Gene Wolfe: The Wizard

“First, the truth. I had thought to lead you on Cloud. I had lost her. You will recall that I did not have her on our march south, not ‘til we met the Dragon Soldiers. In his goodness, Lothur restored her to me. He may have thought I’d break an oath I gave his father in payment. That would’ve been the end of me, as it will be very soon. I didn’t, but at the worst possible moment his father took her back. It did us great harm, and the fault is mine. I confess it to you now.”

Several muttered objections. I silenced them.

“That was the truth, and you have it. Here is more. In Skai, the Valfather, the greatest and kindest of all kings under the Most High God, gave me power. Years later I begged to return here. He consented on the condition that I not use my power here, and I swore I wouldn’t.

“I’m an oath-breaker, since I broke that one when the Osterlings were besieging Redhall. Some of you were there, and will not forget the storm I raised. Tonight I’m going to break it again, openly and for as long as I can.”

Exhausted though they were, that stirred them.

I called to Bold Berthold. He could not stand, but Pouk and Uns helped him. I tore away his bandage and healed him.

“Kneel,” I told him, “and Gerda beside you.”

He was exploring the spot where his wound had been, but he knelt; Ulfa brought Gerda and had her kneel too. I put a hand on each head and felt my power flow out. It took a lot to restore the thing he had left in a pond so long ago.

When I opened them again, they were kneeling still. I wondered at the silence, because I expected a lot of noise, but the others were watching by firelight and could see only their bent backs. Bold Berthold’s hair was black once more. Gerda’s was the color of ripe corn. Yet my hands were still on their heads, and even the closest could not be sure.

I told Bold Berthold and Gerda to rise. They did, and Bold Berthold exclaimed, “I can see! I can see!” Gerda embraced him and they wept—this though she was fair and young again, with laughing eyes.

Etela tugged my sleeve, weeping too. I knew what she wanted, and had Ulfa bring Lynnet to me. “You are not my son,” Lynnet said, “and yet you are. Will you make me go?”

“Never,” I told her. “But I cannot make you live again. That is beyond me. Kneel. I don’t have much time.”

She knelt. The derangement of Lynnet’s mind was deep and hard, so that I felt I was picking a knot with my nails and my teeth; I loosed it at last, and I had her stand. She smiled, and I at her, and we embraced. “Mag is still with me,” she whispered. “She came on that sea isle. You won’t make her go home?”

“No,” I said.

Gylf next, and swiftly and easily. And then I knew, for I saw him, standing behind those farthest from the fire. I thought he would speak when I called for Uns. He did not.

As for me, I found I could hardly whisper. I laid my hand on Uns’ hump, something I had never done before. “Stand straight.”

How slowly he rose! He thought it a dream—I saw that in his face. He thought he was dreaming, and feared at every finger’s width gained that he might wake. Toug came to stand by him. Toug was crying, and so was I.

Wistan was almost the last. Before I healed him, I thought of how he had fought with Toug in Utgard; that was long over and he had served me faithfully.

“You were there in the beginning,” I told Pouk. “It is not right you should be last now. I hope I have time.”

“I got a eye, sir. Take Vil.”

I had forgotten him, and had Pouk bring him forward. For a moment or two, I felt I lacked the strength. He took my hand when it was over, and put something in it, a thing that buzzed and sang with many voices. “I want to pay, Sir Able. Ain’t enough, but it’s what I got. When I got more, you’ll get that too.”

“My bowstring.”

“Yes, sir. Yours again.”

I was exhausted and very happy at that moment, Ben. I made Pouk come to me and blew into his blind eye. He said, “Thankee, sir! Thankee!,” and I hugged him and he me, and I knew that he too had been healed, and I could heal no more. I wanted to sit, but the tall man in the wide hat was coming and it was impossible.

“You have done, Drakonritter.” It was not a question.

I bowed my head.

“You are shamed.” His eye gleamed in the dark. “You would end your life if I asked, and will end it in any case.”

“I will, Valfather.” My hand had found my dagger.

“I forbid it! But I expect no obedience from you. You will die when Winter and Old Night whelm us. So will I. So will my son Thunor, who does not believe it. Meanwhile, I thank you for mending my dog. Shall I return Cloud?”

“No,” I said.

“I’ll give you another, younger, of the same breed.”

“No,” I said again.

“You thought my son Lothur kind and generous. He is neither. What you saw as his generosity was only groundwork for betrayal. If you had known him as others do, you would have seen it at once.”

Something kindled in me, and I raised my head. “I never entreated your son for help, nor did any act of mine deserve his gratitude. He told Morcaine to summon me and offered his help. We were starving and too weak to face our foes. He brought us food and men. I will make no complaint of him—never again.”

“Others he has treated better have spoken worse.” There was a smile in the Valfather’s tone. “Are you coming back?”

I said nothing.

“Few have been asked—Sir Able. Even once.”

“I am not Able,” I whispered.

“You are. I’ll summon Cloud, and you and I will mount. Together we will ride to Skai.”

I could not talk, Ben. I have sometimes when I found it so hard that I wondered afterward how I did it. This time I could not. Etela took my hand; her face was wet with tears, but she was not crying then. “He’s afraid she won’t come with him,” Etela told the Valfather.

“She would not, child.” His voice had become remote and severe. “She cannot.” He turned away.

Disiri had been watching and listening. She stepped out of the shadows.

The Valfather gestured to Wistan. “You’ve served your knight faithfully. You must do him one service more. Bring his helm and set it on his head.”

Wistan did.

Lovely Disiri became a puppet of mud and leaves. That was horrible, but I had expected it. Two other things I had not expected and cannot explain. The Valfather was a bright shadow. Nothing more.

And Bold Berthold, who had been sitting beside Gerda, vanished. She was the same lovely young woman, but Berthold was gone and you, Ben, sat in his place. As I say, I cannot explain these things.

“You see what you are surrendering,” the bright shadow told me, “and know to what it is you go. What will you do?”

I drew my dagger, pushed up the sleeve of my hauberk, and cut my arm. “Drink,” I told Disiri, and she bent and drank of my blood. Not a few drops, as Aelf often do, but great sobbing-gulps while I clenched and unclenched my fist so that human life flowed freely, never stopping until a small, green-eyed woman stood beside me.

When I looked for the bright shadow again, it had gone. Soon Disiri and I went, too, I leaning on her, for I had lost much blood and was weak.

Here is the third incident I promised. We went slowly, and twice I fell. By the time we reached the river, fresh sunlight had dyed the clouds a thousand colors, though the sun’s face was still below the eastern mountain. I stopped at the edge of the water, not sure I could make the crossing. A beautiful young woman supported the knight I saw reflected there; but that knight was not a boy but a grim warrior whose eyes gleamed from the slits of his helm.

I took it off and cast it into the river, and when the ripples had subsided, Disiri and I were just the same.