The Dark World | Page 9

striding beside me along the

vaulted passage.
What was -- Edeyrn?

IV. Matholch -- and Medea
UP TO now the true wonder of the situation had not really touched me
yet. The anaesthesia of shock had dulled me. As a soldier -- caught in
the white light of a flare dropped from an overhead plane -- freezes into
immobility, so my mind still remained passive. Only superficial
thoughts were moving there, as though, by concentration on immediate
needs, I could eliminate the incredible fact that I was not on the
familiar, solid ground of Earth.
But it was more than this. There was a curious, indefinable familiarity
about these groined, pale-walled halls through which I strode beside
Matholch, as there had been a queer familiarity about the twilit
landscape stretching to forested distance beneath the window of my
room.
Edeyrn -- Medea -- the Coven.
The names had significance, like words in a language I had once known
well, but had forgotten.
The half-loping, swift walk of Matholch, the easy swing of his
muscular shoulders, the snarling smile on his red-bearded lips -- these
were not new to me.
He watched me furtively out of his yellow eyes. Once we paused before
a red-figured drapery, and Matholch, hesitating, thrust the curtain aside
and gestured me forward.
I took one step -- and stopped. I looked at him.
He nodded as though satisfied. Yet there was still a question in his face.

"So you remember a little, eh? Enough to know that this isn't the way to
Medea. However, come along, for a moment. I want to talk to you."
As I followed him up a winding stair, I suddenly realized that he had
not spoken in English. But I had understood him, as I had understood
Edeyrn and Medea.
Ganelon?
We were in a tower room, walled with transparent panes. There was a
smoky, sour odor in the air, and gray tendrils coiled up from a brazier
set in a tripod in the middle of the chamber. Matholch gestured me to
one of the couches by the windows. He dropped carelessly beside me.
"I wonder how much you remember," he said.
I shook my head.
"Not much. Enough not to be too -- trusting."
"The artificial Earth-memories are still strong, then. Ghast Rhymi said
you would remember eventually, but that it would take time. The false
writing on the slate of your mind will fade, and the old, true memories
will come back. After a while."
Like a palimpsest, I thought -- manuscript with two writings upon its
parchment. But Ganelon was still a stranger; I was still Edward Bond.
"I wonder," Matholch said slowly, staring at me. "You spent much time
exiled. I wonder if you have changed, basically. Always before -- you
hated me, Ganelon. Do you hate me now?"
"No," I said. "At least, I don't know. I think I distrust you."
"You have reason. If you remember at all. We have always been
enemies, Ganelon, though bound together by the needs and laws of the
Coven. I wonder if we need be enemies any longer?"
"It depends. I'm not anxious to make enemies -- especially here."

Matholch's red brows drew together.
"Aye, that is not Ganelon speaking! In the old days, you cared nothing
about how many enemies you made. If you have changed so much,
danger to us all may result."
"My memory is gone," I said. "I don't understand much of this. It seems
dream-like."
Now he sprang up and restlessly paced the room. "That's well. If you
become the old Ganelon again, we'll be enemies again. That I know.
But if Earth-exile has changed you -- altered you -- we may be friends.
It would be better to be friends. Medea would not like it; I do not think
Edeyrn would. As for Ghast Rhymi -- " He shrugged. "Ghast Rhymi is
old -- old. In all the Dark World, Ganelon, you have the most power.
Or can have. But it would mean going to Caer Llyr."
Matholch stooped to look into my eyes.
"In the old days, you knew what that meant. You were afraid, but you
wanted the power. Once you went to Caer Llyr -- to be sealed. So there
is a bond between you and Llyr -- not consummated yet. But it can be,
if you wish it."
"What is Llyr?" I asked.
"Pray that you will not remember that," Matholch said. "When Medea
talks to you -- beware when she speaks of Llyr. I may be friend of
yours or enemy, Ganelon, but for my own sake, for the sake of the Dark
World -- even for the sake of the rebels -- I warn you: do not go to Caer
Llyr. No matter what Medea asks. Or promises. At