Delerium's Mistress: Tales of the Flat Earth Book 4 (22 page)

Azhrarn entered and stood in his chariot; it could be no one
else’s.

He said to Sovaz, “Though you have no power over the sea, you have
pressed an illusion on it which might convince the credulous that you had. The
sea-folk may be incensed at this. Also that you seemed to fill the air with
their waves and fishes. It is prudent to go far off.”

“Does my lordly father, then, fear the sea people?”

“Salt water,” he said, “has done me a service now and then.”

And far out on the moon-spun ocean it seemed for an instant
phantoms rode, a youth on a midnight horse, and these ghosts pursued in turn
another opalescent ghost like a ship—but the images dissolved.

“I have heard that story in the taverns of men,” said Sovaz.
“Sivesh, and the fading of his dream. A lover you tired of and destroyed. It
would appear that those who win your love are greatly unfortunate.”

“Do not let it trouble you,” said Azhrarn. “The misfortune is not
yours.”

There came the flicker of a diamond whip. The chariot sprang away
and aloft—tower-high from the earth, horses and wheels, the Vazdru prince and
his Prince—and was lost in the night.

But Sovaz sprang upon her lion.
“Follow.”

They ran then, one behind the other, some hours. A wild sight for
those who saw, a racing chariot above the trees and a winged lion going after.

The moon, which had been rising, completed her climb and turned
her pale smoky mask toward the world’s western limit. What did the moon spy
there, over the brink? Chaos claimed her with every descent, yet chaos did not
harm the moon, or the sun, only enriched them so they came up from its arms
like brides.

Certain aspirations of the winds, too, bounded after the lion and
Sovaz between its wings, like puppies eager to resume the earlier play with
water and fish. But eventually these zephyrs tired and fell back. Then a
nightingale sang below in the gray-purple shadow of a lilac tree, and another
from an ilex all black jade. Many nightingales were passed by beneath, singing,
or silent in perplexity, and many geographies were crossed over, both
magnificent and pestiferous, many, many miles.

And sometimes (it is said) he called to her and bade her be
dutiful as she had vowed, and there was a village or a town, or some temple, or
camp of malcontents, and she should work some wonder on it to amuse him,
submissive daughter that she claimed to be.

And so that night (they said) was riddled with roofs turned to
porridge and cheeses to topaz, with owls which cried in human speech, and men
who made noises like owls, or donkeys. With, too, a dread voice that whispered
in sleepers’ ears: “Beware, for I know your terrible secret, and it shall be
told to all.” And at the phrases of this soft, awful voice, a thousand hearts
missing a beat, and a thousand men and women scrambling up in horror. And
everywhere lamps lit, and shouts raised, and screams and blasphemies, and
servants running and horses fetched, and some at prayer and some at a gallop
with torches to fly the spot, and some taking up the means of suicide, and some
sneaking out to kill their neighbors. While, in a very small number of
dwellings, a very few turned over and slept again, muttering in surprise to
themselves or others, “But what terrible secret is this? I have none.”

All the night, therefore, was a riot (if what they said was so).
Many many miles, and after those, many many miles after, till Azhrarn, letting
the chariot of bronze and silver idle at last, remarked to the girl on the
lion, “Yes, that is fair. You have a cunning mind, though you are yet a child,
a demon’s mind. A dutiful and obedient daughter for sure.” And his smile froze
to hail the fringed icy beryls and pearls along the reins, and the very dew
that was beginning to form upon the leaves below, that froze too.

Soon after this a city swelled before them. There had been several
such, but this one was mighty, and lay along a river, among fields of flowers.
Animals of stone guarded the quays and the city’s two gates, and even here and
there stood up on a roof. They were white as salt. The river itself was white,
kissed by the sinking moon, and on all the spires of the city, the moon had
set, in parting, silver rings.

“And here,” said Sovaz, “what must I do here?”

“I have heard how you deal with a city by a river. Shudm of the
ghouls may speak for you in that. Let this place be. Or shall I give it you to
be a goddess in?”

“Am I to want such a gift?”

“Oh, dutiful daughter,” said Azhrarn. “You are to be a goddess
somewhere, for I would teach this world the nature of gods.”

“And what is their nature?” she said.

“Indifferent and cruel. And loving not mankind.”

“In Bhelsheved,” said Sovaz, “I have seen a notion written on a
rock: that the kind gods saved the people there from a monster they call in
that land
Azhrarn.
Nor
did the gods save them only once, but twice over.”

“It is by such notions they have earned the lesson I will teach,”
said Azhrarn. Then: “I have not rebuked you for your discourtesy,” said
Azhrarn. The dew which had frozen turned to steel and dropped down the trees to
concuss little slugs. “Do not forget that I do not forget I have not.”

“I am rebuked,” said Sovaz, “by the very life you gave me. And
since it is an immortal, never-ending life, I shall be rebuked by it forever.”

Then Azhrarn reached out to her and put his hand upon her head,
very gently, and he said to her, “The Vazdru do not weep.”

“Who weeps? Not I.”

“Each word spoken was a tear.”

But, though he gazed at her intently, when she turned her eyes to
him, Azhrarn looked away from her, out over the night. Whatever he might say,
she could not help but recall for him Dunizel. The first sight he had had of
her, this child of his, an adult woman, had gone through him like a sword, and
there can be no doubt of it. And he could not help but dislike her, too,
perhaps; since he had created her to do his work upon the earth, she was his
own wickedness, externalized and incarnate. And had Dunizel, maybe, caused him
to
question
his
wickedness, his character, as it seemed she had meant him to?

The chariot, and the lion, hovered in the air, and the city
moon-gleamed below. Azhrarn removed his hand from the girl’s hair, revoked his
caress (the lion shuddered), but said to her, “What now, then, is your name?”

And she replied, “Azhriaz.”

The meaning of which is merely this: the Sorceress, Azhrarn’s
Daughter.

7. The Story of the Stallion’s Back

THERE
WAS a king who ruled the city and lands of the white stone cats, the name of
which was Nennafir.
His
name was Qurob. The very day that he was born, a witch-woman came
to his mother, even as she lay swooning with fatigue on her bed, amid the fans
of her handmaidens. “Your son,” said the witch-woman, “shall be king of
Nennafir, in health and bounty, and no man will raise a weapon against him, and
no ill happening come near to him, and his name will be well remembered.
Unless . . .” And here the witch hesitated meaningfully, and the
handmaids held their breath, and their fans were still, and only the mother of
Qurob sighed. “Unless,” continued the witch, “when once he is a king, he should
ever chance to ride upon a stallion’s back. For if he does that, he shall lose
his kingdom, and he shall die.”

At these tidings the mother of Qurob rested upon her pillows, and
she said no word at all for some while, though she might be seen to be
thinking. Finally she did speak. She said: “Well, this is wonderful fortune,
for I am not even the present lord’s wife, but only his concubine. It is a
small matter, surely, that my son keep from riding on a stallion’s back—he will
have geldings and mares in plenty for his use, if he is to be king. Come now,”
she said to an attendant, “pour wine, and you shall all drink with me to this
good luck, and the seeress with us—and in every cup I will let drop one of
these pearls from my necklet, but for the wisewoman I will let drop three
pearls. “ There was much approval at this decision. The wine was poured in the
cups and each passed to the mother of Qurob, who, as she had promised, let fall
in each a costly pearl, but into the cup of the witch she let fall three. Then
everyone drank, save only the mother herself—she was too weak to taste wine as
yet. And in a moment or so, everyone but her tumbled over with a groan and
died. For in every cup, along with a pearl, the mother of Qurob had let fall a
drop of deadly poison from a ring she wore, but in the witch’s cup she had let
fall three drops. And this was because she had thought to herself:
Only I must know
this thing, I and my son. If any other knows, he may seek to trick him into
just such a ride.
In that she may have been sensible. She was altogether a clever
woman. No sooner were the witch and all the attendants stretched lifeless than
Qurob’s mother began to scream. When help arrived, she told how a vile
sorceress had entered and offered to make the new mother, a mere concubine,
into Nennafir’s queen, if only she would work evil against her lord. This she
sternly refused to do, at which the sorceress cast a spell upon the wine, so it
slew everyone who had drunk it—save only Qurob’s mother, who had been too weak
as yet to drink. And then Qurob’s mother had herself recited a charm against
witches, taught her long ago by a priest—at which the loathsome sorceress
herself expired.

All marveled at this news, as well they might. And presently the
tale was recounted to the king.

“Here is one who is steadfast,” said the king. And in a while he
went to visit Qurob’s mother, and was much taken with her beauty, as he had
been that prior night he got her with child and gave her pearls.

Affairs then went as they might be expected to go.

The king raised Qurob’s mother, he made her one of his lesser
queens, awarded her lands and jewels. Then Qurob’s mother became a
compassionate and admiring friend to each of the three other lesser queens and
to each she said, “Why, my son is nothing to yours.” Or, if no son yet
appeared, “Why, my son
will
be nothing to yours.” And
she said, “I am a nonentity, but it is my joy to be near you. Always I have
noted your loveliness and virtue, and indeed I will confide in you, I believe
it is you yourself the king loves best—truly, even better than the high queen
of Nennafir, for of course that marriage was arranged when he was but a boy. I
suppose that he would cast her down and put you in her place, if he were able.”
And that said, next she diligently advised each lady against the other two, and
told how she had heard it rumored that they might wish to poison the favored
one, or the favored one’s child, or the favored one’s child-to-be. And shortly,
Qurob’s mother did the service, and poisoned the two lesser queens who were
least susceptible. But the night before she did it, she sought audience with
the high queen herself, and Qurob’s mother fell on her face, and then being
permitted to kneel, warned the high queen how the lesser queens plotted against
her, and of one in particular (the most susceptible), who would probably murder
her rivals. So when the two bodies were come on next morning, everyone knew who
was to blame, and the lesser queen, the susceptible one, was taken and flogged
and hanged, and her corpse left on the gibbet where the three white cats of
stone lay by the river.

And after that the high queen raised Qurob’s mother and had her as
her confidante and spy. This went on for thirteen years, during which the boy
Qurob grew, and was taught by his mother to be canny, and to flatter and
dissemble, and to be cruel, too, for she assured him, “There is a secret you
must tell no one. You are king here.” And Qurob smiled, and said, “Am I,
Mother? I shall be glad of that.” But to each of the sons of the high queen he
said, “I am nothing beside you, but let me be your slave, for I have always
admired you beyond duty, more as I would worship a god.” And then he kindly
advised them each against the others and told them plots he had heard of, and
gave them access to evidence which he simulated and paid others to simulate.
And during his thirteenth year, the high queen died of a wasting disease
induced by Qurob’s mother’s having introduced into her food tiny toxic granules.
And then the king’s sons fell out and quarreled, and some killed each other.
And one night Qurob, a strong handsome lad of gracious bearing, knelt humbly to
the king and informed him a plot had been laid against the king’s life, and
though it broke his, Qurob’s, heart to speak, all must be revealed. And next
morning the two eldest of the king’s sons were torn apart by horses, and their
remains left in the square where the white cats of stone overlooked the river.
And Qurob became the king’s heir.

Now three further years passed, and the king, who had grown old
and sick, looked lovingly upon his adoring heir, and that year Qurob was
sixteen, he murmured to the king, “Magnificent Father, let me speak to you in
your chamber.” The king willingly complied. When they were closeted together,
Qurob said, “Father, have I served you well?”

The sick old king nodded, and with tears embraced him. “Of all my
sons,” said the king, “you alone were faithful.”