The Eyes Of A King Part 15

I managed to get her to go, with Stirling's help. She could see that he was better, at least today, and it would take me two minutes at most to run to the church to get her. I was sitting on Stirling's bed after she and Maria had gone when he said suddenly, "Leo, where are you?" I had forgotten that he could not see.

"I don't know," I said. I wondered afterward why I said it, but at the time I could not help it.

"What?" There was real fear in his voice, and it brought me back. "Leo?"

I put my hand in his. "I am here. I am here, Stirling."

"I can't see. You scared me. What did you mean? I thought I was dying."

"No, you are safe."

He clung on to my hands. "Keep talking," he said into the silence, "so that I know you are there."

"I'll stay here."

"Keep talking. I get afraid, otherwise, in the dark all alone." There was panic rising in his voice. "Keep talking. I don't like the silence."

But suddenly I could not. "It's hard to talk when you are commanded to," I told him.

"Say anything. Tell me a story. Like when we were small."

I tried. But I must have forgotten how, because they kept sticking after the first line. I had not the imagination I used to have. "I can't make up stories anymore," I told him eventually. "I'm sorry." I rubbed my head. It was aching again. "I suppose I could read to you."

There was no newspaper; Grandmother had not gone to get it and I had forgotten to. "What about The Golden Reign The Golden Reign?" I said. "That is all we have. Or the Bible, which I'll guess you know by heart anyway."

"No, I don't." He did not notice the intended joke. "Read me The Golden Reign. The Golden Reign."

I let his hand go and he left it stretched out, as if he wanted to keep the smallest possible distance between us. "I am still here," I said. "I'm just going to get it. I'm walking over to my bed; it is under my bed." I walked heavily so that he could hear that I had not left the room. "I'll be back in a second." I bent down to get it, wondering if the pages of dry information would really draw his mind away from the fear. The Golden Reign The Golden Reign was a history book, except for a couple of chapters. "It's not that interesting, though, Stirling," I said. Then I thought of the other book-the one that I had found, with the strange writing. was a history book, except for a couple of chapters. "It's not that interesting, though, Stirling," I said. Then I thought of the other book-the one that I had found, with the strange writing.

"Stirling?" I said. "Why don't I read you that other thing I told you about-the story that appeared in the book I found?"

"Yes," he said after a moment. "That is a good idea. I want to hear that too."

"Perhaps you will be able to make something of what it says."

"I hope so. Yes, read me that."

I got the book out of the windowsill chest and went and sat back down on Stirling's bed. But when I opened it, I saw at once. "There's more writing in it!" I told him.

"Really? Lots more writing?"

"A few pages. And there is a gap before it. The writer leaves gaps between the writing. I don't know why."

"Will you read it?" said Stirling. "Start from the beginning."

"All right." I turned to the first page and began. Stirling lay still, listening carefully, his hand on my knee.

Somehow reading it out loud made it seem less real, as if it truly was just a fairy story after all. But when I paused after the first section, Stirling said, "That was about the Liberation, wasn't it? I told you they didn't kill the prince."

The story was working as a distraction; he had forgotten his fright and was becoming involved with it. "I know this makes sense," he said, seemingly frustrated, after I had read the second section. "I know it makes sense, but I can't work it out. My brain won't work."

"Don't worry," I said. "It's because you are ill. Just listen."

It took a surprisingly short amount of time to finish reading the rest, to say how long I had spent thinking about it. "The man must be Aldebaran," said Stirling when I had finished. "He sounds like he is trained in magic, and they said the country was England-lots of times they said it. I think he really is Aldebaran."

"I think so too."

"But why was he writing to Talitha?" said Stirling.

"I don't know. Perhaps she tricked him. She tricked some people. She was on both sides-openly working for the king and secretly leading the revolution. It was only after Lucien took power that everyone knew."

Stirling frowned. "But Aldebaran is a very great man."

"Talitha is powerful too-maybe more so."

He seemed to be thinking. I was impatient to read on, but I waited. "So that's what happened with Great-uncle Harold," said Stirling. "He went to England and had a wife and children there."

I nodded. Grandmother rarely talked about him. Even less than she talked about Aldebaran. "That must be what happened," I said. "All I knew was that he disappeared for years and then came back."

"Then we have relatives there," said Stirling. "Think of that! English relatives."

"I suppose we do," I said. "That is the strange thing. If the man is Aldebaran, then this is a story about our family. Who would write a story about our family?"

"When did this happen?" said Stirling.

"Ten years ago. The date in the letter is just before the Liberation."

"And when did Great-uncle Harold die?"

"I don't know. Long before I was born."

"And when was Aldebaran exiled?"

"When I was a baby."

"This story is too confusing," said Stirling. "It must be true."

I laughed. He laughed too, and when he did, he started coughing like an old man. The sound of it frightened me. "Stirling," I said. "Stirling, are you all right?"

He nodded and tried to smile. "Read on," he told me.

The next section startled me. The butler was lighting the fire and preparing to tell the old man a story. It was the same as what I had dreamed the night before. I hesitated and thought of telling Stirling that. And then I changed my mind. I did not want to frighten him just when he seemed to have grown calmer.

"The butler must must be Aldebaran," said Stirling. "The things he said about the secret service. Don't stop, Leo. We might find out." be Aldebaran," said Stirling. "The things he said about the secret service. Don't stop, Leo. We might find out."

There were more blank pages and then the writing began again. I turned them over and read on.

"I could tell you a thousand stories about my life," began the butler. "For the first few years it was ordinary enough. My parents were farmers on Holy Island, off the west coast of Malonia. I grew up working on the land. There were three of us-me, the eldest; my sister, Margaret, who is five years younger than me; and then our baby brother, Harold. In the daytime I would be out in the fields; in the evenings Margaret and I would sit in front of the fire with the baby, singing to him and telling him stories. I was just another boy, a farmer's son, except for one thing: I was born with powers." could tell you a thousand stories about my life," began the butler. "For the first few years it was ordinary enough. My parents were farmers on Holy Island, off the west coast of Malonia. I grew up working on the land. There were three of us-me, the eldest; my sister, Margaret, who is five years younger than me; and then our baby brother, Harold. In the daytime I would be out in the fields; in the evenings Margaret and I would sit in front of the fire with the baby, singing to him and telling him stories. I was just another boy, a farmer's son, except for one thing: I was born with powers."

"With what?" said Raymond. "And where is Malonia?"

"Just listen," said the butler. "There is no time to argue."

Raymond, startled by the butler's tone, fell silent again. "I was discovered by the great Sheratan when I was thirteen years old," the butler continued. "And from then on my life has never been ordinary. Sheratan took me as his apprentice. I became a tough man, trained with torture and exertion. I was very skilled by the end. And when I was still young, I was offered a place in the secret service."

There was a silence. "All this is true," the butler said then. "I have not always told you the truth, sir, but all this I tell you now is true."

"What did you say this fellow did?" demanded Raymond. "This man who trained you. And what do you mean by powers?"

The butler folded his arms. "Sheratan was a great one-that is what we call them in my country. And by powers I mean the ability to perform superhuman feats. Great willpower; great strength of mind. We call it magic, although that does not mean the same thing in my country as it does in yours. We call it magic for want of a better word."

Raymond stared at the butler, then began to laugh. "Is this a joke of yours?" he said. "Making me swear not to tell a soul and then spinning some ridiculous story? I must say, you took me in for a minute."

"Sir, what I am telling you is the truth."

Raymond went on laughing. "But, Field-"

"There is no time for this," the butler said suddenly. "I am telling you the truth. There is no time to argue about it."

"Explain what you mean, then," said Raymond, suddenly uneasy. "Tell me what magic means in your country. You mean that you learned witchcraft, casting spells and suchlike? I can't believe that. It's a fairy tale, Field."

"The great ones do not cast spells," said the butler. "There are no magic spells; there is only willpower. You can do anything you want if you have enough strength of mind."

"Magicians cast spells, in all the stories," said Raymond.

"Call them magicians if you like," said Aldebaran. "Those with powers do what appears to be magic. Impossible, superhuman feats. But everyone has willpower."

"So anyone can do magic? Is that what you are saying?"

"Not anyone. There is a sort of spirit required. It is hard to explain."

"Try," said Raymond. "If you are going to tell me this story, Field, I will have to understand."

"Very well. Suppose someone has willpower, and a talent for music, and good training. That person might become a musician. With a great one it is the same. Different people have the spirit-or talent-to do different things. The spirit of a magician is an absolute belief that when you apply the force of your mind to something, it will obey. You believe it is possible to do what other people would think impossible. You do not lose your nerve."

"So why are there no real magicians here in England? If that was true, there would be."

"There are. You just do not see them. There are people in England with the right traits to train in magic, even if they do not have the training itself."

"So nothing is really magic?" said Raymond. "It is just willpower."

"You could say that. Or you could say everything is magic. I'll tell you what is magic, though: what is magic is the human spirit. It is what gives us the power to do great things. I prefer to say that everything is magic."

"Perhaps you are right, Field."

"It is just what I think."

The fire shifted in the grate and the old man started. The butler got up and turned the coals over. It was summer, but the old house was still cold at nights, and the butler always lit the fires. Raymond watched the back of his head, frowning. "Field?" he said then. "If you really had powers, as you say, you would be able to prove it. You could show me a trick."

The butler placed a coal in the closest flame. "I don't want to give you another heart attack, sir."

Raymond smiled. "I see."

"I can do it if I want to; do not mistake my meaning."

"Then do one of these impossible feats, Field, if you can."

"Are you challenging me?" said Aldebaran.

"Yes." Raymond laughed. "Yes, I am."

The butler turned and stood up, brushing the coal dust off the knees of his trousers. "What would you have me do?"

Raymond glanced out at the clear sunset over the lake. "Start a thunderstorm."

"I am too tired for that. Think of something smaller."

"Why not the thunderstorm?" said Raymond. "Can't you just say a word and wave your hand?"

"No," said the butler. "You have to be careful. Talitha, the head of the secret service, is the greatest magician in my country, but there are things that even she could not do. She tried once to create a permanent doorway into England. It had never been attempted before, but she thought she could do it. It was too much. She nearly died."

"Field ...," Raymond said. "Fascinating as this is ..."

"I still have not shown you any magic." The butler sat down again. "So what shall I do?"

"Make that book on the table there lift into the air."

"Very well, sir." The butler frowned at the book and it lifted.

It did not look magic; there was nothing special about it except that it was defying gravity-no aura of light about it, no puff of smoke, no sudden bang. Raymond had to look at it twice to see that there was anything different, and then realized that it was several inches above the table. He leaned over and pa.s.sed his hand under the book. It did not fall.

"You are not impressed," said the butler with a faint smile, letting the book drop back to the table.

"Doubtful," Raymond muttered, staring at Field. "But this is a very elaborate setup, if it is one. That gave me quite a turn." He pressed his hand to his heart; it was suddenly beating fast.

"Sit still for a moment sir, and you will feel better."

Raymond went on staring at the butler. "Do you know how strange it is when you suddenly realize that nothing is like it used to be?"

"Everything is exactly what it used to be," said the butler. "Only you did not know before what it was." He laughed. "That was an obvious trick. You could have asked me to do anything at all. It is not even my area of expertise, manipulation of forces."

"What is your area?" said Raymond weakly.

"Prophecy," said the butler. "Even when I was a young boy, the future would come to me in dreams. Once I predicted a storm that would have ruined our harvest. And when I was thirteen, I saw myself as a middle-aged man, tortured and banished. That came true, unfortunately. Everything I've ever predicted has."

"Predict the future, then," said Raymond. "Tell me what you see in my future." He thought for a moment. "Tell me the day I'm going to die."