Текст книги "Dominion"

Автор книги: Calvin Baker

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Текущая страница: 28 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

ten

A blanket of densest snow covered the hills, and fog filled the valley that morning like smoke blown into a goblet of water. Miniature islands of ice floated out in the center of the springtime lake, cresting and ebbing with whatever wind was passing, like a ragtag army on the march to a new battle. All below him the people were still in their houses sleeping, without knowledge of the disturbance beyond their doors, so there was no witness to what passed that morning – and nothing but lore as it has come down, to tell of that struggle.

The man was still weary from his journey, and as the beast stood before him he looked out over his lands, down into the valley, and back at the path he had taken and thought how there was no road and no nation there at all when his ancestor first arrived, but a confederacy of valley and hills, and permanence in that place was only a freelance idea. Nor was there law or commerce, but an untouched and perfect peace such as would never exist again. There was little in the country that had not changed since the Titans’ age, but what he wanted was much the same, and he would fight again to have it.

Ould Lowe stood balanced on his one leg and stared down at the man with godlike scorn. He did not need legs or arms or even fists to do his work in the world. He possessed the instrument of unyielding will, which made him permanent there.

“What is your business with me?” the man asked, looking back at him with much the same gaze.

The monster laughed and drew nearer, until he had taken hold of the horse’s bridle. “It is for you to get down from your mount and square things.”

Caleum nodded and stepped out of the stirrups, slowly leading the beast away from the horse, as he tried to remember all he had ever heard or read about the fiend.

“He was bigger, the first one,” pronounced Lowe, who loomed two full heads above the man, after measuring him. “This will be easy work.”

“Let us have at it,” Caleum answered.

“You cannot overcome me,” Lowe declared. “I am your history and religion.”

“There are two views of the thing,” the man answered him.

“Nay. There is a third.”

“It is false.”

“Who is to say but me?”

“There is much falseness that is believed.”

“I am your master.”

“Aye? Then there is much we must debate.”

They fell upon each other then like two great khans, only one of whom could have ascendency there and no other arrangement possible.

The man did not know how strong the fiend truly was until it was upon him, and when the monster’s hands reached him he knew at once it was stronger than anything he had known before.

The beast arched and circled like a snake, and began squeezing life from him with all the slowness of a game he was destined to win. He would let him breathe, then tighten his grip and begin withdrawing his breath again, wanting to relish his victory, wanting to feel all the man’s strength leave him, until he cursed his days and that he ever walked the earth. He was like some primordial antecedent, demanding tribute that day, or else some taunting sphinx showing himself, then falling away, as the man struggled to understand what had been.

When Lowe let him draw breath again, he felt a surge of strength and was able finally to grasp hold of the beast and wrestle him to the ground in a great tangle of violence as they battled on in the snow.

The monster learned from that moment Caleum was no plaything but game for a contest, and each then directed his blows with all the more force, knowing he had no more room for error.

When the creature’s anger fell on him again, the man felt each hard punch with a great clarity of pain that made him wince and nearly cry out. When he was able at last to retaliate he put an equal energy into the blows he delivered, which made the ogre grimace and recoil, but it would not release him.

Thus did they keep up their brawl through all the morning hours, before full light had come to fall on and wake the world. They were forming or else untying something there that could only be made in blood and darkness, and they were engaged in their terrible, boundless brawl through all those still early hours.

The man fought to keep what was his and already won and leave what was behind in the past. The beast fought for what was once its own, like an illimitable ancient passion.

He, the man, was not learned in magic, nor was he a giant, but he fought as he had to for his home, which was burned down, and the dwelling place of many accumulated sorrows now – but no less loved because of that – for it was not destructible. Neither by fire nor flood, or fissure in the earth, but existed in the spirit, and only the death of that could make him fall to the beast. As they clasped there, though, there came a time when all his strength did leave him. Sensing the nearness of his victory at last, Lowe picked him up, and threw him five full feet, so that Caleum was left flat on his back, unable to move.

Lowe was triumphant and came to finish him. However, as he knelt down to the man a strange gleam on the snow caught his attention, and he could not resist lifting it from the white field where it shone dazzling in the sun. He turned it over endlessly in his hand, mesmerized, wondering what sort of strange new food it was.

It was only when he was caught in this state that the man was able to recover and encircle the monster with a length of chain he took from his traveling trunk.

Lowe, when he felt himself bound again, let out a long morbid call that distressed all who were still sleeping, as they felt a mute unutterable sadness in their dreams.

The man opened his purse and took out another of the coins and threw it into the center of the lake. The fiend Lowe struggled to go after it, forgetting about the man momentarily. The man then fastened a rock from the shore of the lake to the beast’s new chain and dragged him down into the water, where he was able to do with Lowe as he pleased. When he dove below the final time, he secured Lowe to another stone on the bottom of the lake bed and lifted another over him. He let Lowe keep his spoils.

He resurfaced after a very long time spent submerged in the beast’s den, empty and trembling from what had passed, feeling as though he had journeyed through all the halls of the dead. It seemed like some strange dream as he made his way around the lake after that and continued on toward his home. It was no dream, but the wages he paid that morning to reach his front door.

Inside he saw Libbie and Rose curled up on the couch, where they had fallen asleep the night before. On the floor in front of them was a piece of fabric Libbie had been sewing, and when he knelt to pick it up he could not tell what she was making, as part of the thread had been pulled out, leading to a bundle under the sofa, and only the outline of what she was creating remained.

He touched both of them gently without waking either, then went and sat on the other side of the room, waiting until the house stirred from slumber of its own accord.

Adelia woke first, and, as she moved through the rooms, she let out a great sound of joy. She was grown very old and frail, and Caleum was careful when he embraced her that he should not be as forceful as he wanted, though he was transported to see her and held her fast, as if sensing she was all that remained of his ancient past.

Their reunion stirred the rest of the house, and soon the others were all awake and standing near him. No one commented on his injury then, or on the turmoil the house had been cast into, but he could tell there must be much to relate.

When he asked after his Uncle Magnus, Adelia only answered that he was in the far field where they would all end up some day.

“Yes we will,” he said, with a feeling of only slightly tarnished happiness. “All of us.”

He asked next how their stores had held up, for he could see it had been another hard winter for them there on the land. Libbie answered, saying they had lost much, and that it had been terrible indeed not knowing whether he would return or not, but that he was there now and they could bid farewell to strife.

The others they did not say anything, but waited for him to answer. “Well, it is spring soon, and as long as there is a single mule left to us we’ll rebuild it all even greater than before.”

“It has been an awful winter,” Libbie said again, pressing close to him. “But we did not despair too much.”

“I knew you would come,” Rose said, not able to constrain herself anymore, as Lucky only played around his feet.

“Aye. I wanted to be here sooner,” he said, then looked again to her to whom he first pledged his love and to whom it belonged.

He had not yet surveyed all his lands but knew there would be much to be attended to as soon as the weather allowed him. As for his leg, it would be more difficult but not impossible – or even so hard as other springs had been out there – and he knew that as long as he did not fall into self-sorrow he would be able to face it. That was the way life was with them out there, and he knew he could either accept his rightful challenge or else let the wilderness reclaim everything. Though that was not an option for him or any of them at Stonehouses that morning, because the maidens of that country, as has long been told, were famous as wives, and the men of that land were all worthy, if sometimes fallible, husbands.

What kept them all pushing up against that wilderness year after year, other than an oxlike fortitude of the heart, he could not say. It was not fear of annihilation, or even any longer that there was no other place for them. He knew by then there were many others, but for Stonehouses there was only one such place in all America.

He did not know whether he could be bold in his time of leading it, as Jasper Merian had been, or shrewd as Magnus Merian, but he would take his challenge as it was given him, because it was his now and he had no fear of that. They would begin rebuilding as soon as the weather gave way and he had mourned his father who had died.

“See how peaceful it looks,” he said to Rose and Lucky, looking outside the window at the snow still falling down in the valley, feeling that the world was fixed again and knowable. “If we keep faith in what it is and who we are, it will never demand of us more than we can bear.” It is what he had always been told, and he saw now he had no choice but to believe that, because he had wandered through the world and knew that morning, as all his battles began to recede into memory, that these were his blessings and what he had fought for, and they were glorious. And this was the only home he had, and it was the only one he would ever have and the only one he ever wanted. It was morning then in the world, and it was the morning of his life. In his own country.

The girls stood there with him looking out the window, across the hills, on the other side of the lake, and Libbie came and touched a hand to his shoulder, as Adelia went out to prepare breakfast. They were together again as was always meant to be.

Beneath the surface of the lake Old Lowe, if that be his true name, wailed with grief in his den and began working anew at his chains, but he was fastened tight to the bottom on the lake bed. In time he would stop all protestation – knowing he had been vanquished again in fair contest.

He would rest then, near silent, almost a hundred years.