Grail pc-5 Page 10

  Squirming on his back, his face a hairbreadth from the hot metal, Peredur wormed under the bar and into the cage. Rolling onto his feet, he leapt to Llenlleawg's side and tried to revive him. Failing that, he seized the stricken Irishman by the arms and began dragging him to the gap.

  'Hurry!' growled Tallaght through clenched teeth. 'I am losing my grip!'

  Smoke stung our eyes and burned our nostrils, but we clung tight to the timbers as Peredur tugged the unconscious Llenlleawg to the shallow hole he had dug. Then, diving under the hot iron, he positioned himself flat on his stomach and reached back for Llenlleawg.

  'For God's sake,' groaned Tallaght, the cords in his neck bulging. 'Hurry! I cannot hold it!'

  'Stand firm, lad,' I told him sternly. 'It is almost finished.'

  'Agh!' Tallaght gasped, red-faced, his eyes shut against the strain. His shoulders were shaking.

  'Steady now,' I told him. 'Just a little longer.'

  Peredur, meanwhile, had succeeded in pulling the Irish champion halfway through. The body was now stuck, however, and the young warrior could not budge it. 'He is wedged in,' Peredur cried. 'Raise the cage higher!'

  'Christ -' cried Tallaght,' – mercy!'

  'On your feet!' I told Peredur. 'Take him under the arms.'

  Scrambling up, the young warrior grabbed Llenlleawg under the arms and pulled with all his might. The unconscious body moved a fraction and then stopped. Tallaght groaned.

  'Quickly!' I grunted, my own strength beginning to fail.

  Seeing there was nothing for it, Peredur raised his foot and placed it against the hot iron. Straining, every sinew taut, he threw back his head and gave a mighty heave, lifting Llenlleawg and pulling him through the gap. In the same instant, Tallaght's strength gave out and he fainted. The sudden weight sent the timbers flying, and I was hurled onto my side as the iron cagework house slammed to the ground.

  Llenlleawg was free. Peredur lay half atop him, panting with his exertion. I ran to them both. 'Well done!' I cried. 'Here, help me get him away from the flames.'

  Together we hauled the unconscious champion clear of his would-be grave. We found a place by one of the standing walls, and I left the two of them there while I returned for Tallaght.

  I dragged him away from the fire, and marked that the flames were already burning themselves out. The young warrior awoke as I tried to lift him, and with my aid was able to stagger to the wall, where he collapsed once more and lay groaning gently to himself. I knew how he felt; both head and heart were pounding, my breath came in ragged gasps, my hands were raw, and my side ached where the beam had caught me as it tore from my grasp.

  'Rest easy,' I told them, gulping air. 'It is over. We are safe now. All is well.'

  Brave words, as it turned out.

  TWELVE

  Power as I possess is not, as many believe, given in exchange for a soul. To hear the ignorant speak, one would think it merely a simple bargain, an exchange of vows, perhaps, and the power one seeks simply flows from the fingertips for the asking. But no, it is not so easy as that! The truly great gifts are not gifts at all, but treasures obtained after long and difficult searching, prizes won only through hard-fought victories over relentless, near-invincible adversaries.

  True power of the kind I possess is achieved only through the most rigorous and exhausting means, and few mortals have even the slightest notion of the enormous discipline that must be brought to bear at every step of the journey. For it is a journey – proceeding from strength to strength, adding skill to skill, eminence to eminence, following the long and arduous path to complete mastery.

  The first eminence is the mastery of silence, in which the adept must forsake all communication with others. No external thought or word must be allowed to intrude or distract; no other voice can be heeded or heard. The adept must abandon all contact with other minds. This leads to the second eminence, wherein the adept gains the ability to project thoughts and images into other beings, and wherein emotional atmospheres are generated and manipulated. With mastery also comes control over animal life and the ability to command animals to one's bidding.

  The third eminence allows the adept to project one's image over distance at will – to be in two places, three places at once, and in different forms. In the forth eminence, the adept acquires profound knowledge of plant and vegetable essences, the deep and intimate awareness of the nature and use of plant life in extracts and elixirs.

  Gaining the fifth eminence grants mastery over the movements of air and water, and the command of fire. Weather can be manipulated and controlled in localized regions. The sixth eminence leads on to the ability to pass into etheric form, to dissolve one's physical presence -disappearing in one place and reappearing in another, whole and complete.

  In the mastery of the seventh, and last, eminence, the adept achieves the ability to prolong physical life indefinitely. The adept acquires the ability to halt the normal human aging process, and even reverse it when necessary. Without this, all that came before would be too soon rendered useless.

  The ignorant speak of hidden arts, but they are not hidden. Indeed, there is nothing secret about them at all; they are freely open and available to any who would pursue them. Ah, but the price! The price is nothing less than the devotion of an entire life. So perhaps the simpleminded are right, after all, in thinking of the acquisition of power as a pact in which the soul is bartered. There is no other way.

  Leaving the others to restore themselves, I walked back over the hill to fetch the horses and, with some difficulty, brought them within the confines of the ruined caer. The horses shied from entering the place, and it took all my coaxing just to get them to pass through the gate. Once inside, they twitched and shivered as if they were cold, and stamped the ground anxiously. Nevertheless, I tethered them nearby and, retrieving the two waterskins from behind the saddles, hastened back to the ruined wall.

  Kneeling beside Llenlleawg, I wet the edge of my cloak and dabbed it to his lips. He did not stir.

  'Is he dead?' asked Peredur; he gathered his legs beneath him and came to stand over me.

  Putting my face near Llenlleawg's, I felt his breath light on my cheek. 'He lives, never fear,' I told the young warrior. 'Let us see what they have done to him.'

  Thus I proceeded to clean his wounds; pouring water on a strip of cloth torn from the lower edge of my siarc, I washed away the dirt and blood from his face and neck.

  He had been soundly beaten, taking many blows to the head, and several of these had been hard enough to break the skin. His left eye was red and puffy; dark blood caked his nostrils and oozed from the nasty gash on his lower lip. His cloak was gone, and much of his shirt, as well as his belt and weapons. Whoever made bold to separate this Irishman from spear or knife most certainly paid a fearful price for their audacity: of that I had no doubt.

  Save for some bruises on his shoulders, and scrapes on his arms and wrists, there were no other wounds that I could see. Apparently, his attackers had been satisfied to beat him senseless before throwing him into the iron house – they would never have gotten him inside it any other way.

  The horses began neighing just then, so Tallaght, having regained himself somewhat, got up to see what was bothering them. He walked away shaking the cramps from his arms.

  'A cruel death,' observed Peredur, looking around almost fearfully. 'It is fortunate we found him when we did. Who would want to do such a thing?'

  'When we discover that, we will have pierced the mystery to its core,' I replied, and turned once more to Llenlleawg. I tore another strip from the bottom edge of my siarc, wet it, and applied it to his battered face. This brought a moan from the Irishman's throat. He wheezed and black phlegm came to his lips. I dabbed it away with the edge of the wet cloth. 'There, cough it all up,' I told him. 'Get rid of it.'

  At the sound of my voice, his eyelids flew open, and he surged up all at once as if he would flee.

  'Be easy, Llenlleawg,' I said, placing my hand on his che
st so that he would not do himself further injury. 'Lie back. All is well. Your enemies are gone.'

  He slumped back with a sighing groan, then fell to hacking so hard I thought his ribs would crack. He coughed up the vile black stuff, spitting again and again, only to cough up more.

  'Drink a little,' I offered, bringing the waterskin to his mouth. 'It will revive you.'

  As the water touched his lips, a troubled expression appeared on his face and he made to rise once more. 'Rest yourself, brother,' I said. 'It is Gwalchavad here. There is nothing to fear.'

  Recognition came into his eyes at last; he ceased resisting and lay back, allowing me to give him a drink. He drank greedily, swallowing it down in great draughts as if he had not had any water in days. I tried to pull the waterskin away, but he gone, and much of his shirt, as well as his belt and weapons. Whoever made bold to separate this Irishman from spear or knife most certainly paid a fearful price for their audacity: of that I had no doubt.

  Save for some bruises on his shoulders, and scrapes on his arms and wrists, there were no other wounds that I could see. Apparently, his attackers had been satisfied to beat him senseless before throwing him into the iron house – they would never have gotten him inside it any other way.

  The horses began neighing just then, so Tallaght, having regained himself somewhat, got up to see what was bothering them. He walked away shaking the cramps from his arms.

  'A cruel death,' observed Peredur, looking around almost fearfully. 'It is fortunate we found him when we did. Who would want to do such a thing?'

  'When we discover that, we will have pierced the mystery to its core,' I replied, and turned once more to Llenlleawg. I tore another strip from the bottom edge of my siarc, wet it, and applied it to his battered face. This brought a moan from the Irishman's throat. He wheezed and black phlegm came to his lips. I dabbed it away with the edge of the wet cloth. 'There, cough it all up,' I told him. 'Get rid of it.'

  At the sound of my voice, his eyelids flew open, and he surged up all at once as if he would flee.

  'Be easy, Llenlleawg,' I said, placing my hand on his chest so that he would not do himself further injury. 'Lie back. All is well. Your enemies are gone.'

  He slumped back with a sighing groan, then fell to hacking so hard I thought his ribs would crack. He coughed up the vile black stuff, spitting again and again, only to cough up more.

  'Drink a little,' I offered, bringing the waterskin to his mouth. 'It will revive you.'

  As the water touched his lips, a troubled expression appeared on his face and he made to rise once more. 'Rest yourself, brother,' I said. 'It is Gwalchavad here. There is nothing to fear.'

  Recognition came into his eyes at last; he ceased resisting and lay back, allowing me to give him a drink. He drank greedily, swallowing it down in great draughts as if he had not had any water in days. I tried to pull the waterskin away, but he grabbed my wrist and held it in place and gulped until he choked, spewing blackened water from his nose and mouth.

  'Here, now! We did not pull you from the flames to drown you,' I said. 'Drink slowly. There is plenty.'

  He released my hand and slumped back. His mouth worked and he tried to speak, but it was some time before he could make himself understood. 'Gwalchavad,' he said, his voice raw and wispy, 'you found… me…'

  'We have been following your trail for days. I am sorry we did not arrive sooner – we might have saved you a beating.'

  'I am -' he began, then fell to coughing again, '…you found me…'

  'Who did this to you?'

  Before he could answer, I heard a shout. It was Peredur calling me to come running. Llenlleawg started at the sound. 'Peace, brother. It is one of the Cymbrogi,' I explained quickly. 'Leave it to me.'

  'How many -' he gasped,'… with you?'

  "Only two of the younger warriors,' I said, rising. 'If I had known we were going to be riding the length and breadth of Llyonesse, I would have brought the entire Dragon Flight. Rest easy; I will return directly.'

  I found Peredur beside Tallaght, who was standing with his arms half raised and crossed at the wrists as if to protect himself from a beating. Peredur, his hand on Tallaght's shoulder, spoke to him while shaking him gently. The horses, meanwhile, had not ceased their neighing – if anything, their distress had only increased.

  'What is it?' I snapped, irritated at his failure to accomplish this simplest of chores.

  'I cannot wake him,' Peredur said.

  I gave the young man a sour look to show him what I thought of his ludicrous explanation, and turned to Tallaght. But behold! Though he stood upright with his eyes open wide, in all other respects he appeared fast asleep, seeming neither to see nor to hear, but remaining unmoved through all of Peredur's exertions, a rapt expression on his face as if held in thrall to a dream of such pleasant aspect that he would not be roused.

  Baffled and alarmed, I reached out and took the young warrior by the arm; the muscle was tensed hard, solid as wood, yet Tallaght appeared tranquil, with no sign of strain in either face or form. Next, I put my face close to his and discerned the faint stirring of his breath on my skin.

  'Tallaght!' I cried sharply. 'Wake up!'

  The young warrior gave not the slightest indication that he had heard. Taking him by the shoulder, I shook him so as to rattle his bones. As before, this raised no response. Seeing that his arms were folded, I took hold of his right arm and tried to straighten it, as if to break the spell. I could sooner have broken his arm, for, try as I might, there was no unbending that rigid limb – except by violent force, which would not have helped in the least.

  After jostling and shouting some more, I admitted defeat and desisted. 'I tell you the truth, Peredur,' I declared, turning once more to the awestricken youth, 'I have never seen the like. He has become a living corpse.'

  Peredur gaped. 'What are we to do with him?'

  'I cannot say,' I replied, regarding the stiffened form before us. 'But I would not leave him here like this. I suppose we must lay him down somewhere.' Casting a quick glance at the sky, I added, 'Llenlleawg is not well enough to travel yet, and we are losing the day. We will make camp in the hall and see what tomorrow brings.'

  'Spend the night here?' Peredur wondered with alarm.

  'Where else?' I countered angrily. 'Here at least we have stout walls at our backs, water, and a fire. It is as good a place as we are likely to find in this accursed land.'

  Too shocked to object farther, Peredur closed his mouth and stared at me in dismay.

  'Now, then,' I said, 'let us carry Tallaght to the hall and make him comfortable until he wakes.'

  'What,' asked Peredur, 'if he does not wake?'

  'See here,' I snapped, 'I am not liking this any more than you, but there is nothing else to do.'

  Together we eased the young warrior onto the ground and, lifting him between us, began carrying him to the hall. Tallaght, gazing dreamily skyward, remained placidly unaware of his rough handling; we might have been toting a plank for all Tallaght sagged or complained. We moved him to a place beside one of the standing walls and, after clearing away the stones, laid the sleeping warrior on his back. In this position, his resemblance to a corpse grew the stronger. Tearing yet another strip off my siarc, I wet it, folded it, and placed it over Tallaght's eyes – as much to hide his dead, unblinking stare as to protect his sight.

  It was while I was about this chore that I saw the bite – a small, neat circle of reddish marks on the side of his neck where sharp-pointed teeth had broken the skin. If I had not seen it before, I would have said it was the bite of an animal, a small dog or weasel, perhaps. But I had seen it before: on Rhys' arm. Rhys knew nothing of how he had gotten it, and I was none the wiser for having seen two, but I knew Tallaght did not have it before he went to see to the horses.

  'Now what are we to do?' asked Peredur when I finished.

  'Now we make camp,' I said. I saw no reason to mention the bite to Peredur; frightening him would serve no purpos
e. 'Water the horses, Peredur, and – ' I stopped myself, and corrected my command. 'Better still, we will both water the horses, and when that is finished, we will tether them within the hall.'

  This we did, and our various chores occupied the fast-fading day. A grey shroud of clouds moved in from the sea to obscure the sun and cast a dusky pall over the ruined stronghold. We took wood and live embers from the remains of the fire around the iron house, and used them to make our campfire. Now and then I paused to tend our stricken brothers, but there was little to be done for either of them. Tallaght had not altered a whit since we placed him on the ground, and Llenlleawg, having drunk a little water and received dressing for his wounds, slept now – coughing from time to time, and stirring fitfully, but never waking.

  While we worked, we talked, Peredur and I, for it helped to keep our courage up; I confess, I could feel the fear stealing over me as the daylight abandoned us to the long, dark night. As the shadows bloomed and spread over the ruins, I felt as if we were being stalked. I imagined cold eyes watching us from all the dark places… watching and waiting.

  We gathered more brush and branches – enough to keep the fire during the night – and, with the dull twilight closing around us, made a simple meal from our provisions. Neither of us ate more than a few mouthfuls as we sat hunched before the fire, gazing at the rubble heaps and fallen timbers around us while the wan flames flickered over the ruins.

  When we finished eating, we banked the fire and gathered our cloaks around us to sleep – if sleep were possible. With the night, a heavy stillness descended over the valley and its ancient keep – a cold, unnatural silence, which stifled all sound and made us feel as if each belaboured breath we drew might be our last.

  Twice my care-wracked drowse was broken by the sound of an owl. The creature's soft trilling call drifted down from the crumbling tower above. I woke and looked around to see a sickly moon rising over the broken wall. In elder times the call of Wisdom's Bird was deemed an unchancy thing, portending ill fortune for the wretch who heard it. Some, I ween, believe it still. Now, I am of no such mind to take fright at bird sounds in the night, but this night the call made me think of winter and graves and death stealing light and life from the eyes.