The Sword Bearer

by John White

  Half sobbing, mainly with anger but also with fear, he scrambled madly down the rock, flung himself into the cleft that faced him and forced himself once more along the pathway leading to Old Nick's lair. He never knew what made him do it, only that he felt a desperation he had never felt before. In seconds he had reached the narrow section, squeezed himself through it and broken through into a sandy opening before a cave mouth.

  He hesitated for a second, then stepped boldly and angrily into its cool dimness. Almost at once he encountered water that filled a narrow cave. It seemed to become deeper the farther the cave went back But lying on his side half in the water and half on the damp sand of the cave floor was the huge body of Oso, his fur matted and bloodied.

  "Oso!"

  John's shriek echoed hollowly. He dropped to his knees beside the bear and stared into the half-opened eyes. His eyes were glazed, but something told John that Oso could see him. "Oso, are you all right? What can I do?"

  A barely perceptible sigh escaped the bear. He was still alive.

  Not knowing why he did so, John ran to the cave mouth, flung back his head and lifted his face to the sky. "Changer!" he screamed. "Changer who never changes! I thought I heard you laughing before! Where are you now? Where are you?"

  He continued to stare upward, his fists clenched, his feet planted wide, but the sky was empty and silent.

  He drew in a breath and stared into the cave mouth beyond the body. Was Nicholas Slapfoot farther in? Had he heard his shouts? Was it now up to John to use the sword and kill him? For the first time in his life he felt his knees knocking together and knew what real fear was. His mouth was dry and the blood was pounding in his head. He could hear the rhythmic rush of it in his ears. The passage ahead was dark, but trembling he stepped round Oso's body and waded into the shallow water, gripping his sword hilt as he did so.

  The tunnel narrowed and took a bend. Beyond the bend an evil red light glowed. John followed it cautiously, taking care to make no sound. The tunnel widened into a sizable cave whose roof was reflected in the still waters. He searched it with his eyes but could see no one. The floor beneath him was firm and sandy and the water shallow.

  With infinite caution he moved forward into the cave. The farther he proceeded, the deeper the water became. Soon it was up to his hips. A horrible thought crossed his mind. What if Nicholas Slapfoot were waiting for him beneath the water ? What if he were to be seized by the ankles and dragged into deeper water?

  Farther ahead, in the center of the cave, a rock rose above the water. He would be safe if he could clamber onto it Better still, a sloping ledge on the righthand side of the cave led to a sort of rocky platform about ten feet above the surface of the water. He waded to the ledge, pulled himself onto it and climbed up to the platform. He was obliged to crawl, for the roof of the cave was only a few feet above him. He squatted awkwardly on the ledge, uncertain what to do next

  If Nicholas Slapfoot was not there, then John could not kill him. A wave of relief swept over him. Perhaps, after all, he should leave the cave.

  He was still shaking, partly from fear and partly from cold. He felt he had been very courageous to have come this far. And he certainly had been. It takes a lot of courage to do things you are scared of doing.

  Suddenly his eyes were caught by a gleam of blue light beside him, the same color of blue that had surrounded the Changer. When he groped to feel the source of the light, his fingers encountered a stone the size of a pigeon's egg. Excited, he laid the stone in the palm of his hand, and as he did so he both felt and saw the thin chain attached to it that was draped over his hand.

  The stone radiated light, a strangely reassuring light that filled him with hope.

  Curious, he fingered the chain and let the stone hang from it, delighting in the beautiful light that reflected on his body and that glittered in dancing blue specks of light on the walls of the cave. He slipped the chain over his neck Instantly everything changed.

  He was at once filled with terrible shame and a sense of unbearable guilt. His fear of Nicholas Slapfoot was gone, and in its place there was a terror of the Changer. Suddenly he knew, knew with absolute certainty that the Changer existed, knew also with horrifying clarity that he would have to hide from the Changer if ever he encountered him in the future.

  What came as an even greater shock was the discovery that he was invisible. His body had disappeared. He knew he was still there. He could feel the cold rock beneath him and the inrush of air into his nose as he breathed in. But when he brought his hand in front of his eyes, there was no hand to be seen.

  It was distinctly unpleasant The sense of shame and guilt the fear of the Changer and the unnerving invisibility made a dreadful combination. He pulled the chain over his head, and at once the shame and guilt fell from him, and to his relief, he could see his own body again. Curiously, the power of the blue stone did not surprise him. He was growing accustomed to magical powers.

  The chill of the cave now seemed to enter his bones. He was shivering all the time now, and he decided to leave the cave. He glanced at the water below and as he did so, terror gripped him. Nicholas Slapfoot was sitting on the rock in the center of the pool. John lay flat on his stomach on the platform and peered cautiously over the edge. The creature was staring at something in his hand. John saw again the dark fish scales that clothed his body from the chest down. The arms were light in color, and like his face, his neck and his shoulders seemed to be covered with human skin. The lower limbs terminated in large webbed feet The light was too dim for John to see clearly what Old Nick was staring at It looked like a feather.

  The silence was broken by the sound of his voice. "So that's the end of you. There's just the boy now. An' I'll get 'im sooner or later. Eh, Aguila, my sweet? There'll be no more feasts at your magic table!" He continued to stare thoughtfully at the feather.

  But John was filled with dismay. What did he mean? That was the end of whom? Of Aguila? Had something happened to her? Plainly "the boy" that Old Nick talked about was himself. And just as plainly Old Nick was unaware of his presence in the cave.

  What was he to do? He realized at once that with the blue stone he had found there was a good chance of escape. He could become invisible. But once he was invisible he could also behead Old Nick Which was it to be? Escape? Or kill his ene-my?

  Now that he faced the possibility of killing the creature that sat only yards away from him, he felt sick with fear. Silendy he slipped the chain over his head and at once the sick fear was gone. His heart leapt He would kill Old Nick! Somehow he would get back to the camp and he would be a hero! He was the Sword Bearer.

  The sense of his own evil was strongly with him now. He was ashamed, but he despised the shame. Silently he crawled from the platform, making his way very cautiously down the ledge. When he reached the water, he was able to stand upright. He turned to look at Old Nick, and to his surprise saw that the upper part of Nick's body had been transformed. The head was now the head of a shark, the great mouth slighdy ajar, with one unseeing eye staring vacandy at John. The arms were gone, replaced by two small fins.

  John knew, without being told, that he was seeing Nicholas Slapfoot for the first time as he really was, seeing him by the power of the blue stone. Fascinated, he stared. He thought of the bowler-hatted man with the red neckerchief and the greasy black suit. He remembered the thick-soled boots and realized that the three-inch soles must have been hollow so webbed feet could be folded in.

  Then resolution filled him. He gripped the sword hilt firmly and pulled. But the sword refused to leave the scabbard. He pulled again, tugging at it with all his strength. But it might as well have been welded into the scabbard. "It couldn't have been rusted that quickly," he thought, "even if water did get into the scabbard." Then he remembered Mab's words, "No one can make you drink the wine of free pardon. You must want to drink it yourself. And until you do, John the Sword Bearer, your sword will prove useless to the cause."

  So that was it He was
not to be allowed to kill the Goblin Prince. Magical power was holding the sword in the scabbard. His excitement sank to nothing, and in its place came the sense of shame and guilt that he had felt when first he had placed the stone round his neck

  The shark-headed creature on the rock stirred, shook itself and dived smoothly into the water, leaving scarcely a ripple. A minute passed, then another. No sound broke the oppressive silence. Was the creature lurking below the surface? Or had it retired to a deeper level in the lake? "Well, at least I'm invisible," John thought And buoyed by the courage the stone gave him, he entered the cold water cautiously, paused, then made his way slowly toward the passage. A minute later he was at the cave mouth, having clambered over the body of Oso to stand dazzled in the sunlight. Only then did he remove the stone from around his neck and loop the chain through his belt. As he looked back at Oso's body, dismay filled him. He was sure the grizzly was not dead. But what could he do? The Changer would surely take pity on him. He began to talk quietly, almost to himself.

  "Changer, it wasn't his fault. Don't blame him for what I did."

  A quiet voice spoke three times before he heard it, "I am not he. But I am here!"

  When he finally heard the voice, he stared in front of him at a green-gowned woman with flowing white hair. Though he heard no sound save that of her gentle voice, her presence itself was like a clap of thunder.

  "What did you say?"

  "I am not he, but I am here."

  "Who are you?"

  "Does that matter? I am Wisdom. My name is Chocma. He sent me."

  "Who sent you? The Changer?"

  "You were calling to him, were you not?"

  John stared at her, speechless.

  "I have come to teach you how you may restore Oso, the bear."

  "Me? Restore him?"

  The lady in green repeated her previous words without changing them. Power flowed from her like waves of heat from a furnace. But it was not heat. It was power. It made him feel dizzy.

  "You can teach me? To restore Oso?"

  "Even so, I come to teach you."

  "How? Who are you? What do you mean, 'restore him'?"

  "You may restore him either by the deep power or by the herbal remedies that the Changer has implanted in the earth around you."

  A streak of stubbornness rose in John. In spite of all he had seen of strange powers he said, "I believe in science."

  "Then doubdess you will choose the herbal remedies."

  He continued to stare at her. "You mean he can be cured? With herbs? How?"

  The lady turned and plucked a berry-laden twig from a bush behind her. From the folds of her dress she drew a wooden cup. Clutching the purple berries in her hand, she squeezed them, letting a few drops of juice run into the cup. "Here," she said, holding the cup out to John. "Find and squeeze these berries until the cup is filled with juice. Then moisten the lips of the bear with the juice until he tastes it. When he does so, he will open his mouth. Pour the juice down his throat, and he will be healed. It is sanavida, the juice from which the wine of free pardon is fermented."

  John took the cup from her hand. "Sanavida?" he repeated. But the lady was gone. She had disappeared as mysteriously as she had first come. And the world seemed suddenly normal again. Yet changed. For she had impressed him deeply.

  "Perhaps I shouldn't have said I believe in science." Would the berries work?

  The drops of sanavida had barely stained the bottom of the cup. But around the small clearing by the cave mouth, John could see three or four bushes with similar berries. And after staring at them for a few moments, he approached the first. The berries were in clusters, surrounded by long and piercing thorns. He plucked a cluster of berries and squeezed a few drops into the cup as the lady had done.

  It took him half an hour to fill the cup. Both his hands were badly scratched, sticky and purple-stained before he was through. When he licked them, the taste was bittersweet, but it startled him into wakefulness. It gave his body the same feeling you get when you've come out of a cold shower and have just rubbed down. The half-hour of squeezing seemed to last only one exciting moment The pain from his scratches did not trouble him.

  But as he approached Oso, his wooden cup now brimming with purple juice, his excitement subsided a little. Were the glazed eyes still looking at him? The bear's head lay sideways on the sand.

  He knelt, moistened his finger in the juice and rubbed it over the side of Oso's black upper lip. The lips seemed stiff and cool, and he shuddered a little as he touched them. Again he dipped his finger and again rubbed the lips. There was no response. He repeated the process a third time and then a fourth and again a fifth. On his sixth attempt, Oso again heaved a sigh. On the eighth try Oso rolled his head back and opened his mouth wide. John was exultant.

  His hand shook as he held the cup over the gaping mouth. It was going to work. He was sure of it now. He tipped the cup carefully and poured its contents between Oso's jaws. A trickle of purple mingled with the bristly fur beside the lips.

  Oso gulped. Coughed. Gulped again. Sneezed and coughed violently.

  He half rolled over. Then his trunk hinged forward suddenly on his hips so that he swung into a sitting teddy-bear position, holding his great head between his forepaws and shaking it from side to side.

  John was half laughing, half crying. "Oso! Oso! It's me, John. Are you all right? This lady came from nowhere and told me about the berries—sanavida she called them—"

  "The devil! That demon had magic! Could have torn him to pieces! Wretched little thing! He shamed me."

  "But you're all right now, Oso. The juice has made you well! I never thought it would work—"

  "Shamed me! I was a cub! A cub!"

  "But you're not a cub now! You're well!"

  "Cub. Tiny cub. I'm shamed, shamed, shamed!"

  The bear continued to shake its head, unreachable in its bitterness. His body was well, but his spirit was crippled with humiliation. Suddenly John thought of Aguila. "What about Aguila, Oso! Aguila must be hunting it now! I'm sure she would hunt Old Nick and try to kill him if she thought he had hurt you! We must help her. She could be in danger!" He did not believe his own words, but he felt he had to say something to get the bear's mind off his shame.

  The head-shaking stopped. Oso rolled over onto all fours. He shook himself, tested each limb carefully. "Come!" he said, finally. "We comb skies. Search shores." John sighed with relief. The crisis—at least this crisis—was over.

  John thought Oso could not return by the way they had come. But the narrowness of the rocky passage proved no obstacle to the bear who leapt up the rock. John then found his own way through the narrow passage. Once on the shore, they began their search. But where to look?

  For a long time their eyes vainly combed the heavens. Finally Oso said, "Alive she would circle and search for us. Therefore dead or hurt. If dead, she will wash on shore. We begin with northern shore."

  It was slow and tiring work. There was no way in which John could keep pace with the bear. He stumbled far in Oso's wake. The beach was covered with rocks of uneven size. The bear would climb up a steep wooded slope from time to time to a higher point from which he could survey a whole stretch of shore. And John would barely catch up with him as Oso loped easily down again. Each time John would wearily ask if Oso had seen anything. And eventually Oso did.

  "Up ahead. Quarter of a mile. Like a heap of bones."

  This time Oso seemed in no hurry. Indeed it was John who led the way, Oso moving slowly and ponderously on all fours behind him. Soon John saw something, something dark and shapeless at the edge of the water, being lifted and dropped gently with each succeeding wave.

  He quickened his pace to a half run. His eyes never left the thing at the water's edge, and so he tripped and almost fell several times. The nearer he came, the more his legs faltered and his strength failed him, less from physical weakness than from dread. For the mass was indeed a mass of feathers and bones that—he knew it without
being told—once had been Aguila.

  Eventually he stood before her, or before what was left of her, trembling and breathing hard. There had been hope for Oso. Oso had not been completely dead. But Aguila no longer existed. All that remained were water-logged feathers, many of them scattered about the beach, crushed, torn and distorted wings, and a twisted neck. The giant head lay apart, a few feet away, the beak open and one eye staring skyward. The bird had been savaged with inhuman ferocity.

  A shadow fell over Aguila's remains, the shadow of a tall man. Slowly John looked up and found himself staring into the face of Mab, staff in hand, standing ramrod straight, his long white hair blowing in the breeze.

  "So this is what you were dreaming about, John the Sword Bearer"

  "Yes, well not this exactly—but it all came back when—"

  "Yes, yes, I know. I was able to break into the dream myself just as you left. It is as well for you that I did."

  John said nothing. He felt ashamed and dropped his head. He knew now that he should have told Mab of their scheme. Mab knew about magic, power and the Changer. He seemed to know more than any of them about these things.

  "I repeat, it is a good thing for you that I did."

  John had no idea what could be "well" or "good" about Mab coming now. How could anything change what had happened? Oso was already alive. Mab had had nothing to do with that But Aguila was dead.

  A searing flash of blue blinded him. The dismembered carcass of the eagle came alive with liquid blue fire. For several seconds the light burned so fiercely that John could see only the barest outlines of the eagle's remains. He glanced up. Mab's face was alive with rage. From the staff he held up high there streamed a continuous arc of blue fire.

  Then from Mab's throat came a roar, "Aguila, arise! Arise by command of the Changer! In his name I bid you, live again!" Flaming feathers and head were drawn to a center as by a magnet. The fire was molding, shaping, forming. It was hard to say what was fiery light and what was eagle. But suddenly it was over. The light was gone. The staff was lowered, and Aguila stood there, preening herself unself-consciously before Mab, John and Oso.