King of the Scepter'd Isle (Song of Earth) (2 page)

“Gnomes? We call them piskeys around here. But how can you be friends with them? You can’t even speak to them.”

“I can.” Nyneve stood and walked across to a slit window. The hillside fell away to the unseen sea. The rain had ceased and the wet grass glittered silver in the light from the moons. In a rare coincidence, all three were full: Mighty Moon like a hard-edged coin, Misty Moon watery but still bright, and Maybe Moon a pallid shadow above the other two. Close by a rocky outcrop of granite she could see a ruddy glow. Tiny, shadowy figures sat around a wood fire. It was a gnomish tradition to meet at night and discuss the day’s events. She’d seen such gatherings several times since leaving Mara Zion. It seemed the gnomes were becoming more visible all the time.

“As a matter of fact,” Nyneve said, “my best friend is a gnome called Fang.”

“That’s a funny name for a gnome.”

“His real name’s Will, but he killed a stoat and they renamed him Fang. It’s an honor for a gnome to get a new name like that.”

“But how can you
talk
to him? We can’t hear gnomes and they can’t hear us. We can hardly see them.”

“There’s a place in Mara Zion where the mushrooms grow in a circle. Avalona tells me it’s because the gnomes’ world and ours meet there like two bubbles touching. She said the atmospheres react and fix nitrogen in the soil—whatever the hell
that
means—and fertilize the mushrooms. Anyway, I can step
through into the gnomes’ world whenever I feel like it.”

This didn’t surprise Gwen, who already considered Nyneve to be omnipotent. “What’s it like in there?”

“Much like this world, except the humans look shadowy and you can’t touch them. The gnomes call us giants, and they call our world the umbra.” She chuckled. “Sometimes I sit in the gnomes’ world and spy on our people. I saw Tristan feeling a girl’s tits once, but then she got frightened and ran away. What a bloody shame! Anyway, he’s in Ireland visiting a woman called Iseult, whom he’s sweet on.”

Gwen was enormously impressed with Nyneve’s worldliness. “Have you ever … made love, Nyneve?”

“Once. With Tristan just after Iseult left. He looked so unhappy and I wanted to cheer him up. It was nice. But then something happened and I haven’t done it since.”

“What happened?”

“Oh …” Nyneve flushed. “It’s ridiculous, really.”

“Go on!”

“Well, Merlin and I have been telling stories to the people in Mara Zion for a little while. Travelers have heard us and the word seems to have gotten around. And suddenly Avalona insisted we come to Land’s End, telling stories on the way. I think she somehow has the idea we’re going to change the whole human race. ‘We are using the stories to make the world see sense,’ “ she said, mimicking in a cracked voice. “You see, the people in the stories are different from real people. They fight a lot, but when they’ve won, they don’t gloat and kill their enemies. They let them go free. And they’re funny about women too. They respect them, and if somebody insults a woman they beat the shit out of him. And they do one another favors, and they trust one another, and they go on quests that last for years. It’s all kind of different, and fun.”

“But what does it have to do with you not fucking?” It was Gwen’s turn to flush as a forbidden word slipped out. She’d never talked like this before.

“Merlin and I have a kind of
talent.
When we tell the stories, the audience
sees
them happening, in their minds. I can’t explain it, but you’ll see what I mean later on. This makes the stories seem very real to people. And they’re very real to Merlin and I.

“The hero of the stories is Arthur. He’s the best man that ever was. I know him so well, I dream about him every night, and I can see him and talk to him in my mind whenever I want to. Sometimes when my stepmother is being nasty, or I’m feeling bad about something, I slip my thoughts toward him and there he is, big and strong and gentle. To me he’s
real.
I could never love anyone else.”

Gwen’s eyes were shining. “What a lovely story! How romantic you are, Nyneve!”

“Yes, aren’t I.” Nyneve noticed Gwen’s heightened color. “You’re looking better.”

“All I need is someone to talk to. I’ve been going crazy all by myself in this castle, ever since Father caught me talking to Jacob in the village. And that was last spring. I’ve begged Father to send me away for a while—there are places where they send daughters of the gentry, and they learn all kinds of things and meet different people. But he says no. He says no to everything these days. He says there’s too much unrest in England for me to travel. He says the Saxons are taking over, and he keeps worrying about someone called Vortigern. To hell with Vortigern, that’s what I say. I want to see the world!”

“Maybe he’d let you come to Mara Zion sometime. You’d enjoy that. A girl can get into all kinds of trouble in Mara Zion. And I could introduce you to the gnomes.”

“Oh, Nyneve. Would you have me there?”

“Of course.” She regarded Gwen thoughtfully. “Are you going to listen to our story tonight?”

“Oh, yes!”

“Like I said, the stories are real. In a way, it’ll be your chance to see something of the world. And it’s a really exciting world, I can tell you. Get dressed, and let’s go downstairs.” She hesitated. “How would you like to be a part of the story yourself?”

“How do you
mean?”

Nyneve grinned. “You’ll see.”

King Lodegrance regarded his daughter in amazement. “Merlin, you’ve worked a miracle. And I thought you were an old fraud.”

“Old I may be,” said Merlin with dignity, trying to conceal his equal amazement, “but fraud I am not. There’s a strange magic in these ancient hands.”

Gwen stood before them, fully dressed, a changed girl. “Nyneve says I can go and stay with her in Mara Zion for a while,” she said.

Her father bit back an instant refusal. “We’ll think about it,” he said.

“We’d be happy to have her stay,” said Nyneve.

“Let her go,” said the queen. They were the first words she’d uttered all evening.

“No,” he said automatically. Then, seeing the change in Gwen’s expression, he said quickly, “Not at present. It’s autumn now. I’m not having you spend the winter in some forest hovel. We’ll talk about it in the spring.”

She eyed him closely. “Are you just putting me off?”

He favored her with a rare smile. “No, Gwen. We’ll really talk about it, and I’ll make a few inquiries. And if I get the right answers, you can go.”

“Father!” She threw her arms around his neck. Then she moved away a little, looking into his face. “Why? You hardly know Nyneve.”

“Neither do you.” He glanced at Nyneve, puzzled. “What the hell has come over me? Are you some kind of a witch?”

“Of course not. Merlin thinks he’s a wizard, but I’m just a girl.”

The queen said in flat tones, “Her witchcraft stems from her beauty. Any fool could see that, except my husband.”

“Well, I think it’s about time Gwen saw something of the world,” said the king, “and she can’t come to much harm in Mara Zion. It’s only two days’ ride away. Vortigern’s never come that
close—and if he did, Baron Menheniot’s more than a match for him. They say there’s a new fellow on the way up too. Name of Tristan. I daresay you’ve heard of him, Nyneve.”

“He has a magic sword,” said Nyneve. “Merlin made it. It’s called Excalibur. It’s such a good sword that we use it in the stories.”

“A sword with a name? That’s not a bad idea.” He glanced at his own weapon, leaning against the fireplace. “I think I’ll call my sword Charles. Charles is a dignified kind of name. Anyway”—he recalled himself to the business at hand—”time’s getting on. You people have a reputation as storytellers. So tell your story.”

He settled back in his chair, gulping wine and gazing expectantly at Nyneve.

She walked to the center of the chamber and looked around. “Here will be fine,” she said after a moment. “And you bring that chair over and sit beside me, Merlin. I’ll stand. We’ll go over what we rehearsed last night, except I want to make one or two changes to my part. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Who’s in charge of this story, that’s what I’d like to know,” grumbled Merlin, setting down his chair heavily and slumping into it. He still wore the washed-out smock, but he’d put on his conical hat to try to enhance his presence.

“This is the story we’ve been telling in Mara Zion,” Nyneve told the audience. “Avalona and Merlin started it, and I joined in soon after. It’s not like a normal story, because we’ve hardly invented any part of it ourselves. It just comes into our minds like a dream. It’s a very real story and it follows its own path—we hardly guide it at all. It seems to have no end, although Avalona says it will finish thirty thousand years in the future.

“Sometimes I think it
is
real,” she confided. “Avalona talks about happentracks—you know, other worlds near our world, like where the gnomes live—and I sometimes think the world of Arthur really exists on another happentrack very close
to ours. Because sometimes we put real people into our stories, and they fit perfectly. And that tells me Arthur’s world can’t be far away. Tonight I want to put a real person in.” She smiled at Gwen.

She brought her audience up-to-date on the saga as it had unfolded so far. She told them of King Uther Pendragon and his desire for the beautiful Igraine, and the underhanded way he got her into bed. She spoke of the birth of Arthur, then Merlin took over and described his part in teaching the boy. The audience listened attentively because the couple spoke so well; but this was ordinary storytelling, nothing more. Then Nyneve introduced the Sword in the Stone.

“When matins were over, the archbishop led his congregation out into the yard. Here was a marble block with an anvil in it, into which had been thrust a beautiful sword. Letters of gold were inscribed on the anvil:

That’s what it said.”

And there was a sudden restlessness in her audience, and cries of astonishment.

“I can
see
it,” said someone. “By the Lord Jesus, I can
see
the Sword in the Stone!”

The chamber had become a theater. “The nobles all tried to pull it out,” cried Nyneve, and her audience saw a succession of grunting, sweating men laying hands on the handle, pulling, jerking, cursing, turning away in disgust. The men were real, with faces and hopes and families, and the audience knew all this. A murmur of wonder arose. This was better than a troupe of traveling players. It was better than anything they’d ever experienced before. It was also a little frightening.

“She’s a witch,” a voice cried.

“I don’t
care if she is!” shouted King Lodegrance. “Don’t interrupt!”

Now Merlin took over, taking the part of the archbishop. “Nobody will ever move this sword,” he cried. “You’re all wasting your time. We will hold a tournament on New Year’s Day to decide who will be king!”

And the audience saw winter close over the land, and they felt the Siberian winds blow.

The knights gathered for the tournament, helmeted, armored, and armed. Slipping easily into the part of Sir Kay, Merlin said, “Arthur, I’ve left my sword behind at our lodgings. Go and fetch it for me, there’s a good fellow.”

“Certainly, brother,” said Nyneve.

She walked a few paces across the chamber, but her audience saw a young man walking through the streets of London. She stopped, and Arthur stopped. Before him was a marble slab with an anvil and a sword protruding from it.

“Then he caught sight of the sword stuck in the stone, and thought it was worth trying to pull it out. The marble slab sat in the churchyard under the trees, glowing in the January sunlight. There was a sound like angels singing. Arthur’s hand tingled as he touched the sword.”

Nyneve had told this part of the story before, so the words came easily, as did the visions. She felt her heart pounding as she said, “He took hold of the sword. He braced his foot against the rock. And then … he drew the sword out easily, as if it had been embedded in butter. For a while he stood with it in his hand.”

The audience saw the sunlight on his auburn hair, and they heard the angels—which might have been birds—singing. And because they saw everything, felt everything, and knew everything, they knew he hadn’t even seen the words on the anvil, and had no idea what a wonderful moment this was. He felt glad that he’d found a sword for Sir Kay, his foster brother; and that was all.

Arthur took the sword back to Sir Kay and the revelation took place, and the audience felt just as amazed as the characters in the story, even though they already knew it was
the
sword. They shared the emotions, they shared the joy. “So they crowned
him king of all England,” said Nyneve. “Nobody disputed him. It was right and proper.”

Nyneve gave her audience a chance to relax, describing in words the subsequent events, giving them occasional glimpses of battles and tournaments, but saving the next big event for Gwen.

“A king should marry,” said Merlin eventually. “England needs a queen. Tell me, Arthur, is there anyone you have in mind?”

The transition from narrative to action was smoothly done. Nyneve became Arthur in the audience’s eyes, talking to an ancient magician of somehow greater stature than the real-life Merlin before them. That was one of the secrets of the story’s appeal. Everybody was a little larger than life. “I love Guinevere,” said Arthur, “the daughter of King Lodegrance of the land of Camyliard. She is far and away the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s good,” said Merlin. “It saves me having to find someone for you. That kind of quest is doomed to failure before it starts. Now, I know you’ve made up your mind, but I have to tell you—Guinevere will cause you grief. The time will come when she’ll fool around with a fellow called Lancelot. When that happens, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I’ll take my chances,” said Nyneve. “Go and break it to Lodegrance, Merlin, and bring Guinevere to me.”

Then came the most amazing part of the performance, as though the audience hadn’t had enough to marvel at. In their minds, they followed Merlin on a journey that culminated with the arrival at Camyliard and an audience with King Lodegrance. They saw Merlin walk into the same chamber in which he now sat. And they saw Lodegrance in their minds, and in reality at the same time.