Collected Fiction

by Henry Kuttner

  “Welcome back, Edward Bond,” she said in a clear, sweet gently hushed voice, as if she had spoken softly for so many years that even now she did not dare speak aloud.

  She jumped down from the boulder, very lightly, moving with the sureness of a wild creature that had lived all its lifetime in the woods, as indeed I suppose she had. Her hair floated about her as lightly as a web, settling only slowly about her shoulders as she came forward, so that she seemed to walk in a halo of her own pale gold.

  I remembered what the woodsman Ertu had said to me in Medea’s garden before her arrow struck him down.

  “Arles could convince you, Edward! Even if you’re Ganelon, let me take you to Arles!”

  I stood before Arles now. Of that I was sure. And if I had needed any conviction before that the woodsmen’s cause was mine, this haloed girl would have convinced me with her first words. But as for Ganelon—

  How could I know what Ganelon would do?

  That question was answered for me. Before my lips could frame words, before I could plan my next reaction, Arles came toward me, utterly without pretense or consciousness of the watching eyes. She put her hands on my shoulders and kissed me on the mouth.

  And that was not like Medea’s kiss—no! Arles’ lips were cool and sweet, not warm with the dangerous, alluring honey-musk of the red witch. That intoxication of strange passion I remembered when I had held Medea in my arms did not sweep me now. There was a—a purity about Arles, an honesty that made me suddenly, horribly homesick for Earth.

  She drew back. Her moss-green eyes met mine with quiet understanding. She seemed to be waiting.

  “Arles,” I said, after a moment.

  And that seemed to satisfy her. The vague question that had begun to show on her face was gone.

  “I wondered,” she said. “They didn’t hurt you, Edward?”

  Instinctively I knew what I had to say.

  “No. We hadn’t reached Caer Secaire. If the woodsmen hadn’t attacked—well, there’d have been a sacrifice.”

  Arles reached out and lifted a corner of my torn cloak, her slim fingers light on the silken fabric.

  “The blue robe,” she said. “Yes, that is the color the sacrifice wears. The gods cast their dice on our side tonight, Edward. Now as for this foul thing, we must get rid of it.”

  Her green eyes blazed. She ripped the cloak from me, tore it across and dropped it to the ground.

  “You will not go hunting again alone,” she added. “I told you it was dangerous. But you laughed at me. I’ll wager you didn’t laugh when the Coven slaves caught you! Or was that the way of it?”

  I nodded. A slow, deep fury was rising within me. So blue was the color of sacrifice, was it? My fears hadn’t been groundless. At Caer Secaire I would have been the offering, going blindly to my doom. Matholch had known, of course. Trust his wolf-mind to appreciate the joke. Edeyrn, thinking her cool, inhuman thoughts in the shadow of her hood, she had known too. And Medea?

  Medea!

  She had dared betray me! Me, Ganelon!

  The Opener of the Gate, the Chosen of Llyr, the great Lord Ganelon! They dared!

  Black thunder roared through my brain.

  I thought: By Llyr, but they’ll suffer for this! They’ll crawl to my feet like dogs. Begging my mercy!

  Rage had opened the floodgates, and Edward Bond was no more than a set of thin memories that slipped from me as the blue cloak had slipped from my shoulders—the blue cloak of the chosen sacrifice, on the shoulders of the Lord Ganelon!

  I BLINKED blindly around the green-clad circle. How had I come here? How dared these woodsrunners stand in defiance before me? Blood roared in my ears and the woodland swam around me. When it steadied I would draw my weapon and reap these upstarts as a mower reaps his wheat.

  But wait!

  First, the Coven, my sworn comrades, had betrayed me. Why, why? They had been glad enough to see me when they brought me back from the other world, the alien land of Earth. The woodsmen I could slay whenever I wished it—the other problem came first. And Ganelon was a wise man. I might need these woods-people to help me in my vengeance. Afterward—ah, afterward!

  I strove hard with memory. What could have happened to turn the Coven against me? I could have sworn this had not been Medea’s original intention—she had welcomed me back too sincerely for that. Matholch could have influenced her, but again, why, why? Or perhaps it was Edeyrn, or the Old One himself, Ghast Rhymi. In any case, by the Golden Window that opens on the Abyss, they’d learn their error!

  “Edward!” a woman’s voice, sweet and frightened, came to me as if from a great distance. I fought my way up through a whirlpool of fury and hatred. I saw a pale face haloed in floating hair, the green eyes troubled. I remembered.

  Beside Arles stood a stranger, a man whose cold gray eyes upon mine provided the shock I needed to bring me back to sanity. He looked at me as if he knew me—knew Ganelon. I had never seen the man before.

  He was short and sturdy, young-looking in spite of the gray flecks in his close-cropped beard. His face was tanned so deeply it had almost the color of the brown earth. In his close-fitting green suit he was the perfect personification of a woodrunner, a glider through the forest, unseen and dangerous. Watching the powerful flex of his muscles when he moved, I knew he would be a bad antagonist. And there was deep antagonism in the way he looked at me.

  A white, jagged scar had knotted his right cheek, quirking up his thin mouth so that he wore a perpetual crooked, sardonic halfgrin. There was no laughter in those gelid gray eyes, though.

  And I saw that the circle of woodsmen had drawn back, ringing us, watching.

  The bearded man put out his arm and swept Arles behind him. Unarmed, he stepped forward, toward me.

  “No, Lorryn,” Arles cried. “Don’t hurt him.”

  Lorryn thrust his face into mine.

  “Ganelon!” he said.

  And at the name a whisper of fear, of hatred, murmured around the circle of woodsfolk. I saw furtive movements, hands slipping quietly toward the hilts of weapons. I saw Arles’ face change.

  The old-time cunning of Ganelon came to my aid.

  “No,” I said, rubbing my forehead. “I’m Bond, all right. It was that drug the Coven gave me. It’s still working.”

  “What drug?”

  “I don’t know,” I told Lorryn. “It was in Medea’s wine that I drank. And the long journey tonight has tired me.”

  I took a few unsteady paces aside and leaned against the boulder, shaking my head as though to clear it. But my ears were alert. The low murmur of suspicion was dying.

  Cool fingers touched mine.

  “Oh, my dear,” Arles said, and whirled on Lorryn. “Do you think I don’t know Edward Bond from Ganelon? Lorryn, you’re a fool!”

  “If the two weren’t identical, we’d never have switched them in the first place,” Lorryn said roughly. “Be sure, Arles. Very sure!”

  Now the whispering grew again. “Better to be sure,” the woodsmen murmured. “No risks, Arles! If this is Ganelon, he must die.”

  The doubt came back into Arles’ green eyes. She thrust my hands away and stared at me. And the doubt did not fade.

  I gave her glance for glance.

  “Well, Arles?” I said.

  Her lips quivered.

  “It can’t be. I know, but Lorryn is right. You know that; we can take no risks. To have the devil Ganelon back, after all that’s happened, would be disastrous.”

  Devil, I thought. The devil Ganelon. Ganelon had hated the woodsfolk, yes. But now he had another, greater hatred. In his hour of weakness, the Coven had betrayed him. The woodsfolk could wail Vengeance could not. It would be the devil Ganelon who would bring Caer Secaire and the Castle crashing down about the ears of the Coven!

  Which would mean playing a careful game!

  “Yes, Lorryn is right,” I said. “You’ve no way of knowing I’m not Ganelon. Perhaps you know it, Arles—” I smiled at her “—but there must
be no chances taken. Let Lorryn test me.”

  “Well?” Lorryn said, looking at Arles.

  Doubtfully she glanced from me to the bearded man.

  “I—very well, I suppose.”

  Lorryn barked laughter.

  “My tests might fail. But there is one who can see the truth. Freydis.”

  “Let Freydis test me,” I said quickly, and was rewarded by seeing Lorryn hesitate.

  “Very well,” he said at last. “If I’m wrong, I’ll apologize now. But if I’m right, I’ll kill you, or try to. There’s only one other life I’d enjoy taking the more, and the shape-changer isn’t in my reach—yet.”

  AGAIN Lorryn touched his scarred cheek. At the thought of Lord Matholch, warmth came into his gray eyes; a distant ember burned for an instant there. I had seen hatred before. But not often had I seen such hatred as Lorryn held for—the wolfling?

  Well, let him kill Matholch, if he could! There was another, softer throat in which I wanted to sink my fingers. Nor could all her magic protect the red witch when Ganelon came back to Caer Secaire, and broke the Coven like rotten twigs in his hands!

  Again the black rage thundered up like a deluging tide. That fury had wiped out Edward Bond—but it had not wiped out Ganelon’s cunning.

  “As you like, Lorryn,” I said quietly. “Let’s go to Freydis now.”

  He nodded shortly. Lorryn on one side of me, Arles, puzzled and troubled, on the other, we moved up the valley, surrounded by the woodsfolk. The dazed slaves surged ahead.

  The canyon walls closed in. A cave-mouth showed in the granite ahead.

  We drew up in a rough semi-circle facing that cavern. Silence fell, broken by the whispering of leaves in the wind. The red sun was rising over the mountain wall.

  Out of the darkness came a voice, deep, resonant, powerful.

  “I am awake,” it said. “What is your need?”

  “Mother Freydis, we have helots captured from the Coven,” Arles said quickly. “The sleep is on them.”

  “Send them in to me.”

  Lorryn gave Arles an angry look. He pushed forward.

  “Mother Freydis!” he called.

  “I hear.”

  “We need your sight. This man, Edward Bond—I think he is Ganelon, come back from the Earth-world where you sent him.”

  There was a long pause.

  “Send him into me,” the deep voice finally said. “But first the helots.”

  At a signal from Lorryn the woodsfolk began herding the slaves toward the cave-mouth. They made no resistance. Empty-eyed, they trooped toward that cryptic darkness and, one by one, vanished.

  Lorryn looked at me and jerked his head toward the cavern. I smiled.

  “When I come out, we shall be friends again as before.” I said.

  His eyes did not soften.

  “Freydis must decide that.”

  I turned to Arles.

  “Freydis shall decide,” I said. “But there is nothing to fear, Ax-les. Remember that. I am not Ganelon.”

  She watched me, afraid, unsure, as I stepped back a pace or two.

  The silent throng of woodsfolk stared, waiting warily. They had their weapons ready.

  I laughed softly and turned.

  I walked toward the cave-mouth.

  The blackness swallowed me.

  CHAPTER VIII

  Freydis

  STRANGE to relate, I felt sure of myself as I walked up the sloping ramp in the darkness. Ahead of me, around a bend, I could see the glimmer of firelight, and I smiled. It had been difficult to speak with these upstart woodrunners as if they were my equals, as if I were still Edward Bond. It would be difficult to talk to their witch-woman as if she had as much knowledge as a Lord of the Coven. Some she must have, or she could never have managed the transfer which had sent me into the Earth-world and brought out Edward Bond. But I thought I could deceive her or anyone these rebels had to offer me.

  The small cave at the turn of the corridor was empty except for Freydis. Her back was to me. She crouched on her knees before a small fire that burned, apparently without fuel, in a dish of crystal. She wore a white robe, and her white hair lay in two heavy braids along her back. I stopped, trying to feel like Edward Bond again, to determine what he would have said in this moment. Then Freydis turned and rose.

  She rose tremendously. Few in the Dark World can look me in the eye, but Freydis’ clear blue gaze was level with my own. Her great shoulders and great, smooth arms were as powerful as a man’s, and if age was upon her, it did not show in her easy motions or in the timeless face she turned to me. Only in the eyes was knowledge mirrored, and I knew as I met them that she was old indeed.

  “Good morning, Ganelon,” she said in her deep, serene voice.

  I gaped. She knew me as surely as if she read my mind. Yet I was sure, or nearly sure, that no one in the Dark World could do that. For a moment I almost stammered. Then pride came to my rescue.

  “Good day, old woman,” I said. “I come, to offer you a chance for your life, if you obey me. We have a score to settle, you and I.”

  She smiled.

  “Sit down, Covenanter,” she said. “The last time we matched strength, you traded worlds. Would you like to visit Earth again, Lord Ganelon?”

  It was my turn to laugh.

  “You could not. And if you could, you wouldn’t, after you hear me.”

  Her blue eyes searched mine.

  “You want something desperately,” she said in a slow voice. “Your very presence here, offering me terms, proves that. I never thought to see the Lord Ganelon face to face unless he was in chains or in a berserker battle-mood. Your need of me, Lord Ganelon, serves as chains for you now. You are fettered by your need, and helpless.”

  She turned back to the fire and sat down with graceful smoothness, her huge body under perfect control. Across the flame in its crystal bowl she faced me.

  “Sit down, Ganelon.” she said again, “and we will bargain, you and I. One thing first—do not waste my time with lies. I shall know if you tell the truth, Covenanter. Remember it.”

  I shrugged.

  “Why should I bother with lies for such as you?” I said. “I have nothing to hide from you. The more of truth you know, the stronger you’ll see my case is. First, though—those slaves who came in before me?”

  She nodded toward the back of the cave.

  “I sent them into the inner mountain. They sleep. You know the heavy sleep that comes upon those loosed from the Spell, Lord Ganelon.”

  I sat down, shaking my head.

  “No—no, that I can not quite remember. I—you asked for the truth, old woman. Listen to it, then. I am Ganelon, but the false memories of Edward Bond still blur my mind. As Edward Bond I came here—but Arles told me one thing that brought Ganelon back. She told me that the Coven, in my hour of weakness, had dressed me in the blue cloak of the sacrifice and I was riding for Caer Secaire when the woodsmen attacked us. Must I tell you now what my first wish in life is, witch-woman?”

  “Revenge on the Coven.” She said it hollowly, her eyes burning into mine through the fire. “This is the truth you speak, Covenanter. You want my help in getting your vengeance. What can you offer the woods-folk in return, save fire and sword? Why should we trust you. Ganelon?”

  Her ageless eyes burned into mine.

  “Because of what you want. My desire is vengeance. Yours is—what?”

  “The end of Llyr—the ruin of the Coven!” Her voice was resonant and her whole ageless face lighted as she spoke.

  “So. I too desire the ruin of the Coven and the end—the end of Llyr.” My tongue stumbled a little when I said that. I was not sure why. True, I had been sealed to Llyr in a great and terrible ceremony once—I could recall that much. But Llyr and I were not one. We might have been, had events run differently. I shuddered now at the thought of it.

  Yes, it was Llyr’s end I desired now—must desire, if I hoped to live.

  Freydis looked at me keenly. She nodded.r />
  “Yes—perhaps you do. Perhaps you do. What do you want of us then, Ganelon?”

  I SPOKE hastily:

  “I want you to swear to your people that I am Edward Bond. No—wait! I can do more for them now than Edward Bond could do. Give thanks that I am Ganelon again, old woman! For only he can help you. Listen to me. Your foresters could not kill me. I know that. Ganelon is deathless, except on Llyr’s altar. But they could fetter me and keep me prisoner here until you could work your spells again and bring Edward Bond back. And that would be foolish for your sake and for mine.

  “Edward Bond has done all he knows for you. Now it’s Ganelon’s turn. Who else could tell you how Llyr is vulnerable, or where Matholch keeps his secret weapons, or how one can vanquish Edeyrn? These things I know—or I once knew. You must help me win my memories back, Freydis. After that—” I grinned fiercely.

  She nodded. Then she sat quiet for awhile.

  “What do you want me to do, then, Ganelon?” she asked, at last.

  “Tell me first about the bridging of the worlds,” I said eagerly. “How did you change Edward Bond and me?”

  Freydis smiled grimly.

  “Not so fast, Covenanter!” she answered. “I have my secrets too! I will answer only a part of that question. We wrought the change, as you must guess, simply to rid ourselves of you. You must remember how fiercely you were pressing us in your raids for slaves, in your hatred of our freedom. We are a proud people, Ganelon, and we would not be oppressed forever. But we knew there was no death for you except in a way we could not use.

  “I knew of the twin world of Earth. I searched, and found Edward Bond. And after much striving, much effort, I wrought a certain transition that put you in the other world, with the memories of Edward Bond blotting out your own.

  “We were rid of you. True, we had Edward Bond with us, and we did not trust him either. He was too like you. But him we could kill if we must. We did not. He is a strong man, Covenanter. We came to trust him and rely upon him. He brought us new ideas of warfare. He was a good leader. It was he who planned the attack upon the next Coven sacrifice—”