The Last Guardian of Everness (War of the Dreaming 1) (27 page)

IV

A figure in silver armor came out of the sea, tall, straight, and handsome, atop a weak-kneed and dying charger. The horse was covered with sores and boils and puked as it stumbled forward. On the figure’s surcoat was a heraldic image of a face covered with swollen sores.

On grass above the shoreline, another silvery knight stood, with tall plumes of command nodding above his crowned helmet, and his leprous horse, with dry skin pealing in long strips off its crusted flesh, stood beside him, sniffing the grass as if too weary to eat. On the knight’s surcoat, and on the barding of his steed was repeated the image of a leper’s face.

The knight from the sea dismounted, raised his visor, and bowed down to his hands and knees. His face was stern and handsome, if a bit pale, but his eyes were haunted and uncertain.

The knight who wore the sign of the leper raised now his visor, too; he
was as alike the other as a brother, with nothing unfit or deformed about his face; but his eyes likewise were the eyes of a melancholy man, sad, weary, hopeless.

The kneeling knight, he who wore the sign of the swollen face, now said: “Service and unselfishness! Unworthy to live, humble, impure, and fallen, I, who have no name, but am called the Knight of Pox, beg leave to speak.”

The other stooped to raise the kneeling knight by the shoulder. “Rise, brother, in the name of service and unselfishness. I, who deserve no name, but am called the Leper Knight, I am as unfit as you, or worse. Only the thought that I may be able to serve this army by the command which has been forced on me stays my hand from suicide.”

The kneeling knight rose. “Your kind words drive thorns into my heart, knowing I deserve no such mercy.”

“Mercy is only given to the undeserving, brother knight; that is why it is so precious. Rejoice in your pain; pain is the only true happiness. Tell me the news of battle.”

“A Child of Light (we know not who, for he was too bright to look upon) has come down from the City of the Autumn Star and stands atop the wall. His weapon is terrible and pitiless, unyielding, inhuman. He is the only man we fear; a man without guilt; and our weapons will not bite on him. The knights of Typhoid, Black Death, Bubonic and Larval Plague were swept back into the sea. They claim their mounts had failed them.”

The Leper Knight shook his handsome head in disgust, but, nonetheless, in a voice that was measured and even, he said, “Who are we to blame others? It is not our place to stand in judgment.”

“The knights of Fever and Frenzy struck many good blows.”

“Interesting. Perhaps this Child of Light is not so perfect as he pretends, if he is the type of man who blames his heats and passions for his flaws.”

“Still they failed. The Lady Knight, Syphilis, struck and drew blood, so that his leg failed. Yet he knelt upon the wall and continued to fight.”

“So, his guilt is an adultery. I know now which knight indeed he must be. His guilt is treason also, the disease which numbs and rots the body politic.”

“Your disease, my lord. We pray you to join the battle; of all the plagues which show mankind their littleness, which is more potent than great leprosy? Of all sins punished in Our Dark Home, who is gnawed upon more painfully than traitors?”

“Your kind words humble me; I am not worthy. And yet this man might fall. You said the Lady Knight did wound him. If so, some part of him must recognize what weak and pathetic things all mankind must be, ourselves and himself included. Did his arrogance and pride turn into wisdom?”

“No, my lord; the blow was not mortal. The kelpie knights were dashed away.”

“This is sent to teach us all humility.”

“Indeed.”

“What next occurred?”

“The Giant Surtvitnir rushed upon him, blazing torch in either hand, but was thrown back. The Child of Light was blinded, his hair all burnt away, yet now he fought more fiercely than before.”

“Surtvitnir thrown back? Perhaps the Child of Light, in his arrogance and folly, imagines that he can control his wrath and passion.”

“Yet the Giant Bergelmir struck him to the ground.”

“Ah, good! The Child of Light will thank us, for Bergelmir should teach him how mankind is a creature of nothing but guilt and agony. What next?”

“The Storm Princes rode down from black skies in their might and glory, whirling mountains of wind and fire. All the selkie and the kelpie lords, and the three Great Ones, Death, Doom, and Hate, now all came upon him at once, so thick the earth and sea were hidden beneath their numbers, and with battle-cries which made all heaven quail.”

“And?”

“My lord, man was meant for suffering. Arrogance and pride are the worst of follies, and defeat will teach us greatest wisdom.”

“Blinded, kneeling, and crushed, the knight rose up again to throw us back?”

“Yes, lord.”

“No kelpie passed the wall?”

“None. But no one of our allies did either. Whole armies and whole navies were overthrown, foundered, slaughtered. The Three Great Ones reeled back, bleeding. Even the ocean waves were cut so that the water bled.”

“None? Not one?”

“Well, my lord, we think perhaps one selkie pup slipped over the wall in the confusion. Also, Bergelmir is missing. Perhaps he achieved the wall.”

“One selkie pup?”

“And perhaps Bergelmir. Either that, or his body was flung away so far it landed beyond our eyesight.”

“How could one man accomplish so much!”

“Perhaps, my lord, the Child of Light is deceived, and still believes one man can accomplish miracles.”

“Poor man, to be fooled in that way.”

“Well, my lord, we are no better than he.”

“And yet, if he were without sin, he would be lingering in Celebradon, the Starry Citadel. If he is the traitor of old legend, his guilt in that may permit my weapon to wound him where thousands have failed. I will go and teach this Child of Light his lesson.”

“And what report shall we make to the Grand Marshall?”

“The truth, for the truth shall show us humbleness.”

“And the selkie?”

“Ah. They might be blinded with arrogance and pride if any report was given that one of their number succeeded where the kindly and merciful race of the kelpie has failed. If one does good deeds, they should be done in secret.”

“Wise, wise! The selkie would thank you, were they to know.”

“And I shall go myself against the Child of Light. His armor has one weakness, for it is cracked where he was a traitor.”

The two silver-armored figures, after a moment of prayer, turned and walked into the brine, leading their horses. And where they had passed, the sea turned to stinking blood, and clouds of flies and mites followed after.

V

“Hsst, shipmate. So who is the cabin boy we smuggled into the house? Is he from Heather Blether or Skule Skerrie?”

“Ah! Aha! Ha Ha! No matter who he is, I’ll not be telling you; he’s a dead one tomorrow night, flayed and stretched out to dry, and in my wardrobe by noon. By the time Mannannan comes by with any reward, ‘twill be me who collects!”

“Oh no. We must not prey upon each other. The Hidden Judges punish such crimes with death!”

“Ah? They say the wardrobes of the Hidden Judges are more full than any other’s. They say Mannannan is the worst of all and that one day, his whole kingdom will be no one but himself.”

“Who says so?”

“Oh? And who says the law is law? Only your ears have told you so, and they might be deceived!”

“It’s true, but I don’t believe you said that.”

“Perhaps I didn’t. You know our law: every man is innocent when no evidence can be trusted. Innocent as spring rain.”

The two were silent for a time, looking out at the waves.

One said: “We live in cold and bitter waters that taste the taste of human tears. I think my seal-wife is not the same woman I married long ago. My pups are grown, and some have turned to strangers, or enemies. And in all the long years I’ve spent at sea, the waves have never found rest, never found a shape that pleased them, but ever and always rise and fall and crash and rise again, unsteady, uncertain, offering no place to stand. What if the
kelpie cheat us of our due? We can’t be certain, truly certain, mind, they mean to, or that things seem what they seem.”

“What brings on this melancholy, shipmate? ‘Tis a woman, as I think I know.”

“And right you are. I saw her through the windows of the library, from afar, lit by the light of an elf-lamp, silver as a midnight sea, pretty as a mermaid, with hair as black as a seal-pelt, and eyes that twinkled mirth! She had the air of fairy fair about her, lad; and I promised that she must be mine! I’m over the wall as soon as the Leper Knight drives off the Daylighter.”

“I’ll report you to Mannannan if you do. You see, I know you now: you be Captain Aegai of Atalantus deep.”

“No. That’s you. I’m Mannannan himself. Stand away, or I’ll weave a necklace of your red blood with my white teeth.”

“I’ll not meddle with ye, lord; but I put this geas on you; that you stand till I sing you a song. You break my geas, my lord, and I’ll mock your name from Iceland to the Cape of Storms.”

“I’ll not meddle with poets, man. Sing your piece.”

The other sang a song:

The silkie be a creature strange,

He rises from the sea to change

Into a man, a weird one he,

The silkie come from Skule Skerrie.

When he be man, he takes a wife;

When he be beast, he takes her life;

Ladies, beware of him who be

A silkie come from Skule Skerrie.

A maiden from the Orkney Isles,

A target for his charm, his smiles,

Eager for love, no fool was she;

She knew the bane of Skule Skerrie.

And so, while silkie kissed the lass,

She rubbed his neck with Orkney grass;

This had the magic power, you see,

To slay the beast from Skule Skerrie.

Then he added: “There’s old wisdom in old songs, my lord. Beware those land women.”

“Ha! Ha! And who would clasp one of our cold maidens, smelling of salt and sea fish, when he could have a daylight lass, smelling of the flowers they say grow up there.”

“Orkney grass grows up there too. As does the herb of the Moly Wand. Besides, she might not have been so fair and fresh as you thought you saw, my lord. You only saw her with your eyes, you know.”

“Alas, alas, ‘tis true.” He heaved a great sigh and rolled his eyes. And then he said at last: “Well, they say when darkness, darkness covers all, and all sight fails, our eyes will cease deceiving us.”

“Ha! And you believed them?”

16

The
Father
of
Frost

I

Peter and Wil were still arguing as they entered the front door. Both stopped short when they saw Emily lying in a heap in the middle of the den, in front of the fireplace. Next to her, the remains of the dismanteld telephone were strewn, as well as the vandalized speaker from the stereo set. The litter of a dozen burnt match heads lay atop scorch marks on the rug around her.

Wil rushed over to her and shook her shoulder, but she did not wake. Peter, more cautious, simply looked around the room before entering. He saw three cigarette butts in the ashtray, of different brands, and three unwashed coffee cups still sitting on the kitchen counter, one still steaming. A flush of rage reddened Peter’s face, and his knuckles grew white on
the arms of his wheelchair. He felt violated. With short, angry jerks of his arms, he wheeled his way across the den, down the corridor.

A moment later, Wil rushed into the room, and spoke in a panicky voice, “You’ve got to do something! Call the hospital! Someone’s taken apart both the phones! More of your crazy son’s doing! This is your fault! Your fault! Where did he go? Where is he?”

Peter pointed to the pentagram chalked on the window. “Used this on you, didn’t he? Remember the names he used? Don’t say them if you know, but you gotta write ‘em down for me. It’s been so long for me, I don’t remember any of that garbage.”

“What do I care about that voodoo stuff!” screamed Wil. “Of course I don’t remember! I’m suing you and your crazy son! He must have drugged me! That’s it! Put something in the food at dinner! Now he’s got Emily!”

Peter leaned forward and slapped Wil across the face. It was an open- handed blow, but Peter had strong arms and shoulders. Wil staggered back across the room and fell against the closet door. He stood slumped against the closet door, rubbing his face, eyes aflame and breathing hard.

Now he stepped forward, cocking a fist.

“Go ahead,” said Peter. “Maybe I’ll even let you land the first blow. Then I break both your arms. Come on. Afraid to take on a cripple?”

Wil backed away.

Peter rolled forward. “You can wake up Emily with that nursery rhyme I told you. I’m going to go look for my son and the three men—maybe there were more—who took him. I want to know the name he used to knock you out. Part of the stuff Pa tried to teach me. You’re going to help me make up for lost time.”

Wil was still backing up. He looked at the pentagram on the window, his face growing pale with poorly hid superstitious fear.

“But you don’t know where your son is . . .”

“I know where to start looking. The name?”

“Morphine. Something like that. Morpheus . . .”

“Don’t say it!”

But Wil was already fainting. Peter, from his wheelchair, reached out a hand but could do nothing to catch him. Wil fell to the floor and struck his head against the carpet with a loud bump.

Peter looked down at the prone body. Perhaps he was recalling how Wil had not climbed down the slope to help him up again, back at the reservoir. The shadow of a sneer curled around his nose. “Told you not to say it.”

Then he looked up and saw the Chamber of Middle Dreaming chalked in perfect detail in the mirror, even to the statues of St. George and Malen the War-red War Queen standing beside the bed.