King of the Scepter'd Isle (Song of Earth)

by Coney, Michael G.

  KING OF THE SCEPTER’D ISLE

  Michael G. Coney

  www.sfgateway.com

  Enter the SF Gateway …

  In the last years of the twentieth century (as Wells might have put it), Gollancz, Britain’s oldest and most distinguished science fiction imprint, created the SF and Fantasy Masterworks series. Dedicated to re-publishing the English language’s finest works of SF and Fantasy, most of which were languishing out of print at the time, they were – and remain – landmark lists, consummately fulfilling the original mission statement:

  ‘SF MASTERWORKS is a library of the greatest SF ever written, chosen with the help of today’s leading SF writers and editors. These books show that genuinely innovative SF is as exciting today as when it was first written.’

  Now, as we move inexorably into the twenty-first century, we are delighted to be widening our remit even more. The realities of commercial publishing are such that vast troves of classic SF & Fantasy are almost certainly destined never again to see print. Until very recently, this meant that anyone interested in reading any of these books would have been confined to scouring second-hand bookshops. The advent of digital publishing has changed that paradigm for ever.

  The technology now exists to enable us to make available, for the first time, the entire backlists of an incredibly wide range of classic and modern SF and fantasy authors. Our plan is, at its simplest, to use this technology to build on the success of the SF and Fantasy Masterworks series and to go even further.

  Welcome to the new home of Science Fiction & Fantasy. Welcome to the most comprehensive electronic library of classic SFF titles ever assembled.

  Welcome to the SF Gateway.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Gateway Introduction

  Contents

  1. Castle Camyliard

  2. World-Shaking Events in Mara Zion

  3. The Coming of Arthur

  4. The Sword in the Rock

  5. The Vertical Knight

  6. A Bloodless Coup

  7. “The Irish are Coming!”

  8. Tom Grog’s Funeral

  9. Midsummer in Mara Zion

  10. Wedding Day

  11. Tee Odyssey

  12. Spring Tide

  13. Apothegm

  14. The Fall of Drexel Poxy

  15. Transformations in Mara Zion

  16. The Last Great Battle

  17. The Day of Ascension

  18. Return to Earth

  19. Meetings in Mara Zion

  20. The Dome at Camelot

  21. Starquin Lives!

  Website

  Also by Michael G. Coney

  Dedication

  Author Bio

  Copyright

  1

  CASTLE CAMYLIARD

  THE TWO GREATEST STORYTELLERS IN ALL ENGLAND came to Castle Camyliard late one autumn afternoon.

  “He calls himself king,” said Merlin.

  “And why not?” Nyneve regarded the grim bulk of the castle in some awe. “It looks like the kind of place a king would live in. But not me. Not for any title.” She was fifteen years old at that time, still learning about men but already beautiful enough to influence them.

  The castle of this western land loomed dark and granite-faced from a breast of broken moorland. From its battlements the gray Atlantic could be seen on three sides, restless, sucking hungrily at the cliffs. North lay Wales, south lay France. Prisoner rocks struggled in the western sea, abandoned by the defeated land. Remains of a sunken Lyonesse could be seen all the way from Land’s End to the Scilly Isles.

  England lay to the east of the castle. There the Romans, with troubles at home, had been withdrawing their forces for many years. This made little difference to Camyliard. The Romans had never penetrated this far into Cornwall, and King Lodegrance reigned unchallenged.

  “They’ve all started calling themselves king. Every little chief in England. Once the Romans move out, they get delusions of grandeur. Empty-headed peacocks, that’s what they are. What we need is someone strong enough to unite them.” A fine drizzle was falling and Nyneve was anxious to get on, but Merlin had shambled to a halt, gesturing with the willow twig he called a wand. “A leader of men!” he cried, addressing the empty moorland with shrill enthusiasm. “A man of courage and wisdom, with the strength of a lion and the gentleness of a deer.”

  “Have you ever seen stags in the rutting season?”

  “A female deer, although manly in all other ways. To bring them all together in peace and understanding. A man like—”

  “Like you, Merlin?” asked Nyneve skeptically.

  “Like Arthur!”

  A surprising change came over Nyneve. She flushed and said, “Yes.”

  “We will tell the people of Camyliard about Arthur!”

  “Well, yes. That’s what we’re here for, remember? And this is about as far as we can get, thank the Lord. After Camyliard we head back home.”

  Merlin gazed resentfully at the sea beyond the castle. “These last few weeks have been a wonderful experience for you, Nyneve. I’ve protected you and fed you and sheltered you—”

  “And tried to get in bed with me.”

  “—and given you the benefits of thousands of years of experience, and …” Her last remark filtered through to him and his voice grew petulant. “And all I’ve asked in return is a little friendship. A little daughterly affection. And what have I received?” He searched his ancient brain for the right word. “Rebuffment.”

  “Don’t let’s go into all that again. Come on, Merlin. I’m getting frozen to the marrow standing here. We’ve got another two miles to go, at least.”

  By the time they reached the castle it was getting dark. Lanterns cast a sickly yellow light on the wet walls and a cold sea breeze eddied around their ankles. The gulls were silent now, settling down for the night; and sleepy Camyliard goats uttered the occasional complaint from nearby barns.

  A guard stepped clanking from the shadows. “Halt!”

  “We are halted, for God’s sake. Put that pointed thing down before you hurt someone. I’m Merlin.”

  A derisive laugh. “Oh, yes? Cast a spell, then.”

  “I will do as I choose. Now let us through. Nyneve and I have come to entertain the castle.”

  A sudden change came over the man. He didn’t exactly spring to attention, but he was clearly impressed. “Nyneve? She’s the storyteller. We’ve heard about her.”

  “And about me, clearly,” said Merlin, piqued. “Now take us to the king.”

  King Lodegrance sat before a cavernous fireplace with his boots off, drinking wine. He was a short, thickset man with the dark hair of the Cornish Celt and a geography of lines on his face that suggested laughter, or cruelty, or both. In a deep chair opposite, his queen gazed at the flames, pale of face and hair, captured from Saxon forebears many years ago and never able to forget it. A handful of favored soldiers lolled about the chamber, attended by servants. A minstrel strummed a lonely air about a lost lass.

  “For pity’s sake stop that twanging,” shouted the king. “The night’s bad enough without your whining.” Then he noticed the newcomers. “Come over here and let me look at you,” he commanded. He examined the pair as they stood dripping onto the flagstones. “The girl’s pretty enough. Clean her up and put some decent clothes on her. There’s nothing we can do for the old man, though. By the Lord Jesus, I hope I never get that old. Feed him to the dogs. It’s the kindest thing.”

  “I am Merlin!” cried the wizard, outraged.

  “They are Nyneve and Merlin,” said the guard. “You know, sire. The storytellers.”<
br />
  “Oh, yes. I’d heard they were heading this way. Well, you’ve come at the right time.” The lines on his face arranged themselves into a grim smile. “Now we can hang that minstrel. And our daughter is sick. I understand you are some kind of a healer, Merlin. You will have a chance to practice your skills before you entertain us.”

  “Certainly,” replied Merlin, trapped.

  “Get them cleaned up, then,” commanded the king.

  Some time later Nyneve, bathed, scented, and dressed, was led into the king’s presence again. His eyebrows lifted as he took in her black, lustrous hair, her heart-shaped face with its warm brown eyes, and her cuddlesome figure. They’d dressed her in one of the king’s daughter’s dresses, and it was apparent Nyneve was the more rounded of the two. In contrast was Merlin, with sacklike smock and bony ankles. “I trust my robes will soon be available,” said the latter with a pathetic attempt at dignity.

  “You look more entertaining like that,” said the king. “But first you must see to my daughter.”

  The daughter, Gwen, was a pallid younger version of her mother, lost in a large bed. The bedchamber was vast and smoky, and as Merlin and Nyneve entered, a wad of soot flopped into the fireplace, discouraging the fire but offering compensation in the form of a rook’s nest. The king accompanied them to the bedside.

  “Work your miracles, Merlin.”

  Merlin took the girl’s limp hand. Her eyes watched him with the docility of a heifer. Her face was thinner than Nyneve’s, the jaw coming to a narrow point. “What seems to be the trouble?” Merlin asked her, hoping for an instant solution to his dilemma.

  “That’s for you to find out, Merlin,” snapped the king. He swung around and left.

  Merlin turned to Nyneve. “Rule number one is to ask the patient first,” he said.

  “The king wouldn’t know that, not being a healer himself,” said Nyneve mischievously.

  Merlin laid a hand on the girl’s forehead. “She has no fever.” He took her wrist. “Her pulse is weak.” He pulled down the bedclothes and gazed at the girl’s half-clad breasts, seeking inspiration. He reached out a hand.

  “Don’t you dare!” snapped Gwen.

  “I’m a healer. I’m accustomed to such things.” His hand hovered over her breast like a vulture, awaiting a sign of weakness.

  “I think you’re a filthy old man.”

  “You’re right,” said Nyneve. “He is a filthy old man.”

  Gwen smiled. “You’re the first human being I’ve seen for months. Get this old fool out of here, will you, and let’s talk.”

  Grumbling, Merlin departed. “He’s all right, really,” said Nyneve. “You just have to keep him at arm’s length. It’s his sister Avalona I’m frightened of. Or she may be his mother. I always forget—they’re both so old.”

  “How old?” asked Gwen. “I’ve never seen anyone quite so old as him.”

  “Thousands of years, so he says. And I believe him, because he knows an awful lot. How old are you?”

  “Seventeen. And you?”

  “Fifteen. My name’s Nyneve.”

  “Fifteen … ?” Gwen regarded her curiously. “You look much older. I mean, you don’t look older, but you seem older. Where are you from?”

  “Mara Zion, to the east. It’s a village in a forest, not far from Castle Menheniot.”

  “You must have seen an awful lot of the world.” Gwen looked sad. “I’ve seen nothing. I’ve never been farther than the beach in seventeen years.”

  “I’ve seen the greataway,” said Nyneve, rather smugly.

  “The greataway?”

  “It’s up in the sky. It’s all of time and all of space, and it’s huge. All the stars are in it, and Earth too. The stars are suns just like our sun, you know. Avalona took me into the greataway once. She showed me a god up there, called Starquin.”

  Gwen, baffled by all this, seized one solid fact. “God is called God.”

  “That’s just what the Church tells you. Avalona says the Church doesn’t know what it’s talking about. Do the people in the village here believe in the Church and all that stuff?”

  “I don’t know. My father doesn’t like me talking to the villagers.” Gwen sighed. “He says I’m a princess and I should act like one. And that means not having friends in the village, apparently. I expect you have lots of friends in Mara Zion.”

  “Not so many.” Now it was Nyneve’s turn for sadness. “Since Avalona and Merlin took me into their cottage, I’ve lost touch with people. I sometimes see Tristan, our local chief, but that’s about all. Except for the gnomes, of course. Avalona encourages me to be friends with the gnomes. She has some kind of a plan for them.”

  “Gnomes? We call them piskeys around here. But how can you be friends with them? You can’t even speak to them.”

  “I can.” Nyneve stood and walked across to a slit window. The hillside fell away to the unseen sea. The rain had ceased and the wet grass glittered silver in the light from the moons. In a rare coincidence, all three were full: Mighty Moon like a hard-edged coin, Misty Moon watery but still bright, and Maybe Moon a pallid shadow above the other two. Close by a rocky outcrop of granite she could see a ruddy glow. Tiny, shadowy figures sat around a wood fire. It was a gnomish tradition to meet at night and discuss the day’s events. She’d seen such gatherings several times since leaving Mara Zion. It seemed the gnomes were becoming more visible all the time.

  “As a matter of fact,” Nyneve said, “my best friend is a gnome called Fang.”

  “That’s a funny name for a gnome.”

  “His real name’s Will, but he killed a stoat and they renamed him Fang. It’s an honor for a gnome to get a new name like that.”

  “But how can you talk to him? We can’t hear gnomes and they can’t hear us. We can hardly see them.”

  “There’s a place in Mara Zion where the mushrooms grow in a circle. Avalona tells me it’s because the gnomes’ world and ours meet there like two bubbles touching. She said the atmospheres react and fix nitrogen in the soil—whatever the hell that means—and fertilize the mushrooms. Anyway, I can step through into the gnomes’ world whenever I feel like it.”

  This didn’t surprise Gwen, who already considered Nyneve to be omnipotent. “What’s it like in there?”

  “Much like this world, except the humans look shadowy and you can’t touch them. The gnomes call us giants, and they call our world the umbra.” She chuckled. “Sometimes I sit in the gnomes’ world and spy on our people. I saw Tristan feeling a girl’s tits once, but then she got frightened and ran away. What a bloody shame! Anyway, he’s in Ireland visiting a woman called Iseult, whom he’s sweet on.”

  Gwen was enormously impressed with Nyneve’s worldliness. “Have you ever … made love, Nyneve?”

  “Once. With Tristan just after Iseult left. He looked so unhappy and I wanted to cheer him up. It was nice. But then something happened and I haven’t done it since.”

  “What happened?”

  “Oh …” Nyneve flushed. “It’s ridiculous, really.”

  “Go on!”

  “Well, Merlin and I have been telling stories to the people in Mara Zion for a little while. Travelers have heard us and the word seems to have gotten around. And suddenly Avalona insisted we come to Land’s End, telling stories on the way. I think she somehow has the idea we’re going to change the whole human race. ‘We are using the stories to make the world see sense,’ “ she said, mimicking in a cracked voice. “You see, the people in the stories are different from real people. They fight a lot, but when they’ve won, they don’t gloat and kill their enemies. They let them go free. And they’re funny about women too. They respect them, and if somebody insults a woman they beat the shit out of him. And they do one another favors, and they trust one another, and they go on quests that last for years. It’s all kind of different, and fun.”

  “But what does it have to do with you not fucking?” It was Gwen’s turn to flush as a forbidden word slipped out. She’d nev
er talked like this before.

  “Merlin and I have a kind of talent. When we tell the stories, the audience sees them happening, in their minds. I can’t explain it, but you’ll see what I mean later on. This makes the stories seem very real to people. And they’re very real to Merlin and I.

  “The hero of the stories is Arthur. He’s the best man that ever was. I know him so well, I dream about him every night, and I can see him and talk to him in my mind whenever I want to. Sometimes when my stepmother is being nasty, or I’m feeling bad about something, I slip my thoughts toward him and there he is, big and strong and gentle. To me he’s real. I could never love anyone else.”

  Gwen’s eyes were shining. “What a lovely story! How romantic you are, Nyneve!”

  “Yes, aren’t I.” Nyneve noticed Gwen’s heightened color. “You’re looking better.”

  “All I need is someone to talk to. I’ve been going crazy all by myself in this castle, ever since Father caught me talking to Jacob in the village. And that was last spring. I’ve begged Father to send me away for a while—there are places where they send daughters of the gentry, and they learn all kinds of things and meet different people. But he says no. He says no to everything these days. He says there’s too much unrest in England for me to travel. He says the Saxons are taking over, and he keeps worrying about someone called Vortigern. To hell with Vortigern, that’s what I say. I want to see the world!”

  “Maybe he’d let you come to Mara Zion sometime. You’d enjoy that. A girl can get into all kinds of trouble in Mara Zion. And I could introduce you to the gnomes.”

  “Oh, Nyneve. Would you have me there?”

  “Of course.” She regarded Gwen thoughtfully. “Are you going to listen to our story tonight?”

  “Oh, yes!”

  “Like I said, the stories are real. In a way, it’ll be your chance to see something of the world. And it’s a really exciting world, I can tell you. Get dressed, and let’s go downstairs.” She hesitated. “How would you like to be a part of the story yourself?”

  “How do you mean?”