Final Kingdom (12 page)

S
arah filed nervously into the council room with the other Sleepers, Glori, and the dwarf. The Sleepers seated themselves at one side of the chamber. Glori and Beorn stood behind them. She knew all were anxious to hear the council's decision.

They had left Dave behind. He had improved so much, even in a brief time, that he was sitting up and eating hungrily. He had even protested that he was able to go to this meeting, but Abbey insisted that he not push himself.

The council of Celethorn, Sarah saw, was composed of twelve priests. They sat about a table, a mixture of men and women, young and old, of vastly differing physical appearance. Deormi, the high priestess, sat beside Yanto. Their two chairs were slightly higher than the others, the only sign that they were in positions of authority.

Sarah thought that Deormi's face looked somewhat strained. She whispered to Abbey, “I wish this were all up to Deormi. I know she's on our side.”

“I think she is,” Abbey whispered back, “but I don't like the look on Yanto's face.”

Deormi began to speak. “Once again I welcome the Sleepers to the city of Celethorn. We have heard of your fame and of your achievements and honor you for them. The council has been considering your urgent proposal, and we find ourselves in a deadlock.” She glanced quickly at Yanto, hesitated, then said, “Some
among us are not certain that it would be wise for our people to join Goél in a war at this time.”

“High priestess, may I speak?”

“Certainly, Yanto.”

Yanto rose slowly to his feet and held the Sleepers steadily in his gaze. His face was thin, and there was a fanatical look in his dark eyes. “You must understand that we are constantly pulled between many forces in Nuworld.” His high-pitched voice carried throughout the room. “Our knowledge and our scientific achievements, not to mention our psychic advances, have brought many from everywhere to ask for our assistance. Naturally, we must weigh all of these requests, for though our strength is great, it is not without limits . . .”

As Yanto rambled on, Sarah saw Reb lean across and speak to Jake.

“He's winding himself up to bust us—I can tell the signs.”

“I agree with you, Reb. I don't like his looks.”

“Back in Arkansas we had a politician that looked like him. He finally wound up stealing all the money in the county treasury and running off to Hawaii.” Reb shook his head. “I don't like his looks, either.”

Yanto finally completed his statement, and his eyes closed almost into slits. His mouth, too, drew itself into a fine line so that he looked hard and evil. “The council has voted, and I may tell you that the vote was deadlocked at six to six. It is unlikely that either side will change its viewpoint unless we have more information about the need to join in this war that is to come.”

Deormi spoke up. “Do any of you care to answer Yanto?”

No one moved for a time, then Jake stood. He
made a pugnacious-looking figure, his feet firmly planted and spread apart, his hands on his hips. “Yes!” he said loudly. “I've got something to say.”

Deormi seemed amused by the young man's audacity. “Speak on, then, Jake.”

“OK, here's what I've got to say. Sometimes there's a lot of choices a fellow can make—maybe four or five of them. When you've got a situation like that, it's pretty tough. You have to weigh them all and try to sort out which ones are the most important and finally narrow it down to one.” He fixed his eyes on Yanto and said, “But
this
time there are only two choices.”

“And those two choices are . . .” Yanto demanded.

“Either we serve Goél and the free peoples of the world, or we fall in with the Dark Lord—and you all know what that means, I hope.”

Yanto glared. “You are a
child!”
he exclaimed. “You know nothing of high matters. We speak here of the destiny of Nuworld itself, and children must not be allowed to make decisions of that magnitude.”

“But Goél seems to trust the decisions of these . . . children, as you call them, Yanto,” Deormi said mildly.

“We do not know
what
Goél is doing. Where is he? Why isn't he here? If he wants us to fight his wars, he should come himself.”

Jake protested. “Goél can't be
everywhere.
”

Yanto spat out, “And since he is not here, it is up to this council to decide what will be our decision.”

“What do we have to do to convince you?” Jake asked.

Yanto's face underwent a change. He lost his angry look, and his voice grew milder. “That is well spoken, my young friend. What must you do to persuade us? This is a large question indeed! You are asking us to
risk our lives, our city, indeed our very destiny. It would take a great thing to convince us that this is the course that we should follow.”

Jake seemed somewhat suspicious at the smooth tone of the priest. “I'm no orator,” he said. “People either believe in Goél, or they don't.”

“Ah, but that is not quite true. There are some who are honestly in doubt,” Yanto insisted. He looked over the council, half steadfast in their decision to follow Goél, half equally determined not to. “You cannot ask us to risk all that we have without some proof that Goél should be followed.”

“What sort of proof would you demand, Yanto?”

The speaker was, unexpectedly, Glori. She had stepped forth from where she had been standing behind the chairs of the Sleepers, and there was a strange smile on her face. “Name your proof.”

“You are an outspoken young woman, but I will answer you in like fashion,” Yanto said. “We all know that the Dark Lord has mysterious and potent powers. It will not be swords alone that will defeat him, nor spears, nor arrows. The victor in this war will be those with the highest spiritual powers. Do you agree?”

Jake glanced quickly at Sarah, who nodded slightly, and at Reb, who shrugged. “Well, I guess that's right. So what?”

“Then I do not think it would be unreasonable if this council asked to see a sample of your powers.”

A silence fell over the room, and Jake's face was a study in shock and amazement. Yanto's trap had closed on him. He swallowed once and then tried to speak, but so great was his surprise he could only say, “Why, you can't expect us—”

“Oh, but we can.” Yanto nodded vigorously. “In our country even the very young learn the basics of magic.
Even ten- and twelve-year-olds learn to do minor bits of magic—such as causing a stone to rise in the air without being supported . . .”

“I'm no magician,” Jake mumbled.

“Ah, that is very true,” Yanto said slowly and with great emphasis, “but by saying so you are admitting that you have no spiritual power.”

Sarah spoke up suddenly. “There's more to spiritual power than doing tricks!” she exclaimed. “We're not talking about pulling a rabbit out of a hat. Those things are illusions anyway.”

“Do you think so?” Yanto said, and his thin lips turned upward in a smile. “I do not agree, nor do any of the council. For example, is
this
an illusion?”

To her shock and horror, Sarah felt herself rising out of the chair she was sitting in. She hung suspended two feet above it.

A gasp went around the other Sleepers. The council members showed sharp interest.

Yanto said, “Would you call this an illusion, my friends?”

“Put her down!” Reb growled.

“Certainly, my young friend.”

Yanto nodded toward Sarah, who sank slowly back into her chair. She gave a gasp and grabbed the chair arms for support.

“A very minor sort of magic,” Yanto said. “Not at all important, but I trust it proves my point.” He looked toward the council members. “The Sleepers come asking us to risk all that we have, our very nation, and yet they themselves are powerless.”

“They cannot be
utterly
powerless,” Deormi said sturdily. “We have evidence of how they have overcome the Dark Lord time after time.”

“Ah, yes, we have
reports
of such things,” Yanto
said, “but no evidence. I think we must have more than that. We must have a sign.”

Sarah's heart sank. She had heard of the powers of the Celethorn magicians, and this one sample convinced her that there was something to it. Yet she could not for the life of her think of any response to the argument that Yanto had given.

I've got to do something,
she thought.
We can't let them defeat us.
Aloud she said, “Council of Celethorn, I cannot answer the matter that Yanto has put before us. It is true none of us has
magical
powers. It is true also that we are young and inexperienced, but one other thing is true. We have met Goél. Those of you who have met him know that, despite his common appearance, he is more than he appears. One day,” she said firmly, “we will see the true power of Goél burst forth. When that happens, those who have opposed him will taste hard justice.”

“Ah, our young friend is a prophetess.” Yanto smiled cynically. “Prophets, however, come rather cheap in this part of the world. What we value is a
sign.”

The debate continued for a long time. The Sleepers argued desperately that the magicians must throw their powers on the side of Goél. Yanto skillfully fielded every plea and logically destroyed their evidence. There seemed nothing the Sleepers could do to change his mind or the minds of the negative council members.

At last Yanto said, “Perhaps by now some of the council have seen the helplessness of the Sleepers. I honor them for what they may have done in the past, but these are new days. New times demand different methods. Once again, I am going to ask for a vote, and I will not ask our young friends to leave the room. But before we take the vote”—his voice changed suddenly,
his eyes glittered, and he pulled at his beard with excitement—”I am going to offer them proof that they are following the wrong flag.”

“What do you mean?” Sarah asked.

“I'm going to give you such evidence of the power of the magicians of Celethorn that you yourselves will agree to abide by
our
decision.”

“You'll never make me agree to leave Goél,” Sarah said, and the others murmured in assent.

“No? Then let me show you another small sign of my own, Sleepers.”

Yanto clapped his hands and nodded at the two servants who stood as guards by the door. At his signal, they opened the door, and Yanto cried out with a piercing voice, “Enter the council room, my young friend!”

The Sleepers all stood to their feet and faced the door. The dwarf, Beorn, had said absolutely nothing thus far. He had been standing as far from Glori as he could get. Now he whirled with the others, his face dark with suspicion.

Sarah's eyes opened wide with shock as Josh Adams walked through the door! She opened her mouth to cry out but then thought instantly of the false Josh.
They won't fool me again,
she thought grimly.
If this is the work of the Dark Lord, I'll find out!

Josh walked up to the Sleepers. He looked tired and pale, but his eyes were bright, and he was smiling. “Hello, Sarah,” he said cheerfully. His eyes ran around the room, and he greeted the other Sleepers, then his brow furrowed. “Where're Wash and Dave?”

Sarah sought desperately to find something wrong in his voice. But this Josh sounded like the old Josh Adams she knew—though his eyes did seem somewhat brighter than she would have expected after a difficult
time. She said carefully, without approaching him, “Josh, where have you been?”

Josh turned to her. “I was captured by the soldiers of the Dark Lord, but for some reason they turned me over to the magicians here in Celethorn. I was almost dead, and the magicians healed me.” He moved his shoulder, saying, “I'm almost well now, though I've lost a little weight.” Again he asked, “Where're Dave and Wash?”

“Wash is dead—and Dave's wounded,” Sarah said bluntly.

“Dead!
Oh, no!” Josh exclaimed. “Not Wash!”

His grief seemed so real that Sarah could not help going to him. “Is it really you, Josh?” she asked, her voice trembling.

Josh stared at her. “Is it really me? Of course, it's really me. Who else would it be?”

“Another Josh came to us before we came here. We all thought it was you at first, but it turned out that it was just an image made by some of the Dark Lord's powers.”

“Look at his chest,” Reb called out suddenly.

Josh looked over at Reb. “Look at my chest?” he asked in amazement. “Whatever for?”

“Because the false Josh had the mark of the Dark Lord on his chest,” Sarah said. “Would you mind if I looked?”

Josh glared. “Don't you believe me, Sarah? You know me better than anybody.”

Sarah wanted to say, “Yes, I do believe you,” for desperately she wanted to know that Josh was alive and well. But experience had hardened her somewhat, and she said, “If you're the real Josh, you won't mind letting me see your chest.”

A silence fell across the room. It seemed all the Sleepers held their breath.

Finally Josh nodded slowly. “I'm just sorry you don't trust me,” he said stiffly. “Here, look.” He unbuttoned his shirt and bared his chest, saying, “No sign of the Dark Lord, is there?”

“No!” Sarah cried and was filled with a rush of happiness. She looked at the others and said, “It's really Josh—back again.” She wanted to throw her arms around him but was too embarrassed to do that.

Yanto said quickly, “Now, you see the power of our council and of our people. We have restored the lost Sleeper to you. Are you convinced now of our true powers?”

Sarah was confused. “I'm thankful Josh is back, of course . . .”

Yanto interrupted. “Josh, perhaps you would like to retake your place. You are the leader of the Seven, as I understand.”