The Seven Gifts Read Free Page A

depths as he hummed a few bars of his new
song, as though seeking a reaction in the flames. For a long time
he sat there, intermittently humming as he played around with the
music, gradually drawing around it some sort of structure. Finally
he picked up his guitar and struck a few chords to adjust the
tuning; then he began to sing softly to the glow of his camp
fire:
     
    Look into my eyes, Prince of Darkness,
    tell me what it is you see.
    Is the Lord of Light in me
    or is my soul reserved for thee?
    Will you fight the Lord of Light,
    Prince of Darkness,
    for the soul that lies in me?
    Is it worth your while, my Prince,
    to save my soul from being free?
     
    My life, O Prince of Darkness,
    is it rooted in the Earth?
    Will my sanity in whispers sound
    around this barren land in which
    not even you, my Prince, have cause for
mirth?
    Can I walk upon the emptiness
    within the nestling void of death
    that follows me from birth?
    I must delve into your darkness,
    look towards the Lord of Light,
    and leave the twilight to the Earth.
     
    My life, O Prince of Darkness,
    does it lie within the Moon?
    Will I bask in silken starlight
    as I sway, seduced in sorrow by
    the piper's haunting tune?
    Can I withstand the sirens
    and their symphonies of darkness
    that would draw me to the devil spider's
loom?
    Have I any hope of holding out?
    O Lord of Light,
    please make the Sun come soon.
     
    My life, O Prince of Darkness,
    will it take me to the Sun?
    Can I survive the solitude
    in all the seas of loneliness
    around this race I know that I must run?
    Lord of Light, help me survive
    the race; it seems each time
    I've won I've just begun.
    Hold up for me the hope,
    O Lord of Light,
    thy will be done.
     
    Look into my eyes, Prince of Darkness,
    tell me what it is you see.
    Is the Lord of Light in me
    or is my soul reserved for thee?
    Will you fight the Lord of Light,
    Prince of Darkness,
    for the soul that lies in me?
    Do you think you have the power,
    Prince of Darkness,
    to prevent me being free?
    Lord of Light, I see the night -
    please rescue me.
    Lord of Light, I see the night ....
    Please .... rescue me.
     
    The haunting notes lingered on the still
night air, as though addressing themselves to the darkness. The cat
lay close to the fire purring quietly, and Coalhole Custer remained
quite still, his fingers holding, as though reluctant to leave, the
closing chord of his new song.
    “I like it," came a familiar voice from
close behind his shoulder. The musician whirled round, to face his
one-time psychological synthesizer player, now a junior courtier in
the Snow Queen's city. They had been close friends in the old
playing days, before things had become too hot for the band and
Coalhole had been hounded, not altogether unwillingly at the time,
to the hills.
    “Well, well!" A welcoming grin lit up the
guitarist's face. “Psycho! What a surprise. Come and get warm." He
grabbed his friend's arm and steered him to the fire, where he
rattled up the smouldering ashes and piled on some more logs, along
with the kettle.
    “Kicked you out as well, have they?" he
enquired, when they had settled themselves by the fire.
    “No, Coalhole," said the courtier, “but I'm
in big trouble, and only you can help. It's the Ice Princess's
Twenty-First birthday tomorrow and we haven't got a band. She
rejected the lot of them; sent them to the Snowmen. The only band
left in the entire kingdom is the old ‘Half a Ton of Nutty Slack',
and the Chief Minister will personally emasculate me if we don't
get it together for the ball tomorrow night. I've found all the
others, but we need you. Will you come?" The young man was
pleading.
    Coalhole Custer grinned. That was original -
him being asked to play at an official function. Then he laughed.
The only band left in the land, eh? Whatever his feelings about the
Ice Princess and life in the city, he was a musician, and there
were interesting possibilities here. He scratched his long yellow
beard