by John White
John's heart was beating furiously. His breath came in frightened gasps. He glanced at Bjorn whose face was pale and set, his lips pressed tightly together. Bjornsluv's fists were clenched at her side, and Vixenia's brush was low on the ground. The guards began to climb uncertainly to their feet. Hardly knowing what he was doing, John snatched his sword from its scabbard, and instantly a low but penetrating hum filled all the glade, while from the sword came a flashing blue light that rivaled the light of the sun. The guards drew their own swords, looking to Bjorn for further orders. For several more seconds no one moved or spoke.
At last Bjorn said to Mab, "Unhappily I know not the extent of your powers, nor yet of his," nodding at John. "But understand, magician—or prophet if you must so call yourself—that I am responsible for the lives of this company. I do not wish to fight with you. I need your aid. Yet so long as I fear for the Sword Bearer's loyalty I must take precautions. Know, O magician—which surely is no different from prophet—that however much I fear your power, I fear much more the powers and malice of the Mystery. I must secure the Sword Bearer, even if it takes every Matmon in my company. So take him, guards!"
The guards eyed John uncertainly. John raised his flashing sword above his head and cast a desperate glance in the direction of the magician. And this time he saw the flash at its source, for from Mab's still raised staff twin lightning streaks of blue fire roared into the ground on either side of him.
"Entrust him to me if you cannot trust the prophecies!" Mab cried in anger.
"How do I know ... ?"
"You have seen my powers! They are greater than his! You would be in no danger, even if he were a follower of the Mystery, which he is not. No harm will come to the company if you commit him to my care."
Bjorn drew in a worried breath.
"And you will bring us to the island?"
"I will bring you to the island."
Bjorn paused. "And give us the wine of free pardon?"
"And give you the wine of free pardon."
This time there was a longer pause. Bjorn was frowning. At last he nodded. "Let it be so then." He glanced at the guards. "Sheath your swords," he said. And then he turned to John and said, not unkindly, "Go then to the magician, Sword Bearer, and do as he bids."
John discovered his legs were unstable columns of gelatin, as he stumbled, sick with relief, to where the seer was standing at the foot of the giant eagle. He hardly glanced at the sloping ceiling of white eagle feathers above his head, but as he looked up instead at the ancient face above him, he found himself staring into a pair of friendly blue eyes that were wrapped in wrinkles and lines of laughter, hooded by shaggy white eye-brows. The white hair from Mab's head tumbled over the shoulders of his blue velvet gown. "You must do all I say, for perils surround you," he said quietly.
John nodded, his throat too dry to speak.
"And the child must have food and drink," Bjornsluv cried, relief written large on her grandmotherly face. "I go to prepare something. He is but a child." She turned and strode energetically toward a small square tent at the edge of the forest which she shared with her husband.
The Matmon had come to life and were moving slowly here and there, relieved that the tension was at an end. The relief had softened even the hard character of the prophet, for suddenly he called again to the Matmon king, striding across the grass toward him with John at his side. "Food—yes—food! And wine of the best! Let us feast tonight as we make our plans for the journey. There will be perils enough ahead."
"Food? Alas, we have barely enough. And as for wine ..." Bjorn began.
Mab laughed, and turning his head to the gargantuan bird behind him, he called, "Aguila! A feast, Aguila! Fetch us a feast that is fitting for a company of kings!"
The eagle spread her wings until they seemed to span the glade. Lazily she leapt upward, sweeping the great wings powerfully downward so that the wind rushed about their eyes and the branches of nearby trees bent and creaked. A moment later she was shrinking in size as she surged into the sky.
8
* * *
John Behaves
Badly
John should have been happy but he wasn't Bjornsluv had given him a meal that any boy would have enjoyed. He had feasted on cheese and sausages, fried bacon and eggs, hotcakes and honey, nuts and fruits of many variedes. He had then washed everything down with fresh, creamy milk.
But he was not happy. You would have thought that to be rescued from execution would have done something to his mood. But the relief of his rescue had lasted only minutes. Even the strange business of the Gaal tree had failed to shake him from his petulant self-centeredness.
Mab knew all about Gaal trees. He had invited John to "share his tree," and John had supposed that he was being invited to some kind of tree house. So when they had stopped at a large oak tree on the edge of the glade and Mab had said, "This is it!" John had stared up into the branches.
But Mab had raised his staff and talked to the tree in the name of the Changer. And as he talked, a door in the tree trunk had swung open. "In you go!" Mab had said to him. And John, shrugging his shoulders and trying to behave as if doors on oak trees were an everyday occurrence, stepped nonchalantly through.
To his surprise he found himself in a large and comfortably furnished room—a room that was larger on the inside than the trunk of the tree on the outside. But he was determined not to show his surprise. After all, the Sword Bearer ought to know all about Gaal trees. And since Mab seemed to take no further notice of him and did not bother to explain how something could be larger inside than out, John had to stifle his curiosity. But he felt resentful. Somebody, he felt, ought to explain things like this. Shouldn't the Changer have told him? But then, there was no Changer. Bitterness twisted his lips.
He had dozed fitfully on a couch for a little while, waking from a brief sleep to find Mab still silently perusing a parchment scroll.
I wish he'd talk to me," he thought Yet for some reason he could not explain, he was reluctant to break the silence himself.
He strolled to a window that looked out on the glade. As he did so, it occurred to him that no window had been visible on the outside of the tree. The more he thought about the matter, the more puzzled he became. He decided he would go out to see again what the tree looked like from the outside. "Perhaps if I go quietly he won't notice," he thought But when he turned to the door, there was no sign of it The room was a room without a door. Anger boiled inside him as he stared with hard eyes at the glade.
Mab was probably laughing at him. The Sword Bearer was still a prisoner, the prisoner of a wrinkled old man who did nothing but read a parchment scroll and mutter to himself from time to time. "He was very excited when he saw me in my dream," John thought resentfully. "Why does he ignore me now? After all, I am the Sword Bearer."
The remainder of the afternoon proved exceedingly boring. The monotony was broken only by the news brought from two Matmon that the search party sent to find Bildreth had returned empty-handed. This, of course, did nothing to improve John's mood.
But at last as the sun began to go down, Mab raised his head and said, "Aguila should be back soon. Let's go outside and see if we can see her. Sorry I've been busy with the records. Hope you've not been lonely."
John said nothing. "He's treating me just like a boy, and I'm the Sword Bearer," he thought. Mab crossed the room to where the door had been, and as he did so it not only reappeared but opened itself. "There you are!" he said cheerfully. "After you, young sir!"
Outside John stared at the tree trunk Once the door had closed again, the trunk became like any other tree trunk. There was no sign of either door or windows. But Mab was striding on across the glade, and he hurried after him, hardly noticing the warm sense of summer, which normally would have intoxicated him, and ignoring the crowd of Matmon the seer joined.
The Matmon all stared expectantly at the western end of the glade where the sun hung low on the trees. A clamor of cawing rooks could be
heard above the Matmon talk, and from time to time a restless crowd of the birds would boil up over the distant trees.
But finally they saw what they were looking for. The powerful silhouette of Aguila, flanked by fourteen other eagles, seven on either side of her, moved steadily toward them, their wings driving rhythmically. They were large birds, though not nearly the size of Aguila, each carrying some load. But below Aguila was suspended the largest object of all. Excited chatter filled with speculation arose as to what it was. Finally as the giant eagle came closer, several voices cried, "A table! It's a table! She's bringing an enormous table!"
The wrinkles in Mab's face deepened in a broad and complacent smile as if he knew all about the eagles and what they were bringing, as indeed he did. John concentrated on looking unconcerned, glancing at the birds from time to time with superciliously raised eyebrows. The Sword Bearer would surely be used to unusual events. Whatever happened he was determined to establish his superiority. So as the exclamations over the size of the table grew in volume, he said to no one in particular, "Well, what do you expect? How can you have a feast without a table?" The seer threw him a worried look but said nothing.
The table, long enough to seat more than a hundred people and low enough for them to sit on the grass, landed a little bumpily. But it seemed none the worse for wear, and the moment it was on the ground, the first pair of eagles, carrying a long white linen cloth between their beaks, spread it in less time than you would take to throw a tea cloth over a card table. And in pairs several more eagles set down linen napkins, silver flagons and goblets, silver bowls and platters, and silver knives and forks which several Matmon arranged quickly on the table. The remaining eagles then loaded the table with steaming roast geese and ducks, whole roast boars with apples in their mouths, cheeses, wine, fresh and dried fruit, cakes, pies and fruit-flavored sherbets.
"Have you further orders, my lord seer?" Aguila's voice was harsh and unmusical.
"Nothing except to ask whether you have arranged for lights when darkness falls," Mab said.
"All is arranged," the giant eagle croaked.
The old man bowed to her courteously. "Go then to your aerie," he said, "and accept our gratitude for your provision. You have done well." All the eagles with Aguila then flew silently back toward the setting sun, which was now hidden by the trees.
And so a hundred Matmon feasted in the gathering dusk along with Mab and John. Folly the donkey begged to be excused for any seeming discourtesy, explaining that he was a vegetarian and would prefer to nibble a little grass beside the table. Vixenia, on the other hand, played gingerly with a large goose leg on a silver platter. The Matmon tucked their linen napkins around their necks and seized the meat with their fingers, ignoring the knives and forks. They ate noisily and gleefully.
Mab ate thoughtfully with knife and fork, his napkin resting on his knees except when he raised it carefully to wipe his lips, his mustache or the top of his beard.
Out of the corner of his eye John watched him. He had never before experienced such a feast and was not sure how to behave. But he was determined not to show his ignorance and carefully copied Mab, dabbing his lips delicately with one corner of his linen napkin (which he called a serviette) and glancing scornfully at the vulgarity displayed by the Matmon.
Wine was poured, and an air of merriment enlivened the party. Then as darkness fell, the scene was slowly transformed. A million fireflies converged on them to form a dancing canopy of light above the table. This was the illumination Aguila had promised. Firefly light softened the faces of the feasters and gently burnished the silver bowls and plates. And from nowhere onto everyone's ears gentle music fell sweetly and soothingly to mingle with their talk and laughter.
At any other time John would have been entranced. But now he was sulky, resentful of everybody around him, including the prophet, and profoundly discontented. What point was there in being the Sword Bearer? Swords were for cutting and killing. Swords were for heroic action. When was he going to be able to show them what he could do? Resentment welled inside him as he looked at Bjorn. One day Bjorn was going to be sorry.
Then as he stared at the two bearded young Matmon seated by Bjorn and Bjornsluv, he started, staring at them closely. Yes, he was sure. These were the two he used to dream about, in the dream where one murdered the other for a gold chain. Later he was to learn that the murdered one was Bjorn's grandson, Rathson, and the murderer, his grandson's cousin, Goldson.
Only Mab seemed aware that all was not well with John, and for the most part he was too busy conversing with Bjorn to pay much attention to him.
"So the bird exists," Bjorn said. "We had heard tales of her but dismissed them as empty legends. Never have I seen such magic."
"What you call magic is the mystical power of the Changer. It might solve a problem for you. Tell me, from whence will you get supplies for the long journey you propose?"
Bjorn's face grew solemn. "That is indeed a problem. When I proposed a feast I had nothing such as this in mind. We carry our supplies partly on what few horses we have and partly on our backs, and our weapons at our sides. But our stores are meager. We hunt There are also nuts and roots in the forest. But I feel we may go hungry ere long. A feast like this .. ."
He left the sentence unfinished, reached for a duck and tore off a leg and a wing with his fingers as he spoke. Mab watched him in silence. Then after some moments, as the Matmon king ate on, he said, "To the Changer it is a small matter to provide a daily feast"
Bjorn looked at him sharply. "You are still going to accom-pany us then? And you would command her to do this thing every day?"
But the seer did not reply.
They ate and drank for an hour or more, their joy arising more from the surprise of the feast and the abundance of good food than from the wine. Yet they sang and toasted one another until the table was bare of food.
And at that point Mab rose to his feet and rapped on the table. A wave of silence passed slowly through the company. Firefly-lit faces turned expectantly toward him. He straightened his shoulders and lifted his head in defiance of his great age. "Your majesties! Rebels against the dark powers! The feast you have enjoyed reflects the kindness of my master, Mi-ka-ya, the Changer and Maker. You have chosen to forsake the Mystery of Abominadon and wish to serve my Master. Your willingness to seek and serve the Regents on the Island of Geburah, risking the malice of the Mystery, is proof enough of your change of heart. But know that before you can enter my Master's service, you must drink the wine of free pardon."
From beneath the table, he withdrew a small wineskin. "Already you have seen in Gutreth's body and mind what effect the purifying fires of this wine can have. I call on you now to drink of it with me!"
A blanket of silence fell over the group. Slowly, to the strange music of the fireflies, the prophet moved around the table pouring wine from the small wineskin into their goblets. Small though it was, it never appeared to empty of the wine of free pardon. Mab continued to fill goblet after goblet until he had completed a full round of the table. He raised his own. "Drink!" he said quietly. "Drink freely of the Changer's pardon!"
The Matmon raised their goblets and began to drink. Most of them drank deeply. A few, including the murderous Matmon of John's dream, coughed, spat and angrily flung the contents of their goblets onto the grass. But still nobody spoke. Vixenia sniffed at the wine and then slowly began to lap.
John stared at the firefly-lit faces. A few bore scowls. Plainly they were displeased with the wine. Others began to tremble. He stared at these, fascinated. The silence seemed to deepen as the firefly music grew fainter. Before long, his attention was arrested by a Matmon facing him, whose hands and arms were shaking as though he had a fever. Perspiration glistened on the Matmon's upturned face so that it seemed almost to shine while from his eyes tears streamed.
For the moment or two John looked away, embarrassed. What had the wine done? Could he have become drunk so quickly? He looked at him again. No,
he didn't seem drunk His arms rested on the table in front of him. He made no attempt to dry his tears, and the look on his face was not a look of pain, but of joy, as he gazed at something he alone could see.
For the moment John forgot his restless discontent. He drew a deep breath, and before he realized what he was doing he had asked the Matmon, "Are you all right?"
There was no reply, and John repeated his question. Slowly the Matmon lowered his face and looked at John, his lips apart and his tear-filled eyes shining. He nodded. "Yes. Yes, I think so." He seemed bemused with wonder.
"Why are you shaking?"
There was a pause. "I don't know."
"Are you scared?"
"No. No, your lordship, I don't think so."
"And why are you crying?"
"Because—because I am happy."
"Happy ? But why?"
The Matmon slowly shook his head from side to side. Fresh tears fell from his eyes. Turning his face upward again, he murmured, "Such kindness. Such great kindness. Who would have dreamt it could be ..."
John's eyes swept the table. Many of the Matmon seemed to have been affected by the wine in much the same way as the one facing him. Some trembled more violently. Others were perfectly still. But all those who had drunk deeply had their faces transformed by joy.
He became aware that the seer was staring at him, and he grew uncomfortable. The eyes were searching his mind.
"Have you drunk of the wine, Sword Bearer?"
"No. I've never drunk wine in my life."