by W. D. Newman
CHAPTER 23
EIGHTS
Marcus and Merlin stayed up far into the night, getting reacquainted. Now that the keeper was safe and Bellator did not pose an immediate threat to anyone, they decided to hold council in the morning to decide upon a course of action. Gabriel brewed everyone a special tea to help them sleep while Torac prepared their beds. After a light supper, they all decided to turn in for the night so they would be well rested tomorrow.
The following morning, the dwarves were up before sunrise to prepare a hearty breakfast. After retiring to bed with only a small supper to sustain them through the night, they found themselves ravenous upon awakening. The succulent aromas wafting through the lodge brought the others to the kitchens, where they found Hob standing before the wood fire stove with two great frying pans. One was full of scrambled eggs and the other was full of crispy strips of bacon. While Hob was busy dodging the popping grease, Torac was pulling two big loaves of freshly baked bread from the small brick oven that stood in the corner of the kitchen.
“Early to bed and early to rise, bacon and eggs and blueberry pies,” Hob sang out.
“Biscuits and gravy and sugar cured ham, flapjacks with syrup and blackberry jam,” Torac sang back. Amos started to throw in a verse, but then he remembered the last time he sang with the dwarves and the image of Hob with a bucket of grease on his head brought on such a fit of laughter that everyone began to wonder if something was wrong with the big man. Although the others were puzzled, Hob knew exactly why Amos was laughing and his ears turned even redder than Ben’s. Hob was also fortunate that Gob and Nob were not present, because their ribbing would have been merciless. However, Amos spared the poor dwarf any further embarrassment and simply said that he had remembered something funny.
After breakfast, everyone retired to the small yard between the back of the lodge and the foot of the mountain, where a white canopy had been erected to provide shade from the climbing sun. Beneath the canopy; a round table surrounded by eight chairs and in these chairs sat Louise, Casey, Ben, Amos, Hob, Gabriel, Marcus, and Merlin. Torac was not present. The edges of the canopy fluttered softly in the warm spring breeze while everyone waited for Marcus to speak.
“Torac is sending instructions to the dwarves maintaining the supply rooms at the other cities to return home. Everything in the final prophecy of Venus has been fulfilled except for the last part and that is why we are gathered here today. Gob and Nob are not here with us either, and I do not believe that is a chance coincidence, for now there are eight of us seated around this table. Eight. It is a number that represents balance. It is number that is a great equalizer with the ability to create as easily as it destroys. It is the number of good judgment, power, and strength; a number that will not shy away from confrontation. It is the number of this council; the council that will decide when and how to move against Bellator. Before we begin, let’s examine the prophecy once more, especially the last part. Merlin, will you recite each stanza for us?”
The wizard removed his floppy hat and his thin white hair rippled in the gentle spring breezes that found their way beneath the canopy. He cleared his throat, closed his eyes, and recited the first verse, “When witch’s reign has ended and evil ones are gone.”
“The wicked witch of Stone Dog,” Marcus began, “had killed twelve unicorns. She only needed one more unicorn and she would have been able to free Mordred from his imprisonment on Pluton.”
“Mordred lives?” Merlin cried, with shock. “How is it possible?”
“Yes, through some nameless dark arts, Mordred lives and if he had escaped, Camelot would have fallen. Ben was directly responsible for the downfall of the witch and because of her downfall, the invasion of the snakers, or the evil ones, was crushed. Verse one fulfilled. Next verse.”
Again, Merlin closed his eyes. In his mind’s eye, he could see the dirty faded parchment he had carried with him for so many years. He knew every word by heart. “When wizard’s staff is mended and Dragon’s dead at dawn.”
“This prophecy,” said Marcus, “was foretold before your staff was ever broken.”
“Yes, and only after my encounter with Zoltan did this verse become clear to me. One day, someone would find my staff and break it, releasing the spell that kept Zoltan asleep.”
“Ummm, next verse,” said Hob, yanking on his beard. Marcus smiled at the fretful dwarf and nodded for Merlin to continue.
“When king’s mad rule is broken and gnomes are free at last.”
“This verse and the preceding verse were fulfilled this past winter during the Christmas season.”
“Christmas?” said Merlin. “How is it Camelot knows of Christmas?”
“It’s a time that whole world rejoices,” Ben answered. “I shared the story and the holiday customs with them.”
“Yes, it was a merry celebration, made even more joyous with the downfall of Zoltan and the ousting of Ringwald Stonebreaker.”
“And Ben did all of that?” Merlin asked, raising his bushy eyebrows and looking at Ben as if truly seeing him for the first time.
“Whether directly, or indirectly,” Marcus answered, “yes; Ben is responsible for the fulfillment of both verses. Continue with the next verse.”
“When seer’s last word is spoken and sword returns from past.”
“Venus was the one who mended your broken staff. He gave the staff to Ben before he left Faerie and returned to his brothers. The sword from the past would be Excalibur. For us, the sword has been gone for over a thousand years, but for the sword, it has only been gone for however many years you were upon Earth. So, you see; we did not find it, it returned here from the past, with you, through the pathway and therefore that verse is fulfilled.”
Merlin nodded and recited the next verse. “When Fallen One reappears and sits upon his throne.”
“I have seen Bellator sitting upon the white throne with my own eyes. Next verse.”
“When wisest one through the years to Dragon’s Cradle comes.”
“This verse needs no explanation and no one can argue it has not been fulfilled. Continue.”
“When darkest fears seem so real and no hope can be found.”
“Go ahead and recite the last verse,” Marcus instructed. “It is the one we must discuss.”
“Lowly Chosen One revealed will bring the mighty down.”
Everyone sat quietly and pondered the meaning of the last verse. Louise thought the purpose of this council was to decide what part Ben would play in bringing about the downfall of Bellator. She was not prepared for what Marcus presented next.
“I think it is clear to all present that Ben is the lowly chosen one, but it is not clear who the mighty are.”
“It’s Bellator, of course,” said Louise. “Who else could it be?”
“Who, indeed?” Marcus replied. “But what if the mighty is not Bellator? What if the mighty is the…”
“The elves,” Merlin cried, standing up and slamming his fist upon the table. Even Amos jumped at the wizard’s outburst.
“That is precisely a possibility that troubles me.”
“I have thought of it myself,” said Gabriel.
“That’s ridiculous,” cried Louise. “Why would Ben do anything to harm the elves? How could Ben do anything to harm the elves?”
“If Ben delivered the sword to Bellator, thinking to defeat him with it, then that act would bring about the downfall of the Faerie. Bellator wants nothing more than to do away with all elves, but he dare not try it without the sword, because the other immortals would stop him.”
“But with the sword in his possession,” said Marcus, “the other immortals would not be able to stand against him. With the sword in his hands, the only other person mightier is the Creator.”
“Would the Creator not save the elves?” asked Casey.
“No, and I would not ask it of Him.”
“I don’t understand. Why not?”
“It’s hard to
explain, but the Creator loved us enough to give us free will and He loves us enough to let us choose our own destinies, even if it’s not what might be in our best interest.”
“Then what are we supposed to do?” asked Amos. “Should we hide the sword?”
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” said Ben. He had been quiet during the discussion, mulling things over in his mind, and this just didn’t make sense. “If you think Bellator wouldn’t try to wipe out the elves without the sword, then why have you evacuated all of the cities? The only logical explanation is that you’re not one hundred percent sure that he wouldn’t try to kill all the elves without the sword and, if that’s true, that means you’re not one hundred percent sure that the other immortals could stop him if he tried.”
Everyone looked from Ben to Marcus to see how the keeper would respond to these accusations. What Ben said did make sense. Even Merlin looked puzzled now.
“What you say is true,” Marcus finally admitted, “but it does not change the possibility that the elfin nation could be the mighty referenced in the last verse of the prophecy, nor does it change the possibility that sword is making its way back to its rightful owner. If there is any truth to this speculation, and that’s all it is; speculation, then it is all the more imperative that we keep the sword from him. If he’s insane enough to attack the elfin nation without the sword, and risk the wrath of the other immortals, then we have to consider the possibility that he might succeed if such events are set into motion.”
“But don’t you see, Marcus? If Bellator was not afraid of the other immortals, he would not be sitting on the throne and waiting for the sword to come to him. He is afraid, though, and that’s why he waits, but he’s excited too!”
“Excited?” asked Merlin. “How in blue blazes do you figure that?”
“Because he believes the very same thing about the prophecy as you. He believes that the mighty is not him, but the elfin nation. He believes that I’m the chosen one and that I will bring about the downfall of Faerie by trying to defeat him with the very sword he needs to become invincible. He believes that he will take the sword from me and lay waste to Faerie and any of the immortals who try to stop him.”
“Ahem,” said Hob, clearing his throat. “I have an idea.”
“Well, let’s hear it,” said Ben.
“Bellator is a warrior and often there is a code of honor among warriors. In my experience, the greater the warrior, the greater his sense of honor. Is Bellator honorable?”
“How so?” asked Marcus.
“Is he honorable? Will he keep his word? Can we bargain with him and, if he is agreeable to the terms of our conditions, will he abide by the established rules and guidelines?”
“He cannot go against his word, if that is what you are asking.”
“Then challenge him, not with a sword, but with a game of swords. Challenge him to a game of Elves and Dwarves.”
“You mean chess!” said Ben.
“Absolutely. Tell him Ben is the chosen one. He will see that Ben carries the sword and will know by that very fact that Ben is the sword’s current master. He also has to know that as long as Ben is carrying the sword, then the only way for the sword to return to him is for Ben to give it to him of his own free will.”
“But I thought the sword can choose its own master,” said Louise.
“It can,” Merlin answered, “but only when it is not in the physical possession of its current master. As long as Ben wears the sword, Bellator cannot take it from him.”
“Then how in the world does he even plan to get the sword back?” asked Casey.
“We don’t know,” Marcus replied, “and that is what troubles me.”
“That doesn’t matter,” said Ben, rather excitedly. “I’ll challenge him to a chess game, or a game of Elves and Dwarves. I’ll tell him it’s a war strategy game and he’ll feel confident of winning. The terms of the game will go as follows; if he wins, I will return Excalibur to him. If I win, he will leave Faerie without his sword and will never return.”
“Do you think he’ll fall for that?” asked Amos.
“I think he’ll definitely fall for it. He’ll perceive it to be an easy victory,” said Ben. “Playing a war strategy game with a child? He will probably laugh when we make the challenge.”
“More importantly than that, do you think you can win?” asked Gabriel.
“Look at it this way; beating him in a physical fight with swords is impossible, but beating him in mental game of swords is something I might just be able to pull off.”
“Is there a game board with pieces here at the lodge?”
“Are you kidding,” Hob asked incredulously. “There is a game board with playing pieces at every place frequented by dwarves in Camelot AND Faerie. As a matter of fact, I happen to know that Torac owns one of the finest sets that Gob, Nob, and I ever crafted.”
“Well, given the circumstances, I think that is the best strategy we have at our disposal,” said Marcus, rising from the table. “The morning has yet to grow old and it is a beautiful day for travel. We are rested and fed, so if there are no objections we’ll leave for Jupiter immediately.”
“Are we going through the tunnels?” asked Amos.
“No. If this is our last day on Faerie I do not wish to spend it traveling below the ground, but rather in the open where I can feel the warm sunshine upon my face and enjoy the pleasing sights and scents of a beautiful spring day.”
“Are we to walk to Jupiter?”
“No, we shall ride. Just before breakfast, the sentry tree put out a call for seven horses. We will ride, but it will be a leisurely ride.”
Marcus walked out from under the canopy and surveyed the small yard. Along the edges, Dutch crocuses mingled with snowdrops to form a purple border peppered with white. Beneath the dappled shade of a dogwood in full bloom, a pair of red breasted robins hopped about in search of earthworms. The keeper watched the two birds for a moment and a strange peace settled over the eight. Whether that peace came from the beauty of springtime in Faerie, or whether it was a blessing from the Creator, no one knew and no one commented upon it, for to try to put words to such a feeling would have only distracted from it. Finally, Marcus broke the silence.
“Let’s be off.”
*****
