"I think my former master, Lord Gunnar, knows the nature of this place, but do not fear, my lord. It cannot do you harm. You do not recall me? I understand. You lead so many and such varied lives. You meet people far more remarkable than myself. You don't remember Johannes Klosterheim? I have been waiting here for Earl Gunnar to arrive for some fifty years. We were once partners in sorcery. My own satanic powers are used elsewhere. But here I am."
"This house was brought here by sorcery?" I asked.
"No, sir. The house was built by my own and others' honest sweat. Only the stone posts were already in place. We erected the beams, the walls and floors. Each corner of the house is stone, as are many of the interior supports. We found the circle already here when I arrived."
"We? You and your pet?"
"I must apologize for the bird, sir. My only protection against the savages. But I was not referring to him. No, sir, I am lucky enough to be chief of a small tribe of native skraylings. Travelers like myself. We found this land already settled. It was the settlers helped me build my house."
"We saw no other lights, sir. Where would those settlers be?"
"Sadly, sir, they are all dead. Of old age. We fell out, I fear, myself and the Norsemen. My tribe triumphed. Apart from the women and children adopted to make up our numbers, the rest
are now enjoying the rewards of Valhalla." He uttered a barking caw. "All mongrels now, eh, sir?"
"So settlers built this place for you?"
"They did most of the necessary work, yes. It's essentially circular, like their own houses. The island itself was a holy place locally. The natives were frightened of it when we arrived. I knew it would be a long while before you got here, so I needed somewhere comfortable to wait. But my tribesmen will not live here. A few remain with me but make their own camp in the mountains over on the other side of that ridge." He pointed inland at a distant, pine-covered terrace. "They bring me my food and my fuel. I am, these days, a kind of household god. Not very important, but worth placating. They've waited years, I suspect, for a more suitable Easterner. Gunnar could well be what they want, if he does not kill them before they have a chance to talk. You had better take me to him. I place myself under your protection, Prince Elric."
Without locking the house, Johannes Klosterheim closed his front door, left his jabbering bird inside and followed me. Some Vikings had already reached the gang-rope. The Swan rocked and bobbed under the weight as they pulled on the rope, hauling themselves through the water and up the side.
"Earl Gunnar," I called. "The master of the house is with me. He says he means us no harm. He can explain these paradoxes." Gunnar was still half-panicked, raving. "Paradoxes? What paradoxes? There are no paradoxes here, merely dark danger. I will not risk my men's lives against it."
His men paused. They were not as impressed or terrified as he was. Gunnar gathered himself. He spoke with a slightly forced authority. He could not afford to show any further failures of judgment, or he would not last long.
"The master of the house is captured?" "He comes as a friend. He says he awaits us. He is glad we have arrived."
Gunnar wanted no more of this in public. He grunted and
shrugged. "He can come aboard with us, if he likes. We need fresh water, and there's none I can see here."
Smiling faintly to himself Klosterheim held his own counsel. He bowed. "I am much obliged, Earl Gunnar."
Gunnar pushed back through his men to take a better look at the newcomer. "Do you know this realm?"
Klosterheim changed his language to Greek. "As well as anyone," he said. "I would imagine you are hoping for a guide."
Gunnar snorted. "As if I'd trust you!"
"I know why you fear this place, Gunnar the Doomed, and I know you have reason to fear it." Klosterheim spoke in a low, cold voice. "But I have no particular cause to fear it, and neither has any other man here, save you."
"You know my dream?" said Gunnar.
"I can guess what it must be, for I know what happened at that place. But you have nothing to fear in the house now."
"Aye," said Gunnar. "Call me a cautious old man, but I see no reason to trust my fortunes to you or that place."
"You had best trust me, Gunnar the Doomed, since we have goals in common."
"How can you know so much living at the World's Rim? Do vessels come and go every week from here to the Middle Sea?"
"Not as many as there used to be," said Klosterheim. "The Phoenician trade at its height was thriving on other shores than these. I have been to a country far from here where the folk speak Breton and are Christians. Slowly the land will change them. They will become as the others here. Men change not as they would, but as nature demands. The Norse and Roman trade was minimal. The Phoenicians and their Celtic allies fled here after the fall of Carthage. This continent has always absorbed its settlers. And made them its own."
Gunnar had lost interest. "So you say there's no big Norse settlement here? No major defenses? No fleet?"
"Just myself and the Pukawatchi now," said Klosterheim, almost humorously. "Patiently expecting your coming. I know what
you carry with you here. How came you so swiftly to Vinland?" He spoke knowingly.
Gunnar saw the last of his men into the ship, then came back to talk further. "You mean that war plate?" he asked. "That skrayling shield?"
"It was more than luck brought you here before the winter snows," said Klosterheim. "It was more than one thing allowed you to take a shortcut through Hell!" He spoke with unusual force. "You need me, Earl Gunnar the Doomed, just as you do Prince Elric, if you are ever to see the Golden City and look upon the wonder of the Skrayling Tree."
"Do you know what I seek?" Gunnar demanded.
"Might it have something to do with the ring worn by our pale friend?"
"That's enough," said Gunnar. He lapsed into uncharacteristic, brooding silence. "And why am I here?" I asked. I held up the ring. "You are not here, as you well know," said Johannes Klosterheim with narrowed eyes. "You are in peril in some other realm. Only desperation brings your dream self here." "And you know what I seek?"
"I know what you would do. I cannot see how it can be done whether you serve Law or Chaos." He interrupted himself, looking to Gunnar. "Come back with me to the house. Leave your men to guard the ship. You can sleep, and we can talk further. I need your strength as you need my wisdom."
But Gunnar shook his head again. "Instinct tells me to avoid that house at all costs. It is associated with my doom. If you have warriors and would join forces, we'll improve our security. So I'll agree provisionally to an alliance. Until I see the mettle of your men. Should you reveal to me tomorrow that your tribe's no more visible than the average elf or dwarf, you'll have waited fifty years just to lose your head. Do you too claim to be a demi-mortal like our leprous friend here? The world is filling up with us. The best of these die bloodily at forty or so. Few live to sixty, let alone two hundred."
"I was born out of my time," Klosterheim offered by way of explanation. "I am an adventurer, like yourself, who seeks a certain revenge and recompense. I cannot die until Time herself dies. A young dreamthief's apprentice has tried to steal something from me and has paid a price for it. Now I travel as you do, with the help of sorcery. Why Time should accommodate us so thoroughly, I cannot tell, but we might learn one day."
"You're of a scientific disposition?" I asked.
"I have been acquainted with natural scientists and students of the Khemir and the Gibra for many years. All grope for wisdom as greedily as their lords and kings grope for power. To protect their wisdom from abuse by the temporal forces of this world, various brotherhoods have been formed down the centuries. The most recent is the Brotherhood of the Holy Sepulcher. All understand that the sum of human wisdom, the secret of human peace, resides in a certain magical object. It can take the form of a cup, a staff or a stone. It is known by the Franks as the Gray Dale, which is a name they give to a ceremonial bowl used to greet and feast visitors. Some say it is a bowl of blood. Some say the heads of enemies swim in that bowl and speak of secret, unnatural things. Or it is a staff, such as Holy Roman Emperors carry to symbolize that they rule justly and with balance under the law. The Gauls and Moors are convinced it is a stone, and not a small one. Yet all agree the Gray Dale could take any of these forms and still be what it is, for sight of it is hidden from all but the most heroic and virtuous."