The Sword Bearer (10 page)

The wrinkles in Mab's face deepened in a broad and complacent smile as if he knew all about the eagles and what they were bringing, as indeed he did. John concentrated on looking unconcerned, glancing at the birds from time to time with superciliously raised eyebrows. The Sword Bearer would surely be used to unusual events. Whatever happened he was determined to establish his superiority. So as the exclamations over the size of the table grew in volume, he said to no one in particular, "Well, what do you expect? How can you have a feast without a table?" The seer threw him a worried look but said nothing.

The table, long enough to seat more than a hundred people and low enough for them to sit on the grass, landed a little bumpily. But it seemed none the worse for wear, and the moment it was on the ground, the first pair of eagles, carrying a long white linen cloth between their beaks, spread it in less time than you would take to throw a tea cloth over a card table. And in pairs several more eagles set down linen napkins, silver flagons and goblets, silver bowls and platters, and silver knives and forks which several Matmon arranged quickly on the table. The remaining eagles then loaded the table with steaming roast geese and ducks, whole roast boars with apples in their mouths, cheeses, wine, fresh and dried fruit, cakes, pies and fruit-flavored sherbets.

"Have you further orders, my lord seer?" Aguila's voice was harsh and unmusical.

"Nothing except to ask whether you have arranged for lights when darkness falls," Mab said.

"All is arranged," the giant eagle croaked.

The old man bowed to her courteously. "Go then to your aerie," he said, "and accept our gratitude for your provision. You have done well." All the eagles with Aguila then flew silently back toward the setting sun, which was now hidden by the trees.

And so a hundred Matmon feasted in the gathering dusk along with Mab and John. Folly the donkey begged to be excused for any seeming discourtesy, explaining that he was a vegetarian and would prefer to nibble a little grass beside the table. Vixenia, on the other hand, played gingerly with a large goose leg on a silver platter. The Matmon tucked their linen napkins around their necks and seized the meat with their fingers, ignoring the knives and forks. They ate noisily and gleefully.

Mab ate thoughtfully with knife and fork, his napkin resting on his knees except when he raised it carefully to wipe his lips, his mustache or the top of his beard.

Out of the corner of his eye John watched him. He had never before experienced such a feast and was not sure how to behave. But he was determined not to show his ignorance and carefully copied Mab, dabbing his lips delicately with one corner of his linen napkin (which he called a serviette) and glancing scornfully at the vulgarity displayed by the Matmon.

Wine was poured, and an air of merriment enlivened the party. Then as darkness fell, the scene was slowly transformed. A million fireflies converged on them to form a dancing canopy of light above the table. This was the illumination Aguila had promised. Firefly light softened the faces of the feasters and gently burnished the silver bowls and plates. And from nowhere onto everyone's ears gentle music fell sweetly and soothingly to mingle with their talk and laughter.

At any other time John would have been entranced. But now he was sulky, resentful of everybody around him, including the prophet, and profoundly discontented. What point was there in being the Sword Bearer? Swords were for cutting and killing. Swords were for heroic action. When was he going to be able to show them what he could do? Resentment welled inside him as he looked at Bjorn. One day Bjorn was going to be sorry.

Then as he stared at the two bearded young Matmon seated by Bjorn and Bjornsluv, he started, staring at them closely. Yes, he was sure. These were the two he used to dream about, in the dream where one murdered the other for a gold chain. Later he was to learn that the murdered one was Bjorn's grandson, Rathson, and the murderer, his grandson's cousin, Goldson.

Only Mab seemed aware that all was not well with John, and for the most part he was too busy conversing with Bjorn to pay much attention to him.

"So the bird exists," Bjorn said. "We had heard tales of her but dismissed them as empty legends. Never have I seen such magic."

"What you call magic is the mystical power of the Changer. It might solve a problem for you. Tell me, from whence will you get supplies for the long journey you propose?"

Bjorn's face grew solemn. "That is indeed a problem. When I proposed a feast I had nothing such as this in mind. We carry our supplies partly on what few horses we have and partly on our backs, and our weapons at our sides. But our stores are meager. We hunt There are also nuts and roots in the forest. But I feel we may go hungry ere long. A feast like this .. ."

He left the sentence unfinished, reached for a duck and tore off a leg and a wing with his fingers as he spoke. Mab watched him in silence. Then after some moments, as the Matmon king ate on, he said, "To the Changer it is a small matter to provide a daily feast"

Bjorn looked at him sharply. "You are still going to accom-pany us then? And you would command her to do this thing every day?"

But the seer did not reply.

They ate and drank for an hour or more, their joy arising more from the surprise of the feast and the abundance of good food than from the wine. Yet they sang and toasted one another until the table was bare of food.

And at that point Mab rose to his feet and rapped on the table. A wave of silence passed slowly through the company. Firefly-lit faces turned expectantly toward him. He straightened his shoulders and lifted his head in defiance of his great age. "Your majesties! Rebels against the dark powers! The feast you have enjoyed reflects the kindness of my master, Mi-ka-ya, the Changer and Maker. You have chosen to forsake the Mystery of Abominadon and wish to serve my Master. Your willingness to seek and serve the Regents on the Island of Geburah, risking the malice of the Mystery, is proof enough of your change of heart. But know that before you can enter my Master's service, you must drink the wine of free pardon."

From beneath the table, he withdrew a small wineskin. "Already you have seen in Gutreth's body and mind what effect the purifying fires of this wine can have. I call on you now to drink of it with me!"

A blanket of silence fell over the group. Slowly, to the strange music of the fireflies, the prophet moved around the table pouring wine from the small wineskin into their goblets. Small though it was, it never appeared to empty of the wine of free pardon. Mab continued to fill goblet after goblet until he had completed a full round of the table. He raised his own. "Drink!" he said quietly. "Drink freely of the Changer's pardon!"

The Matmon raised their goblets and began to drink. Most of them drank deeply. A few, including the murderous Matmon of John's dream, coughed, spat and angrily flung the contents of their goblets onto the grass. But still nobody spoke. Vixenia sniffed at the wine and then slowly began to lap.

John stared at the firefly-lit faces. A few bore scowls. Plainly they were displeased with the wine. Others began to tremble. He stared at these, fascinated. The silence seemed to deepen as the firefly music grew fainter. Before long, his attention was arrested by a Matmon facing him, whose hands and arms were shaking as though he had a fever. Perspiration glistened on the Matmon's upturned face so that it seemed almost to shine while from his eyes tears streamed.

For the moment or two John looked away, embarrassed. What had the wine done? Could he have become drunk so quickly? He looked at him again. No, he didn't seem drunk His arms rested on the table in front of him. He made no attempt to dry his tears, and the look on his face was not a look of pain, but of joy, as he gazed at something he alone could see.

For the moment John forgot his restless discontent. He drew a deep breath, and before he realized what he was doing he had asked the Matmon, "Are you all right?"

There was no reply, and John repeated his question. Slowly the Matmon lowered his face and looked at John, his lips apart and his tear-filled eyes shining. He nodded. "Yes. Yes, I think so." He seemed bemused with wonder.

"Why are you shaking?"

There was a pause. "I don't know."

"Are you scared?"

"No. No, your lordship, I don't think so."

"And why are you crying?"

"Because—because I am happy."

"Happy ?
But why?"

The Matmon slowly shook his head from side to side. Fresh tears fell from his eyes. Turning his face upward again, he murmured, "Such kindness. Such great kindness. Who would have dreamt it could be ..."

John's eyes swept the table. Many of the Matmon seemed to have been affected by the wine in much the same way as the one facing him. Some trembled more violently. Others were perfectly still. But all those who had drunk deeply had their faces transformed by joy.

He became aware that the seer was staring at him, and he grew uncomfortable. The eyes were searching his mind.

"Have you drunk of the wine, Sword Bearer?"

"No. I've never drunk wine in my life."

"Then drink!"

"But I'm only a boy ..."

"You are the Sword Bearer. So drink!"

John raised his goblet with both his hands, staring at the liquid inside it. He raised it further, to his lips, and tasted. Bitterness and fire exploded in his mouth and throughout his body. Disgusted and afraid, he spat and spat again, wiping his mouth feverishly with one hand. "Ugh, it's
horrible!
You're playing a joke on me. You think you're funny, don't you!"

The frustrations of the previous twenty-four hours boiled up inside him. Tears stung his eyes as he stared at the wizard, and rage threatened to take his breath away. In a thin, shaky voice he cried, "Here—take your filthy wine!" and flung the contents of the goblet in Mab's face, hurling the empty vessel onto the table.

Then he turned and ran into the darkness, sobbing with rage as he ran.

The next morningjohn stared gloomily through the window of the Gaal tree. His feelings were confused. The previous night Mab had found him where he lay in the grass at one end of the glade. He had pounded his head and fists into the earth until he was exhausted. Wearily John had accompanied the old man to the Gaal tree and accepted a cup of liquid from him.

"What is it? It's not that pardon wine, is it?" he had asked suspiciously.

"It's medicine," Mab had replied gently. "It will ease the hurts and griefs in you. You will rest better if you drink."

He had watched John sadly as he took the cup, and after a moment he had said in a low and trembling voice, "No one can make you drink the wine of free pardon. You must want to drink it yourself. And until you do, John the Sword Bearer, your sword will prove useless to the cause. Indeed, if before drinking the wine you should ever try to kill the Goblin Prince with it, your sword will surely fail you."

John had remembered no more. He had lain back on the couch on which he was sitting and sunk into a dreamless slumber. Now staring out of the window, he was ashamed of his behavior. But he was also defiant and determined not to apologize. He was the Sword Bearer.

He scarcely saw the glade, washed in the morning sun, or the Matmon washing themselves in the stream and cooking breakfast on fires before their tents. Here and there the tethered horses contentedly cropped grass. When at last his attention was arrested by the scene in front of him, it was not by any movement, but by the sudden absence of movement

They had all stopped. It was rather like a movie that suddenly freezes on one frame. Some still knelt by their fires. Others stood motionless in a variety of postures. The horses had ceased to eat. But this was not the stillness of death so much as of intense watchfulness. All of them were staring, gripped by what they saw.

John drew in his breath when he spotted what they were looking at. A bear had emerged from the forest a bear larger than he had imagined any bear could be. Though from where John stood it appeared to be black, it was in fact a grizzly, but greater in size than grizzlies of our modern world. Even on all fours it stood taller than the horses, and clearly was of far greater weight and bulk John wondered what it would look like when it stood on its hind legs.

The bear was the only thing in the whole glade that moved as it slowly shuffled with apparent aimlessness into the opening. Even the leaves on the trees did not stir. Matmon and horses watched the bear as though transfixed. But eventually one of the Matmon did move. John saw him draw back a spear. For several seconds nothing happened. Then the arm flashed forward, and the spear sailed through the morning air to glance lightly across one of the bear's shoulders. It swung its shaggy head to stare at the Matmon, who had dropped to his knees.Then it turned to look at the spear.

The grizzly was no ordinary bear as John was to find out. Grizzlies cannot pick up spears with one paw. But this grizzly did. Then it raised itself to its full height of fifteen feet, held the puny weapon above its head in its two paws, snapped it in two and tossed the pieces away. A growl came from deep in its chest, a growl that made even the window of the Gaal tree rattle, and then it moved on its hind feet toward the cowering Matmon.

There was a sound of hurried footsteps behind John. The wizard had seen what had happened and was tumbling through the door. "Oso," he cried. "Oso! Let him be, Oso. He is a friend! He does not understand! Oso!"

John followed the old man through the door. As he emerged he saw that the bear had dropped to all fours and was now bounding like a great eager dog in the wizard's direction. John backed nervously to the tree, only to find to his dismay that once again the door through which he had just emerged was no longer there. Instead of going through it he slipped behind the tree.

Mab stumbled forward. As the bear reached him, it again reared to its terrifying height, dwarfing the fragile figure of the old man. "Welcome, old friend!" Mab cried, opening his arms widely as though to hug the large creature.