by John White
"I'm trying to leave," John said. "I don't know the way out."
Again and again the invisible hand shook him, and the words were repeated, until he woke to find himself in darkness, and to realize that a dragon's not-too-gentle claw was on his shoulder. He was very cold.
"Necessity alone, I might even say urgent necessity prompts me to wake you, Sword Bearer. We can delay no longer. Gaal's need is great It is time to depart," the dragon urged.
John's head was heavy and his eyes sore. Grumbling to himself he scrambled to his feet, shivering and hunching his shoulders. His muscles ached. He saw Eleanor, who apparently had been awake some time, at Pontificater's side. She held the treasures and seemed to be taking them somewhere.
"Where are we going?" John asked. "How come the fire's gone out?"
"We are going to Bamah," said the dragon as he and Eleanor began moving toward the rear of the cave.
"Wait a minute. Isn't the way out over there?" John said, gesturing to the cave entrance.
"One way out is over there," replied Pontificater over his shoulder. "But our way out is over here."
"Please, Ponty," John said groggily as he stumbled after the pair, "I'm still not awake yet Can't you try to make things simple for once?"
"We're going through some underground tunnels that Gaal told Ponty about," Eleanor replied. "It will. be safer this way. Shagah won't be able to spot us as easily. Now that we're so close to Bamah it's more important than ever to be careful. These tunnels will take us almost to the city walls."
The children walked in the wake of the dragon as the tunnel slowly curved toward Bamah. Soon their eyes adjusted to the dimness. The walls seemed to glow with a faint blue light that comforted and guided them. Often they passed other passages that were not blue lit but glowed red or which only appeared to be full of darkness. The dragon never paused at such junctions but followed the blue light with steady certainty. Gradually John's head began to clear. He was surprised that the tunnels were large enough for the dragon to move through them with ease. He was not surprised, however, that he and Eleanor had difficulty keeping up with him. Frequently Pontificater had to stop for them to catch up with him as they traveled on for the rest of the day.
When they emerged, they found themselves on the west bank of the Rure. The sun had already set. "We must leave the tunnel here," the dragon told them, "in order to join another set of underground passages that will take us inside the walls of the city itself. The night will hide us for the moment."
The dragon nodded his head toward a hill south of them several miles. "The ancient and evil city of Bamah," he said. In the darkness they could dimly make out the walls of a large town. Fear seeped through John's skin. He remembered all that had happened to him in the village. If his experience there had been bad, what would the city be like? Were they on a fool's errand? "How do we get in?" he asked in a worried tone of voice. "And are you coming with us?"
They began walking toward the city, staying near what few trees there were along the river bank for protection. "You will see," the dragon replied with uncharacteristic brevity. "For the moment, let us keep silence so as to maintain our secrecy."
An hour later they came to a halt just under the city walls. "Notice the tree just above us," the dragon whispered. "It is no ordinary tree."
Above them at thirty yards on the bare hillside they could see the stark outline of a dead tree. Two bare boughs, like too gaunt arms, reached skyward as though calling a curse down on them. John and Eleanor stared at it. Eleanor looked at the dragon. "It looks ordinary enough," she said uncertainly. "Just a bit spooky-and dead."
"It is not a real tree but an enchantment created by the Circle. Real trees live and die. That tree was always dead and will always be dead. It has never lived. It marks the entrance to Gaal's secret tunnel."
John said, "Some secret! How can it be secret if the Circle has put a marker by the entrance? And where is the opening? I don't see any sign of one."
Pontificater did not reply but advanced up the steep hill toward the tree, stopping ten yards short of it. "Open in the name of Gaal!" he called. Slowly and silently a large oval-shaped section of the hill began to move toward him. Soon they were able to perceive that it was a door of earth and rock, thousands of tons in weight. As it swung wide it revealed a broad tunnel that curved into the hill before them in the direction of the city walls. It was filled with pale blue light.
They followed Pontificater inside the tunnel, and at Pontificater's order the ponderous door swung silently closed.
"Where are we going?"John asked. "I mean, where does this come out?"
"It, er, bifurcates, indeed it trifurcates and even quadrufurcates-if you will pardon the neologisms."
"Oh, stop it, Pontificater, you and your neolo-what's-its-"
"I am only trying to be linguistically precise."
"Why don't you just say the passage divides or splits or something. All we want to know is where it goes-and about it being secret."
Pontificater sniffed, and for a moment seemed inclined to sulk Eleanor worked herself alongside him. "John didn't mean to be rude, Ponty," she said. "You know so much, but we don't have the tremendous education you do. Just tell us simply-"
"Simplicity may be simple. But like complexity it demands linguistic precision, and may therefore call for relatively obscure expressions at times," Pontificater said. "Not only do I find vague explanations personally offensive, but inefficient. In the long run-"
"You're a childish showoff," John said wearily. "Nothing more and nothing less. You don't have to use big words that nobody understands to be precise. You use them to show off. I bet you don't understand half of them yourself."
Pontificater ignored him, turning after a few moments to Eleanor, who was now walking beside him. "It is true that the existence of this section of the tunnel is known to the Circle. However, they are unable to enter it or use it. They cannot stand the blue light. Moreover, the tunnel crosses a chasm of deep darkness that leads to the Caves of Aphela. There are also side tunnels belonging to the Circle that lure those who use the tunnel into enchantments."
"You mean just like in the enchanted forest?"
"Precisely. They are similar to the passages with red light that we saw in the other tunnels. Even walking along Gaal's way you can step sideways into enchantments."
"So where does the tunnel lead?"
"This section leads to the temple."
"The temple?"
"The whole city of Bamah is built around the temple and the grand altar. The temple is the heart of the evil kingdom, and of the Circle's power."
"Is the temple where we're going now?"
"Not exactly. You are both to look at it briefly. But after that we will follow sections of the tunnel about which the evil powers know nothing, sections that penetrate the city walls and lead to secret hiding places in the walls themselves."
John listened to the conversation resentfully. "He can talk simply enough when he talks to her," he thought. "Why does he have to show off whenever I'm part of the conversation?"
A turn in the tunnel brought them into a more open area and to the edge of a chasm that yawned deep and as wide as a street. A log bridged the chasm, anchored on the near side to a crosspiece set in a shallow slot in the edge of the chasm. The three stopped short of the chasm edge. Throughout his life whenever he looked down from a great height John felt tickling sensations from his toes to his stomach, and he began to experience the sensations as he looked at the gap from which strange red light was reflected upward. Deliberately he forced himself to the edge to look over and down into the dim red void, and was immediately sorry. The sensation in his stomach surged terrifyingly in power, for the walls fell sheer to a depth so great that he could not perceive the bottom. Terrified and shaking he stepped back quickly. He glanced at the log which seemed pitifully narrow and, since it had no handrails, terrifyingly insecure. "We have to cross on that?" he asked in alarm.
The answer was obvi
ous. There was no other way to cross. Eleanor sidled closer to Pontificater. "Can I ride on your back when you cross?" she asked the dragon anxiously. "I can close my eyes then. Crossing that log looks far worse than flying."
"Well, now, why not?" Pontificater asked magnanimously.
"Huh?" John muttered. "I thought you said you were not a public transportation system. You have shiny scales-meticulously polished, I think you said. You sure she won't damage them for you?"
Pontificater stared at him indignantly. "I may not be a public transportation system. Nor for that matter shall I ever be. But who would not assist a lady in her distress? For a brief journey such as this she may hang on tightly to my satchel which securely circumnavigates my neck and avoid sliding off. Indeed, if in your weakness and fears you yourself would also like to accept my kind and generous offer, you are welcome to climb up too."
John trembled with anger. "I am not weak, and I am not afraid," he said hoarsely. "I'll cross on my own, thank you." He had spoken quickly and without thinking, committing himself to something insane. For he was scared, badly scared, and a moment or two later he began to realize how foolish he had been. But it was done, and he was stunned. A simple sentence had slipped between his teeth and committed him to terror. Yet he was angry still, and his eyes burned with resentment as he watched Eleanor mount the dragon.
Even so John tensed as he saw Pontificater cross the chasm precariously with her, her eyes closed, and crouching on his back. His eyes widened with horrified fascination as he watched their progress, and he tensed again as they neared the far side. At first Pontificater's forelegs, then his hind legs were back on the firm rock beyond the chasm, John drew in a breath of relief. Then the tail slid slowly out of the red light and Eleanor, now safe and sound, jumped eagerly from his back. She waved at him and he raised his hand in a feeble salute.
"Don't be scared," she called. "You'll be O.K"
But he was now alone and on the wrong side of the chasm. His pride was sinking and his anger with it. The realization felt like icy water on his skin that now it was his turn, and he would have to cross alone. He tried to smile, and wanted to say something to Pontificater and Eleanor, but he could not trust his voice. Trembling, he again forced himself to walk to where the log was fixed.
What on earth had made him say he would walk across? Walk? Across that? As he stared at the log and at the terrifying drop beneath it, he knew as surely as he had ever known anything, that he could never cross it smiling and erect, balancing like a tightrope walker or a circus acrobat. The idea was unthinkable.
Horror-filled and dry-mouthed, but doing his best to look calm because of the watchers on the far side of the chasm, he sat on the crosspiece at the awful edge of the rock, straddling his legs on either side of the log. Using all his strength he gripped the log with his thighs. Though he made no sound, it seemed as though every cell in his body was screaming in protest. The wild tickling sensation in his abdomen had become almost intolerable.
He leaned forward cautiously to let his hands lean on the wooden surface in front of him. It seemed solid enough, yet he felt more hideously insecure and exposed than he had ever felt in his life. Worse still, he was not sure that he could control the movements of his body properly.
For a few seconds he paused, closing his eyes until his trembling had subsided a fraction. Then inch by inch and with extreme care, focusing his eyes only on the log, he tried to hitch himself forward, gripping the log fiercely between his thighs as soon as his position had shifted. It worked. His muscles actually did what he wanted them to. He inched forward once more. Then again. And once again.
The awful drop was fully below him now, but he refused to let his eyes focus anywhere but on the log. He had made less than six inches of progress. For the moment he refused to think of distance. Nothing mattered now but to hitch his way inch by inch across this terrifying nothingness. It might take him all day to do it, but all he would think of was the next little forward hitch.
Once or twice he looked up at the two who were watching him silently-silently because they sensed he needed all his concentration. It was reassuring to glimpse the intensity of their gaze, almost as if with their eyes they were holding him steady. But each time he looked up he also discovered how small his progress had been, how impossibly distant they remained, and how great was the stretch of uncrossed log that was still unconquered. It also made him giddy to change the direction of his gaze, and he had to wait a moment or two each time until the dizziness passed off.
Once or twice he tried to move too quickly and wobbled. Each time his heart shot suffocatingly into his mouth and his fingernails would dig frantically into the wood. Each time he would stop, stifle a sob and suppress his trembling. "I'll make it," he would mutter fiercely to himself. "I'll make it, make it, make it! My dad would and so will I." Then, terrified as ever, he would go at it again.
Sweat would run down his face and sting his eyes, but he never dared raise his hands to wipe them. In any case his hands themselves grew wet and slippery, and he would pause from time to time to wipe them on his tunic. Sometimes a sort of red cloud would obscure his vision, and once or twice he wondered whether he was going blind.
But he never gave up. In time he passed the halfway mark, then the three-quarters mark, to reach at length the far edge where eager hands and claws seized his arms and set him on his feet a yard or so beyond the chasm's edge. But now his legs no longer seemed to work and collapsed under him, so that he found himself on the rock floor sobbing gently. "I'm sorry," he said. "I don't know what's happening to me."
They sat on either side of him. "Take your time, Sword Bearer. The decision you made may have been foolhardy, but with singular courage you refused to be conquered by your fears. When the time comes to be valiant you will be valiant beyond measure. Your strength will come again. I salute you."
The words rang musically in John's ears, and strength began to flow back into his limbs as he heard them. "I was a fool," he said. "It wasn't courage at all." He wondered how he could have been so irritable with Pontificater. Eleanor pulled him back against her and began to stroke his hair gently. "That must have been terrifying. I was scared to death-and I was safe on Pontificater who could fly. You know, I just shut my eyes tight. I didn't dare open them. I could never have done what you did."
John felt awkward. "I don't know why I'm crying," he said, pushing his fists into his eyes in irritation. "I shouldn't have been so scared, but I guess I was-a bit. Oh, well. It's over now." He pulled himself up and away from Eleanor's arms, tested his limbs cautiously and rose unsteadily to his feet. Then he smiled. "Whew!" he said shakily. "I'm sure glad that's over. It's funny. I had a bad dream last night-about a temple as a matter of fact. But crossing that chasm was no dream." He laughed shale ily. "It was a nightmare."
Once again Pontificater led them between the blue-lit walls of rock. He was careful to point out the side tunnels, each of them on their right which were quite different from the other passages they had seen earlier. The first they passed was illuminated with a soft green, and from it came the sound of bells. The second side tunnel was lined with brightly colored stones. The mouthwatering aroma of freshly baked bread rolled out of it.
"Oh, my! I could do with some of that," Eleanor said. How long has it been since we ate?"
"It would be singularly reckless to pursue your desires for sustenance along that particular corridor," Pontificater murmured. "Notice the color of the light. It differs from the azure of the passageway, and is more of a mauve, er, violet-could one say heather-?"
"Purple," John said.
"What would happen if you went down there?" Eleanor asked.
"You would be trapped in a web of darkness and obscurity," the dragon replied. "Come, we are not far from the staircase that leads up to the temple."
Minutes later they saw the tunnel had led them to a broad and winding staircase. But to the right of the staircase they saw a dimly lit passage from whose shadows an old lady appear
ed, greeting them softly.
"Who's she?" Eleanor whispered.
It was impossible to make out the old woman's features. Indeed they were looking more at a shadow, a sort of silhouette set in a reddish dimness, than at a solid person. Pontificater never replied to Eleanor's question. Instead he addressed the shadow.
At his words the blue light around them flared dazzlingly, and in its light they were shocked to see not an old woman, but an enormous spider hanging in a web that covered the mouth of the passage. The face of the spider was the blood-engorged face of an evil woman. Then the light faded, and the entrance to the passage remained dim and red, but with no sign either of the old woman or of the spider.
"Has she gone?" Eleanor asked.
"Hm! Everything depends, my dear, on how one would define the word gone. Gone from view, certainly. But her presence still hangs there, invisible in the shadows, as she waits to fatten herself on the life's blood of unwary travelers."
Eleanor shuddered. "Eeugh! Let's get away from here!"
"We are now several hundred feet directly under the temple," Pontificater said. "It is important that you know how to get in, and how to get out without being observed. But first we have a long climb."
The staircase was wide enough, but not so wide as the corridor, so that they were now forced to remain behind Pontificater, who now bore on his back the leather bag containing the chest, the book and the iron key. And because Pontificater was long, all Eleanor got to see of him was his left back leg (and occasionally a glimpse of the right one) and his long tail. John was behind Eleanor, and could see only the curve of the tail.
The climb was a tiring one. The long days of walking in the desert and the enchanted forest had toughened and hardened both of them. But their legs still ached from the last hard push, so they were glad to stop once or twice to catch their breath, for the climb was steep, and Pontificater moved quickly. The staircase widened at the second place they rested, enabling John and Eleanor to see all of Pontificater.
