Gaal the Conqueror (36 page)

"It's the treasures!" Eleanor breathed.

"And you may now return the key to join the book and the
orb."

"The key? Oh, you mean the key!" John said, flushing as he
took it from his pocket and returned it to the leather bag.

"I appoint Authentio the bearer of the treasures. He will
accompany you to the Tower of Geburah where you will do
battle with Shagah. Leave the treasure on the oaken table in the
upper room-the room you once thought of as the Garden
Room, John. Beneath the table you will deposit your sword in
its scabbard. You will have no further use for it. When you have
hung Shagah's picture in the room below the Garden Room,
you will have defeated him."

John looked uncertain. "How will we find Shagah?"

"You will proceed to the temple, and take the adventure that
comes to you. But I have my own business to attend to in the
caves of Aphela and the Well of the Stillness of Death. These
keys you see," indicating those on his belt, "have yet to lock
some doors and open others. But for you it is time to go."

John longed to ask more questions, but something about the
firmness with which Gaal spoke, sealed his lips.

Saying this, Gaal mounted Pontificater and soared into the air
and out of sight. John, Eleanor and Authentio looked at each
other a moment and then, without a word, as if they had all
read each other's thoughts, began to move toward the temple.

Once inside they stared in awe. "I guess this is it," John
breathed, "and I mean it. Shagah. Can't say I look forward to
it."

"It's huge!" Eleanor whispered, referring not to Shagah, but
to their surroundings.

"In my dream-the dream I had that night in the cave with
Ponty-I couldn't find my way out of it," John whispered back.
"But why are we whispering?"

"It's this place," replied Eleanor, still in a whisper. "It's the
sort of place where you have to. It's the size of it, I think-like
churches or the legislative building in Winnipeg or museums"

Authentio spoke for the first time. "What is the staircase, my
lord?"

"The staircase?" John said softly, frowning in bewilderment,
"It wasn't there in my dream."

The staircase was certainly remarkable-if it could be called
a staircase. What looked like barely visible plates of crystal
seemed to float one above the other to form a spiral stairway
winding up toward the vaulted ceiling far above them. The
steps were totally unsupported, each apparently resting on an
invisible cushion of air. It was a stairway invisible to all eyes
except those with special powers to see (which the treasure
seemed to impart to them all) and that could be trodden on or
felt only by those who saw it.

"Let's see if we can climb it," John suggested. "Maybe it will
lead us to Shagah."

"It doesn't look very safe, my lord."

John glanced sideways at Authentio. Their relationship
seemed subtly to have changed. On the journey across the
plateau Authentio had been the unquestioned leader. Now the
young man seemed at a loss. John glanced at the stairway again.
"Well, we can at least test it," he said.

After their experience at crossing the chasm, John and Eleanor might have been expected to avoid heights, but something,
perhaps the knowledge that Gaal had conquered death,
seemed to have warmed their hearts, giving them more than
their share of courage. John tried the first step. "It's incredible!
It's as steady as a rock. Try it!" First Eleanor then Authentio did
so, finding his words true. "Come on! Let's see where it takes
us to."

To keep their balance they needed to proceed slowly. Almost
invisible steps added to the problem, making them a little giddy.
The higher they climbed, the more unpleasant it was to look
down.

"Do you think there's any point in going on?" Eleanor asked, when the ground began to look terrifyingly distant. "As far as
I can see the steps just stop near the ceiling. They don't seem
to go anywhere."

They stopped to peer upward.

"What she says is true, my lord."

"Yeah. You're right. But let's go just a bit farther."

"Why?" Eleanor asked.

"Well, obviously they're magical sort of steps, and presumably
they have a purpose."

"Perhaps a sinister purpose."

"I suppose. But Gaal told us to take the adventure that came
to us. I think this must be what he meant."

In the end they proceeded to the very last stair, almost at the
apex of a vaulted ceiling. They stared at the step without stepping on it. Around them the dim and intricately carved arches
of the ceiling seemed ready to swallow them. "Well, we might
as well-" John said, and placed his right foot on the last step.
Instantly the scene changed.

All three of them were inside a room. In some mysterious
fashion they had passed through a door without ever seeing it.
Shelves lined the walls bearing old, leather-bound volumes and
scrolls of yellow vellum. A long wooden table, dark, heavy and
intricately carved, filled the center of the room. Chairs of
carved black wood surrounded the table. A carpet covered the
floor, wonderfully woven in brilliant colors, bearing a design of
what seemed like Arabic letters and stars. The carvings on the
chairs and table seemed to repeat the designs.

Lying on the table face up was a picture in a gold frame. At
least it looked like a picture, but they stared in bewilderment
at it when they drew closer. "It's not finished, obviously," John
said.

"Then why is it already framed?" Eleanor asked. "That frame
is valuable. It's-it's not gilt-it's like beaten gold-over wood
or something. And the canvas has been stretched. That's what the lady does who comes every summer to the lake to paint."

Authentio looked grave. "There is magic in it, my lord. It is
exceedingly powerful magic. I can sense it." He turned the
picture over and saw that it had a chain with which to hang it.

"But who would ever want a picture with nothing on it but
dark gray paint?" John asked.

Eleanor shook her head. "Beats me," she said.

Slowly they circled the room, looking at the bookshelves and
pulling down some of the leather-bound volumes. The books
were impossible to read, for the language and the letters were
strange. Some of the pictures were frightening. "They're books
of spells and magic, my lord," Authentio murmured. "If this
should be the library of Shagah the sorcerer, the books represent the secrets of his power."

John drew down a volume and blew the dust from the top
of it. Them as he opened it he gave a cry, half of fear and half
of wonder. A man six inches tall, a miracle of miniature perfection, rose out of the pages to face them.

"Dad! Dad!" John was almost screaming.

The little image of Ian McNab seemed not to hear. He was
wrapped in the darkness of a winter night and seemed to be
pacing to and fro across a miniature patch of snow, breathing
frostily and flapping his arms around his body for warmth.
Eleanor and John were transfixed.

"That's just how he was when ... you know, I think that's
how he is now-I believe we're actually seeing Black Sturgeon
Lake-Oh, Dad, Dad!"

There was the sound of a heavy step at the door of the room,
and as they looked up the volume snapped shut and replaced
itself on the shelf. At the same time they found themselves
moved instantly (by powers they later concluded must have
resided in the treasures) to a place of hiding beneath the table.
Instantly, the door-the very door through which they themselves had passed moments before without realizing they had done so-opened, to admit the man they dreaded, Shagah.

They could not see him, but guessed with uncanny accuracy
that it was he. Only Eleanor caught a glimpse of the black robes
as he stepped past the table. John held his breath, hoping
against hope that the wooden chairs surrounding the table
would cover their presence. They had not chosen to get under
the table, and they would look ridiculous if Shagah were to find
them there. With swift strides Shagah passed on the far side of
the table along the length of the room, opened a door at the
far end of the room and passed beyond, leaving the door partly
open.

"He never saw us," Eleanor whispered.

"This is the most extraordinary adventure I have ever
known," Authentio whispered back. "How great is Lord Gaal!"

John was thinking hard. "Let's wait here a bit. I've a feeling
we're supposed to be here somehow."

From the far room came the sound of voices, two of them.
One was warm and deep, and the other was one John also
recognized. "Lord Lunacy!" he breathed. "Shhh!"

Soon they began to worm their way carefully between the
chairs to emerge from the table's shelter and to creep in silence
to the door. John was the first to look through. A throne occupied the center of the room facing the far wall. It was illuminated, as was the rest of the room, by a large skylight above it.
He could tell from the sorcerer's white hair and black velvet
skull cap that it was he who occupied the throne. Beyond the
throne, and rearing up to look down at him, he could discern
the enormous head of a red serpent, a head that was at least
twice the size of the throne, that bore open wounds. The serpent seemed only partly present. At times John could see
through it.

But he saw something else, and as he saw it his heart lifted.
Immediately beside the door opening, and to his right, a tall
and ornate carved screen provided a hiding place behind which they could listen to, perhaps even observe what took
place. He beckoned to the others to follow. In seconds they had
squatted silently with him, peering through the holes in the
carved screen at the strange scene before them.

"So you believe the Sword Bearer may be dead," the serpent
said, staring down at the sorcerer. A sensation like an electric
shock went through John's body.

"You thought you sensed him in the temple, I know. But
there has been no sign of him-or of either the dragon or the
girl-since the incident with Pan."

Eleanor squeezed John's hand silently.