“Then there is no need of spears. Talgarth will go to the Great Oak tomorrow at sunrise to cast his spell. If by the next sunrise the evil spirit has left Cedmon’s body it will be proof that there is a demon within him. But if Cedmon is still well and strong at that time, we shall know that there was no wicked spirit, and Talgarth will return his house and goods. Is this a fair test, my people?”
“It is indeed fair,” one of the villagers said.
“I accept the test,” Karmat, Cedmon stated.
That night Cedmon slept at the house of Artog and Lanilar. After the first meal of the next day word came from a passer-by that Talgarth, carrying a Druid wand and a serpent’s egg, had stood at the foot of the Great Oak at sunrise, built a fire, burned the egg, and made his incantations over its charred shell.
“Are you going to do nothing against his spell, Cedmon?” Artog asked.
“No wicked demon is in me, so his magic cannot do me harm,” Cedmon replied. “But I should like to go hunting this morning. I have not thrown a spear for a long time. Perhaps I can bring something back for the evening meal. — If you will lend me a spear.”
He limped away over the pasture-land toward the forest. Artog shook his head. “I know it is Cedmon, and no evil spirit,” he said to Lanilar. “But I still fear Talgarth’s powers.”
Cedmon returned before the sun had reached its height, a pair of rabbits slung over his shoulder. Lanilar eagerly took charge of them for cleaning and cooking. Cedmon tossed the spear on the ground behind him and squatted beside Artog at the entrance to the house.
“I do not think that Talgarth believes I have a foreign spirit in me,” he said. “And it is not that he wants my house and goods enough to destroy me. He fears me for something else. And when the sun has risen tomorrow—”
“You will not be here!” a harsh voice interrupted. Behind them stood Talgarth, his large eyes fixed on Cedmon.
“The spell I cast is working. Its power increases as the time grows shorter.” He took a long step over Cedmon’s spear and strode away.
“He is dangerous,” Artog said. “And he heard what you were saying.”
“It does not matter,” Cedmon replied. “But perhaps I should keep this by me for awhile.” He stood up and reached down for the spear. As his hand closed upon it a searing pain stabbed into his palm. He gazed in horror at the many-clawed little creature clinging to the spear’s shaft, its brown body almost invisible against the dark wood. Tiny malignant eyes glared upward while the barbed tail that had struck deep into the flesh of Cedmon’s hand thrashed frantically.
“Scorpion!” he cried out. “Poison scorpion!”
Artog was at his side and Lanilar came rushing from the house. Artog whipped out his knife and sliced twice across Cedmon’s palm, then made two more cuts across the first pair.
“Now press hard, Lanilar!” he ordered. Lanilar gripped Cedmon’s hand between both of hers and squeezed with all her strength. Artog put his lips to the gashes and sucked in his breath with a mighty pull. He spit out a mouthful of blood mixed with yellow fluid, alternately applying his lips to the wound and ejecting blood and poison while Lanilar maintained the pressure against the palm of Cedmon’s hand.
“The most of it is out,” Artog said at last. “Rest upon the grass, Cedmon. A bandage of wet leaves and the sting will be no more than a fly-bite.” He spat again. “Faugh! It was well we were nearby.”
Cedmon, reeling with pain and shock, sank to the ground. “You spoke of magic and spells,” he said. “It is the greatest magic of all to have such friends!”
“Artog!” Lanilar called, pointing to the spear. “Look! the scorpion! It is still there!”
The deadly little reptile, lashing out with claws and tail, had not left the spear-handle.
“Tied by the head with swamp-grass just where a man would grasp it!” Artog said. “See the spot beneath the scorpion where the sweat of Cedmon’s hand has stained the wood!”
“Talgarth stood there, and our backs were to him,” Cedmon pointed out.
“How could he handle a scorpion and not be stung himself?” Lanilar wondered.
“A drop or two of spirit-water on its head and it would sleep for awhile,” Artog answered. “Long enough for Talgarth to bring it here and fasten it on the spear while we were talking.”
Cedmon struggled to his feet. “I do not feel well,” he said. “Take me inside.”
They helped him onto the bed. “I am not so ill as I appear,” he said. “Do not worry. One more favor — Lanilar, will you go through the village, telling everyone that I am sick and have taken to my bed?”
For the rest of the day Cedmon lay on his pallet, with Artog lounging and playing with his children just outside the entrance.
“All the people now believe that Talgarth is right, that his spell is working, and the evil spirit is being driven out of Cedmon’s body,” Lanilar reported after her journey through the village.
“That is good,” Cedmon stated. “What has Talgarth to say?”
“The spirit within you will be gone before sunrise.”
“He thinks that your blood is filled with the scorpion’s poison,” Artog said. “If that were so, you would surely die tonight.”
A brief smile rippled the scar on Cedmon’s cheek. “Let him be happy in that thought for now,” he said.
Lanilar prepared the evening meal, and she, Artog and their children crouched beside the bed to share it with Cedmon.
“I have another favor to ask,” Cedmon announced when they had finished. “Will you take your children somewhere for the night and send word to Talgarth to come here. Tell him that I have things to talk about with him.”
“My sister will take the children,” Lanilar said. “But the other — is it wise?”
“While he believes you are dying, you are safe,” Artog warned. “But when he sees you he will know that you are not sick, and he will become dangerous again!”
“I shall be on my guard. And you and Lanilar will be just outside the doorway while he is here. There will be nothing to fear.”
Darkness had fallen when Lanilar returned.
“Talgarth is coming,” she reported. “The village thinks that your evil spirit, knowing itself conquered, has sent for Talgarth to plead with him to remove the spell.”
“That is well,” Cedmon replied. “Let the torch be set in the doorway so the light will be bright. You have some spirit-water, of course?”
Lanilar nodded.
“Good. Fill two gourds and leave them with us when he comes. Then sit outside with Artog while he is here.”
While Artog placed the torch in the doorway Cedmon marked with his knife a small circle on the dirt floor beside the bed. Then, kneeling, he took from his belt the steel mirror given him by the Winged Hats and held it above the bed against one of the poles supporting the roof.
He was very careful as to the height of the mirror and its angle of reflection. When he was satisfied, he stuck the mirror into the bark of the pole so that as he lay he could see reflected the little circle which he had marked on the floor beside him.
The tall form of Talgarth momentarily blocked off the light from the torch in the doorway. Cedmon rolled on his side, lifting his left shoulder enough to conceal the mirror hanging above and behind him, and slid his right hand beneath him until it touched the handle of the knife in his belt.
“Hail, Talgarth.” Cedmon’s greeting was little more than a whisper. “Enter, and sit. Lanilar, bring spirit-water for my brother.”
From the rear of the house Lanilar brought two tall gourds, set them on the floor between the two men, and glided outside to join Artog.
“There is no use begging my mercy now,” Talgarth declared. “You have seen the sun for the last time. The power of my spell is too strong for the evil spirit within you.”