Blood and Dreams: Lost Years II (12 page)

“Don’t toy with my heart,” I said.

“I’m sorry. I’m not, sir.”

“Is there an easy way out of this maze?” I tried to touch her through my eyes since she liked them so much.

“There’s only one way, I think,” she replied. “That’s one of my talents.”

“Getting out of here?”

“No. Remembering things like that. I always remember how to get to places.”

“That’s wonderful. Take me out.” I studied the chains between my wrists.

“You cannot escape,” she told me. “Why would I want to do that?” I grinned. “I came here to get paid.”

“I’m sorry.” The way she made a flimsy gesture and lowered her gaze was impressive.

Her cheek was soft. Ripeness. I touched it lightly. I would have enjoyed believing her. I thought dark things, the kind of things I like to think. Pictures of dark things.

She raised her eyes. The sun was sweet above the hedges. The scent of her and the herbs was an exquisite savor. I gently turned her face and went for the kiss. She didn’t shift either way.

“I adore you,” I murmured. I did, in a way.

Her sight was full of summer light. I could as well have been studying a dead fish except for the things I wanted to do with her. I tried to look enraptured. I adored the things I wanted to do.

“Help me,” I whispered.

I got her into another kiss. Her arm came up this time. I was playing her, knowing she was playing me. I always knew about these things. I could smell lies and lusts even before I knew what they actually were.

“You must help me,” she said into my face.

“Of course,” I replied into hers, “but you have to earn it.”

Her breasts this time. Ah. Breathed in her ear. Ah. Her hairscent was exciting. We were alone in the bushes.

She never pushed me back or pulled me closer. I ended on top, elbows above her shoulders, manacled hands half-circling her head. I’d pulled her gown up and was enjoying stroking those essential inches of myself in that lady’s mysterious inner grip …

Later we both lay on our backs. She’d pulled her gown down. Didn’t look at me. No one bothered us. I wondered what I was in for now. Our voices were intimate.

“Will you get the spear for her now?” she asked me, rather tonelessly.

“You did your duty,” I said. If I gave the thing up, what would I bargain with? The rack might be my final payment.

“That wasn’t my duty,” she said. “I just did that.”

“What does she want it for?”

She was looking thoughtfully at the sky.

“I have no idea,” she answered. “But I know where.”

“Where what?”

“Where it’s to be used.”

I should keep it myself. I thought. Find out the secret … if she needs the relic so badly others must as well … “Come with me,” I suddenly suggested. “Help me escape.”

“Escape?” She looked just surprised enough.

“You say you’re as good as a prisoner yourself.” She was just watching me now. “There have to be boats here.” She just stared as if I were mildly bent round. “How else do you people …” I frowned. She shook her head.

“She allows no craft to come or go. Or survive a landfall here.”

“You’re going to tell me she whipped up the storm that broke us?” I liked that. I also liked the idea of singing mice and fairy kingdoms under the sea. She didn’t bother to say yes. Didn’t have to. How did they get to the mainland then? A natural question. “How did
I
get recruited?” She shrugged. “She can fly, is that it? Morgan-la-bird.” I grinned without finding much funny. She believed it. I could see that.

There were things to think over. I’d been tricked into stealing the spear and bringing it here for a vague promise or two. I’d been trapped by women. I was disgusted.

“No boats,” I said.

“None,” she affirmed.

“They must be well-hidden. I’ll find them. On the mainland; with the great spear, we’ll make our fortune.” I watched her eyes. They showed the bright, soft-scented day. I was getting nowhere at a brisk trot.

“She is a witch,” she told me. “It is useless to defy her.”

I don’t think she quite meant that. Quite. Were we really alone there in that odd maze? No matter. The rack was waiting.

I knelt up over her. My look must have said something. Her pale eyes went a little wider.

“Enough nonsense,” I told her. I slipped the chain under her head and neck and crossed my wrists. Let her feel the cold cut of it. “Now,” I suggested, “speak.”

“And say what?”

“I’ll break your throat before even a witch could stop me.”

“No doubt. You are strong. I thought you were my lover now.”

“Lover. Yes. Fine and sweet. Tell me about the spear. I don’t mean to be played silly even by a lover.”

“I helped you.”

“Did you? Help on then. Neither of us is fooling the other here. What is the value of the thing?” I kept the links pressed in the ivory smooth flesh. From a distance we could have been embracing. She lay quite still.

“I don’t know, Sir Knight and lover.” She gasped a trifle.

I sneered and tightened. I was coldly angry and part of me enjoyed things like this. I liked using my power against stubborn resistance. I hated resistance.

“Speak or die,” I hissed. I was only partly faking. I saw fear in her face. Her eyes cast around for help but we were still seemingly alone. I was forced into ruthlessness. Without strength what were you? The pope presses down the priests, the king the nobles, everyone grinds the miserable serfs. No sense complaining or trying to pray your way out of it …

“So,” she managed, “this is my reward for surrendering my body.”

“No. This is for assisting my downfall.”

“Downfall.”

“Tell me what you know.” Her flesh gathered, all pale and red, pinched under the tensed links. I knew it hurt. Her breathing proved it.

“Swine,” she gasped.

“Let that pass. Tell me about the spear, not about my character.”

“It has …”

“Yes, lady?”

“Power … I don’t know … Power,” she said.

“Yes?”

“I don’t know …” She twisted her face and shut her eyes. I gripped her slightly. Wondered if she was acting. “Something to do with …” She was looking straight at me again. For some reason, I felt sure she was honest. I eased up. Her skin went smooth again except for a vivid, broken line across the throat. “She never meant to let you go. She wanted you to come here.” That was interesting. I freed her and leaned up. Waited. Tried to think. She watched me. Very beautiful. “Because of your father,” she said.

I blinked. I didn’t like that.

“My father,” I repeated.

“Yes. “

“So it wasn’t the spear at all?”

“I don’t know. It’s important to her plan. It’s a key or something … I don’t really know. But she wanted you because of your father. She needs him to find it.”

“It?”

She shrugged.

“I don’t know about that part. “

“Why are you loyal to her?” Why not get to the point?

“I’m just afraid.”

That seemed honest. I looked around. We were still alone. I knew it meant nothing. “No boats, you say?”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “I’ve never seen one.”

“I’ll build a raft.” I’d done that at home. Floated on the river, years ago. Watched the fish. I liked watching fish, though I’d never tried to catch any. I don’t much like fish to eat. “Do you want to come with me?”

She nodded. Blinked.

“Yes,” she agreed.

“I need a sword.”

“As what knight doesn’t” asked Morgana, behind me. She stepped out from behind one of the masking bushes, looking smug, I thought. Maybe she’d just had a message that the whole world was waiting for her commands. She gave Chael a glance of cool contempt. Chael quailed a little. “I’ll give you a sword in exchange for the spear.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“What has this one,” a head jerk at my lady fair, “told you?”

“Not much,” I replied. “Not enough.”

Chael sat up, watchful, uneasy.

“I know all that has passed between you,” Morgie said, smirking. “You’d like a sword and tools to build your raft. That’s my very offer.”

“No boats?” I tried. She shook her head. I stood up. At least my pants were closed. “See here, I brought you what you said you wanted and would pay for. Instead of dealing, you torture me then let me dally here.” I tried to be pleasant. “Next you pop from the bushes to tell me none of this was necessary to begin with.” I spread out my hands. “I want to be reasonable but …” I grimaced. “What do you really want from me, Morgana?”

Her hot blue stare was dreamy again. I didn’t like that.

“I already have it,” she whispered.

Fine. Now I knew she was brain-broken. There probably were no boats. This was a colony of the mad. “I’m glad for you,” I said, closing the distance between us with a quick, smooth step.

I knew it was a mistake even as I arched my right fist for her angled chin. I felt like I’d cracked solid stone. She stood unmoved by the impact. I had tears in my eyes. The small bones felt broken. Then her long, dry-looking fingers pressed over my heart and I felt numb, cold inside, scared to death … and then the cold ran up into my head and that was that …

HOWTLANDE

A strange man, that Clinschor, and yet, a great one. Mad, yes, I granted that, but filled by tremendous vision and energy. Power. Impressive. I pledged myself to him. Kissed his hand, like a bishop’s. Bony, large, pale, hot with some inner fire. I knelt in vassalage in that close, smoky chamber. He put a silver ring, written round in runes, on my thumb. Sealed the bargain. Gave me a sip of wine that tasted metallic, like blood.

He put a dozen armed barbarians at our disposal. That was good. Short but fierce fellows. Gobble and I marched through tunnels at their head, a smoothly paved labyrinth lit by dim lamps set far apart. It smelled less rank as we moved on. I never had a clear answer as to who had originally carved these galleries out of the solid earth. I don’t believe Clinschor or Gobble really knew. Unbelievably ancient passageways.

In some places they opened up into vast chambers, roofs lost in darkness. Elsewhere three or four branches would cross. Gobble led on confidently. At times he consulted a map. The barbarians seemed placid and rarely spoke among themselves.

Hours, perhaps a day later, we had descended deeper into the earth. No more lamps. We held torches now. I wished we were riding, but for some reason these tunnels weren’t oppressive. Here and there stones in the walls glowed, dimly greenish as if underwater.

At times Gobble and the barbarians seemed uneasy. They crouched quietly, listening — to what I don’t know. I don’t think I wanted to know. I sometimes thought I heard distant, echoing rumbles. Not quite like earth tremors or the clumping of immense, distant feet.

I kept wishing for a horse to ride. This was no fit manner for a true knight, like myself. My feet were sore. Gobble was a tireless, if wobbly, marcher. We’d just paused in the bilious light of a decayed-looking green stone.

“What’s the matter?” I asked. His skinny hand gripped my shoulder.

“Sss,” he hushed me.

He was sweating. Everyone looked worried. The rumble faded. We stood up.

“What?” I wondered.

“There are things below the surface,” he told me, eyes rolling slowly, “that it is unwise to stir up.” I took the slow rolling as a serious sign.

We went on, down and down. I heard water rushing ahead. We came to a river, the surface dimly phosphorescent, bluish green. How strange, I thought.

We were suddenly hurrying. The hollow rumbling seemed close from out of nowhere. It was coming down the wide corridor that sloped steeply to the river’s edge.

“Where are we bound?” I asked Gobble.

“We go to take counsel with our ally.” He cocked his head, listening to the sounds behind us.

“What’s following?”

“Never mind that. Keep moving.”

“Yes.” I wondered what sort of ally. But he answered my thought:

“Our sweet ally, Morgan the witch. Yes. We got to take sage counsel with her.” He seemed to think that was funny. Perhaps it was.

We got into a norseman’s longboat (it looked like one, at least) and quietly drifted out into the middle. The current was steady and brisk.

Staring back I thought (but couldn’t be sure) that something big and dark came out of the tunnel where we’d exited. Perhaps it was my imagination, but I thought I saw a yellow, feral flash of malignant eyes.

“When do we see the sky again?” I asked. “This is a dark coffin. “

Gobble was holding something, his skinny, pale hand closed around it. A stone, maybe. He seemed to be staring into it. At least his restless, protuberant eyes were fixed for once.

“I don’t like the sky,” he said. His long, skinny fingers curled around whatever it was. I leaned to see but couldn’t. “When the master’s kingdom comes, the greatest of us will live in palaces under the earth. Our skies will be sparkling lights and jewels and rare metals. Undying trees made of silver and gold will overarch streams of perfect glass.” I’d never heard him so close to rhapsody. His face almost glowed with strange joy. I’d no real idea what fueled his cold fires. “A kingdom,” he whispered, “fit for gods to dwell in.”

“Ah,” I said, trying to be enthused, “it sounds splendid. Indeed, nature can learn from man’s art. Yet I like a bit of sky. There will be pretty women in your kingdom, I trust?”

He spat. Pulled his stare from whatever it was. A fragment of his dreams, perhaps. Well, I had my own.

“Women,” he said. “The master spurns the ugly misery of the body.” He sat there, bony knees up, looking like some spidery crab from the black depths. The boat moved smoothly into the darkness. The barbarians squatted and slouched along the gunwales. A pair dipped fat-bladed paddles to keep the prow facing ahead. “Unless,” he went on, “you defeat this body, this knot of corruption, you will live and die a slave. A footstool.” He grunted at the soldiers. “Like these vermin.”

“Ah,” I said. I was learning how it was. “Yet, I fear I like food and drink and the soft touches of fair ladies when it’s time for such things. Our poor bodies, while not by any means ideal vessels of the soul, still can be made pleasant and were formed in the image of God on high.”

He laughed. It sounded like dry coughing.

“God, is it? We are born and shaped by slime and chance. In the Kingdom, and in the Kingdom only, will the masters be preserved.” His glinting stare flickered around my face. “This physical corruption will be set aside.”

I nodded. I thought I was now getting a grip on his philosophy.

“I see,” I commented, “the soul will be freed at last.”

He coughed laughter again.

“You’ll learn the errors of that Christian nonsense,” he said, almost pleasantly. “I’ve vouched for you to the Lordmaster Clinschor. I have undertaken to initiate you.” He raised his small, long hand to my face. “When the slime of the self is frozen, it no longer decays.” Laughed. “You’ll learn, my dear Howtlande, ah, you’ll come to learn much.”

He opened his hand and I saw the dimly glinting stone, saw an image in it, something I took for wonderful inlay work or fine painting, save that, I swear, it moved! The image moved! A tall, naked man (I first took him for our savior) with eyes like onyx. Fierce. His body seemed blended together with all manner of gold, silver, copper, lead, and jewels. The body seemed enameled, precious stuff. Yet he seemed to move in a world of crystalline palaces and shining artificial turf and vegetation of glass and stone.

I blinked hard. It upset me to look at it. He coughed his laughter again. “A world made perfect. Life without slime. You have taken your first step towards the Kingdom.”

I kept blinking. I kept telling myself I’d been mistaken. I had to keep my mind clear and free. Except my heart was racing and the sweat of fear broke out all over me …