Gaal the Conqueror (14 page)

"I don't know." Eleanor had been examining a tiger lily.
"Have you seen the stalks? This one's a sort of purple color."

"Mebbe it's another variety-"

"And this . . ." Eleanor held out a dandelion. "See? Its stalk
is bright red. I think they're all enchanted."

John stared with knitted brows at the dandelion. It certainly
looked strange, even repulsive now that it had been plucked.
He shrugged his shoulders. "Shagah?"

Eleanor stared at the purple stalk of the tiger lily. "Perhaps
these are not real flowers. They're the results of a spell. They're
something Shagah created-or this Lord Lunacy person."

John shook his head. "I don't believe so. Mab and I used to
talk about things like this when I was here last. Lord Lunacy
can't create anything-except illusions. And he never makes
natural things. He can only mess up what the Changer has
created. I guess we're looking at messed-up flowers. It's Shagah,
all right. The only thing is-where's the danger?"

By now they had penetrated a little way into the forest. The
trees were getting taller, and there was less sunlight. Here and
there, among aspens and birches they would see clumps of
dead firs, gaunt and blackened, draped with gray-green moss.
They looked like the skeletons of ancient prophets, rags still
hanging from their bones, their arms pointing accusingly at
their neighbors. Others stood gaunt and naked, silently crying
their injustices to the skies. "They're all dying," John said.
"They look awful. I bet that's part of the spell too."

"Do you feel scared-I mean about being inside an enchanted area?" Eleanor asked.

"No, neither do I. It's funny, isn't it? After all, I'm the scaredycat."

"You were. You're not anymore."

"Oh, I don't know-I was pretty scared yesterday. I've been
scared half the time since we set out. Even the mention of Shagah's name usually starts me trembling. But this wood
seems so ordinary."

"Like with dandelions on red stalks?"

"No, but the forest itself. You know what I mean."

Now that the trees were getting taller, the sun invaded the
forest with golden shafts of light. Bracken stretched its fronds
out under the trees "like an endless green awning for the little
people" as Eleanor put it.

"The forest floor here is like a pebbled floor with a lot of
mossy throw rugs on it-gray ones and green ones and those
gorgeous orange-colored ones," Eleanor said. "But let's sit
down. Surely you must be hungry. It's really time to eat."

They ate their fruit and sandwiches in silence, taking turns
to drink from the water bottle. A number of nearby trees
seemed to be dying. There were two or three spruce trees dying
from below. A frown crept like a shadow over John's forehead.
"Can you hear them?" he asked.

"Who?"

For a moment John did not reply. His body was rigid, and
the sandwich in his hand was poised halfway to his mouth.
Then he said, "I think it's those firs ..."

"You

"Shhh. Listen! They're saying, `Our roots must go deeper,
our roots must go deeper, the curse cannot reach to the core
of the earth.' They keep saying it over and over and over."

Eleanor held her head on one side. Her eyes were closed
and she was listening intently. Suddenly she opened them,
swung round to look behind her and pointing, cried, "They're
actually singing! Not the spruce, but that clump of silver
birches. Listen!"

Faintly through the forest strange music sounded. Rustling
voices sang with sibilant determination. "War, war, a long and
silent war! Never will we cease to resist, though many, many
have fallen!"

On the far side of the path a group of aspens and birch stood
in a circle with several conifers of various sorts. They seemed
to be taking counsel together. Then in unison, and so clearly
that neither John nor Eleanor needed to "shush" each other,
they sang out, "We are Gaal'sl There is hope! He cannot be
defeated by a cheap magician's spell! We're going to be young
again! We will sprout clean again!"

Eleanor drew in a deep breath. "You were right when you
said Shagah couldn't have made the forest. Gaal made it! It's
alive! It's his forest. It's not always going to be like this."

They resumed their way with a sense of awe at the courageous resistance the trees were making, and looked at the trees
around them with a new respect. They walked throughout the
afternoon, noting that the more they penetrated into the forest,
the denser it became. And late in the afternoon they came
across yet another message from Authentio, attached like the
first to the trunk of a tree. There was no greeting this time. The
torn piece of paper they found simply said, "Heed the words
of the raven!"

They stared at each other in bewilderment, and discussed the
message for several moments. Finally Eleanor said, "Well, if a
raven turns up-and I hope we haven't missed the creaturewe'll know what it was about."

Moments later, as the path turned, they were confronted with
a raven that stood in the center of the path as though it intended to bar their way. They stopped and John, feeling a bit
silly, said, "Hello!"

The raven opened and closed its wings, stared at them intently. Then to their surprise it said:

The children stared and for a few moments said nothing.
Cautiously Eleanor said, "Whatever can you be talking about?
If we're not supposed to look at you, why do you stand in front
of us like this?"

"It is the message you must pay attention to," the raven replied.

"And what is it supposed to mean?" John asked.

"It means you must not go near the tower-mustn't stare at
it."

"What tower?"

"The tower you are walking toward."

"I don't see any tower," Eleanor said. "Where is it?"

"Farther along this path."

"Then we'll have to go near it!"

"You could always turn back."

"Not on your life!" John said. "Forget it-but could you repeat the words again?"

The raven made a croaking sound. "Not very bright, are
you?" it said. "Very well." And the raven repeated the warning
as requested. Then without another word it flew ahead of them
and disappeared.

"What do you make of that?" John asked, a worried frown
creasing his forehead.

"I've no idea what the poem means. It sounds scary."

"Looks as though we're to pass a tower, and we're not to look
at it."

"Not to stare at it."

"Is there a difference?"

"I guess we won't be able to help seeing it. We just mustn't stop and stare at it just walk past quickly, I guess."

John chuckled. "We had to learn a poem at school-'Oh,
what is life if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare?' "

"Well, we'd best be careful. This is an enchanted area. Shagah is out to get us. I suppose there's something magic about the
tower. Don't forget, the sooner we can get through the forest,
the sooner-oh dear-we get to tackle Shagah. And once we've
done that we get to go home."

As they rounded the next turn they saw the path led to a
bridge over a stream. As they came to the bridge they caught
sight of the tower beyond the stream. It lay to the left of the
pathway they were to follow. It was tall and circular, built of
smooth pinkish-brown stones and crowned with a domed and
leaded roof. They could see no door and only one windowjust below the roof.

"There's a rope coming from the window!" John said.

"It's not rope-it's hair, long, long braided hair," Eleanor
cried breathlessly. "But we shouldn't be looking."

They turned their heads to one side. "Do you think it could
be..."

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down thy hair!" John laughed. He
glanced once again at the tower and stared at the rope of
golden hair. "You know, anything could happen here. I bet it
is Rapunzel's tower."

They crossed the bridge and stared once again at the tower.
."
Slowly they walked toward it. "Just so long as we don't go in. .
Eleanor said.

"There isn't really a Rapunzel. It's just a fairy tale. But I
wonder what the tower is all about," John mused.

"I ... I don't know." Eleanor sounded guilty, and for a few
moments they remained standing and staring.

"You know there's something strong about the way it goes
straight up. The tower, I mean. It's sort of powerful and commanding." His voice shook with excitement, and Eleanor turned to look at him, wondering at the change in him. His face
was flushed.

He began to hurry toward the tower, and Eleanor followed.
In fact there seemed to be a bit of competition between them
to see who could get there first. Eleanor's cautious words were
contradicted by her haste. "Power isn't always good," Eleanor
said, still hurrying forward. "Remember the Kaiser and the
Great War."

They arrived at the tower neck and neck, and found themselves standing close to the wall, staring at the golden hair. John
longed to touch it. Eleanor was uneasy. "We'd better go. We've
really spent enough time here. Let's go."

"I just want to give a tug at the hair to see what happens."

"Don't, John. Please don't. Remember what nearly happened
at the pool of Taavath-Basar!"

A strange and reckless excitement had gripped John. His
heart was pounding and he was trembling a little. But his eyes
were shining. "We broke the power of the spell at TaavathBasar. We can break it here too." He extended his hands.

"John, please. I'm scared. We shouldn't even have looked."

"Just one tug!"

"No, John-no!" Eleanor flung her arms round his waist and
began to pull. But she was too late. John had seized the rope
in both hands firmly, and as he did so it seemed as though his
hands became glued to it. It rose swiftly, pulling them both
upward and toward the window above, John attached to the
rope, and Eleanor whose grip on John's waist had slipped,
clinging grimly with both hands to his sword-belt. They caught
a terrifying glimpse of the ground falling away beneath their
feet and felt that their arms were being torn out of their sockets.
A moment later they had been dragged roughly over the window ledge from which the hair had descended, and had fallen
in a tangled heap on a wooden floor. They disentangled and
picked themselves up, appalled at what they had done.

They struggled to their feet. Instantly they were aware of
someone beside themselves in the circular room. Lying on a
bed, apparently fast asleep, was a beautiful young girl. The
plaited hair was hers. It was hooked around the head of the
bed. Above the girl's bed were the words: "By gazelles and by
does I charge you, daughters of Jerusalem, do not awaken love
before her time!"

"Gosh-isn't she beautiful!" John breathed.

"Oh, I don't know-not really," Eleanor replied. But the face
was changing. Slowly it was becoming more familiar. For nearly
two minutes they watched the slow transformation, too gripped
to move. "It's-it's you! It's you!" John breathed in wonder.

Eleanor seized John's arm. Her voice was shaky and uneven.
"Let's get out of here. I'm scared. Let's get away before anything
awful happens!" Even as she spoke the bed with her image of
it slowly faded from view and was gone.

John strode to the window and stared down. The rope of
braided hair had disappeared with its owner. He glanced round
the room. "There's no door," he said. "We'll have to get down
from here somehow."

"I feel like someone ... I feel like Shagah is right here
watching us," Eleanor quivered.

"Eleanor, listen. We've got to get out of here-"

"It was Shagah, you know. He's laughing."

John went again to the window. He looked round the roomwhich was bare of furniture. People in books used sheets to
climb out of windows. They knotted them together and tied the
sheets to a bed rail. John thought of his cloak and his shirt, but
the drop below the window was at least a hundred feet. Frustrated and helpless, he rummaged through his pockets, and his
fingers encountered the Mashal Stone. His face flushed. How
could he have forgotten the precious thing? What wonderful
feelings it gave him! In his haste he dropped it, indeed so hard
did he tug to get it out of his pocket, that it landed some dis tance away on the floor. But as they turned to look for it, they
saw an old man standing at the foot of the bed. He was wearing
a velvet skull cap and had a long black robe lined with crimson,
a robe that hid everything except his face and hands. There was
an expression of delight on his wrinkled face but his eyes were
cold.