The Skrayling Tree (23 page)

Gunnar sighed with relief. He gave the order to row towards the island. I found myself hoping that the inhabitants were capable
of defending themselves. Just as we began to look for an anchoring place, the lights in the house went out.

I looked up at the stars. They were far more familiar in their configuration than those I had most recently left behind. Had
I somehow returned to the world of Melniboné? Instinctively I felt that my dreams and my realities had never been closer.

Famous in fierce foam the reivers raged,

Swords bared against their barren fortune.

L
ONGFELLOW
,

“Lord of the Lost”

A
part from the lamp which burned in the front windows, there was no evidence that the house was occupied at all. Our men were
by now totally exhausted. Gunnar knew this and told them to stop rowing. The Persian was sent forward with the plumb line.
The water seemed shallow enough, but when we dropped anchor it would not hold. We were touching rock. The big millstone we
used was slipping. Eventually we were able to get some sort of purchase in what was probably organic tangle. The ship drifted
about before settling slowly with her dragon bird prow staring imperiously inward at the mysterious continent. Had Gunnar
really
thought it could be taken by thirty men commanded by a faceless madman?

I had no need of sleep the way the others had. I told them I would take first watch. I spent it in the little buckskin shelter
we had made in the prow, which gave me a view of the water ahead. I heard what I thought were seals and checked the ship for
swimmers. By the time my watch was up the night had been uneventful.

When I awoke just after dawn I heard birdsong, smelled wood smoke and forest and was filled with a sense of quite inappropriate
well-being. From within the house, some sort of animal croaked, and I heard a human voice that was faintly familiar to me.

We drew anchor and rowed slowly around the island looking for a better landing place. Eventually we found a slab of rock jutting
directly into the sea. A lightly clad man could stand on the rock and wade up easily to get a rope positioned for the rest
of us. We would drown in our war-gear if we slipped.

At length, having left a small guard, we stood on the bank of the island. Out to sea, gulls and gannets fished on grey, white-flecked
water. They flew low against a sky of windswept iron, with tall firs and mixed woodlands rising inland as far as we could
see. Nowhere, save from the house, was there any smoke.

With a habitual curse, Gunnar began to march forward through the undergrowth leading his men. We were approaching the back
of the house. There was no sign we had been detected until, as we came close, a bird inside began to screech in the most urgent
and agitated manner. Then there was silence.

Gunnar stopped.

The Viking led us in a wide circle until we could see the front of the house with its solid oaken door, heavy iron hinges
and locks, the bars at the windows in front of the lattice. A well-maintained and defendable manor house.

Again the bird made a noise.

Were they hoping we would go away?

Were they expecting us to attack?

Gunnar next told half the party to stay with me at the front while he circled the house. He was looking for something in particular
now, I could tell. He murmured under his breath and counted something off on his fingers. He had recognized the place and
feared it.

Certainly his manner changed radically. He yelled for us to get back, to get down to the ship immediately.

His men were used to obeying him. Their own superstition did the rest. Within seconds they were all stumbling back through
the undergrowth, catching their hasty feet and cursing, using their swords to hack their way clear, thoroughly infected by
their master’s panic.

And panic it was! Gunnar was clearly terrified.

I would have followed had not the door opened and a rather gaunt, black-clad individual whom I did not recall greeted me with
cold familiarity.

“Good morning, Prince Elric. Perhaps you’d take a little breakfast with me?”

He spoke High Melnibonéan, though he was a human. His face was almost fleshless, a cadaverous skull. His eyes were set so
deep in their sockets it seemed a vacuum
regarded you. His thin, pale lips forced a partial smile as he saw my surprise.

“I think my former master, Lord Gunnar, knows the nature of this place, but do not fear, my lord. It cannot do you harm. You
do not recall me? I understand. You lead so many and such varied lives. You meet people far more remarkable than myself. You
don’t remember Johannes Klosterheim? I have been waiting here for Earl Gunnar to arrive for some fifty years. We were once
partners in sorcery. My own satanic powers are used elsewhere. But here I am.”

“This house was brought here by sorcery?” I asked.

“No, sir. The house was built by my own and others’ honest sweat. Only the stone posts were already in place. We erected the
beams, the walls and floors. Each corner of the house is stone, as are many of the interior supports. We found the circle
already here when I arrived.”

“We? You and your pet?”

“I must apologize for the bird, sir. My only protection against the savages. But I was not referring to him. No, sir, I am
lucky enough to be chief of a small tribe of native skraylings. Travelers like myself. We found this land already settled.
It was the settlers helped me build my house.”

“We saw no other lights, sir. Where would those settlers be?”

“Sadly, sir, they are all dead. Of old age. We fell out, I fear, myself and the Norsemen. My tribe triumphed. Apart from the
women and children adopted to make up our numbers, the rest are now enjoying the rewards of
Valhalla.” He uttered a barking caw. “All mongrels now, eh, sir?”

“So settlers built this place for you?”

“They did most of the necessary work, yes. It’s essentially circular, like their own houses. The island itself was a holy
place locally. The natives were frightened of it when we arrived. I knew it would be a long while before you got here, so
I needed somewhere comfortable to wait. But my tribesmen will not live here. A few remain with me but make their own camp
in the mountains over on the other side of that ridge.” He pointed inland at a distant, pine-covered terrace. “They bring
me my food and my fuel. I am, these days, a kind of household god. Not very important, but worth placating. They’ve waited
years, I suspect, for a more suitable Easterner. Gunnar could well be what they want, if he does not kill them before they
have a chance to talk. You had better take me to him. I place myself under your protection, Prince Elric.”

Without locking the house, Johannes Klosterheim closed his front door, left his jabbering bird inside and followed me. Some
Vikings had already reached the gang-rope.
The Swan
rocked and bobbed under the weight as they pulled on the rope, hauling themselves through the water and up the side.

“Earl Gunnar,” I called. “The master of the house is with me. He says he means us no harm. He can explain these paradoxes.”

Gunnar was still half-panicked, raving. “Paradoxes? What paradoxes? There are no paradoxes here, merely dark danger. I will
not risk my men’s lives against it.”

His men paused. They were not as impressed or terrified as he was. Gunnar gathered himself. He spoke with a slightly forced
authority. He could not afford to show any further failures of judgment, or he would not last long.

“The master of the house is captured?”

“He comes as a friend. He says he awaits us. He is glad we have arrived.”

Gunnar wanted no more of this in public. He grunted and shrugged. “He can come aboard with us, if he likes. We need fresh
water, and there’s none I can see here.”

Smiling faintly to himself Klosterheim held his own counsel. He bowed. “I am much obliged, Earl Gunnar.”

Gunnar pushed back through his men to take a better look at the newcomer. “Do you know this realm?”

Klosterheim changed his language to Greek. “As well as anyone,” he said. “I would imagine you are hoping for a guide.”

Gunnar snorted. “As if I’d trust you!”

“I know why you fear this place, Gunnar the Doomed, and I know you have reason to fear it.” Klosterheim spoke in a low, cold
voice. “But I have no particular cause to fear it, and neither has any other man here, save you.”

“You know my dream?” said Gunnar.

“I can guess what it must be, for I know what happened at that place. But you have nothing to fear in the house now.”

“Aye,” said Gunnar. “Call me a cautious old man, but I see no reason to trust my fortunes to you or that place.”

“You had best trust me, Gunnar the Doomed, since we have goals in common.”

“How can you know so much living at the World’s Rim? Do vessels come and go every week from here to the Middle Sea?”

“Not as many as there used to be,” said Klosterheim. “The Phoenician trade at its height was thriving on other shores than
these. I have been to a country far from here where the folk speak Breton and are Christians. Slowly the land will change
them. They will become as the others here. Men change not as they would, but as nature demands. The Norse and Roman trade
was minimal. The Phoenicians and their Celtic allies fled here after the fall of Carthage. This continent has always absorbed
its settlers. And made them its own.”

Gunnar had lost interest. “So you say there’s no big Norse settlement here? No major defenses? No fleet?”

“Just myself and the Pukawatchi now,” said Klosterheim, almost humorously. “Patiently expecting your coming. I know what you
carry with you here. How came you so swiftly to Vinland?” He spoke knowingly.

Gunnar saw the last of his men into the ship, then came back to talk further. “You mean that war plate?” he asked. “That skrayling
shield?”

“It was more than luck brought you here before the winter snows,” said Klosterheim. “It was more than one thing allowed you
to take a shortcut through Hell!” He spoke with unusual force. “You need me, Earl Gunnar the Doomed, just as you do Prince
Elric, if you are ever to see the Golden City and look upon the wonder of the Skrayling Tree.”

“Do you know what I seek?” Gunnar demanded.

“Might it have something to do with the ring worn by our pale friend?”

“That’s enough,” said Gunnar.

He lapsed into uncharacteristic, brooding silence.

“And why am I here?” I asked. I held up the ring.

“You are not here, as you well know,” said Johannes Klosterheim with narrowed eyes. “You are in peril in some other realm.
Only desperation brings your dream self here.”

“And you know what I seek?”

“I know what you would do. I cannot see how it can be done whether you serve Law or Chaos.” He interrupted himself, looking
to Gunnar. “Come back with me to the house. Leave your men to guard the ship. You can sleep, and we can talk further. I need
your strength as you need my wisdom.”

But Gunnar shook his head again. “Instinct tells me to avoid that house at all costs. It is associated with my doom. If you
have warriors and would join forces, we’ll improve our security. So I’ll agree provisionally to an alliance. Until I see the
mettle of your men. Should you reveal to me tomorrow that your tribe’s no more visible than the average elf or dwarf, you’ll
have waited fifty years just to lose your head. Do you too claim to be a demi-mortal like our leprous friend here? The world
is filling up with us. The best of these die bloodily at forty or so. Few live to sixty, let alone two hundred.”

“I was born out of my time,” Klosterheim offered by way of explanation. “I am an adventurer, like yourself,
who seeks a certain revenge and recompense. I cannot die until Time herself dies. A young dreamthief’s apprentice has tried
to steal something from me and has paid a price for it. Now I travel as you do, with the help of sorcery. Why Time should
accommodate us so thoroughly, I cannot tell, but we might learn one day.”

“You’re of a scientific disposition?” I asked.

“I have been acquainted with natural scientists and students of the Khemir and the Gibra for many years. All grope for wisdom
as greedily as their lords and kings grope for power. To protect their wisdom from abuse by the temporal forces of this world,
various brotherhoods have been formed down the centuries. The most recent is the Brotherhood of the Holy Sepulcher. All understand
that the sum of human wisdom, the secret of human peace, resides in a certain magical object. It can take the form of a cup,
a staff or a stone. It is known by the Franks as the Gray Dale, which is a name they give to a ceremonial bowl used to greet
and feast visitors. Some say it is a bowl of blood. Some say the heads of enemies swim in that bowl and speak of secret, unnatural
things. Or it is a staff, such as Holy Roman Emperors carry to symbolize that they rule justly and with balance under the
law. The Gauls and Moors are convinced it is a stone, and not a small one. Yet all agree the Gray Dale could take any of these
forms and still be what it is, for sight of it is hidden from all but the most heroic and virtuous.”

Again Gunnar was laughing. “Then that is why I am the Doomed. I am doomed to seek the cup but never see
it, for I cannot claim to be a virtuous man. Yet only that cup could avert my fate. Since I’ll never see it, I intend to ensure
that no others shall ever set eyes on it…”

“Then let us hope,” Klosterheim interrupted dryly, “that we are able to help you avert your fate.”

“And you, Master Klosterheim,” I said. “Do you, too, seek this staff, stone or cup?”

“To be honest,” said Johannes Klosterheim with thin, terrifying piety, “I seek only one thing, and that is the cure for the
World’s Pain. I have one ambition. To bring harmony back to the world. I seek to serve my master, the Prince—”

“—of Peace?” Gunnar was feeling confident again now, and as usual this came out in a form of aggression. “I mistook you for
a soldier or a merchant, sir, not a priest.”