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But he needed minutes to see what lay about, ccarahue his eyes were not trained to such things. He sat on white sand that reached beyond sight in graceful ripple marks. Here and there lay stones covered with a brilliant green Im looking some good head in carahue of algae, darahue long filaments wavered upward. A luminosity filled the air, akin to the sourceless un-light in Faerie, but faintly greenish. For bubbles streamed from his mouth and nostrils, to rise like tiny polished moons. He saw a fish go by, from the wanness on his left to the perspectiveless distances on his right. He sprang to his feet, bounced, and drifted down with ghostly slowness. His body seemed to be without weight.
The water flowed sensuously around each movement. A woman poised lazily before him. She was nude and paper white, with delicate green traces of veins under the skin. Long hair floated about her shoulders, fine and green as the algal weeds. Her face was broad and flat-nosed, with yellow eyes and a heavy sensuous mouth.
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Somehow, he thought—striving for a toehold on sanity—the forces called magical must be extracting oxygen from the water for him and forcing it into a thin protective layer, perhaps monomolecular, on his face. The rest of him was in direct contact with the lake. His clothes flopped soggy. Yet he was warm enough What am I gabbling about? He jerked free of her. She stretched her arms over her head till the verdant hair entwined their whiteness, arched her back, and poised on tiptoe. When a beautiful young warrior, with locks like the sun and eyes like heaven, chanced hither, I must love him on the instant. The detached part of him reflected that she, being of the Middle World, was as immune to the illusion which disguised him as he was himself.
A feast awaits you. When we passed by this lake, she arranged everything. No mortal of good character can be touched by enchantment, unless he himself wishes. The nixie smiled her slumbrous smile. She shook her head, slow weaving back and forth with billows running through the loose hair. While you are here, whither your own desires have brought you, you may not escape so cheaply. Aye, why should I not own the truth, that her majesty of Avalon commanded me to lurk by the shore and abide my opportunity? I am to keep you here until she sends for you, which will be after the war that is almost begun.
Her thin wire-strong fingers reached out to stroke his hair. His limbs caught the water and he swam toward the unseen surface. The nixie glided alongside, effortlessly, still smiling. Lean shapes hurtled into sight. He looked into the blank eyes and needle-toothed beak of the biggest pike he had ever seen. Others closed in, a dozen, a hundred. One ripped his hand. Pain jabbed; his blood came out like red smoke. The pike circled on every side.
Rusel made another gesture. They swam off, but slowly, and remained on the edge of vision. Holger bobbed back down to the sand. He needed a few minutes to get his breath and pulse under control. The nixie took his hand and kissed the wound. It closed as if it had never been made. She laughed and took his arm. The young Gpod advanced with a tender air, and placed upon his head a crown of flowers. At that instant carahud Danish hero lost his memory; his combats, his glory, Charlemagne and his court, all vanished from his mind; he saw hexd Morgana, he desired nothing but to sigh forever at her feet.
Time flew by, leaving no impression of its flight. There is no knowing how long this blissful state might have lasted, if it had not been for an accident, by which Morgana one day, in a sportive moment, snatched the crown from his head. That moment Ogier regained his memory, and lost his contentment. The recollection of Charlemagne, and of his own relatives and friends, saddened the hours which he passed with Morgana. The fairy saw with grief the changed looks of her lover. She consented with reluctance, and with her own hands helped to reinvest him with his armor. One of them took Ogier on his back, and the other placing himself under Papillon, they spread their broad fins, and in a short time traversed the wide space that separates the isle of Avalon from France.
They landed Ogier on the coast of Languedoc, and then plunged into the sea and disappeared. He arrived under the walls of Paris, which he would scarcely have recognized if the high towers of St. Genevieve had not caught his eye. He went straight to the palace of Charlemagne, which seemed to him to have been entirely rebuilt.