James Silke - Prisoner of the Horned helmet

“They called him Sir William.”

Robin chuckled, “Sir William. How wonderful.” She became dreamy. “The girl was so beautiful.”

“Yes… she was,” he said with a touch of nostalgia. “In a way she was also like yourself. She could not hide. There was no distance between her and her audience. No matter how she cluttered herself with jewels and gaudy cloth, her deepest feelings were always on display. One night she would be so brazen and frenzied in her dancing that she would drive Nose wild with jealousy. The next night she would jump into the audience and try to plunge her dagger into a girl for winking at him.”

“Really?” Robin whispered.

He nodded. “They no longer dwell in Rag Camp. One morning they were just gone. They are what we call followers of the wind. Sometimes they’re like a storm, sometimes like a breeze. But always moving.”

“It sounds frightening,” Robin said with a shiver. “But wonderful too.”

“Yes,” Brown John said thoughtfully. He looked off at the water swirling down over rocks, gathering in eddies, turning white as it crashed over logs and boulders. “I miss it,” he sighed, “but I no longer have the temperament for the road.”

She nodded, waited. Eyes wide and impressed.

He looked at her. “What others did you like? What skits? The She-Ass! Chums’? The Gelded King ?”

She blushed. “Well… they were funny… but very bold.” She hesitated, then said with a rush of excitement she could not conceal, “There was one story! I’ve seen it every time, The Lizard Song of Ting-Gad !”

“Ahhh yes,” said Brown John. “And the part which you liked best was, of course, where the lizard turns into the handsome outlaw chief?”

She blushed.

Brown John threw back his head and laughed out loud. Just as abruptly, he became subdued and serious. “The transformation is a very difficult piece of stage business to perform. It has a touch of magic to it, but a very, very fragile magic. The performers who play it must be totally involved and dedicated, as well as skilled. Its effect comes a long time after the performance. Sometimes it is years before its subtle power takes hold, and transforms the audience with its dream.”

Robin leaned forward excitedly. “Is… is that how… how your magic works? It takes that long?”

“Not always, but sometimes longer. Generations.”

“But… but, I don’t understand! Everyone says that the only magic a bukko can make is with dancing girls of low character and strong wine, and they laugh when they say it.”

Brown John chuckled. “Some of that is true, but do not think unkindly of me or my girls. Sometimes they can be as enchanting and profound as The Lizard Song of Ting-Gad .”

Robin nodded as these new ideas whirled behind her eyes. Then he abruptly changed the subject.

“Do you truly love your tribe?”

“Of course,” she said with sudden show of hard pride.

“Would you try to protect it, if you could?”

Her eyes became startled. Her voice trembled. “Is… is that why you’re here?”

He studied her intently. “Yes. I need a messenger… one who will not act… who can not lie.”

Her teeth took hold of her lower lip.

“Yes, you. But do you know that soon more Kitzakks will come, and invade the forest?”

Robin gulped.

“Listen carefully. You have heard our song of the battle at Lemontree Crossing?”

She nodded.

“It is true. The song does not lie.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “The defender of the bridge lives in The Shades, a man of incredible strength! And spirit! He, and only he, has the skills and power we must have to defend the forest, but he distrusts all men.”

“Gath of Baal! The Dark One!” She trembled.

His head bobbed. “He alone can stand against the Kitzakks, and save the tribes. I do not know if he will, but I know he can. And I can help him do it. But he will not cooperate with me. He does not trust my motives or see the value in my imagination. But you… you understand?”

She nodded, her breath racing.

“He must be made to understand the immense size of the danger, of the horror of the Kitzakk chains and cages. And he must be made to understand that they endanger not only the freedom and lives of the forest tribes, but his freedom! His life. Once he knows these things he will realize, as he is a man of keen intelligence, that he can not prevail alone. And that I can help him, provide him with the metal and weapons, and the army, he will need.” He looked off at the river. “I have tried to tell him this but he will not believe me.” He looked back into Robin’s eyes and smiled wisely. “But he will believe you.”

She grabbed a quick breath, stammered, “But… but how can I find him? And if I did, would… would he listen to me?”

“He can be summoned. And your beauty, your innocence, and honesty, they are powerful weapons of persuasion. When he finds you helpless and vulnerable in his domain, a place of beasts and demons, and for no other reason than to speak to him, you can not fail but to gain his attention. And hold it. At least for as long as it will take for you to deliver my words.”

She gasped. “And then?”

He hesitated, then said flatly. “I do not know.”

She shuddered, looked off at the flowing river. After a moment, she glanced back over her brown shoulder at him and said weakly, “He’ll hurt me, won’t he?”

Brown John shifted uncomfortably. “I do not know. I don’t think he will.”

Her head dropped so all she could see was the rock between her legs. From that position, she asked, “You’re certain he can save my people?”

Her head lifted. The question glistened in her eyes, but also a tentative commitment. Seeing it, an excited tremor shot through Brown John as he nodded. When he spoke it sounded as if he were the Lord God of Imagination.

“Child, the extreme, the immeasurable power of this man is beyond, our feeble contemplation. This is a man who can not only overcome the Kitzakks, but become the sword of justice itself. A man, Robin Lakehair, who can be the savior of our land, our people. Who can drive the nightmare from the children’s sleep… and fill their minds with soaring dreams worthy of the dreaming.”

Her lips trembled.

He lowered his voice. “The Kitzakks are not the future, child. We are. A time is coming when there will only be masterless men and women. When there will be no barriers across the trails except those placed there by the limits of our imagination.”

Robin began to glow.

“Soon, if we dare to make them so, all things will be possible. You and I, at this very moment, can take the first step into an age of adventure, into the childhood of a time made for legends. And he, Gath of Baal, he can be the first to walk them.” Her hands trembled as they held her knees. He placed his hands over hers, held them as he spoke. “But he is a prisoner of his pride. He is caged by it. And you… Robin Lakehair… can open the door of that cage. Set him free.”

She gasped, “Is… is this truly possible?”

“You be the judge of that. Have I lied?”

A rush of feeling left her breathless. Light leapt into her face. There was joyous surrender and resolute commitment in her voice.

“No.”

Brown John took her cheeks in his hands, lifted her to face him and looked into her eyes with an honesty that almost hurt saying, “I was right. You, little girl, are the one.” She nodded within his hands, and he continued. “Tomorrow morning, at the third hour, my sons will be waiting for you outside Weaver’s western gate. They will guide you to Calling Rock which is deep within The Shades, but they will not stay with you.” She nodded again. “There is a large blackthorn tree at the top of the rock. Concealed in its hollow is a horn we use to call him. You will blow it three times, two long and one short.”