“Lordmaster! Hail to thee! Hail to victory!”
He knelt close to the wide, pale feet of the seated man who then enlarged his eyes. I felt a strange shock. The hollow, pale pupils seemed to flash and gather the smoky light into a palpable force. It seemed to touch my brain.
And then a rumbling voice that sounded like the stone in the foundation of the world shifted and ground together. My breath seemed frozen in my chest.
“Where is the precious thing I seek?” it demanded. “Have you brought it to me?”
“My lord,” said Gobble, staying on his knees, “not yet. Not yet.”
“Then,” thundered his master — I took a step back at the impact and cracked my head on the roof — “what are you doing here?”
Gobble nodded his tilting, twisting head. I was still seeing sparks of painful light. “Ah, Lord,” he said. “We were betrayed by she who was our ally.”
That had to be Morgana. Or whoever that girl actually had been. Well, Parsival had slain her, right enough. And nearly had finished the lot of us. He was a knight to give a wide berth to and yet, obviously, we had to seek him out, keep reaching in the hot coals for the coin, as the peasants say in my country.
“Betrayed. She led us on a false scent.” Gobble stood up now and jerked into movement. His shadows spasmed around the chamber. “I suspect she has the key needed to obtain the Grail. “
A pause. The strange, hollow stare seemed to withdraw and dim as he lidded his eyes and leaned on his side across the black stone, reminding me of a woman at a feast.
“What is your idea, Gobble?” he rumbled. “If you have one. “
“No doubt,” came the reply, as he rocked and pivoted, “she has it on her stronghold island. I need some men. Some men. More of my little ones. Well, they’d died, anyway. Those nasty dwarves.”
Clinschor looked thoughtful. I was just getting used to seeing the legend himself. Strange. The ogre whose image women used to frighten their children. I was increasingly sure I’d put in with the wrong side. Morgana might have proved a wiser choice. I didn’t see this legend rising again from this dank hole where he seemed so content.
“Take men, General Gobble,” he said, at length. He clasped and unclasped his big, soft-looking hands. His mouth was set with impressive determination. “I am gathering new forces in the north for the great day to come.” He sat up, folding his arms over his lank, half-bared chest. “Parsival. What of him?”
Gobble shrugged.
“He escaped me. I’ll find him again.” His hands made small fists. “He’ll tell all he knows. Never fear.”
“I expected better results.”
“Never fear, my Lord. He’ll tell all he knows.” He seemed quite certain, though my dealing with that noble gentleman left me doubtful of any outcomes involving him.
“Go to this island,” Clinschor thundered.” This time I didn’t quite hit my head. “Bring back what I desire most.”
Gobble looked delighted.
“Yes, yes,” he said, stroking his pointy chin. He paced, as always when something excited him. His crippled shadows reeled around him. “There’s a slave woman here. I hope she still lives. I remembered her on the road. She was raised by Morgana the witch. I’d thought of using her to spy on Arthur.”
Clinschor frowned thunder this time.
“What of it, Gobble?”
“Just this, Lordmaster. If she can tell me where the island is, we can take the old paths and come there by secret. The witch is keen, but she’d never expect such a ruse, I think.” Clinschor seemed satisfied. “The girl,” Gobble went on, “is probably still living in the pens. I long ago gave orders she was not to be damaged or destroyed.”
“What …” I started to say without thinking. Clinschor and Gobble turned and stared at me.
“What have you brought to me?” the Master wanted to know, making me sound like a roast fowl.
“A useful knight. He has come to join our cause. I offer him for the blood union.”
Blood? I thought.
“Ah,” rumbled the leader, then addressed me. When I glanced behind (with vague ideas of fleeing) I saw the black armored guards had blocked the only door, stooping, plumes crushed against the low roof. “Candidate? …”
“Howtlande,” Gobble filled in.
“Candidate Howtlande, come to me!”
His voice seemed to jerk me forward. I was suddenly sweating. My heart pounded. I was dizzy. I went forward and his pale, burning stare seemed to enlarge and suck away my strength. “No,” I tried to protest, but an unseen hand pressed my throat.
PARSIVAL
I saw nothing but fog. Here was my whole life repeating again. I stared into ghostly darkness, wondering what I’d actually say to Lohengrin. It had better be better than my past efforts. I should never have been a father. When he was a precious babe I was away. I missed the best part and muddled the rest. I thought about my daughters. I remembered their childhoods more clearly. Well, the first’s, anyway. The second’s was a little obscure, as was, I suspect, her parentage. I was never quite convinced she was mine. I had good reasons to suppose otherwise, in fact. Not that I damned Layla for that. Not at this stage of things. Maybe not ever.
The waves were hitting the port bow hard. The sails strained and cracked, drummed. Veers seemed well-pleased. I neither liked nor disliked the sea. I tolerated it. Great wonder and terror and beauty, but no time to get really set to enjoy it.
Veers leaned close to me, one big hand locked on a line, the other on the tiller as the craft lurched and boomed along. “We’re clear of the rocks,” he yelled over the wind and water’s roar. I blinked spray from my eyes. The shore was melted into formless pale streaks.
I nodded. Beef was struggling with something on the bowsprit. I saw him hammering as if trying to nail something to the foam and mist.
“What chance have we of finding them out here?” I yelled back.
“Eh?” he responded.
We tipped up and down a long, high wave, and I felt it in my stomach. I didn’t like it. I drifted enough on land, you see, and went senselessly up and down, so this was wine poured into a hopeless drunkard.
“What’s that, Knight?” He bent his long head nearer. “I’ve already found them,” he said, grinning. “I don’t want to overrun the grubby bastards.”
That was interesting. I strained my sight. Nothing. Shook my head. His bony hand took my chin and aimed it in the right direction.
“There, land-lover,” he said, pointing with his other hand. Sure enough, a subtle shadow slipped along in the shrouded moonlight. There’s nothing like a real expert.
After the fog blew to nothing we were out under the vast open sky with the moon going down behind us. Veers kept us outside of them, nailed to their running lantern. Since the channel was rough, I thought we must be going to the continent.
At some point I let myself doze off, lulled by the monotonous tilt and smack, tilt and smack … I’d told Veers just to follow. I wanted to discover what my disgruntled son was about.
I woke into a bright gray fog. Why not? A man of the mists. I shifted miserably on the planks. I’d laid aside most of my armor, and my back was wet with bilge.
It wasn’t just morning haze. The sun was gathering in muted gold on the seamless, flat horizon off my left shoulder.
The creak and tilt and bump had shifted to longer beats with a sharp jerk and drop at the end. My first urge for breakfast swallowed itself at once.
As soon as I raised my head, the wind stung my ears. I squinted around. Dough-faced young Beef looked dour enough, crouched in the bow. His father gave me a meaningless smile. His eyes were anxious. He leaned over and shouted, conversationally, at me: “It’s an ill morn, Knight Sir.”
I knew that already. The sky was covered by grayish-white blurring. The sun, above the horizon, was dimming as if the wind drank its fire.
“Have we lost them?” I wanted to know, just remembering the chase.
He shook his head. His
expression told me that this wasn’t the point. The world was tilting higher and slower now. I clutched the side seat as we crossed over the peak. I glimpsed gray water; the slamming wind gusted the tops off the waves. I saw no rain clouds but caught a glimpse of the other boat: one big sail had been torn away and was flapping parallel to the surface like a ribbon.
Then we wallowed in a trough. Steep slopes hemmed us in on either side. Unseen hands seemed to draw us rapidly to the top again. We were, I think, undergoing the fate of nations.
Beef’s pasty face was grayed with fear, but I was too dulled to be afraid of much anymore. Once I’d been too innocent to worry; now it had been rubbed out of me. To live my life anyone would have had to become dulled.
I got the rest of my armor on and waited. A few crests later I saw a dark, reef-rimmed island ahead. Did I think my armor would buoy me? I suppose it was natural to put on the iron; to be dressed for dying at all times.
In the darkening morning, the other boat was a fragile looking wisp among the rocks.
The rain hit us sideways about three hundred yards out, and the world exploded into black, ropey smoke and lightning that beat and flailed the sky like giant snakes in death snapping. The boat filled like a cup as the water broke over us. I considered taking off the armor, but the devil with that. There’d be no swimming for anyone anyway in this insane, foaming, sucking fury.
I wondered if my son had made it. Wondered about a lot of things suddenly. Beef was screaming, I think. Impossible to hear. The windbroken waves pounded us, jarred us, like mace blows. Veers yelled something and then was gone. The flashes broke and bent heaven and earth.
We missed all the rocks and then the boat was gone too. That simple. I was swirling in a circle and went under before I could try even a stroke.
I hit a sandy bottom. The currents gusted like winds. I staggered but, weighed as I was, stayed upright. Began slogging heavily forward. Good lungs. Uphill … I struggled on my last gulp of air. It was strangely peaceful and soothing in that rushing silence.
My chest began to burn. I forced myself on in the darkness. I was shoved forward, then back. It was hopeless, of course. My ears drummed. Hurt. Mind wandered into dreams and half memories. I saw the brilliant crystal castle where knights and ladies blazed like small suns, where the air, the sky and the shining land sang sweetness as gates opened. I came closer and I could see inside. My mind told me I was drowning, walking out of my body. I was anxious to get inside before the gates closed again. I struggled up the steps, desperate with longing, because now I could see the source, the glowing heart that thrilled and drew me on into dissolving joy … As I entered the huge gateway, the source bathed me like August sun, mellow-rich, and I felt myself ascending into the radiant atmosphere, weightless as a fluffball. I knew it was an opening that led to home, true home where unstained wonder shines in new life’s first dreaming … and then the glory dimmed; just as my own light-sweetened substance touched the brilliant doorway, a vast darkness fell like a quaking wave and flooded the crystal castle … The shore was just close enough. A miracle. My head broke the surface as I jogged up, then fell in the surf.
And I lay in harsh air, rasping and coughing, flat on my face in the surf, battered by rocks, cut, stunned, choking back into life while the storm slapped and slammed me.
I crawled just high enough to clear my mouth so that when the broken waves fell back I had a breathing space. That was good enough for now. No one (I considered) could have stood upright there. I thought vaguely how it would make a creeping beast of any man. The idea seemed to mean something … I lost consciousness again, but this time there was only continuous blackness. I didn’t object. I drifted willingly into nothingness…
When I woke again the storm was gone. I thought it was morning. A pale rose glow shone on the sea’s horizon. The air was misty again, cool masses of fog boiling from the waves.
I sat up and wondered if Lohengrin was alive. The surf had receded. My left cheek was rubbed raw by the pebbly sand. Dried blood caked in my nose. I felt like I’d been at a troll’s picnic or an Irish wedding feast.
I got up and walked. That took something out of me. The beach was backed by a jagged wall of dark rock. The whitish fog smoked around me as I walked. I nearly tripped over what must have been part of the boat’s prow.
“Hello,” I called, not too loud and waited. I took a few more steps. “Hello …” Heard a groan. Went up close to the natural wall; realized it was dusk, not dawn. Outlines were subtly fading.
“Over here,” Veers said. I saw them. His boy Beef was huddled against the rocks, blood on his face. The lean captain squatted over him. He looked all right except for one arm that hung too slack.
“Are you hurt much?” I asked.
“Hah. Ask me instead if I regret taking you aboard.”
“How’s he?” I sighed, looking around at fog … fog … fog … always fog and dimness covering me over. And what of my son? What a nightmare.
“Have your eyes melted from your head?” Veers asked me.
“I’ll go inland,” I said, “and see if there’s help to be had here. “
“Don’t rush off. Wait till blackest midnight. Why see even the first few steps of your way?” Acid fellow. Beef groaned again. Feebly stirred his big, pale hands on the dark, wet stones.
“Adversity warms my bed,” I told him. “Tomorrow could be worse than today.” I could probably have guaranteed it.
“Were I superstitious,” Veers said, “I’d think those winds were set to catch us, Sir Knight.”
I was chilled, battered and miserable enough. I wondered what the salt water would do to the steel. No good, clearly. I had an idea it would be better to move around than sit and shiver the night away.
After climbing the rock face (about ten feet or so) I was on level turf. Smooth, deep grass. Fading light and fog blurred the landscape into a dreamy gentleness. I kept thinking that after I checked another few yards I’d go back for Veers and his boy, help them over the wall. What a surprise, a peaceful, soothing park. I half expected sheep and shepherds. I was almost sure I heard a soft, lilting pipe in the softened distance, fluent as the breeze.
I turned towards the sound. Tried to, anyway. The darkness caught up with me, and I decided to rest a little. Then I’d go back for Veers … I fell asleep the minute I touched ground, like a child …
I woke up, the hot sun beating into my face. I was sprawled on my back, my steel garments laid aside. The tall grass swayed over my head, flicking the dawn sunbeams as the dew and mist burned away.
For a few moments, I remembered nothing. I was like a child, filled with nothing but peace and wonder: the golden-red light, the perfect sheen of sky, bird-sounds, breeze whooshing the grass …
I yawned and sighed. Stretched deliciously.
I grew up from that dreamy childhood in about thirty seconds. Blinked. My memories slammed back on me like an ax on a shield.
And, imagine this: a beautiful young woman in a soft gown, hair full of sunlight. She reminded me of someone I couldn’t quite place.
I sat up. Half yawned. Even if I’d instantly thought to flee, it would have been too late. The net had already dropped.
“We found your companion on the beach,” she was saying.
“Ah … good morning, lady.”
“Just follow me,” she said.
I was already shaking my head.
“No. I don’t follow beautiful ladies anymore. Not even when they invite me.” I grinned and reached around for my food sack before remembering there was nothing to drink. “Is there a stream nearby?”
She held a stone flagon. How thoughtful. She knelt and offered it to me.
“Here’s sweet wine, Sir Knight.”
Not bad. I sniffed, then sipped, then guzzled. The aroma filled my head. Honey and sweet fruit. What a draught.
“I might follow you at that,” I said, standing up. She stayed on her knees. I swayed and streams of darkness crisscrossed the sunny field … ran in
to pools. One filled under my feet and I think I cried out as I sank all the way under …
No sun this time when I came to. Blurry candlelight. Incense itching my nose. I felt like I was floating on silk clouds. No desire to move. Except my head was being squeezed by spiked pincers. When I finally dared to turn it, I was surprised to find nothing there but pain. The drink. I remembered the drink.
Feeling the pangs of idleness? Hit Parsival on the head or douse him with drugged liquor. Even small children enjoy stoning him. Delight for everyone of all ages. “I should wear a target and charge a fee,” I muttered. Sat up. No easy effort.
Naturally, I was naked. I peered around the dim chamber. Lush: the floor was like a couch, heaped with scented pillows. Meant for lying, not standing. No windows visible. Curtained walls. A closed door. Deja vu.
Where’s my armor this time? I asked myself. At least I wasn’t in chains. That should have told me more than it did.
“I’m sick of this nonsense.” How true that was. Got to my feet. Sank to the ankles in the water-smooth softness. Bounced when I walked like a child romping on his bed. “Someone’s going to regret all this,” I let it be known. I was mad. The headache was half of it.
Maybe the door was unlocked. I bounced towards it, feeling absurd, and tripped over a soft lump on the bedding. A satiny shadow in the dimness.
“Oh,” it said.
I stopped. The covers rustled and moved. A naked girl. And I mean a girl. Fourteen at most. Sleek, lovely, firm. My breath caught in my throat. Her lips and eyes were those of a fully knowing woman. For a moment, I thought of my eldest daughter. That made me uneasy. I felt as if I’d stumbled in on her in the bath. Maybe this girl only appeared to be young. Maybe I was still asleep. Maybe I’d actually drowned and this was part of some post-life chaos.
So soft and sleek and I hadn’t had a woman in months save for the strange redhead I had managed to kill. That was good to think about. I could remember the blood that had bubbled up from her lips. Good to think about.
This girl rubbed one fluffy-soft foot on my thigh. I instinctively touched it. Warm. A sweetmeat. Her scent started stirrings in my groin that went to liquid weakness in my knees.
Blood and Dreams: Lost Years II Page 9
