Iron Chamber of Memory (31 page)

“You did it the first month in the Rose Crystal Chamber and promptly forgot it. In the Silver White Chamber, you remember the gifts your late fairy wife Lady Tryamour gave you, and so you had a purse forever full of gold. Here in this chamber you have a treasure more precious than gold which never runs out.”

“Which is why I could buy motorcars and yachts and still be a penniless student.”

“You were never truly a student. Oxford has fallen to the enemy, and you were there to protect me.”

“And what about my mother? What was the truth there?” But it was coming back to him now: Elaine, who was also a champion of the light, was beset by winter storms and evil hounds, and by her own husband, who had sold his soul to darker powers. His inner self served the wild wine-god of ancient Greece; his outer self had a drinking problem. His father had put his mother, one of the greatest champions of them all, into a dark house where her bright light had been dimmed.

“I will be traveling to talk to your mother, who can see me, and to your sister, who cannot.” said Manfred, “Pray for us that we might prevail, for hers is a battle as grim as yours. What is your question?”

He had only one question. “
Why?
”

“Why what?”

“Why was I allowed to be placed under this love charm by this green-eyed witch? Why all this risk? All the pain? What was it all for?”

Manfred said: “To save her soul.”

He waited for Manfred to say more, but Manfred merely sat there with the unearthly patience of a man who recalls that he is immortal.

He said, “All this we went through? It was for that horrible woman? To save the soul of a night-world creature?”

He intended the words in anger, but even as he spoke, he could hear the note of awe and wonder in them.

Manfred said, “Is that not enough, to save a soul? She is a young woman, no more, no less, though one who thinks herself a witch.”

“Then is there a great red dragon wrapped around the world, or not?”

“The dragon is far more terrible than that! He is larger than worlds; he is wrapped around every human heart. The world-serpent we recall when we step into the silver chamber is far gentler than the terrible iron truth. You would go mad and perish if you saw him as he truly is, a spirit invisible and impalpable, as bright as the morning star, and far more fearsome than his children, Sin and Death.”

“But even if the metaphorical stuff is false–”

“Not false! It was a sacrament, a symbol for a reality too deep for your eyes to see or your mind to grasp. You saw her naked soul. Poor girl! She believes herself to be a monster, a seducer, a siren who lures the unwary innocent to destruction on the rocks of her indifference! This was her sin, and she was proud of it. It was real. It merely was not literal.”

“All right, so it was real, but not literal, but even so, what was it all for? Even if I am not literally a knight of Arthur, then why do I feel so much pain?”

“You are the knight of a nobler prince by far. Who do you think provided us this bread and wine?”

“But why all this pain?”

“It was so that my bride would shed a single tear over my corpse.”

“It was so much pain, too much! For one girl? For one tear? Is that all?”

“Is that all? That tear is heavier than the weight of all the Earth.”

He started to answer, but his voice was choked. Now the wonder he heard in his voice was broken by a sob. He sank to his knees and wiped the tears from his cheeks, saying, “Thank Heavens! Thank the Heavens!”

And he saw a light smaller than the morning star rising in the east, yet it was brighter than the sun.

He beheld the place where he stood. He was in a pond of many little islands, some paved with stone and some bright with green grass, connected by little arching bridges. All around the pond was a garden of flowers and grape trellises, arbors of cherry trees.

A second star rose, and it was also as bright as the sun, and he squinted, half-blinded. Beyond the groves and gardens were hills of beauty, a green land where the glory of spring and summer and autumn were all combined, for the many-colored leaves of fall grew on the same branch gay and brave with the buds of Eastertide. The whole land was garden. Great forests of ancient trees were arbors, and nowhere was there thorn or canker, rotting bark or dry branch. It was as if every unfruitful branch had long ago been cleared away and burned.

A third star rose in the east, and he was dazed by the brightness of it. Yet, dimly, blinking, he saw the mountains looming in the west, scarp on scarp to peaks so white the snow seemed like flame in a furnace. And in the east, an ocean. He longed to trek the miles and leagues toward that ocean and plunge himself in it, for somehow, without knowing how he knew, he knew the waters of that sea were living and alive, deep with passion and power unguessed.

More stars arose, and the whole arch of the Milky Way, and each of the ten billion stars, was brighter than the sunlight of a cloudless noon. The heat from them pierced him through, as if each cell in his body were alive for the first time. He covered his eyes, hoping he was not blind for once and all, and he fell forward on his face.

For the stars were singing; singing for joy. He heard the voice of his father in the chorus, and of other friends and loved ones he had hitherto thought were gone forever. Their joy echoed from the mountains, and the mighty voices of the Seven Seas replied.

A single soul alone is saved! Rejoice!

Which hellish power a briefest hour purloined.

Each light of Heaven, lift pure thy voice.

An endless soul to endless joy is joined!

Perhaps he fainted, perhaps he slept, but somehow, he found himself on his feet again, and Manfred holding his elbow.

“Hold still,” said Manfred. He felt something cool and sweet touch his eyes and ears. “This is the juice of euphrasy and rue, a flower that grows in paradise, as on earth. It will restore the strength of your senses, which are overtaxed.”

He opened his eyes. It was dark again, but he could still hear the lapping of the waters on the island where he stood. He could see Manfred, and a small circle around him, but no more.

Eventually he found words, “And what happens now?”

“Life goes on!” said Manfred with a smile. “You may exit the chamber through this door, the door of forgetting.”

He pointed and there became visible a distant crystal sphere, set with stars, which held the pathway back up to the Silver-White Lotus Chamber. “And will I go though there, the Gates of Glorious Memory.”

Then there came were visible in the distance, hanging between two pillars, a gateway set with the sign of an amaranth flower. The bars were gold and intricately wrought. “From the Chamber of Golden Amaranth, I can return to the world of men with no memory loss. I will be able to see and talk to you, and we can meet at lunch times, or during times you will later believe to be dreams. We shall still be friends, you and I, even though, to you, I will be wrapped in a mist.”

“That does not seem a very good deal for me.”

“Will you not rejoice for my joy! I have won the race! I have passed the test. I gave my life for my friend, and now many crowns and triumphs and ovations await me.”

“It will be lonely.”

“Only for a while. Only as long as the dark dream of mortal life and the fear of death remains. Come now, even the pagan sages speak of the lives beyond this one. Even now, you forget what you are!”

“What am I?”

“A deathless champion of deathless light. You, of course, will be saddened by the loss of me, even as you come to realize that you love Laurel. She, likewise, will hear the small, still voice inside her, reminding her she loves you. In time, you will have everything you dreamed of. Almost everything. The Grail is in this room, and you cannot see it, and may never again. Sorry. Some of the things out there in that world of many deceptions are real.”

“Is that why this chamber is dark again?”

“This chamber is not dark. We are in the light of a thousand suns. Your eyes are being held, so that you do not look on what you are not allowed to see. I wanted you to speak with your father, but you are only allowed to talk to me.”

“Because of my suicide attempt?”

“That, and other things.”

“But I will just go back to that horrible dream-world of delusion and forgetfulness and commit more wrongdoings!”

“Not if you stop breaking your word, and live like a man. No one forced you surrender to your darker impulses but you! But, hidden in the mists, there is forgiveness to be found too, and the path back to the light. It is a hard path, but you will receive the help you need at every step. The vision of the Grail is at the end of that path, and also Him whose cup it is.”

“No, I mean I am about to betray you yet again! You are still alive. Am I to go back, deliberately, knowing that I am to fall in love with the long-haired Laureline! Is she not yours?”

Manfred scoffed. “Don’t talk nonsense. In no sense was she mine. I never touched her, I never truly loved her. She lied about that, as she did about most things. In the Red Chamber, she was someone I was suspicious about; in the Lotus Chamber, she was my mortal enemy. Be at peace, my friend. You will love her and she will love you.”

“But no more did she truly love me,” he protested. “That was simple lust, and seduction so that a lamia could get close to me.”

“Ah, but the Grail is in this House! Lust is a dangerous thing to play around with, especially for a young woman. How easy for that base desire to transform into golden love!”

“What happens now to you?”

“Holidays and sport! As for me, my whole family is waiting, all the way back to my most remote ancestors, and we are going hunting in the place humans only see as a dark forest beyond the house. Our game? We hunt lost souls, we huntsmen of the light and our wolfhounds run before us! We are looking for our next Lorelei to turn into a Laurel.”

“But when I go out there again, I will think you are dead. Won’t I be sad?”

“Not if you listen to the small, still, quiet voice deep inside you.”

By one of those queer and ancient laws with which some corners of the British Isles are still afflicted, the burial of the Seigneurs of Sark must be held after sunset. In the light of the many torches and lanterns held by the villagers, the thing was done. The Bishop of Winchester, Father Ælfsige, recited the words from memory, without opening the great black book in his hands.

Hal could not help but wonder how differently things had been done in times gone by, or in old places where the old ways had not been forgotten. All the stones and monuments of the Hathaway family, and the Collings family before them, the Allaires, and the De Carterets, stood within eyesight of the great house, south and west of the chapel, almost at the low stone wall separating the lawns from the ancient wood. With the dead buried by each family in its own yard, or at the church at the center of the village, none would forget them, nor would they seem departed by so great a distance.

Hal stood there, sunk in utter misery. His best friend had died in a freak carriage accident. It was almost beyond imagining. The incident had taken place at speeds even the slowest lane on a modern highway would have found a snail’s pace. The horse, startled by some sickly and thin drunk whom no one knew, had stumbled down a green slope, smashing the carriage to bits along rocky outcroppings. Hal’s pangs of inner pain started not when he saw Laurel crawl unharmed from the upset carriage, for then his heart leaped for joy; but when Manfred did not follow her, and Hal knew his heart had not plunged down in grief as far as it should have done. Manfred had thrown his arms over the girl when the carriage flipped, and one jagged metal spar had disemboweled him, while another splinter pierced his back as he shielded her, penetrating his heart and ending his life as suddenly as a sword blow. That her mother had died in the same accident was merely one grief piled upon another.

As the days passed, Hal’s misery grew. He was still tormented by his love and longing for the green-eyed girl. Her hair had been half-torn from her head in the accident, and now she sheared the rest of it off in grief. Years and years of growth had been clipped away and she almost seemed a different woman. The outpouring of love and support for her from the islanders, especially Mrs. Levrier and Mrs. Columbine, the housekeeper and the cook, affected Laurel in a way Hal had not known she could be affected.

Hal returned to Oxford and turned in his dissertation. When Dr. Vodonoy had leveled, merely for reasons of personal spite, accusations that Hal had plagiarized the work, the Dean of Graduates ordered the Ethics Committee to look into the matter. As it turned out, Hal had been so worried about the lapses of memory his loss of sleep and overwork had brought on, he had asked Mr. Drake, his landlord, to make photocopies of every single scrap of paper on his desk every day, in the stationary shop next door. But Mr. Drake never returned for his copies, and the clerk there, in a very tidy fashion, had filed them away chronologically, clipped to the receipts, which showed the dates. Hence his landlord could show the Dean a stack of papers as high as his chin showing the exact daily progress of the paper. Hal had seemed so lax only because nine-tenths of the dissertation had been done in the first month.

When the accusations turned out to be false, Vodonoy was shamed, and forced to resign.

Oddly, he also died shortly thereafter. After visiting the smoke shop of Mr. Drake, and berating and threatening the man whom he blamed for the ruin of his career, Dr. Vodonoy was found burned to death the next day, for he had fallen asleep while smoking in bed a rather fine cigar he had just purchased, and it had caught the mattress on fire.

The death was so freakish and odd, and Vodonoy so unloved among the students, that when Hal heard two underclassmen making a crude joke about the matter, Hal laughed, and then, a moment later, when his conscience fell on him like a sea wave, he felt truly horrible. Was he a monster, rejoicing in the death of everyone?