Stephen Lawhead - The Paradise War

He smiled his sly, superior smile when he saw me. «Well, I am here. What do you have for me?»

«Have you spoken to the prince?»

«I have,» he replied, striding confidently nearer. «He will show his gratitude when the time comes. You will see.»

«Good.» I glanced quickly skyward. It was the time-between-times. «Walk with me,» I said.

I could see Simon thought this an odd request, but he obeyed. «This has not been easy,» I began slowly, moving around the base of the mound. «Tegid can be very difficult, as you know. He is not one to openly discuss what he is thinking. He is a bard-you know how they are.»

He made a derisive sound low in his throat. «Go on,» he said.

«I just wanted you to know that it has not been easy to get information from him. There were certain difficulties.»

«I told you Meidron stands ready to give you the reward you deserve,» Simon said, suddenly suspicious. «What else do you want?»

«We will come back to that. Now listen, this is what I found out: as soon as we reach Sycharth, Tegid is going to summon a gathering of bards to help him decide what to do.»

«Why? Does he not know what to do?» He halted, his brow lowering skeptically.

«You do not understand,» I said bluntly. I kept walking; Simon followed, and we completed the first circuit around the mound. «Meidryn Mawr must be buried first. It takes time to choose a new king.»

«How much time?»

«That is not important.» I kept walking.

«How much time?» Simon demanded.

«Twenty days at least,» I said, choosing a number from thin air. «Once the bards have assembled-and we do not even know how many are left-there are preparations to be made, rituals and ceremonies that must be performed.»

«We know all this,» Simon replied in a clumsy attempt to bully me. «What else?»

I stopped and turned to him, gripping my spear tight between my hands. «If you know so much,» I growled, «why accept my help at all? Do you want to learn what I found out, or not?»

«I am here,» he replied tersely. «I am listening.»

I started walking once more, feigning a sullen silence. The ruse worked. He followed. «What else did you learn?» he asked in a mollifying tone.

«Well,» I replied slowly, «I think that Tegid will wait until all the bards have assembled, and then he will delay the choosing.»

«Delay? Why would he delay choosing?»

«There is an ancient law,» I answered, drawing out my words, «which allows the bard to gather all the men of the dan to a hosting for the kingship.»

«What manner of hosting?» This intrigued Simon, as I knew it would.

«That is for the bards to decide,» I bluffed, completing the second sunwise circuit of the mound and beginning the third. «Usually, there are numerous martial contests-trials of strength, skill at arms, horseinanship-and tests of courage, and mental agility.» I paused to let these words sink in, and then said, «The king will be chosen from among those who fare best in the competitions,» I told him, «not just the princes and chieftains.»

Simon bristled. 'Why should a new ruler be so chosen when there is an heir with royal blood, one who is prepared to take the crown that is his by right?» He set his jaw in defiance of my words, and I knew I had read him right. I knew what he had done, and I could guess how he had done it:

Simon had inflamed Prince Meldron's ambition with talk of birthright succession: kingship passing from father to son, through bloodlines rather than through the merit of the individual. Simon, whose entire life was a testament to unmerited privilege, would champion the idea. And he would have no trouble at all convincing the weak and greedy prince that he was entitled to his father's throne.

Yet this is not the way of Albion: kings are chosen from among the clan's best men; and the bards, who retain the power to confer sovereignty, do the choosing.

Had he won over Prince Meidron with his easy talk of a kingship that could be gained without merit, without the blessing of the bard? A kingship that came through the blood of birth, not the blood of sacrifice?

I did not know who killed the Phantarch; indeed, I could not guess how he had even been found. But I was absolutely certain of one fact: Simon, who had forced his way into this world, had brought with him alien and deadly ideas. His heresies had caused the deaths of Ollathir, the Phantarch, the king, and countless thousands who had been destroyed by Nudd and his hordes. He had blithely and selfishly sought to take what could not be his, to create an order that would serve his selfish interest.

He knew and cared nothing about true kingship. He knew nothing of the Song, or the Cythrawl. Or of the host of powers and forces loosed by his words of treachery-even now! He cared only for himself. His greed had almost destroyed Albion, and it had to be stopped. It was time for Simon to leave.

We walked a bit further, completing our third sunwise circuit of the mound. The sky lightened to sunrise, glowing softly pink. He was silent for some moments, thinking through what I told him. «Tegid's hosting,» he said at last, «when will it begin?»

«It must take place in the space between one new moon and the next, sometime after Beltain and before Samhain,» I told hun.

«Beltain is soon,» Simon observed.

«It is,» I confirmed. «Very soon.»

I stepped quickly to one side, levelling my spear upon Simon in the same swift motion. He glanced at the blade and made to push it aside. «Stand easy,» I told him. «It is over, Simon. You are going back.»

«Gomg back?» He wondered in genuine bewilderment.

«Home, Simon. You do not belong here. This is not your world. You have done great harm here, and it has to stop.» He drew breath to protest, but I did not let him speak. «Turn around,» I ordered, motioning toward the mound with the tip of the spear.

«You would not dare hurt me,» he scoffed, throwing back his cloak and reaching for his sword. With a quick flick of the spear, I nicked his upper arm. He looked at the blood welling from the scratch and became angry. «You will die for that!»

«Turn around, Simon,» I commanded.

Simon glared and hesitated. «You want it for yourself! You think yourself a king.»

«Move!» I jabbed at him with the spear and stepped closer.

«I am right behind you.»

«You will regret this,» he spat with cool menace. «I promise you will die regretting this.»

«I will take that chance,» I said, stepping near and pressing the sharp blade of my spear into his ribs. «But you are going back where you belong. Now move!»

He turned and stepped stiffly to the dark cave-like entrance yawning open at the base of the mound. With a last murderous look at me, he bent his head and entered.

I did not spare a moment celebrating my success. The Otherworld portal would not remain open long. Simon was right, I was already regretting what I had done-but not for the reason he suggested. I glanced around fair Albion one last time, and realized how much I had come to love it, how much I would miss it all. Sadly, and with extreme reluctance, I leaned my spear against the mound. Then, breathing a silent farewell, I bent my head and stepped into the dark entrance.

The interior of the mound was dark as a womb, and suffocatingly close. I could not see Simon, nor could I hear him or sense his presence. He had already crossed over. Fearing the portal would close at any moment, and that I would miss my chance to return-and, having missed it, that I would not be able to make myself go through with it the next time-I took a deep breath and stepped into the Fiowling void that separates the two worlds.

A wild blast of wind tore at me, and I teetered upon that narrow span-the sword bridge. I flung out my arms for balance, and slid my foot forward over the blade's edge, ignoring the wind's heart-tearing scream and the dizzying sensation of balancing above an infinite and invisible void.