The Last Guardian of Everness

by John C. Wright

  During that frozen instant, the doctor was poised as if weightless, coat- tails flying, glasses at their apogee on the end of their necklace, gleaming sword in one hand, the other hand back behind his shoulder in a gesture of elegant grace; his eyes were calm and deadly; his expression, for once, relaxed, handsome, alert.

  The noise of metal on metal rang like a chime in the room and hung in the air a moment, lingering.

  The next instant: the doctor stood embarrassed, his mouth open in surprise, dumbfounded, as if his perfect grace with a sword had been a reflex, a mistake. The miniature lantern rolled to rest near his feet.

  Still distracted, now the doctor bent to pick up the silver light.

  It went dark at his touch.

  By the time he straightened, his old sardonic expression had returned, and, in the light from the oil lamp on the floor (which seemed dim and unclear in contrast), Wendy could see the little prim lines of bitterness reappearing around his mouth and nostrils.

  “Well!” exclaimed Wendy. “I wasn’t expecting that!”

  II

  “Nor was I, my dear,” said the doctor in a dry tone. He handed the little lantern over to her.

  “Then you’re human,” she said. A spot of light appeared within the lantern’s depth, faintly at first.

  “Perhaps too much so,” he said dryly. “The magic here will not serve me; it knows me for a traitor and an oathbreaker.”

  Raven said, “Who sent you? What. . . what are you?”

  “A doctor, actually. And an accountant and a barrister and a sailor and a pipefitter. I was a priest before that, and a soldier, and oh, so very many things. I have many dreary lifetimes of useless skills to burden me. But now I must see to my charge.” And he turned his back to them and stepped toward the door.

  “Wait!” Raven started to follow after him.

  “You must stay and watch the patient, man!” the doctor said.

  “Not unless you stay and answer questions, you know!” said Raven back.

  “There is no time!” The doctor flourished the sword, pointing to the eastern windows. “The creatures of Nidhogg are upon us.”

  Wendy said, “Three questions, then.”

  “I beg your pardon . . . ?”

  “Three questions, and we’ll help you on with your armor. This is yours isn’t it? There’s only one suit for north and south and east, but two for the west, and this other suit is rusted, not brand-new like this one.”

  The doctor bowed, a courtly elegance. “Ask, my lady.” And he threw his cloak aside, gesturing toward the mail shirt.

  Raven said, “Who sent you?” And he started to heave the mail shirt up over the man’s shoulders.

  The gathering storm beat at the windows. There was a rumble of thunder.

  “I was summoned down once again from the Tower in the Autumn Stars, where my lord lies sleeping, called by the coven of good witches who guard England from all invasions. Ouch! Not so hard, there. No, that’s for the arm. The coven are too old and feeble to come themselves. One is a file clerk in a small museum . . . pull the buckles tighter . . . one putters around with potted plants and lives with a hundred cats . . . left shoulder, left shoulder . . . the last one is at the nunnery at St. Anne’s in Oxford. They gave me those clothes, the most modern they had to spare.”

  Wendy smiled and said, “Why did they send for you?”

  “I cannot be defeated in combat. But. . .” and now he looked up at the ceiling, breathed a deep sigh, blinked. When he lowered his gaze again, his mouth was set in a grim line. “I betrayed my best friend, who was also my king. And not just any king—scoundrels and cowards, most who wear a crown, liars and cheats like all men with power become—but the most just and fair-minded man . . . well. Enough of that. My punishment is that I will never fight in the Last Battle. During the Apocalypse, my sword, brave Durindel, will rust, in idleness, while other men win glory. They sleep the sleep of the righteous and smile, dreaming sweet dreams. And I, I must stay awake for all these slow ages, and watch and guard. Like a little boy who must watch the Christmas tree, all alone at Yuletide eve, but be sent away when church bells ring the morning welcome; guarding presents other little boys will open. Enough! I have answered a dozen question’s worth!” And he pulled the plumed helmet out of Wendy’s hands and started to turn away.

  “Wait!” said Wendy. “Let me buckle on your sword belt.”

  He turned slowly back. “My lady, I. . . it is not a thing a woman does, except for a man who . . . that is . . .”

  Wendy knelt down and put her arms around his waist and began passing the long belt once and twice around him. “Oh hush up! I’ll do it if I want. You’ll wear out your face if you don’t stop frowning! I’m not going to give you my kerchief unless you smile!”

  “You have a kerchief ?”

  “Well, I’ve got a packet of Kleenex in my purse, and they’ll have to do.”

  And so he smiled, standing there with his arms spread, while she pulled the belt for a third time around.

  Wendy buckled up the heavy buckle of the war-belt, and said, “There now. Third question! What is this house?”

  He drew a deep breath. “My lady, this is the final house where magic dwells. It is the same awake and asleep, the only place left on Earth the two realms touch. Because of this, it is also the gateway through which the creatures that haunt men’s nightmares must come if they are to conquer Earth. If the house should change, even by the smallest thing, the glare from a flashlight, for example, it moves away from its counterpart in the other realm. But this house also guards the gate where good dreams fly; if this house should fall, all dreams will die.”

  Raven said, “If house is so important, why are there not more people here? An army?”

  “Who cares, these days, to see that dreams are kept alive?”

  Wendy said, “And you?”

  “My lady, I shall exit now by a door of dreaming, now that I am garbed once more as one who dwells in fairy-land might be. You shall not see me when the sun is up; but I shall hold them back. The terror of my sword shall hold them back, if God so wills, while the Redcrosse Knight and the Warred War Queen watch over me.”

  “Protect yourself, eh?” Raven handed him his shield, which was set with three fleurs-de-lis on an azure field.

  Wendy took out a paper handkerchief and tucked it into the back of his gauntlet, and stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek.

  Now he did smile, and some of the lines of bitterness around his mouth were smoothed away, not to return, and, for that moment, youth, boldness, and dignity seemed to shine from his face.

  He knelt and drew his sword and held it by the blade, the hilts up, so that the shadow of its cross fell between them. “May St. George and Malen Ruddgoch Ren, and all the warrior-angels of Trajan’s Heaven see all who take up arms in holy cause safely to the battle’s end, or else to rest and sweet repose in heaven!”

  He stood and reversed the sword and raised the blade in crisp salute, turned smartly on his heels, and marched away, spurs jangling, naked sword in one hand, bright shield in the other. He dwindled down the corridor and was gone, and the ringing echo of his footsteps faded and died.

  III

  North of the master bedroom was a small chamber with windows looking east. One wall was made of sliding panels, which, when folded back, allowed Wendy and Raven to sit at the small table there and still see the grandfather’s bed and hear his faint, untroubled snore.

  In the middle of the table was set Wendy’s miniature lamp, shining with strange argent rays. The silvery radiance played over their faces and hands, leaving the rest of the room in shadow, making hair and clothing seem dark and distant. Raven, to ward off the chill, had appropriated the doctor’s Inverness cape, and buttoned it to his throat. (Wendy thought the outfit made him look splendid, matching his dark hair and beard, and bringing out the gray color in his eyes.) Raven’s shadow on the wall behind was huge and dark; Wendy’s shadow, slenderer, was never still, but danced from w
all to roof. The bas-relief carven on the panels behind her appeared and disappeared as her shadow came and went: a one-armed man tying up a wolf with a strand of gossamer; a blindfolded archer shooting an arrow made of mistletoe into the sun.

  “Guess what!” Wendy leaned forward, eyes bright with delight. “Guess who I met!”

  “No, my little bird, I tell you first. I know where magic talismans are kept. Grandfather told me in his sleep. See here.” And Raven took out his little card.

  “You found out! That’s wonderful!”

  “Not so wonderful. Grandfather is in nightmare-place.”

  Now he looked at the card by the lantern light, but the letters seemed to swim and tangle in his vision like gibberish. When he took his flashlight from his pocket, however, and turned it on, he could read the card easily, even though the fading yellow bulb was dimmer than the silver lamp.

  Raven read the horrifying message (omitting the mentions of torture and dismemberment), while Wendy looked on, eyes wide.

  When he had finished, she said, “That’s terrible! How mean! Maybe we can wake the grampa up! Poor man. One of the stories I read said something about curing this with laurel leaves.”

  But Raven was staring at the miniature lamp. It had gone out when the flashlight beam touched it and lit up again when he doused the flashlight. Now he was flicking the beam off and on with quick twitches of his thumb, making the lantern pulse like a strobe light. Shadows jumped.

  Wendy laid her small white hand on Raven’s large muscular one. “Stop that!”

  “Sorry. Giving you headache, eh?” He rubbed his eyes. “Am very tired, you know.”

  “My friend says he won’t come out while the flashlight is on like that.”

  Raven jerked his head upright. “Friend?”

  “I found him in the downstairs bedroom, next to Mr. and Mrs. Knight. There was a tall, dark man sleeping there, and this little guy standing on the bedpost.” Now she stroked her hair, smiling an impish smile, her eyes, turned to one side, bright with mischievous joy. “Come on out, little guy! Come on! He won’t hurt you!”

  Raven thought he saw a motion in her hair, as if she had something the size of a squirrel clinging to her shoulder, using her bangs like drapes to hide behind.

  A little voice chirruped, “Faith! And ye swore to keep me hid! Don’t go grabbing me so, ye wench, or I’ll lay to with me trusty blade!”

  There was a flurry of motion in her hair, and she reached up with both hands, flinching and crying out, “Ouch!” as if a cat were clawing her.

  Raven jumped to his feet, blinking and rolling his eyes, dumbfounded.

  She pulled her hands down and dropped a little man on the center of the table with a hollow thud. He landed spryly on his tiny feet.

  The creature was nine inches tall, dressed all in green, with a little red cap with a feather in it. He wore doublet and hose, and his slippers had curling, pointed toes. In one hand he held a miniature sword, and he slashed the air toward Wendy with fierce bravado.

  Wendy put her scratched finger in her mouth to suck on.

  “Leave me be, ye faithless wench! Yer solemn oath I had ye’d leave me be unseen! By the Eye of Balor, I swear this day will bring ye true grief! True grief! Ye’ll rue this day!”

  “But it’s only Raven,” Wendy said. “He doesn’t count.”

  Raven leaned forward over the table, squinting, and reached out, his forefinger and thumb arched in a tense circle. Raven flicked the sword out of the little man’s hand and sent it spinning across the room, where it tinkled against the far wall with the noise of a pin dropping.

  Raven laid his big muscular hands on the table, one to either side of the little man, and leaned down toward him. “Apologize. Promise me nothing you do or say will hurt my wife. Promise. Or I smash you like a bug.”

  The little man rolled his eyes and blew out his cheeks, slapping his sword hand against his hip as if to take the sting out of it. Then he doffed his cap and bowed to Wendy, in a way so charming it made her giggle. The little man said, “Sorry there, lass; me blood was up. Nothing I do or say will hurt ye at all.”

  “Who are you?” said Raven, staring down, his face gone blank with the effort to control his surprise.

  The little man doffed his cap again and bowed, one hand on hip, back leg bent, front leg straight, the feather on his cap brushing the table top with a flourish. “Call me Tom O’Lantern, so please yer lordship; royal shoemaker to the Court of his majesty, Finn Finbarra, King Under the Mountain. I only make left shoes.”

  Wendy leaned forward, her eyes sparkling, and said in a loud stage whisper: “I think it’s an elf!”

  IV

  Raven said, “Little man, do you know where sitting room might be? Or what looks like the man who is founder of this place, where is his picture, eh?”

  Tom O’Lantern doffed his cap and scratched his head, rolling his eyes and blowing out his cheeks, and made a great show of puzzlement and deep thought, so that Wendy giggled again.

  “Not poor Tom, sir, not me, with nary a thought in me head. Never have been in the High House before, not me, for I’m a polite soul (as most we wee folk must be, seeing as we haven’t the size to be rude, if you take my meaning) and we don’t never go where we’re not invited, no sir.”

  The wind outside, which had been building up to storm, now diminished away. There was a final roll of thunder; then silence. The pounding of the waves against the seawall grew less.

  Wendy clapped her hands. “Sir Lancelot has driven the giants and the storm away!”

  Tom said, “Or just given them pause while they gather their strength.”

  Wendy chirped: “Now let’s find those talismans!”

  “Where do we look for talismans?” asked Raven, “Which room is sitting room?”

  Wendy hopped to her feet. “I’ll go look around! You stay here and guard Grandpa!”

  Raven looked glumly at the sleeping figure in the other room. His shoulders slumped, and his eyes were red with fatigue. He had been, after all, awake since early morning of the previous day; it was now near dawn.

  Wendy went away, holding her little lamp, her footsteps a rapid tapping on the floorboards of the hall. The little light she held diminished to a star; she turned and waved, then rounded a corner. Her light was gone.

  Raven slumped in the chair next to the sleeping man’s bed. “Why am I pulling this watch? Maybe should not let wife go out alone. . . but, then, what is harm? Is nothing here but bad dreams. They cannot hurt us. Bah! I do not even believe in this! Magic and so on. Foolishness!”

  Tom O’Lantern climbed up onto the footboard of the bed. “Aye, but when you’re right, you’re right! Magic is all bad business, and a soul shouldn’t get caught up in it. But hey! I’ll help ye keep awake! And do ye play at chess and have a board?”

  15

  Rumors

  of

  War

  I

  “Ahoy, friend! Ahoy! There’s news about the battle!”

  “Hoy, shipmate! Come up here on the beach with me, away from the spray and surge of the sea. You never know what might be overhearing what you say, you stand too close to the surge and spray.”

  “Hoo, ha! A nice place, a nice view! A short rise there to hide us from those other two. Hey! Let’s whisper now, we don’t want them to be hearing what we say!”

  “They’ll hear enough ere long. Captains of all companies to report to the Grand Marshall; that’s the rumor I heard.”

  “Rumor?”

  “Orders. The orders I heard.”

  “Ah, aha. Ha! Ha! You look so fine and fit! Haven’t changed a bit since last we met, old friend!”

  “And when just was that? Maybe it slipped your mind . . .?”

  “You told me not to tell you, friend. Recall? No secret passwords, you said; it’ll make it too hard for the secret police to catch the delators.”

  “Aha. Ha! Haha! But that was all in jest! Beside, the secret police do not exist! Their Chief once told me
so.”

  “Or someone who looked like him, if I take your meaning?”

  “Hoho! Very funny! You were ever one with the jokes and jest, yes, sir. I recall you well.”

  “I never joke, myself.”

  “I recall that too. Now, then, what’s your report, my man?”

  “I? I report to you? Since when do captains report to mates?”

  “Never, ha! Ha! That’s why I await your report, my mate.”

  “Oh no. I have it on good authority (good authority, mind you!) that I was appointed Captain here.” “Oh.”

  “You look downcast. What’s amiss, shipmate?”

  “I was appointed myself, by Mannannan, mind you, before we set sail.”

  “In front of witnesses, do you think? Neutral witnesses?”

  “Hard to say, hard to say. One of them was trying hard to look like he fit in, so he might not have been Mannannan’s tricksy boys all playing at being witnesses, but a real honest witness either there by mistake, or only pretending, if you catch my drift.”

  “Mannannan privately appointed me captain, too.”

  “Mannannan himself ? Or someone who looked like him?”

  “Ar! Arrgh! Mannannan and his tricksy tricks! He’ll pay the price when we find out who the real Seal King might be! He can’t hide forever! I’m convinced he’s the chamberlain, myself. The chamberlain had a knowing squint to him when last I was in Heather Blether.”

  “Keeper of the Privy Purse. How else would he make sure his orders are obeyed?”

  “Nar! Gar! If he’s the real Seal King, we’ll never find him; all the real Seal Kings we found before weren’t him at all.”

  “I think it might be Mannannan, myself.”

  “Looking like the Seal King with a gold crown on his head, whiskers and bloody teeth and all? Too subtle. Too subtle by half.”

  “Well, until the real Seal King is found, one of us is Captain and should hear the report and tell the Grand Marshall.”

  “Hmph. Ha! Aha ha! No one’s here. If anyone asks me, I’ll say I reported to you; if anyone asks you, you say you reported to me. If no one knows who is really Captain, there is no blame and no responsibility!”