by Gene Wolfe
“What about the other men in your village? There must be twenty or more. Wouldn’t they help?”
“Huh-uh, Sir Able. They—they was afraid the knight’d come back. The other knight.”
“Go on!”
“Only Vali and—And ...”
“And somebody else.” I let my voice drop to a whisper. “Who was it?” When Toug did not speak, I lifted his pinned arms.
“Ve, Sir Able! He’s a little ’un, Sir Able, younger’n me.”
“Is he Vali’s son? He sounds like it.”
“Uh-huh, Sir Able. Vali and Hulta only got the one, Sir Able, and he’s not old enough to plow. He had to help. His pa told him to.”
“Then I won’t be hard on him, if he comes my way. And I won’t be hard on you, because you were worried about him. I was younger than you are yesterday. That may be why it doesn’t feel like bullying to do this. But maybe it is.”
“You—you’re twice as big as Pa, Sir Able.”
“I didn’t see a little kid with you when I opened the door, Toug. Where was he?”
“He run off into the woods, Sir Able.”
“When I opened the back door? You were scared and ran yourself, but I saw you. Why didn’t I see Ve?”
“He run ‘fore I did, Sir Able.”
I let go of his arms and caught him by the neck. “Have you ever been hit with a bow, Toug?”
“Uh-huh, Sir Able. I—I had this bow myself, and—and ...”
“Your dad beat you with it. No, because you wouldn’t mind telling me that. Your sister did it. Ulfa.” I felt Toug nod, and shook him.
“That’s the truth. Ulfa beat me with it.”
“You deserved it, that’s for sure. She beat you black and blue, I hope.”
“Oh, yes, Sir Able. Real bad.”
“So bad you couldn’t stand afterward?”
“Uh—no, Sir Able. Not as bad as that.”
“You’re nearly as big as she is. You must have gotten even some way. What’d you do?”
“N-nothing. Pa wouldn’t let me.”
“We’re going to walk again,” I told him, “and I’m going to turn you loose. You keep in front of me so I can see you if you try to clear out. I’ll catch you if you do, and when I catch you I’ll beat you with this bow ’til you can’t stand up.” I let him go and gave him a push, and when he stopped walking I pushed him again. “What are you so afraid of? Bears? They’ll eat you first, and maybe you’ll fill them up so they won’t eat me. What do you think?”
“N-nothing.”
“I know. But you think you do, and that’s sad. Toug, you’d better tell the truth, or I’ll beat you this minute—beat you ’til you crawl. So tell the truth or get ready. You’re afraid of something up ahead. What is it?”
“The Free Companies, Sir Able.”
“The outlaws? Go on.”
“He—Ve run to fetch ’em. His pa made him, Sir Able. Only—only ...”
“Yes? Only what?”
“We wanted to tell Ulfa not to sew so fast, so they’d come ‘fore you left. Only we couldn’t.”
“She knew what you planned?”
Toug said nothing, and I rapped his ear. “Out with it!”
“I dunno, Sir Able. Really I don’t.”
“She knew something was up, but she sewed very fast, and kept this shirt and my trousers as simple as she could. I thought it was because she was afraid of me. Maybe she was afraid for me. I hope so. But you’ve got nothing to be afraid of up there, Toug. If the outlaws were hiding in those shadows, we’d be full of arrows by this time. They could see us in this moonlight.”
“They got spears ‘n axes, mostly,” Toug muttered.
I hardly heard him, because I was listening so hard to something else.
Chapter 9. A Wizard Knight
“Where are we?” Toug stared about him as he spoke, seeing (as I did) ancient trees thicker through than his father’s house and lofty as clouds, and a forest floor decked with flowers and ferns, and laced with crystal rills. The soft gray light by which we grasped the nobility and heartrending beauty of all these seemed to proceed from the air itself.
I said, “In the world underneath, I think. In Aelfrice, where the Aelf come from. Now keep your voice down. It must have been your talk that betrayed us.”
“This is Aelfrice?”
“I think I said that.” I was not sure, but tried to sound sure, and angry, too.
“It isn’t real!”
I put my finger to my lips.
“I’m sorry, Sir Able.” Toug was near to choking on his curiosity. “Do you think they followed us?”
“I doubt it, but they might have. Besides, if you make noise here you might wake something worse.”
“Such as I, Able?” The voice was Disiri’s, filled with mirth, mockery, and music, sourceless as the light. I knew it at once.
“Disiri, I—”
“Would fawn upon me, if I allowed it.”
“Y-yes.” I fell to my knees, somehow feeling it might keep me from stammering. “I would, beautiful queen. Have pity and show yourself.” She stepped from behind a tree, no taller than Toug, slender as the naked sword she held, and green. He knelt too, I suppose because I had. “Is this your slave, Able? Tell him to get up.”
I made an urgent gesture and Toug rose.
“I let you pay me homage, as a very great favor. It extends no further than yourself.”
I said, “Thank you. Thanks very much. I understand.”
“Now you ought to stand, too. In the future, you are to send him away when you wish to adore me. It is not fitting that my consort kneels while his slave lounges.”
Toug retreated.
“Disiri, could we—” I was still on my knees.
“Take ourselves to some private place? I think not. Your slave might get into mischief.”
“Then may I kill him?”
Toug gasped, “Sir Able!”
Disiri laughed. “Look at him! He thinks you mean it!”
“I do,” I said.
“He wants to talk, see how his mouth moves.” Delighted, Disiri pointed with the slender blade she bore. “Speak, boy. I will not let him strangle you—at least, not yet.”
“My sister ...”
“What of her?”
Toug drew breath. “I got this sister, Queen Disiri. Her name’s Ulfa.” Disiri shot a glance at me. “I ought to have watched you more closely, dear messenger.”
“She loves him, loves Sir Able. Or that’s what I think.”
I adjusted the position of the too-short arrow I had brought to Parka’s string. “You can’t know that. Or if you do, you have to know I don’t love her.”
“I was listening under th’ window. My pa said to. I heard how she talked. How she sounded.” Toug paused to clear his throat. “I want to say if you kill me, Sir Able, you’ll be killin’ th’ brother of a girl that loves you. You want to do that?”
I spoke to Disiri. “I’ll kill him if you want me to.”
She looked at me curiously. “Would not it trouble you afterward?”
“Maybe. But if you want him dead, I’ll kill him for you and find out.”
“You mortals,” Disiri told Toug, “are often tender about such things. It is supposed to be a good example for us, and sometimes it is.”
Wide-eyed, Toug nodded.
Disiri turned to me, seeming to forget him. “When was it we were together last, Able? A year ago? Something like that?”
“Yesterday morning, Queen Disiri.”
“In so brief a time you have become a knight? And learned that I am a queen? Who told you that, and who gave you the colee?”
I did not want to say Ulfa had told me. “A knight with no sword,” I said instead, “and I just made myself a knight. I was hoping it would make me somebody you could love.”
She laughed. (Toug cringed.) “By the same measure, I am a goddess.”
“I’ve worshipped you since I carried you to the cave, Queen Disiri.”
/> “Your goddess,” she told Toug, “but I do not dare ascend to the third world just the same. Did you know that, little boy?”
He shook his head, and seeing my eyes on him said, “No, Queen Disiri. We don’t know nothin’ ’bout things like that in Glennidam.”
“Your Overcyns would destroy me as a matter of course. Nor is the second much safer.” She turned back to me. “It is an awful place. Dragons like Setr roaring and fighting. Would you follow me there?”
I said—and meant—that I would follow her anywhere.
“I can climb to your world, too, as you’ve seen.”
I nodded. “Could I get to the third world the same way? I’ve been wondering.”
“I have no idea.” She paused, studying me. “You’re a knight, Able. You say so, and so does this boy. You also say you have no sword. A knight requires one.”
“If you say so, Queen Disiri.”
“I do.” She smiled. “And I do have an idea about that. A great knight, fit to be a queen’s consort, should bear no common sword, but a fabled brand imbued with all sorts of magical authority and mystical significance—Eterne, Sword of Grengarm. Do not contradict me, I know I am right.”
“I wouldn’t think of it. Not ever.”
Her voice fell. “Such swords were forged in the Elder Time. The Overcyns visited Mythgarthr more often then and taught your smiths, that you might defend your world from the Angrborn. No doubt you know all that.” I shook my head.
“It is so. The first pair of tongs was cast down to fall at the feet of Weland, and with them, a mass of white-hot steel. Six brands Weland made, and six broke. The seventh, Eterne, he could not break. Nor can the strength of the Angrborn bend that blade, nor the fire of Grengarm draw its temper. It is haunted, and commands the ghosts who bore it.” She stopped to look into my eyes. “I have done an ill thing, perhaps, by telling you.”
“I’ll get it,” I told her, “if you’ll let me go after it.”
Slowly, she nodded.
Just the thought of it had grabbed me the way nothing else ever has except Disiri herself, and I said, “Then I’ll get it or die trying.”
“I know. You will try to wrest it from the dragon. Suppose I were to beg you not to.”
“Then I wouldn’t.”
“Is that true?” She bent over me.
“As true as I can make it.”
“Just so.” She sighed. “You would be a lesser man after that, and your love would mean little to me.”
I looked up, crazy with hope. “Does it mean a lot now?”
“More than you can know, Able. Seek Eterne, but never forget me wholly.”
“I couldn’t.”
“So men say, yet many have forsaken me. When the wind moans in the chimney, O my lover, go into the wood. There you will find me crying for the lovers I have lost.”
Trembling, the boy Toug came forward. “Don’t send him after that sword, Aelfqueen.”
Disiri laughed. “You fear he will make you go too?”
Toug shook his head. “I’m afraid he won’t let me come.”
“Listen to that! Will you, Able?”
“No,” I said. “When we get out of here, I’m going to send him back to his mother.”
“See?” Toug reached toward Disiri, though he did not dare touch her. “More than both of you together.” She straightened up. “Will you obey, Able?”
“In anything. I swear.”
“In that case I have things to say to this boy, though he will have nothing to say to me. You need not fear he will return a man. There will be no such transformation.” She raised her sword and struck my shoulders with the flat of its blade, surprising me. “Arise, Sir Able, my own true knight!”
A step or two, and she had vanished among tall ferns as green as she; like a dog too fearful to disobey, Toug hurried after her and vanished too. I waited, not at all sure either would come back. The time passed slowly, and I found out that my new, big body was tired enough to die. I sat, walked up and down, and sat again. For a while, I tried to find two trees of the same kind.
All were large and all were very old, for Aelfrice (as I know now) is not a place in which trees are felled. Each had its own manner of growth, and leaves of its own color and shape. I found one with pink bark and another whose bark was purple; white bark, both smooth and rough, was common among them. Leaves were red, and yellow, a hundred shades of green, and one tree was leafless, having green bark in place of leaves, bark that hung loose in folds and drapes so that it got more exposure to the light. Since that time alone in a forest of Aelfrice, it has always seemed to me that the spiny orange must have come from there, as I said earlier, its seed carried by an Aelf or more probably by some other human being as forlorn as I was, returning to his own world. However that may be, I took the last of my seeds from the pouch at my belt and planted it in a glade I found, a place of silence ind surpassing beauty. Whether it sprouted and took root, I cannot say.
In that glade, I paused at my planting to look up, and saw the comings and goings of men, women, children, and many animals—not each step each took, but the greater movements of their days. A man plowed a field while I blinked, and returned home tired, and chancing to look in through his own window, saw the love his wife gave another. Too exhausted to be angry, he feigned not to have seen and sat by her fire, and when his wife hurried out, looking like a dirty bed and full of lies, he asked for his supper and kept quiet.
As I finished planting the seed, I thought about that, and it seemed to me that the things I had seen in the sky of Aelfrice were like the things my bowstring showed in dreams; I had unstrung my bow the way you do, but I strung it again and held it up so I could study my string against that sky, but Parka’s little string vanished into the great gray sky, so that I could not make out its line. I did not understand that then and do not understand it now, but it is what I saw. When I had tamped earth over the seed, I would have gone back to the spot where Disiri had left me if I could. Unable to find it, I wandered in circles—or at least in what I hoped were circles—looking for it. Soon it seemed to me that the air got darker with every step I took. I found a sheltered spot, lay down to rest, and slept.
* * *
I woke from terrible dreams of death to the music of wolves. Bow in hand, I made my way among the trees, then paused to shout “Disiri!”
At once an answering voice called, “Here! Here!”
I hurried toward it, feeling my way with my bow, entered a starlit clearing, and was embraced with one arm by a woman who clasped an infant in the other, a little woman who rushed to me weeping. “Vali? Aren’t you Vali?” And then, “I’m so sorry! Did Seaxneat send you?”
It was a moment before I understood. When I did I said, “A gallant knight sent me to find you, Disira. His name is Sir Ravd, and he was concerned for you.
So am I, if you are out here alone.”
“All alone except for Ossar,” she told me, and held her baby up so I could see him.
“Seaxneat told you to hide in this forest?”
She nodded, and cried.
“Did he say why?”
She shook he head violently. “Only to hide. So I hid and hid, all day and all night. There was nothing to eat, and after the first day I wanted to go back, but—”
“I understand.” I took her elbow as gently as I could and led her forward, although I had no idea where we were or where we might be going. “You tried to find your way back to Glennidam and got lost.”
“Y-yes.” A wolf howled as she spoke, and she shuddered.
“You don’t have to be afraid of them. They’re after fawns, and the new calves of the forest cattle. They won’t dare attack as long as I’m with you. I’m a knight too. I’m Sir Able.”
She huddled closer.
At dawn we found a path, and in the first long beams of the rising sun I recognized it. “We’re not far from Bold Berthold’s hut,” I told Disira. “We’ll go there, and even if Bold Berthold has nothing for us, you and
Ossar can sit by his fire while I hunt.” Looking down at Ossar, I saw he was at her breast, and asked if she had milk.
“Yes, but I don’t know if it will last. I’m awfully thirsty and I haven’t eaten.
Just some gooseberries.”
We both drank deep at the crossing of the Griffin, and I shot a deer not a hundred strides after it, and merrily we came to Bold Berthold’s hut. He welcomed us and said he had thought, because of the wound that he had gotten from the Angrborn, that I was much too young to be his brother. Now he was glad to see I was as old as I ought to be, and bigger than I ought to be, too (I was much larger than he was), and felt sure he was getting well at last. There was mead and venison (that some people would call tough, although we did not), and the last hoarded nuts to crack. Bold Berthold played with little Ossar, and talked about how life had been when his brother was no bigger than Ossar, and he himself (as he put it) only a stripling.
In the morning Disira begged to stay one more day; she was exhausted; her feet still hurt; and I, knowing how long our return to Glennidam was likely to be, said it would be all right.
I made myself new arrows that day, four for which I already had steel heads, and four more that I hoped to get heads for from the smith in her village. We slept under deerskins at Bold Berthold’s, and she crept under mine that night when Ossar and Bold Berthold were asleep. I did not betray Disiri, although I know Disira expected me to; but I put my arms around her and kissed her once or twice. That was what she wanted mostly: to be loved by somebody strong who would not hurt her.
Next day we stayed too, because I wanted to try my new arrows and hoped to get something Bold Berthold could eat when we were gone. The day after that we did not go because it rained. As we sat around the fire, singing all the songs we knew and talking when we felt like it, I said something about your mother and mine, Ben, and Bold Berthold hugged me and cried. I had already started to wonder if America had ever been real and not trust the life I remembered there with you (school and the cabin, my Mac and all that) and this made it worse. I lay down, and to tell the truth I pretended I was asleep, wondering if I was not really Bold Berthold’s brother Able.
