Tales Before Tolkien (32 page)

“It is enough,” said the king. “Great shall be his reward.”

Then by order Speed the hillman was cleansed and dressed with wine and oil; and a costly ointment the king gave, fit for the healing of blood royal.

Then on the next day the king had the hillman brought and set down in the tent where he lay. And he entered alone and closed the entrance, having on him the royal boss and the purple, and all the gear of the throne.

On the red man had been put a linen tunic to cover most of him, but with the aroma of the royal balm the smell of the torture came off him yet, and the look of torture lay dead on his face; and though the king in his splendour stood before him, the eyes of Speed the hillman stayed wide and blank without speculation, and when the king spoke to him by name they never moved.

Then the king, for a token, took what was left of the right hand of Speed in his own, and lifted it up, and fixed his eyes straight upon his and held so. And in a while the flesh he grasped quivered as the man's eyes wavered with sense; recognition swam into them; his hand answered feebly; a great straight grin came out; he drew a thirsty breath and laughed low in his throat. At the dreadful noise the king, loosing, stepped back, when Speed reached to the hem of his sleeve and touched it at his brow. “As the sun's be the king's reign,” he muttered; and his head sank on his breast and his eyes settled.

Outside sounded the ringing of silver bells and the king uncovered the door of the tent, took Speed and set him there, and bade him look out.

Before the hillman's eyeballs came, at slow pace upon white asses housed with silver and blue, two women with fillets of yellow, and the gowns of the tribe under long veils of gold; and they held up their hands and called him by name, and brother and son. With a sound little and shrill like the voice of a bat Speed the hillman spun round twice, beat the air and fell flat.

Now the women were come and had bowed at the king's feet, and had taken up Speed upon their knees, and the king was fain with his own mouth to discover the circuits of his grace. But when a glimmer of recognition came with a shape of their names, yet the wells of joy lay all untouched, viewless and dark, the heart of the king so swelled with compassion that he had no voice to speak. He went out hastily, and calling his armour-bearer bade him go in and do the telling. “And when all things are made clear to Speed the hillman, bring him out hither, in the midst of all to me hither.” And the armour-bearer was pale and shook as he went at the king's bidding.

Under a wide tented canopy of gold sat the king to deal out justice without mercy, and honours and rewards without stint. And many and many came before him, but not the armour-bearer with the man Speed, whose reward was to exceed all others; till the king, impatient, sent for the armour-bearer and questioned.

“My lord, all has been told, and his mother and his sister have told it after me, and he says nothing at all but their names. His eyes never leave them, and now to one and now to the other he thrusts his hand, and beneath the closing of the gown feels at the warm beating of the heart.”

“Send home the women,” cried the king, “and make straight his understanding.”

So the armour-bearer went, and again the king waited in vain, and again sent.

“What of the man Speed? What says he?”

“My lord,” said the armour-bearer, “he says nothing at all.” The king stamped for anger.

“Is this your duty? Have you not made him to know yet?”

“He knows! he does know. Oh, my lord, my lord.”

“Bring him here then,” cried the king. And the armour-bearer lifted his arms and cried: “Oh, my lord, my lord!” and went.

Every eye turned for the coming of the man above all others proved loyal and true by transcendent trial. In the midst sat the king on a throne, his nobles and his captains standing thick on either hand, backed by the glittering line of his guard. Six chosen men stood by him, three and three on either side; two swordsmen with blade drawn and up; two bowmen with strung bow and the arrow notched ready on the string; two spearmen with stooped spear. Brought in by the armour-bearer before all these, the red man in the linen tunic, with the smell of torture and the face of dead torture, stood on his feet and lifted a patient inanimate gaze.

Then, smiling, the king rose up from his throne to honour the man. “Oh, faithful and true,” he said, “great shall be your reward. No service of these the greatest in all my land has equalled yours. Turn your eyes and behold.”

And Speed turned his head this way and that, and saw all heads bowed to the earth honouring him. Only the king and his six guards stood upright, and the armour-bearer who forgot to worship with his body.

“Hear first the recompense that a king gives unasked; then ask your boon, and by the word of one who drank with you in the desert, is it granted.

“Hear all ye the recompense that a king gives unasked.

“It is my will that henceforth and for ever the tribe of the hillmen be free of tribute and toll; and that they have beyond the river of the water-lands as far as their flocks can in a day travel.

“It is my will that the sister of Speed the hillman be taken to wife of what man he shall choose in all my land, barring only the blood royal.

“It is my will that the mother of Speed the hillman be entitled Honourable, and that he make choice of a city for her maintenance.

“Also I will that the yellow fillet be worn of the royal brides.

“And for you, oh, Speed, shall be herds of white asses, and lordship, and trumpets shall be blown for your entrance of a city, and no man, not of my house, shall have place before you. Also the fair virgins of my land shall be sought out for your choice. Also my half-brother who is taken shall be given alive into your hand, that you may strip off his skin to serve you with covering till yours be whole. And the title of Brother to the King shall be yours; and the name you shall bear shall be my name, so only you yield me the gift of your name in exchange.”

Then the king took off the boss of gold and set it on the head of Speed, and on his neck a collar of gold, and on his finger the signet-ring; and he took off his mantle stiff with gold and with it clothed Speed the hillman, whose eyes had sunk and whose head had bent while these honours were laid upon him. And the majesty of grace was all the adornment left to the king's person, therefore the more did all heads worship towards him.

Then the hillman lifted his head and looked into the eyes of the gracious king a while: with full understanding he looked: with mild eyes and weary he looked: with eyes that never shifted he held the king as he took the boss from his head and laid it on the throne, and likewise the collar of gold from his neck, and the signet-ring from his finger, and loosed the mantle and let it fall. And he turned, and from the presence of the king and his great ones went out softly upon the hot sand, and turned his face towards the river hills.

All men there looking on the king held breath; his breathing only, in the silence, was heard rattling.

“Shoot!” said the king. Quick, quick the bow-strings rang; an arrow sang out across the sand, stopped mute at the heart of Speed.

Quick, quick and frantic high tore out recall: too late. The voice of the king's agony never reached the heart of Speed. He clutched the sand once and died.

No man but the armour-bearer dared look in the king's face when he stood by the dead man. The arrow stood upright in his back quite still. His hands had all they could hold.

But it was the voice of a king's displeasure that said: “One arrow!”

The armour-bearer with his left hand held up another; held up his right hand: it was stricken through.

“Most Faithful,” said the King low, “bury you him—where he lies; you and none other.”

He turned away with the face of a king, and the day went down on the last of the army winding away, and the armour-bearer alone smoothing the vacant sand half-way between the caves and the river.

But the king beheld the face of his most faithful armour-bearer never again.

   

Now when the king died, being of very great age and honours, and entered his chamber of silence for the last time, the new king, his son's son, according to custom entered also for the first time. And there for his reading on the walls with strong lines and fair colours was set out the record of the dead king's life from the star of his birth. And very long and splendid was the tale of his deeds and his conquests; and the woes that fell when his foes flourished because of the sleep of the gods were also set there and not diminished.

To the high-priest the young king said: “What means this arrow that stands in the heart of the king: with his foot on the neck of his half-brother he stands, and an arrow is in his heart; and never after find I him without it sticking there.”

But the high-priest could not tell him, nor could any man; and the craftsmen who wrought the walls had not marked in those arrows.

In dull red were the arrows drawn, and in the last of them the line wavered. And the first arrow of all was lined beneath the feet of the king, and a red man giving him drink from a gourd in the desert.

   

Above the rest of the hillman and above the rest of the king the wind of centuries with equal wing has smoothed the vacant sand.

The Enchanted Buffalo

by L. Frank Baum

L. Frank Baum, developing a trend initiated by Frank R. Stockton, created what can truly be called the first American-styled fairy tales, stories written in particular to please modern American children. Such stories would not take place in a historical past but in the present (in Baum's own time) and in an American (rather than a European) setting. His novel
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
(1900), is unquestionably his most successful American fairy tale. It spawned a series of thirteen sequels by Baum and many further Oz books by other hands, as well as the famous 1939 film
The Wizard of Oz.

“The Enchanted Buffalo” was one of a series of nine “Animal Fairy Tales” by Baum that appeared in the
Delineator
between January and September 1905. “The Enchanted Buffalo” presents a mythological background for the bison of the Great Plains of the Midwest. It was the fifth in the series and appeared in the issue for May 1905.

This is a tale of the Royal Tribe of Okolom—those mighty buffaloes that once dominated all the Western prairies. Seven hundred strong were the Okolom—great, shaggy creatures herding together and defying all enemies. Their range was well known to the Indians, to lesser herds of bisons and to all the wild animals that roamed in the open; but none cared to molest or interfere with the Royal Tribe.

Dakt was the first King of the Okolom. By odds the fiercest and most intelligent of his race, he founded the Tribe, made the Laws that directed their actions and led his subjects through wars and dangers until they were acknowledged masters of the prairie.

Dakt had enemies, of course; even in the Royal Tribe. As he grew old it was whispered he was in league with Pagshat, the Evil Genius of the Prairies; yet few really believed the lying tale, and those who did but feared King Dakt the more.

The days of this monarch were prosperous days for the Okolom. In Summer their feeding grounds were ever rich in succulent grasses; in Winter Dakt led them to fertile valleys in the shelter of the mountains.

But in time the great leader grew old and gray. He ceased quarreling and fighting and began to love peace—a sure sign that his days were numbered. Sometimes he would stand motionless for hours, apparently in deep thought. His dignity relaxed; he became peevish; his eye, once shrewd and compelling, grew dim and glazed.

Many of the younger bulls, who coveted his Kingship, waited for Dakt to die; some patiently, and some impatiently. Throughout the herd there was an undercurrent of excitement. Then, one bright Spring morning, as the Tribe wandered in single file toward new feeding grounds, the old King lagged behind. They missed him, presently, and sent Barrag the Bull back over the hills to look for him. It was an hour before this messenger returned, coming into view above the swell of the prairie.

“The King is dead,” said Barrag the Bull, as he walked calmly into the midst of the tribe. “Old age has at last overtaken him.”

The members of the Okolom looked upon him curiously. Then one said: “There is blood upon your horns, Barrag. You did not wipe them well upon the grass.”

Barrag turned fiercely. “The old King is dead,” he repeated. “Hereafter, I am the King!”

No one answered in words; but, as the Tribe pressed backward into a dense mass, four young bulls remained standing before Barrag, quietly facing the would-be King. He looked upon them sternly. He had expected to contend for his royal office. It was the Law that any of the Tribe might fight for the right to rule the Okolom. But it surprised him to find there were four who dared dispute his assertion that he was King.

Barrag the Bull had doubtless been guilty of a cowardly act in goring the feeble old King to his death. But he could fight; and fight he did. One after another the powerful young bulls were overthrown, while every member of the Tribe watched the great tournament with eager interest. Barrag was not popular with them, but they could not fail to marvel at his prowess. To the onlookers he seemed inspired by unseen powers that lent him a strength fairly miraculous. They murmured together in awed tones, and the name of the dread Pagshat was whispered more than once.

As the last of the four bulls—the pride of half the Tribe—lay at the feet of the triumphant Barrag, the victor turned and cried aloud: “I am King of the Okolom! Who dares dispute my right to rule?”

For a moment there was silence. Then a fresh young voice exclaimed: “I dare!” and a handsome bull calf marched slowly into the space before Barrag and proudly faced him. A muttered protest swelled from the assemblage until it became a roar. Before it had subsided the young one's mother rushed to his side with a wail of mingled love and fear.

“No, no, Oknu!” she pleaded, desperately. “Do not fight, my child. It is death! See—Barrag is twice thy size. Let him rule the Okolom!”

“But I myself am the son of Dakt the King, and fit to rule in his place,” answered Oknu, tossing his head with pride. “This Barrag is an interloper! There is no drop of royal blood in his veins.”

“But he is nearly twice thy size!” moaned the mother, nearly frantic with terror. “He is leagued with the Evil Genius. To fight him means defeat and death!”

“He is a murderer!” returned the young bull, glaring upon Barrag. “He has killed his King, my father!”

“Enough!” roared the accused. “I am ready to silence this King's cub. Let us fight.”

“No!” said an old bull, advancing from the herd. “Oknu shall not fight to-day. He is too young to face the mighty Barrag. But he will grow, both in size and strength; and then, when he is equal to the contest, he may fight for his father's place among the Okolom. In the meantime we acknowledge Barrag our King!”

A shout of approval went up from all the Tribe, and in the confusion that followed the old Queen thrust her bold son out of sight amidst the throng.

Barrag was King. Proudly he accepted the acclaims of the Okolom—the most powerful Tribe of his race. His ambition was at last fulfilled; his plotting had met with success. The unnatural strength he had displayed had vanquished every opponent. Barrag was King.

Yet as the new ruler led his followers away from the field of conflict and into fresh pastures, his heart was heavy within him. He had not thought of Prince Oknu, the son of the terrible old King he had assisted to meet death. Oknu was a mere youth, half-grown and untried. Yet the look in his dark eyes as he had faced his father's murderer filled Barrag with a vague uneasiness. The youth would grow, and bade fair to become as powerful in time as old Dakt himself. And when he was grown he would fight for the leadership of the Okolom.

Barrag had not reckoned upon that.

   

When the moon came up, and the prairie was dotted with the reclining forms of the hosts of the Royal Tribe, the new King rose softly to his feet and moved away with silent tread. His pace was slow and stealthy until he had crossed the first rolling swell of the prairie; then he set off at a brisk trot that covered many leagues within the next two hours.

At length Barrag reached a huge rock that towered above the plain. It was jagged and full of rents and fissures, and after a moment's hesitation the King selected an opening and stalked fearlessly into the black shadows. Presently the rift became a tunnel; but Barrag kept on, feeling his way in the darkness with his fore feet. Then a tiny light glimmered ahead, guiding him, and soon after he came into a vast cave hollowed in the centre of the rock. The rough walls were black as ink, yet glistened with an unseen light that shed its mellow but awesome rays throughout the cavern.

Here Barrag paused, saying in a loud voice:

“To thee, O Pagshat, Evil Genius of the Prairies, I give greeting! All has occurred as thou didst predict. The great Dakt is dead, and I, Barrag the Bull, am ruler of the Tribe of Okolom.”

For a moment after he ceased the stillness was intense. Then a Voice, grave and deep, answered in the language of the buffaloes: “It is well!”

“But all difficulties are not yet swept aside,” continued Barrag. “The old King left a son, an audacious young bull not half grown, who wished to fight me. But the patriarchs of the Tribe bade him wait until he had size and strength. Tell me, can the young Prince Oknu defeat me then?”

“He can,” responded the Voice.

“Then what shall I do?” demanded the King. “Thou hast promised to make me secure in my power.”

“I promised only to make you King of the Tribe—and you are King. Farther than that, you must protect yourself,” the Voice of the Evil Genius made answer. “But, since you are hereafter my slave, I will grant you one more favor—the power to remove your enemy by enchantment.”

“And how may I do that?” asked Barrag, eagerly.

“I will give you the means,” was the reply. “Bow low thine head, and between the horns I will sprinkle a magical powder.”

Barrag obeyed. “And now?” said he, inquiringly.

“Now,” responded the unseen Voice, “mark well my injunctions. You must enchant the young Prince and transform him from a buffalo into some small and insignificant animal. Therefore, to-morrow you must choose a spring, and before any of the Tribe has drunk therein, shake well your head above the water, that the powder may sift down into the spring. At the same time centre your thoughts intently upon the animal into which you wish the Prince transformed. Then let him drink of the water in the spring, and the transformation on the instant will be accomplished.”

“That is very simple,” said Barrag. “Is the powder now between my horns?”

“It is,” answered the Voice.

“Then, farewell, O Pagshat!”

From the cavern of the Evil Genius the King felt his way through the passages until he emerged upon the prairie. Then, softly—that he might not disturb the powder of enchantment—he trotted back to the sleeping herd.

Just before he reached it a panther, slender, lithe and black as coal, bounded across his path, and with a quick blow of his hoof Barrag crushed in the animal's skull. “Panthers are miserable creatures,” mused the King, as he sought his place among the slumbering buffaloes. “I think I shall transform young Oknu into a black panther.”

Secure in his great strength, he forgot that a full-grown panther is the most terrible foe known to his race.

   

At sunrise the King led the Royal Tribe of Okolom to a tiny spring that welled clear and refreshing from the centre of a fertile valley.

It is the King's right to drink first, but after bending his head above the spring and shaking it vigorously Barrag drew back and turned to the others.

“Come! I will prove that I bear no ill will,” said he, treacherously. “Prince Oknu is the eldest son of our dead but venerated King Dakt. It is not for me to usurp his rights. Prince Oknu shall drink first.”

Hearing this, the patriarchs looked upon one another in surprise. It was not like Barrag the Bull to give way to another. But the Queen-mother was delighted at the favor shown her son, and eagerly pushed him forward. So Oknu advanced proudly to the spring and drank, while Barrag bent his thoughts intently upon the black panther.

An instant later a roar of horror and consternation came from the Royal Tribe; for the form of Prince Oknu had vanished, and in its place crouched the dark form of a trembling, terrified panther.

Barrag sprang forward. “Death to the vermin!” he cried, and raised his cloven hoof to crush in the panther's skull.

A sudden spring, a flash through the air, and the black panther alighted upon Barrag's shoulders. Then its powerful jaws closed over the buffalo's neck, pressing the sharp teeth far into the flesh.

With a cry of pain and terror the King reared upright, striving to shake off his tormentor; but the panther held fast. Again Barrag reared, whirling this way and that, his eyes staring, his breath quick and short, his great body trembling convulsively.

The others looked on fearfully. They saw the King kneel and roll upon the grass; they saw him arise with his foe still clinging to his back with claw and tooth; they heard the moan of despair that burst from their stricken leader, and the next instant Barrag was speeding away across the prairie like an arrow fresh from a bow, and his bellows of terror grew gradually fainter as he passed from their sight.

The prairie is vast. It is lonely, as well. A vulture, resting on outstretched wings, watched anxiously the flight of Barrag the Bull as hour by hour he sped away to the southward—the one moving thing on all that great expanse.

The sun sank low and buried itself in the prairie's edge. Twilight succeeded, and faded into night. And still a black shadow, leap by leap, sprang madly through the gloom. The jackals paused, listening to the short, quick pants of breath—the irregular hoof-beats of the galloping bull. But while they hesitated the buffalo passed on, with the silent panther still crouched upon its shoulders.

In the black night Barrag suddenly lifted up his voice.

“Come to me, O Pagshat—Evil Genius that thou art—come to my rescue!” he cried.

And presently it seemed that another dark form rushed along beside his own.

“Save me, Pagshat!” he moaned. “Crush thou mine enemy, and set me free!”

A cold whisper reached him in reply: “I cannot!”

“Change him again into his own form,” panted Barrag; “hark ye, Pagshat: 'tis the King's son—the cub—the weakling! Disenchant him, ere he proves my death!”

Again came the calm reply, like a breath of Winter sending a chill to his very bones: “I cannot.”

Barrag groaned, dashing onward—ever onward.

“When you are dead,” continued the Voice, “Prince Oknu will resume his own form. But not before.”

“Did we not make a compact?” questioned Barrag, in despairing tone.

“We did,” said the Evil Genius, “and I have kept my pact. But you have still to fulfil a pledge to me.”

“At my death—only at my death, Pagshat!” cried the bull, trembling violently.