Gaal the Conqueror

by John White

  "That's right, it did. It got hot too. Mebbe something actually happened. But what?" Eleanor and John looked all round them.

  Suddenly John cried out, "Look!"

  Eleanor also stared. "What are you staring at? I don't see anything but a bunch of trees."

  John pointed. "That one wasn't there before. It's a Gaal tree!"

  Eleanor's stare had been replaced by a look of bewilderment. "But there's no point in taking up residence in a Gaal tree. Not now. There just isn't time. You know that as well as I do."

  "But there will,be food in it, probably enough for us to make sandwiches for the rest of the journey!" And so it proved. There was a hot meal on the linen tablecloth, and plenty of bread and meats for sandwiches. They did not linger over the meal for they dared not. Time was precious. And after packing as many sandwiches as they needed, they set out once more, still fearful but clinging now to hope.

  They pushed ahead all day as fast as they could, fear lending a kind of energy to their legs. To waste no more time they ate and drank from their water bottles as they walked.

  Darkness fell eventually, but even so they pushed ahead with what strength they had. Mile followed mile with weary monotony. They even forced themselves to jog from time to time. Somehow they managed to stay awake till dawn when they were compelled by utter fatigue to sleep for an hour.

  Though they awoke curiously refreshed, the day proved exhausting. Perhaps it was as well that their journey was sharply downhill. That at least was easier than climbing would have been. Even so things were difficult. The path they had been following gradually disappeared, but since it had led them down a steeply descending glen, they had no alternative but to follow the glen down and to the east.

  It was a miniature valley of incredible beauty. The stream had by now become swollen by the springs and streamlets that joined it, to tumble in a splendid series of falls over rocks of every size. Sometimes it was a sheet of swiftly moving glass, at others a wild and plunging horde of watery unicorns, their manes flying with every leap. Vapor and gentle mists softened the outlines of the trees. Moss clothed the trunks and branches, while a carpet of thick green moss spread itself luxuriously over logs and rocks, covering the earth as it descended in a sort of wild staircase toward the lowlands.

  "I wish we could stop to explore," John said.

  Eleanor nodded. "It's absolutely gorgeous. But we mustn't."

  They tried to hurry, but it was difficult. The ground was uneven, and descended steeply. Rotting tree trunks, boulders and rocks, hidden as they were beneath the thick moss, caused them from time to time to stumble through it into the bowels of a rotting log, or to slither wetly and fall down a rocky slope or over a large boulder as the moss tore free. Enchanting as the valley might be, it became a nightmare to travel down. Eleanor's "absolutely gorgeous" had become "absolutely awful" after two hours of scrambling.

  But the knowledge that this was their last chance of getting out, and that with any luck it would be their last day in the enchanted forest, kept them at it. Soon they were bruised and battered from scrambling and falling, and their legs felt rubbery. Even so they never stopped. They soon abandoned speech. Their breath came in gasps.

  What they did notice was a thin film of dust on the moss that grew slowly thicker as the day wore on. They also noticed bird calls. And as they did so, each of them independently realized that the forest had been silent, except for the first hours they had spent in it. Since then no bird had sung. Their hearts quickened at the sound of twitterings through the trees, sensing either that they must be approaching the edge of the forest or that enchantments could no longer silence bird song.

  By late afternoon, to their great joy and relief, they broke through the trees to a grassy slope overlooking a wide valley. For a moment they stopped and stared. Golden light from the setting sun was stealing up the mountainside facing them followed by shadows that gently herded the sunlight skyward.

  "We made it!" John breathed, hardly daring to believe his eyes. "We actually made it!"

  "Well, let's get farther away from the trees," Eleanor panted. "I don't want something rushing out from behind us and dragging us back."

  When at last they sat down they became aware of a low and steady sound like thunder. "Waterfall?" John mused.

  Below them and to their right a river wound along the floor of the valley to flow beneath what looked like a stone bridge. Beyond the bridge and to their left the river could not be seen. Instead a wide chasm opened up. John pointed to the bridge. "I bet there's a waterfall there," he said.

  "I bet that's the River Rure," Eleanor said.

  John shook his head. "There aren't any waterfalls along the Rure. Anyway, this river's flowing north. It must be if the waterfall's on that side of the bridge. The Rure flows south. It winds up way in the south in a great big salt marsh."

  "Then where are we and what is that river?"

  "I've no idea. I don't know of any other big rivers. I guess the whole country has changed since I was here."

  They stared at the scene before them as they rested. "I wish I had field glasses," John said, his voice rising with excitement, "I think that may be Ponty just down by the bridge. See him?" He pointed. "See that thing that looks like a big rock jutting out of the ground to the right of the bridge-I do believe that's him! It's a dragon anyway."

  He struggled to his feet, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Ponty! Ponty!" Echoes of his voice bounced back from the valley walls. John called again, but there was no movement. Only the echoes responded.

  "It must just be a rock," Eleanor said. "Or else it's another dragon. In that case we'd better be careful."

  "Let's go see!"John replied.

  It took them fifteen minutes or so to get down to the bridge, and long before they did so, they were sure that the heap of rock was indeed not a rock, but the sleeping dragon, curled up in much the same fashion as they had seen him when he was asleep in his cave. Excitedly they stumbled on trembling legs toward the beast. The thunder of the waterfall increased as they approached the bridge.

  "He's fast asleep!" John cried breathlessly as he flopped on the dusty earth beside the dragon. "Gosh, that must be some waterfall, I wish we could get a glimpse of it."

  "Look! He's crying in his sleep," Eleanor replied "He dreams about a white mare that treats him like a son, and it makes him cry. I wonder if he's having the same dream now?"

  "He's talking in his sleep-I think. You can't hear properly because of the waterfall. I'm going to listen closer."

  "Careful. He might start breathing flames on you!" Eleanor giggled.

  John listened intently. There was an embarrassed look on his face. "He's ... he's talking to someone he calls his mother. I don't think I ought to listen."

  Steaming tears were pouring from beneath the dragon's eyelids. Then the dragon opened his mouth wide, and the children both jumped as a scream, like the scream of a horse, pierced the low thunder of the waterfall. With awkward, jerking movements Pontificater unwound himself and stood on his four feet. For a moment he stared stupidly at John and Eleanor, and then cried, "Ah, what a relief, what a reliefl Dear me, yes, what a relief. I might have known you would get out. I have to get you to Bamah by tomorrow. Every night I've had nightmares" (John nudged Eleanor), "dreaming of the treacheries of enchantment. Well, well, well-I needn't have worried. As the ancients would put it, nihil obstat, which means roughly, nothing could stop you."

  A dragon is far from hugable, but Eleanor threw her arms as far round the scaly neck as she could reach, and Pontificater nuzzled her hair with the point on his nose. They found that conversation was not the easiest when competing with a waterfall, and Pontificater soon invited them to a cave he had discovered. He prepared food and shelter for them. It was rough and simple, but once they had bathed in the river and had eaten, they felt much better. The cave was quiet and free from dust.

  "What is all this stuff. I mean the dust?" John asked the dragon.

  "What is it ind
eed?" he replied. "Well might you ask, Bearer of the Sword. I am advised that it is all connected with the earthquake. Apparently the great sorcerer Shagah, in his rage against the northern tribes, attempted to sink the whole of the North under the sea. I suppose he meant to drown them-and anyone else who happened to live in that part of the world."

  John stared open-mouthed at Pontificater. Eleanor said, "You mean that was what the earthquakes were all about?"

  "Well, he didn't really succeed, did he, Ponty?" John asked, frowning.

  "Apparently not. I gather that the whole continent north of this point was to have slid beneath the ocean. This of course would have meant that I, Pontificater, along with both of you (and, of course, countless other living beings) would have encountered a watery end."

  "So what happened?" Eleanor asked.

  "Well, the earthquake tilted the continent but did not submerge it."

  "But what about all the dust?" John reminded him.

  "Ah, yes. Patience is a virtue in which I find you singularly lacking. I was coming to that. In Shagah's rage at having failed to do all that he had hoped, rumor is that he flung his wand from the seven-arched bridge (doubtless you noticed the construction?) into the river. At that point the earth opened up (I believe that is the correct expression, is it not?), or shall we say it descended several thousand feet. At any rate a chasm has been opened up to the Northern Sea, so that the Rure now flows north instead of south."

  "Ponty-you mean this is the Rure?" John asked with rising excitement.

  "Indeed it is," Pontificater said.

  "And I was right!" Eleanor exulted.

  "Well, you must admit that rivers don't usually reverse their flow. How was I to know?" John protested. "But, Ponty, what about all the dust?"

  "Ah, yes, the dust," Pontificater nodded. "The dust is very interesting. I would presume it has something to do with the incredible rending (it means tearing, you know), the incredible rending of the rocks when the riverbed dropped several thousand feet. At any rate there was a dense cloud of dust hovering over the area for three days until there was a bit of a wind to drive it away."

  "Wow!" John said. "That was some earthquake! It gives me the creeps when I think of that guy's power." He shuddered.

  Later as they sat together at the cave mouth and stared at the river, John's mind was still on the earthquake. "Shagah," he said pensively, "has been after us ever since we set out." Pontificater nodded.

  "I could do with a rest from powerful, magical beings," Eleanor said wearily. "Why doesn't Gaal just deal with Shagah himself?"

  Pontificator shifted his weight restlessly. "The powers arrayed against Gaal are formidable," he said after a moment or so. "As Authentio and I told you, Anthropos is ruled by the Circle of Nine. Gaal has incurred the wrath of the Circle. He has made unacceptable statements about his relationship with the Changer, or, as some speak of him, with Mi-Ka-Ya. Lord Lunacy claims to be the true Ruler of all. He calls himself the Lord of Light and the Lord of Darkness, Lord of the Night and Lord of the Day."

  "He seems to have added to his titles since I was last here," John said.

  The dragon continued, "At any rate it seems inevitable that the Circle will imprison Gaal. I fail to see any other conclusion to what is happening at the moment. I have also received instructions from Gaal to take you to Bamah. I tried to point out to him that going direct to Geburah would be infinitely safer." A wave of fear swept over John at the mention of Bamah.

  Eleanor looked up. Her face was troubled. "What is happening in Bamah?" she asked. "And why isn't Gaal strong enough to overthrow the Circle?"

  "The, ah, the prophetic writings are somewhat, er, in dispute. It is not at all clear what will happen to Gaal if we do not do something to help him. As for what he has been doing, that is part of the problem. He acts as though he has genuine authority from the Changer. For instance, you remember the people you saw in the village?" John nodded, and the dragon continued. "All children on their eighth day of life are taken to the temple in Bamah and made to pass through the Portals of Death. When they emerge they are like you saw in the village mechanical and unthinking, forever under the powers of the Circle."

  "That's awful!" Eleanor shuddered.

  "It would appear that Gaal has been touching such people and commanding them to awake. His words are apparently extraordinarily effective and this, as it were, flings a feline among an avian species. The spell is broken. Hundreds, some would even claim thousands, have been released in this way, and are hiding in and around Bamah. The walls are tunneled and many hide there. Others act as though they are still under the spell and remain in the city."

  John grunted, and the dragon went on, "More remarkable still, or I should say more dangerous still, people who are under the spell seem to know that something is wrong with them. They flock to him as bees to nectar. He teaches them what Anthropos is supposed to be like and keeps setting more of them free from the spell they are under. He urges discretion, but there are some who seem unable to restrain themselves from walking round the city initially shouting, `I'm free! I'm free.' It has infuriated the Circle."

  John frowned. "Ponty, what happened to all those people in the village? I mean, you know, when the continent tilted ... did they.. . ?"

  After a few moments Pontificater said, "What happens when land sinks under the ocean?"

  There was a long silence. Eleanor's face was drawn and her eyes glazed. John licked his lips and said, "Surely you don't mean ... You could be mistaken, you know. We only know about the tilt in the desert, and about what happened here. There could be a big crack somewhere. Everything may be O.K on the northern coast."

  Pontificater shook his head. "I flew back on Gaal's instructions. The village no longer exists. Even the mouth of my own cave is now below the water. There are new islands that were not there before while islands that were there have vanished beneath the sea."

  "Were there other villages along the coast?" Eleanor asked.

  The dragon nodded. "And they all sank too?"

  Again the dragon nodded. "The Circle does not mind losing people for whom it no longer has any use."

  "Is that why Shagah did it? Because they no longer needed those people?"

  The dragon stared out over the river. "No. It is true that they had no more interest in many thousands of people who were drowned once you, the Sword Bearer, had slipped through the human net in which they planned to catch you. The villages all along the coast were that net. You see, it was known that you would appear in that area. But Shagah (who serves Lord Lunacy) was not attempting to dispose of them. He had other aims in mind. In his rage with the mountain tribes it was his intention to bury the very mountains in which their villages are found. But his magic had met with a project bigger than he, and the mountain tribes remain."

  After a while John said, "It makes me ill to think about it. They just mess around with their plans and thousands of people die by mistake. Lord Lunacy and the Circle don't care. People are just nothing to them."

  "That is why we must make sure that Gaal survives. Gaal does care for people. He delivers them from the Circle's spell. In Bamah they hide out in a system of caves, and in tunnels inside the city walls. For their sake Gaal must survive."

  "And for dogs," Eleanor said. "At any rate he cared for me when I was a dog."

  "I could make a similar comment, I suppose, about his concern (it could of course be an isolated instance) for a coldblooded, scaly and allegedly mythical, winged reptilian-namely, the dragon who lounges before you."

  "Oh, Ponty! It's good to be back with you!" John said.

  Pontificater pretended to ignore him, but immediately became terse. "We must get Gaal away from danger," he snapped. "You still have the Mashal Stone?"

  "Then you should be able to penetrate any place where they might hold him captive. The problem will be to get him free once you find him."

  John's heart missed a beat. He was not sure whether he liked what he was hearing. But he kept his fea
rs in check for the moment. "The Mashal Stone can make more than one person invisible," he said. "Last time I was here Mab and I linked ourselves together by wrapping it round both of our arms. That way we both disappeared."

  Eleanor sounded excited. "You mean if Gaal were captured, you could get to him by making yourself invisible, and then make him invisible too?"

  "I guess so. But Gaal told us he intended to die," he said at length. "I still don't know what he meant, but he made it sound all right."

  "Naturally. Isn't that exactly what he would do? You know what sort of a person he is."

  "Ponty, I don't think any of us know what sort of a person he is."

  Eleanor frowned. "Gaal talked about a part of him that couldn't be killed. Then he said that in a way he was different from the Changer. because he had a real body, and said that `that part of me can be killed.' Then he said, `Of course there's another part of me that won't be killed.' But he didn't explain what he meant. He just said, `You'll see for yourselves later on.' So if he dies ... oh, I'm scared."

  They all lapsed into silence, and after a few minutes as the weariness of their long journey exerted its toll, Eleanor and John excused themselves to lie down on beds of fine straw, leaving Pontificater to gaze at the River Rure in the moonlight.

  John was dreaming. He was alone in a strange building-a rather frightening and large building, with rooms as wide as streets. It was like a medieval cathedral that hadn't stopped growing. Light from smoking lamps sent murky shadows gliding stealthily into obscure corners where they quivered in panic. He did not find it at all strange that snow should be falling. All he knew was that he was shivering with cold as he desperately tried to find his way home. Yet wherever he went he seemed always to return to a sort of central nave where the smoking lamps hung from dim arches high above. Suddenly a hand grabbed his shoulder. He swung round to face his foe. But he saw no one.

  A voice said, "It is time to leave. Hurry. We must not delay."