The Last Guardian of Everness Read online

  “Well, honestly, sir, uh. . . I don’t think anyone on Earth knows who you are.” Galen, as soon as these words left his mouth, winced. He thought: Stupid, stupid! Wrong thing to say.

  He followed lamely with, “Except me and my Grampa, of course.”

  There was another long silence, while Galen, standing uneasily on the chain, squirmed inwardly beneath the dark, majestic, dispassionate stare of the elder Waylock. The ancient being’s face was an angular mass of shadows; Galen could see little more than square cheekbones beneath a thundercloud of hair, framing twin pools of greater darkness underneath black brows, and, below, craggy lines of bitterness and sternness gathered around a hint of a scowl.

  Galen thought to himself in anxiety and surprise: What great deeds? I thought this guy was a traitor, someone who trafficked with the enemy.

  Words came from the cage: “It was I who first brought the Silver Key out from Mommur, despite that Oberon and all his faerie knights rose up in silver light to hinder and oppose me; proud Morningstar and all his hellish crew pursued my flight even to the utmost gates of day, preferring damnation to retreat. The blood of immortals was shed to win the Key to Earth; and, by its virtue, all the gates to hell and alien dream-lands were locked shut, yes, with incalculable expense of patience, bravery, and pain. My sacrifice not praised, you say? Forgotten? By all? Does none recall where now the Key is hid?”

  “Key? What Key. . .?”

  A note of slight surprise: “The Silver Key of Everness, of course, Clavargent, which locks and unlocks the Gate you guard: the Key by which dream-figments can be made to stand solid and cast shadows beneath the waking sun. The Key by which all sane and solid things can be made to fade at once to mist and dreams. The Key which is the source of all the power of Everness and the only hope for the victory of mankind. Have you truly never heard of it?”

  Galen reluctantly shook his head.

  The figure sagged slightly. The shoulders slipped down. Galen could see scars and bloodstains where iron thorns had cut his arms and shoulders. “Then you are not the Guardian.” The voice was bitter, heavy with defeat.

  “N-no. My Grandfather Lemuel is the Guardian. But your bird landed on me. I heard the message. I came. He will not come.”

  A low chuckle. “How kind. A youth who is not the Guardian, and has no power and no authority, will listen to my warning (which he will prove too weak and foolish and young to act upon) and will hear my plan (which he will not be able to carry out). How supreme a kindness your attention gives me! Had you not come, I should have been forced to impart my learning to passing sea-birds or crawling lice. To tell them would do as much good!”

  Galen felt anger, like bile, in his throat. “I’m here. I can do something.”

  “Indeed? And has the Guardian told you why he will not come? No? Do you know what power has commanded him from answering me? No, again? And you were never told where the Silver Key was hidden, were you?”

  Galen tried to speak with dignity, but he felt his face grow warm. “He . . . doesn’t tell me much . . .”

  “Your pride is offended, is it not, youth?” The voice from the darkness of the cage was gentler now. There was a note of kindness in it. And yet the bloodstained arm still gripped the chain.

  “It’s like he doesn’t trust me or something.”

  “You are below the twenty years and four, and not yet in your majority.”

  “I’m an adult!”

  “Adult enough to hold the Silver Key which could, unwisely used, render all the Earth to irredeemable destruction?”

  Galen was silent. A sigh of cold wind came up from underfoot, making him shiver. He pulled his gray fur cloak more tightly about him, wondering from what places that wind had come, or what was the strange odor he smelled on it.

  He wondered what this Silver Key was, or where it was hidden.

  Azrael said: “Perhaps you may prevail upon your grandfather, my remote descendant, to entrust you with the secret lore of Everness, if you prove yourself gallant, wise, and worthy. Some notable feat to the defense of Everness might enflame his admiration.”

  This was so near Galen’s unvoiced, hidden hope that he could not dare to speak. He nodded, wondering if he were so transparent.

  Galen shivered again in the wind, and then, with a feeling almost of guilt, he drew the strings of his cloak. Galen folded the warm fabric into a bundle, and gingerly extended it toward the cage.

  “Here,” he said. “You must be cold.”

  The figure in the cage did not stir.

  “Come on! Take it!” Galen wiggled the bundle in the direction of the bars.

  “Thrust your cape through these cruel bars to me, and I shall thank you with good thanks.”

  Galen hesitated.

  “Or do you fear to come within arm’s grip of me?”

  “You could just reach up with your hand,” answered Galen in a loud voice. “What’s the matter? Afraid to let go of the chain? You’re willing to throw me into the abyss but not willing to accept a gift?”

  Silence.

  “Fine!” shouted Galen. “That’s just fine! I was going to make you barter for this cloak, so you’d have to tell me this message and this plan of yours, who was invading and how to stop it, before I’d give it to you, but instead I thought I’d be a nice guy and just give it to you. But if you’re so unwilling to give your own flesh and blood a break—! Well! Well, that’s just fine with me!” And he flung the cloak in a flapping swirl of fabric at the cage.

  The cloak slipped down and fell across the bloody arm, and the cloak ends flapped in the air, hanging to either side of the chain.

  “No wonder they don’t come to ease your ‘ceaseless suffering,’ you act like this all the time . . .” muttered Galen.

  Slowly, the blackened and scarred fingers unknotted from the chain link and drew the cloak in through the bars, carefully, and Azrael paused to work free each snag whenever the fabric was pricked by a needle or caught up on a hook.

  Azrael said, “I thank you. Nor would I sell my wisdom for a cloak, no matter what the torment of cold which nightly oppresses me. Not for a kingdom have I altered myself, how much less for a garment? But I do thank you. I will tell you my secrets, youth.”

  V

  Azrael spoke, and his words floated in the cold, wide, windy night around them. Night sky was above them, and night sky was below.

  “You know as you have been taught. Oberon and the Children of Light could not maintain a watch post on the stained and sinful world of Earth, yet neither did they wish for patient Morningstar to gain easy possession by merely waiting for his mortal foes to die. Neither could mortal men be completely trusted to maintain a watch against the Foe. Some men, great champions and knights, were webbed into enchanted sleep, their vigor and purity preserved, so that passing time would give no advantage to Earth’s timeless Foe. Others, those who held the Silver Key, had no choice but to stand watch against the coming of the Dark, for only they could wake the sleepers once again.”

  “I know. We’re supposed to sound the Horn and wake the sleepers.”

  “Ah. But did you know the price? The sleepers do not sleep on Earth, but in Celebradon. When Everness wakes the Sleeping King and all his Knights, Celebradon will come triumphant down from the circle of the Autumn Stars, and angels and lios-alfar upon the battlements will fly pale banners and sing the praises of Oberon. The weapons that have been stored up for the Final Battle, forged in the armories of heaven, will come forth from hiding to destroy the servants of the Dark. The battle shall rage so hot that both Earth and Sky shall shatter and burn, and, after Oberon’s victory, he shall call up a world based on mankind’s finest dreams, or perhaps based on Oberon’s inclination, and create the world anew for men loyal to him to possess.”

  Galen nodded. “Yes. I’ve heard this. We were promised a place in that new world.”

  “The servants of Light are treated more kindly than the servants of the Dark. The lesser slaves who serve the black tower of Ach
eron fear and hate the prospect of Darkling triumph as desperately as we. The Final War spells doom for those who prosper during the time before the war, spies and sneaks and traitors.”

  “You mean the shape-stealers.”

  “I mean the shape-stealers. The selkie. They are an untrusty crew, and they fear and hate their master Morningstar as much or more than you. The Master of black Acheron will have no use for spies and selkie should Darkness triumph, and, should he fail, the selkie will be scalded by the Light. There is one who knows this, one among the selkie-race, who has promised us aid.

  “The traitor among them has spoken to me, and tells how Acheron will surely send its lesser slaves to battle on the Earth before the Outer Gods or evil Seraphim are sent, for Morningstar cannot know when or where the Sleepers in Celebradon will wake. The traitor, who is in the vanguard sent ahead to be consumed in war, promises he will betray the efforts of the Darkness and make the early vanguard fail, if those in Everness merely can display that they possess the weaponry of Otherworld. Merely the rumor and the image of those weapons will drive off the weaker slaves of Acheron; if this is done, the traitor vows lies and deception will exaggerate all victories of the Light, and that his voice will poison the councils of Acheron, dishearten them, creating a retreat, and, if not victory, then peace.”

  “What weapons are these?”

  “The Nine Talismans. Do you truly know nothing, boy?”

  Galen was silent, ashamed of his ignorance, telling himself he had no cause to feel ashamed, but feeling so nonetheless.

  Azrael was silent a moment, and then said softly, “To combat the nine great evils spawned in sunken Acheron, seven great talismans were brought from Otherworld to Caer Leon. Three were kept in Caer Leon by His Majesty, the Pendragon; two sent to His Holiness, the Pope in Rome; one sent to the Emperor in unconquerable Constantinople, Caesar’s home. All were mighty, six talismans of memory, but the seventh and mightiest of these, was Clavargent, the Silver Key. Nor king nor pope nor emperor was trusted with the Silver Key; it was to Everness given, made hidden, forgotten in the house of memory.”

  Azrael fell silent. Galen waited, wondering if there was more.

  Then Galen said, “Well, we don’t have a king anymore. The pope is still there, still in Rome. But we’re not Catholic. Maybe he’d still help. And I don’t even know who the emperor is supposed to be. And they changed the name of Constantinople to Istanbul.”

  “Grim news. The talismans are scattered, then. Scattered, for they cannot be destroyed. And only the Three Queens might know where now they lie.” Azrael was silent for a time. With stiff, slow movements, he wrapped Galen’s cloak around himself. “No emperor? Ah, but that is grim news.”

  Another long silence.

  Galen said, “Well, what am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to do to find these talismans?”

  Azrael was silent in deep thought for a time, as if remembering an old lesson. Then he said: “Mortals are not meant to use them, for each one is cursed. This is why I said they must be displayed, not employed. Each one combats a different evil of the Nine whose coming the sea-bell of Vindyamar foretells. Listen. Listen with care, and in the mansion of your memory, place each of these things into a central nave, pillar, post, or window, that you may recall it when you wake. Pay heed; I cannot say it twice.”

  VI

  Azrael spoke:

  “The first of the nine knows the necromantic art; he surrendered his humanity and hollowed out his heart. No talisman is needed to keep this shade at bay; only men who grant him arms will fall beneath his sway.”

  “The second are giants of frost and flame; great is their power and great their fame. The Rod of Mollner they cannot withstand; but the weapon returns to the wielder’s hand to smite him a blow dread and sure, which no man who fears it can endure.

  “The third are the Storm Lords, the riotous three; but one was snared with a kite string and key. The wizard Franklin did this deed, and lightning serves our house at need. The Two who ride the tumult of heaven are Thunder and Wind; their brother is Levin. The Niflungar Ring is the talisman blessed to quell their distempers and set them at rest. One must renounce love and passion, to vow to take up the Ring to which these lords bow.

  “The fourth are laughing Selkie, the princes of deceit. They steal the shapes of mortal men, their senses snare and cheat. They turn to their true shapes upon the lightest touch of Moly. Honest hands must wield this wand, or innocent, or holy; for mortals suffer great travail when all their fond illusions fail: when Truth is known, severe and plain, is then the time for tears and pain.

  “The fifth are the Kelpie, steeds and bearers of disease, who prey on sinful weaknesses, but fear the Bow of Belphanes. Strength and pride can never bend this bow: it is meant for the humble, not unwilling to bow low.

  “The sixth is the Beast whose name is War and Hate. Chained by the gods, he is often set free by men who woo his daughter, the maiden Victory. Only one thing the wrath of war will sate: bright Calipurn, the Sword of the Just. The Beast will submit at sight of the Sword, found in such hands as are worthy of trust. That Sword is deeply buried, long unseen by men, not again to shine, till one worthy of his kingly line shall come in triumph once again.”

  VII

  Azrael had fallen silent. The wind howled in the darkness underfoot, and the chain swayed slightly. Galen, carefully balanced, and intent on every word, waited further, but the silence lengthened.

  Galen was now doubly embarrassed. He had, after all, heard of these talismans before; he had known of them his whole life, but called by a different name. The Seven Signs of Vindyamar (as he had been taught to know them) were inscribed on the walls of the Tower called Two Dragons, which was the oldest part of the Mansion at Everness, and called the Heart of the House. Carvings in the intricate gothic style depicted several monsters, seal- men and giants, each holding the Sign which heralded them: a hammer, a ring, a wand, a bow, a sword. And then two other signs Azrael had not yet mentioned: a grail and, of course, the Horn.

  Galen had never known or suspected that these Signs were depictions of real weapons. He had been taught they served another purpose. He tried to think of some way casually to mention that he had known all along what these talismans were, to show Azrael that he was not as ignorant as he appeared. But he had to bring it up in such a way that it would not like vain boasting.

  Galen said: “Well? That’s only six bells. Five talismans. What of the Grail? The Horn?”

  “No talisman save the Titan himself is set to face what rises from the sea at seven strokes. And if the eighth or the final sea-bell tolls, what comes is beyond your strength. You could not wield the talismans for them. Tell me, watcher, how many times did it toll?”

  “It was going on and on.”

  “Was the count forty-and-five? This is the sum of all evils the sea-bell warns against. If so, Acheron itself, the citadel of Morningstar, makes ready to rise up from the unfathomable deep.”

  “I—I don’t know. It might have been that many . . .”

  “Have the Guardians of Everness forgotten the art of counting? It is not difficult to master, for one who has fingers, for numbers lesser than ten, and has toes, a score. No matter. What sign did the Watch of Vindyamar dispatch?”

  “I saw a black seagull, holding the lantern of the elfs.”

  “That was mine, caught and tamed by me, and with a lantern only my art could craft, to show he came by me. Can you not see my sign came not from Vindyamar? The Watch of Vindyamar would surely have sent to you a warning dream, and Nimue held up from the bosom of the waves a token of what talisman to ready, sword or ring or wand or cup, according in what form the attack would show itself, whether by war, or wind, by deceit or death. What sign were you shown? Are you not a Watchman of Everness? Were you not watching?”

  Galen was almost in agony of embarrassment. Of all things, of all people, the one he wanted most to have think well of him was Azrael de Gray, the founder of his family, his house, and h
is order.

  His grandfather had told him that there should have been a sign from Vindyamar, where the sea-bell was kept in a crystal harbor. Instead, thinking the black gull was the sign, he came here, only to be told, now, by the Founder, that Grandfather had been right all along.

  But then that embarrassment turned to dread.

  “Sign? There was no sign.”

  “Ah. Then Vindyamar has been taken by the enemy.” There was something very cold in the way he spoke, a glitter in his eye Galen did not like. “This is cause for dread. The Watch of Vindyamar surely would not have failed to send a sign, upon which so much depends. Only treason could have undone them; only the Enemy has strength enough to overcome their virtue. The Three Queens must surely, by now, have been taken. To Nastrond, to horrible Nastrond, the shores made of murderer’s bones . . .”

  The cold voice trailed into silence.

  “Well—well—what do I do?”

  Azrael bowed his proud head.

  “There is nothing to do. The cause has failed. Return home and compose yourself how to perish gracefully and with aplomb. Suicide is nobler than the torture pits of Acheron.”

  “There must be something we can do!”

  “Only a display of the Talismans will frighten the vanguard of the Darkness. If the vanguard should prevail, nothing is left except to wake the Sleepers and call the end of time on Earth. Do you know where the Talismans of Otherworld are kept?”

  “N—no.”

  “Nor do I.”

  “Who does know?”

  “The Three Queens of Vindyamar. Who, if they have not sent you a token calling you to war, we must presume taken, or slain.”

  Galen stood on the chain for a long time, staring down between his feet. A dizzying, vast nothingness, darker than midnight, sank endlessly down away from him.

  It did not seem any darker, any deeper than the sinking feeling inside of himself. The words of Azrael de Gray echoed in his imagination: taken or slain. . .