Melanthrix the Mage (20 page)

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

“I CAN'T FIND THE BELL”

As the morning meeting between Duke Ferdinand and King Kipriyán was winding down, an aide entered the room, and whispered a message to Hereditary Prince Arkády.

“Pray excuse me, gentlemen,” the latter said, and hurriedly left the chamber.

He ran to his apartments in the residential wing, where he found his wife Dúra in the children's room.

“What is it, Drúsha?” he managed to gasp out.

She stepped back so he could see. Little Prince Arión was writhing in pain, rolling back and forth in his tumbled bedclothes, his pale body visibly racked by peri­odic spasms.

“Why haven't you summoned Doctor Melanthrix?” Arkády asked.

“
I can't find the bell
,” she said, almost screaming the words, “and he's not in his quarters. No one knows
where
he is.”

“Then send for Jánisar,” Arkády said. “I'll lo­cate Melanthrix. And have the servants search for that thrice-cursed bell!”

Arkády rushed out, yelling for his guards.

But the bell was in the garden with Rÿna, who had thought it a lovely little silver playtoy, and was now mer­rily ringing it for her dolls, Louisa, Sylyána, and Bánya, who were stoically sitting on the bench in front of her.

“See, Ouisa,” she said, “it makes such a mar­velous tinkling sound.”

She rang it several more times, and looked at each of them in turn.

“That means it's supper time,” she said imperi­ously, “and you'd better come when I call, or you'll get nothing to eat.”

Rÿna had laid out a sumptuous picnic for her friends, with miniature utensils, cups, and place settings for each imaginary playmate.

“Now let's all put on our napkins very nicely, just like me,” she said in her very best “Márissa” voice. “Sit up straight, please.”

She carefully propped each of them erect.

“Thank you, my lords and ladies. Let the feast be­gin!”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

“YOU WILL NOT GOVERN
ME!
”

Far to the southeast, in the mountains north of the city of Antukhia in the fabled land of Asshyria, Doctor Melanthrix received the message the child was inadver­tently sending, jerking his head as the sound of the bell re­verberated in his mind. The telltale had been set by him years ago so that he could be called from any part of the globe by Prince Arkády or his wife.

He who was known to the world as E-Ulmash-Shakin-Shumi noticed the movement, and tuned his third, his inner ear, to the sound.

“Hearing noises, are we?” he said dryly. “You haven't answered my question, doctor.”

“We must leave you soon,” the philosopher said. “But we will emphasize again, honored ones, that while we do appreciate and acknowledge the fact that we learned much here during our student years, still we are not presently subject to your laws or your control, and we can­not allow you to interfere with our practice of the
psai
arts.”

“A complaint has been formally lodged against you,” he who was known to the world as Shuppiluliumash said a little more forcefully, “by one who is respected by all of us here. He claims that you have illicitly used your knowledge and your powers to interfere with the workings of another magical tradition. What say you to these charges?”

The one who was known to the world as Melanthrix looked anxiously about the room at the eight mages who sat there, one at each point of a crossed star, then declaimed in his strange high-pitched voice, a bit louder than he in­tended: “Where is our accuser? We do not see him here. Let him appear and we will respond. Until then, we must state to you again that you have no jurisdiction over Doctor Melanthrix, that you may not tell us what it is that we shall or shall not do. We utterly reject your authority.”

“Do you?” said she who was known to the world as Harrabichi Kadavube Adi-Raja Bibi. “Then why have you come before the Fellowship of Saint Yabhalaha bar Qayyuma?”

The silver bell rang again, in all their minds this time, as if to punctuate her words. Melanthrix visibly be­gan to fidget, while the eight focused on its plaintive cry.

“We came out of respect for your wisdom,” the philosopher said, more diplomatically this time. “We came to
honor
your learning.”

“Yet you show no respect for our authority?” said he who was known to the world as Tribhuvana­dityavarman. “You
know
the law,” he insisted, holding up his hand as Melanthrix attempted to interrupt. “From time immemorial the community of mages has agreed that the workings of the enlightened ones shall be subject to the authority of the select. We gave you our secrets.
Now give us our due!
”

“It...it is not the same,” Melanthrix said.

“
It is!
” he who was known to the world as 'Abd aj-Jalíl Rahmat Iskándar Shah said. “You must either hum­ble yourself before this fellowship, or choose another. You are not a law unto yourself, nor may you....”

“Enough!”
Melanthrix said, clearly angry now, and more than willing to show his true face. “We will listen to this foolishness
no more!
You will not govern
me!
” for the first time using the personal pronoun.
“No one will!”

And with that he vanished...
pffft!
...from where he stood.

He who was known to the world as Kadashman-Kharbe exchanged exasperated glances with his brethren, took a deep breath, and said: “My friends, this insolence cannot pass unchallenged. The one who is known as Melanthrix has been charged with the crime of commin­gling. How say you?”

“Guilty,” came the simultaneous responses from around the table.

“Then we must take prompt action,” he said.

The bell tinkled in all their minds again.

“Ah, I see a way to do this that cannot be antici­pated or blocked. Open your minds to me and join in this making. Let justice prevail in its own time and according to God's law.”

And so it was done.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

“IT MUST HAVE BEEN GOD”

Melanthrix reached the apartments of Hereditary Prince Arkády a few moments later, dreading what he would find. He had stopped first at his own quarters in the residential wing of the palace, picking up his box of medicines before hurrying to the aid of the sick princeling. He could not bear the sight of silently suffering children, for it brought to mind his own lonely childhood, and how often he had cried alone in the night for a succor that never came.

The guards quickly shooed him through the door.

“My boy,” Melanthrix said when he spied the writhing body, “my poor boy.”

The philosopher fumbled through his bag of potions, bringing out a small, dark bottle filled with a smoky sub­stance that was something between vapor and liquid. One could see it roiling through the glass. Holding the child's head steady with his left hand, he popped the cork of the phial with his right, and carefully eased a drop or two into Arión's mouth. The prince gagged and tried to spit it out, but Melanthrix held the boy's mouth and nose pinched shut until he instinctively swallowed.

For a very long moment, nothing changed, but then, very gradually at first, the child's body began to relax, and the lines of pain etched into his forehead receded, smooth­ing the skin to its normal state. Suddenly he was sleeping naturally.

Doctor Melanthrix carefully put the stopper back in his bottle, stowing it away in the box of medications. He withdrew another, lighter phial which he handed to Prince Arkády.

“Give him a sip of this when he wakes. No more, mind! And another sip in the morning. We'll return then. He almost passed the boundary this time, Highness. Why did you wait so long to call us?”

In the background Dúra was beside herself with grief.

“We lost the bell,” she said. “We can't find it anywhere.”

“What!” The philosopher was aghast. “But it rang.
Someone
called us.”

“It must have been God,” Arkády said, “or....”

A sudden thought occurred to him.

“Where are the children?” he asked, looking around the nursery.

Four-year-old Prince Siegfried had been playing quietly in the corner with his toy soldiers. Hearing his fa­ther's stern voice, he bawled out, “'S'not me! 'S'not me!” and started snuffling into his sleeve, anticipating punish­ment.

Little Princess Numméla, two years his junior, stood silently with her thumb jammed into her rosebud mouth, taking it all in. Picking up a corner of the faded raggedy blanket which went everywhere with her, she dragged it over and handed it to her brother to comfort him.

“Ssst, Siggy,” she said, patting him protectively on the shoulder. “No cry now!”

Suddenly Arkády had a vision of an earlier time. He saw Arrhiána comforting him after he had taken the brunt of his own father's anger. As the eldest child, more had been expected of him, more asked. He had often fallen short of King Kipriyán's mark, or so it had seemed to a small boy. In those days he had sworn to himself that he would never treat his own children in a like manner. His features softened as he bent down and hugged Siegfried gently.

“It's all right, son,” he said. “Papá's not angry. I was just worried about Ari, that's all. Run along now and play with your sister.”

“Mellie,” he said, handing her the blanket, “always look after your brother, just like now.”

“I will, poppy!” the little princess said, planting a sloppy kiss on Arkády's cheek.

Smiling broadly, he nodded to Márissa, who herded the golden-haired tykes towards the door.

“But where's Rÿna?” he asked, glancing about.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

“IT'S JUST NOT FAIR”

“I don't know, sir,” Márissa said, as the two little ones scampered away in front of her like puppies, all un­happiness forgotten. “In the garden, perhaps. That's her favorite spot.”

“I'll find her, Kásha,” Arrhiána said.

She had been watching the tender scene between her brother and his children with affectionate amusement. She too remembered those bygone days when her belovèd Kásha had stood there, time after time, stoically with­standing the rage their perfectionist father had directed at him for some supposed slight. Now she jumped up, eager to be of service, and hurried from the room.

The princess checked several places in the palace where she knew Rÿna liked to play, but she wasn't there. She finally found her, just as Márissa had suggested, at Land's End in the maze of the Hanging Garden.

“Auntie Rhie!” the little girl said. “We're having a picnic, Ouisa and me. But Bánya's sick, so he has to lie down under the cover,” pointing to one of her dolls all swathed with cloth.

“I know, dearest,” Arrhiána said, giving her niece a special hug, “but your father wants you to come home now. Ari is sleeping, finally. He's going to be all right. What's this?” she added, picking up the silver bell.

“Oh, that's just a toy I found on the floor near Ari's bed,” the little girl said. “And it's the right size for Louisa. See?”

She took the bell and put it in the doll's diminutive hand.

“I don't think that's a plaything, Rÿna,” Arrhiána said. “Your mother was looking all over for this, and she'll be very cross that you took it without asking.”

Two tears started down Rÿna's cheeks, one from each eye.

“No one ever wants to play with me, Auntie, and I can't never do nothing right.”

She sat down with a “huff” of expelled air.

“It's just not fair,” she said with a little
moue
of discontent.

Princess Arrhiána knelt down until her eyes were on the same level as her niece's.

“No, it's
not
fair,” she said, “but that's the way it is in the world. Some things just aren't very fair, particularly when grown-ups are concerned. I'll tell you what, though. If you promise me that you'll never,
ever
play with this again, or take it away from Ari's bedstand, I won't tell your mother where I found it. Agreed?”

“All right,” Rÿna said.

She very solemnly drew herself up to her full height, and crossed herself.

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” she said.

“What's that?” Her aunt reached out to examine a mark on the palm of Rÿna's right hand.

“It bit me!” the little girl blurted out.

“Bit you?” Arrhiána asked with concern.

Rÿna nodded.

“I was ringing the bell to call my friends to tea, and they wouldn't come, neither, so I just kept ringing and ringing, and suddenly it just
bit
me and made my head tin­gle. My hand really
hurts
, Auntie,” she said plaintively.

“When was this?” Arrhiána asked, intently ex­amining the reddish-brown hourglass burned into the girl's skin.

“Umm, I don't remember.” Her niece crinkled her brow. “A little while ago, I think.”

Arrhiána smiled, and her clouded face was suddenly transformed into that of a beatific saint. She tenderly pressed her smallest ring into the child's hand and then raised Rÿna's tiny palm to her lips and kissed the bright stain. Immediately the redness began to dissipate until only a faint outline of the mark remained.

“Oooh!” Rÿna said. “That's so much better, Auntie. Thank you!”

Arrhiána rose again, and walked over to Queen Landizábel's statue, staring pensively into the gentle stone face and eyes, so much like her own.

“Dearest,” she said finally, turning back to the little girl, “how would you like to visit your Aunt Chette and Granny Brisquayne with me this afternoon?”

“Oh, could we? No one ever takes me anywhere,” Rÿna said. “Oh, Auntie Rhie, I do love you.”

“I love you too, dearest,” her aunt said, kissing her niece tenderly on the forehead. “Come now, let's go ask your father.”