by John White
Nevertheless there was something about Gaal's smiling confidence that reassured them, and in spite of themselves, and even in spite of the next words he spoke, their fears subsided in his presence. A warmth came from him that calmed anxiety.
"Remember we're in a war," he said. "It's a real war, and there'll be casualties. I'm going to make sure you two won't be hurt too much, but the danger is real. I still want you to take the treasure to the Tower of Geburah, and to imprison Shagah."
He rose to his feet revealing the awesome strength of his tall and powerful frame, and for several moments surveyed them with a smile that was rich and warm. His smile now radiated joy. John and Eleanor were smiling too. They had forgotten their alarm at the mention of Gaal's death and were wishing things would stay as they were forever. But the glow on Gaal's face grew fainter, and he turned to face the woods behind them. Slowly he began to walk away. They could never later explain why they had not tried to accompany him. Instead they followed him with their eyes until he was lost from view in the forest.
And three, unnoticed by them at first, the book, the orb and the key lay on the grass between them.
An oil lamp threw shadows round the sparsely furnished room. Its red stone walls, like the floor they looked down on and the ceiling they looked up at, seemed to glow in the feeble light, giving the room a strange warmth. There were neither windows nor doors, which was why the lamp was needed, for outside the sun shone brightly.
Two trap doors, one in the ceiling, and the other in the floor provided the only means of exit and entry. In two opposing walls, circular holes six inches in diameter provided for ventilation and communication. From both of them cords emerged, attached to bells suspended over the holes.
Bedding in shelved recesses in the wall, a single table and four wooden chairs gave a Spartan air to the room. A grayhaired elderly lady sat in one of the chairs, leaning her elbows on the table and staring at the sand as it trickled through the hour-glass in front of her. Her face was careworn and pale. One of the bells rang, and she rose quickly to her feet and hurried across to the opening in the wall. She said nothing but placed her ear against the hole. Then she shook her head, turned to speak into the hole and called out, "That is yesterday's password."
As she listened again she nodded and reached above her head to a handle which released a bolt from the trap door in the ceiling. On returning to her seat a smile of amusement lit her wrinkled features, warming them with strange beauty. Ten minutes later there were sounds of movement above the trap door in the ceiling, which was lifted. A booted foot descended through the opening, groping for steps carved in the wall. A moment later a dwarflike creature began to descend, pulling the trap door closed behind him. He was young. Yellow hair fell from beneath a soft pointed leather hat, and a thin yellow fuzz caressed his chin. His jerkin and trousers were also of leather.
He grinned at the lady, bowed and said, "Greetings, Widow Illith. You know the passwords well." He pulled a chair to the table and sat down.
"Our lives may one day depend on it, Bomgrith," the widow said. "But what news do you bring? What of the damage from the earthquake?"
"Tell me of your news first. You look weary. Something troubles you."
"Only Authentio, my son. It still haunts me. I cannot get over the fact that after all the years of his service as a runner he should have been captured and enchanted because he was concerned for our safety. Did you speak about him to Gaal?"
"Never fear. Gaal will see him soon after his return, but he is far away at present. He has been visiting the mountain tribes. It is said they have several pages copied centuries ago from the missing book that is part of the treasure. Some say he will pass through the enchanted forest on his return. If so, he could be in the forest by now."
"But he will try to help him?"
"Yes. He said so himself." He reached across the table to take the widow's hands in his own. "Have no fear. It will not be long before your son is here in this room. And if his loyalty to Gaal is anything like that of his mother, the cause will have gained by your request."
The widow sighed. "I trust so. Oh, that he could be delivered from the spell. I never knew until now what it was to be free again." Neither spoke for several minutes. Finally Widow Illith looked up and said, "The mountain tribes have not succumbed to the Circle of Light then?"
"It seems not. Perhaps the copied pages account for it. Its words are known to be powerful."
"If their power is such as the power that carved the tunnels and chambers in these walls, then it is power indeed."
Bomgrith smiled. "I've never seen anything like that power. Who would have thought the words on copied pages could produce such marvels?"
"It is truth. But speak to me of the earthquake damage."
"The city walls-" he looked round the room as he spoke, for the room in which they were seated was itself a hiding place carved secretly and magically inside the wall that surrounded Bamah, "-the city walls appear to have done very well. Their strength is astounding. We have found no crack in any part of them."
"And in the city?"
"The damage is minor, and almost no one has been hurt. But cracks have appeared in most of the buildings. It is feared that another quake may bring the whole city tumbling down."
"What of the temple?"
"Who knows. It is built by magic, by evil magic rather than by men. To me it seems that it will take more than an earth quake to bring it tumbling. Even our prophecies speak of its destruction centuries hence."
Several minutes elapsed before they spoke again. Finally as the widow once more consulted the hourglass she said, "Surely it is time for Zagen to arrive?"
"He should be here now. His strength never seems to fail him. I marvel at all he does."
"He puts many of our younger ones to shame on his long journeys. But then he is a tribesman from the mountains."
The bell rang, and this time Bomgrith sprang to place his ear against the hole in the wall. He smiled as he listened and then turned to speak into it the words, "Do not hasten, good sir, and take care as you descend the steps from the trap door."
Minutes later an old man wrapped about with a gray cloak was seated at the table with them. It was Zagen the Wanderer, the seer of the mountain tribes. His shoulders were stooped, his movements slow, but the dark eyes that surveyed them from beneath thick, bushy brows were piercing.
"We are grateful for your return, having longed for your safety, sir," Bomgrith said.
In a surprisingly deep and firm voice, Zagen replied, "And you are the matmon Bomgrith. How the years go by! I was present at your birth. It seems but yesterday. And your grandfather? I had expected him here."
"He is no longer Servant to the Council," the widow Illith interrupted. "Age and infirmity have taken their toll."
Zagen nodded. "It was overdue. He served well and faithfully. In the early days we would never have managed without him. And now?"
"They have elected Bomgrith."
The old man looked up, startled. His deep voice was raised a few tones as he cried, "Bomgrith! You cannot have seen more than a hundred summers and are little more than a child! How can one so young-and a matmon, forsooth-assume such a heavy weight of responsibilities?"
Bomgrith grinned. "How can one so old and arthritic attempt such long and perilous journeys?"
Zagen stared at him keenly. "Ah, but that is different. No one would suspect a decrepit old man of trafficking in secrets of the Brotherhood."
"And no one would suspect a young, yellow-haired matmon of directing the Council of the Brotherhood," Bomgrith retorted impishly.
"Bomgrith has wisdom beyond his years," Widow Illith said hastily. "The Council wanted him. The mantle and the spirit of his grandfather have fallen on his shoulders."
"At least his grandfather's ready wit and readier tongue are his," Zagen conceded. "Tell me, you who have wisdom beyond your years, and on whose shoulders so weighty a mantle rests, what news do you have of our Master?"
The old man shook his head. "We of the tribes were expecting him. But it is many days since I left."
"He left here to visit the tribes. Indeed he should have left them himself by now. We are all concerned. He was to pass through the great forest of the north on his return."
"How so? What need would he have to go there? Unless, unless ..."
"Who knows. He kept his counsel to himself. What is the wondering that crosses your countenance?"
Zagen's frown deepened. "One tribe was expecting the Sword Bearer to come who would bring with him the dogwoman from worlds afar. It has long been prophesied so. Who is to say how they would journey to Bamah?"
"Ours was the tribe expecting him to come," the widow said quietly. "But we were forced to flee from our village."
"But through the northern forest? Rumor has it that Shagah walks there hunting the Sword Bearer who has already come." "Yet Gaal planned to pass through?"
"That is what he said."
"The coming of the Sword Bearer is the only reason that would draw him into so great a peril. My father, who was when he lived a seer like me, often said, `He who bears the sword must encounter many perils in a perilous wood.' No other wood in all of Anthropos has perils such as the northern forest if Shagah roams there." He nodded to himself and finally smiled broadly, smiting the table suddenly with his fist. "The Sword Bearer is coming!" he cried. But at once he regretted his enthusiasm, wincing at the pain in his rheumatic hand.
"There will be peril enough for the Master when he returns," Bomgrith said hastily. "They know he has been here frequently, and the red-haired matmon have been instructed to watch for him. They must know how many of us have now been liberated from their spell, so I am certain the Circle of Light has plans for his arrest. Constantly their guards inquire among the people for a description of him, and knowledge of his whereabouts."
Zagen was slowly rubbing his painful hand. "Their guards?"
Bomgrith shrugged. "The redheads. There's goblin blood in them. They sneak for the Circle of Light, and they're not under the spell. They call themselves guards."
"Can you not urge Gaal to stay away from Bamah?"
"Perhaps we should. But he does enormous good here. Some of the enslaved can sense we are free, even though we shuffle and look dazed just as they do-when we walk abroad. But they know, and they ask us about Gaal."
"It could be a ruse. Remember their minds are controlled."
"It could be. But it does not seem so. Regenskind and matmon alike have been set free following such appeals. But here is another matter. Gaal says this will be his last visit to Bamah."
"In truth? He said so?"
"He said so himself."
A look of dread crossed Zagen's face. "Then I fear for us all. I hoped I had misunderstood, but the story is taking place even in our midst. It is even as the prophets foretold."
The widow Illith looked up anxiously. "The prophets foretold ill to him?" Zagen did not reply and the widow continued. "I fear for him. And I fear for my son. Oh, Authentio! Surely Gaal will come to free you!"
Bomgrith touched her hand again. "He will come. Never fear, Widow! And Authentio will come here-to this very chamber-and he will be free!" He turned to the seer. "Have you any word for us?"
"Of Gaal I will say nothing. Whatever is to be, is to be. But a picture of the city's Northern Gate rises constantly before my gaze. And as I see it my limbs begin to quake. I know not why, but it is a gate of peril. It threatens the safety of those who hide in these walls."
"My Authentio was seized at the Northern Gate," the widow said.
Bomgrith drew in a breath. "These walls are tunneled in almost the whole eastern segment. You know that there are now nearly three hundred of us living in them?" Zagen nodded, and Bomgrith continued, "Our newest exit is through the lodge of the gatekeeper of the Northern Gate. He was set free three months ago. Could it be that-?"
"I know not how the danger will come. Only that it comes from the Northern Gate."
"Nevertheless we must be careful. I will keep in close touch with the gatekeeper and his family, urging them to keep a lookout. And I will warn the rest that the gate is dangerous and must be avoided."
"We seem to be leaving the stream," John said.
It was true. Their path, which had followed the stream as it made its eastward descent, now followed a steep upward course through trees whose lower branches stretched over the path to form a tunnel. At times they had to bend and duck their heads to proceed.
During the two hours since Gaal left them, their path had followed the stream. Their mood had been lighthearted, and Eleanor had taken time to pick some of the wild flowers, weaving them together skillfully to make bracelets, a crown and a necklace for herself. She ducked her head a little lower so her crown would not be brushed off by the low branches. "Hey! This path is paved with stone!" John said after a moment.
"Well, whoever made the path doesn't look after it or they'd trim these branches," Eleanor replied.
The path ended as they faced a tunnel of rock. Beyond the darkness inside they could see a tiny, distant circle of daylight. Slowly they groped their way forward, emerging two minutes later to gasp in astonishment at what they saw.
Fifty feet below them lay a garden shut in by rocky walls rimmed with tall cedars. Cataracts of ivy and flowering vines spilled down the rock almost everywhere, covering it with color. The garden was shaped roughly like a figure eight, or was like two circular gardens joined together, the first one just below them and a second connected to it lying beyond. A path wound among lawns of green velvet and blazing, multicolored flower beds. A stream (John guessed it was the same stream they had been following) wound through the garden, and here and there you could cross it by rustic wooden bridges. Formal trees, arbor vitae cedars, weeping willows, and many others provided shade for chairs and benches. Yet everywhere stillness reigned. There were no signs of people to sit on the benches.
"Boy, is that ever something!" John cried. "Last year my grandma took me to see some gardens in Manchester. But they were nothing like this."
He glanced at Eleanor, and was surprised to see her pale and trembling. "What's the matter?" he asked. She stared at him mutely, her eyes dark pools of fear. "What is it? What's bothering you? You look ill!"
"I'm terrified." Her voice was almost a whisper.
John was bewildered. "But why? What is it you're scared of?"
"I'm scared of this place."
"But Eleanor, it's simply beautiful. I've never seen a garden like this in my whole life!"
Eleanor had clenched her fists in a futile effort to control her trembling. She was not looking at the garden, but staring into the space above it, and for several seconds she did not reply. When she spoke again her voice was low and tremulous. "Don't you understand? It's the same all over again. It's Shagah. It's like Rapunzel's tower and like Taavath-Basar. He's doing this to fool us-like the water in the pool when we were thirstyand the tower that invited us to climb."
John stared at her. Fear wrapped her round like a cloud so that she seemed remote and unreachable. "We nearly got killed at the pool," she continued, "and think what happened yesterday and the day before! It's happening again, John. We mustn't go down there. We must go back!"
Her panic was contagious, so that his heart began to beat a little. Instinctively he tried to comfort her, and remembering the way his father had often spoken to him, he moved closer and hesitantly put his arm round her shoulder. "Hey, steady!" he said. Curiously his own fear abated, even as he was speaking.
Eleanor continued, her voice shaking and her words coming in jerks. "Ever since we set out it's been one scary thing after another. How do we know we won't be killed, or imprisoned for life-or something?"
John's voice was quiet and steady when he spoke again. "You know, we can't go back," he said. "There's no place to go. This may be an enchanted garden,
but it would be worse if we returned."
She stiffened and drew in a breath. "I'm scared, John. I'm scared. I know I shouldn't be this way. Gaal took my fears away. At least I thought he did-when I faced being frightened of the dragon...." She paused and bit her lip. Her face seemed pinched and slowly a tear trickled down one cheek. "I bet you despise me. I'm yellow just like I used to be-a dog with its tail between its legs." She paused. "Do we have to go on? I mean couldn't we-well, couldn't we quit in some way? At first it was like a game. Even when I was a dog it was not like this. This is like real life, like my dad being drunk and chasing me with a knife-and doing other things-worse things."
"I think what Gaal did was make you normal-like everybody else. You're not the scaredy-cat you used to be. Anybody'd be scared of an enchanted wood. My dad says real courage is going forward even when you're scared. Listen, I'm scared myself. Everyone's scared in situations like this. Gaal really did something when you came back from being a dog."
Still trembling, Eleanor said nothing for a minute. Then she said, "You know, that whole business of my being burned to death and coming alive-it was real, wasn't it?"
"Of course it was!"
She shook her head miserably. "Then how come I'm like this now? How come, John? How come? I'm just shaking, and I can't stop."
John said no more. He squeezed her shoulders firmly, still feeling awkward about doing so, and wondering whether she drew any comfort from it or not. Then as he stared at her face he saw for the first time that even through its veil of fear it was beautiful. His heart swelled inside his chest. "I won't let anything happen to you," he said. "I know I messed it up the last time-but I won't ever do so again."
She released herself gently from his grip and sat down, leaning her back against the rocky wall behind them. John sat as close as he could beside her. He could feel the trembling of her body. It was not the first time she had made any reference to her life at home. Previously he had been too embarrassed to raise the topic. Even at Ponty's cave he had only questioned her about events in Anthropos and not about that awful night when she had run out into the snow.
