by John White
Vixenia rarely quarreled with anyone, but clearly she had set her heart on using the powers of the stones. She sounded angry. "Does Mi-ka-ya not want us all to be protected?" she cried.
"Beware that you speak not ill of the Changer!" The seer's voice was quiet but it trembled with anger. "The Changer cares. He cares gready. But our little minds cannot conceive the greatness of his plans. Have any of you thought to ask him what they are? Or do you think he has gone on a journey, leaving you all to do his thinking for him?" He sat down angrily.
"The parchments!" Vixenia barked.
Rathson brought the three from Bjorn. Carefully she selected one with her two paws. "Unroll it!" she ordered John.
Unhappy at the quarrel, he obeyed reluctandy. Rathson held a smoking torch in his hand and by its light John read aloud three solitary words: "The four winds." A thrill of excitement ran through the group.
"A pross stone, please!" Vixie said to the magician.
"As you wish," he responded quietly.
Once more, as she had done of the previous night, Vixenia crouched over the stone as it glowed pale and shimmering between her forepaws. John could not hear all her words, but clearly her mind and will were focused on it as she muttered fervently. Occasionally he caught phrases like, "Heed, oh, heed my yearning!" or, "Let them blow for thousands upon thousands of years."
Stars had paled as the moon prepared to rise. There was no breath of wind. A minute passed. Then another. Then several more and still no wind.
"I think I can hear wind," John said at length, "but it sounds far away. You know if winds are blowing away from the island we won't necessarily feel them on the island." But he was talking to himself. Everyone else was watching Vixenia.
He ran to the steps leading up to the wall and stared out across the water. There was a steady rushing sound as though air was swooping down from above and then crossing the water. "There is a wind!" he shouted back to them. "On this side there's a strong wind blowing out! Come and look! You can see it better from here! It doesn't sound that loud but the waves are rising. You can see them in the moonlight" The moon was crossing the horizon, and by its soft light he could just discern waves scurrying shoreward across the water.
The winds were blowing. And as the party toured the castle walls they discovered that they were blowing from each of the island's four sides. The pross stone had worked. Only Poison and Mab seemed not to care. Mab stood beside John. "Can wind stop the Mystery?" he asked himself aloud.
"But isn't it the Changer's wind?" John answered excitedly.
The seer looked down at him. "But is it the Changer's plan?" he asked. "And if it isn't, will it do any good?"
They gathered on the south wall to gaze in the direction of the swamp. Would the darkness come again in spite of the wind? Or would it be buffeted and driven back?
John stared till his eyes grew sore. At first he felt a strange combination of excitement and fear. "I didn't see the cloud when it came before," he said. But Mab was lost in reverie. The look on his ancient face forbade questions.
Slowly the moon rose higher. Cataracts of air thundered awesomely from the skies, driving an army of black waves to assault the far shore. As John leaned against the parapet the rushing thunder penetrated his brain, making him drowsy. How long he remained there he could not say. Eventually his head began to nod sleepily.
He was startled awake by Mab's voice, "It has arisen, and it approaches us."
"It's not a cloud. It's a nothing!" John's eyes widened as he saw what appeared to be the effects of an invisible giant eraser wiping the stars from the blackboard of the sky. At first he wondered whether a space was again opening into outer darkness, but he quickly rejected the idea. As the blackness moved he got the feeling that everything was about to be wiped clean, that all of them, even the island and the castle walls, were as insubstantial as chalk drawings.
"Numa still exists. She is hidden, not destroyed," Mab said quietly. "The Mystery is not a nothing, and the winds are not holding it back. We must get out of the night air if we value our safety."
Ever afterward the winds would blow from the island from time to time. They became known as Vixenia's Winds. But Vixe-nia's use of the proseo comai stone had failed. The winds had not deterred the Mystery in the least Panic spread among the group. They stumbled hastily down the steps from the castle wall and streamed toward the buildings.
What horror awaited them now?
21
* * *
Gold coffin
They rushed into a large stone-flagged room at the base of the castle keep. A dark wooden table beside a blazing log fire bore fruits, cheeses, nuts, milk and sparkling water. But the sight failed to cheer them. John and Mab picked at the nuts from time to time. Mosdy they strolled to and fro waiting until the danger was over, hoping they would be safe as long as they kept out of the night air.
Some of them shivered in spite of the fire. Deep disappointment at the failure of the winds was reflected on many faces. Murmurs of conversation would rise only to fall into silence. Folly huddled alone in a dark corner sighing and shaking his head disconsolately. Vixenia paced endlessly backward and forward across the floor. Only Poison, purring contentedly, sat before the fire.
Then when moonlight and starlight could no longer be perceived through the diamond-paned windows a blanket of gloom settled over them all. The Matmon king and queen with their grandson Rathson and his cousin Goldson retired to their quarters through a door at the back. The rest lapsed into complete silence.
John fiddled absent-mindedly with the chain around his neck, then jumped as he realized what he was doing. The chain! Rathson had been wearing a chain. In his dream it had been a chain that they had fought over. Was Rathson's murder what the Abomination wanted tonight?
The darkness outside grew yet more ominous. He had to tell someone. But whom?
Determination seized him. He hurried up two flights of stairs and rapped on the door of the Matmon royal quarters. The voice of Bjorn sounded from within, "Come in! Come in!"
He entered a large room of dark shadows and flickering firelight Its walls were lined with black oak, its tiled floor littered with rugs.
"Hail, John-of-the-Swift-Sword!" The booming voice of Bjorn, who was seated on a wooden throne beside an open fireplace, was almost drowned by crackling, roaring, spitting logs whose flames leaped up a wide chimney. Firelight danced on the Matmon king's rugged features so that his nose, his forehead and his beard shone over his wrinkles and the deep hollows of his eyes.
John stood still, uncertain whether to advance or not
"You see my fire?" the king cried. "I know not whether it drives away the darkness from the marshes or the darker fears from my heart But come and sit beside me. If darkness and cold crawl round your heart as they crawl round mine, sit on my footstool and let heat and light singe your skin! The winds—a thousand curses on all donkeys—have failed us. Per-haps fire will succeed where wind has failed. And if fire fails, there will always be iron. Come, John-of-the-Swift-Sword, come and be warmed!"
Normally John would have been delighted by such a welcome. But he was too troubled by his fears to enjoy blazing logs. He advanced slowly to sit on the stool beside the king, staring at the flames and wondering how to begin.
"You are troubled, I see, by the Mystery. Take your mind off it It will pass. Look at the flames in front of you. See how they swirl and laugh! Let your heart leap with them!" He paused, then muttered softly, "Would that my own heart could do so."
For several moments neither of them spoke, both staring at the flames and avoiding each other's eyes. Finally Bjorn, his voice again subdued said, "Perhaps there is more on your mind than the Abomination. Perhaps there is something you fear. What is it, you who come from Mi-ka-ya?"
"It's ... I don't know. I'm not sure. I'm afraid of what might happen. It's to do with my dreams."
"Your dreams? What of your dreams?"
"I used to have the same dream again and again. It was
about Rathson and Goldson. I dreamed about them before I met them."
John continued to stare at the fire. His back was cold and his face was burning, but he could not bring himself to look at the king. He sensed rather than saw a swift movement as the king turned to face him more direcdy, but he continued to stare into the fire. Then with a rush his words came.
"I saw Rathson's chain tonight That's what scared me."
"Scared you? Why should the chain I gave him scare you? It is his right. He is the oldest son of my first-born. The kingdom is to be his when I die."
"That's what they fought about—with their swords. Goldson wanted the chain. It happened the same way each time I dreamed it It was at night, and there was this ghost creature all in white—I'm sure it was meant to be the Lord Lunacy— laughing at them."
He took a deep breath and determined not to stop until he had told the whole horror. "They were between the edge of a cliff and a high wall. Every time I dreamed it, Goldson screamed, 'I'll kill you for it. It's going to be mine!' And he did. Every time I dreamed it He killed Rathson and snatched the chain from round his neck. I should have told you before . .."
"Child, your imagination is running away with you!" Something in Bjorn's voice warned John to be silent. Bjorn's heavy breathing could be heard against the roar and crackle of the fire. After a moment he continued. "He is my pride. My heir. Today is his hundredth birthday, and in honor of it I gave him the chain which is his birthright. He is still a boy—though married and with little ones of his own—but he will rule and rule well."
Again he lapsed into silence. Then more gently, "You must not think such things. Dreams are dreams. Reality is reality. Speak no more of dreams. Rathson has been with me since his father died. There was something about the child that lifted my spirits whenever I saw him. I love his boldness, and he has a wisdom beyond his years.
"Think of the idea he came up with tonight. His suggestion about the fire was excellent He was quite right Fire purges. Fire purifies and burns away evil. We will see what this Mystery can do once flames leap up around the island."
He paused again before resuming more slowly. "I am aware that my nephew is jealous. But that is nothing. It will resolve itself in time."
John turned to stare at the old king. His craggy features had grown older and careworn. Bjorn spoke so softly that John could scarcely hear him. "When will they come? When will the Regents come? I am three hundred and seven years old, yet still I wait Will I see their emergence from the tower? Is our vixen leader right? Is the seer? Or will I die before they come?"
He turned to look at John. "Think no more of your dreams, John-of-the-Swift-Sword. You did well to tell me of them, but they are dreams and nothing more than dreams. Prince Rath-son is my heart's delight"
His face changed again in the firelight, once more suffused with strength and confidence. Fire kindled in his eyes, and as John looked at them his resolve to pursue the matter of Rathson's murder seemed to melt away. How could he tell the old king that his hopes might be doomed? Yet what ought he to do?
"May I—I don't want to be rude, your majesty—but may I go now?" He had to do something. Time might be running out.
"Of course you may, John the Sword Bearer, John-of-the-Swift-Sword. But come back again that we may speak more together, for there is much I would love to tell you of our ways and customs, of our hopes and our dreams."
John Wilson rose, bowed to the Matmon king and left As he closed the door behind him he found he was trembling with panic. How real was the danger? How much time was left? He descended the staircase and re-entered the stone-flagged room.
For several moments he stood with his back to the door of the royal chamber, unaware of what was around him in his growing terror of things he might not be able to control.
"Are you ill, John-the-Omen?" It was Mab's voice that brought him to his senses. "Is it the darkness that disturbs you, or are you in pain?" Mab's thin hands were gripping John's arms and the seer was looking hard into his face. Briefly John told him what had taken place in the royal chamber and of his fears for Rathson.
"You see, in my dream he was always wearing that gold chain, the one he wore tonight. When I came here first there was no gold chain. But tonight he had it on. It was the first time he wore it."
"So you fear he will be killed tonight."
"I don't know. It's just a feeling. The dreams were so vivid. It always seemed as though I was actually there watching and that I wanted them to stop, but I couldn't do anything. It feels that way now."
For a moment the seer continued to stare into John's face. Then he released his arms, took a deep breath and said, "It would be foolish to take no action. We might act in vain. But not to act should the danger be real would be to let the Mystery work its will. Come with me!"
When Mab rapped at the door of the royal chamber John heard again the voice of Bjorn bidding them enter. When they entered Bjorn was no longer alone. Bjornsluv was bending over him.
"With your majesties' permission," Mab said as he strode toward them. John followed reluctandy. They paused and stood several paces from the throne.
"It is about the boy's dream, I suppose." Bjorn's voice had hardened. "I advised him to forget it, but I see he has sought an ally. Dreams are folly, and magicians should know that"
"I am no magician but a seer—and seers know no such thing. As for the boy, he sought no ally. I bade him tell me what ailed him, for he came from this chamber like one about to die. He was sick with the grip of an evil that will take place if we do not take steps to prevent it. Tell me, your majesty, Queen Björns-luv," here he bowed to the queen, "are you not yourself in terror even now of some peril in which your grandson stands?"
The Matmon king sprang to his feet "Are you all in collu-sion? Have you been plotting together to turn me against my nephew Goldson? I know he has faults—"
"Sit down, I say! Be not so foolish!"
John jumped at the queen's unaccustomedly shrill voice.
"What know I of dreams, this boy's or any other's? What know I now? What are you hiding from me, husband? What dreams has the boy had? Do they bear on the safety of our grandson?"
Bjorn sank slowly back into his seat. His shoulders slumped. His face had again grown old. His lightning flash of anger had vanished without a trace. "It cannot be true," he muttered. "It cannot, cannot be true."
For several seconds no one spoke. Then Mab said, "It need not be true. Where are your nephew and your grandson now?"
Bjornsluv answered him, "I had come to tell his majesty that only tonight I discovered that Goldson has been talking of communing with the Mystery and inviting Rathson to join him."
"And where are they both now?"
"They were commanded to be in their rooms until the dark-ness had passed."
"And are they there, majesty? Are they in their chambers now?"
Wearily Bjorn rose to his feet and walked across the chamber to two doors a few feet apart. Without knocking he flung back the first to reveal a small bedchamber lit by a flickering torch. "Goldson! Goldson!"
He strode into the room and emerged shaken and pale. At the second door, the door of his grandson's chamber he knocked. There was no reply. Opening the door he strode into the chamber as he had done into Goldson's. Again he emerged, trembling. "They are not there, and the windows are open in both rooms."
His face was now an iron mask of resolution. He clapped his hands sharply together and from yet another door a servant entered the chamber. "My cloak and my sword! Hurry!"
All thoughts of ceremony and propriety were forgotten. Mab and John hurried from the chamber and within seconds were out of the keep. The torches they carried threw light for only a few feet, so thick was the darkness. It reminded John of Pendleton fog. One or two of the more venturesome members of the company, sensing something amiss, followed John and Mab from the keep. Soon a small crowd, including Vixenia, Folly, Poison, John, Mab, Bjorn and Bjornsluv were hurrying to a point on the castle wall John
thought he recognized from his dream that was at the southwestern end of the island. It over-looked a narrow strip of turf between the foot of the castle wall and the cliff top.
No one ever forgot what they saw there. A ghosdy white glow illuminated the scene. As John looked at the source of the light he saw the ghosdy Lord Lunacy looking like a corpse—a living corpse. He heard Vixenia gasp, "An angel of light!" But to John the "angel," however beautiful he may have appeared, was glow-ing with the whiteness of death.
"It is no angel. It is the Lord of Lunacy, one of the forms assumed by the Mystery," Mab muttered.
The Lord Lunacy watched in contemptuous silence at the furious battle Rathson and Goldson were fighting with their short swords on the turf below them. "Desist!" Rathson gasped, struggling to fend off his cousin's onslaught "Speak with . . . our king ... if you must... but cease, cease this ... senseless bitterness . . . over a gold bauble!"
But Goldson only pressed him the harder. Rathson tried to shield himself without hurting his cousin. So great was the fury with which they batded that it seemed inevitable that both would be cut to pieces. A sudden shriek from Goldson chilled his blood. "I will kill you! I will kill you! Give it to me, or I will kill you!"
A rope ladder led from the wall to the turf below, and before anyone could stop him Bjorn was scrambling down. The seer acted quickly. "Avaunt, proud spirit! Avaunt and begone! In the name of the Changeless One, get thee hence!"
The creature turned to face Mab. Then raising his long white arm and pointing at King Bjorn he said, "Take care, little ma-gician! I may not harm you, but him I can destroy." His voice was chill with menace.
Mab raised his staff and as he did so several things happened so quickly that John could never be sure afterward which of them happened first. It seemed that almost simultaneously a bolt of blue lightning shot from the prophet's staff toward Lord Lunacy and a broad ray of blackness sped from the finger of the ghost to strike the Matmon king, hurling him to the turf.
