by Hiatt, Bill
“Majesty,” said Stan abruptly, startling me. “I too request the right to prove myself.”
Gwynn looked dumbfounded. “But you are just a child, surely!”
“I am about the same age as the others,” said Stan, trying hard not to sound offended and not entirely succeeding.
“Stan,” I muttered under my breath, “what are you doing?”
“These contests don’t seem to be as much about combat skill as about character. At least they were for Dan and Gordy.”
Gwynn was looking at Stan, as if for the first time. “It is as you say. You are old enough to be a warrior. Do you too seek a weapon?”
“I do, and if it please your Majesty, I would like to wrestle for one.”
Another belly laugh. “Were you under the impression that it was your place to propose the nature of your own challenge?”
“Majesty, he meant no offense,” I said, stepping forward.
“Taliesin, he seems more than capable of speaking for himself. He is presumptuous, perhaps, but he too has courage.” He focused on Stan again. “I presume you want rules this time, or you would not have named a specific challenge. What are the rules for this wrestling?”
Much to my surprise, Stan started reciting the CIF rules.
“I taught him those,” Gordy whispered to me, “and I have shown him some moves while we were working out.” I recalled that Gordy’s winter sport was wrestling, but I didn’t remember any wrestling coaching going on while Stan and I were working out with the football team. Then again, I had been pretty preoccupied part of the time.
Actually, wrestling was an astute choice in the sense that it did not leave as much scope for the use of a faery’s natural speed. However, there was a problem, which Gwynn was not slow to perceive.
“I have no warrior here who is in your ‘weight class,’ as you would call it.”
“I will accept the disadvantage.”
“Very well.”
“One other thing, if it please your Majesty.” Wow, Stan was pressing his luck like, well, like me. Gwynn looked at him, clearly waiting.
“I would like to change the rules I just gave you in one way—the match doesn’t end until I yield.” Gwynn raised an eyebrow, but nodded.
Watching the “match” was painful. Stan was outweighed, and if Gordy really had done much coaching, it was clear that Stan hadn’t absorbed much. He knew what he was supposed to do; he just couldn’t do it. He got pinned over, and over, and over. To make matters worse, I think the faerie warriors, despite their gracious manner, were heartily sick of getting their butts kicked by mortals, and the one wrestling Stan was determined to win, perhaps to help his friends save face.
Finally Gwynn asked, “Do you yield?” which should have been hint enough for most people.
“No,” said the pinned Stan, through clenched teeth. Gwynn nodded reluctantly, and the slaughter, uh, the match continued.
Stan must have been exhausted, and, though at least he hadn’t been cut up in a sword fight, his skin looked gray. He was drenched in sweat, and his expression suggested that by now he was actually in pain. This was far more twisting in awkward positions than he was used to—he had probably pulled a muscle somewhere along the way, maybe more than one.
By now the match had dragged on so long that Nurse Florence had actually finished healing Dan. Gordy waved her off. “Save it for Stan,” he said, not taking his eyes off the spot where Stan and the faerie continued their unequal struggle.
“Do you yield?” asked Gwynn again, this time more insistently. Stan shook his head no.
Gwynn gave me his most piercing stare. “The boy should yield. I cannot guarantee his safety if this continues.”
“I am not a boy!” Stan nearly shouted. I was both surprised he had the energy to shout and shocked that he was coming so close to conflict with the leader of the Welsh faeries, not someone you exactly wanted as an enemy.
“Your Majesty…” I began.
“Taliesin,” he almost roared, “do not presume to counsel me. Counsel your b…your warrior, if you will. Having agreed unwisely to that rule about yielding, I can do nothing now to change it. They could fight for all eternity, except that your friend will die much sooner than that. I have seen a man’s heart give out in this kind of situation.”
“Majesty,” said the faerie wrestler, “in the interest of ending this contest in accordance with your wish, I am willing to yield.”
“Are we of one mind?” Gwynn asked, addressing the warriors and Govannon, all of whom nodded. “Then yes,” he said, addressing the wrestler again, “by all means yield.” The wrestler yielded, nodding to Stan, and returned to his place in line.
“Well, little warrior,” began Gwynn. “Oh, yes, let me save you the trouble, you are not little. Well, warrior, you have the ability to endure pain and even humiliation for a cause. You, too, shall have a weapon.” Stan, contrary to protocol, had not bowed to the king, but since he was still lying on the ground, Gwynn did not seem to mind. I moved in his direction, but naturally Gordy beat me to it, practically carrying him over to Nurse Florence. I bowed to the king, who seemed to be watching the healing on the sidelines with some amusement, and then quickly walked over to where Stan was being tended.
“He’s going to be all right,” said Nurse Florence without my asking, “but he did push himself dangerously hard.” Stan looked up at me and smiled.
“Now I’m not just the sidekick anymore,” he whispered to me.
“You were never just the sidekick, Stan.”
“Well, now everyone knows I have guts.”
“Knew that too. So if you get into battle, try to keep them inside of you—no need to display them.”
Stan laughed a little and closed his eyes. At about that point three faeries approached, each with a golden goblet. One collected a little of Dan’s blood, one a little of Gordy’s tears—not that he would admit he had teared up a little while Stan was getting his butt kicked—and one a little of Stan’s sweat. They took the goblets to Govannon, who nodded and left immediately.
“I have never seen that before,” said Nurse Florence. “Not that I’ve done this very often.”
“Not seen what?” I asked.
“The collection of bodily fluids. I thought the best we could expect were generic faerie weapons. Even those would have been amazing additions to our combat power, but now it looks as if Govannon intends to forge a unique blade for each of them. I wouldn’t have dared to ask for such a thing. Evidently you impressed them more than I realized.”
“Mortals, I must take my leave,” said Gwynn in his usual booming voice. He was already back on his war horse. “Other business cries out for my attention. Viviane, come back in one mortal day’s time. By then Govannon will have the weapons ready. And Taliesin,” he added, glancing in my direction. “All in all, you have a fine band of warriors…especially considering that, by the standards of your society, none of them is even an adult yet. See to it that you lead them well.” I bowed in acknowledgment of his words, but he had galloped off almost before I could complete the bow. The faerie warriors walked over to their own mounts and were gone almost as rapidly.
“Well,” she said, looking at all of us, “I think we’ve had enough male ego for one afternoon.”
“The king said we had courage, and perseverance,” said Gordy a little defensively.
“The king doesn’t deal with teenage boys every day. Look, all of you are brave, but you are also foolish sometimes, and that’s dangerous.”
“We got what we came for,” I pointed out. “More than what we came for.”
“Would you still be saying that if one of you were dead? I do healings, not resurrections. Dan lost a risky amount of blood, Gordy almost got himself skewered by accident, and Stan’s heart damn near popped out of his chest by the time the faerie yielded. Honestly, maybe what this group needs is some girls to keep you in line.”
“Why do we need girls,” I asked archly, “when we have women?” Nurse Florence frowned wor
se than I had so far seen.
“Taliesin Weaver, if you weren’t such an old soul, you’d get a slap, or detention, maybe both. Wait,” she said, looking down at her watch, “we need to get moving. We might be able to explain the sweat, but the blood and the torn clothes will be harder. We need to get you guys cleaned up and returned to roughly the same condition you were in when your parents sent you to school.”
Nurse Florence might be a lady of the lake, but when it came to these kinds of logistics, she was thoroughly modern and all business. She hustled us out of Annwn with brisk efficiency, then back to her van. She had all of us pull out our cell phones and tell our parents we’d be a little late and would stop somewhere for dinner. Predictably, Stan’s mom had problems with that idea, but somehow he smoothed everything over—he was definitely getting better at that, or perhaps even she realized that he was growing up and was starting to give him more latitude. While we were making our calls, Nurse Florence herself called Coach Miller and had him call someone at Santa Ynez Valley Union High School to get permission for us to use the locker room and showers on our way past.
“Why not just go back to our own high school?” asked Dan.
“Because Carrie Winn obviously spies on Tal from time to time, and I don’t know exactly how. Bad enough we had to meet up in the parking lot, but that couldn’t be helped. If she had someone—or something—tracking Tal then, he would eventually have had to rendezvous with us, anyway. That doesn’t mean we have to advertise that all of you were doing something really unusual today. Leaving together might not have set off any alarms, but then coming back together—bloody—would be bound to. Actually, anyone seeing you that way would be a problem, let alone a Winn spy. No, we stay away from Santa Brígida as long as we can. We can take the 154 right to Santa Ynez, so you can get cleaned up. From there, it’s just a short ride to Solvang to pick up some clothes. Dan’s and Gordy’s clothes are in the worst shape, and fortunately they were both wearing Izod shirts, so we hit the Izod outlet store in Solvang, pick up a few odds and ends in other stores, then have a little dinner and head back, hopefully with no one we know seeing us.”
And that’s pretty much exactly what happened. A quick shower in Santa Ynez, and those of us with clothes too torn or bloody changed into some generic stuff Nurse Florence, obviously anticipating just such a problem, had in the van. Then we hit a couple of stores in Solvang, and those of us who needed replacement clothes that matched that day’s school clothing got it. For dinner Nurse Florence took us to a little place with an all-you-can-eat smorgasbord, figuring that we could probably use a major refueling after the afternoon’s activities. Boy, was she right about that. She had something small, but among us five guys, we practically put the place out of business. I think our waitress didn’t know quite what to do with us. Even Stan was eating like I had never seen him eat before. It wasn’t until after his third plate that he even thought about slowing down. Well, I guess he was entitled. Anyway, I wasn’t in a position to complain. I had started out with the “little bit of everything” philosophy: a little roast beef, a little roast chicken, a little pork, a little red cabbage, a little mashed potatoes, a little cheese…but then I went through three plates of a lot of everything I could squeeze on.
“I hear they have an interesting selection of local wines and beers,” said Dan, looking at Nurse Florence.
“Well, considering you’re all underage, and I’m a school employee, hearing about it is about all you’ll be doing this trip.”
“This is a good place,” remarked Shar, trying to talk around a Danish meatball. “The only thing that would make it better would be adding kabob to the menu.” I couldn’t help snorting a little at that.
“Yeah, they’d be sure to pull in the massive Persian population of the Santa Ynez area.”
“Hey! There are a few around besides me, you know.” Actually, I didn’t think there were—except maybe in Santa Barbara.
“Let’s come here again!” said Gordy, in an almost childlike tone. I had another little pang, imagining for an instant what life would be like if we could actually plan another trip and know for sure that we would all be alive for it.
I think the staff breathed a sigh of relief when Nurse Florence finally paid the bill, and we left. I could tell the management was going to be reconsidering the all-you-can eat idea.
The trip back home was blissfully uneventful. Nurse Florence dropped Stan and I at the end of our street, I walked him home, then made it to my house, got through some small talk with my parents, somehow pulled myself through the homework that absolutely had to get done, then slept like a coma patient until my alarm went off in the morning.
CHAPTER 16: THE LAKE AGAIN
This time we had to wait until after football practice; Nurse Florence couldn’t really explain to Coach Miller why she needed us again so soon, so she just waited until after. She also pulled in another healthy fog to cover our departure.
“No sense taking chances, and two trips by exactly the same group would look suspicious,” she pointed out. I griped a little about having to go through the same taking the sword out of the lake routine, but Nurse Florence was insistent that doing anything else would insult the faeries.
“This is the first time I know of since the days of Camelot that weapons made by a faerie smith are being placed into human hands, and we are getting three of them at once. I won’t chance anything going wrong.” And that was that—Nurse Florence was not exactly someone who could be talked out of doing what she thought needed to be done.
Before long we were once again surrounded by thick fog and staring out at the rippling blue surface of Lake Cachuma, waiting for an arm to emerge. In rapid succession Dan, Gordy, and Stan each waded out to get his blade and then waded back. They all wanted to try them, but Nurse Florence insisted on explaining them first.
“Govannon’s work is always unbreakable by normal means, but it is possible to break them by trying to do something sinful with them, so be sure to strike only for purposes like defending yourself or someone else. All of them are stronger than a normal sword and will cut even through armor fairly easily. Each one also has a property Govannon designed for its wielder.
“Dan, your sword, like the scabbard Arthur received with Excalibur, will prevent you from bleeding as long as you wield it. It won’t save you if an opponent pierces a vital organ, but it will keep you from weakening due to blood loss from your wounds.
“Gordy, your sword will strike fear into your enemies whenever you draw it. It isn’t absolute in the sense that a strong willed man can resist it, but anyone who has to fight its effect will not be able to be as focused in battle.
“Stan, I’m sorry to say that your sword was not made for you. Gwynn had a sword in his possession already he thought would suit you, but Govannon added some special touches just for you.” Stan looked crestfallen to be getting a hand-me-down, but Nurse Florence easily cheered him up.
“This sword once belonged to King David.”
“It’s Galahad’s sword! But that…” I protested.
“No, no, Galahad’s sword can only be wielded by a handful of people in any generation, and then only as part of a Grail quest. David had more than one sword. This particular one did not have any magical properties, so Govannon added a spell he said would make Stan as great in body as he is great in spirit, sort of like David’s soul in Goliath’s body.”
“Wow!” said Stan, admiring the blade. Looking closely, I could see that it had inscriptions in Hebrew, with an image of the tablets of the law engraved in the hilt. Yet it also had that distinctly faerie gleam to it, even in the fog.
“I think its charm is not automatic,” said Nurse Florence. “Repeat the Hebrew inscription, and let’s see what happens.”
Stan read the Hebrew over once, then recited it in a clear voice.
Gordy was predictably the first to notice. “Stan’s hulking out!”
Actually, the effect was a little more subtle than that. Stan had been
getting pretty heavy workouts, and his arms were certainly not matchsticks any more, but now they were corded with muscle, and his shirt looked as if it the buttons where going to pop off, so he took it off.
“I have a six pack!” he said in wonder. He now looked more like Shar than like himself.
“Don’t stop working out,” cautioned Nurse Florence. “I think the new muscles only exist when you are actually wielding the sword, and there may be times when you might have to fight without it.”
“To say nothing of dates,” said Gordy. I had to snicker a little at the thought of Stan going out on a date with one hand on his sword at all times to keep the magic muscles going. No, working out was definitely still called for.
“Let’s try them out,” said Stan, giving his a mighty swing that made it whoosh through the air.
Inevitably, Stan paired up with Shar. The idea of trying David’s sword against Solomon’s sword was naturally irresistible.
The blades rang repeatedly as they crashed into each other. With his normal physique, Stan would have had the sword knocked out of his hands quickly, but now he could hold his own, even against Shar, who conceded that Stan was now as strong as he was. He was not, however, yet as good with the sword, so Shar started giving him pointers.
Gordy drew his sword and was disappointed that no one was struck with fear.
“You only get that response from enemies, not friends you are sparring with,” said Nurse Florence. Gordy looked downcast, but he still got a kick out of sword fighting with Dan. Both of them were not very skillful in their handling of the blades, so I started teaching them some basics. We also experimented with Gordy nicking Dan. We could see the gash, but not one drop of blood.
“Stop that,” shouted Nurse Florence. “One nick is surely enough for a test like that. And mind, Dan, don’t sheathe your blade until I get those healed. They will start bleeding as soon as the sword is no longer in your hand.”
“These pants are too tight,” complained Stan; doubtless the new leg muscles didn’t have enough room.
