Eight men sat round the table, lit by a strange radiance that appeared
to pervade the whole cave. The boy crawled out from the narrow passage through
which he had entered, but for the moment remained on his knees, amazed and
awestruck. For some little time Michael, for that was his name, continued in that
position, until he was able to nerve himself to examine the scene more closely.
Facing him was a king,
for he wore a crown, beneath which his hair was like the mane of a lion, though
his long beard was streaked with grey. His hands, heavy with many rings, rested
on the table before him, and between them lay the hilt of a great sword. His
eyes were deep and piercing, and they bore down straight at Michael, with such
intensity that he could scarcely dare to return their gaze for more than a
fleeting moment. It was therefore with downcast eyes that he slowly walked
round the table. Of the other seven men, some were in armour, and some in
courtly robes. Their eyes too were open, but did not move, and their gaze
remained fixed on the king.
Michael knew who they
were, for many times he had heard of them in legend and story, and now he had
found them. They were the great king, the emperor, and his seven counsellors;
not dead, but asleep beneath the mountain, awaiting the moment of their country’s greatest peril, when they would rise from slumber to
save it. Now he, Michael and found them. Was it now his task to awaken them?
Was indeed his country in mortal danger? How was he to know: he was only ten
years old.
He tiptoes further
towards the king, and every time he dared to glance upwards, he sensed the king’s eyes following him. The strange light, which at
first he thought came from the roof, he now realised radiated out from the king
himself, illuminating the whole gathering. At last he stood at the king’s side, and hesitated, unsure of what to do; until,
suddenly making up his mind, he reached out and laid his hand upon the hilt of
the great sword.
Abruptly, and horribly,
everything began to change. First, the sword crumbled to rust beneath his hand.
Then the table creaked and groaned as its massive timbers rotted and split.
Like a creeping tide the infection spread to the assembled lords. Garments fell
in shreds and armour collapsed. The very flesh on their faces blackened and
shrivelled, exposing the bones beneath.
The radiance flashed violently, and stones crashed down from the roof.
Last of all the disease reached even to the king, until his eyes blazed out as
through a monstrous lichen, and the look in those eyes was of unforgiving
hatred and despair.
Then Michael awoke. The
window of his bedroom was rattling in the violent wind, and outside lightning
and thunder were raging. Guilt and anguish filled his heart. He knew it had
been a dream, but nonetheless he felt that somehow the universe had been diminished
by his actions.
