“You may not fear them,” de Garcia returned, his head protruding into the stairway, “But I cannot help it, for here they come!”
Willard looked to Ivona for a brief instant, then, “Disarm yourselves and move to the corners. I will meet them alone and in peace.”
Because the stair’s opening stood in the center of the wall, those in the corners were hidden by the angle. Willard struck himself to the floor, his golden armor flashing in the morning sun and his regal face unmoving. It was a mountain in itself. He did not have to wait long. The air danced in confusion and the various noises of the approaching Titans converged into a single, overpowering din. One moment the stair was empty, the next a man appeared. He was rotund, covered with venerably white hair and beard, and a cornered nose that came out straight and went back at an angle. He danced joyously with his arms – as if in an ancient tribal ritual – and let his feet fly from the stairs at every step. It was not until he crossed the threshold of the room that he saw Willard. He stopped, looked over his stalwart form, and smiled.
“You remain with us, friend?” he asked. “Since I see that you do: greetings. I am Zeus Agmannon, king-over-the-mountain.”
Willard returned, “And I am Willard, King of Atilta.”
“Truly? And so it is you I have to thank for this.”
“For what?”
“Opening the passageway to the stairs. For weeks we have been unable to open it, as if it were bound by a force outside of what can be seen. Yet it opened for you, and now we rejoice!”
“Why so?”
“Why so!” the old man laughed, “This is the wine cellar!” He smiled boyishly and raised his hand to guard his lips before continuing, “With a superb view.” He winked at Willard.
“Where is the wine?” he asked.
“Under the floor! You no doubt noticed that the stairway’s circumference is greater than the room’s; there is a narrow chamber below, within the stairway’s spiral. The wine is kept there, but we must first come up to get it – lest we take too much!” and he looked out the window at the growing dawn, breathing deeply. He turned back to Willard. “You were with those others, were you not? The tall, dark man with his hair combed backward?”
“I was.”
“And you rescued him from our guards?”
“I did.”
“For what purpose?”
“He is a citizen of my kingdom, so I must protect him from foreign elements. It is my duty.”
“True enough, but where has he gone? His men left us in peace, but he disappeared.”
“He fled from me – we are enemies at home.”
“Your duty is strong!” Zeus Agmannon turned his head and caught Ivona with his eyes. He twirled around and ran to her, kneeling at her feet and saying, “Beauty personified! What joy to my eyes. You have a pleasant air, lady. And you!” he turned to Lydia, “You are equally fair. May I ask you to join me for a drink and for breakfast?” He saw their hesitation and laughed, “Only the guards wear goblin helmets: for the outsiders’ sake. We have been given a refuge for our deeds and we mean to keep it, though without violence.”
“I would gladly drink with you, but I must beg leave to take only water,” Ivona said in a stately, graceful manner.
“Granted, granted!” Zeus cried in joy, and he ran about the room with his arms above his head. Then he stopped and knelt to the ground, opening a trap door that was hidden in the floor. “I will only be a moment,” he said, and disappeared beneath the floor. In a minute he was back, with a basket of bottles and cups in one hand and a basket of victuals in the other. “Behold!” he said, “The Holy Graal !”
The others winked at one another, joining Zeus and the Titans in a circle on the floor, where they partook of their morning repast.
“I can smell your hurry,” the king-over-the-mountain smiled, “But let me assure you that no one can travel in the forest until the sun rises and it will not pass the canopy for another hour.”
“Quite so,” Willard said.
“Ah-ha, a forest man? I love you already!”
The rest of the hour was spent in resting and feasting, lavishly entertained by their former enemies. Zeus Agmannon, if he was anything, was a gracious host; and their journey was not so vain as they had feared.
Chapter 72
For the beauty of contrast, there was never a more wondrous place than the coastal forests of Atilta. On the one side a citadel of nature, a great forest cut like rock against the sky; on the other the cup of the gods, overflowing with the biting ocean waters. On the one side stood trees mighty and majestic, their canopies outstretched in a communal celebration; on the other side water, a plasmid plain reflecting the trees and bringing out their true nature in the distortion. On one side were wooden towers, crisp and real; on the other their phantoms wavered this way and rippled that.
In this whirlwind of contrast lived a small rowboat, carved from a single log and floating in the shaded waters. It was late afternoon and the air hung lazily over the sea. A man sat in the boat, newly fifty with his hair still colored brown, though the center of his head had long ago gone nude. His nose was short and stout – much as his person – and his eyebrows were weeping willows that shaded his hardwood eyes.
“Those Fardy brothers!” he said to himself, “Let them confess to me later, and I will give them rosaries enough to test their patience. ‘We will be back,’ they says, ‘And you will not have missed us at all!’ Mortal pride of self, it must be, for I do not miss them more than the Lenten feasts.” He paused and, sighing, “Still, I wish they were here.”
He sat up and collected his limbs on the bench that occupied the stern of the boat, looking into the trees. There, hidden among the thick foliage, was a platform attached to the highest branches of the canopy. None but the sharpest eyes could have spied it, and those only if they cared to study the scene for several minutes. Atiltian trees were not deciduous and in the winter the platform was as invisible as in the height of summer. A man stood on the edge of the Treeway and waved his arms at Erwin Meredith.
“Why do you disturb my prayers, Koon?” and he drew himself up as if returning wearily to the land of mere mortals. “Wait, do not answer from there, but come down instead. I need a moment to wipe the blood from my face before I can grant you my attention.” He knelt and splashed water onto his face. In a moment the man reappeared, but on the ground. He was young, no more than thirty, and had a theological beard. His face was handsome. Though his beard and baldness gave him the airs of a wise old man, his bearing gave him the breeze of youth. He was disarming and unarmed, but for his rapier eyes and his hurricane laugh.
“What is it now, Koon?”
“Ships, sir, from the northeast.”
Meredith lowered himself to conceal his interest. “Of what kind?”
“Timbers.”
“Timbers? A chaotic time for a cruise,” and Meredith looked at him closely. “Koon, your beard remains, though I ordered all officers below captain be clean-shaven, for discipline. I favor you, perhaps, but I will still be obeyed.”
“Sir, it is against my conscience.”
“How so?”
“The spiritual ratio, sir!”
“Good God, are you Gylain now?”
“Not at all, but I have been studying as you commanded, and have seen that nature represents God in the ratio of its purity to its unblemished natural face. So I, too, must have a natural face. If I were to shave, I would be removing the ratio that connects nature to its creator.”