Gaal the Conqueror (34 page)

But now John stared at Gaal's body. He felt tense and anxious, yet at the same time dreamy and out of touch with reality.
Was it all real? Too much had happened for his emotions to
catch up with events. Without thinking he carefully straightened the body so that it lay on its back.

"Here, raise his head for me," John murmured as he removed and rolled up his blue woolen cloak. Eleanor hesitated
for a second, then bit her lip and obeyed. Carefully John inserted the woolen bundle beneath the head, and Eleanor lowered it gently.

Eleanor was crying. With trembling fingers she began to tidy
the strands of hair that had fallen about his face. "I wish we
could wash the blood off him," she said softly.

"I don't know where we'd get water."

For the first time John noticed the keys that hung from Gaal's
belt. "Eleanor, look! I never saw those keys before. They're just
like-"

"-like the ones Lord Lunacy wears-the Keys of Torment
and Death. Lord Lunacy's were made of iron, just like these."

"I wonder what it means."

Eleanor shrugged and turned to Pontificater. She reached
out a hand and cautiously began to stroke the flying horse's
nose. "You look terrific," she said softly. "I'm so glad it-it happened like this." But their main thoughts were for Gaal.
Later they would spend a great deal of time talking with Pontificater about his remarkable change.

John stood and looked at the multitude. "What will the crowd
do, I wonder?" People and matmon began to swarm slowly
toward the altar, their necks craning upward in an attempt to
see what was happening.

Eleanor looked up, her hands still busy with Gaal's face.
"They're different," she said. "They're not moving like they
were." Gone were the lackluster movements and the vacant
stares. Before long a densely packed mob had surrounded
them.

"I hope they don't get the idea of coming up here," John
muttered. "What do they want?"

"They won't come any nearer," Eleanor said. "The altar is
supposed to be sacred. The widow Illith told me that if you can
be on the altar and not die you must be a god-at least that's
what everyone believes here."

John smiled. "So we get to be gods, do we? But how come the
matmon got up here."

"They're supposed to be gods too-leastways the red-haired
ones."

"Huh-some gods!"

The menacing crowd had stopped twenty yards from the
altar, leaving a circle of empty space where no one was inclined
to tread. There was a certain amount of shoving and pushing.
"Who are you?" a man called out.

"We are the servants of Gaal!"John replied. Pontificater, who
had been lying got to his feet behind John, and at the sight of
him the first rank of the crowd began to press back against the
people behind them.

"How did we get here?" another voice called. And with that
there arose a perfect hubbub of anxious shouts. "What are we
doing here?" "Did you bring us?" "Where are we?" "Why are we here?" "Are you in charge of us?" "You're only children. Are
you children of the gods?"

John and Eleanor stared at each other. A look of dawning
wonder appeared on their faces. After a few moments Eleanor
drew in a deep breath. "My name is Eleanor, and this is John.
We come from a world that's a long way away-another world
that's different from this-and John is the Sword Bearer." A low
murmur rippled through the crowd like a wave, and Eleanor
continued, "You have been under enchantment. An evil being,
Lord Lunacy enslaved you and brought you here."

"It is a lie! A monstrous lie! Don't listen to her!"

John saw the same red-haired matmon that had been watching him earlier, the one who eventually set out in pursuit of
him, pushing his way to the front of the crowd. Angrily John
shished the Sword of Geburah from its scabbard, and held it
high. A throbbing blue light broke over the heads of the crowd,
illuminating their faces. The red-haired matmon stopped almost as though the light had frozen him, his face a mask of
terror. "Let any who dare contest our words beware!" John
called out, wondering where the words were coming from.
"Him shall the Sword of Geburah devour! And let the inhabitants of Bamah know that Gaal the Shepherd, Son of the High
Emperor has set them free from the evil enchantments of Lunacy!"

For a moment there was silence. Then again from the crowd
came a hubbub of voices saying things like, "Bamah! We are
in Bamah!" "I am from Merodach-how did I get to Bamah?"
"Bamah? How can it be? Only yesterday I was in-or so it
seems!"

Again John cried out, his voice ringing powerfully over the
heads of the crowd. And again he wondered how he could dare
to utter the words that flowed so effortlessly from his lips. "You
were brought here by the Enchantment of Fear, and Gaal by
his death has set you free. Beware lest a worse fate befall you! Return to the places from whence you came. Tomorrow as
dawn breaks this city of Bamah will be destroyed by an earthquake. Only the temple and the circle of stones will be left
standing."

"It is also a lie!" the matmon cried. "There will be no earthquake!" And though his voice trembled a little, he stood defiantly in the front row of the crowd, his pale face lifted up to
John's. "You are a deceiver-you who call yourself the Sword
Bearer!"

John strode to the stairway and began to hurry down the altar
steps. At least his legs did the hurrying, but his mind had nothing to do with it. "What on earth am I doing? Why did I talk
like that and say those things? What's happening to me? It must
be the sword. I hope I'm not going to have to fight him-" Yet
his feet hurried him downward, indifferent to his misgivings.

Once at the bottom of the steps he strode, still with an apparent confidence he was far from feeling, toward the defiant
matmon who now stood a pace or two in front of the crowd like
a pathetic little island cast away from the shore of the people.
Pathetic indeed, for John could see as he approached him, the
point of the Sword of Geburah leveled at the matmon's throat,
that the matmon trembled.

Nevertheless his head was held high. "Kill me if you must.
I know it will be useless for me to fight with you, but bow to
you I never shall!"

Again John found himself saying things he had never
planned to say. "I demand no homage for myself. Gaal is your
true Lord and will rise again from the dead. To him you will
bow."

The matmon's voice was hoarse and tremulous. "Lord Lunacy is my true Lord. I have sworn him fealty."

"Lunacy is madness and Lunacy has deceived you. He has
used you as a dupe and will put you to death when he has
finished with you. What is your name?"

The matmon hesitated. A subtle change seemed to take place
in him. Then he said, "Billingrath, my lord, Captain of the
Guard of the Circle of Light."

"Have you wife and children, Billingrath?"

The bearded face flushed. "A good wife and three young
ones, my lord." He paused. "My lord, I have seen wondrous
things this day. There is much I do not understand. What
makes you say I am deceived?"

"Did the Lord Lunacy tell you what the issue of today's battle
would be?"

"He said there would be no battle."

"Nevertheless, there was a battle. There was also a victor.
Who was it?"

The matmon hesitated. "Your Gaal is dead," he said.

"Yet who was the victor? Who tore the horns from the head
of the bull? And which of the two slunk away in shame?"

Again there was a pause. Then quietly and dully the matmon
replied, "Your Gaal was the real victor. Dead or alive he bore
himself nobly, and he won truly. Would that he lived still."

"Then the Lord Lunacy lied to you?"

Again there was a long pause while John waited. At last, his
head hanging low, the matmon said, "You are right, my lord.
He lied to me."

"Yet you trust everything else he told you?"

The matmon still hung his head. "Do not delay, my lord. Put
me to the sword now."

John sheathed his sword. With a stern and set face he said,
"For your children's sakes and in the name of Gaal the merciful
I will spare you. Only see that no further ill-considered word
fall from your lips."

Turning to the crowd he raised his voice and cried, "Do not
delay! An earthquake is coming. This city is to be destroyed!"

No one moved and once again John, still marveling at his
strange way of speaking cried, "Do you fail to understand? The city is to be destroyed! Leave at once!" Slowly the people began
to withdraw, talking to one another in astonished tones.

He turned and made his way toward the altar steps again,
and as he did so he heard the matmon cry, "Earlier I planned
to kill you. Yet you showed me mercy."

John turned and saw that in spite of what he had said Billingrath was kneeling on one knee. The matmon surveyed him
with an indecipherable expression on his face. "You say this
Gaal will rise from the dead?"

A wild doubt filled John's mind. Gaal had said he would
conquer death. And John himself had just finished saying that
he would rise. Would he? Nevertheless, he nodded and said,
"He will rise."

"You will stay with his body until he does?"

John had not even thought about it. Once again he found
himself saying things that seemed daring and strange. "Yes," he
said quietly. "Would you join us while we watch?"

"I am not worthy of such an invitation."

"It is true," John said. Billingrath's face suddenly fell. But
John continued, "None are worthy to follow Gaal. But he makes
those who follow him new. And that is what I sense in you.
Come, watch with us." With growing gratitude, Billingrath took
John's hand and the two ascended the altar together.

John and Eleanor sat together, craning their necks to stare
unhappily at the vultures that circled high in the late afternoon
sky above them. Eleanor whispered, "Who told you about the
earthquake?"

They had their backs to Billingrath and Pontificater who sat
watching Gaal as, speaking very quietly, they were making each
other's acquaintance. "Nobody told me," John said. "It just
came out of my mouth. I don't know why I said it-it came
through my mind with a rush almost faster than I could catch
it, but it sort of made sense. I mean-I knew it was right."

"Are you sure?"

He paused. "Well, no-now that you ask me, not really. And
yet in a way I am. Only-I mean, when I start to think about
it logically it seems crazy. I kept on saying things like that-all
the time the sword was in my hand."

"Mebbe you're going be a prophet like Mab was."

John shook his head. "Oh, that's crazy."

Pontificater was giving Billingrath an account of how he had
been changed from a dragon to a giant flying horse. "... and
as I perched up there on the temple roof it all began to come
back to me. I had forgotten about it dreamed
about it-you know how these Freudian mechanisms work."
There was a blank expression on Billingrath's face and Pontificater continued, his voice softening, "I had not been born a
dragon but a white foal of a white mare, in a meadow far from
here. I knew that there was something about one of the sorcerers that seemed familiar. It was enchantment. I was a dragon
because of a spell."

"So that was it," Eleanor whispered to John. "Remember?
That dream he kept having about the white mare!"

From the temple there was no sign of activity. Silence had
blanketed the area. Even the vultures failed to destroy the tranquility.

"And Gaal?" Eleanor said. "Will he really come back to life?"

John shrugged his shoulders. "He said he would. But who
knows?"

Eleanor's face was pale and drawn. Tears slowly filled her
eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She made no attempt to hide
them or to wipe them away, and after a few moments she said,
"He was kind to me. He made me feel like I was somebodysomebody and worthwhile. My dad-I mean some of the things
he did to me-made me feel cheap and dirty. I've never told
anyone an' I never will. Gaal just seemed to know. I thought
it had been all my fault-but when I met Gaal. . ."