The Sword Bearer (7 page)

"A pity? What do you mean?"

"Well, he doesn't exist, you know. There
is
no Changer."

"But I've met him! I heard his voice," John said, struggling against the power.

"Yes, yes, of course. You've met him and you've heard his voice. It must have seemed very real to you." The voice of the Lord Lunacy seemed compassionate and concerned.

"Oh, it did! It felt wonderful!"

There was a pause. Then, "It was only a dream, you know."

John's heart sank "It didn't seem like a dream," he said anxiously. "I mean it was so—well, like you said, so real."

"That's the sad part about it
.
You see, it wasn't real. It was just a dream. I know all about dreams. They belong to the night, you see, and I'm the ruler of night."

John remained silent, his thoughts powerfully shaped by the being before him. The Changer not real? What was real? Dismay softened his bones and weakened his muscles.

"You're angry with the Changer, aren't you?" the Lord Lunacy asked quietly.

"Angry? No. I'm not angry. What makes you say that?"

"It's natural that you should be angry with him."

John struggled to resist feelings that threatened to sweep him into darkness.

"You just said he didn't exist. How can I be angry with him if he doesn't exist? You can't be angry with someone who's only a dream!"

"You certainly can. And you are, aren't you? Don't be ashamed of
it.
Anger is normal. It's human."

He felt trapped. The throbbing of his shoulder was almost unbearable.

"I'm not angry!" he almost yelled.

"And yet you shout."

"But if he doesn't
exist. .
." His voice was even louder.

"It makes no difference. Let yourself be angry with him—
even if he doesn't exist!
What does it matter whether he exists or not? The dream creature has given you false hope. It has pre-tended to comfort you, then thrown you to the wolves." Furious-ly John struggled to cling to what he knew was true. The Lord Lunacy reached down a cold white hand and touched his fore-head, and at his touch something exploded inside him and John's confusion left him. Everything was revealed in clear lines. The Changer did not exist And John
was
angry. A few moments before he had felt almost stifled. Now a cold rage filled him, a rage with the nonexistent Changer, with his dead grandmother, with his father and his captors.

"He abandoned you, of course."

"Who abandoned me?"

"Your father. He didn't want you. He was and is an irresponsible drunk You hate him."

"Yes." Of course he did. Why had he never realized it before?

"You despise him."

"Yes!"

There was a pause. John's heart beat with fierce exultation.

"In fact you hate him!"

"Yes."

"You never want to see him. You will not seek him."

"No, I won't"

"Then pull the chain from your neck and throw the ring and locket away."

Mechanically John groped round his neck He was mildly surprised to find the string had become a fine gold chain. Pulling it over his head, he looked dully at what had once been his most treasured possession.

"Give it to me!" John looked up at the specter. Its hand was extended to him. For the first time he nodced that the white glow was dnged faintly with yellow green. John's head began of itself to shake from side to side. He didn't want it to, but it was shaking. The shaking would not stop. Did he imagine it— or did a look of rage flash across the face of the Lord Lunacy? Slowly John replaced the chain round his neck. He had really wanted to give it to him and could not quite understand what was happening.

The Lord Lunacy smiled slowly. "You know it is bad to hate and despise people? You despised the boys in Ellor Street, didn't you? You thought you were better than them. You hated them, didn't you? Face it You are evil."

John said nothing. The pain in his shoulder, as fierce as ever, had become strangely pleasurable. The Lord Lunacy condnued. "So this means you are bad."

Bad? So he was bad. But after all, what did it matter? What had he to lose? In fact, why not be bad? A feeling of strength grew inside him. It felt good to be bad.

"You are feeling the power of evil within you. You always were evil. But until now you didn't know it"

Still John did not speak His exultation did not change, even though the Lord Lunacy's words grated on him. He stared at the dead white figure before him, wondering vaguely how his head and shoulder could be seen through the rock when there was no hole. Solid things were not solid after all. The figure before him seemed to switch itself off, just like a light bulb, and velvet blackness touched his eyes again. The presence was gone. Yet John was gripped with a wild exhilaration. He was evil. It was a new sensation to him, a sensation he had never before dared to let himself feel. He was different What adventures awaited him now? The pain in his shoulder slowly sub-sided to a dull and throbbing ache.

The sun's glare dazzled John. He squinted at the strange trio in front of him, King Bjorn and Queen Bjornsluv seated on boulders, and Vixenia, her brush curled neatly around her feet. On either side of him stood two Matmon with swords. A fly persisted in buzzing round his head, settling annoyingly on his face from time to time so that he was obliged to wave it away constandy.

To his left, on slighdy lower ground in the forest glade, an assortment of Matmon sat on the grass and watched them. John had looked eagerly for Folly, king of donkeys, but Folly was not there. He realized with dismay that his rescue from the cave was not through Folly's intervention.

It had been a huge relief when first he had heard the sound of the boulder being removed. It had been glorious to be hit by a burst of sunlight from the cave's mouth. But his rescuers had been surly and uncommunicative. Hungry and thirsty, he had asked them about food and drink, but they had ignored him, bustling him unceremoniously along a narrow forest trail. Three hours later they had reached the very forest glade he had dreamed about in Pendleton.

"You say you are the Sword Bearer" Bjorn said in measured tones.

"Yes, I am."

"Then where is your sword?"

Out of the corner of his eye, John had seen Bildreth's bitter twisted face among the little assembly on his left.

"The one you call Bildreth took it from me. He took the scabbard and the sword—and my belt."

Bildreth sprang to his feet, his thin lips curling in a sneer. "He lies! He had no sword—"

"Silence!" Bjorn shouted. "You have already spoken. You will not speak again unless you are bidden, Bildreth son of Baldon!"

Then turning to John, he asked the same question, "Where is your sword."

John felt sorry for himself, resentful and a little frightened. "He took it," he said, "I'm not lying. There was another one with him called Gutreth. He told him to take it from me. Gutreth said I was the Sword Bearer and it would be safer if they took my sword."

Again Bildreth stood, crying in agitation, "It is false! It is false! I was alone when I captured him. I, Bildreth alone, subdued him! Alone I imprisoned him in the cave! I speak truth!"

Bjorn's face was purple. "Silence, I said! You will be sealed in the cave yourself if you speak out unbidden again."

Queen Bjornsluv's merry eyes were fixed on John's face. "He has the same voice," she said.

"And the same shape," Vixenia barked.

"—and he has not the face of one who is accustomed to lying. Where were you going, young one, when you were captured?" Bjornsluv continued.

"I don't know."

"You don't know? Explain yourself," demanded the king.

"I came through the door. When I opened it, it was dark, very dark I couldn't see anything and I had no idea where I was. I thought it
might
be here, so I felt for the scabbard—"

"You came through
what
door?"

"Oh—er, from the Changer—"

"You say you came from the Changer?"

John hesitated.
Was
there a Changer? The Lord Lunacy had said it was a dream. Was everything a dream? Was he dreaming now? If he was, then he was dreaming that his mouth was parched. He was also dreaming that he was sick with hunger, that he felt dizzy and confused, and that a fly kept landing on his face. He waved it away angrily. "I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I
thought
it was the Changer," John sighed. "It was beautiful. But maybe I was dreaming."

"What is your name?" King Bjorn asked.

John thought quickly. He knew his life might depend on the answer. "I am John the Sword Bearer," he replied.

"So you are John the Sword Bearer without your sword," Bjorn returned evenly.

"It was stolen from me."

"And you were unable to defend yourself, Sword Bearer."

"I told you already," John said, "I didn't even know where I was. It was pitch-black. Two of them knocked me down before I knew what was happening. The one called Gutreth weighs half a ton." Suddenly he felt very sorry for himself. "Besides, I'm only a boy," he pouted.

Bjorn's voice was cold. "I have no idea what a
boy
is. But I know you are a Sword Bearer without a sword. A magical Sword Bearer unable to defend himself against an ordinary Matmon. Not a spy, of course. Not a spy acting under orders from the Mystery of Abomination."

His rugged face was set in stone. A breeze sighed through the

boughs of the surrounding trees and rippled in fluffy moving waves of light across the grasses of the meadow. The faces of the watching Matmon and animals were intent on the six participants in the trial. Far above them a summer cloud of cotton wool floated toward the sun.

Bjornsluv touched her husband's hand. "My lord must not be too hard on him. I perceive from his face that though he may be troubled, he has been reared in truth." Turning to John she said, "Where is your home, John the Sword Bearer?"

John sighed. "It's—it used to be—in Pendleton."

"It
used
to be?"

"Well—my granma died last night—at least I think it was last night, and they were going to send me away, so—"

"So you ran away."

"Yes, how did you know?"

Bjornsluv smiled. "And where is your grandmother's home?"

"Er—Pimblett's Place, Pendleton." He had the feeling that the words would be meaningless and he could see from their faces that they had not understood. "Pendleton—" he said, hopelessly. "It's in Lancashire. You know—in
England."

"These words are empty. Such places do not exist" Bjorn's face was still set and to John he suddenly seemed stupid. After all he was small and fat

"Idiot!" he hissed. "Of course they exist! I was born there. It's where I lived. What do you know of geography?" A surge of the exultation he had felt in the cave began to rise inside him. He felt contempt for the three in front of him and for the guards at his side. The summer cloud crossed the face of the sun, and a shadow swept over them all.

Bjorn's eyes burned with anger. His tone was carefully controlled, but his voice shook a little. "I know only that the young respect the old, and that death awaits spies from the Mystery of Abomination."

For the first time John saw beyond Vixenia and the Matmon king and queen the sinister figure of a hooded Matmon sharpening a heavy bronze axe on a whetstone beside a low tree stump.

"The block is prepared," Bjorn said. "The teeth of an executioner's axe bite keenly, and young though you may be, your own head will be severed from your body if you prove to be a spy from the Mystery. And if you are nothing more than an impudent runaway, you will be lashed with whips."

John's heart beat faster. Anger exploded inside him. He could feel his upper lip curling. He said nothing, but held his head high. Bjorn continued. "Tell us where you are from!"

The rage inside him came to a boil. His head swam and the scene before him seemed shrouded in red curtains. Suddenly he lost control. "You idiots!" he screamed. "You stupid, ignorant idiots! I go to Salford Grammar School! I come from
Pendleton!
I can't help it if you don't know where it is! Don't ask me how I got here. I don't know! I had come the night before in a dream. A magician was here."

The red curtains were lifting before his eyes, and unexpect-edly his rage began to subside as swiftly as it had come. He sighed again and continued more slowly. "The one you call Vixenia had summoned the magician through some kind of stone. He pointed at me and told you I was the Sword Bearer. And I said my name was John."

Anger had now drained from him like a retreating wave on a sandy beach. He was hungry, hot and depressed.

"It is very strange," Vixenia mused. "Clearly the child is not lying. Yet his words explain nothing.
He
knows from whence he is, and the place must surely exist And it
is
his voice we heard. So far as we are concerned, he comes from a place unknown. In any case, has anyone ever seen a creature of this sort before—unless the magician is one of the same species?"