Legacy Of The Darksword Part 10

This she didn't understand. I took out the electronic notepad and typed it in, showing the words to her. She read them, looked at me. I nodded, smiled, rea.s.suring. She smiled back, tentative, and then sighed.

"Things are going to change, aren't they, Reuven? Our life is going to change. His His life is going to change." Her gaze went again to her father. "And it's all my fault. I've longed for this day, prayed for it to come. I didn't realize . . . Oh, Papa, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" life is going to change." Her gaze went again to her father. "And it's all my fault. I've longed for this day, prayed for it to come. I didn't realize . . . Oh, Papa, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

Gathering her long skirts, she left me, running up the stairs with the long stride that matched Joram's. I could not have kept up with her if my life had depended on it. As it was, I was not disappointed to be left behind. I needed time to sort out my own thoughts. I trudged slowly and painfully after them.

Eliza caught up with her father. She twined her arm through his, rested her head on his shoulder. He folded her in a loving embrace, stroked and smoothed her black curls.

His arm around her, her arm around him, they continued up the stairs until they reached their living quarters, where they vanished from my sight.

I kept climbing, my strength sapped by the ache in my legs, the burning in my lungs and my heart. Below, I could hear the sheep, snug and safe in their barn, bleating contentedly as they settled down for the night. In the distance, the rumble of thunder- another storm ravaging the land below.

I wondered, then, what would happen to the sheep when we took Joram and hls family away from their home. Without their shepherd, they would die. family away from their home. Without their shepherd, they would die.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

The rounded k.n.o.b on the sword's hilt, combined with the long neck of the hilt itself, the handle's short, blunt arms, and the narrow body of the blade, turned the weapon into a grim parody of a human being.

FORGING THE DARKSWORD.

It occurred to me that I would miss the reunion, the first meeting between my master and Joram, and that fear impelled me up the stairs at a much more rapid pace than I would have thought myself capable of. I was gasping for breath when I reached the top. Dusk was falling and the lights had been lit inside the dwelling place and so I was able to find their rooms, when most of the rest of the building was dark and deserted.

Entering a door nearest the lights, I made my way along a shadowy hall into what must have been, in the days of the Font's grandeur, the dortoir, where lived the young catalysts in training. I say this, because of the innumerable small rooms opening off the central corridor. In each room was a bed and desk and a washstand. The stone walls were chill, the rooms dusty and darkened by the sadness which comes to a place when the life that once filled it is withdrawn.

In this corridor, I lost sight of the lights of Joram's dwelling, but found them again when I entered a large, open room that had probably been a dining hall. I heard voices through a door to my left. I walked from darkness and chill to light and warmth. A kitchen, which had once fed several hundred, was now not only kitchen but the central living area for Joram and his family.

I could see easily why they chose it. An enormous stone fireplace provided heat and light. Twenty years before, when the Font had teemed with life, magi hired to work with the catalysts would have conjured up fire to cook the food and warm the body. Possessed of no magic whatsoever, Joram cut and hauled wood to the fireplace. The flames crackled and danced, smoke and sparks fled up the chimney. I reveled in the warmth. The air was growing cool outside, with the setting of the sun.

Saryon and Gwen sat near the fire. Gwen was pale and silent, staring into the flames. Occasionally she would shift her gaze to the back part of the room, in part expectation, part dread. Saryon, ill at ease, suddenly stood up and began roaming aimlessly about the room. Just as abruptly, he sat back down. Joram was not present and I feared he might refuse to see Saryon at all, which would have hurt my master terribly. Then Eliza entered at almost the same time I did, although from a door opposite.

"Papa bids you welcome, Father Saryon," she said, coming to stand before the catalyst, who rose to meet her. "Please sit down and be comfortable. Papa has gone to wash and change his clothes. He will join us shortly."

I was relieved and I think Saryon was, too, for he smiled and gave a deep sigh before resuming his chair. Gwen stirred, at this, and said we must be hungry and she would fix the evening meal. Though Eliza had done a very good job of attempting to wash away the traces, I saw that she had been crying.

She said she was certain I would like to wash up, which was true, and offered to show me the way. I crossed the room to join her. We were both being watched by the teddy bear with the orange ribbon around his neck, who was seated in a small chair that must have been specially made for a child. Just at the moment we were walking past, the bear gave a lurch and tumbled out of the chair, landing on his nose on the floor.

"Poor Teddy," Eliza said playfully. Picking up the bear, she dusted him off, kissed him on the top of his well-worn head, and settled him more comfortably in the chair. "Be a sweet Teddy," she admonished, still in her playful tone, "and you shall have bread and honey for your supper."

Glancing back at the bear, I saw Simkin smirk. Eliza led me into the sleeping quarters of the family, rooms which she told me had once belonged to the higher-ranking catalysts. These rooms were larger and much more comfortable than the narrow cells I had pa.s.sed. She took me to one at the end of the hallway.

"Here's where you will spend the night," she said, opening the door.

A fire burned on the small hearth. The bed was covered with clean, sweet-smelling sheets, scented with lavender. The floor was newly swept. My knapsack rested near the bed. On the night-stand was a jug of steaming water and a washbasin. Eliza told me, where to find the outbuildings.

"No need to hurry," she said. "Papa is bathing and taking his evening swim. He won't be ready for at least another half hour."

Like her mother, she was pale and preoccupied. The only time I'd seen her smile was when she was playing with Teddy and that smile had faded quickly. She was about to leave when I stopped her.

Since we had time, I typed on the notebook. Tell me more about Teddy. Tell me more about Teddy.

Her smile returned. "I told you how I found him in the old nursery. I took him everywhere with me-he went with Papa to tend the sheep, with Mama to work in the garden or wash the clothes.

"You're going to think this is silly." Her cheeks flushed faintly. "But I seem to remember Teddy telling me stories-all about faeries and giants, dragons and unicorns." She laughed self-consciously. "I suppose I must have made them up myself and told them to Teddy, though I Have the oddest impression that it was the other way around. What do you think?"

I don't remember what I responded. Something about lonely children having vivid imaginations. What could I say? It was not up to me to tell her the truth about Simkin!

She said that this must be true and started to leave, but paused, just before she shut the door. "Now that I recall them, some of those stories were quite horrible. Tales about d.u.c.h.esses sneezing their heads off and the heads landing in the soup and earls being buried alive by mistake and faerie queens who took men captive and used them as slaves. What a morbid little imp I must have been!"

Laughing again, she left me, shutting the door behind her.

Chaotic, treacherous, Simkin was quite capable of leading grown people to ruin just for the entertainment value. It shocked me to think that Joram and Gwen-Joram in particular, who knew what Simkin was-had allowed him to be the playmate of their child. Yet Simkin obviously had not harmed her and had provided her with pleasant-albeit strange-childhood memories.

And what would happen when we took Joram and his family back to Earth? Eliza would undoubtedly want to take along her "Teddy." The image of Simkin loosed upon Earth was appalling. I made a mental note to myself to discuss this with Saryon, who, worried and preoccupied himself, had probably not given this matter much thought.

I found the outbuildings-one for men and one for women- which must have dated back to the very early days of life in the Font. They were as clean as was possible, but being open-air, they made me consider that one of mankind's most wonderful achievements had been indoor plumbing.

Back in my room, I washed myself from the basin-envying Joram his swim-combed my hair, and changed my clothes, which smelled strongly of sheep. Dressed in clean blue jeans and a blue cable-knit sweater I'd purchased in Ireland and which was one of my favorites, I returned to the living quarters.

Eliza and her mother were busy in the kitchen. I offered my services and was put in charge of slicing loaves of freshly baked bread, which had been cooling on a rack. Eliza set out bowls of dried fruit and honeycombs filled with honey that tasted of clover. Gwen was stirring a pot of beans, cooked with mutton. I understood then that the sheep meant not only wool for their clothes, but meat for their table.

Saryon looked at me rather anxiously, when Gwen talked about the mutton, for I had been known, when younger, to express my disapproval of meat-eaters at the dinner tables of our hosts, usually over the prime rib. I smiled at him and shook my head, and even accepted the responsibility of tasting the beans, when Eliza offered them, to see if they were seasoned properly. I think they were bland. I don't remember. It was then, when she held the wooden spoon to my lips, that I realized I was falling in love with her.

At that moment Joram entered the room. I could not see him, from my angle in the kitchen, but I knew by the sight of Saryon's face, which had become as white as polished bone. Gwendolyn and Eliza exchanged glances-conspiratorial glances. It had been by their design that we three were in the back part of the kitchen, leaving Saryon and Joram in the living area alone.

Joram advanced in my view, and my heart sank, for he was every bit as grim and stoic and cold as I had seen him on the hillside. Saryon stood tall and straight, his hands at his sides. The two gazed at each other long minutes without moving or speaking. I don't know what I feared-that Joram would denounce his mentor and order him out of the house. I could envision this stern, proud man doing anything.

Eliza and Gwen clasped hands. My own hands grew chill and I was worried for Saryon, who had begun to sag and was looking very ill. I was going to go to him. I had already taken a step in that direction.

Joram reached out, clasped his arms around Saryon, and held him in a fast embrace.

"My boy," Saryon murmured brokenly, stroking the grown man on the back as perhaps the catalyst had once lovingly stroked the baby. "My dear boy! How good it is ... You and Gwen . . ." Saryon broke down completely.

Gwen was sobbing into her ap.r.o.n. Eliza stood watching, tears rolling unheeded down her cheeks, on her lips a sweet, sad smile. I had tears in my own eyes, and quickly dried them on the sleeve of my sweater.

Joram straightened. He was taller than my master now; Saryon having become stooped with the years. Joram placed his hands-brown and rough-on Saryon's shoulders and smiled briefly, darkly. "Welcome to our home, Father," he said, and his tone belied his affectionate gesture, for his voice was cool and shadowed. "Gwen and I are pleased that you have come to visit us."

He turned to her and his dark countenance lightened somewhat when his eyes fell upon her, as if the sun had broken through the clouds and was shining on his face. His tone to her softened.

"Our guests must be hungry. Is supper ready?"

Gwen hurriedly wiped her eyes on the tail end of her ap.r.o.n and replied, in a faint voice, that the table was laid and invited us to sit down. I was going to help serve, but Eliza said no, I was to sit with the other men.

Joram took his place at the head of the long plank table. He placed Saryon at his right hand. I sat down next to Saryon, on my master's right.

"I believe you have met Reuven," Saryon said mildly. "My a.s.sistant and scribe. Reuven wrote your story, Joram. At King Garald's behest, so that the people of Earth could understand our people. The books were very well received. You would like them, I think."

"I would like to read them!" said Eliza, placing the bowl of steaming beans on the table. She clasped her hands and stared at me in awe. "You write books! You didn't tell me. How splendid!" would like to read them!" said Eliza, placing the bowl of steaming beans on the table. She clasped her hands and stared at me in awe. "You write books! You didn't tell me. How splendid!"

My face was hot enough that we could have toasted the bread by holding it to my cheek. Joram said nothing. Gwen murmured something polite; I'm not sure what, I couldn't hear for the pounding of blood in my head and the confusion of my thoughts. Eliza was so beautiful. She was regarding me with respect and admiration.

Shipboard romance, I expostulated with myself sternly. You are in a strange and exotic location, meeting under unusual circ.u.mstances. Not only that, but I am the first man near her own age she has ever met. It would be completely wrong of me to take advantage of this situation. She would need a friend, in that brave new world to which she was going. I would be that friend and if, after she had met the hundreds of thousands of other young men who would be clamoring for her attention, she happened to still think well of me, I would be there for her. One more catalyst in the throng . . .

Saryon nudged me with his bony knee beneath the stone table. I came back to reality with a jolt, to find that Gwen and Eliza were taking their seats; Eliza sitting directly across from Saryon and Gwen across from her husband. As the women sat down Joram rose to his feet in respect. Saryon and I did the same. We all returned to our seats.

"Father," said Joram, "would you offer a prayer?" Saryon looked astonished, as well he might, for in the past Joram had never been at all religious. Indeed, he had once held a grudge against the Almin, blaming Him for the tragic circ.u.mstances of his life, when by rights the blame should have fallen on the greed and evil ambition of men.

We bowed our heads. I thought I heard a sn.i.g.g.e.r, coming from the vicinity of Teddy, but no one else seemed to hear anything.

"Almin," Saryon prayed, "bless and keep us in these dark and dangerous times. Help us to work together to defeat this dread enemy, who seeks to destroy and defile the glory of Your creation. Amen."

Eliza and Gwen murmured "Amen" in response. I said it myself, silently. Joram said nothing. Lifting his head, he sent a black look at Saryon that, if he had seen it, must have struck him to the heart. Fortunately, he did not. My master was studying Eliza, who sat across the table from him.

"You are very much like your grandmother, my dear," Saryon said to her. "The Empress of Merilon. She was said to be the most beautiful woman in Thimhallan. And she was, one of them." He turned his mild gaze to Gwen. "The other, of course, was your mother."

Gwendolyn and Eliza both flushed at the compliment and Eliza asked Saryon to tell her about the Empress, her grandmother.

"Papa never talks about the old days," Eliza said. "He says that they are gone and it is useless to think about them. I've read about Merilon and the rest in the books, but that isn't the same. Mother has told me some, but not much. . . ."

"Did she tell you about how she saved us from the Duuk-tsarith Duuk-tsarith when we first came to Merilon?" Saryon asked. when we first came to Merilon?" Saryon asked.

"No! Did you, Mama? Will you tell the story?"

Gwen smiled, but she, too, had seen the look her husband cast on Saryon. She said something to the effect that she was a poor storyteller and would leave that to the good father. Saryon launched into his tale. Eliza listened with rapt attention. Gwen stared at her plate, made only the barest pretense of eating. Joram ate his food in silence, looked at nothing and everything.

"Simkin changed himself into a tulip," Saryon was saying, bringing the story to its conclusion. "He planted himself in the bouquet your mother was carrying and urged her to tell the guards at the city gate that my young friends and I were all guests of her father's! And so they admitted us-who were in reality fugitives from the law-safely into Merilon. She told a lie, of course, but I believe that the Almin forgave her, for she acted out of love."

Saryon smiled benignly and gave a gentle nod toward Joram. Gwendolyn lifted her head, looked at her husband. He returned the look and again I saw the darkness, that seemed to hang over him perpetually, lift. The love that had been kindled that day still burned, its warmth surrounded us and blessed us.

"Mama! You were a heroine! How romantic. But tell me more about this Simkin," Eliza said, laughing.

At this, Saryon looked extremely discomfited. My glance went involuntarily to the stuffed bear, which seemed to be quivering with either antic.i.p.ation or suppressed laughter. Saryon opened his mouth. I'm not sure what he would have replied, but at that moment Joram, his face grim, shoved his plate back and rose to his feet.

"We've had enough stories for the night. You came here for a reason, or so I understand, Father. Come into the warming room and tell us. Leave the dishes, Gwen," he added. "Father Saryon has important work to do back on Earth. We don't want to prolong his visit unnecessarily. You and Reuven will be our guests tonight, of course."

"Thank you," said Saryon faintly.

"It will only take a moment to clear the table, Joram," Gwendolyn said nervously. "You and Father Saryon go into the warming room. Eliza and Reuven and I will-"

Her chill, trembling hands dropped a plate. It struck the stone floor and shattered.

All of us stood and stared at it in unhappy silence. Everyone in that room read its dread portent.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

The sword lay like a corpse at Saryon's feet, the personification of the catalyst's sin.

THE DARKSWORD.

Eliza brought a broom and swept up the remnants of the plate.

"Reuven and I will do the dishes, Mama," Eliza said in a low voice. "You stay with Papa."

Gwendolyn did not reply, but she nodded, and going to Joram, she put her arm around him, rested her head on his chest. He held her fast, bowed his dark head over her blond hair, and kissed her gently.

I cleared the table, carried the plates into the kitchen. Eliza tossed the broken plate into a bin, then filled a tub with hot water from a kettle that had been steaming on the hearth. She didn't look at me once, but kept her eyes on her work.

I guessed what she must be feeling: guilt, remorse. Prospero's daughter wanted to see this brave new world. She was certain in her own mind that this was why we had come-to take her back with us. She wanted to go, to see the wonders about which she had only read. Yet she realized, perhaps for the first time, how her going would grieve her parents. She would never leave them.

She won't have to. They will come with her. The knowledge cheered me.

Joram made certain that Saryon was settled comfortably near the fire, then sat down in what I must a.s.sume was his accustomed chair. Gwendolyn took her place in a chair beside Joram's, near enough that they could reach out and touch hands.

On tables beside each chair were several books and, near Gwen's chair, a basket holding b.a.l.l.s of yarn, hand-carved knitting needles, and another basket of mending. She reached, by habit, for one of these. Only when the basket was in her lap did she look at Father Saryon, and with a sigh, she put her work away and folded her hands together tightly.

No one said a word. We might have been a party of mutes, except that then the silence would have been alive, with thoughts flying from one to another, faces animated, eyes bright and speaking. Each person in that room stood behind a wall-a wall of time and distance, fear and mistrust and, in my master's case, deep sorrow.

Finishing the dishes, we joined the others. Eliza lit candles. I added another log to the fire. Eliza went to her own chair, near a table piled with books and another basket of handwork. There not being any more chairs, I retrieved one from the kitchen and placed it near my master.

Joram regarded Saryon with grim expectation, black brows drawn in a straight heavy line above his eyes, his expression stern and impregnable, a solid rock cliff, challenging Saryon to hurl himself against it.

Saryon had known this would not be easy. I don't believe he imagined it would be this hard. He drew in a breath, but before he could speak, Joram forestalled him.

"I want you to take a message to Prince Garald, Father," Joram said abruptly. "Tell him that his commands have been thwarted, the law broken. My family and I were to have been left alone and in peace on this world. That peace has been disturbed by a man named Smythe, who came seeking the Darksword. He dared to threaten my family. I threw him out with orders to never return. If he does come back, I take no responsibility for what might happen. That goes for anyone else seeking the Darksword as well."

This statement obviously included us and made Saryon's task no easier.

"I cannot think why they have come in the first place," Joram continued. "The Darksword was destroyed when the world was shattered. They are wasting their time searching for something that doesn't exist."

He was not lying, not outright. True, the original Darksword had been destroyed. But what about the new one, the one he had most recently made? Or did it truly exist? Perhaps the Duuk-tsarith Duuk-tsarith were mistaken. Saryon did not dare ask. To do so would be to admit that Joram was being spied upon and that would send him into a rage. were mistaken. Saryon did not dare ask. To do so would be to admit that Joram was being spied upon and that would send him into a rage.

My master had the look of a man about to go swimming in an icy lake. He knows that entering the water little by little will only prolong the agony and so he plunged straight in.

"Joram, Gwendolyn"-Saryon's compa.s.sionate gaze included them both-"my business here does not concern the Darksword. I am here to take you and your family back to Earth, where you will be safe."

"We are safe here," said Joram sternly, glowering, "or we would be if Garald would keep his word and enforce his law! Or does he want the Darksword, too? That's it, isn't it?" He bounded out of his chair, loomed over us threateningly. "That's "That's why you've come, Father!" why you've come, Father!"

I knew then, of course, that the reports were true. Joram had made another Darksword. He had as good as admitted it.