by John White
12
* * *
The Two
Towers
Aguila did not spend long preening her feathers. Suddenly she looked up. Her eyes were clouded with pain. It was clear that though she was alive, she would never be as she once had been. Her movements were stiff and awkward. For the rest of her life she would never be free from pain. She glanced in turn at John, at Oso and finally at Mab. There was a long silence between them as the waves lapped on the rocks. Finally Aguila croaked softly.
"I am alive! How can it be? I am alive! I had trusted the keenness of my eye. I had trusted the sharpness of my claws and the magical powers in my wings. Oh, how he seized me, so little, yet so terribly filled with evil power ..." She shook violently standing among the rocks, her proud head bowed low.
"He pulled me down and down into the waters of the lake and began to tear my wings from my body and the flesh from my chest..."
There was no need for her to say more. All of them became aware, terrifyingly aware, how awesome were the powers opposing them. If the goblin Nicholas Slapfoot was as powerful as this, how great must be the power of the Mystery of Abominadon! Oso trembled John's throat was dry. Only Mab seemed certain of himself.
"Events move quickly," he said slowly. "Aguila's powers should have been more than a match for those of the Goblin Prince. Something has happened. The power of the evil ones has increased." He paused. "There can be only one explanation. The Mystery must now have transferred his headquarters here. He has begun to build his tower. He may even have completed it. Why have I been so slow to suspect it? And how can we find out? How?"
John and Oso stared at him. For several minutes he stood, his eyes clouded and his ancient forehead creased with concentration. Then he said, 'I must know whether the tower is built. Once it is completed he will be able to control the planets. And we cannot know unless we enter the swamp. Yet even if we were to enter it by using my staff our entry would be detected and our lives imperiled. Only by using the Old Way can we gain access unobserved. But who controls the Old Way now?"
He turned to Oso and Aguila. "Return, both of you, to the camp. Use your powers to get back with all haste. Let them know we are well but that our mission to the swamp could be perilous. Bid Vixenia and their majesties prepare for the journey as quickly as possible. We dare not lose another day."
Something about the way Mab spoke awoke a still greater fear in John. Oso seemed to have lost all his confidence. Enormous as ever, he stood like a humbled statue. Aguila shifted her feathers painfully. Mab addressed her directly.
"You can still fly. Leave at once. Tell them that for the present we are well. You and Oso are alive. The Goblin Prince has failed. Now go! Be on your way, both of you."
Aguila waited for no further instructions. She spread her wings stiffly and swept skyward in widening circles. Soon she was a distant speck receding into the northwest. Oso hesitated for a moment and then turned without a word, gathering speed as he loped into the trees.
John's fear had not abated. He was especially afraid of the swamp. He looked again at Mab. "How will we get back?" he asked. "With your staff? And what did you mean about the tower?"
"The prophecies speak of two towers—the Mystery's tower in the swamp and the Changer's tower on the island from which the Regents will emerge. The Mystery will concentrate all his power in his tower and project it outward to control the movements of the planets. He hopes by this to defeat the Changer's purposes for Anthropos."
"And will he?" John asked. "I mean will he do what the prophecies say?"
Mab frowned. "Their meaning is disputed," he said. "Certainly he will complete the tower. And just as certainly he will control the planets from it. But whether he will defeat the Changer's purposes for Anthropos .. ."
His voice faltered and he stared at John, his eyes hard. John flushed. Mab's eyes were twin accusations. "A good deal depends on the Sword Bearer," Mab breathed, his voice as soft as his eyes were hard, "for only the Sword Bearer can bring about the ruin of the Mystery's tower."
John's heart beat unpleasantly. He was sorry he had asked. Suddenly he didn't want to know anything more about the two towers. He even wanted to forget he was the Sword Bearer. The notion of bringing about the destruction of a tower was terrifying but too absurd to be true. He thrust it to the back of his mind. But Mab's eyes did not leave him. "We must go, you and I, to see this tower for ourselves if indeed it exists. And if it does we must know how soon it will be finished. I must take the risk of summoning the Guardian of the Old Way."
The old man struck the rocks with his staff, and a loud crack whipped the air. The rocks split and a chasm opened at their feet. Steps led down into a gloomy subterranean passage. At its head stood a tall blue-robed figure holding a naked sword with both hands above its head, as if about to attack them. The face was distorted with rage. "Who dares ... !"
"In the name of the Changer, in the name—I dare!"
A flash of blue from the magician's staff knocked the raised sword from the creature's hands. The look of rage on its face was replaced by one of uncertainty.
"You are one of his servants, are you not, Guardian of the Old Way?" Mab's voice trembled with suppressed anger.
"He is—the power of Mystery is—"
"The power of the Mystery is as nought to the might of the Changer," Mab continued. "And it is in his name, in the name of your rightful Lord, that I demand passage along the Old Way."
There was a pause. "I... dare .. . not." The words fell hesitantly from the lips of the Guardian. Mab's voice was low and quiet. "It appears that you have yielded allegiance to the Mystery. Leave your sword where it lies."
He spoke again. "I could destroy you now, treacherous one. The power of the Changer himself flows from my staff. But either you will accompany us and show us the way to the swamp that lies at the end of the Old Way, or we shall leave you in the open to the tender mercies of your new master."
The Guardian turned slowly. "Be it as you wish," he muttered and began to descend the steps into the passage below them.
"Can we trust him?" John asked fearfully.
"It will be the better choice," Mab replied, stepping in the wake of their new guide. "It is clear now that the Mystery is at present in the swamp. Our only hope of penetrating it undetected is this way. The Guardian of the Old Way is the one who knows the secrets of the swamp."
The Old Way was like no way John had ever trodden. At first he thought they were descending steps. But before long he was sure they were climbing. Then after a while he could feel nothing under his feet. Yet he was walking, walking on nothing. Ahead Mab went on eerily into soft blue space, his feet falling on a firmness John could neither see nor feel. And ahead of the seer the Guardian glided mysteriously.
The blue light was around John again, the light that took his fears away but made him guilty and ashamed. It was like a curtain hiding everything else from him—floor, ceiling, walls. He could only see ahead as far as the Guardian. He had the sensation that rock and earth no longer surrounded them.
"Mab," he called softly, looking ahead again, "Mab—where are we? Where is this?"
Mab's reply did not help. "This is everywhere. Or nowhere. Take your pick. It is the Old Way. It has nothing to do with time and space. It is where time and space come from." But he said the words with no expression, as though he were thinking of something else, as indeed he was. And as John looked beyond him again to the Guardian, he saw that the Guardian looked more like a ghost than a man.
For one thing he kept changing color. Shifting grays, pinks and soft yellows. Delicate lilac shades fluttered across and through him. An eery green halo surrounded him. Mab was muttering to himself and John thought he caught some of the words, "... too late. . . too late .. ." One phrase came through clearly, "Damned, forever damned, and therefore treacherous..."
But for the moment John's fears had left him. Only the shame and the guilt continued to haunt him. He could never afterward tell whether the who
le thing had lasted for days or only for minutes.
At length he felt steps beneath his feet, steps leading down. A moment later the Guardian cried strange words in a loud voice. Smoke surrounded them, smoke that slowly changed to the ugly yellow of a Pendleton fog. And as the fog faded John saw that they were in the open air again. But the stench! The canals of Lancashire smelled sweet in comparison with the choking foulness that made him retch.
The sun was dull red in color, and the sky a faded blue gray. He tried not to breathe but could not help himself. They were in the middle of the swamp.
They stood on a slimy pathway winding among the foul gray sludge that spread into a dull yellow mist around them. Here and there the skeleton of a dead tree rose gaunt and naked.
The sludge was not still. Bubbles were slowly rising like miniature domes, as though rotting soccer balls were oozing their way upward. Then they would burst wetly, leaving a hollow which slowly filled. The vapors that came from the bubbles were the source of the stench that sickened John.
But there was little time to observe their surroundings. Fear was back It fell like an icy cloak around John's shoulders as he slipped and slithered after Mab who seemed to be hurrying to stay close behind the Guardian. The Guardian's pace had suddenly changed. Mab's eyes never left the creature.
"Keep close behind me!" Mab called over his shoulder.
For an hour they hurried forward, twisting this way and that If anything, the pace increased. But the sun was growing clearer. Occasionally they could see patches of slimy water, and once or twice fingers of clear water poked their way into the sludge. Mab turned around, his old face alight with pleasure as he said to John, "Not far now!" And then it happened.
As soon as Mab turned, the Guardian shot a long arm around him to snatch at the sword hanging from John's side. John gave a wild leap sideways, landing waist-deep in the sludge. There was nothing solid beneath his feet, and he felt himself being drawn down. "Mab!" he shrieked. Mab was wrestling with the Guardian. The cold mud rose to John's neck It compressed his chest so that he could not expand it He was sinking rapidly. Before he could cry out again, it had risen to his mouth and nose. Blackness surrounded him. His head seemed to swell like a balloon, and his lungs fought helplessly for air. His mouth and nose filled with suffocating foulness.
Searing heat suddenly burned his body. For a few seconds he was blinded by light. But he could breathe again. And with his first lungful of air he screamed.
He was back on the path. And miraculously he was dry and clean. Clean, dry, but trembling and panting, his head and heart pounding. In front of him Mab was a flaming blue giant. But of the Guardian there was no sign. Slowly the light faded from Mab, and he was his tall and aged self again. "He is no more," Mab said. John supposed, and supposed rightly, that Mab was referring to the Guardian.
As they stared at the yellow curtain of mist that shrouded the deeper parts of the swamp, a rush of wind came from behind them, driving the foul vapors inward. Then for a moment the curtains parted, and they saw a tall tower, piercing the sky like a long white needle. It was wider and more solid than it seemed, but its extreme height gave the appearance of fragility. But there was an asymmetry about the top of it that suggested it was still uncompleted.
Mab's arms cradled John's shoulder, pulling him down protectively. "Lie flat," he ordered. "Never mind the mud!" For several minutes they stared. "So he's here," Mab breathed, nodding at the tower. "The Mystery of Abomination has come. It has taken up its abode in the swamps as the prophecy said. And it has almost completed the Tower of Darkest Night, the tower that controls the planets. Before long radiations from the tower will bring the planets to a standstill, and darkness will cover the land."
The tower stood surveying them, proud, contemptuous and in spite of its fragility, menacing. "Can they see us?" John asked, shuddering.
"They might, but I doubt it," Mab answered. "However we must not delay our departure. Our time is short We must get to the island to see what the situation is there." He looked thoughtful. "Who can be in the Tower of Darkness with him? It is rumored that some of the Matmon disloyal to Bjorn set out for the swamps to find him. Others have long been his slaves, working as laborers on his projects. The tower could house an army."
The wind had dropped and the curtain of mist closed again so that John almost wondered whether what they had seen was real. They rose to their feet "This time I must use my staff," Mab said. "We have no other choice, and speed is essential." He raised the staff above his head and seized John by the arm. A moment later John felt himself rising and whirling through darkness.
The whirling sensation slowly subsided, Mab's grip relaxed, and light warmed John's curtained eyelids. He could feel he was sitting on a gently rocking seat. On opening his eyes he discovered he was sitting with Mab in a tiny leather coracle that bobbed on waves a couple of hundred yards from an island, the same island he had seen from the air some hours before.
About a hundred and fifty yards in length, its cliffs rose sheer on all sides from the water. A majestic gray stone tower soared massively from the cliffs at its western end. It was the tower from which the Regents were to emerge, the Tower of the Garden Room.
Anxiety and urgency were written on Mab's face as he dug a paddle viciously into the water. "I can see an opening in the cliffs over there below the tower," he breathed. "The sooner we are sheltered inside it, the better I shall feel." Quickly the little vessel skittered across the waves. As they entered the cave, he drew in his paddle, and John listened in awe to the water's gentle whispers as they echoed along the smooth cave walls.
Indeed it was more of a tunnel than a cave. As he looked more closely at the walls, he saw that they were built of smooth stones. "Matmon work," Mab said, stroking his beard slowly. "King Bjorn will be interested. Servants of the Mystery have been here already, and here for some time."
"Where's all the red light coming from?" John asked, puzzled. A red dimness filled the tunnel, but no light source could be seen. The water beyond them danced black and soft crimson.
"It is a sign of the Mystery. He has stamped his mark on this place!" Mab replied. "I can only suppose it has abandoned this place to make its headquarters in the swamp. It wanted a tower of its own." He dipped his paddle into the water again, directing the coracle round a bend and then through an arch into a more spacious subterranean cave, also lined with smooth stones and filled with red light. There was a low stone wharf on the right. Mab attached the coracle to a ring on it, and they scrambled on shore.
Two stairways led up from the wharf, one from the end and one from immediately in front of them. Mab headed for the one at the end and, followed by John, made his way up the narrow winding stone staircase to a heavy oak door at the top. His staff was glowing blue. "This must lead into the tower," he said slowly. "It is a door we may not enter. We must try the other stairway. It probably will take us to the surface of the island."
He was right. Moments later they were back in the sunlight, standing at the cliff top and staring at the stone tower that stood in splendid isolation. Close-up it was even more impressive. Surrounded on three sides by steep cliffs, it rose sheer and imposing from the western point of the island. Dominating the island, it seemed to ignore them, guarding its own secret counsels, hiding its thoughts behind the blank windows that served as its eyes.
The island was a sort of giant's table in the middle of the lake. It was longer than it was wide. Wiry grass clothed the undulating surface. Here and there gorse and heather exploded into brilliant splotches of yellow and purple. And standing like two sentries twenty yards from the tower, two gray rocks seemed to watch them with the same solemn intensity of the tower.
"What are they?" John asked Mab.
"Can you hear the humming?"
John listened intently. As he did he was able to discern a low, undulating murmur, rising and falling with a dim throbbing light that came from the rocks.
"What do they remind you of?" Mab asked.
/> "Chairs, grandfather and grandmother chairs—but the light and the sound—"
"They are chairs—of a sort They are the Scunning Stones."
"The what?"
"The Scunning Stones. They were made at the dawn of time. Touch them at your peril. Any who sit on them die instantly. Only the Regents may sit on them and live. That is how we will know the Regents when they come."
The wonder and the mystery of the island had begun to work its spell on them. "So it is true," Mab said slowly. "The tower is really here, built by no human hands. And from these walls will come the Regents who will sit on the Scunning Stones." He drew in a deep breath. "We must return to the company. It is essential that we establish ourselves here. We must be here to welcome them when they arrive. And we must entrench ourselves here lest the Mystery come again. Clearly his agents have been here already. We may have to defend the island. We must get back, John the Sword Bearer. We must get back at once."
With one hand he seized John's sword belt, and with the other he raised his staff. "By the Changer," he cried, "take us back to the company!"
Then once again John saw the staff glowing blue. It spread along Mab's outstretched arm until the old man was himself aglow. Indeed John, too, felt a burning inside, and suddenly the earth seemed to turn topsy-turvy. He was drifting dizzily through midnight skies as Mab hung onto his belt Stars and moon spun round them. Yet amid the blackness and the whirling stars two towers stood motionless, one on their right and one on their left, the one enormous, white and thin, the other solid and built of rock.
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