Gaal the Conqueror (7 page)

John stared at the rocky ceiling above him, making patterns in
his mind of the cracks, the bumps and the hollows. It was a
soaring, gothic sort of ceiling, but he was too warm and sleepy
to care about anything other than letting his mind wander.
Gradually he became aware of the crackling of burning wood
and of faint, flickering reflections of firelight, intermingling
with daylight on the rock. He began to smell the previous
night's stew.

Memory slowly returned to him though the details of what
had happened were hazy. The stew he remembered, but he
couldn't recall going to bed. Slowly he raised himself on one
elbow and stared at the dazzling sunlight beyond the cave
mouth. As he looked once more round the cave, he found he
could see nothing apart from large red and green blobs. Eventually he was able to make out the fire and the cooking pot.

"Pontificater! Are you here? I can't see anything. Pontificates?" But there was no reply. Slowly he got to his feet and stared
down at himself. He was wearing a long nightshirt that reached
to his bare feet. Carefully he made his way to the cave mouth
and stepped into the bright sunlight on the rocky platform
beyond it.

"Good morning! You slept well, I trust?"

It was the dragon's voice and John swung round to look at
him, shading his eyes with his hand. "Oh, hi! I mean, good
morning! What time is it?"

"Time? Oh, time-yes. We-er-we don't bother with it too
much here. It's morning. About mid-morning. Sun's getting
warm."

John shivered a little. "It's not quite warm enough for thiser-what is it?" he asked, indicating the nightshirt.

"Oh, that. What do I know about human vestments? I don't
wear anything myself. That garment, whatever it is, is usually
worn by male human beings in bed. I saw diagrams of it in a
treatise on the denizens of other worlds in other ages. You
yourself are such a denizen, I take it."

John sniggered. The idea of a being denizen of another
world was appealing. "Well, I'm not the sort of denizen that
wears things like this," he said. "I've never seen one before."

"It's part of the extra clothing that was sent here for you
before you arrived. Last night your clothes were wet, very wet.
And you didn't seem to be able to stay awake. If I hadn't known
you (from history, of course), I would have said you were drunk.
So I undressed you, dried you, put that-uh-garment on you,
and..."

"Are my clothes dry now?"

"Yes. Didn't you see them? Like a good valet I left them at
the foot of your bed. Your cloak may be an itty-bitty singed. I
dried it a bit with fire from my nostrils. But otherwise your
clothes are fine."

John made his way into the cave. Sure enough, the clothes
were there, and gratefully he put them on. A hole had been
burned in the blue cloak, about where his right shoulder fitted.
"An itty-bitty scorched indeed," he muttered to himself, not sure
whether to be angry or amused. John looked up to see the
young man Authentio standing in the entrance way of an opening in the cave wall. For the first time he became aware that
there were other passages in the cave and wondered where
they led.

"Well, good morning to both of you. What a solemn pair you
are! Have you had any breakfast?"

In yet another of the openings, John was startled to see a girl
of about his own age. She wore a loose dress of white, woolen
material that fell to just below her knees, along with boots like
John's. Her long hair fell loosely about her shoulders. He was
startled because he felt sure he knew her. "Eleanor? I-I'm
sorry-you look a bit like-but she's much younger than you
and anyway-"

The girl was nodding. "It's me, John. I was so glad to see you
yesterday. It meant the two years were over. That's why I
jumped up at you so much! I was so excited."

John stared open-mouthed while the girl continued to talk.
Finally he said, "Stop! Do stop! I don't understand! You say you
are Eleanor? But you can't be! It doesn't make sense. You're too
old. And what in the world do you mean, you were so glad to
see me yesterday?"

"Why, yesterday of course. Didn't he tell you?"

"Yesterday? You mean in Canada?"

"No, here. When we were digging for the treasure."

"I never saw you!"

"Of course you did. I was the black dog. Tell him, Authentio!"

"I think we'd better all go out on to the ledge. Pontificater
is outside and will want to hear it all."

As they trooped on to the ledge, John turned to the dragon,
his face a mask of perplexity. "What happened yesterday? This
girl says she's Eleanor-what's it all about?"

Once again the dragon carefully cleared his long throat.
Then he said, "I scorched her. Burned her to a cinder. There
wasn't any singed dog-hair smell after all. She burned cleanly
to fine white ashes-and Eleanor is what came out of the ashes.
I must confess I never saw anything like it."

John never moved. He stared first at the girl, then at the
dragon: shaking his head all the while. Once or twice he began
to speak, but each time changed his mind. Eventually he said,
"I-don't-believe it. Well, I do, but-" He continued to shake
his head.

"Exactly." Pontificater said. "I had some misgivings myself
about the operation, and I must confess that I was relieved
when the young lady emerged. There was nothing at all in the
prophecy about her. Still, you never can tell how these things
will turn out."

Once again John turned his head to Eleanor, then to the
dragon, then back again to Eleanor. "And you are Eleanorthe Eleanor MacFarland that disappeared from the lake?"

He felt strangely excited and was half laughing with nervousness. "But you're different! I know you look like her, but you're
older."

"Well, of course! It's over two years since you saw me."

"Two years? It was only yesterday-well the night before last,
kind of."

Eleanor frowned, and the dragon interrupted. "He only got
here yesterday, Eleanor," the dragon said. "Time apparently
plays queer tricks on these interexistence trips. The reasons are
obscure. But you will notice that he hasn't aged any since you
last saw him. For him it was only yesterday. For you it is more
than two years."

As John thought of the way Eleanor moved and spoke, he knew she was the girl that he was seeking, the same girl who
had left her father's house in terror. Yet there was a difference
besides her age. She no longer cringed or avoided people. John
smiled at her and began to shake his head wordlessly. "Well,
I guess we can go back to Canada now. I hope my dad hasn't
been too worried. Two years must have seemed an awful long
time. But-how did you get to be a dog?"

"It was a sorcerer's spell-a horrible sorcerer called Shagah.
He did it soon after I got here. I hated it-until I met Gaal.
Then it wasn't so bad." She sat down in the cave mouth, curling
her legs beneath her.

"Shagah," John thought to himself. "Same guy as yesterday."

"Like my dress?" Eleanor asked coyly. "That's what I was
wearing when I became human again. I've no idea what's happened to my jeans and stuff. I've never had a dress-leastwise
not since I was a little kid. And it seems funny to be twelve."

"You'll be ten when you get back to Canada," John said.
"What did it feel like to be a dog? What did you do all that time?
How did you eat?"

Eleanor paused a long time before answering. Then she said,
"Well, like I said, I hated it at first. But that's what I was-a
whipped dog. That's what Shagah said to me, `Henceforth be
what you are! Go!' And-and I turned into the dog you saw.
Well, not exactly the dog you saw.

"At first I only sneaked around. I was scared of everybodyI mean everybody. I was scared of my own shadow. I always had
my tail between my legs. I didn't know how to wag it until after
I first met Gaal. When I saw him he looked at me so kindly and
said, `You can come with me if you like.' That was the nicest
thing that ever happened to me. And suddenly I didn't even
mind being a dog. I could tell he liked me. So I followed him
around."

The dragon nodded. "His capacity to make one feel appreciated is quite remarkable," he said gravely.

"I was too scared to let him touch me at first. I wouldn't even
let him get near me. But I was hungry, and he would toss me
bits of things he was eating. Only he kept throwing them closer
to himself. And one day when I wasn't looking, he stroked my
head. It sounds funny, but he smelled so good! And oh, to be
touched by him! That's when my tail first started to wag."

"Who is this Gaal person?"

"He's the most wonderful person in the world." Eleanor said
the words with a rush. "I don't even want to go back to Canada
if I can't get to see him there."

"Did he know you weren't really a dog?"

"He seems to know everything. I didn't realize it at first. But
one day when he had me on his knee, stroking me and tickling
my ears, he said, `You're not always going to remain a dog, you
know!' I could hardly breathe!"

"What happened next?"

"Nothing. I couldn't talk then, so I couldn't ask him what he
meant. And he was like that. He'd just say something exciting,
and then leave you hanging for a while. It wasn't as though he
was teasing. He just seemed to want to let it sink in. Even when
he made me a talking dog he didn't always answer my questions
immediately. But he never stopped caring for me. I used to lick
his sandals after he fell asleep."

"He sounds a bit like the Changer," John said.

"Who's he?"

"Oh-it's kind of complicated. But how did you know about
the treasure?"

"Well, one day he said he had a task for me. He said he had
the power to turn me into a girl again at any time, but that there
were things I had to learn first. He seemed to know about my
dad and about where my fears came from." She sighed, and her
face darkened. "You saw a bit of it when you came-but you
don't know a quarter of what went on. There are some things
that make me sick-and so ashamed. Once when Gaal was stroking me, I looked up and saw him crying. I knew that he
knew then. And then he said I had to begin by not giving in
to my fears. There would be a dragon, he said. And I had to
dig the treasure up, even if I was terrified, while the dragon was
there. He said that real treasure is always dug up in the face
of terror.

"I was still scared of everything and everyone-even of him
at times. And he said he wanted to teach me to do things even
when I was afraid. Then when I'd dug the treasure up, I was
to ask the dragon to put me to death. `His fires are my fires,'
he said, `and my fires from his nostrils are going to bum the
whipped dog in you to ashes. Then the real you will come
forward, the girl I always planned you to be.' And that's what
happened."

John nodded. "He is like the Changer."

"Ah, yes, the Changer," the dragon murmured. "The Unchanging Changer. The Uncreated Creator. And so on. Invisible. Never seen by anybody."

"I saw him," John said, "when I was here last time. Well, I
didn't exactly see him. But there was this blue light-and he
spoke to me. He has a voice like Niagara Falls. Only kind of
gentle. But scary."

Eleanor was staring at him with an expression on her face
that he found hard to read. "So what happened to you?" she
said. "I mean after you left us yesterday. You seemed real
upset."

Authentio turned to the dragon. "You never told me he might
be invisible. There was a fearful commotion in the village, but
I could not see what it was about. Shagah the Sorcerer directed
them. Therefore I knew that matters of moment were afoot.
The Regenskind seemed to be trying to stop something from
reaching the water. But in the end there came a splash and
movements in the water. I knew it was not a fish-"

At the mention of Shagah a look of distress had darkened Eleanor's face. "Oh, no!" she breathed in a scared voice.

John's mind was still on Eleanor's question. "I seemed
upset?" he cried, answering it. "I was. I thought you were both
crazy. The thing about burning the dog made me sick"

"So what did you do? I was asleep when you and Authentio
got back"

So John told his story. There was no shortage of interrupting
questions. At the mention of the old man with the black skull
cap Eleanor's distress was plain. John noticed that she trembled
as she spoke. "That's him all right," she said. "That's Shagah.
Whatever are we going to do? I hoped Gaal was wrong and that
I was through with him."

As John described what was taking place inside the village
temple Pontificater nodded his head gravely. "The magic is
deep and dark," he said. "I am amazed that you escaped with
your life. The only one who can enter and leave there at will,
apart from those consecrated to do so, is Shagah. He comes
from Bamah through the temple, and returns to Bamah
through it."

"Why do the villagers behave like-like they're under a
spell?" John asked.

"Ah, yes. A spell. Our lives are made miserable by the constant fear of spells and their power," Authentio replied agitatedly, "Enchantment. The black arts. Nowadays all children under the control of the Circle of Nine are enchanted at birth.
They become puppets of the Circle, controlled by the Circle
and by the servants of the Circle, Shagah and Hocoino, the two
principal sorcerers in the land. But spell-it is basically a spell
of fear, the fear of death."

John stared at him, uncomprehending. "Fear? The fear of
death?"

"Yes, indeed. The one who governs the Circle also carries
keys around his belt. They are called the Keys of Torment. It
is he who invented murder. He is the Spirit of Hate. We call him, `Him that hath the power of death.' Some of us among the
hill tribes have been able to resist and rebel against the Nine.
But his power is great. Those he gains control of freeze with
fear and stop thinking. That's what you saw in the villagers."