Enchanted Forests (7 page)

game while hunting alone—my servant had fallen so far behind

that I no longer knew his whereabouts—would be a great honor.

I lowered the spear and charged blindly at the source of the

grunting noises, though I could not see anything but leaping dogs

and thrashing greenery.

"My spear penetrated the foliage and struck something—

something not much softer than rock or wood. So great was the

resistance that the spear shaft bent like a bow and snapped with

a deafening crack.

"Then, a hairy thing, an Ogre, a Monster, surged out of the

bushes and attacked my dogs. It was certainly not a wild boar or

pig of any kind, and it did not seem to be a bear.

'Ten feet tall, manlike in shape, it had long arms that dangled

down past its knees. The face, wrinkled and snouted, had four

great tusks that projected out of its maw like four bony daggers-

The creature had a large flat nose, scarcely more than two snort-

ing holes. Small red eyes glittered beneath a beetling brow. In

one hand it carried a heavy stick which it flailed about. I could

see talons a good two or three inches in length on both hands. It

bellowed in pain and anger, and as I watched in horror, it tore

my spearhead out of its flank. It was the most appalling Thing

that I had ever seen.

"I reached for my sword, pulling it out, not because I thought

I could fight the monster with it, but just for the comfort of hav-

ing it in my hand. At that moment, the club hit one of my dogs.

The sickening crunch of smashed bones and one high-pitched

THE TRIPLE DEATH            4.5

yipe of pain filled my ears, and the dead animal flew more than

fifty feet through the air before crashing to earth.

"The other dog, quite sensibly, tucked its tail under, and ran

away.

"My horse reared away from the monster, nearly unseating

me, but I tightened my grip with my knees and kept in the sad-

dle. I started to swing at the creature with my sword, but a side-

ways lurch of my mount left me striking at empty air and

clutching desperately at the mane to keep from falling.

"Then (he world spun around me. The horse's forelegs came

down with a thump that rattled my teeth, and it bolted madly

through the forest. I could no more control it than an infant could

control its father. All I could do was lean low along its neck

while branches and leaves beat at me, and try to hang on."

Gawaine paused from his storytelling and looked at his audi-

ence, They leaned toward him eagerly. Guinevere breathed in

short gasps and so did many in the crowd. Several knights held

their daggers in a swordsman's grip, and glared around fiercely.

"Go on. Nephew!" cried Arthur. "This is no time to stop for

a drink of mead!"

"Tell on! Do not stop!" yelled Dinadan. Many voices echoed

his requests. Gawaine smiled and bowed and continued his tale.

"It takes a long time to tell all this, and it seemed like a long

time while it was happening, but you realize that everything oc-

curred in the space of a few seconds.

"I hadn't ridden very far when a heavy tree bough swept me

from my saddle and dropped me in a furze bush. Hundreds of

thorny needles jabbed through my clothing and drew points of

blood. Half dazed, I pulled myself from the prickly shrub.

"A hideous bellow from the Beast cleared my head. I strug-

gled to my feet and I saw the creature loping toward me on two

bowed legs and one arm whose knuckles met the ground with

every stride. It held its club poised to strike, and I barely man-

aged to parry it to the side with my sword, which was miracu-

lously still in my right hand.

"Then followed one of the greatest fights of my life. At first

I could only parry, sidestep, duck and dodge. It drove me back

and back. Once a glancing blow from its free hand numbed my

left shoulder and hurled me ten feet to bounce off a lichen-

covered boulder.

"There was never a chance to break and run, and in the mad-

ness of the moment, I never considered it. My ears rang like

church bells; my vision blurred into a red haze; my knees wob-

46 Ken St. Andre

bled and shook; yet still I rolled and dodged, and occasionally

struck out at it with my sword. Once I connected with its club

arm—my blow severed its thumb and scraped along the bone,

leaving a bloody wound and disarming it at the same time.

"Still it kept flailing and striking at me. Still I dodged back-

ward, backward, ever backward. Sometimes I hit trees and slid to

me side. Sometimes I tripped over roots and fell. Whenever I

could, I struck at the thing with my sword, and I began to hit it

on every third or fourth blow. It was more like chopping wood

man hitting a fleshly thing. Its coarse hairs seemed like steel

wires, often turning my blow before it could penetrate—its rock-

like flesh opened in only minor cuts whenever a sword blow

landed.

"I slipped around the last tree, staggering, barely able to stay

on my feet, sword dragging the earth in front of me. Dimly I re-

alized mat I was in a high place as the cold wind tore at my

wounds. With a bestial growl, the creature rushed me. This time

I could not dodge, and iron-hard claws sank into my shoulder

and thigh. The thing grabbed me, lifted me off my feet, and

pulled me toward its slavering mouth.

"When it lifted me, I summoned the last remnant of strength

and will in my being, and brought my brand up in a disembow-

eling thrust that took the creature squarely in the groin. It was

like striking wood, but I pushed harder, pushed till the blood

burst from my nose and my ears, pushed until I felt the blade

break through all resistance and totally gut this Thing. Its growl

of triumph turned into a high-pitched squeal of mortal agony, and

instead of biting out my throat, it suddenly went into a spasm,

and threw me into the air away from it.

"I sailed up into the sky like a hurled pebble. I knew that I had

given it a mortal wound, and despite all my pain, I laughed with

exultation as I hurtled through the air—right over the cliff!

"And then I fell. Head downward, I hurtled into eternity. Far

below I could see trees and rocks and water, and I knew that I

could never survive this fall. The hairy thing had killed me after

all—killed me by falling.

"It seemed that time slowed to a crawl, and my whole life

flashed before my eyes. I remembered my birth—mostly sensa-

tions, going from warmth and comfort, through squeezing, and

gasping into a world of bright and dark and pain and cold- Then

I remembered the feel of hot sand on bare feet, and the coolness

of ocean waves splashing onto my legs as I ran down the beach

with other children. I remembered bouncing on my father's knee,

THE TRIPLE DEATH            47

and his gigantic laughter as he spun me madly through the sky,

and I remembered how he told me stories of the battles he had

fought, and what it meant to be a warrior. I remembered my first

dagger, and my first animal kill—a chicken that was too slow to

escape my thrown rocks, a chicken with a broken leg that my fa-

ther insisted 1 must finish killing because a warrior finishes what

he begins. I remembered a thousand things, and I relived each

event in all its sensations, and finally I remembered Merlin's

feast of five years earlier, and how he had prophecied that I

would die from falling.

"And, I think I laughed, because Merlin had been wrong after

all. It wasn't falling that killed a person, but stopping at the end

of that fall. It seemed to me that Life itself was a fall, and Death

comes when we run out of space to fall through and hit the

ground.

"I had closed my eyes while the memories ran by, but I opened

them again and saw I was about to hit the treetops, I barely had

time to wrap my arms around my head before I crashed through

the upper branches of a great hawthorn tree.

"Then something stopped me abruptly. My booted left foot

caught in a fork in a branch and it held and stopped my fall. A

pain greater than any I had ever known shot down my leg into

my spine, past my heart and shoulders, and exploded through the

top of my head. Blackness smothered all my senses and I became

nothing but a line of pain existing in a void.

"The chill of water on my face awakened me. I knew that I

was hanging upside down in a tree by one foot, like a carcass

hung up and left to drain. So this was the death by hanging, but

again Merlin seemed to be wrong, because I hurt too much to be

dead.

"It occurred to me then that Life was like death by hanging.

We are all suspended between beginnings and endings, and much

of our life is spent just hanging in one place, waiting for some-

thing to happen.

"Then the water forced itself up my nose and into my mouth.

I realized that the tree had caught me just before I fell into a

stream. I had been holding my breath (or not breathing), but now

the insistent water forced its way inside, and my lungs began to

fill. Distantly I felt my body shudder and cough, but I had no

strength left to pull out of the stream. My consciousness began

to eddy away at the edges just like the water flowing past me and

through me.

48                    Ken St. Aodre

"My last thought was that Life is like drowning, because ...

but all thought and sensation fled before I could finish that idea."

Gawaine returned to his place at the table, handing the harp

back to its owner as he passed, then sat down and sighed like a

whickering horse. "Well, Sire, Lords and Ladies, that is my tale.

I hope it is good enough to earn the feast we have all just fin-

ished."

"Whew!" gasped Arthur, releasing his pent-in breath explo-

sively, not realizing until then that he had forgotten to breathe

during the end of Gawaine's tale.

"But, Gawaine, that can't be the end," cried Guinevere. "What

happened next?"

"I died, of course," said Gawaine with a sheepish grin. "I died

by falling, hanging, and drowning, just as Merlin had said I

would."

Everyone in the great hall of Camelot sat in stunned silence

for a moment; then Sir Dinadan began to chuckle, a chuckle that

grew stronger and stronger until it was a full-throated belly

laugh. Sir Lancelot picked it up, and then Sir Tristram and then

Arthur himself, and- a wave of laughter swept through the great

hall until finally everyone whooped and gasped with hysterical

glee.

After a good two minutes the laughter died down to mere gig-

gles and chuckles. "A great story. Nephew," said Arthur. "You

have outdone yourself this time. Yes, indeed, you have justified

our feast!" Arthur beckoned to the musician. "Come, bard, give

us a tune."

"Wait!" cried Guinevere. "That can't be right! You don't look

dead! You don't feel dead! How could you have died? How

could you?"

Everyone looked at Gawaine. "I didn't stay dead," he ex-

plained, grinning hugely, "but that's another story, one I think I'll

save for next Easter in case we have another such wait for our

feast."

Out or me ^ooas

by Lawrence Watt Evans

Lawrence Watt Evans is the author of some two dozen nov-

els and four score short stories in the fields of fantasy, sci-

ence fiction, and horror. His best-known work is The

Misenchanted Sword, and his latest is In the Empire of

Shadow, the second volume of the Three Worlds trilogy. He

lives in the Maryland suburbs of Washington with his wife,

two kids, two cats, and a parakeet named Robin.

Jenny slammed on the brakes and prayed the car would stop in

time. The man who had stumbled onto the road in front of her

showed no sign of moving out of the way, he was just standing

there.

The tires squealed, and the car slewed sideways and came to

a stop—and the man wasn't there- Jenny kept her hands locked

on the steering wheel as she turned her head and stared out the

passenger-side window.

She saw only empty road, huge dark trees, and drifting wisps

of mist.

Had she imagined it? These English roads were narrow and

winding and made her nervous, and the thick surrounding woods

were spooky, but she hadn't thought she was far enough gone to

be hallucinating.

Getting out of London for at least a few days of her month in

Britain had seemed like a good idea, but right now she wasn't at

all sure it hadn't been a major mistake.

The rental car had stalled, and Jenny decided against trying to

start it right away. Instead, she turned off the ignition and got

50 Lawrence Watt Evana

out. pocketing the key. She looked around. There was forest on

either side, with the empty road curving out of sight in either di-

rection.

And then a muddy shape rose up out of the roadside ditch, not

a dozen feet away. She almost screamed, but at the last moment

managed to turn it into a gasp. It was the man, the man she had

almost run down—he must have flung himself into the ditch at