all. The figure before him seemed to switch itself off, just like a light bulb, and velvet blackness touched his eyes again. The presence was gone. Yet John was gripped with a wild exhilaration. He was evil. It was a new sensation to him, a sensation he had never before dared to let himself feel. He was different What adventures awaited him now? The pain in his shoulder slowly sub-sided to a dull and throbbing ache.

  6

  * * *

  Death

  Sentence

  The sun's glare dazzled John. He squinted at the strange trio in front of him, King Bjorn and Queen Bjornsluv seated on boulders, and Vixenia, her brush curled neatly around her feet. On either side of him stood two Matmon with swords. A fly persisted in buzzing round his head, settling annoyingly on his face from time to time so that he was obliged to wave it away constandy.

  To his left, on slighdy lower ground in the forest glade, an assortment of Matmon sat on the grass and watched them. John had looked eagerly for Folly, king of donkeys, but Folly was not there. He realized with dismay that his rescue from the cave was not through Folly's intervention.

  It had been a huge relief when first he had heard the sound of the boulder being removed. It had been glorious to be hit by a burst of sunlight from the cave's mouth. But his rescuers had been surly and uncommunicative. Hungry and thirsty, he had asked them about food and drink, but they had ignored him, bustling him unceremoniously along a narrow forest trail. Three hours later they had reached the very forest glade he had dreamed about in Pendleton.

  "You say you are the Sword Bearer" Bjorn said in measured tones.

  "Yes, I am."

  "Then where is your sword?"

  Out of the corner of his eye, John had seen Bildreth's bitter twisted face among the little assembly on his left.

  "The one you call Bildreth took it from me. He took the scabbard and the sword—and my belt."

  Bildreth sprang to his feet, his thin lips curling in a sneer. "He lies! He had no sword—"

  "Silence!" Bjorn shouted. "You have already spoken. You will not speak again unless you are bidden, Bildreth son of Baldon!"

  Then turning to John, he asked the same question, "Where is your sword."

  John felt sorry for himself, resentful and a little frightened. "He took it," he said, "I'm not lying. There was another one with him called Gutreth. He told him to take it from me. Gutreth said I was the Sword Bearer and it would be safer if they took my sword."

  Again Bildreth stood, crying in agitation, "It is false! It is false! I was alone when I captured him. I, Bildreth alone, subdued him! Alone I imprisoned him in the cave! I speak truth!"

  Bjorn's face was purple. "Silence, I said! You will be sealed in the cave yourself if you speak out unbidden again."

  Queen Bjornsluv's merry eyes were fixed on John's face. "He has the same voice," she said.

  "And the same shape," Vixenia barked.

  "—and he has not the face of one who is accustomed to lying. Where were you going, young one, when you were captured?" Bjornsluv continued.

  "I don't know."

  "You don't know? Explain yourself," demanded the king.

  "I came through the door. When I opened it, it was dark, very dark I couldn't see anything and I had no idea where I was. I thought it might be here, so I felt for the scabbard—"

  "You came through what door?"

  "Oh—er, from the Changer—"

  "You say you came from the Changer?"

  John hesitated. Was there a Changer? The Lord Lunacy had said it was a dream. Was everything a dream? Was he dreaming now? If he was, then he was dreaming that his mouth was parched. He was also dreaming that he was sick with hunger, that he felt dizzy and confused, and that a fly kept landing on his face. He waved it away angrily. "I don't know."

  "You don't know?"

  "I thought it was the Changer," John sighed. "It was beautiful. But maybe I was dreaming."

  "What is your name?" King Bjorn asked.

  John thought quickly. He knew his life might depend on the answer. "I am John the Sword Bearer," he replied.

  "So you are John the Sword Bearer without your sword," Bjorn returned evenly.

  "It was stolen from me."

  "And you were unable to defend yourself, Sword Bearer."

  "I told you already," John said, "I didn't even know where I was. It was pitch-black. Two of them knocked me down before I knew what was happening. The one called Gutreth weighs half a ton." Suddenly he felt very sorry for himself. "Besides, I'm only a boy," he pouted.

  Bjorn's voice was cold. "I have no idea what a boy is. But I know you are a Sword Bearer without a sword. A magical Sword Bearer unable to defend himself against an ordinary Matmon. Not a spy, of course. Not a spy acting under orders from the Mystery of Abomination."

  His rugged face was set in stone. A breeze sighed through the

  boughs of the surrounding trees and rippled in fluffy moving waves of light across the grasses of the meadow. The faces of the watching Matmon and animals were intent on the six participants in the trial. Far above them a summer cloud of cotton wool floated toward the sun.

  Bjornsluv touched her husband's hand. "My lord must not be too hard on him. I perceive from his face that though he may be troubled, he has been reared in truth." Turning to John she said, "Where is your home, John the Sword Bearer?"

  John sighed. "It's—it used to be—in Pendleton."

  "It used to be?"

  "Well—my granma died last night—at least I think it was last night, and they were going to send me away, so—"

  "So you ran away."

  "Yes, how did you know?"

  Bjornsluv smiled. "And where is your grandmother's home?"

  "Er—Pimblett's Place, Pendleton." He had the feeling that the words would be meaningless and he could see from their faces that they had not understood. "Pendleton—" he said, hopelessly. "It's in Lancashire. You know—in England."

 
"These words are empty. Such places do not exist" Bjorn's face was still set and to John he suddenly seemed stupid. After all he was small and fat

  "Idiot!" he hissed. "Of course they exist! I was born there. It's where I lived. What do you know of geography?" A surge of the exultation he had felt in the cave began to rise inside him. He felt contempt for the three in front of him and for the guards at his side. The summer cloud crossed the face of the sun, and a shadow swept over them all.

  Bjorn's eyes burned with anger. His tone was carefully controlled, but his voice shook a little. "I know only that the young respect the old, and that death awaits spies from the Mystery of Abomination."

  For the first time John saw beyond Vixenia and the Matmon king and queen the sinister figure of a hooded Matmon sharpening a heavy bronze axe on a whetstone beside a low tree stump.

  "The block is prepared," Bjorn said. "The teeth of an executioner's axe bite keenly, and young though you may be, your own head will be severed from your body if you prove to be a spy from the Mystery. And if you are nothing more than an impudent runaway, you will be lashed with whips."

  John's heart beat faster. Anger exploded inside him. He could feel his upper lip curling. He said nothing, but held his head high. Bjorn continued. "Tell us where you are from!"

  The rage inside him came to a boil. His head swam and the scene before him seemed shrouded in red curtains. Suddenly he lost control. "You idiots!" he screamed. "You stupid, ignorant idiots! I go to Salford Grammar School! I come from Pendleton! I can't help it if you don't know where it is! Don't ask me how I got here. I don't know! I had come the night before in a dream. A magician was here."

  The red curtains were lifting before his eyes, and unexpect-edly his rage began to subside as swiftly as it had come. He sighed again and continued more slowly. "The one you call Vixenia had summoned the magician through some kind of stone. He pointed at me and told you I was the Sword Bearer. And I said my name was John."

  Anger had now drained from him like a retreating wave on a sandy beach. He was hungry, hot and depressed.