Gaal the Conqueror (26 page)

"You mean just like in the enchanted forest?"

"Precisely. They are similar to the passages with red light that
we saw in the other tunnels. Even walking along Gaal's way you
can step sideways into enchantments."

"So where does the tunnel lead?"

"This section leads to the temple."

"The temple?"

"The whole city of Bamah is built around the temple and the
grand altar. The temple is the heart of the evil kingdom, and
of the Circle's power."

"Is the temple where we're going now?"

"Not exactly. You are both to look at it briefly. But after that
we will follow sections of the tunnel about which the evil powers know nothing, sections that penetrate the city walls and lead
to secret hiding places in the walls themselves."

John listened to the conversation resentfully. "He can talk
simply enough when he talks to her," he thought. "Why does
he have to show off whenever I'm part of the conversation?"

A turn in the tunnel brought them into a more open area and
to the edge of a chasm that yawned deep and as wide as a street.
A log bridged the chasm, anchored on the near side to a crosspiece set in a shallow slot in the edge of the chasm. The three
stopped short of the chasm edge. Throughout his life whenever he looked down from a great height John felt tickling sensations from his toes to his stomach, and he began to experience
the sensations as he looked at the gap from which strange red
light was reflected upward. Deliberately he forced himself to
the edge to look over and down into the dim red void, and was
immediately sorry. The sensation in his stomach surged terrifyingly in power, for the walls fell sheer to a depth so great that
he could not perceive the bottom. Terrified and shaking he
stepped back quickly. He glanced at the log which seemed pitifully narrow and, since it had no handrails, terrifyingly insecure. "We have to cross on that?" he asked in alarm.

The answer was obvious. There was no other way to cross.
Eleanor sidled closer to Pontificater. "Can I ride on your back
when you cross?" she asked the dragon anxiously. "I can close
my eyes then. Crossing that log looks far worse than flying."

"Well, now, why not?" Pontificater asked magnanimously.

"Huh?" John muttered. "I thought you said you were not a
public transportation system. You have shiny scales-meticulously polished, I think you said. You sure she won't damage
them for you?"

Pontificater stared at him indignantly. "I may not be a public
transportation system. Nor for that matter shall I ever be. But
who would not assist a lady in her distress? For a brief journey
such as this she may hang on tightly to my satchel which securely circumnavigates my neck and avoid sliding off. Indeed,
if in your weakness and fears you yourself would also like to
accept my kind and generous offer, you are welcome to climb
up too."

John trembled with anger. "I am not weak, and I am not
afraid," he said hoarsely. "I'll cross on my own, thank you." He
had spoken quickly and without thinking, committing himself
to something insane. For he was scared, badly scared, and a
moment or two later he began to realize how foolish he had
been. But it was done, and he was stunned. A simple sentence had slipped between his teeth and committed him to terror. Yet
he was angry still, and his eyes burned with resentment as he
watched Eleanor mount the dragon.

Even so John tensed as he saw Pontificater cross the chasm
precariously with her, her eyes closed, and crouching on his
back. His eyes widened with horrified fascination as he
watched their progress, and he tensed again as they neared the
far side. At first Pontificater's forelegs, then his hind legs were
back on the firm rock beyond the chasm, John drew in a breath
of relief. Then the tail slid slowly out of the red light and
Eleanor, now safe and sound, jumped eagerly from his back.
She waved at him and he raised his hand in a feeble salute.

"Don't be scared," she called. "You'll be O.K"

But he was now alone and on the wrong side of the chasm.
His pride was sinking and his anger with it. The realization felt
like icy water on his skin that now it was his turn, and he would
have to cross alone. He tried to smile, and wanted to say something to Pontificater and Eleanor, but he could not trust his
voice. Trembling, he again forced himself to walk to where the
log was fixed.

What on earth had made him say he would walk across?
Walk? Across that? As he stared at the log and at the terrifying
drop beneath it, he knew as surely as he had ever known anything, that he could never cross it smiling and erect, balancing
like a tightrope walker or a circus acrobat. The idea was unthinkable.

Horror-filled and dry-mouthed, but doing his best to look
calm because of the watchers on the far side of the chasm, he
sat on the crosspiece at the awful edge of the rock, straddling
his legs on either side of the log. Using all his strength he
gripped the log with his thighs. Though he made no sound, it
seemed as though every cell in his body was screaming in protest. The wild tickling sensation in his abdomen had become
almost intolerable.

He leaned forward cautiously to let his hands lean on the
wooden surface in front of him. It seemed solid enough, yet he
felt more hideously insecure and exposed than he had ever felt
in his life. Worse still, he was not sure that he could control the
movements of his body properly.

For a few seconds he paused, closing his eyes until his trembling had subsided a fraction. Then inch by inch and with
extreme care, focusing his eyes only on the log, he tried to hitch
himself forward, gripping the log fiercely between his thighs as
soon as his position had shifted. It worked. His muscles actually
did what he wanted them to. He inched forward once more.
Then again. And once again.

The awful drop was fully below him now, but he refused to
let his eyes focus anywhere but on the log. He had made less
than six inches of progress. For the moment he refused to think
of distance. Nothing mattered now but to hitch his way inch by
inch across this terrifying nothingness. It might take him all day
to do it, but all he would think of was the next little forward
hitch.

Once or twice he looked up at the two who were watching
him silently-silently because they sensed he needed all his
concentration. It was reassuring to glimpse the intensity of their
gaze, almost as if with their eyes they were holding him steady.
But each time he looked up he also discovered how small his
progress had been, how impossibly distant they remained, and
how great was the stretch of uncrossed log that was still unconquered. It also made him giddy to change the direction of his
gaze, and he had to wait a moment or two each time until the
dizziness passed off.

Once or twice he tried to move too quickly and wobbled.
Each time his heart shot suffocatingly into his mouth and his
fingernails would dig frantically into the wood. Each time he
would stop, stifle a sob and suppress his trembling. "I'll make
it," he would mutter fiercely to himself. "I'll make it, make it, make it! My dad would and so will I." Then, terrified as ever,
he would go at it again.

Sweat would run down his face and sting his eyes, but he
never dared raise his hands to wipe them. In any case his hands
themselves grew wet and slippery, and he would pause from
time to time to wipe them on his tunic. Sometimes a sort of red
cloud would obscure his vision, and once or twice he wondered
whether he was going blind.

But he never gave up. In time he passed the halfway mark,
then the three-quarters mark, to reach at length the far edge
where eager hands and claws seized his arms and set him on
his feet a yard or so beyond the chasm's edge. But now his legs
no longer seemed to work and collapsed under him, so that he
found himself on the rock floor sobbing gently. "I'm sorry," he
said. "I don't know what's happening to me."

They sat on either side of him. "Take your time, Sword
Bearer. The decision you made may have been foolhardy, but
with singular courage you refused to be conquered by your
fears. When the time comes to be valiant you will be valiant
beyond measure. Your strength will come again. I salute you."

The words rang musically in John's ears, and strength began
to flow back into his limbs as he heard them. "I was a fool,"
he said. "It wasn't courage at all." He wondered how he could
have been so irritable with Pontificater. Eleanor pulled him
back against her and began to stroke his hair gently. "That must
have been terrifying. I was scared to death-and I was safe on
Pontificater who could fly. You know, I just shut my eyes tight.
I didn't dare open them. I could never have done what you
did."

John felt awkward. "I don't know why I'm crying," he said,
pushing his fists into his eyes in irritation. "I shouldn't have
been so scared, but I guess I was-a bit. Oh, well. It's over now."
He pulled himself up and away from Eleanor's arms, tested his
limbs cautiously and rose unsteadily to his feet. Then he smiled. "Whew!" he said shakily. "I'm sure glad that's over. It's funny.
I had a bad dream last night-about a temple as a matter of
fact. But crossing that chasm was no dream." He laughed shale
ily. "It was a nightmare."

Once again Pontificater led them between the blue-lit walls
of rock. He was careful to point out the side tunnels, each of
them on their right which were quite different from the other
passages they had seen earlier. The first they passed was illuminated with a soft green, and from it came the sound of bells.
The second side tunnel was lined with brightly colored stones.
The mouthwatering aroma of freshly baked bread rolled out of
it.

"Oh, my! I could do with some of that," Eleanor said. How
long has it been since we ate?"

"It would be singularly reckless to pursue your desires for
sustenance along that particular corridor," Pontificater murmured. "Notice the color of the light. It differs from the azure
of the passageway, and is more of a mauve, er, violet-could
one say heather-?"

"Purple," John said.

"What would happen if you went down there?" Eleanor
asked.

"You would be trapped in a web of darkness and obscurity,"
the dragon replied. "Come, we are not far from the staircase
that leads up to the temple."

Minutes later they saw the tunnel had led them to a broad
and winding staircase. But to the right of the staircase they saw
a dimly lit passage from whose shadows an old lady appeared,
greeting them softly.

"Who's she?" Eleanor whispered.

It was impossible to make out the old woman's features. Indeed they were looking more at a shadow, a sort of silhouette
set in a reddish dimness, than at a solid person. Pontificater
never replied to Eleanor's question. Instead he addressed the
shadow.