by John White
"Look!" he cried. "An eclipse of the moon is beginning!"
Work on pitching camp ceased. John lay on his back to avoid the crick in his neck as he watched a curved shadow steal slowly across the silver face. In an hour or so the moon was covered. All that remained was a dead moon, faindy glowing a dull copper shade.
"The shadow will pass after a while," King Bjorn said. "I saw it happen in my youth." But the shadow did not pass. The eclipse remained fixed. The stars shone a little more brightly, and Mab repeated his strange prophecy.
"And when the ruler of darkness reigns,
the days shall be painted with gloom.
And the light of the stars shall slowly increase
as a shadow crosses the moon.
For then shall the tower of Mystery wax great
and an odor of death shall blow
Til the sword shall be free in the bearer's hand
and the tower shall sink below."
That night their sleep was troubled, and they woke frequently, hot and feverish. When they rose, the darkness was deeper and the camp was filled with drifting smoke that bore an odor of death. John drank greedily from a stone jar of water, his eyes smarting from the smoke. "I'm hot!" he said. "What's happened?" But Mab only shook his head.
It was too dark to proceed with their journey, for the eclipsed moon and the stars were now blotted out by smoke. Anxiously they waited for the three hours of daylight
But the daylight never came. Instead, a terrifying orb, bearing the face of the Lord Lunacy, burst into the sky and shone for three hours, peering down at them through the dirty yellow haze.
The ground was warm and here and there cracks appeared, exuding blue-black bitumen. At first they were alarmed, but at least the bitumen provided them with a means of making torches. They spent the day preparing these with rushes from the river, anticipating that most of their journey now would have to be in darkness. Mab pursed his lips and talked constantly about forest fires.
The foul stench not only made their eyes smart but sickened them so that for the first day they ate nothing. They had no idea where the stench came from, though they noticed that the river water had become warm, and that multitudes of dead fish floated on their sides to feed growing numbers of vultures and crows. They now boiled all their water. But it still tasted foul. "The smell in the air doesn't smell like fish," John said to Mab. "It's more like the smell of the swamp."
The following day there were only two hours of light from the strange orb, the next day only one. Thereafter they journeyed through darkness, a lurid company with flickering torches, weaving single file through wreaths of smoke among tall pines. They watched the ground carefully. Cracks would open up, disgorging boiling bitumen. One of the horses plunged its forelegs into the stuff and screamed with pain. They had to kill it.
Every night, or rather every suppertime, for it was night the whole time now, Aguila and her eagles came with the same table and freshly prepared food and drink for the weary company. Without the nightly feast it is doubtful whether they could have continued. The faces of the Matmon were pale and gaunt, and their movements heavy with weariness.
Yet as they ate at the long table their strength would revive, and as many of them drank of the wine of free pardon, the only wine most now drank light would shine from their eyes again, and smiles paint their faces. Soon the songs would begin again, and after a while the rhythm would get into their arms and legs, and they would be upon the table, dancing.
One night as firefly music refreshed their ears and firefly light scattered gentle beauty over them, Mab stiffened.
"What is it?" King Bjorn asked. Bjornsluv and Vixenia also stared at him.
"Hsst!" the prophet said.
John listened carefully. Then far above them and strangely discordant with the firefly music, he heard it Faint as the screech was, it chilled him. It came again. And again.
"Qadar!" Mab muttered darkly. "Qhahdrun rules them. Doubdess he now plans to use them to destroy the company. They fly the night skies. I would have thought that with all this smoke they could never see us. But they are looking."
Bjorn's face paled and John could see that his hands were trembling. "Qadar!" he breathed softly, "O Mi-ka-ya. What have we brought on ourselves?"
"What danger is there right now?" Queen Bjornsluv asked.
"Very little," the old man answered. "Their eyes cannot penetrate either the branches or the leaves of trees. Moreover the canopy of fireflies affords us protection. They can see neither them nor us. But I fear that when we journey on by torchlight they will see light and come upon us. We can no longer travel in safety."
"No longer?" Vixenia's voice was contemptuous. "What safety have we enjoyed so far?"
"What are Qadar?" John asked.
"Scourers of the night skies," Mab replied grimly. "Swifter than thought and deadly in rage. Nothing can stand against them. Earth creatures tremble when they fly."
Their faces were grave that night and their thoughts troubled. But after much discussion it was decided that their only option was to proceed with caution. The pine trees would provide good cover. They would use only one torch which King Bjorn's torchbearer would carry at the head of the column. They would proceed slowly and in single file, keeping close rank and cautioning one another as they came to any bitumi-nous cracks. Anytime they heard a Qadar the torch would in-standy be put out.
Their progress was slow but for two days their plan worked well. No one fell into the cracks and they lost no more horses. Only once did they hear the distant shrieking of a Qadar, and on hearing it they extinguished the torch and sheltered beneath the pine trees. Within an hour they had resumed their way again, moving cautiously but continuously toward their goal.
But on the following day the whole company was nearly wiped out. They came across a lake of boiling pitch, about a hundred yards in diameter. Acrid fumes rose from it, threatening to choke them. Yet their path clung to the borders of the lake. The thickets were so dense that they could not push through them to give the pitch lake a wide berth. Coughing and spluttering they stumbled hurriedly around it, their faces and legs burning with the heat of the pitch.
On the far side of the lake there was a clearing, and the torch bearer waited until they had all gathered away from the edge of the lake and had been accounted for. In their preoccupation with what they were doing they failed to hear the telltale shrieks until it was too late, until in fact a piercing and terrifying screech awoke them to their peril. Hovering over the lake of boiling bitumen was the shadowy figure of a Qadar.
In spite of the heat John shivered with terror. Vaguely he was conscious that the rest of the company were as still as painted shadows. The torch bearer stood transfixed, his torch sputtering and flickering, but still held high. Yet the light revealed little of the Qadar beyond an ominous silhouette shrouded in the vapors that rose from the boiling lake. To John it seemed as though a tall figure stood upright on the back of what might have been a gigantic bat. The only clear features were the burning red eyes of the rider that seemed to penetrate his soul. Two more screeches pierced the darkness, and two more terrible shadows hovered behind the first Six red eyes now stared at John.
His right hand was inside his tunic and he felt the stone resting in the pocket Hardly knowing why he did so, he slipped it over his head, and as he did so it seemed as if his head cleared. "Put out the torch!" he cried.
The torch bearer did not move.
"The torch!" John screamed. "Put it out!"
It was as though his body had come alive. In an instant he was beside the torch bearer and snatched the torch from his hand. The Qadar were beginning to glide slowly toward them from the lake. John ran to the edge of the pitch and, with all his strength, flung the torch toward the red eyes.
Instandy the lake exploded. With a terrifying roar the vapors above it caught fire, rushed up in a column of flame a hundred feet high. John was hurtled head over heels backward. The members of the company were flung to the
ground by the explosion and scorched by searing heat. Insdncdvely they crawled in terror into the woods beyond, sheltering behind pine trees and staring from a safe distance at the blazing light that illuminated the forest, wondering all the while what had happened to the Qadar.
They never found out, Mab thought they must have perished in the explosion. Otherwise, he argued, the Qadar would have continued to search for them. "Qadar never leave a quarry until the quarry is dead," he said emphatically. "Therefore they must be dead themselves."
Slowly King Bjorn and Mab mustered the frightened company.
There was no need for torches now, for the column of fire lit the region for acres around. By some miracle no one had been seriously injured. Generally hair and many beards had been scorched and skins superficially burned; even John suffered only bruises. And in the darkness no one had observed the effects of the stone, which John had removed again during the general confusion.
Because the danger of a forest fire was now great, it was decided that they would travel by river.
"It is not without risk," Mab said. "But there may be no more Qadars to contend with. Should there be a forest fire, the safest place will be on water. And two days on the water should take us into Lake Nachash."
So the next three days were spent at the water's edge constructing rafts and tending to minor injuries and burns. They posted a watch for the Qadar, but there was no further sign of them. They also posted a watch as they slept because of Mab's fear of fire. And during the second night fire did indeed begin to sweep up the hillside and in the direction from which they had come. But it posed no threat to their safety.
So on the fourth day following the explosion they set out, a small flotilla of rafts, poling their way down toward Lake Nachash. It was a strange journey. Sometimes the drifting smoke hid even the banks of the river. At other times it would clear to reveal the outlines of the hills alight with a dozen lines of flame that in the distance looked like living fireworms writhing slowly up the mountainsides.
They never grew accustomed to the foul stench which attached itself to their skin and clothing, and mingled with the smell of bitumen. Washing themselves in the river only made matters worse.
But in many ways river travel was better than picking their way through the forest. They no longer had to beware of the ground splitting at their feet to disgorge boiling bitumen. Moreover when the smoke cleared, they would see on the riverbank the leering faces of goblins, watching their progress from among the branches of the trees.
At first John found them very frightening, but eventually he bolstered his courage by making faces at them and sticking out his tongue. Mab laughed when he caught him doing it toward the end of their second day's journey. "They're servants of your friend, the Goblin Prince," he said. "They number in the thousands. But unlike him, they are terrified of water. Here we are safe. But I shall not feel too safe when we camp, as we must, on the shores of Lake Nachash."
John looked at him anxiously, and Mab continued, "They are easy enough to deal with in small numbers, but they know no fear, and a concerted attack from them would be disastrous."
John stared again at the leering faces. They seemed to crowd every tree on the riverbank. Thousands? His fears returned with renewed force. He had not thought about the possibility of encountering the goblins around the campsite.
"How far now, wizard?" King Bjorn asked Mab.
Mab smiled, "No wizard am I, but a seer," he said, "and as a good seer I predict that Lake Nachash will lie a mile and a half beyond the next bend. There we shall have to camp. And there we shall have to determine how to handle the followers of the Goblin Prince."
John's heart sank They could be drifting into a trap. The goblins were obviously waiting for them. It was crazy to think of going ashore and making camp. "Mab," he said hesitantly. "Must we make camp? Won't it be dangerous?"
Mab's face was grave. "Dangerous it may be," he said, "but to drift into the lake could be even more dangerous."
15
* * *
The Hideous
Head
They camped that night on the shore of Lake Nachash. The goblins were nowhere to be seen. With the coming of Aguila and the fireflies, peace reigned among the company. But there were no songs and dancing that night
Instead plans were laid. Mab and King Bjorn agreed that the disappearance of the goblins meant they were gathering reinforcements and organizing for an attack. "Which also means," Mab said, "that they will attack in overwhelming numbers. We will have little hope of throwing them off. But they're unlikely to come for some hours, and we may be on our way again before they do. We must post sentries, sleep on the shore itself, and be ready to board the rafts, cast off and leave at a moment's notice."
"Why don't we leave now?" John asked.
"We need paddles, Sword Bearer," King Bjorn replied. "We cannot pole rafts across a deep lake. It will take a good deal of the night to carve paddles."
"What's more," Mab added, "we must first find out whether the forces of the Mystery are back on the island, and whether the lake is patrolled. As soon as we've enough paddles, one raft will go ahead to scout"
They felt the tension again as the table was removed and the comforting canopy of fireflies left them. Instead of sleeping on the beach, Mab and John retired to a Gaal tree ten yards from the shoreline. Mab's last words as they retired were, "If anything happens, don't wait for me. Don't wait for anyone or anything. Make for the rafts!"
John found his bed uncomfortable. He itched and wriggled. At times he tossed the covers aside because he was hot only to shiver five minutes later and pull them back across him. Whenever he closed his eyes he would see hideous goblin faces. And whenever he opened his eyes they felt as though they had been rubbed with sandpaper.
His mind went back over the strange events that had occurred since his thirteenth birthday. He found himself imagining a walk along Ellor Street with old Mr. Leadbetter, the lamplighter. But soon the memory of how he discovered his dead grandmother came back, and so he pushed it out of his mind.
He tried to do the same with the memory of Old Nick, but that was more difficult. Who was Old Nick? What was Old Nick? How could he inhabit two worlds and be the same person? Would he, John, really kill him? He thought of his useless sword and was filled with humiliation and bitterness. Everything that had happened in the strange country of Anthropos had been unsatisfactory—his capture by Bildreth and Gutreth, the strange experience in the cave, the trial in the glade, the horrible murder of Vixenia's mate and cubs, his own refusal to drink the wine of free pardon. Finally there was his failure to attack Nicholas Slapfoot in the cave and his discovery of the uselessness of his sword.
He could almost taste bitterness in his mouth. "Sword Bearer," he muttered in disgust. He had so wanted to impress the Matmon who had witnessed the humiliation of his trial. He had wanted to prove he had power—like Mab.
His feelings about Mab had been changing and growing. Something about the old man powerfully attracted John, though he still resented his humiliating need to be with him constandy. Yet now as he listened to the old man's quiet breathing, he knew that he did indeed like him. Mab was one of the nicest things that had ever happened to him, apart from the Changer. Or was that just a dream?
Restlessness refused to leave him, and he slid his feet over the side of the bed and laced up his sandals. He knew now how to open the door of a Gaal tree. He would go outside for a while until he felt more sleepy.
The night air was clear at last The dead copper moon stared down at him. A few yards away a group of Matmon were working, some preparing suitable sections of a tree they had felled for carving and others carving the needed paddles. He began to move toward them but changed his mind. They might insist that he return to the Gaal tree.
Instead he moved slowly into the trees. Almost at once a pair of steel-strong arms wrapped themselves round him, pinning his own arms to his side.
"So we meet again, Sword Bearer! What good fo
rtune!"
That voice! Didn't he know it? The speaker went on, "I thought I would have to catch you in the middle of our attack But you came, yourself, into my waiting arms." The arms around him had the strength of iron.
"Bildreth!" John was shocked and enraged.
"Bildreth, no less, my lord! And this time you are going to become the servant of the rightful ruler of Anthropos!"
John raised his leg to kick at the Matmon's shins, but Bildreth was too quick tripping him from behind and flinging him forcefully to the ground where he lay winded. He tried to cry out, but he could not draw in any breath. He caught a glimpse of Bildreth's silhouette, one arm raised and holding a club. The club descended with appalling rapidity. John felt no pain. Felt nothing at all. He was unconscious for the next three days.
At first he was only aware of a terrible pounding in his head. He opened his eyes but shut them at once as an extra wave of pain flooded his skull. Blackness again engulfed him and several more hours passed before he awoke.
This time the pounding in his head was almost gone. For a few moments he lay still, aware that he was warm and comfortable. He moved his fingers, feeling soft silky material. He had no recollection of what had happened and opened his eyes, expecting to find himself in bed in a Gaal tree.
He was certainly in bed, or at least on a couch, but he was not in a Gaal tree. He was in a very large and circular room with a high, frescoed ceiling and walls of intricately carved paneling. He lay on a canopied couch. Beside him on a low table was a flagon of wine and a bowl of fruit. A richly patterned carpet covered the floor. Opposite him a solitary window opened into the darkness. He lay back and stared at the ceiling thirty feet above him. Slowly as he lay wondering, the memory of Bildreth came back But where was this? What had happened to him? It was not long before he found out
