Parsifal's Page (19 page)

Parsifal spoke first. "Well met, friend," Parsifal said.

"Well met for one of us, but not for both," the knight replied. His voice had a familiar ring to it. "For I bring you a challenge."

"I don't want your challenge," Parsifal said.

"It is your destiny to fight me," the knight said simply.

Parsifal shrugged indifferently. "Who are you to tell me my destiny?"

"I am the knight you were born to fight. Do you refuse my challenge?"

Parsifal did not answer for a long time. He looked at the knight's armor, then looked at his own battered shell. "Yes, I refuse your challenge."

The knight laughed derisively. "Are you indeed the great Sir Parsifal? The knight whose feats are trumpeted across the land?"

"I am called Parsifal, yes."

"And yet a coward. Very well, then. Get down from that horse and kneel before me, you dog."

"And if I do not?"

"Then I shall draw my sword and beat you with it. And do not think that your armor will protect you, for I have slain more than one man who was fully armored."

Parsifal's eyes flashed. Piers thought he was going to draw his sword and fight after all, but he did not. Instead, Parsifal's face grew prouder and fiercer than
Piers had ever seen it, and he said in a ringing voice, "Go ahead, then. But you won't need to worry about my armor." And with that, Parsifal drew off his helm and threw it as far away as he could. The helm splashed in the marshy water, then sank.

"What are you doing?" the knight demanded.

Parsifal did not reply. He only pulled off his heavy gauntlets and threw them after his helm. Then he loosened his breastplate. "You wanted to beat me with your sword, friend. Have at it!" he shouted. He pulled his breastplate free and threw it disdainfully into the water between him and the knight.

Piers could only watch with horror as Parsifal deliberately removed every separate piece of his armor and threw each item into the lake. The knight was also too astonished to move. At last, Parsifal was down to his chain mail doublet and his sword. Wordlessly, Parsifal handed the sword to Piers, and then he removed the mail and threw it behind him. Where it sank, a fine mist of tiny bubbles rose to the surface.

"You're mad," the knight said.

"I told you! I don't want your challenge! I don't want to fight anymore! I don't care if you call me a coward, and I don't care what you say my destiny is! Go away!"

The knight reached up to his own helm, loosened it, then took it off. Piers gasped. The face that appeared before them was Parsifal's face, identical
in every detail, except that the knight's skin was dark and his hair was white. A long scar on the knight's forehead was lighter than the rest of his face, which gave him a mottled look, almost as if he were striped. Now Piers realized why the knight's voice had sounded familiar. It was Parsifal's voice. "My name is Fierfils, and you cannot escape doing battle with me. It is your destiny to fight, and mine to defeat you. Draw your sword."

Parsifal reached out, and Piers gave him the sword, the perfectly balanced sword with the ornate letter T on the haft. Parsifal drew it from its scabbard and let the scabbard fall into the lake at his horse's feet. "You will have to achieve your destiny without me, brother," Parsifal said. And then he drew back his arm and threw his incomparable sword as far as he could. Its blade flashed twice as it spun through the air, and then it sliced into the water and disappeared.

Piers dragged his eyes away from the spot where the sword had fallen and turned back to Parsifal and Fierfils. The knight's face was blank with amazement. "But that sword was your dearest possession."

"Yes."

The water of the lake shivered, and fish began to jump all at once. A fresh wind blew a fine spray into Piers's face, and the surface of the lake behind Fierfils started to roil. "You fool!" Fierfils shrieked, and then the knight sank slowly from sight beneath the surface.

All was still. The waters grew calm, and the sun seemed to shine more brightly. Parsifal spoke softly. "You said that you read the hermit's book, didn't you, Piers?"

"Yes."

"Do you remember how King Anfortas got his wound?"

"Yes. He fought a knight who was like him in every way, but different." A delicious shiver crept up Piers's legs, then his back, and then tingled across his scalp. "I think we're almost there."

"Ride on," Parsifal said, and this time he took the lead.

They rode ten steps and Piers grew aware of a presence at his side. He looked down, and there was Ariel, smiling happily at him. She raised a finger to her lips, and Piers nodded. He glanced at Parsifal, to see if he had noticed, but Parsifal was too busy looking in the other direction, where Nimue walked sedately on his other side. Soon there were others—nymphs and water sprites and creatures Piers did not recognize—and they formed a solemn procession through the lake. The air before them shimmered, as if in the heat of midsummer, and then the castle Munsalvaesche was there, brilliant in the pale winter sun, its gate open wide.

Parsifal stopped his horse, looked at the castle, and wept. Dismounting, he knelt in the water and bowed his head. After a moment, he rose and continued on
foot, tears still coursing down his cheeks. Piers dismounted as well, took Ariel's hand for a moment, then let it drop, and hurried after Parsifal. Parsifal stepped out of the water to the threshold of the gate. There, one of the ladies met him.

"Come in, sir knight," the lady said. "May I take you to your room?" Parsifal shook his head and walked past her.

Piers caught up to Parsifal, and together they crossed the great courtyard and entered the central keep. Parsifal did not hesitate, but walked directly back to the great banquet hall where they had dumbly witnessed the Grail procession. Dripping water and clad only in the stained linen shift that he had worn under his armor, Parsifal stepped into the splendid room.

King Anfortas was there, on the same dais where he had lain before, and his face was gray with pain. Parsifal crossed the banquet hall and stood before him. The king looked up, saw Parsifal, and said faintly, "Yes?"

Parsifal took the king's hand and knelt before him. "Dear Uncle," he said gently. "What ails you?"

It was the question. The question that King Anfortas had waited so long for the right person to ask. The question that Parsifal had not asked the last time. The question that would heal the king.

And the king was healed, immediately. Color returned to his face, and he rose to his feet with a bound. "It is over!" he shouted. "Let the land be restored!"

Then the banquet hall was filled with joyous courtiers, shouting and singing and embracing each other. Parsifal stood silently in the midst of the dancing throng, and Piers stepped to one side to be out of the way. A tall figure loomed close, then took a position beside him. It was the man in motley who had mocked them from the castle wall. "I did not think you would return," he said.

"We have never stopped trying," Piers said. "Ever since that day that you taunted us."

The man smiled. "Then it worked." He bowed deeply and gracefully to Piers and disappeared in the crowd.

King Anfortas held up his hand for silence, and after several seconds managed to calm the celebrating courtiers. "But we are rude," he said. "We do not even know the name of the one who has delivered us." He turned to Parsifal.

Parsifal knelt before the king. "I am called Parsifal. I am the son of your sister Herzeloyde, and I am your servant."

King Anfortas stepped off the dais and raised Parsifal to his feet. "But no. I am yours. For as of this moment, you are the Grail King, Lord of the Schloss Munsalvaesche."

Parsifal shook his head. "No. I cannot be king here.
My home is in the World of Men, and now that I have completed this task, I want only to return there, to my lady and my home."

King Anfortas did not seem disappointed. He nodded in acquiescence, then waved his hand. A woman entered the hall carrying a sword. The king said, "When you return there, you should have a sword."

Parsifal took the sword from the lady, and his eyes lit up. "But this is my own sword, that I threw away."

King Anfortas smiled. "That's right. As you have now learned, the things that you achieve by your own mighty deeds have no value until they are thrown away. But the things that are worth keeping—those things are yours for the asking. Before, this sword was a prize of war; now it is a gift. Take it. It was made for you, after all, by the greatest of all armorers, my servant and friend Trebuchet."

Parsifal looked fondly at the sword, then back at the king. "Trebuchet. He was one of the three who went away for your sake, wasn't he?"

"Yes. He and my sister Herzeloyde and my brother Trevisant."

"They should be told that you are healed," Parsifal said thoughtfully. "When I return, I will do so. But there is one difficulty: I can find my mother and Trevisant, but I do not know where to seek this Trebuchet."

Piers stepped forward. "I think I know someone who does," he said.

They set off three days later, renewed in every way. Parsifal wore a new, splendidly made suit of armor and Piers, a neatly cut suit of fine cloth. Parsifal's face had lost its bitter expression and now shone with relief, contentment, anticipation, and a hundred other pleasant emotions. As for Piers, he supposed that his face might be a bit radiant, too: Ariel and Nimue were riding with them.

Nimue had come to act as their guide, and she led them first to the forest home where Parsifal had been raised by his mother. Parsival planned to tell Lady Herzeloyde that her brother Anfortas had been healed, then bring her with him to Queen Conduiramour. "After all," he said with a rueful smile, "it was to bring my mother home that I left Belrepeire to begin with."

"How long ago was that?" Piers asked. The passage of time was a bit fuzzy for him since his trip with Gawain to the Château Merveile.

"Almost a year," Parsifal replied, "for all it seems like a different lifetime."

Soon Parsifal began to recognize landmarks from his childhood, and then they arrived at his mother's home and found it empty. Piers did not even have to go inside to know that; a deserted house is unmistakable. What had once been a flower garden was now overgrown with weeds. A few sheep grazed in the yard, part of a larger flock that was on a nearby knoll. Parsifal stared at the cottage with dismay. "But where could she have gone?" he asked.

Dismounting, he disappeared into the house. Piers started to follow but Nimue caught his arm. "No, Piers."

Ten minutes later, Parsifal reappeared carrying some yellowed scraps of paper. "My father's letters," he said. "She used to read them every night. They've been chewed on by mice." The dismay in Parsifal's face was gradually being replaced by a calm and certain despair. "She must be dead," Parsifal said simply.

"Perhaps that shepherd may know something," Nimue suggested.

Among the sheep on the hill, a roughly clad man with a long staff was watching the travelers. Parsifal led his horse up the slope. "Good morrow, friend,"
he said. "Do you know the lady who lives in that cottage?"

"An't no lady there," the man said gruffly. He spat.

"No, not now," Parsifal said. "But there was a lady there at one time."

"Ay."

"Do you know what has become of her?"

"Nay, that be up to God now," the shepherd said.

Parsifal bowed his head. "Then she's dead. How did it happen?"

The man spat again and looked speculatively at Parsifal. "Never saw the sense in asking how. How don't matter to her, and if it don't matter to her, it an't none of my affair."

Parsifal frowned, and Nimue said gently, "The good man might be speaking wisdom. Must you know how she died?"

Parsifal nodded. "Yes."

The man shrugged. "The lady what lived there took to her bed and died, nobbut a week after her son went off to be a knight like her husband was. They do say the lady died of grief." Parsifal's face was still, and the shepherd added, "We buried her under that tree by the house."

They went back to the house and sat in silence while Parsifal knelt beside the slight mound under the tree. There was no marker. Parsifal absently pulled a
few weeds, but it made no difference. In truth there was little else but weeds there. Parsifal stood. "But
I
came back, mother. And I've brought you news. Your brother is well again. We are both well. Could you not have waited?"

Ariel slipped her hand into Piers's. Her eyes were wide and bright. Parsifal was silent for several minutes, as if expecting an answer, but none came, and at last he turned away and mounted his horse. They rode away.

Two days later, they trotted into the dusty yard of Trevisant's hermitage in the Gentle Wood. Terence was waiting for them, his horse saddled. "Well met, friends. Good day, my lady," Terence said, bowing to Nimue. "Trevisant told me they would be coming today, but he did not say you would be with them. I am glad to see you again."

"Hello, your grace," Nimue said. Piers wasn't sure how she did it, but Nimue somehow managed to convey a deep curtsey without getting out of her saddle.

Ariel stared at her mother. "Your grace?" she whispered. "But this is the squire I was telling you about."

"Yes, my dear," Nimue said. "But he is also the Duke of Avalon, the son of the Enchanter, and one of the greatest princes of our world."

Piers gaped at the squire, who winked at him then stepped closer to Ariel and extended his hand. "But
you must simply call me Terence. You, I suppose, are the one who followed us in the forest with a message for Piers."

"My daughter Ariel, your grace," said Nimue.

"Enchanted," Terence said, bowing again.

Parsifal watched all this patiently, but at this pause in the introductions said, "And where is Trevisant?"

Terence turned to Parsifal, his face serene. "By now, I imagine he is riding the hills of the Other World in armor again. But in this world he is no more. I buried him yesterday evening."

Parsifal closed his eyes. "We are too late again."

"You are Parsifal?" Terence asked. Parsifal nodded. "Have you come to tell Trevisant that the king has been healed?" Parsifal nodded again. "Then you are not too late. He knew. After all, it was his gift. He was very content the day he died."