One Bright Star to Guide Them Read online

  “I gave it to the local museum in some town in Somerset. Little rundown town. Can't bring the name to mind.”

  “You abandoned the great bright sword?” Tommy's voice was cold and severe.

  “I didn't abandon it! I traded it for a fragment of an old book of John Dee and a Plague Doctor mask from Avignon after I came back from Sedbergh. Don't look at me that way! It was just an old rusted sword we once played with. All that rubbish about 'no ignoble hand could draw it' was just our own melodramatic invention.” But now he was smiling, as if being able to say those words gave him pleasure. “There was no real magic to it.”

  “Sedbergh,” Tommy said slowly. “I was away at school myself then. Richard, you never did tell me why they kicked you out.”

  “My affairs are my business,” said Richard, and his eyes were very cold. “Boarding school was a long time ago. And I told you I do not believe in any of that fairytale stuff any longer!”

  Tommy said, “Don't you?”

  Something in his voice made Richard glance sharply at him. “What do you mean?”

  “I remember hearing some very ugly rumors, Richard, about a girl you got in trouble.” Tommy said in a dangerous tone. “I heard the girl—she was Fifth Form—was found naked in an abandoned church. She spoke about how you and the other boys from Evans House were dancing and screaming and cutting yourselves with knives. Your family kept your name out of the newspaper, but the papers said that there was a goat found hanging by the neck from a willow tree in that same graveyard, hanging by the neck over the stream that ran next to the graveyard. The newspaper called it a neopagan fertility ritual. But it was more than that, wasn't it?”

  Richard smiled, although his eyes grew even colder. “Yes, Tommy, it was a lot more than that. It was an attempt to unify our consciousness with the Beyond. The fairytale stuff you remember was for kids. There is more out there than you know, more than you imagine.”

  Tommy shook his head, more in dismay than disbelief.

  Richard stood up, his face red as if he had downed too many snifters of fine brandy. But it was not anger that brought the blood to his cheeks. It was pride, for he spoke in a boasting voice. “Naturally, with a childhood like I had, the things I'd seen—you saw them too, though you did not understand them—I was more curious about the unseen energies beneath our world than your average dull-witted banker or shallow scientist. Mystic energies! There is a life force behind all things, a power that binds the universe together. Man emerged from ape-man due to the ruthlessness of that life force, and if it were harnessed, channeled, focused, used as ruthlessly as it is meant to be used, then what might emerge from Man?”

  Tommy looked stricken. He said in a voice heavy with sorrow, “I am more concerned with what emerged from that sixteen year-old girl you used.”

  “You cannot know about that! How can you know about that? Who told you?”

  “You, just now, by your reaction. Is it true?”

  “The National Health Service paid for the abortion,” said Richard with an indifferent shrug.

  “You killed your own child?” Tommy stood up too, his face white with horror.

  “Child? Nonsense. It was a mere by-product of conception. It was nothing more than a minor side effect of the rite needed to summon up certain, shall we say, priapic manifestations of the life-energy. You, of all people, should realize that this world is nothing but a mask hanging over an abyss! You said so yourself, just now! And a brave soul must follow the commands of the life force, even if it means trampling the bourgeoisie rules of small-minded conformists. The vital energies only reach their peak with the culmination of the libido! The ancients knew it! The Aztecs and the magicians of Egypt knew it.”

  “The Faceless Warlock knew it too.”

  Richard's smile twitched and started to fade.

  Thomas continued, “When I heard the rumors, and I read about the girl and that dead goat, I never believed it. I knew the rumors had to be wrong. I knew that no man who held the Brightest Blade could ever be involved in such dark deeds.”

  Richard's smile was now entirely gone. His face was like a brass mask.

  Thomas said, “It was not a goat we found dangling over the waters of the Venom River, but a faun, our faun, old Mister Merryhoof. The one who fed us our Lady's Day Feast. We found him and buried him before the girls saw anything. You and I carried his body. We were crying. Do you remember that part?”

  “That never happened,” said Richard. “Only you cried.”

  “The Warlock hung the corpse from a willow tree branch to call up the Widow of the Waters. That is what the green apprentice boy told us. And now I recall, you asked him many questions about it. Too many. He told us the Faceless Warlock had to commit a murder to sell his soul. Just as you did.”

  Richard made as if to slap him. Tommy, however, had spent six weeks on the road, or in the woods, and his body had grown more hardy and strong than most inactive men of his age. He caught Richard's hand easily, and pinned it against the desk, so that Richard was drawn forward at an awkward angle.

  With his left hand, Richard grabbed Tommy's wrist, and tried to pry his grip away. There was no sound save for the hissing of their breath as the two men strained silently, almost without motion.

  With his other hand, Tommy brought the silver key out of an inner pocket. He held it up and looked through the interstices of the bow, first with one eye, then the other. “Trespass long past that passed sans trace, yet crows none knows your hid disgrace; reveal by sign your heraldry; unlock thy secret sin to me! Confess, divulge, declare, make clear; for he who holds the key is here!”

  The light glinted on the silver key and seemed to catch fire. When Tommy lowered the key, gleaming, wondrous, shining, from his eyes, Richard shuddered and made a hoarse noise, trying even more desperately to escape. He saw that Tommy's pupils had dilated dramatically; the black parts of his eyes seemed enormous, all-seeing.

  Tommy slipped the silver key back into his pocket, then with his thumbs he forced open Richard's clenched fist. “The sword of light has burned you here. Your palm is crossed with scars.”

  “There's nothing wrong with my hand! Let me go!”

  “So you sold the Sword when you found it would not allow your hand to touch it.” Thomas released Richard's hand, and rubbed his hand on his pants, as if to wipe away a stain. “I would be more surprised if I had not seen the hex written into your corporate logo. Yes, I saw the witch-writing there. That is the Melusine, is it not? The sea-queen, whose legs are two sea serpents. The Widow of the Waters, who promises wealth and dignities to those who slay the innocent for her.”

  Straightening up, he looked Richard in the eye. His eyes had already returned to normal. “So you remembered our childhood as well as I did. You went looking for them, didn't you? Looking for those creatures in our world? And you found them. Then you bowed down to them and served them!”

  The black cat sprang into Tommy's arms and swarmed lithely up to his shoulder. Tybalt crouched there, sphinx-like, and regarded Richard with unblinking eyes as bright as hammered gold.

  Richard's face changed from red to white as the blood drained from his cheeks. He backed away from Tommy, away from the desk, until his shoulder touched the bookshelf filled with pristine books that had never been opened.

  “If you knew that, if you knew and walked in here nonetheless,” he whispered, “Then you are a fool! You knew I meant to sell you.”

  “I suspected. I feared, but I did not know. I walked in here to offer you a chance to escape them.”

  “There is no escape. There is no need to escape. I have a contract with them!”

  “They betray all contracts. Don't be stupid. I have the key. I can unbind the invisible chains they have on you. I saw them on the children at school. I saw them again as I walked down the streets of London. I see them on you now.”

  Richard's grin had returned, as empty as the grin of a skull, but now there was something angry and arrogant gleaming in his eyes, a fir
e with no light. “Chains? Do you call nothing by the right name? I know the secret names for all things. They are not chains, they are signs of my power! They are my pact I made with the vital forces–”

  “Vital forces? You serve the Winter King!”

  “I serve knowledge! Secret, hidden, precious knowledge! You can know this knowledge as well, and learn these arts — drink from the cup I drink from, Tommy! It is only bitter in the mouth for a moment, and then your tongue goes numb, and there is nothing you are forbidden after that to eat, no forbidden fruit is denied to you! You can eat glass and nails and human flesh and pig droppings and–”

  Thomas held up the silver key. It caught the light from the windows and sent bright little dots dancing across the walls and ceiling of the dark room. “Silver key I hold in hand; undo this chain! So I command!”

  Nothing happened.

  “Dammit,” he muttered to himself, “really thought that would work.” Tommy scowled and said to the cat on his shoulder, “Can I not free him without his consent?”

  The cat did not answer, but looked at him with yellow eyes half-lidded, sardonic. An ear twitched.

  Tommy extended his hand toward the other man, beckoning. “Come with me, Rich! Leave this place! It will be like when we were children again!”

  Richard shook his head. “You must join me, Tommy. You cannot escape.” As he spoke, the setting sun vanished, smothered by the rising cloud. It was very dark now, the only light entering the room came from streetlamps far below reflected on the ceiling, and the sliding beams from passing motorcars.

  Tommy let his hand fall. “Then goodbye, Richard. And I am truly sorry.”

  Tommy turned his back on his childhood friend. The doorway to the huge office had been a double door of some dark wood. Now the doors stood open, and in the threshold, outlined against a dim light from the empty secretary's anteroom beyond stood what seemed to be three men in police uniforms.

  Richard jumped forward, grabbed Tommy's arm with one hand, and with the other, grabbed for the silver key. “My master! Come, and take him! The Key-bearer is yours!”

  But the black cat leaped, and landed on Richard's face, clinging to his hair and forehead with its forepaws, raking his nose and lips and cheeks and chin with its hindpaws. It only took a second before there was blood running into his eyes and his lips were torn. Richard screamed and swatted the cat away. Tybalt spun in midair as gracefully as a ballet dancer and landed on his feet, looking for all the world as if nothing had happened at all.

  Thomas pointed the key at Richard and twisted it. “Chains unseen, freely put on, grow stern and strong. I tighten thee. So says he who holds the key.”

  It was as if the muscles in Richard's arms and legs were suddenly seized with cramps, rendered stiff and motionless. Richard shouted and cursed, hopped on one foot for a moment, and fell heavily to the ground. The carpet was thick, but his skull still met the floor with a loud noise, and he groaned as drops of blood from his face trickled down.

  Tybalt walked counterclockwise around Tommy, once, twice, thrice. The cat said, “Little Tommy, my charmed circle can put aside the curses of my world, but I cannot aid you in this battle. Against men, only the weapons of men prevail.”

  “These creatures are not men. I can see the threads that hold their faces in place.” Tommy raised the silver key. “Let part the cloud that shrouds all eyes, let lies be viewed without disguise; unveil, uncurse, disperse, dispel! By this key I thee compel!”

  The images of the three policemen turned into black smoke and parted to the left and right, staining the leaves of the door. Now what stood in the doorway were three hooded figures. The one on the left was slender and girlish, but had the head of a moray eel, with cold, unblinking eyes, blue as sapphire stones. The one on the right was wearing a wolf mask, but his eyes were visible through the eyeholes. They were mad and trembling, red-rimmed with inflammation, as if nightmare, drugs, or famine kept sleep away. The one in the middle had a mask of brass locked on his face, glinting in the light reflected from the ceiling.

  Thomas raised the key and pointed at the middle figure. “You are not the Faceless Warlock. He is dead. He was trampled to death beneath the Wisest Centaur's hoofs when he tried to turn into a serpent and wiggle down a rat hole. We all saw it.” He gestured with the key, and the brass mask fell off. Beneath was a face that might have been human, but it was green as a gooseberry, hairless and earless, with eyes with strange square pupils. A familiar face, for all that it was inhuman.

  The green man twisted his grisly and colorless lips in what might have been a smile. “Yes, yes! Little Tommy! All grown up, are we, yes!”

  3. Kicktoad

  “Kicktoad? Is that you? The Warlock's apprentice?”

  His voice was like bubbles rising in a swamp. “Kicktoad no more, Little Tommy! I am called Bufotenine the Great now, yes I am. Apprentice no more, but Master! Yes!”

  “We let you out of the black cabinet! All the Warlock's bad dreams were locked in there, and we heard your screams!”

  “You saved me, yes, but then you left the world and returned to yours here, and what was I? Prince Hal was crowned Halcyon the Tenth, yes, King of all the Realm of Vidblain between Mount Whitecrown and the Sunset Sea. Yes! He assumed the throne of his fathers and ruled with justice and peace. Yes, he did! But there was no post in his court for me, was there. Was there? What was I but an apprentice who betrayed his master, a no one, a warlock with no spells, no chants, no charms, yes? So I returned to the ruins of the Warlock's Tower, yes, I did, did I: and there I found his charming wand, undiscovered, undestroyed, carven with nine mystic runes. Yes. I resumed my studies.”

  “But we saved you! Penny did not trust you, but I used the key to open the nightmare cabinet! And– and–”

  “And you should have listened to her, perhaps, yes? The nightmares gathered like bats in the black cabinet are all mine now, yes, all now little shrieking slaves that belong to me. Yes, they are. And they are not my only slaves. Meet two old friends of yours! Here on my left hand is Jasconius, daughter of Aspidochelone, a sea leviathan from the Ocean of Midnight, in the far northern regions of my world, where the sun never rises. I have forced on her a new shape, that she may walk on two legs like a daughter of Eve while she is here on your land; but she retains the strength of the sea. Here on my right is Donnergarm son of Monagarm. Ah! He never told you his father, did he, yes?”

  Tommy said, “But Jasconius aided us when the White Ship sailed by breathing out the Fog of Slumber and putting all the enemy fleet to sleep. And Donny! Little Donny! The boy who could turn into a wolf cub! The only good werewolf in the world, the birds called you! You helped us! You traced the footsteps of the ice maiden through the woods, and helped Richard find the lost sword! You are the good guys, all three of you are!”

  “Once, perhaps. Once, yes! But no longer,” said the Warlock. “We have outgrown your childish adventure, yes? Outgrown your dreams. They serve me now. When they serve me well, I send them visions of ecstasy and they awake refreshed and strong; when they fail me, they see nightmares from the seventh pit below the pits of pain.” A flock of batlike shapes, flickers and snatches of shadow, came out from beneath his cloak and filled the room, but none of them touched Tommy. It was as if an unseen wall formed a cylinder around him, a barrier they could not pass.

  Now the Warlock frowned. He bent, and picked up the brass mask, and affixed it to his face again. Now his voice echoed strangely, and it seemed as if a second voice were speaking his words with him. “You would measure yourself against the dark wisdom? The triple magic circle you have made about you can keep out my chanted charms and spoken spells, but not fangs of wolves nor fogs of sleep.”

  Tommy held up the key. “Donny! Jass! Listen to me! I can free you from the spells that bind you! I can unlock the chains of dream and stupor! But you have to ask! Just ask!”

  In answer, Donnergarm threw aside his hooded outer robe. Beneath he wore a wolf pelt about his naked limbs and should
ers, which he clasped shut at his neck with a twist of his hands and a whispered curse. He leaped into the air, and the wolf pelt closed from neck to groin suddenly. His limbs twisted and shrank and were coated with fur.

  It was a wolf that landed on Tommy and knocked him out of the unseen circle warding him. Immediately, the flapping shadows were all around Tommy, and a sick, slow, dreamlike sensation of horror entered his mind and soul, as well as a fear that made him want to weep.

  On his back, he saw Tybalt sitting on the bookshelves above him, looking down with golden eyes. “Follow me, Tommy. Leap out the window. I will forefend you from the fall.” And nimbly the small cat jumped through the window, which strangely vanished like a bubble popped, the glass simply gone as if it had never been.

  The wolf leaped on Tommy, but Tommy, despite the nightmarish fears clouding his mind, took the wolf by its shaggy throat with one hand and thrust him back on his haunches. Tommy rose, and the key glittered in his hand. Suddenly the black pelt parted, opened by the power of the key, and a wolf mask fell. Beneath it was a gray and lined and weathered face, well-burnt by wind and sun, and a black beard hid his jaws and chin; only his upper lip was shaven. He face was loose and weak, a man past the noontide of his life in whom the lamp of hope is doused. He was too surprised to raise a hand when Tommy punched him in the stomach. Donnergarm doubled over, and Tommy kicked him in the head with his boot.

  Thomas spun toward the window and looked down. The drop was fifty or sixty feet. What floor was he on?

  Tybalt was sitting calmly on a cornice nearby. “Leap, Tommy, or be taken.”