Delerium's Mistress: Tales of the Flat Earth Book 4 -...

Delirium’sMistressTalesoftheFlatEarth:BookFour

TanithLee

Delirium’sMistressTalesoftheFlatEarth:

BookFourByTanithLee

Thisisaworkoffiction.Allthecharactersandeventsportrayedinthisbookare

fictitious,andanyresemblancetorealpeople,or

events,ispurelycoincidental.

Allrightsreserved,includingtherighttoreproducethisbook,orportionsthereof,in

anyform.

TherightofTanithLeetobeidentifiedastheauthorofthisworkhasbeenassertedbyher

inaccordancewiththeCopyright,DesignandPatentsAct,1988.

CoverArtbyJohnKaiine

AnImmanionPressEditionpublishedthroughKindlehttp://www.immanion-

press.cominfo@immanion-press.com

Dedication:

ToRosemaryHawleyJarman,

Aword-sorceressoftheroundworld.

AUTHOR’SNOTEConcerning those

other historiesreferred to in

The stories of Zhirek theMagician,andofSimmuwhostole Immortality from thegods, and of the citySimmurad,aretobefoundin

As are thestories of Narasen and herpact with Death, and ofKassafeh and hers. And ofthedealingsofLylas,too.

Delirium’sMistress:

Death’s Master.

The stories of Shezael theHalf-Souled, of the poetKazir and Ferazhin Flower-Born, of Sivesh, of Zorayasthewitch-queen,andofBakvithe Drin (and, too, ofAzhrarn’s first meeting withthe sun) are told in

Dunizel’sstory,andthatofhermother,arecontained in

alongwith the account of the

Night’sMaster.

Delusion’s Master,

building—and fall—of thegreatTower,Baybhelu.

CONTENTS

IntroductionForward

BOOKONE:Sovaz:Mistress

ofMadnessPartOne:NightHunting

PartTwo:LoversPartThree:FairisNotFair

BOOKTWO:Azhriaz:the

GoddessPartOne:MattersofStonePartTwo:TheWarwithSea

andSkyPartThree:UndertheEarth

BOOKTHREE:Atmeh:the

SearchforLifePartOne:Lessons

PartTwo:UncleDeathPartThree:TheLotus

EPILOGUE:Three

HandsomeSons

Introduction

Originally, Delusion’sMaster, the thirdbookof theFlat Earth sequence, andprecursor of this one, wasintended as the first part ofDelirium’sMistress – or, putanother way, Delirium’sMistresswastobethesecondpart of Delusion’s Master.The partially seen outline of

both books had beenconceivedofasasingle longnovel. All types of writing,for me, as a rule make theirownlengths,however.Andatthe end of what becameDelusion’s Master, even Icould see that what I had,plus what must come next,would be far too large avolume. (With hard copy,most of us prefer not to getdislocated shoulders from

lifting and reading a book.)SoDelusion’s Master endedwhere it does, on an openquestion. And some whilelater, Delirium’s Mistressbeginswithpartoftheanswerto that troubling inquiry:Butwhatislove?A few of my novels havebeeninterrupted–lessbylifethan other obsessions; forexample, Day By Night by

Sabella, or Sung in Shadowby The Silver Metal Lover.Delirium’s Mistresswas duetojointhisgroup.Just before I started back tothe Flat Earth, I’d becomevery intrigued by a characterfrom real Round Earthhistory. Camille Desmoulinshad a small but starring rolein theFrenchRevolution.HewasthefriendofDanton,and

initially of Robespierre, ajournalist of some talent, arevolutionary of course – heroused the crowd that latertook the Bastille – andultimately an extraordinarilybrave and honourable man,refusing to shut up his well-founded criticisms, untilsilenced by the Guillotine.Perhaps unsurprisingly, whatI had takenonly for a stronginterest in him, and the

Revolution itself, turnedsuddenlyandgrabbedholdofme, more or less body andsoul.Andsoin theend,afterI had alreadywritten Parts 1and 2 of the First Book ofDelirium’s Mistress (NightHunting and Lovers), my bythen compulsive researchesintotheFranceofthelate18thCentury – took over. I leftDelirium’s Mistress where Ihad to, and was swallowed,

gladly and in terror, by theso-calledRealWorld.Giventhesizeoftheresultanthistorical novel, (watch yourshoulders, folks!), (514 largeclose-printedpages;overonethousand in handwrittenmanuscript), Iwrote it prettyfastinaroundayear.ItsnameisTheGodsAreThirsty, andit is the only ‘straight’historical novel I have ever

written. Soon after finishingit, in 1984/5, I returned, astunned wanderer, toDelirium’sMistress.The colossal excitement andthe harsh, if non-physical,beatingTheGodsAreThirstyhadgivenme,abatedintheirturn.While themagic of theold/newly resumed workreinstated itself. After theRevolution, where better to

runtothantheFlatEarth.I’munsure to thisday, aboutthirty years on, if anyundercurrents or specificshadows from that historicalfrenzy infiltrated thesubsequent pages ofDelirium’s Mistress.Sometimes, I seem toglimpse, on re-reading thiswork, an element ofunusually definite rebellion,

or even the fiery Parisiangoals of Hope, Justice orRevenge, tracing their waythrough a distorting mirror,over themore open horizonsof the Flat Earth text. Andthen again, another occasion,nothingofthesort.Certainly,the books could not bemoreunlike. Aside from myalways-preoccupation withthe human race, and itspassions.

Luckily for me, and for thepeoples in the Flat Earthsequence, death, and evenKingDeathhimself,doesnotend the inneressential lifeofanything. Death, there, ismetamorphosis, neverobliteration. How gladCamille would have been,surely, as he mounted theladder to his execution, tohaveutterlyandtrulycredited

such a concept. His courageis the greater since, mostprobably, he did not. Butotherwise, maybe, the ideathat the answer to thatquestiononthenatureofloveis simply, and significantly,“love is love”, would haverung true for him. I think itmight.Onelastthingaboutthisbookyou are holding (hopefully

having not dislocated anyshoulders) is the identity ofthe Fifth Lord of Darkness.Noone,sofar,seemstohavespotted him accurately, andtold me, though he does, asI’ve said before, have acameo late in this novel. Forthose of you who haven’tguessed and are curious, heappears on the last pages ofthe Part entitled The WarWithSeaandSky.Hisaspect

and provenance may beevident from the surroundingeffects: A hand – a greatsleeve – a million stitchescoming undone. Perhaps themost powerful of the FiveLords, and the mostfearsome,apersonificationofthat material from which allthings come. And his nameis________?

TanithLee

FOREWORD

IT HAS BEEN recountedhow, in the days of theearth’sflatness,Azhrarn,thePrince of Demons, Night’sMaster, one of the Lords ofDarkness, loved the maidenDoonis-Ezael or Dunizel(Moon’sSoul),apriestessoftheholycityBhelsheved.And

that because of the value heset on her (butmostly, let itbe said, tomakemischief inthose lands, which hadangered him), he got hersorcerouslywithchild.When this child, adaughter,wasborn,Dunizelwas condemned by herpeople, who greatly feared,yetdidnotfullycomprehend,the powers of Azhrarn. Anddespite the safeguards her

demonloverhadlefther,sheperished.Now,herdeathseemeddueto a trick played by anotherof the Lords of Darkness,Prince Chuz, whose othernameisMadness,Delusion’sMaster. Therefore Azhrarn,meeting with Chuz, sworethey should thenceforth beenemies,and that,nomatterwherehemighthidehimself,Chuzshouldbehunteddown

and the vengeance of theDemon completed on him.Such a thing was veryterrible indeed, that any ofthe immortal and mightyLords of Darkness shouldwage war with each other.“Do you think I shake atyou?” inquired Chuz. Yet itis possible he was not quitesanguineatthedevelopment,forallthat.DunizelalonehadAzhrarn

loved; for thechild, shehadnever been more than agamepiecetohim.However,hehadnoted thespeculativeeye of Chuz upon her. Inanguish and fury, then,Azhrarn bore her to his cityof Druhim Vanashta,underground.

BOOKONE

Sovaz:MistressofMadness

PARTONE:NightHunting

1IT WAS DUSK, andforawhiletheyoungman seated on thehigh roof gazed up

intothegreatslopingdomeofsky.Thenheread aloud from hisbook: “Blue as thedarkblueeyesofmybeloved, the twilightfills all heaven. Thestars put on theirsilver dresses andthey are fair, butnoneasfairasshe.”His companions layon their elbows and

looked at him,quizzically. He shutthe book and said,“Love,too,issimplemadness.”

Atwhichtheymadewildgesturesofdismissal.“Lovedoesnotexist.‘Love’

isthenamewomen,andtheirwretchedoldfathers,putonthetrapofaring.”“Loveislust.Whymake

songsaboutanitch?”

Thefirstyoungmansmiled.Hewas

unusuallyhandsome,pale,veryfair,with

beautifuleyesthecoloroflow-burning

lampshine.Inrepose,therewasasweetnesstohim.Withsweet

melancholy,hesighed.

“Ah,poorthing,”theysaid.“Whattroubleshimthis

evening,ourOloru?”Oloru said, “An answer, which has

noquestion.”

“Ariddle!”criedtheotheryoungmen.Theygrinnedandshouted:“Makeuslaugh,Oloru.”

AndallatoncetheeyesofOloruglitteredliketheeyesofanight-huntingfox.Hesprangtohisfeet,curledover,nextdroppedinaball,nextliftedhiswholebodystraightinthe

air,supportinghimselfbyonehand,palm

down,ontheroof.Thenhebegan,onthis

onehand,tohopabout,cryingoutallthewhileinaraucousirritatedvoice:“Oh,howtiresomethisis.Youwouldthinkbynowthegodscould

haveinventedabetter

wayforamantotravel.”

The companions, dulydiverted,laughed,applauded,and called the entertainernames. Oloru went onhopping, though one of hisfine silk gloves was by nowprobably quite ruined. Hehopped to the westernparapet, and here his slimupside-down body wavered,

so the stars seemed juggledbetween his feet. “Behold,”saidOloru,“herethesunfellover.” And he toppledsideways through blue duskand stars, and right acrosstheparapet,andvanished.The remaining young menon the tavern roof leapt totheirfeetwithyellsofhorror,upsettingwinejarsandotherparaphernalia. Oloru was afavorite of their lord, one of

the magician-princes of thiscity. To take this powerfulman the tale of said Oloru,smashedonthecobblessevenstories below, was not acharmingnotion.But rushing to the parapetand leaningover, they couldbe sure of nothing in thenarrow alley but thegatheringofdarkness.Elsewhere, the city spreadaround them under the sky,

itsterracespearl-strungwithlamps, its towersbright-eyedwithlitwindows.Nowhereinthatcitycouldtheybesafeifthey once angered theirprince, Lak Hezoor. Whilecloseathandrosethepalaceof this very lord, each of itsspires made into a sombercandle by the cresset ablazeon its roof, and each cressetseemingnowtoglareoveratthemintently.

Consternation. Some ranonto the stair, meaning todescendandsearchthestreeton foot.Otherswerealreadymaking up excuses for aviolent death that hadnothing whatever to do withthem. In the midst of this,suddenly Oloru stepped outof a climbing fruit tree thatspreaditsbranchesalongtheeasternparapet.“Yes, love is madness,”

saidOloru.“Asallthingsaremadness. Piety, wickedness,pleasure, sorrow—every oneaninsanity.Indeed,toliveatall—”

cried the youngmen. Two of them ranforwardasiftothrashhim.Oloru shrank back againstthetree.Heliftedbothhandsin their gemmed gloves, toshield himself. “No—forgiveme,my friends—what have I

“Oloru!”

donetoangeryou?”The friends gatheredmenacingly.Oloruwasatalltimes the veriest coward.They knew he would beterrified by a threat or araised fist. So they beratedhim, and he grew paler andpaler and shrank back intothe slender arms of the fruittree. He explained,stammering somewhat, thathehadcaught the stonework

under the parapet and thuseased himself along the sideofthebuilding,unseen,tothetree.Herehehadclamberedoncemore to safety.He hadnot meant to annoy them,only to amuse.Theyallowedhim to go on and on,enjoyinghisfalteringmusicalvoice,hiseyesswimmingandfulloftearsofanxiety.Intheend,whentheyhadsqueezedhim sufficiently, and it

seemed only the fragile treekept him on his feet, theyrelented, flung their armsaround him, kissed him andsmoothed his golden hair,swearing they forgave himanything, he was so dear tothem. Then he tremblinglylaughed. He thanked them.When theyasked,he tookupa lyre of gilded wood andsangforthemexquisitely.Hisvoice was so beautiful, in

fact, that here and thereround about shutters openedquietly. Lovers and loserstogether leaned into thenight, to catch the flavor ofOloru’ssong.

“In the lyre-land,stringandchord.Bringmemusic in aword.Bringmemagic inalook;

For your eyes arelikeasword.

And your smile is like abirdSinging from an ancient

bookAnd “How you flatterme,

Oloru,” someone said. “Butyou always do flatter betterthananyother,andperfectlyinkey.”Lak Hezoor the magician-

...”

prince, clad in dark finery,and with two guards behindhim,hadcomeupontheroofvery silently. He and hisminions could move mostquietly, when they wished,and such noiseless arrivalswere a habit of his. In thiswayheoftenhappenedonhiscourtiersattheirvariousandmoreintimategames.Allhadgrown careful, even in themost frenzied acts of the

flesh, to think, and ifnecessary to speak, well oftheir lord. Shadowy as hisraiment was his long curledhair, and on the glovedhands of Lak Hezoor jewelsburneddarkasthenighthadnow become. Two greatleashed hounds, by contrastblondasOloru,staredaboutthem,quiveringwithabstracteagernessforthingstochaseandrend.

The young men had allobeised themselves. But itwas Oloru the magician-princeraisedinhisarmsandkissed on the lips, withouthaste.“We are going hunting

tonight,”saidLakHezoor.Thoseon the roofwhohadhad other plans for theevening quickly dismissedthem from their minds. OnlyOloru was heard to say

plaintively, “My lord, I hatetoseeanythingkilled—”“Then, sweetheart,” saidLakHezoor,“atthesuprememoments of the death youmay hide your face in mymantle,andnotlook.”

Themoonwasrisingin the hour the huntset out. Itwas a fullmoonthatnight,andcertain exhalations

and smokes of thesorcerouslytempered city madeherappearunusuallylarge,soshedwarfedthe towers as shehung above them.She blushed, too,standing there overthatplace,anddrewa cloud aroundherself. But herfeverish light burned

through, and lavedtheblackhorsesandthe black or whitehounds of LakHezoor, and flashedon the loudlyblowing horns, theknives and jewels,andinallthehostofeyes.

Thecitydisgorgedthehunt,itsgatesflyingwidebeforeitwithout a command needing

to be given. Beyond, a longpaved road opened throughthe plain. To either side ofthe road ran lush fields andgrovesandvineyards,butoffto the west was hill countryand a forest many centuriesolder. Strange stories weretold of the forest. Menwandered in there and werenever seen again, or otherthings, not men at all,wanderedoutofit,sometimes

having human shape, andsometimes not. But themagician-masters of the cityfoundtheforesttemptedthemfrom time to time.Particularly it tempted LakHezoor, who wasintellectually obsessed bynightandalldarkthings,justas his flesh was inflamedequally by examples ofexceptionalpaleness.Itwasatimeofharvesting,

and now and then the hunt,riding hard and savagely asif already in pursuit of thequarry,passedbysomefirelitcamp of people, or somevillage set near the road.Then all the lowly folkgathered there would rushforward to the road’s edge,calling aloud praises on themagician-princes, and onLakHezoor inperson if theyrecognizedhim. Itwouldnot

have been sensible to dootherwise. Seldom, however,did Lak Hezoor pay anyattention. It happened,though, when the upsweptblackwallsoftheforestwereless than a mile ahead, thatthe sorcerer lord did spysomething that checked him.There in ameadow a tallowlamp had been hung from apole, with a kneeling manunderit.Closebyagirlwas

tied to a tree. In the faintlamplight, she shone pale asa pearl, and her long ash-brownhair,wovenwithwhiteflowers, was her onlygarment.When Lak Hezoor drewrein, his company with him,theman ran up and kneeledagainontheroad.“Speak,”saidLakHezoor.“She is my sister’sdaughter,justfifteenyearsof

age,avirgin.”Lak Hezoor sat his horseand looked over at the girl,while his courtiers slyly andfawningly smiledathimandateachother.“Once,”saidthelordLak,“maidens were left in thisway to entice dragons. Areyouexpectinganydragons?”“No—oh, mightyHezoor.It is just thewishofthegirl’shearttogiveyoua

moment’s diversion, that isall.”Lak Hezoor dismounted.He walked away over themeadowtothetreewherethegirl hung as if half-dead ofterror. For a second morethe magician was visible,leaningtohisdragon’sprey.Then a fan of blacknessspread there,occludingbothof them. While in theblackness a dull reddish

snakeoffireseemedtotwist,andsparksburst,hurtingtheeyes of anywho still peeredin that direction. Once,twice, a sharp screampierced the sorcerous veil,but nothing else of sight orsound.Themanwho had broughtthe lord his niece waitedpatiently, eyes lowered. Thecourtiers sipped wine fromgolden flasks, petted their

horses, discussed fashionsandgambling.Lak was not long over histransaction. Quite abruptlyhe returned through theblack screen, calm andundisheveled as if he hadpaused to taste some fruitfrom a wayside bush. Thesorcerous screen began todie at once behind him.There showed nowsomethingpallidflungonthe

ground, motionless, amidtornhairandbrokenflowers.“What did you hope from

me?” asked Lak Hezoor ofthe patiently waiting uncle.“Not anything much, I trust,for she was verydisappointing.”“No—oh, Nothingbut to

pleaseyou,lord.”“Well,Iwasnotgreatly

pleased.Butyoumeantforthebest.Iwillnotchastise

you.Areyoucontentwiththat?”“Mightylord,Iamyour

generosity’sslave.”As they galloped away, a

backwardglancerevealedtheman bending over thepaleness in the grass, whichdid not answer him evenwhenhegaveitblows.“Now,myOloru,”saidthe

magician-princeastheyrodeuptothetallgatesofthe

forest,“youseemdowncast.”“I?”saidOloru.“Iwasonly

devisingapoemtohonoryou.”“Ah,” said Lak Hezoor.

“Thatiswell.Lateryoushalltellitme.”Thedepthsoftheforest,then.Notitsheart;itwassoold,solabyrinthine, theforest—whocould enter the heart of it,savesomelosttravelerinone

of the sinister tales?Or else,perhaps, the foresthadmanyhearts, each slowly andmesmerically beating, itsrhythm growing a fractionslower and an iota morestrong for every passingcentury.Certainly, there were

portions of the forest whereits atmosphere seemedespecially and profoundlycharged.Inoneofthesespots

therewasapoolofunknowndeepness where the animalsof the forest, whatever theymight be, would steal todrink. Although it was saidthat anyman who drank thewatersoftheforestwouldbechangedatonceintojustsuchananimalhimself—adeer, awolf, a sprite, or somemonstrous creature that hadnoname.All about the pool was

blackness, but through thecolossal roof-beams of thetreesthereshowedtherimofthemoon.Shewasnolongerblushing but cold now, andher snowy fire turned themysterious water to a solidwhitemirroronemightthinktowalkon.Thrice, Lak Hezoor’s men

had started deer. Pale asghoststheysprangaway,andthehuntmadlypursuedthem.

Torchlight crackled throughthe boughs. Shouting andwhoopingtorethecurtainsofleafy air. Sometimes thenoiseandtumblingspeedandspilling lights disturbedcurious birds—or wingedthings of some sort—whichrose away into the highertiers of the branches. Onoccasion disembodied eyeswere lit, and as quicklyextinguished. As for the

quarry, twice it vanishedwithout trace. But when thethird deer broke from cover,LakHezoorcastashiningrayabout it like a net. Try as itwould then, bolt and swerveand seem to fly, the deercould not break free of hismagic.Loudly it panted, andgroaned like a woman inchildbirth, so the hair of themagician’s courtiers bristledon their necks.But at length

the deer stumbled and thetorrent of the hounds sweptoverit.Though a female, itwas a

hugebeast, thisdeer.So thehunting party was satisfied,for the moment, and madetheirwayintotheclearing,tothe pool like solid mirror,anddaredeachothertotasteof the water, but none ofthemdid.Insteadtheylolledon the rugs and bolsters the

servants of Lak Hezoor putdown for them, and drankwineinglassgobletsthatthefiresturnedtogoldentears.Lak Hezoor himself

oversaw the gutting of thedeer, and now and thenhimself threwportionsof itsentrails to his favoritesamong the shivering dogs.Nearby, Oloru leaned on atree,hisfaceaverted,andhisgloved hand lightly over his

noseandmouth.“Come, be my hound,

beloved,andIwillthrowyouapieceofitsliver,”saidLakHezoor.Olorushuddered,lookedat

his lord under long lashes,andaway.When Lak Hezoor lost

interest in the bloody work,he went to sit among thecushions and fires. Hebeckoned Oloru to follow

him.“Nowsingformethesong

you were making in myhonor,”saidLakHezoor.“It is not finished,” said

Oloru,inanoffhandway.Lak Hezoor turned one of

the ringsonhis left hand. Itdazzledasearingray—itwasthisveryringwhichhadcastthenetaboutthedeerandsoweakened and killed it. Thering had done as much for

men.“I give Oloru,” said Lak

Hezoor, “three of his ownheartbeats to complete thesong. And since his heartnow beats very fast, I thinkthetimeisalreadyup.”Oloruloweredhiseyesthatwere like smoky amber. Hesang, sweetly, swiftly, andwithutmostclarity:“Our lord found a girl in afield.

Not with cash but withmaliceheboughther.He took her behind a blackshield,But one fact he has surelyrevealed:He makes love as anothermakeswater.”

Foratroupesoloud,the assemblage nowproved itselfcapableof a vast silence.

With their eyes andmouths open, menstared at Oloru,goblets halfway totheirlipsandfrozen.By the pavilion ofsable satin, theservitors of themagician-prince,which some saidwere themselves notquite human, stoodblank-visaged as

ever, yet every handnow rested on thehiltofalongknife.

Having recited, Olorulooked into the face of hislord,smilingalittle,andLakHezoor looked back at himwith the same smile exactly.Then Lak Hezoor stood up,and Oloru also arose. LakHezoor snapped his fingers,and out of the air itselfappearedhissword,andslid

into his grasp. Lak Hezoorextended the cruel brightblade until the tip of ittouchedOloruonthebreast.“NowIshallkillyou,”saidLak Hezoor. “It will bethorough but slow. Indeed,you shall fight me for yourdeath. Youwill have to earnit.”And Lak Hezoor spoke asorcerouswordandasecondblazing sword fell into the

hand of Oloru, who, whiterthan the moon in the poolnow, dropped theweapon atonce.“Pick it up,” said LakHezoor.“Pickup the sword,mychild,andwewilldallyawhile.ThenIwillcutyouupfor chops for my dogs, aninchatatime.”“My—lord—” whisperedOloru, standing shakingabove the fallen sword, “it

wasajest,andI—”“Andyoushalldieforyourjest. For it did notmakemelaugh, my Oloru, sosomething else is needed toentertainme.“Ohgraciouslord—”“Pick up the sword, dear

heart.Pickitup.”“Ibegyou—”“Pick it up. Why should itbe said I kill my friendsunarmed?”

“Then Iwill leave it lying—”“Then I will kill you

defenselessafterall.”Olorucoveredhisfacewithhishands.Under the torcheshe, like the glassware,seemed made of paleprecious gold, and of tears,too.“Forgive me, oh forgive

me—”hecried.LakHezoorgrinned,pulled

down Oloru’s hands, andpointedtotheswordlyinginthegrass.“Lookatthat,pickupthat,

anddiewithit.”Oloru looked one long lastminuteatthesword,andthenhedroppeddowninthegrassbeside it and lay there, in adead faint, at the feetofLakHezoor.At this, the magician didlaugh. He flung one glance

acrosshis silentcourt. It cutthemwithsuchcontemptandindifference, and under thatwith such implicit threat, itwas as if he had sliced ateach of them with the bladehe held. Then the bladevanished, and with it theother in the grass; all aboutthe hands of the prince’sminionsleft theirknives.LakHezoor lifted Oloru in hisarms and walked away with

him and into the sablepavilion,outoftheirsight.Out of sight of any but hisprince then,Oloru the jesterand poet presently revived.He came to himself on themagician’s silks, his faceturned on the magician’sembroidered pillows, theweightofLakHezooralreadyuponhim.“You, my treasure, whodare insult me as no other

does,” murmured LakHezoor, restinghis facealsodown on the pillow, so hisblack eyes glared into theamber eyes of Oloru andtheir lipsalmostmetateachword.“ButIforgiveyou.Foryouknowyoulied.”“O my soul, my body’swatchman, you were absentwhen this citadel wasinvaded,” said Oloru. LakHezoorsmiledcruellyathim,

forthiswasverytrue.“Tell me of demons,” saidLak Hezoor, as his sinuousbody stirred and curved,heavyasapython,uponandwithin his third prey of thenight. “Tell me of Azhrarn,Night’s Master, the BringerofAnguish.”Oloru spoke softly, sometimes

withoutbreath.“They say a king’s

daughter, a sorceress, called

to him by means of a tokenAzhrarnoncegavehis lover,abeautifulboy,Sivesh,orassomesay,Simmu.AndwhentheDemon came to her, thissorceress,itwasinapavilionwith a ceiling of blacknessand jeweled stars, wherewindsandcloudsmoved,butonly by mage-craft. Azhrarnmistook the pavilion’s rooffor the sky, as he wasintended to, and thought he

should gain fair warning ofsunrise, for the sun slaysdemons, they say. They say—” (Here Oloru broke off.But:“Sayon,mySivesh,mySimmu,” insisted LakHezoor.) “Then—trapped bythe witch, the sun havingrisen unseen beyond thepavilion’s false night,Azhrarn must deal with herandgrantherall shewished:power,riches,beautybeyond

all beauty— —” (Andhere Oloru could say nomore, only cling to thepillows,hisspinearched,andhis throat, and through hisgolden lashes the tearsrunninglikesilverribbons.)But when the python lay

quiet on him and the heavysilken darkness of the tentreturned from out of blood-redthunder,Olorusaid,“Yet,if she was so great a

beauty

sorceress, why did she notgrant herself these things,whydidshenotmakeherselfso beautiful? Ah, then,because the genius of hersorcerywasbuiltonrage,andrage does not make beauty.And her yearning was forlove, so that only love couldworkmiraclesuponher,evenhislove,Azhrarn,thatPrinceofDemons.Andbesides,itisnot certain any such token

couldsummonhimiftrulyhewouldnotbesummoned.Normust he definitely grantwishes at the summons. Norcould such as he be made afool of by a ceiling of jewelstars and illusory winds.Unless he had desired thenovelty, desired dangers anda snare to befall him.Madness, Lak Hezoor,” saidOloru, “is no respecter ofpersons. We perceive even

the mighty Prince Azhrarnhasbeen itsgull.Butashortwhile since, he was mad oflove, for love is simplemadness. A girl with moonhair and twilight eyes. Loveand death and time sweepoverallevents.Andmadnesssings on top of the dunghill,to the accompanying musicofanass’sjawbones.”But Lak Hezoor slept. Helay deep in sleep as if

drowning in a muddy river.So he did not see, nor feel,Oloru begin to ease fromunder him. Nor did hewitness,themightymagician-prince, what finally emergedfromthecouch,jumpedtothefloor, and paused there aninstant, in the murk of thedyingcandles.Men who drank from thewatersof the forestmightbealtered—to animal or

elemental,ortomonster.ButOloru had drunk only thebest wine. It was not thecrystal ichor of the forest,then, which worked thischangeinhim.Outside, the magician’scourtiers slept. The servantsslept or stood tranced,lacking his bidding. So nonestarted when there stole outfromthe tentayellowjackalwith dry embers for eyes. It

looked about, its mouthagape as if it laughed, thenturned and trotted awayamongtheblackrobesofthetrees.

2NIGHT ON theearth, every inch ofit, for the earth wasflat and up in thatdomed ceiling ofheaven the lamp ofday was out. Not aforest of earth thenthat was not black,not a sea that was

notblackandribbedwith silver by themoon; not amountain that wasnotcrownedbystars.But down below,held in the invertedunderdome beneaththe earth, it was notnight,norwasitevernight,there.

Underearth, the demoncountry, bloomed in the

endless changelessglow thatexhaled from its very air.That light, they say, radiantas the sun, subtle as themoon, lovelier than either.And in that light, stretchedthe landscape of a darkimpassioned dream. And,seeminglymadeof thatlight,acityroseintothelambencyof an indescribable andnonexistentsky.Thecityof thedemonswas

ultimately also changeless.There it glimmered andgleamed and sparkled,putting the marvels of theworld to shame. And yet,Druhim Vanashta (whosevery name means, ifapproximately, Who ShinesWithout the Sun, and MoreBrightly), Druhim Vanashtahad about it a strangeshadow, which had nothingtodowiththeglowingshade

ofUnderearth. Itwas ratherthe pall of a desolate andgrindingand relentless—andsilent—lament: themourningofAzhrarn.Some time had passed onthe earth. Years, perhaps.And under it, too, time hadpassed, the time ofdemonkindwhichwas not ofthe same order, though timestill.Butitwasthecurseandglory of the Vazdru, that

highest caste of the demons,of whom Azhrarn was one,that in time or out of itnothing might ever beforgotten. Not the greatestsweetness. Not the mosttearing agony or grief. Andthe adage ran that thewounded hearts of demonscould be salved only byhumanblood.However, he had taken norevenge,Azhrarn,exactedno

penalty.It is seldom disputed that,of all his many and variousloves,hehad lovedherbest,Dunizel, Soul of the Moon.White-haired, blue-eyed asearlyevening,inwhosebodyhe had grown, like awondrousflower,hischild.Itis suggested there should beno surprise in the delay orabsence of retribution. Shehad been so gentle, so

compassionate. She hadtaken even that means awayfrom him, for a little while.To think of her and plandeedsofbloodwasnoteasy,maybe. No, it was his heartwhich bled. And his painwhichcloudedthecity.Nor did he seek solace inhisdaughter. Ithadbeenhiscontention from the start,forming the child forwickedness as he hadmeant

to do, that this offspring—though carried in Dunizel’swomb—was all his and onlyhis, the female principle ofAzhrarn, whose role andaims were cruelty andmaleficence and lies.Therefore it seems he couldnot bear to look at her now.Could not bear also,conceivably, to look in hereyes, blue as blueness, thatweretheeyesofhermother.

Thushehadbroughthertohis country but sent her faroff from his haunts. And leftherthere,faroff.

There was a vasttidallake,orasmallinlandsea—eitherorboth. It lay, in aman’s reckoning,three days’ journeyfrom thedemoncity,yet of course in

demonic parlancethree days have nomeaning at all. Itwas as near, or asdistant,aswillcouldmakeit.

In the crystal air of theUnderearth,thewatersofthelake, too, were like crystal.So clear they were, it waspossible to see right to theirfloor, which looked to be alongwaydown.Hereshapes

moved, seeming weeds andsands,andwingedfishflying.But though the water wastransparent, the passage ofthe tide made visionuncertain.Howtherecametobe a tide was itself unsure.The water obeyed, perhaps,thedragof thehiddenmoonof earth so many milesoverhead;orelsethedragofsome other hidden moon

in the substance ofbeneath,

chaos which flowed beyondandaboutallthings,earthorUpperearth, or thesubterrain.From the crystal sea-lakerose islands. Many wereslender, of a circumferenceonlybigenoughabirdmighttry to perch there, had therebeen birds. Severalwere thesize of earthly ships, andmastedandsailedwithheavymidnight trees that drooped

down into thewater, but notreflectinginit,sinceitwassoclear. Then again, in placessmooth tall pillars of rockwent up, thousands of feethigh,likewindowlesstowers.Inallofthem,thelittlerocksandthegreat,burningcolorspulsed and faded, swelledand went out and ignitedagain. And the sea-lake didmirror these colors, so itseemed stained here with

wine, and here with aflickering dark lamplight,and there with translucentheliotrope, like the blood ofthegodsthemselves.Somewhere in the midst ofthe water and the fantasticrocks, one island lay whichwas of larger horizontalscope and differentappearance. It did not throbwith colors; only a mistnormally surrounded it, so it

seemed like a phantom, notentirely present in the lake,as,indeed,maybeitwasnot.To view this island, onemust pass within the mist,which had never been done.Thosethatdwelledtherehadpreceded the fashioning ofthe mist. No one had visitedthe island, or come awayfromit,sincethen.She lived inside a hollow

stone, the daughter ofAzhrarn.Thatthestonewasbeautifulin its cold pure way did notmuchconcernher,ifatall.Itwasacliffofquartzgalleriedand windowed and stairedapparently by randomerosions, pierced by ahundred caves. The lightwhich never alteredgamboled and slid about thecliff,andwinkedfromeachof

its facets. The pearly miststole in from the sea andthreaded through theopenings, so the wholeedifice seemed to float. Andsometimesawindflutteredinand out, and then the cliffplayed weird chiming,thrumming notes, as if thestructure were one hugeinstrument of strings andpipes.Two of the greater caves

had become rooms. Theywere furnished—at theorderof Azhrarn, probably, howelse?Yet if itwashis doing,he had not come to look atthe results. Draperies hungthere and carpets, and silkslay thick on the ground, andlampsrestedintheairwhichwould light themselves at awhim, not to giveillumination, but to tint andhighlightsomethingorother.

These rooms hadwindowpanes of paintedglass that showed pictureswhich occasionally altered,telling stories, if any hadobservedthem.In an annex there was acrimsonbedwithcolumnsofdeep-red jade, and filmycurtains.Herelayadollonitsback,all white in a dress of whitetissue, save the black hair

blacker than blackness, thatcurledaroundher anddownonto the floor, and the openeyessobluetheyseemedhalfblinded by their own color.Did she, looking throughthose sapphire lenses, see aworldshadedbythemalsotoblue? Who could tell? Whowould ask? Certainly shewould not say. For she hadnever spoken, no, not evenwhen in the world with her

mother.Vazdruchild,yetshehad had that way of thedemon Eshva, the servants,the handmaidens of theVazdru. The Eshva did notcommunicate savewith eyes,with touch, with the rhythmof their breathing—yethaving such intensity in thismodethattheymightbesaidto have spoken. Those fewmortalswho spent childhoodintheircompany(Sivesh,the

lover of Azhrarn, forexample; Simmu, who oncemasteredDeath) were heardaftertorefertoEshva

But it was a figure ofspeech, it seems. For thedaughterofAzhrarn,she toohad known Eshva. They hadattendedher birth.Theyhadgiven her demon blood todrink, and steeped her in anenchanted smoke. Broughthere to the island and the

voices.. . .

hollowcliff,abandofEshvahad come with her, to serveandtendher.ButtheseEshvapined. Far from Azhrarn,whom they loved beyond allthings, far from the burningdream of theworld thatwastheir dancing floor, theymoved like shadows, andtheir tears fell. Their tearswhich said: I Theyenteredasortoflivingdeath,these immortal beings. The

despair.

singing cliff seemed full ofsadsongs.Sometimes the girl lookedatthemasifshepitiedthem.She did not want slaves byher,yettheymightnotleave.But who would guess if shepitied them? And she wouldnotsay.She entered Underearth asa tiny child, though seemingalready older and moreformed thanahuman infant.

Exposed to the aura ofAzhrarn’s kingdom, she fellfor a while into a kind ofdaze, and then years cameupon her like whirlwinds,twisting and pulling at her,speeding her growth sorapidly that sometimes herskin itself was torn by herbones, andher darkblood—

—ran andgushedon theground.Whenit happened, she cried out,

demon’s blood

she screamed, for she had avoice to use for this. In thelength of seventeen mortaldays—hours,moments,intheUnderearth—she grew to besomeseventeenyears.At this time, theEshvahadattempted to console her.They had soothed her,caressed her, brushing herwith theirhair,druggingherwith their perfumed sighs.When the terrible process

stopped, accomplished, anddid not resume, still for awhile theyseemed towish todiverther.Butshebecameanicon then, awake yetsleeping.Acloseddoor.Andgradually theEshvadroppedaway from her like mothswithbrokenwings.They wandered the island,her servitors, her fellowprisoners and exiles. Theirnoiseless ennui and

wretchedness soon embuedeveryvalleyandheightof it.Shewas, afterall,Vazdru,aprincess. The leadennothingness she hadsuccumbed to bruised anddamaged them. They paled,theyfaded.She, too, sometimestraversedtheisland.Butevenas she walked, she slept.Somnambulist, she wouldhesitateonthebrinkofsome

precipice, fromwhich, beingwhat she was, no doubt inany case she could not fall.Or,hearing themusicofhercliff in the distance, shemight turn her head. Butwhen the mist about theisland thinned a little, andthe Eshva would creepgracefully down to the shoreandstandthere,gazingtotheseabeyond,shedidnotstir.No doubt, too, she had

learned many things withoutany tutor, had been born,even, with knowledge deniedto humankind. No doubt tooand too, she did not knowwhat knowledge was, or itsvalue. Nor what she herselfwas or might be. That sheremembered her beginning,the mother who had toldstories to her while she wasyet in the womb, the awfuldeathofthatmother,herown

first abandonment to men,her second to the island, somuchisunarguable.Yeteventhesememoriesdidnot seemto move her to anyexpression. Even if she wasawareofit,shedidnotwhat she was. How thencouldsheexpressanything?Shelayonherroyalbedinthe Underearth, three daysaway, or three thousandyears away, from Druhim

Vanashta. Perhaps she evenfelt,likethedimechoofsomegigantic exploding star, theresonance of Azhrarn’smourning. But if she did, itgave her nothing, it askednothing, it turned its facefromher.Andsoshewas—orsoshe

wasnot.

3“HE IS NOT a badson,” said thewidow. She wrungherhandsandpacedupanddown.“Thosethat speak of him,speak well. But thenthey were afraid ofthemasterheserves.They will not speak

illofmysonforfearit should seem theyspeak ill of PrinceLak. But they lookaskance. Do youhearmuchfromyourOloru, they say, andtheir eyes say,He isa cheat and adeceiver, a buffoonof the court whopractices all itsvices.”Shesatdown

inachair.Herelderdaughter, who hadheard her motherpacing and come into comfort her, nowtook the widow’shand. “But I saythis,” said thewidow, “it is aweakness in him.Onlyaweakness.Doweblameamanwhoisbornwithoutsight,

or a man whose legis broken and whowalks crookedlythereafter?Whythenblame a boy whosespiritisunabletoseeand whose naturehas been warped?Can he help it anymore than the poorblind man or theunluckycripple?”

“There, there, Mother,”

said the daughter, who wasyoung and fair and golden,somewhatlikeOloruhimself.“Youareagoodgirl,”saidthemother.“Bothgoodgirls.Butoh,myson.”In the window the sky wasblack and many-starredthough the moon had gonedown. It would not be dawnfortwohoursormore.Awaybeyond the walls of the oldhouse, theancientforest(the

same in which Prince Laknow hunted) could be seenraisingitsspearsandplumesto the sky. Nearby, a ribbonof road turned against thetrees toward the city. Alongthat very road a year since,Oloruhadtraveled.Wellbornthough poor, he meant, hesaid, to find somegreat lordwho would be his patron.And he had found one. Hehad found Lak, whose vile

hungers and bestialunkindnesses overtopped themisdeeds of all his fellowprincesputtogether.“Oloru should have stayedat home with us,” said themother.“Hewashappywithus.”“Perhaps he is also happynow,” said the elderdaughter,sadly.His letters had given themto think so. He did not

mention what he did at thecourt of the magician, butonly the rich food and fineclothes, and always he sentextravagantpresents.“Itwastheforest,”saidthemother in a whisper now.“Theforestistoblame.”Theelderdaughterglancedat the window and made alittle sign against evilenchantment.It was a fact, a month

beforeOloruhadundertakentoseekhisfortuneinthecity,there had been a strangeincident, though not a rareoneforthosewholivedintheperipheryof the forest.Evenby day, the wise did notventure there, butOloru, thewidow’s only son, hadalways scorned suchsuperstition. Now and thenhe would hunt these woodshimself, and bring back

game, for which the housewas grateful enough. Thencame an afternoon whentheir servant, the onlyretainer left to them,hastened home alone. Oloruhad gone out with him atsunrise, but somehow theyhad been separated in thetrees. Then the servant hadsearched all morning, andlongpastnoon,butcouldnotdiscover the young man or

any trace of him. At last theservant returned to hismistress the widow, intrepidation.A few terrible hours thenpassedintheworstperplexityand distress. Though shedared not venture into theforest, the mother stood ather gate, and the two fairdaughters and the servantwith her. There they stayed,prayingorweepingorsilent,

or trying to reassure eachother, or calling Oloru’sname vainly, shading theireyes against the westeringsunandgazingatthetreesasif by desperation alone theycould draw him forth again.Thesunbegantogodowninacurdleoffire,theroad,thehouse,thewaitingfigures,allweredyed red,and the treesall black with their topsseeming to burn. Suddenly

something moved out fromthe blackness into theredness. There on the road,walking toward them, was afifth figure, that of a youngman.Oloru.The household flew towardhim, laughing and crying atonce. And he too began torun toward them, his armsoutstretched.Then,thereseemedtocomea curious check. The widow

and her daughters falteredandstoppedstill;theservantdrew up with a mutteredoath.Forhimself,Olorualsohalted. He lowered his eyesand next his head with amodestshyness.The mother stared at him.What was it? Was this herson?—yes, yes, who else buthe?Her ownOloru that shehad thought lost to her.Although—She looked and

looked, and her heart beatloudly enough to deafen herandtomuddyhereyes,sointhe end she thought it wasonly that. Then she ranforwardagainandembracedhimandheinturnembracedher, and said, “Mother,pardonme for alarming youso.Imistookmyway.Butasyou see, I regained a pathandhavecomebacktoyou.”Andwhilehespokehisbright

hairbrushedhercheekanditseemed tohersheknewhim,ofcourseshedid,hewasherson.Yet to the sisters also, andto the servant, there had atfirst seemed something notright, something bizarre.Later, the elder girl had adream,and in thedream theleftsideofherbrother’sface,as he returned out of theforest,wascoveredbyahalf-

maskofenamel,andwhenhedrew it off, his own faceunder ithadchanged to thatof a decaying and horrificmale devil. The youngersister also had a dream inwhichtheeyesofherbrotherhad become like the sunset,blackandred,andshewokeup shrieking. But thesedreams were soon forgotten,for there was nothing amisswithOloru, itwasonly their

troubledfancy.Hewasashehadalwaysbeen,goldenandhandsome, and full of jokesandpoeticreveries.It seemed to them theyloved himmore than ever inthat month, after thinkingthey had lost him. And thenhe left them for the city andthe magician-lords, and waslosttothemintruth.Presently it was the

mother’sturnfornightmares,

andoftenshewouldriseandpace about, and if herdaughters heard her theywould come in to comforther.Andshewouldsay,“Heis not bad.” She would say,“It is a weakness.” And shewouldsay,“It is the forest’sfault.Theforestistoblame.”Nowtheelderdaughter

roseandsaid,“Iwilllightanothercandle;thisoneisalmostout.Letusbeas

cheerfulaswecan.Whoknows,hemaytireofthatotherlife.”Themothersigheddeeply.Oloru’seldersisterwenttofetchasecondcandle.Asshedid so she passed thewindow, and happening tolook out she gave a sharpcry.“Whatisit?”exclaimedthe

mother.“There—bythewell—a

greatpaleanimalwithghastlyeyes—”The mother hastened tolook.Huddledinthewindow,the two women stared downat the courtyard. The gatewas locked at night, andsurely nothing could get in.Nevertheless, there beyondthe stone curb of the well,somethingmoved.“EvenbystarshineIsaw

it,”saidthegirl.“Asifit

glowedofitself.”“Liftupthecandle,”said

themother.“Letusseethisthingandbesure.”So the feeble candle waslifted, and a littlemore lightfellintotheyard.Aroundthewell at once and out of theshadowofatreewhichgrewtheresomethingswiftlycame,andthegirlpartedherlipstoscream.But,“Oh,theblessed

gods,”thewidowsaid.“Whatwereyouthinkingof?Itisyourbrother.”And there under theirwindowstoodOloru,lookinghimselflikeaprince,hiseyesfixedonthem,morebeautifulthanallthejewelswithwhichhewasdressed.Soon the whole house wasroused and down in theantique pillared hall withOloru. It was a sad place,

this hall, for there were notenoughservantsnowtokeepitasitshouldbekept,andallthebestthingshadbeensoldyearssince.Butagoodwinewas lugged up from thecellar, andahost of candlesfired.“Icannotstaywithyou

long,”saidOloru.“ButIwillreturnshortly.Then willbewithme.”“Whatcanyoumean?”

criedthewidowinhorror.“WhatyouthinkImean?I

intendtobringLakHezoorthemagicianhomewithme,tobeourguest.Hewillsithereandwewilldanceattendanceonhim.Hewillseemytwosistersandlustafterbothofthem.”The sisters shrank. The

elder said, uncertainly, “Doyou jest with us, brother?”Butthewidowcried,“Hehas

gonemad!”Oloru laughed at that. He

flunguphisarms,andlookedsome while at the spiders’webs in the rafters. “Doyounottrustme,dearMother?I,youronlyson?”A cold breath seemed then

toblowthroughthehall.Thecandles felt it and sank.Thewomen felt it and theytrembled. But then Olorubrought his gaze down from

theraftersandhesaidgently,“Itisperilous,thisenterprise,but I must do it. Once itmight have been doneanother way, easier, andmore gaudy. But as thingsare now, I require suchmeansasyou.”“Whatareyousaying?”

askedthewidow.Oloru seemed puzzled. “I

hardly know. But this I willpromise—no harm shall

cometoanyofyou,Iswear.WhatshallIswearon?”Thethreewomeneyedhimin dismay and fascination.At last the mother said,“Swearonyourlife.”“Mylife?No,on

somethingbetterthanthat.Iwillswearit,bythepoweroflove.”Thecandlesstraightened

up.Thecoldnesswentawayasifithadheardenough.

“Whatarewesaying?”askedthemother.“Thisisallnonsense.”“No,Mother. Never was a

fact more sure.” And hesprang to his feet. “Now Ileave you. By midmorningwe shall be here, Iwith thatmonster,andalltheparasiteswhoclingaboutthemonster,andthedangerousfiendsthatwaitonhim.Beready.”Andhe darted out of the hall

through the door into thecourtyard.Whentheyhurriedafterhimhewasnowhere tobeseen.Theeldersisterstoleto theopenedgate. “What isthat creaturewhich runs intothetrees?”But thenightandtheforestwereveryblack.Itmight have been nothing atall.

Lak Hezoor themagician-prince

wokefromhisstuporand turned about onthe cushions. Therein the entry to thetent stood a shape,paleanddark,whoseeyes seemed castfromfarmillenniaofnightsandstars.LakHezoor spoke atonce a word ofpower, todetain thisvisitor,forhesensed

a supernaturalquality. But even inthat instant it wasgone.

“A demon,” said LakHezoor. “One of Azhrarn’stribe.OrdidIdreamit?”“A dream,” said acharming voice. “Whatwould demons be doinghere?”“Sorcery attracts them. It

iswellknown.”

“But there has been nosorcery.”“Theforeststinksofit.

Besides,tellmewhatIam,Oloru.”“Mymaster,”saidOloru,

whowasseatedbyhimonthecushions.“Sunofmylife.Andamightymagician.Iperceivemyerror,glamorouslord.Ofcoursethedemonsfollowyouassheeptheshepherd.”

LakHezooronlygrinnedatthis banter. Plainly Oloruhad not seen the demon,lacking the ability or elseasleep . . . or only intent onplayingwith a curious brasstoy he seemed now to haveabout him, a sort of rattle,whichheshookupanddown.“Where did you come by

that?”“In the forest, master of

masters.”

“What were you doingthere,mychild?”“Givingbacktotheearth

whattheearthhadearliergivenme.HowchangedwasthewineIreturnedher!”“Well,itwillsoonbe

daylight,”saidLakHezoor,andhebegantofondlethehairandbodyofhiscompanion.“I wonder,” said Oloru,“howmykindreddoathome.

I wonder how it is withthem.” And then he said,“Imagine I am prostrate ontheroadatyourfeet.ImagineI say: She, and she, are mysisters.Oneisfifteenandonethirteen years of age. Botharevirgin.”“Andisthattrue?”saidLak

Hezoorwithlazyinterest.“Quitetrue.Andthehouse

isanhour’sjourneyfromthisspot.”

“And do they resembleyou,yoursisters?”“We are mirrors to eachother. Except, I think theyounger girl is palest andfairestofthethree.”“Whytellmeofit?”“To give you a moment’s

diversion.”“Youhavedoneso.”The brass rattle, set aside,

went rolling across thegorgeoustent,anditmadean

uncanny,unpleasingnoiseasitdidso,as if itwerefullofthecrumbsofsmashedwits.

Oloru’s mother andsisters may alsopartly have believedthey had sufferedsome communaldream. Theemanations of theforestmightfacilitatesuch things.

Nevertheless, inhasteandsome fear,theypreparedasbestthey could for theinflux of unwantedguests.

The sun was halfwaytoward the zenith when, asOloru had warned themwould happen, the treesspilled over in a greatcavalcade. A few minutesmore, and the hunting party

of Lak Hezoor washammeringonthegate.The mother and her two

daughters kneeled in thecourtyard as Lak Hezoorlooked down at them fromthe height of his horse andhisomniscience.“He speaks well of you,”

said the prince to Oloru’ssisters. “He says you arevirtuous and have neverknownaman.Arethemenin

these parts eyeless, oreunuchs?” This was hissupreme courtesy to them,since Oloru was his favoredone.They went into the house,

and the women trembled sotheycouldhardlywalk.“My lord,” whispered

Oloru,“if itwerepossible toleaveyourattendants,andtherest,outside...Youseehowmysistersshake.”

“Ithoughtthatwasforme.”“No, my lord. They are

distracted by their terror ofyour slaves. Remove thisdistraction, then they willpalpitate in terror of youalone.”Lak Hezoor was much

amused by this, in the stonehouse with only an oldservant, an old widow, twomaidens,andmaidenlyOloruwhoswoonedatthesightofa

sword,whatneedfordevilishguards? So he packed hisservitors out again, and hisdistemperedcourt,whichhadwanted tocome inandworkhavoc. The doors of thehouse were shut upon theintimatepartyofsix.For some reason, probably

itsnovelty,ithadcometotheprincethatitjoyedhimtobecivil. So he sprawled on acouch and made idle chat

with the widow and herdaughters. (He treated withthem as if with a brothelkeeper and two of herwhores.) Food there was inplenty, for thehunthadbeenwell provisioned. Thesplendid wine, the onlywealth of the house, wasadded,andLakdraineditlikewater. Oloru too set himselfto please. His jokes werewholesome but most droll,

and his verse sharp asvinegar. Even his anxioussisters found they had anappetite for the good dinner,and sometimes laughed,though they looked sidelongat their brother, too, seeinghow well he understood hismaster. As the afternoonlengthened, and the sunbegan to turn its face towardthe horizon, Oloru took uphis lyre and sang to them.

The songs were not ribald,they were all of love. AndoncehesangoftheblindpoetKazir,ofhisjourneythroughthe River of Sleep into theUnderearth, where he wonFerazhin Born-of-a-Flower,by matching his heart withthe malign intellect ofAzhrarn.“This one is my shining

jewel,” saidLakpresently tothe mother of Oloru, and he

strokedOloru’s thigh, so thewidow could have no doubtthat not only did the jewelshine inmirth and song, butbetweenthesheets,too.“How a palace dulls one,”

said Lak Hezoor. “What adelight is this simple life.”And he shouted for anotherjarofwine.Outside, the courtiers held

their own revel, not in anyway restrained by the

pretense of civility. Theyencouraged their horses tofoulthecourtyard,andsodidthey.Household items,whencome on, were broken fromsheer bad-fellowship. Theyhadpilfered theyard tree forafire,andeasednatureinthewell.Above it all, even in

decline, the sun went downintotheforest,leavingbehindit only one rose-red cloud.

Theeveningstar liftedintheeast like a frozen silverfirework.“Well, madam,” said Lak

Hezoor to the widow, “I amvery weary. Where is mysleepingchamber?”Thewidowtoldhimmeekly.“Ihope,”saidtheprince,“I

shall not be left lonely thereforverylong.”Thewidowputherhandsto

her mouth. Lak removed

himselfwithaflourish;atthesistershedidnotglance.“The passages aregloomy,” saidOloru.“Iwillguideyou,dearlord.”Sotheywentupthroughthehouse together,Lakwalking,as ever, lighter than darkdust, and—let it be said—Olorunomoreheavily.Theyreachedadoor,whichOloruopened. It was the greatbedchamber of the house.

The tall-posted bed nearlytouchedtheceiling.“Now,” said Lak Hezoor,“youknowthatifyoursistersdonotcometomeinsidethehour, I will go to find them.Or I will work a spell tobring them here, mindless,andunabletoobject.”“Oh, indeed,” said Oloru.“But where is the sport inthat? Is it not greater fun toforce, to rape, to the

accompanimentofscreamsofagony?Orontheotherhand,to have one who is willingand screams in her delight?Both so loud, their motherhearsinanadjacentroom?”“Heknowsme,”saidLak.

“Well,then?”“My lord, I can persuadethe elder to lasciviouscompliance, for she is hotunder her coldness. And theyoungerIcanassistyouwith

so no sorcery is needed thatwill take off her edge andleave her only a limp doll.She shall struggle and wail.You will have a feast ofdesireandafeastofterror.”“And in return, what doyou want? What have youbeen wanting all along,sweetheart, that you broughtmehereandtemptedmewithsuchalluringrelatives?”“He knows me,” said

Oloru. “Well, then.”And hetold Lak Hezoor what hewanted.LakHezoorconsidered.Heseemed not to think it anyenormous thing, this notionof Oloru’s, picking over itonly as a man does a meatbone,tobesurenothingtastyismissed.“And so you sang ofKazir,” he said. “What putsuchastrokeinyourmind?”

“The demon by your tent.Talking of demons, as wehavedone.”“Butyouarenotbrave,mylove. Do you not quake atsuchanadventure?”“HowshouldIfear?Ishallhave your lordship’sprotection.”“You supposeme amatch

forAzhrarn?”Oloru smiled mostdemurely. may be“Someone

listening,” he said. Then hewent to Lake Hezoor andwhisperedinhisear,The magician was wellpleased. Itwashisweaknessto suppose himself a sort ofearthly Azhrarn, a demonprinceaswellasa temporalone. Dark of hair and eyeand cat-footed, withabnormal powers, andsurrounded on all sides bythose who feared them, and

“Yes.”

addicted, moreover, toartisticsadisms...itseemedto Lak his credentials weresound.Andhowfrequentlyhehad called this prettyplaything of his Sivesh orSimmu or by some othername belonging to one ofAzhrarn’s male orambigenderedconsorts.Now,full of wine, and of himself,as ever, and slow and eagerboth with anticipation, Lak

was disposed to try thisperilous scheme. Perhaps hewould,onedayornight,havethought of it himself. Hemight then have rejected it,too. For something in thewinsomewhisperingofOlorudrove him on. Thus Lak,imagining himself seduced,not driven, into granting acrazyboon,complied.“Do as you promised withthe women, and I will

undertakeyourventure.OnlyI believe youwill faint awaywith fright and miss all themarvels.Donotreproachmeafter, if that is so. Normustyou regret the fate of yoursisters. Itmaybe,”andherehe stretched himself andyawned, “a stormy time forthem.”“Oh,” said Oloru, “they

aredueforthat.”Helefttheroomashislord

was reclining himself uponthegreatbed.No, Oloru did not walkheavily.Heblewlikeablondpaper through the house, bythe windows from which hemight lookout and see—andhear—the drunken wretchesof the magician’s courtinvolved in nasty play aboutthe widow’s yard, and onthroughapassagewherethewidow’s servant sat with a

stick grasped in his hand,prepared for the defense ofhis mistresses—the wholemight of his old worn bodyandalengthofwoodagainstLak’spowerandsorcery.(HeregardedOloruastheyoungmansilentlypassed,andgavea kind of snarl, but did nototherwise move.) And soOloruarrivedatthedoorwayofthepillared,spideredhall.It was full night now, and

only three poor candlesburned there. It was nottherefore surprising thewidowandherdaughtersdidnot see him as he stood onthe threshold before them.They sat in their places,white-faced but immobile,with all the dignity of thecondemned who will notremonstrate.Then Oloru spoke. It wasonly awordor two.Hehad

learned them from themagician’s books. Thesewordstookeffectinstantly.A composite soft sighingwinged over the hall. Alongthe passage, there came theclatterofadroppedstick.Soon, Oloru scratched onthe door of his guest’sbedchamber.“Whatshallbefirst, my lord, to rape or toroister?”“Bring inall there is,” said

Lak.Thenthroughthedoor,andinto the low-lit room, camethree shadows, one urgingthe other two before him.Andtherewastheglimmerofpale hair and white flesh,and a sable stirring and aflicker of flame on eyes andteeth,andsomesobbingandpleas, and next some wildscreaming that searedthrough the house, but

whether the outcry of agonyor ecstasy there was notellingatall.The three candles werealmost consumed when thesisters and the mother ofOloruopenedtheireyes,andlookedaboutthem.Itseemedthey had sunk deep asleep.Thatwasstrangeinitself,forthey had been in nervousdread. Stranger still it was

that none had come rudelyandviolentlytowakenthem.And it was very late. Eventheriotersoutsidehadfallenquiet.At length the mother said,“What can have happened?Can Oloru have persuadedhimtoclemency?”“Idonotsupposeso,”saidthe elder girl. “Nor do IsupposeOloruwouldattemptit.”

“Hush,” said the mother.She got up from her chairand lit three new candles.Themeagerlightrevivedandtouched fresh pallor intotheir faces. And then theyoungersistercriedinawildbrokenvoice:“Mother—looktherebyyourfeet—andhere,bymine!”“Oh,whatisit?”askedthemother,andshe lookedwithher heart in her mouth. But

all she saw on the floor byherfeetwasherownshadowcast away from the candles.Then, looking down at thefeetofheryoungerdaughter,shesawtherewasnoshadowthere at all, the floorstretchedempty.“Merciful gods protect

you,”gaspedthewidow.“Then let them protect mealso,” said the elder girl,“formy shadow too has left

me.”And it was so. Turn aboutandabout as the two sisterswould, however the candlesdescribed them, the lightmade no shadows for themanywhere.Now a shadowwas and isonly this,aportioncut fromthepassageofalightbythatwhich stands between thelight and all else it wouldshine on. In some lands of

the flat earth, it is true, ashadow stood as cipher forthe soul, or at least for thephysical soul whichresembled, so exactly, thebody which had spawned it.Elsewhere, a shadow wasjust a shadow. Yet, there isthis to be considered. Onewho can no longer castshade has surely lost somepartofherself,someelementwhichmakesforopacityand

substance—orelsehowdoesthe light pass directlythrough her? To lose one’sshadow, then or now, wasandwouldbecauseforsomeconcern.The sisters ran to theirmother for solace, and shetended them as best shemight.Eventually itwas theeldersister who drew away, andsaid, “This is our brother’s

doing.Somenewtreathehasdevised for his lord.” Shedried her eyes and put backher hair. She said, “Sorrowgiveswaytoanger.Iwillgoup and ask them what theymeanbyit.”“Ohno—donot,forallour

sakes.”“YesbutIwill.Todamageand debase the flesh iswicked enough. But tomeddle with the psychic

parts is beyond enduring.The gods will take note,Mother, of our righteousdistress, and come to myassistance.” In this piousbelief she was, of course,quitemistaken(sinceinthosedays thegods carednothingfor mankind). But themistake sustained her andshe rushed from the hall.Along thepassage shewent,where the servant was

snoringstill,andupthroughthe house to the room theyhad allotted the magician.Heresherappedonthedoorbefore her valor shoulddesert her, and called out:“Letme enter at once!”Noonereplied.“Iwillcomein!”exclaimedthegirl.And she thrustwidethedoorandranthrough.Howoddthefamiliarroomlooked in its guttering

prodigality of candles. Butmore than light, it was adarkness there that hadchanged it. For the spaceseemed full of a livingdimness, an invisible,swirling, murmuringsomething—shedidnotknowit for what it was, theambience of aweighty spell,butitturnedhercold,soshewould soon have run outagain. Then she beheld,

through the fog of thesorcery, the magician lyingthere on the quilts, heavy aslead,seemingnottobreathe,locked up in such a closedprison of sleep that itinstantly suggested death.And this sight, though itwasmoreterrifyingthananythingelse,alsostayedher.Just then, a whiteness thathad seemed to hang likesteam over the cushions on

thefloorroseup.Now the elder sister wassurely transfixed. She stoodinhorrifiedwonder,alleyes.Two pale and ghostly girlspoisedbeforeher, their longbright hair spilling aroundthem.Bothwerenaked, bothwere known. One was theyounger sister,oneother theelder sister—herself. Neitherdid these two possess, eitherofthem,ashadow,anditwas

clearly to be seen how thecandlelight passed straightthrougheach.“Do not be afraid,” saidtheghostoftheeldersistertothe reality. “Oloru broughtmeforthfromyouandOloruleft me power to tell you ofit.”“Say what you are,”

trembledthegirl.“Your shadow, or thatwhichenablesyoutocastone

—someofyoursubstance,yetnot your self. With me, andwith this other”—here theghost indicated the ghost ofthe younger sister—“themonster Lak had his wishes.Tohimitseemedheravishedand rent andmastered flesh,but he did not. Nor is itanything to us what he didwith us. Neither, when wepresently return to you, willyouthinkanythingmoreofit

thanwe.”“But you are my immortalessence,” cried the girl in aworsedismaythanever.“Hehas done all these things tomy soul and the soul of mysister.”“No,wearenotyoursouls.Your souls are not of thisfashion.Onlycoloredairarewe.Letmecomebacktoyou,andyouwillknowatoncealliswellwithyou.”

“Comebackthen,”saidthegirl, and she braced herselffor pain or lunacy. But theghost drifted to her like amoonbeam and glided overand through her, and wasonewithher.Andwithgreathappiness the girl saw hershadow appear immediatelyon thewall, like an omen ofperfectgood.“Nowgo,andbringheretome the one to whom I

belong,” said the secondghost in a petulant susurrusofthesecondsister’svoice.“But he—’’ said the girl,recallingLakslumberinglikethe dead not ten paces fromher.“Hehasotherbusiness.”“Where then is Oloru mybrother?” demanded theelder sister; relief hadmadeher bold. But the ghost didnotrespond,merelyfoldedits

hands patiently, just as theyounger girl did when shewasexasperated.Theeldersisterfeltshehadnochoicebuttohurrybelowand tell the glad tidings. Asfor Oloru, she blessed him,andhertearsfellwarmly,forshe knew herself whole, astheghosthadassuredhershewould, and her rescue wasallhisdoing.Andinthatwayshe forgot he had also been

thecauseofherperil.

4AND FOR WHATcurious reward hadOloru gone to somuch trouble? Whathad he bought fromthe magician-princewith a delusion ofwhite bodies andscreaming? Whatindeed,Oloruhaving

proved sucha competent mage,did he require fromLak Hezoor that hehimself could notmanagealone?

Down, down, down; milesdownbeneath the country ofmen and the comprehensionof men: the Underearth, thedemons’kingdom.At the kingdom’s very

boundary wandered Sleep

himself

River,sluggishasablackishtreacle, between the hightasseled heads of the whiteflaxthatgrewthere.Hereontheriver’sflaxyshores,withblood-red hounds, theVazdru hunted, not lion ordeer, but the souls of menasleep, which ran shriekingbefore them. Though it wasonly the souls of those neardeath, or the insane, whichthe dogs were able to catch

and tear. Even these wereallowed toescape in theend—itwasmerelyasporttothedemons. Besides, there hadbeennohuntingalongwhilenow,as therehadbeen littleofanything—music,gaming,intrigue, love, theimmemorial pastimes ofDruhim Vanashta and itslords. Nor did the hammersof the Drin, the demonmetalsmiths, often sound.

Nordid thecreaturesof thatunderworld frequently flyorsing, or the flowersextravagantly bloom, or thewaters magnetically glitter,asoncetheyhad.ThatpallofAzhrarn’s rage and griefhungovereverything.Nevertheless, it might be

considered still a place ofwonders worth seeing.Centuries before, Kazir hadcome here by witchcraft,

passing through theRiverofSleep, as generally men didsolely inadvertently. Kazirhad had a mission toperform. But Lak’s poet,Oloru, had begged hetoo might go sightseeingthrough the treacherousunderland, in the protectivecompany of Lak. Whatsongs, opined Oloru, shouldbe made of this excursionafter! (And of the bravura

and cunning of themagician.)Now, in order to go down

into Underearth, withoutnotationandthespellsofthedemons themselves to freetheway, theonemeanswasto travel incorporeally—as

didinthestory.It was therefore the soul

which must be the traveler,thatistosay,thephysicalorastral soul, that elemental

greater th mereshadowplay, though formedin the likeness of the body;equipped also with thatbody’s talents and learning,whatevertheymightbe.There were in that era

several towering sorcerersabroad on the earth.Interesting, perhaps, so fewofthemmadethistripbelow.It would seem to indicatesome excellent reason for

even the most wily to keepout....However,Oloruhadinspired his lord to theknowledgethatheneedhavenoqualms.Thathe,Lak,wasamatchfortheVazdru,eonsripeinallthingsuncanny.Infact, no less than a rival ofAzhrarn.Madness.So, theorgycompleted, thewomenleftlyinglikethrown-off clothes, Lak—withscarcelyanypreparation,full

of drink and meat, lethargicand satisfied—set about thebusiness of astral descent.“But,” had said Oloruencouragingly, “do notexpose to them, poorshiveringsoul.Carrymewithyou as Azhrarn carriedSivesh—he an eagle, andSivesh one feather on hisbreast. You a lord of lords,and I . . . some smallornamentuponyourperson.”

It is not recorded, theactual caliber of Lak’smagery, but he was mageenoughforthis,itseems.In a space, the breath ofmagicfilledthechamberandthemagician’sbodyslumpedin its trance—the soul hadgone. While of Oloru,surprisingly, nothing at allremained.No,notsomuchasaneyelashonthepillow.

The tide of SleepRiver swarmed withfaces and forms andmental wanderings.It took some guileandcerebralpurposeto get through thewash withoutsuccumbing.Through it they got,nevertheless, Lakandhislovingfriend,and arrived on the

shore.Heretheystood,gazingoutacross the ebony landscape,in the sheen of the mysticjewelrylight.Lak seemedonly himself, adark soul princely dressed.Of the soul of Oloru therewas no sign, no trace. Notone?Yes,afterall,onetrace.On thebreastofLakHezoorthere hung a little nugget ofpolished topaz, somewhat

reminiscent of an unmarkeddie.Oloru?Oloru.Itwassaidtobepossibletoglimpse the demon city fromthe banks of the River, on aclear day. But no dayswereever unclear in theUnderearth, nor were they“days.” It would seem thenthatsomething,perhapsonlythe vision of the arrival, hidor revealed DruhimVanashta. If Lak made out

the distant architecture isdebatable. But be sure theyellow gem upon his breast,common example of the dicespecies though it was, saweverything.Maybe it communicatedalso with the magician,urging and cajoling. Forcertain,PrinceLakbegan towalk in a definite direction,through the fragilegrovesofivoryandsilverandbetween

theblackwillowsthattraileddown their tendrils likeunstrung harps. There wasno hesitation in his step.Once or twice, when somevaporous thing seemed toflutter at him out of the air(such emanations aboundedhere), he brushed it asidewith a potent phrase ormantra, as a man wavesawayagnat.They, the lord and his

topaz, reached in a while awideroad.Itwaspavedwithmarble, lined by columns.Thiswasthepathtothecity,and conceivably Lak pausedamomenton thebrinkof it.But there must have beenrendered then morepersuasion and praise. In amoment,LakHezoorsteppeduponthemarbleroad.Almost at once a peculiarfeeling fixed on him. It was

notafeelinghewasintimatewith, though he had oftenbeen its author in others:fear. Now it might besupposed even Lak shouldexperience some misgivingsimply at getting quiddity inthis place, yet so far,patently,hehadnot.Nordidthere seem any pronouncedcause for the emotion tostrikeathimthisinstant.Theair was still, no threatening

noise disturbed it, and noagitation was visibleanywhere—except the glintof thecityat theroad’send,if he even saw it. So Lakresumedhiswalkboldly,andthe clutch of fear grewstronger, nor could hecontrolit.Witheverystrideitgrew worse, until he haltedagain. This time, havinglooked carefully ahead, andall around, Lak looked over

his shoulder. So he noticedan oddity. Themarble road,of which he had onlytraversed a brief length,extended for amile ormorebehindhim.SuchelongationdidnotconsoleLakHezoor.As a man sometimes will,when unnerved, the princespoke aloud to hiscompanion.“This highway isunorthodox. No doubt some

weird plan of demonkind todiscommode the pilgrim. Ithink we shall return to theroad’s beginning and takeour bearings.” And whenthere came no speechlessanswer, Lak grinned andsaid, “What? Alreadyswooning, dearest?”And heput up his hand to pet thedie. His fingers foundnothing.Many conclusions might

havegone through thebrainof Lak Hezoor at thisdiscovery. He might havethought the gem hadsomehowloosenedandfallenandbeenlost,or thatoneofthe wafting emanations hadstolenit,oreventhatitsownfrighthadpusheditbackintothe world above. Butactually, the magicianthoughtnoneofthesethings.Onemay conclude, then, he

was at least sage enough toknowhehadbeenduped.Hehad less thanaminute

torevelintheknowledge.At last the chaste andwindlessairbegantoconveyto him a sound. No soonerdid Lak hear it than heunderstood it. It held everymotiveforhismountingfear.It was composed of asuccession of belling notes,decipherabletoonewhohad

hunted,thenoiseofdogsthathavethescentoftheirquarryin their nostrils. However,those that tell of it remarkthat it was more like thebaying of starving wolves—yet worse, much worse. Thefortunate would wake fromsleepat its echo, screeching.The unfortunate did notwake, but turned and ran,andthesoundranwiththem,growing always louder and

more near. It was the cry ofthehoundsoftheVazdru.Lak Hezoor, magician-prince of a city of earth,stoodon the roadand spokeswiftly but faultlessly thecharm which would removehim from that spot. And thecharm failed him. It failedhimtotally.Nota fractionofhis plight was altered. Herehe still lingered in theUnderearth,thebellingofthe

hounds ringing on everycolumn around, and withinthe hollow of his soul’s ownpsychic skull. And peeringalongtheforwardvistaoftheroad,itappearedtohimnowthere was a cloud there,black and winking silver atitsapex,brilliantandbloodybelow,andthecloudracedtoreachhim.Then Lak Hezoor themagician also turned and

ran. He fled along the roadtoward the groves and theflax-framed river. He fledhowling, emptied of sorcery,filledtothebrimwithhorrorand despair. And fly as hewould, theroadwasendless.Itwentonandonbeforehim,asathisback.Hecouldnot,would not reach the river.And the cry of the houndswas so loud now it seemedalreadyaheadofhimand to

both sides, and though hedarednot turn to see,he feltablastlikefireonhisheels—the panting of gladmurderers.But finally, the road did

come to its beginning, andLak beheld the River ofSleep, his nightmare’sborder, on the edge ofdistance. He flung himselfforward, but as his feettouched the sweet sooty

grasses, warm weightsslammed hard against hisshoulders, and long bodies,curiously textured as ifsmoothlyscaled,tumbledandflowedoverhim.The red dogs pulled himdown among the willows.There they rolled him andtoreathim,and through theabstract blindness of hissuffering and screaming, hesaw their scarlet eyes and

teeth scarlet with his astralblood. The color of bloodthey were, and soon theydrippedwiththeircolor.Thetorment did not abate. Overandovertheunbearablewasborne, the mawling of adeathwhichdidnotkill.Eventuallyonlyadementedbundle of rags flopped backand forth shrieking amongthe hounds. Till some signalwas given and they were

called, and slunk aside, likesinuous shadows, to thecaressing hands of theirmasters.One came forward then,and stood over the physicalsoul of Lak Hezoor, or allthatwasleftofit(itwasnotvery much). The derangedvisionofthehuntedcreaturecould discern but little, yetthis single object it did seewith utter clarity. A man,

slim and tall, clad in nightitself, with hair that wasnight, and night in his eyes.And the dreadful beauty ofhimwas likeanother tortureadded to what had gonebefore, like acid sprinkledinto gaping wounds. Lakscreamed with greaterwildnessatit,atthepiercingembrace of the acid, butAzhrarn the Prince ofDemonsraisedhishand,and

Lakcouldscreamnomore.“What thing is this?” saidAzhrarn. There was nocruelty in his voice whichwasinitscontrastingturnsobeautiful it even soothed thevictim,momentarily.“Thisisonlyaman.Iwasdeceived.”Andyet,thevoicewhichhadno cruelty in it was allcruelty. It smote against thesoul’s broken core and thesoul longed for death. “You

may inform your brothers,”saidAzhrarn,“youmetwiththeVazdruundertheearth.”And that said, he movedaway;hevanished.With him, restraintvanished. The mawled soulbegan to scream moreterribly, and in the midst ofits screaming it was hurleddownintotheRiverofSleep.

And where was

Oloru, instigator ofthis? And wasOloru, that he hadbeen able to escapeit? It would seemthat,likeKazirinthestory, this poet alsohadamission in theUnderearth. Forsome bizarre reasonhecouldnotenterbyhimself, so Lakmustbring him, but being

in, Oloru was atliberty to journeyand to busy himselfashedesired.

Oloruhadnosoul,astralorotherwise.Hehadthatwithinhim which passed for andwas theequivalentofa soul.It is possible, if not certain,he might under slightlydissimilar circumstanceshavepenetrated thekingdomof the demons, but then he

must have done so in hisactual form. And in suchguise, thewholeplacewouldhave felt him as an oysterfeels the twinge of grit.Decidedly it was the hint ofOloru’s presence that haddisrupted and alerted thebrooding inactivity ofAzhrarn, and brought himforthpitiless,ahunterontheroad. Which carnage hadprovided an opportune

diversion.OncethetopazdieremoveditselffromLakHezoor,ithadspun away in an oppositedirectiontothattoweredpileof steel and shattered stars,Druhim Vanashta. Thedemon city was not itsdestination. As it went, theimageofadiewent,too.Thearticle which was theatypical essence of Oloruturned to a slender rod of

yellow radiation, vaguelypurplishlylimned.Hoursitran,months,years,or half a minute. By whichunabsolute time it wasdashing over a transparentlandlocked sea. In the seawere islands, some small,sometreed,somehighasthesky-which-was-not-a-sky,andall throbbing stained-glassreflections in thewater. Andthen there was another isle,

inafog.The rod of amber andamethyst jumped into the fogand out the other side of it.Where, a mite disheveled, itdropped at the feet of anEshva handmaiden who hadbeen waiting—though forwhat?—ontheshore.Something oblique hadbefallen the collective Eshvaexiled on this island.Demons,theyhadasarulea

preference for beauteousmortal form, in which garbthey took to the earth andoverwhelmed humanity. But,precisely because bothVazdru and Eshva werecapable of a multitude ofshapes, their intrinsicnaturewasobviouslynotanyoneofthem. The Eshva on theisland, who had started aspale-skinned exquisite malesand females, with eyes of

darknessandlongblackhairthat domiciled silver snakes,hadpinedandfadedawaytobasics.She—orit—atthefeet(theywerenot feet)ofwhomor which Oloru had thrownhimselfwas now only a slimvertical of effulgent lapislazuli.Nevertheless, when theradiant rod brushed againstthis effulgent vertical, areactionoccurred.

Firstly,theverticalswayed,bending down. Secondly, therod was raised in whatbecame, gradually, twoslender hands. Lastly, fromthegaseousnessanalabasterfaceemerged,witheyes.“It lives,” said the Eshva,oftherod.Shedidnotspeakinanywayrecognizably.Hereyes and a motion of herfingers said the words. ButOloru heard her. In her

almost existent hands heshone, and shivered. So sheclasped him to her,enthralled at the sensationsheimparted.Anything out of theordinarywasanoveltyontheisland.Nowonder theEshvawas quickened. Noastonishment either that,handmaiden as shewas, shenext, her find most lovinglyclasped, began to make her

way toward the hollow cliffwhere dwelled her Vazdrumistress.Azhrarn’s daughter waslying,assooften,inhersleepof negative unbeing, on thebed with pillars of red jade.Andas she did this, let it bestressed, she looked mostfabulously and startlinglybeautiful.Somuchraninthefamily,youcouldsay.Theworldlyversionofwhat

then took place, goes asfollows:A deliciouswaiting-woman bursts into themansionofhergorgeousladyand cries: “See, princess. Ifoundthisfascinatingartifacton the beach. Do prayexamineitforyourself.”But,contrary to anticipation, thelady does not stir. She liesprone on crimson, her eyesfastshut.Andinalittlewhilethe delicious maid droops,

losingherowninterestinallthings.There the Eshva hoveredthen, once more an uprighttranslucency, before shedisappeared altogether, toresumeamelancholyvigilfornothing on the shore. Theradiant rodwas left lyingbythebed.He is alone now, alone

with the one he cameseeking.

No other is near. Nodemon dreams mischief isrunning amok here in theland’s very womb. EvenAzhrarndoesnotdreamit,asheridesinchase,hishoundsand court around him, afterthe illusory wraith of LakHezoor—mistaken foranother’staint,orburnish.Sothen.Shortlytherebeginstobea

rearrangement of molecules.

The amber and amethystblazeupandgoout,andfromthe void of extinguishmentsprings a young man,expensivelydressedandwithsilk gloves; with silk goldhair, low-burningeyes, and handsome, ohindeed, enough to scorch theisland. And this glamorousgentleman stares a longmoment at the lovelinessasleep, or negated, on the

burning

coverlet. (He saw her lastwhen she was a child. Thepromise of her infancy nowfulfilled seems to take hisbreath away.) Then he leansdowntoherandhisbeautifulhair brushes her beautifulthroat.Hesetshislipsgentlyto the lids of her eyes,through which, even closed,the irises reveal themselvesin a glaze of rapturous blue.But then he places his lips

moregentlyandmorefirmlyuponherown.Hekissesher.At his kiss, the whole tunedcliff lets forth a strain ofmelody, as if the pent-upsinging of years has passedthroughit.And she, of course, opens

hereyes.“Pretty and beauteous and

amazingmaiden,”saidOloru,in a voice so low he mighthardlybesaidtospeak,“your

fatherhatesyouandneglectsyou.ButIamyourguardian,and maybe you rememberme.”The blue eyes (what a

foolish word is “blue”—ohfor an adjective of the oldfirst earth to describe them)lookedbackandthroughanddeeplyintotheambereyesofOloru.She saidnothing.Butas with an Eshva, her eyessaid,“No,Idonotremember.

But you may attempt toremindme.”“Yes.Butnothereornow.

Here or now I am at risk. Ileapt most happily intodanger for your sake. Pityme.Makemesafe.”He had taken both her

handsinhisglovedones.Shedid not resist. She lay therelookingathim.She, thathermother had named Soveh(Flame),andherfather,inan

instant’s mocking unkindcorrespondence,Azhriaz.Then she did speak. One

word.“How?”Olorunowkissedbothher

hands. And she, very quietlyashedidso,brushedhishairwith her mouth. To beabandoned, then to beclaimed—what otherexplanationisrequired?Oloru felt that lightest

butterfly kiss, and raised his

headtogazeatheragain.Hetoldher howeasy itwas forher, and for himself if withher, to escape—not just theisland,but fromUnderearth.Andwhenshesmiled, he said, “Only think.He

is Azhrarn. But what areyou?And it seems thiscausedhertothinkintruth.She left the crimson bed.

Herhairswepttheearth.She

No,notso,

Azhrarn’s daughter.”

lookedupatOloruwherehestood beside her. She keptone of his hands, the right,relinquished the other. Likechildren they ran down thestairways of the laceworkcliff, down the slopes of theisland, and came to theshore.There, some way off, the

debodied Eshva still waited.Azhrarn’s daughtermurmured something, and

theEshva drifted obediently,listlesslyaway.Seawardoftheshore,only

mist was visible. Azhrarn’sdaughter, Oloru’s ward,cupped her hands about hermouth, and she whistled. Itwasnotahuman,norevenafleshlydemoniacnote.Itwasthe shrill of a silver pipeshaped like the thighbone ofa hare. She had heard itonce, when first her father

brought her underground,andcouldmimicitexactly.Itsummonedtransport.Sure enough, in seven

heartbeats, a darknesshurtled through the mist,bringingwith it the spray ofthe sea-lake over which ithad run. A demon horse,black, and azure-maned,which stopped beside thembut yet pawed the ground tobeoffagain.

The daughter of Azhrarnlooked at Oloru: “I amequippedtoleave.You?”“Youareable, if youwill,

to picture how I came here.Therestisyourstodecide.Iam at yourmercy, but thereis no other state in which Icouldwishtobe.”“O flatterer of demons,”

said she aloud. Then shesnapped her fingers.Doubtlessshefeltintimations

ofherpowerinthatmoment.Forhe,andhewassomeoneto be reckoned with, wasgone, came back otherwise,andfellintoherhandatopazdie. Flirtatiously then sheplaced the die in hermouth,under her tongue forsafekeeping.She mounted the demonhorse. Her impulse told itwhereitshouldgo.It broke out again through

the island’s mist, trailingstreamers of that veil, andsped over the water to thefarthershore.All this time, and she hadnever thought to do such athing, or that she could. Tobeabandoned,tobeclaimed,what other explanation isrequired?Across demon lands, then,past theshiningcity,grazingits walls with the winged

wind of their passage. Noneknew her, or what she did.But knew it. Asshe rode, black lightningunderherandajewel inhermouth, Azhrarn’s daughterfelt the soul of that wickedkingdom gather itself inincoherent outrage. Throughthe diamond air came spoorof hatching storms. Thewatersofpoolsandfountainsruffledandroared.Forestsof

everything

trees like spangled bonesstretched out their hands tocatchherflyinghair,butshestruckthemaside.The entrance-exit ofUnderearth she recollected.Threegates,theinnermostofblack fire, the secondmostofblue steel, the outermost ofagate. Beyond these, thescoured vein of a deadvolcanoopeningtoacountryof lit volcanoes—the earth’s

magmaticcenter.Shecametothefirst inner

gate.Beforeher father, therulerthere, all three gates hadflung themselves wide. Butbefore Azhrarn’s daughterthey did nothing. And thehorse,reinedin,snorted,andraked the ground, now withone forefoot, now with theother. She sensed too, thisfleeinggirlwhowassomuch

more than any fleeing girl,the gathering of the thunderatherback.Whatnow?Under her tongue, the dietickled her like juice from alemon.It reminded her ofsomething so obvious thatshe shook her hair, beingunable to open her mouthand laugh. For though theDemon was her father, hermotherhadbeenmortal,and

something besides, the childofasolarcomet.Thesun.Shesaidit,thefleeinggirl,

with her brain only. But theauthority of this inimicalsymbol, to which she hadsuch rights, and which noother here would everseeminglyconjure,waslikeablow. It crashed against thegate of black fire, searing ahole in it, and through this

hole she forced the horse togo, though it didnot like to.The gate of steel was next,and to this gate alsoAzhrarn’s daughterdisplayed the image in hermind, and the gate recoiled,withered, and she plungedthroughit.Thegateofagate,a diplomat, had alreadyprudentlyunlockeditselfandletherridebywithoutfuss.Abovehernowthefunnelof

the volcano, showing nolight, nor suspicion ofanything.The horse was spent. Sheslipped fromitand let it trotaway, head hanging, backthroughthegatesbeforetheycouldhealthemselves.No longer needing to askquestions, Azhrarn’sdaughter liftedherarmsandtouched the cool air in thevolcanicchimney.Andintoit

she summoned a volcanicwind, a smoldering sailfringedwithgreatembers. Itwhirled down about her andboreheraloft,upandupandup, through the funnel, upandupandoutintotheskyofearth.Earth’s was a sky ofdarkness,too,underlitbythefurnaces of the burningmountains. Yet in the eastmiles off one mountain

burned that was not amountain.(Dawn.)Thewind,herslave,carriedhersomewaybefore,robbedof its fire-born impetus, itsank.Onthehillsidewhereitleft her, she stood andwatchedthedawn,Azhrarn’sdaughter.Shewatchedaloneand jealously, for she hadbeen, it seemed to her, athousand years denied thissight.

The glory of a thousandmornings in that sunrise forher, then. And the colors ofthe earth blinded her andmade her weep. She couldendure the day as could noother demon thing. Yet halfher atoms shrank from theviewthattheotherhalfofheratoms loved, and werekindred of. She was doomedequally to search out and toeschewthesun.

She had taken the topazfrom her mouth and left itlying on a boulder. Shesoughttheshadowofarock.They say thewaters of herblueeyesturnedtosapphiresastheymet thesoilofearth;she wept corundum. Butperhaps after all she onlywepttears.Oloru came to her then,

and now he wore a damsonmantle, into which he

gathered her. He kissed hereyesagain,wetwithtearsorsapphires.“Hereintheworld,myowngiftsare

rapidlyleavingme,”hesaid.“Butfornow

—”Themantleflareditswingswiththesun

caughtinoneofthem,

and,asitseemed,ahordeofstars.

Andthehillsidewasvacant.

5THE SAME SUN itwas which rosebehind the widow’shouse. The scene itgildedtherewaslessimpassioned, tobeginwith.

Outinthecourtyardlaytherioters,inall

theattitudesofriot’saftermath.Inthe

forestovertheway,thebirdswokeandsang,butthosewhowokeintheyardwerenot

inclinedtocopythem.Theyheldtheirheadsortheirbellies,calledformedicineorfor

moredrink.Somehadthetemeritytocallalsofortheirlord,LakHezoor.Whennonevouchsafedareply,thesenoblecourtiersbegantobeatonthehousedoorsandwindows.They

croakedorbellowed

thattheyfearedtheirpatronhadcometosomeharm,injuringhimselfinscaling,

maybe,theobdurateicybreastofavirgin.Nowitseemedto

themthattheyhadeveryexcuse—the

securityoftheirprince

—forbreakingintothehouse.Alreadytheywerecheeredbytheprospect.Thencameanewburstofsinging.Thesongwasalientothemorning,yetage-oldasthetribulations

ofmen.Thecourtiers

droppedbackwhentheyheardit.Theyclutchedeachother

andasked:“Whatcanthatbe?”Thoughtheyknewverysurelyitwasonedemented,whoshriekedand

moaned.Soaccordinglytheysaid,

“ItisjustthatOloru,tryingtounsettleus.”Just then the shutters of an

upperroomflewopen.A man appeared there in

the window. For someseconds they did not, any ofthem, know him. Hiscountenancewastwisted,hiseyes showed only the whiteballs, his mouth gaped andblood ran from it where the

tongue had been bitten. Hiswholebody seemed streakedbybloodyhurts, andas theywatched appalled, he clawedand scrabbled at himself,causing fresh injuries withhis nails, or turning to bitehimself on the shoulders orarms. They were loath torecognize this beast. It wasonlythesablehair,thoughhetore it out in handfuls, thattold them this was Lak

Hezoor.Gray-faced, themen in the

courtyard one by one tooknote, and stepped awaybackward. Some ran to theirhorses and bolted almost atonce. The others shook intheirshoesandstuttered.Onedared to call again hismaster’sname—atwhichtheapparition in the windowscreeched more raucously,and, hauling and wrenching

itselfthrough,commencedtocrawl toward the courtyarddownthestonesofthewall.At this every man there

turned tail. Lak had gonemad, and plainly, if hecaught hold of any one ofthem, he would pull him inbits.Cacophonouslyastheyhad

arrived, therefore, Lak’scourt departed, tramplingeachotherunderhoof.

Somewhere along the cityroad, though it is notrecounted where, those thatcould held conferencetogether, and decided whatstory to offer in the city.Theyhaddeterminedbythenthat Oloru and his familywere mighty sorcerers,mightier far than Lak,demonstrably,sincetheyhaddealt with him as had beenwitnessed. It would thus be

preferable not to refer toOloru’shouse,toOloru,ortoOloru’srelations.Whatcouldmere mortals do againstthem?(Fortherewasanotherthing, which they had notproperly grasped in thepanic,but recollectednow—those especial servitors andguards that Lak had keptabouthim,notonehadgoneto his aid. Rather, they hadstayed like statues. . . .) If

such as these had not beenable toassist, itwasbest forordinary men to leave wellalone.For Lak himself, one last

rider swore he had seen hiserstwhile prince, foaming atthe lips and tearing himself,proceed into the forest at alurching run. What elseshould they say, then, in thecity, than that they had losttheirlordinthewoodswhere

fearsome thingswereknowntoreside,andwhosenumbersit seemed he had gone toswell?“What can we do?” said

they,limpinghome.“Weareonlyordinarymen.”By which they meant they

thought themselvesextraordinary enough thattheir skins must be saved atallcosts.Inthestonehouse,alarmed

by the besieging courtiers,thewomen and their servanthad run down to one of thesmaller rooms, an old cellarunderthehall,andboltedthedoor. There they remained,and when the awfulawakening cries of LakHezoor penetrated theirsanctuary, they were verythankfultohavechosenit.In the end, all grew

peaceful.Presently, theelder

sisterand theservant,withastickapiece,wentuptosee.A great deal of mess lay

about. But of the visitors—notawhisker.They searched the house

then, and even inquiredaloud.Buttheplacehadbeenvacated. Only the sun camein, and set abrightmarigoldon every edge and rim.Beyond the wall, the birdssang. The forest and its

inhabitants doubtlessunderstood how a man,alreadysomequarters insanewith his own vanity andsadistic designs, could meetthe Vazdru under the earthone night, and give up tothemwhatsensehehad.Only in the courtyard was

there something a touchworrying. Some little hardstonylumps,foralltheworldlike tallmenofgranite,who

had melted. (Lak’s blank-facedservants?)“So he has deserted us

again,” said the widow,dabbing her eyes. “My son,my Oloru. Ridden off withhis lord, and not a word offarewell.”“Yet he saved us from

Lak’s cruelties,” said theelder sister. “I will neverspeak slightingly of mybrotheragain.”

“He isnotabadson,”saidthe widow. “Look at thesejewels and rich garmentsPrince Lak left us inpayment.We shall live wellagain, as we have not donefor years. That would beOloru’s doing. The rest isjust his weakness. Oh, but Iwishhehadstayedherewithus.Iwouldhaveforgonethejewels and the comfort theywillbuy, just tohavehimat

our fireside. That life is notforhim.”“Who knows,” said the

younger sister wistfully.”Hemayonedaytireofthatlife.”

6IT MAY have beenthe forest of Lak’shunting, or quiteanother forest,wherein the gladewas situate.Certainly the placewas ancient andsomewhat sorcerous,and very dark. By

day, the sunlighthung there in raretinteddrifts,orbrokeand scatteredeverywhere likegolden rain. Bynight, at moonrise,there fell a rain ofopals.

For the creature of dawnand dusk, seeking andturningfromthesun,anidealhabitat.

Sunset:andarainofcoral.The blue-eyed demonesswas seated on a bankwhereswarthy lilies grew, staringdownatherreflection,asthelilies did at reflections oflilies, inapool.Aspringfedthepool,andmadeitalwaysunstill.Shecouldnotbesureof herself in this unsettledmirror. Only those eyes ofhersshoneoutather.Itcame

to the demoness they hadbeenpalerandharderinherchildhood, and cooler.

“Bathos”—forshewasalmost shamed now by herquiescenceinexile.Across the pool, he lay ononeelbow,herguardian, theprince who had kissed herawake, and carried her onthelaststageoftheirjourneyover earthandair, folded in

Bathos, then, has deepenedthem.

his mantle. But the mantlewasabsentnow,andsomeofhispresencewiththemantle.It was just an exceptionallytoothsome young man whoreclined there. Her child’smemory, her intuitiveknowledge, both were wellhoned,orshetoomighthavedoubted,orforgotten.Theyhadnotconferredfor

hours, or even days, thesetwo escapees of Underearth.

Until she said to him,carelessly: “Dear guardian,grantmeaname.”But he only bowed,

charming eccentric Oloru,and replied, “Who youthat I should know how tonameyou?”“Youknewme,andtoldme

ofit.”“DidI?Insomedream—”“Andnowyoudonotknow

me.”

“Only that I found you asKazir found Ferazhin, aflower grown in the shade.Therest—Iunremember.”“Why?” said she, and now

her eyes paler, harderand more cold. Likespearpoints of turquoise, asheshouldhaverecalledthem,having seen them sopreviously, in the temple ofholy Bhelsheved, the dayafterhermother’sdeath.

ButOlorudidnotrecall.Heshrugged most gracefully.“Why?” he said. “Why not?Pardonme, Iampartlymad.Everyonesaysso.”“Yes,” she said, “it is

politictoforgetyourself.Youwhodestroyedmymotherbyyour trickery. Should I notdetest and be revenged onyou for that, as my fathermeans to be? He will huntyou over the edges of the

earth.Iheardhimpromiseasmuchtoyourface.Thattwo-faced face which once wasyours and will be yoursagain. One promise ofAzhrarngivenyou, and thenapromisetome,andhetookme below with him. But heputmeasideandforgotme,Iwasofsuchlittleworththere.Orhere.”Thedemonesswhowasalsoahumangirlputoutherhandand touchedoneof

the lilies. “My lovingparents,” said she, and thelilyshriveledandrottedfromitsstalk.“ThatnightDunizeldiedandleftmecomfortless,she sought out Azhrarn. Herspiritcameto andputonflesh for and theywerelovers together. What was Ito either of them in thoselong moments? Nothing. Hemade me for that promisedcomplex game he planned,

him,him,

buthas sincediscarded.Andshe—sheheldmeinherbellyandbroughtmeforthonlytogratify him. When I was achild,”said thegirlwhowasalso a demon, “Dunizel toldme stories. In the womb Iheard her voice, mymother’s, sweeter than thesongsof the stars.But Iwasnothingtoherbutsomethingof while he hated mealways.”

“Youreyes,theyscaldme,”whisperedOloru.“Be scalded then, courtjester,” she answeredangrily.“Playyoursillypartand see if I do not betrayyou.” But then she went onsoftly,dangerously,withherformer theme. namedme to mark me ashis. But I am not his.namedme by her own first-given name, Moon’s Fire

“HeAzhriaz,

— Though I disownmymother,Iwouldratherbehers than his. I will resumethatname.”“Youreyes,”whisperedtheyoungman,“areburningthemarrow frommy bones. Arekillingme.”“Diethen,asifyoucould.”“When Iamdeadashesatyour feet,consideronly this.You are a sorceress, andwhatever name you take, it

Soveh.

mustbearthesymbolofyourcalling.”She looked at him. She

said, “Good. Her name isbetter altered. Not, then,Soveh,butSovazthewitch.Iwill be Sovaz.”* Note toVera: Following text to befootnote*AswiththeKthatconcludesamasculinenameto denote the magician, sothe symbols which translateasASorAZinthefemale—

at the end or veryoccasionally within, thename—denote a sorceress.EndFootnote“Sovaz,youarefair,”saidOloru.“Youaretheeveningstar,thehyacinththatshadesall heaven with its dye, thesilver taper that lights themoon.”“Is she so, this Sovaz,”saidSovaz,unsmiling.“ButIsee now what you play at

being.”After that she fell silent.Silence was yet her métier,speech only a new fad thatmightberelinquishedatanymoment.Merely, she let down herhyacinthine hair into thepool. The lilies rustled,stretching their stems likethirsty swans, to dip theirpetals in the water her hairhadspiced.

A short while later,perhaps only six or sevenhours, the lilies and thehyacinth lifted their headsfrom their reflections at asuddensound.Itwasanoisewhich has already beendescribed in some detail. Abelling of hounds, but notmortal,norfaroff.She who was now Sovaz

glanced first at her travelingcompanion. Innocently,

beautifully, Oloru slept.Neither did the uproar rousehim, though psychic andhorrible and limitless, itseemed to rape the forest, toripdownbranchesanduprootthegrass.Notonelivething,natural or un, could ignorethe cry. That Oloru slept onwas his great wisdom. Shedespised and respected himforit.Also,shethought,Itisnot for me Azhrarn comes

And she spurned the“other” lightly with her footas she went to the brink oftheglade,tosee.Now, she was Vazdru,

Sovaz, the Demon’s child,andshehaddrawnhergenius

hunting.Eventohuntmehasnovalue forAzhrarn.Can itbeheevenguessesIamgonefrom prison? What loss if Iam? No. It is this other heseeks.

about her. As the wild huntdazzled along the avenue oftrees, the glade winked outlikeaflameinwater,becauseshewilled it to.Howstrong,how confident her sorcery.Azhrarn himself, riding withhis folk about him, did notspy what she had hidden,though he turned his darkhead as they pelted by,maybeunsure,considering—buteventheblazeofhereyes

she sheathed fromhim.

Then, like storm-wrack,theyweregone,andthewailofthedogsdiedlikethestingof a numbing blow, awaythrough the forest, awaythroughtheworld,andoutofit.SoonSovaz returned to the

pool. She stood looking

Iamnot here, Azhrarn, Prince ofPrinces. And he is not, thatotherprinceyouseek.

down at Oloru, who hadcalledherEveningStar.“Yes, just as he promised,

he ishuntingyou.Heknowsyou have dared his lands,idiot andmad thing that youare. He came very close toyou. Do you fear him then,this demon unbrother ofyours?Well.Ididnotbetrayyou. It seems we are to befriends.”Andshekneeledbyhim.

“What?” saidOloru, openinghisambereyesslowly.“Fool,”saidSovaz.“Yes,it

is a canny disguise, not toknow yourself. Maybe hewillneverfindyouinit.Butnow,gentleguardian—”AndbeforeOlorucouldpreventit,she seized both his glovedhands, and tore from themthe jeweled silken gloves,andflungthemaway.Olorustaredathishands.

The left was well shaped butgray as river clay; it trembled,andhe saw the longnailswereredlikelacquer,anditspalmwasblack.He let itdownhastily inthegrassandwouldnotlookatit. There remained the righthand, then. The right hand ofOloruwasconstructedofbrass,but the four fingers of it werefour brazen serpents thatsnappedandhissed.Thethumbwas a fly of dark-blue stone,

which, released from the glove,quicklyspreaditswingsofwireand clicked its mandiblesfranticallytogether.Oloru screamed. Heerupted to his feet and fled,tryingtoeludethemonstroushand.Butofcoursethehandran with him, irrevocablyattached, and the snakeswaking and fuming andspitting, and the fly rattlingits wings and jaws and

feelersirritably.Away through the forest,insanewithterrorandshock,Olorusprang.Sovaz did not wait, shewent after him, running aslightly as he, and as fast. Inless than a minute, perhaps,shecaughthim,byhissleeveand by his shining hair.Oloru slumped against atree, shivering and sheddingtears,whiteasdeath,calling

tothegodspiteously.“Thegods?”inquired

Sovaz.“Youknowtheyhavenocareformen.Foryourself,whatdoyouneedwithgods?”“Isthissomebaneyouhave

thrownonme?”askedOloru.“Oh,letmefreeofit.”“Bane? Look at thisDo you not, even for themoment of a moment,rememberitsinventor?”

Olorulooked.Helookedatthelivelysnakesandthebluefly. Then he closed his long-lashedeyesandsank, sensesvanquished (ever Oloru), totheearth.She laughed a wholeinstant, did Sovaz. But thenherlaughterwasdone.Someother emotion rushed nowover the first.Unlikeherself,it had no name for her. Itfilled her with inexplicable

excitementandhurt.Again,shekneltbesidehim.She held him to her so hersupernatural warmth shouldcome between him and theskinof theworld thatwas toall supernatural things,always, a lure, a lover’sembrace, the snare of anenemy. In that second ofconfusion, she nearlyunderstood her father. Butthispassed.

Once, then, there was ayoung aristocrat, mosthandsome but most poor,who lived with his widowedmother and his virgin sistersbesideafeyblackforest.Andhere he went hunting,scorning superstition, takingwithhimtheonlyservantleftto the house. And here too,one day, he was lost by thisservant, who spent many

hoursintryingtorefindhim.But he was not found. No,nottillhereturnedhimselfatsunset,outofthedepthsofawood which was famed fortheegressofthingsirregular.The young hunter’s namehad been Oloru. Had been,for he claimed it no more.Another claimed it. Anotherbecame it,growingoverandthroughitlikeavine.Itwasthisway.

He was not cruel, the firstOloru, to the beasts of theforest. He hunted only forfood, and that since hisfamily had always one extraat their table, Lady Hunger,who sat therewith themandgnawed her own knuckles,glaring at their plates thewhile from under herfamishedeyebrows.Nevertheless, in theway ofhunting,Olorubroughtdown

theyouthfuldeerwithspears,laid traps for the cinnamonhares, overfeathered thewings of wild ducks witharrows.The forest was bewitched.Who did not agree? OnlyOloru paid no heed to therumors.Andhewas theresooften, and his dwelling soclose. How could thecompositeentityof the forestfailtolearnhisnameandhis

personbyrote?So one morning the firstOloru rose early and wentwith his servant into theforestaftergame.Theyoungman walked singing, for hesawnowronginwhathedid,nor thought anyotherwouldseewronginit.Turningthenunderanarchoftrees,Olorufeltanunexpectedchill,as ifthe dew had changed tosnow. Looking around to

commentonthisphenomenonto his servant, he found theservant gone. And then thewholeoftheforestseemedtoruntogetherinawall.Oloruwas in a little space, nobigger than he could pacearound in three circlingsteps. The rest was a blacktowering—trees—orsomething older, moreintense,ofwhichthegrowthsof theforesthadbeenonlya

residue, till some arcanemagiccalleditforthagain.Oloru was afraid, but,unlike the later model ofhimself, no blissful coward;ready to fight.Heshoutedatthe forest, for justice.Justicecame.It began with a ragingthirst that fastened on himabruptly, without warning.And it continued with astream of water plashing at

his feet.Hehadneverdrunkthewatersoftheforest,neverneeded to. But this water hemust have, and though someinstinct, against his ownskepticism, called to him tobeware,hedidnotheed,norcould not. He lay on theground and lapped thestream. There was no pang,not even a discomfort. Noneof the fruitless battle he hadthoughttooffer.Helaydown

todrinkaman.Heroseupayellow jackal, which feintedand dancedwith its shadow,barked and howled atnothingatall,andranawayinto the wood. All humanritesofintellectorbodywerenull,gonebetweenonesipofwaterandthenext.ToOloru,no longer Oloru, there wasno punishment. He dawdledand bounded deep into thetrees, he sought his own

current kind, who acceptedand were fond of him. Helivedasagoodjackalshould,until in the fullness of yearshe died one. And then hissoul recovered itself withsomestartlement.Yet, unpunished, he huntedno more. And unpunishedwashepunished,Oloru,whohadbeenbornahumanman.Now. In those days, or inthese, when the smallest

pebblewasorisdugupfromthe soil, it leaves animpression behind itself, thesize and shape of itself,though empty. And in thosedays,sotoowithallthingsofbeing. There had been ayoungman in the forest, buttheforesthadchangedhimtoayellowjackal.Thatdiggingup from the soil of existenceleft an impression behind itsurelyenough,akindofcast

or mold, into which someother, if he were sufficientlyvital, could pour his fluidform and flesh-hard, toan exact replicate of Oloruthemortalandthenomore.One was by, and vital

enough.Chuz,PrinceMadness,hadbeen some while wanderingthe earth. His last meetingwithAzhrarnmayormaynothave discomposed him, but

doubtless it gave him tothink, in his own obscurefashion. Dunizel, beloved ofthe Prince of Demons, haddied through Chuz’s fault;the evidence of the mattercouldshownothingelse.Butwhether it had been adeliberate fault, an error injudgment, or a mad impulse—who was absolutely sure?ForthemindofsuchasChuzinclined to be unfathomable.

Notwithstanding that,hehadincurred the wrath ofAzhrarn, who spoke ofretribution.WouldChuz fearthat?He had powers and tospare, there was not a LordofDarknesswhowaswithoutpowers of many and awe-inspiring sort. And by veryreason of this, such a duelcouldhardlybetakenlightly.Therewas once an occasionwhen Azhrarn himself,

findinghewasonthebordersof an ultimate disagreementwith another of his peers,Uhlume, King Death, hadapproached Uhlume andplacated him, giving himevenatactfulclueas tohowtheirgamemightbewon.Itisto be concluded Chuz nowsoughtsometactfulmeansofappeasement.At one time it had beensupposed all Lords of

Darknessavoidedtheearthlysun, which would scorchthem, or reduce them toashes. This, however, wasonlytrueofone—Azhrarn,byvirtue of his demon origins.Nevertheless, every one ofthose other four Dark Lordshad a definite penchant forthe night, and for nightgames and shadowplay, andshadowy places. In this wayitcameabout thatChuzwas

atlargeinthesomberforest,enjoying the feel of itssorcerousness, no doubt, asanother would enjoy thescent of flowers, at themoment of the first Oloru’stransformation. Doubtlesstoo, Chuz was instantlydrawn to the spot, the surgeofmagiclikethecallofsomefascinating bird.Once there,hemadehisdecision,havingperceivedwhathadoccurred.

Having also formed someattendant plans, he pouredhis fluid unconscionable selfsuddenly into themetaphysical mold, settled,hardened within it invisibly,and at last stepped forth,stunned, into the day’sending.As a disguise, it was aunique one. In the way oftransforming the humanoidaspect of Chuz, Chuz being

yet Chuz, it did not utterlysucceed.PrinceMadness, ormostofone sideofhim,hadalways been fair to look on.And he was besides apt atthat time to be translated tooverallgoodlooks;hadbeenpracticing them inBhelsheved. Thus, where theform of Oloru was fairenough,neverhaditbeenasfairastheinfluxofChuznowmade it. Nor had the first

Olorubeenaspoetical,oraslunatic,asthesecondOloru,which was of course onlyfitting. So, in the effect ofappearance, the rusewasnomorethantheater,andeasilyundermined. However. Thesteelyrootofthedisguiselayin another direction. Chuz,rebornOloru, Oloru.ChuzforgothewasChuz.Before, the passage ofChuz’sfootsteptwothousand

became

miles off might have tingledthe perceptions of Azhrarn,for each Lord of Darknessexuded the glamour of hisego from every nonearthlypore. But now, only Oloruwasthere,whoknewhewasonlyOloru.It was a fact, time andagain the secondOloru hadbrushedbydemonkindinthedark of the world’s nights.Sometimes they had even

been attracted to him,sensing Butwhenthey came close, there wasonly a handsome crack-witlarkingorjeeringorshakingwith frayed nerves. Oloru’sessence cried loudly: Youth,maleness, self-conscioussexual ambiguity, charm,brinkmanship, neurasthenia.Andsuchwerethenoticesofmortals. And the demons,maybe briefly puzzled,

something.

withdrewagainand left himalone.This then, the graciousobeisance Chuz extended toAzhrarn: See how I honoryou and value your wrath,unbrother. I am hiding inearnest.Azhrarn’s anguishedlethargy had had its uses,too. It had provided themargin for Chuz to indulgein wandering experiment,

and, once the second Olorucame from the wood, thespacetoexploreanddevelophisrole.Not until Chuz’s invasionof Underearth had Azhrarnturnedhisheadtolisten,andhis inclination again to theformat of revenge. Eventhere, the pursuers weremistaken. Hapless PrinceLak,with all his long life ofwrongdoing bright before

him, took the brunt asingenuousdecoy.The razor-bite perfume of Chuz hadbeen all over him, whileChuz himself, die and rod,was singularly lacking in it.For even in such guise, hestill believed himself onlyOloru,tobeginwith.Chuz, as himself, couldhaveworkedLak’smagicofastral descent, and magicsfarsuperior,withscarcelya

thought. But as Oloru, hewas not able. Chuz ashimself would never havedared(probably)toentertheUnderearth;itwasanactofunnegotiable hostility. ButOloru was simply a poetseekingforbiddenthrills.When the spell took hold,

the entire package, Chuz-Oloru, life force and flesh,went down below ground inthetopaz.Animmortal,Chuz

had no soul, or else he wascompletely a sort of soul,pure demonic energy, if nodemon.All theactionsofOloru, totheverypointofcrossingthesea-lakeandalightingontheisland, had been apparentlyrandom insane high jinks.Naturally, they were not.More than a year before, inthesecondsofhisdecisiontobecome Oloru, Chuz had

implantedcertainimpulsesinhis own secret brain thatwould come not to knowitself. To seek a magicianmaster from whom he couldsteal handy provisionalmagics, next to entice andwheedle him into a trekbelow. There to fly off at atangent, and happen byintuition on the being lastseen, thoughnot recalled,asa tiny child; Azhrarn’s

progeny.Dunizel’sdaughter.In truth, thoughhehadnotrealized it, she was all thegoal of Oloru’s second life.To find her out, to steal heraway.She captured Chuz’sattention from the first. Hehad looked inatherevenasshe lay in Dunizel’s womb,and he had said to Dunizeland her demon lover, “Icome to stand uncle to your

unborn child.” Whichsuggestion, suspicious initself, had been so hedgedabout with admiring tauntsand loving insults offeredAzhrarn,ithadasmuchhopeof success as ice in fire.Perverse, Chuz knew asmuch. He wanted, did notwant, did not know what hewanted,tookcareasOlorutoforget what he wanted—andthensetofftofetchittohim,

through levinbolts andbrimstone.And,sorcerous thingwhichunavoidably still hewas, theproximity of other sorcerousthings galvanized him, evenin amnesia. Thus the foresthad tickled him intoemploying the shape ofOloru’s own jackal, in theinterest of a speedy gallop.Thus Chuz’s own fearsomestrength of persuasion came

to him to allowhim to driveLak Hezoor to the lastorganized folly of his life.While the quintessence ofUnderearthworkedonOlorulikeafinechisel,andchippedawaythearmoring.By the moment he stoodover her, the mistress of hisquest, he had begun toremember himself. His kisswas vibrant with thatremembrance,andhowcould

ithelpbutwakeher,too?Thesuccessiveescapefromexquisite hell, the damson-winged flight across thesunrise, these were theexploitsofChuz.Buthere inthe glade, on the breast ofthe world again, the innerChuzebbedaway.OloruwasOloru once more. Althougheven that not totally. Assmoke cannot be kept in abox, all Chuz could not be

kept in human skin.Somethingwas bound to getloose. It turned out to bethose worst of all Chuzianattributes,thehands.Thereforehelay,aLordofDarknessbrought lowbyhisown intrinsic terror. Andwho, indeed, has neverlooked deep within himselfbutonce,andbeenafraid?Nowherested,inherarms,thearmsof thedemon-child-

woman who had been, sinceher conception, hismadman’s goal. She hadread the whole history fromhis unconscious unhumanmind.Aggrievedatdesertionby others, she warmedherself now at his psychoticconstancy.

7MIDNIGHT:Andarainfellthatwasmerelyrain.Buttheforestdresseditselfintheraindropsasifinclustersofzircons.Rain bathed the eyelids ofSovaz. She raised them, andsaw the eyes of Oloru werealsoopenwide.“I have, after all, been

dead a little while,” hemurmured. He looked verylong at her. There was acuriousluminescenceabroadin the forest; the rain hadwasheditoutfromthetrunksof thetrees, thegrasses,andthe lilies shone like tonguesofshadyflame.Inthisgleam,Sovaz, too,seemedlitbyherownsoftlight.Oloruglancedat himself under the lampofit. “I dreamed—” said

Oloru.He flexed his elegantpoet’s hands. They were noother than the hands of apoet should be. (Somehow,by her own occult methods,she had overridden his, andmadethemwholeforhim.)“IamgladthenLordDeathdidnot keep me as his guest. Irantohimforsanctuary,buthad no hope to stay. Therearemanyhedoeskeep,blue-eyedSovaz,downthereinthe

Innerearth. But they havesold their souls to him for athousandyears.Death,”saidOloru,“maynotwalkwherenothing has died. There aresuchplaces.Hemaynotwalkthe gods’ country.Or in thecountry of the demons. Foreven those creatures thatseem to die in Azhrarn’slands undergo only thefacsimile of death. Storiesthatsayotherwisearetoldby

liars.”“And are you not, then, aliar?” inquired Sovaz,althoughassoftlyas thesoftlightthathungonher.“Aliar?I?”“I think you must besomething of the sort,” shesaid, “for you speak of thedemons’ kingdom as ifneither of us had ever seenit.”Olorushuthiseyesatonce.

His fingers clenched on thegrasses.“Do not,” he said, “saythesewords.Theyremindmeofmydreamoffear.”Soshebeheld that even her ownbeginningswerenowwilfullyexpunged from hisawareness.Shedidnotreallymind that, Sovaz. Whathappiness had there been inherbeginnings,afterall,thatshe should wish them

celebrated?“Iconcede,”shesaid.“Wewill discuss only how wefoundeachother,wanderingin this forest. Myself anorphan. You mysteriouslybereft of your patron, themagician-prince.”“Yes,”saidOloru.Andjustthenhiseyescaughtfirefromaninnerglareandwereforamomentliketheeyesofsomecruelrarebeastofprey.See,

said these wicked molteneyes,howentertainingitwillbetoplaythisgametogether.At which her eyes grewdarker than the forest’sshimmering dark, so starryspace itself might beglimpsed in them. I wonder,said these other eyes, if itwill.And then she lay downupon him, clasping himunder the arms with her

slender hands, and claspingthe strong calves of his legswith her slender bare feet,and his mouth with hermouth.As unlike their first kiss,this second kiss, as earth toair. Not less potent for allthat, nor less of asummoning.“Most beautiful of mortal

women,”liedOloru.“Most beautiful of mortal

men,”liedSovaz.Andtheylaughed,sheddingtheir garments like snakes,and brought their bodiestogether like two claspinghands.Butitwasshewholaystillabove him, and soon theblack fleece of her tressesseemed to become one withthe black foliage of theforest, so he was stretchedout under a maiden whose

hair itself was all the night-time earth and the midnightsky.Andhertouchesandherskin and her moving uponhim, these were like theambience of theworld, as ifthe world lay on him andcaressed and found him out,and drew him into itself.Virgin, yet lacking any needto be broken, knowingeverything yet innocent ofall.Andashepierced to the

coreofher,herhairandthenight and the trees and thesky,hercaresses,theairandthe world, the very groundunder his back, seemed tobeginmakinglovetohim.“No,” Oloru whispered

then.“No?” she whispered inreturn,insidehisverymouth,her tongue a flame, one ofthelilyflamesthatburnedinthegrass.

“No, Sovaz, Sovaz, forsurely then I will be therebefore you, and our journeyended.”But her eyes held all theoceans and the seas and therivers, her hands or thehands of the earth stolebeneathhimandfoundafirethere,a serpent thatdwelledthere under the spine, adragonwaking.“When you reach the

gate,” she said, or her eyesor her rushing body said it,“cryout.And Iwill come toyouatonce.”At this the dragon woke.Thewhole forest burst up inaswarmoflightsandhewithitso that in thestrengthandvehemence of that archingbow she too was lifted as ifon awave’s high crest. Andhe did indeed cry out aloudto her, and hearing him she

came to him at once as shehad told him, her headthrown back, her throatcurved like the crescentmoon.Andhercries,wildasthose of a bird that flies awhirlwind, and three innumber, split the ceiling ofrain and leaves, and struckmaybe the floor of veryheaven above, the denizensof which abode did notcomprehendsuchcryingand

wereincapableofit.But presently, in the

stillness, she said to him,“There, too, is death. Andthereismyomen.OnedayIshalldie.Iknowitnow.”“Our kind does not die,”

said Oloru, forgetting aninstanttoforget.But she did not answer

PARTTWO:Lovers

AZHRARN— —sang various voices whichhad no sound, but were sobeautiful they made the airseem filled by perfume,melody.It might have been the

Azhrarn

Azhrarn!

voiceless all-speakingEshva,or some spiritual cry of hiskingdom,therootsandrocksof it, the scintillant stonesofhiscity,thejewelwindowsofhis house. Or yet some cryfrom within himself, somepart of him he did notrecognize, for even withhuman men, several personsmay live together under onenameandinsideoneskin.Whatever it was, it had

haunted his palace all thedayless days and unnightnightsofamortalyear.Itwasplain to any who had, for amoment, glimpsed him, thatthis sound offended him.Hepacedthelongroomsupanddown, and the tall roofs. Hestood and looked away intonothing and everything, andthe flying things of theUnderearth, sorcerous ormechanical, meeting his

sightless gaze, fell down ontheblackgrassofthelawns.Azhrarn“Ihearyou,”hesaid.“But

bestill.”Therewasasilence.Itwas

so profound, the whole landseemed to have gone deafanddumbatonce.He walked out, in this

silence, disdainful of it, intothe gardens beyond hispalace. In themidnight trees

the golden furnaces ofburning-colored fish,clustered all together, theirwingsclosed fast.Byapool,aprincessof theVazdruhadbeen plucking green irises.She had become still as astatue; the water drops didnot run off her fingers’ endsor from the flowers or fromthe gems of her bracelets—thewaterdropsdidnotdare,for in doing it, they might

make a noise. No one elsehad,foragreatwhile,riskedventuring so close toAzhrarn’s halls. The Vazdruwoman stood and stared ather lord. She wassuperlatively beautiful, buttherewasnothinginthat;allher caste were so. Azhrarnlookedather.Shebowed.“Why are you here,” he

said, “stealing plants fromthisgarden?”

“Green iris, the flower ofpain,” said she. “A largenumber grow in your parknow, illimitable prince. Theblooms I shall weave into agarland, andwearuntil theyfade. The stems I shall plaitfinely and string a lyre withthem. They will make amiserable,lovelymusic.”Azhrarn seemed about to

leaveher.“Youhavecastdownyour

kingdom,” said the Vazdru.“Painisyourlover,mylord.We must share your agony.The Eshva lament in theliving death of ceaselessmourning. But the Vazdruare different. The Vazdrumust have artifacts. And allthis for a mortal woman, achildofthatthing,thesun.”“Remind me,” said

Azhrarn,“ofyourname.”“Vasht,” said the

demoness.Andsheshookthewater drops from her handsand from the flowers. Eachdropfell intothepoolwithaloudcrack.“Do you hope to be

punished, Vasht,” saidAzhrarn, “that you dare tochideme, with whom I haveloved, and with how I haveloved?”“You kill us with your

grief,” she said. “And since

wecannotdie,itisamurderand a death that never end.Whatisonemorepunishmentbesidethat?”“Youwillangerme,” said

Azhrarn.“Donotdoit.”“Is it possible to anger

you?YouwhovowedwaronChuz Mischief-Maker, andhunted him twice, andreturned twice, while heroams the world of men bynight and day, laughing at

you. And when he wishesother amusement, he liesdown with your daughter,that child you made in thewombofyourmoon-sungirl,your I was yourchosen love, once, eons agoby the reckoning of thoselittle crawling worms called

You caught for me apieceof the starlit earth sky,andgaveitmeinaring.Youwere my beloved, Azhrarn,

Dunizel.

three hundred mortal years.But then mankind grewprecious to you, and youadored their foul flesh, likedit better for its veryuncleanness. Now, youunremember even my name.You, who gave me the sky.”And she flung the greenflowers at his feet. They fellwithacrashlikeswords.ButAzhrarnonlysaid,“So

Chuz and she travel

together.”“Didyounotknowit?Has

not every reed and blade ofgrassintheworldwhisperedthestorytoyou?Everycloudscribbled the message overthemoon?Howhecamehereby a trick and rescued herfrom your care. Even thetides sang the song. I havehearditbaldlyenough.”“I knew then.But, aswith

your name, you have

remindedme.”He walked on. The

demoness followed, her longand lustrous black hairtrailingovertheblacklawns,where it struck suddensparks.“Then,” she said, “what

will you do, Azhrarn, Princeof Princes—go back in yourdarktowerandweeptearlesstearsofblood?”Azhrarnstopped;heturned

andbeckonedher. She cameuptohim,apparentlywithoutanyfear.“What do you want from

me,Vasht?”“Tomake you again what

you were. Though, haschangedyou.”“BeautifulVasht,”hesaid.

“I remember you. You werethe pleasure of dawn andfirst light. But the day hasadvanced.”

“These terms in yourmouth—youhatethesun,thedawn, the day. She taughtyou such words. And whatpleasure then was yourDunizel?”“Iwillshowyou,”hesaid,

“sinceyouarefoolenoughtoaskme.”AndhekissedVashtonthe

lips,andsteppedaway.Onlya moment did she standbefore him, the beautiful

lover of the forgotten long-ago. In a moment more, shemelted into flame paler andless substantial than a mist.The flame itself crumbled,andwentout.Thedark lawnwasburnedblond.Butoutofthe ashes, a tiny thingemerged. A butterfly, withwings like green iris. Itfluttered for a little spaceover the burned lawn, thendarted into the shade of the

great trees, where itvanished.ButAzhrarnlookedacrossthearchitectureofhiscity,thinking.He had always known, or

been always capable ofknowing.Twoabortivehunts,in Underearth and out of it,hadyieldedno“kill.”Yethelet the matter of vengeancerest.Letthematterofescapeslip. . . . Now, though hecarednomoreforher,Vasht

itwould seemhadhad somepowertowakeinhimtheoldtrue rages, spites, lusts,certainties, of hisbeginning, that somberprimeval “dawn” he hadmentioned, shadowy sunriselacking a sun. So AzhrarnthoughtnowofChuz, andofachildwhichwashis,whoseface he did not or could notrecall, only the eyes. Andpresently three of the Eshva

schemes,

weresummonedtohimintheshapesof threesmokydoves.“Go,” said Azhrarn, “andfindmeFarandwide,theEshvaflew.They may have been someof those formerly sent toserve Azhriaz-Sovaz on theisland of the hollow stone,and this a form of expiation—sincetheyhadallowedhertoleavethatplacewithoutso

that.”

much as a sigh of warning,so intellectually recumbenthad they grown there.(Catchinghissickness?) It isnot recorded that Azhrarnpunished any one of them.But they, leaving that sphereof uselessness, altering, mayhave wished to be punished,orsimplytoatone.Farandwide—Well then, for some while,many a blue-eyed dark-

haired girl was scared orlured away into the night,lostthere,laterfound,ornotfound. . . .“Ohwhere ismydaughter—sister—bride?Have the demons stolenher?” It must have been anemblem of theirs, this faultydiligenceinsearching.Surelytheygrasped,eveniftheyhadnot themselves attended herbefore,thatonlyonecouldbethedaughterofAzhrarn,and

theywouldknowheratonce. was well hidden. They

wouldnot find out.Even For what was she but

archsorceress, their mistressasAzhrarnwastheirmaster.Asforthatother,crazyChuz,lordofcraziness—foragreatwhilehehadkeptoutofsightbehind his own immaculateblind.Search then, on and on,they must and did, and

Sheher

chased the black-hairedmaidens in the woods, andthe handsome lack wits, ormen having discrepancies intheir looks, one side of theface beautiful and onedeformed. The Eshva weresayingbyallthis,See,wearesearching. Leaving no stonerightsideup.In Underearth, Azhrarnstood by a window ofemerald, and through it saw

a green-winged thingfluttering. But all wingedthings—all things—weregreen, seen through thatwindow. Azhrarn did notwaste much time upon thesight.On a stand in that roomthere was, or came to be, abook, in size one quarter ofthe height of a tall man. Itscovers and papers were ofthin pure bronze, and

decoratedwith strange gemswhose names are no longerrecollected. Azhrarnapproachedandspoketothisbook.Atthewords,thepagesstrayed apart, and turnedthemselves, and stopped.Azhrarn glanced into thebook,whereitnowlayopen.The images thatwere shownthere could mean nothing toone unversed in them. YetAzhrarn instantly turned

from the view, disgusted,apparently, by the ease ofdivination.While to three shadowydoves, flying high up underthe moon, there must havecome some specialinstruction. For they divedsuddenly,asdohuntinggullsupon their prey, down intothewelloftheworld.

2MANY TALES weretoldof thatreturnofthe Demon’s childontotheearth.Thesetales bear all asimilarity.Itislikeasnake’sdancing,orabeautiful swordwhich knows it wasmadenot forbeauty,

but to harm. Also, itislikeababyplayingwith her toys, andeachtoyaman’slife,or a town burning.And the teasingmalign mischiefshave too a sort ofimmature hurt andangerinthem.Itistobe remembered,though she wasseventeen years old

in her form, hercunning and herlearningwere surelyolder, and over all,the blossom hadbeen forced. Withinherself, shewas stilla child that had yetto grow.Or had sheever been such athingasachild?Shewas never positivelyovumand seed, only

darklight,magicandwill—and the fiercelove of two others,whichhadseemedtoexclude herconsistently.

So stories gathered likeflocksofbirdsabouther.But there is another tale,

whichsaysshedidnotdosomuch, not then; that in herown way she lived quietly.And perhaps there is some

truth,too,inthat,orwhyhadshe been so difficult for theEshvatofind?

“There aresupernaturalcreatures in ourwoods,”theysaid,inthe surroundingvillages and towns.Why? How do youknow it? “Travelershave been set on.

One came here in alather, he had seenstarry lights whichfollowedhim.”“Andanother woke upfromanoonsleepina glade, to find hehad the ears of anass!”

Sometimes, when the windblew, exotic aromas flowedon itoutof thewood,or thesound of music or bells.

Animals avoided certainparts of the wood, or elsewilfully ran off to them.Sevenmerchants,ridinghardfor a town just beforenightfall, declared an—which might have been avelvetcarpetsomefifteenfeetup in the air, with two dimshiningfiguresseatedonit—hadwhizzedovertheirheads.Somegirlswhowentoutonedawn to gather edible fungi,

object

arrivedatabreakinthetreesand saw suddenly, as if itbroke through the sky withthe sun, a high magnificenthouse of white marble andflashing gold. But even asthey stood astonished, themansiondisappeared,andallthey could make out was alittleoldruinedcottageonaslopehalfamileaway.Supposedlythensometimes

a cottage, sometimes a

mansion, the dwelling placeofOloruandSovaz.Oncoldnights, a fire on a roughhearth with a copper potsuspended over it, crookedshutters fastened closed, astraw pallet under fleeces—or a towering hearth withstone pillars, scentedbraziersandswinginglamps,magic food conjured to aninlaid table,abed fiveyardsacross and canopied with

silver tissue.And insummer,a herb garden with wildroses, a park with fountainsspringingattheskies.One afternoon, late in the

day, when the sun hadentered the western quarterandtheairwasplumyellow,a traveler came up throughthewoodsandpausedtolookat the cottage on the slope.The trees fell away aroundthe incline, so the old tipsy

cottage roof showed plainly.Still,somethingintheyellowairdeceived, fortherewouldappeartobeasecondoutlinebehindthefirst,severalroofswhere there was one, eachtaller,andallglittering.Now seldom did travelers

takethistrack,sinceitlayinthe wrong direction for thenearest towns of the region.But those who might haveventured here, seeing the

mirage, would have rubbedtheir eyes, sworn, andhurried off. This traveler,seeingit,laughed.Sounds carried in those

parts.Far up in an arbor of

ivory,onaflatroofgirdedbygoldenrailings,ayoungmanand a young woman raisedtheirblondandsableheads.“What strange bird is

that?”

“Not a bird,” said Oloru,“an orange beetle, which iscrawling up from the treestowardthehouse.”Sovazgazedfromher

roof’spinnacle.Shefrowned.Presentlyshedescendedthreemarblestairwaysinhersilksandcametoopenawarpedwoodendoorinahome-spundress.There on the sunken

doorstep sat a man. He was

cladinabeggar’sgarmentofdull reddish orange, muchstained and rent, a fold ofwhichhehaddrawnoverhisbowedhead.Besidehimlayabeggar’s bowl, curiouslygilded, and in his hand heheld a staff of greatly rottedwood.Sovaz did not speak, she

waited. After a moment theman murmured, “Alms,kindness, succor.” His voice

was beautiful, yet unknown.Sovaz said nothing, thoughshe stood as still as thehidden marble. “Becharitable to me,” said thebeggar.“Whoknowsbutonedayyourlotmaybemineandyou too must go entreatingpitythroughtheworld.OnceIwasaking.Nowregardme.Alms,succor,kindness.”Andthen, very low, he laughedagain his startling laugh,

which was like the cry ofsome wild bird. “Who, afterall,” said he, “can escapecruelfate?”ThenSovazgrimaced—had

she been a cat, you wouldhave said she laid flat herears and hissed at him. Shestood aside and flung openthe wooden door, whichalmost fell off at the impact,andwhichalteredtoasilverdoorsetwithgoldenimages.

“Poor destitute,” saidSovaz mockingly, “enter mymodestabode.”Thenthemangotupand

passedintothehouse.It was all grandeur again,

with glassy floors, andpierced by rays of lightdaggeringthroughitfromthelargewindows.Ona stairofmarble sat Oloru, idlystriking chords on a lyre.When he had regarded the

traveling beggar, thesechordscameverysour.Olorusaid,“Canonegonowheretoevade one’s wretchedrelations?”Atthisthevisitorraisedhis

headandthefoldofclothfellback from it. He wasaltogether a strange sight.Tanned, as if in a vat, frommuch journeying in variousweathers,hisheadwaslikeabronze icon, for it was

shaved of all hair. Thebizarre robe he wore nowseemed the rich color of theblood orange, and you sawthat every stain upon itformed a most intricate andpleasing pattern, just as didevery tear in it, as thougheach had been skilfullypainted on or cut out. Thebeggingbowlwasnotmerelygilded,itwasevidentlygold,and dappled with somber

jewels. His staff of rottendriftwood, too, waselaborately carved and hadbuddeddarkgems,andup itranaslendergingerlizard,toperch on his shoulder, andlookaboutwitheyesoffieryjasper. The eyes of the manwere rimmed with gold,blazedwith it; their huewasnot to be seen, nor was iteasy to meet his gaze—indeed, more trouble than it

wasworth.Oloru sighed, and lowered

his lashes. said,“Unwelcome, uncousin. Orareyouanunbrothertome?Iaminclinedtoforget.”“Our relationship is often

deemed a close one,”concededthetraveler.“Why are you here?” said

ChuzbymeansofOloru,andhe threw a golden die at thelizard,which caught it in its

mouth.“Donotfeedmypet,”said

thetraveler,andextractedthedie, which, in his grasp,turnedtoashandsiftedtothefloor. His nails were goldenalso, and very long. Thelizard rumbled like a tinylion, balefully, at Chuz.“WhyamIhere?Whynot?Imust pass everywhere at alltimes. You see me in thisplace. Others concurrently

perceive me elsewhere. Andeven you have not left theearth particularly sane byyour apparent retreat. Someessence of you, too, madPrinceChuz,rovesandroarstheworldabout.”During this exchange,

Sovazhadstood tooneside,watching and listening.Nowshespokeagain.“I know you,” she said,

“and do not know you. A

beggar king? You namedyourself, did you not, at thedoor?”The man turned and

inclined his head to her,smiling. A golden diademevolved upon his hairlessburnished skull. The lizardlooked up at it and purredlikeakitten.“WhichnamedidIuse?”“Fate.”“ThenIamFate.”

“King Fate, one of theLords of Darkness,” saidSovaz, and she swept him ascornful bow such as someyoung warrior might havemadehim, thoughevery lineofherwaswoman.“AgentlereminderthatevenIwillnoteludeyou?”“Oh,come.Haveyouspent

solongwith andlearnednothing? I am only thesymbol of the name. Like

poor exhausted Death,tramping about the earthwith his carrion baskets,longing to get back to thequiet soft arms of hishandmaiden, Kassafeh. Orlikethatveryone,there,whohas gone mad himself toprove he exists and is real, only a symbol. While

under our feet this instantthere prowls another, yourown father, Wickedness. But

he was always different. Hefirstly existed, and then tookon the rôle. We humbleothers the rôle itself hascreated.”“What nonsense is this

peculiar fellow talking?”inquirednotChuz,butOloru,languidly. “It seems hepresumes on the maxim‘Enoughisneverenough.’”ButFate,ifsohewas(and

sohewouldseemtobe),

lookedatSovazandsaid,“Heisclosebehindyou.”“Whoisthat?”“Azhrarn.Whoelse.”“Fatewarnsmeofmyfate.

Does unhumbly rôle-playingPrince Wickedness wish tokillme?”“How could he? How

couldhewishit?”“You are mistaken,” said

Sovaz.“Hehasnointerestinme.”

Fate looked about.Politely,heexaminedthehallof the wondrous mansion,touching the tapestries andcrystal cups. The tiny lizardmewed and jumped down tochasesunbeamsonthefloor.Andhere,leavingtheauraofitsmaster,ittookonthetintsof sun and floor, becomingnearlytransparent,foritwaschangeable, too, achameleon.

“Areyouthen,”saidSovazto Fate, “Azhrarn’smessenger?”“DoI,aking,withmyown

kingly business to attend to,seemlikely toperformdutiesforanother?”“Discuss your own

businesswithme,then.”“I am here,” said Fate

simply and not unkindly.“Youhaveglimpsedme.Andthatisallwhichisneeded.”

And so saying, hesummonedthelizardagaintohis staff, and moving into adaggerofwestering light,hebecame one with it, andvanished.Afterthesunhadgone,and

nightingales sang in thewalnut grove which stoodalways, cot or palace,beneath the house wall,Sovaz left the arms of herlover. She paced about in a

gallery of columns open onone side to the night. Howintentlythestarsgazedatherover the tree-tops. Howwildly the nightingales sang,as if something haddisquietedthem,withecstasyor fear. Presently, silently,Sovaz called her lover backto her. She put her hand onhis shoulder. Her eyes said,There is no rest for me. Letuswalkoutinthedarkness.

So they wandered throughthe woods, where the blackfoxes came to play aboutthem, and the night flowersglowed and sent up theirperfume. And sometimes, bystarlight, the two wandererscast five shadows. But later,three of the shadowsvanished, though there wenta faint sound through thebranches,likewings.Coming at length into an

avenue of ancient trees,SovazandOlorusawatownspread below and beforethem,outofthewood.“Wewillgodown.Wewill

see what humankind doeswith itself in the last hoursbeforedawn.”Oloru smiled chidingly.

( Butthentherewas only a ghostly jackalwhich ran at her heels,grinning.Sovazpaidnoheed,

Humankind?)

nor did she assume herselfanyferalform.Herownskinwas too unfamiliar toexchangeitselfforothers.Thebarricadesofthetown

were shut, but there was aherders’ gate which Sovazbreathedupon,anditopeneditself.Downthestreets, then, the

womanwalked,withajackalloping after her. She hadsorcerously re-formed her

apparel—or maybe she hadonly put on fresh apparel inthe ordinary way—to thegarb of a young man, softboots on her feet, her hairwoundinacloth,alongknifeatherbelt.ItwasOloruwho,when he should choose toresume human shape, wouldbe found in an embroideredrobe and pearl- fringedslippers.The lamps burned low in

the town or were put out.Here and there a sleeplesswindow, or the inflamed eyeofatavern.

might,float upward like a leaf andlookinatallthesesleepers.Imight slip in under doors,between the narrowestlattices, revel in their sins,virtues, absurdities—and begonelikethenightbreeze.OrI might take the being of a

I Sovaz considered,

nightmare,andcausethemtowake screaming. Or seduce,or thieve, or kill. More, thewhole town I might stir tohavocandpanic,tomadness—and then he would forgethimself, my beloved, andremember himself, and helpmeatthework.Overhead the starsmassed

thickly. So many had comeouttonighttolookonSovaz,the Demon’s daughter, with

theirconcentratedstare.Butwhy, whydoit?Istheonlychallengeinthe world to be greed andviciousness? Is the onlysatisfyingpowerthepoweroftheascentovermen,theonlydream, ambition? And mustthealternativetogreed,evil,ambition—be onlysluggishness?Atwhichshefeltagloved

hand smooth her cheek.

thought she,

“Sluggishness? Is that thenameyoucallourlove?”“Our love,”shesaidaloud

toChuz,whoforasecondinthe person of Oloru walkedat her side, “our love rocksthe world. Yet what a littleeventisourlove.”Chuzlaughed,likeajackal

barking. Oloru saidplaintively, “Youwill smashmyheartinfragments.”“Youshallbeshakenthen,

andwhatapretty soundyouwill make, like a templesistrum.”And at this point they

reachedawineshopdoorandSovazwalkedinthere,asifithad been all along theirdestination.The guests who remained

were mostly sleeping, theirheads on their arms, or theirfeetonthetables.Sovaz seated herself in a

dark corner, and Oloru withher. A wine serverapproached them sullenly.“Wine, young . . . sir?” heaskedSovaz.“The wine here,” said

Oloru melodiously, andloudly, “is fit only as apurgativeforpigs.”“True,” said the server.

“Butdoyouwishitornot?”“However,” continued

Oloru, more loudly still,

“there is logic to that. Sinceall these slobbering swine inhereseemdueaspewing.”This caused some reaction

throughout the room. Theserver backed away andscurriedoutofaninnerdoor.“Who calls me slobbering

swine?” demanded a burlyvillain.“Not I,” said Oloru, with

winning grace. “I doubt Ishould dare. But someone

moretruthfulthanIissuretohavedoneit.”And standing up again he

drewfromhissleevethelyre,andstrummeditlightly.“Lovesomepig,Boldandbig,AllthepoetswillvieIncreatingashyLittleode,byandby,

To your charms inthestySobepatient,sinceIThinkitwrongTomakesongToapig.”

Drawing out anotched cleaver, thesubject of this fancynow rolled from his

table toward Oloru,who, naturally,shrankaway.

It was Sovaz who steppedbetweenthemandsaid:“Whatisyourquarrel?”“Off the path, stripling.

The other stripling hasearned himself a taste ofmyinstrumenthere.”“Why? Because he called

you‘pig’?Areyounotthen,”saidSovaz, ina silvervoice,

“exactly what he calledyou?”At this the villain shouted

and raised his murderweapon in the air—but theshout became a mysteriousgrunt before it finished, andthe knife clattered on thefloor.There,standinguprighton its back legs and wavingits foretrottersmadly,wasabristling and most angrymale pig—nor, alas, was it

even a boar, but of thefarmyard sort, lacking nowthe use not only of oneweapon,butoftwo.Upon this cue, even the

weariest sleepers in thetavern awoke or wereawakened.“ ” came the cry

on all sides, and over wentthe jars and cups and downrainedthecandles,andeveryman stampeded from the

Sorcery!

place.Withnosurprise,letitbeadded,onlywithakindofsmug fright. Had it not saidfor months, this area, thatthere were supernaturalcreaturesinitswoods?Only the pig remained

stampingaboutthewineshop,furiousbutalreadyforgettingwhy, and questing forsomething to eat among thespillagesofexodus.“Tooapt,”saidOloruwith

some pleasure, admiring thepig. “Let it go home now,and donate its bacon to itsdoxy.”“Better than that,” said

Sovaz, “let it go home andget into bed with the doxy,and see how they both likeit.” And she pointed at thepig, which gave her anunwilling glance. “Do thenasIbidit,you.Andwhenthesunrises,beamanagain, if

youeverknewhow.”The pig ran out, looking

irate.Olorusighed.“Toolenient.

Wait. I know a jackal whowill chase that pig allthroughthetown—”Yet, “Hush,” said Sovaz

suddenly. “Look there. Onewho did not run away. Nowwhyisthat?”Then Oloru was hushed,

paleasice.Helooked,asshe

looked, into another deepcorner of the tavern. For itseemed indeedonesat there,all muffled up in smoke andshade. Cloaked and cowledin black, only a handshowing white on the table,toying idly with some littlefigurines that glimmered inthe upset light. And on hisfingers many ringssmoldered.“Now,” said Oloru, “if I

wereaman,Iwouldhowltothegodstoprotectme.”“But you are not aman,”

said the voice from thecorner. “And you knowbetter.”Oloru gazed at Sovaz.His

eyes enlargedwith tears.Hesaid softly, “Let us fly tosomeotherspot.”“Do it,” said the voice

from the corner. “I will betheretogreetyou.”

It was a voice so fine theatmosphere was alreadycharged by it and grewelectric,asifbeforeastorm.Itwas so fine, even themicewho lived in the walls, andthe spiders who wove in therafter boughs above, creptout to listenand to see, thenfroze there, between dreamanddread.Then Sovaz remarked,

“The night has found the

powerofspeech.”The voice did not answer

her.Butoneofthelittlegamepieces the hand had toyedwithfellabruptlytothefloorandbrokeinbits.Ithadbeenthe figure of a fair-haireddamselrobedinwhite.Sovaz laid her hand

against Oloru’s breast. “Mycompanion,” she said to thecorner,“isnotalone.”Butatthatmoment,anass

brayed rackingly, once,twice, thrice, so all themiceand spiders fled swooningand squeaking and trailingdroppingsandgossamer.“Oh, are you there then,

afterall,”saidSovaz.And she left Oloru where

he stood, and kicking asidethe shattered winecups, shewalked to thecornerandsatdown on a bench facing theone inblack, only the trestle

betweenthem.Heraisedhishead.Atfirst

there came only the blackflameoftwoeyes,untilheputback the cowl. Then therewas the face of her father,Azhrarn,sculptedandpitilessand immeasurable, andempty. She had not properlyseen him some while.Perhaps not since that hourhe had first taken her to hiskingdomandabandonedher.

She had sighted him sinceonly once, in a forest,hunting, but far off, and notfor her. Always it seemed tohavebeen thisway, distanceand uninterest. He was nofather,noprince,nofriendtoher. She owed him nothingsavetheinspirationof life, ifshe should even be gratefulforsuchagift.They lookedateachother,

and finally she said, in a

small voice no longer silverbutiron,“Anddoyoubeholdinmemymother?”He said, “She would not

have looked atmewith suchimpertinence,orsuchhate.”“She had no cause, it

seems.”“Everycause.Butshewas

the honeycomb. You,conversely, are my child,through and through.Unforgiving, arrogant, and

proud; the wickedcallousness men worshipwhentheysaymyname,allisin you. But your wings ofmalicearenotyethardened.Whenyouareabletotaketheskieswiththem,thenweshallsee what you can do.Dunizel’sdaughter?No, youare only mine.” And hesmiledmostgorgeouslyuponher.Whenhedidso,Sovazspat

at him like a snake. But thespark of demon spit alteredinstantly to a silver flower.Hecaught it inhishandandheld it out to her, stillsmiling. Sovaz rose to herfeet and turned and walkedthreepacesaway.No longerlooking at him, she said,“Women you may woo, butnot this one. You have toldme, I am yourself. In vainthen your blandishments or

threats.”“Do you suppose I could

not destroy you in asecond?”Sovaz looked over her

shoulderathim.“Doit.”Azhrarn let the flower fall

on the table. It was gone.“You forget,” he said, “youare my puppet that I madeandmeantouse.Ihavesaid,Let uswait until you hardenin themold.When the paint

isdryonyou,youwillcometo me, and show me thevirtuous respect a daughtershould.”“Then,” said Sovaz, “may

alltheseasbefires.”Seated cross-legged on a

nearby table, a handsomeyoung man in a purple robeobserved, “Alas, I amforgotten.”“Not so,” said Azhrarn.

“Be flattered, Chuz, I came

seeking you. The woman isnot much to me, which shesees, as we note from herrage. You, I have takentrouble to close upon.You Ihave pursued like yourlover.”“Yes,” admitted Chuz-

Olorufromtheadjacenttable,“I am distinguished enoughnow to tempt even yourpalate. But it would not bepolitic, Azhrarn, for two

LordsofDarkness tocouple,asitwouldnotbesensibleforthem to engage in enmity.These are joys we mustforgo.”“Must we. I promised you

war, Chuz. My promises Ikeep.”Chuzsaidindolently,“One

blow shared between us willobliterate the town. If weduel, howmuch of the earthmay be damaged before one

ofusbeststheother?Andtheearth is dear to you, Ibelieve. Besides, can youslaughterme?I,too,mustbereborn. While there ismadness,thereIam.”Azhrarninturnrose.Ashe

moved from the corner, alltheblacknessof it seemed tocome out with him and toleap simultaneously intolights. Firmaments andwhirlwinds were caught

abouthim, inhisblackhair,thewingsof thecloakwhichrestlesslybeat.Starscrashedin every ring on his hands,andinhiseyesworldsendedandbeganandended.Tothisapocalyptic background, hegently said, “I mean to payyouout. Itwillbedone.Youharmedwhatwasdeartomeandundermyprotection.”“I have said before,” said

Chuz, yet perched on his

table, yet almost like aman,“it was no fault of mine.Blame that other one, hewhose murmurings seem tohave driven us here, LordFate. Blame yourself. BlameDunizel for her destiny as asacrifice.Blameeveryonebutme. What am I? Only theworld’s servant.” ThenChuzhimself raised his goldenhead. The face was stillflawless,stillOloru’s.Butno

longerOloru’satall.Andoutof the eyes looked someappalling red-black thing.“But I lie,” saidChuz. “Youknow I lie. It ismy homageto you, as was my carefuldisguise, and my franticrunning away all this time.Yes, conceivably her deathmay be seen as my fault. Ifso, I do not know why Ishouldhavewantedit,forshewas lovely, innocent, and

wise. But insanity doesnothing by the book. Guiltythen,unbrother,asyouwish.”And Chuz came from thetable and went to Azhrarn.And standing there, meetinghis terrible eyes with eyesequallyasterrible,Chuzsaidthis: “Youmaynot eradicateme.Youwouldbeas foolishtofightwithmeasIwouldbefightingwith you. But see, Ioffer myself before you and

will accept any penance youdecree, provided it may becompassed. Such an offer ismadness, therefore fitting.Take your vengeance then,chastise me. But, Azhrarn,you do it by my agreementonly.”At these words, Azhrarn

cursedChuz.Everyflickeringcandle in the tavern died atonce.Outside, the last lampsof the town perished. The

very stars seemed to falteroverhead, though probablytheydidnot.“Youareclever,Madness.

Yes, there is no othermeans,”saidAzhrarninthatblack quiet. “I accept yourterms. We will so concludeour quarrel. This the firstnight, tomorrow the second;at the third expect myanswer, and yourpunishment. It shall not be

nothing, Chuz. You arewarned.”Then, where the Prince of

Demons had stood was onlya column of scarlet searinglightless flame, which, goingout, left a cold-hotwound inthedark,thatfadedslowly.Whileinallthelandabout,

dogs wailed, and windshowled, and leaves rottedfrom trees, and a brief rainfell that stained the walls of

the dwellings of men likedilutedblood.“If Iwere awoman Iwouldsay, What now will becomeof you? And I would weep.Youwill be ripped frommeforsomelivingdeathhewilldevise. I cannot think what.Butsoitwillbe.”“If Iwere aman, Iwould

holdyouinmyarms,asIdo,and kiss your hair, as I do,

and the blue tears of yourblue,blueeyeswouldspringinto eyes,astheydo.AndIwould say,What else is tobedone?”“Why did you kill my

mother?”“DidIkillyourmother?”“Whydidyoukneel tomy

father?”“DidIkneeltohim?”“Liarandfool.”“Whatisanyofthistous?

Time is endless and ours.Love and death are only thegamesweplayinit.”“Youhavebeenmyfather,

you have been my brother,andmy beloved. If Iwere awoman, if I were a child, Iwould weep. Oh, let meweep.”

TWO DAYS and a nightbetween them. What to dothen,with these last secondsbefore the ending of theworld? Unhuman beings,they made the time seem tostretch for them, yet, suchvistas before them, eternity,how swiftly this small rationranaway.

The cottage was amansion.They lured to itbysorcerous means a host ofpeople,feastedthem,createdfor them an orgy ofpleasures, and lorded it,prince and princess, andloaded with presents theensorceledguests.Andsomeof the donations weresumptuousandgoodly;someturned to frogs and owlpelletsontheroutehome.

Themansionwasacottage.Theyspentadayaspeasants.Sovazbakedblackbreadandcooked a broth of herbs androots. Chuz (you could notcall him Oloru now, thoughstill he wore Oloru’s shape)cutgrassforhayandlogsforthe fire. With garlands ofwildflowersintheirhairtheyate the impoverished meal,where,garlandedwithrubies,they had just previously

supped on transparent winesandmagicmeats.In the second night, those

two days’ center, theyroamed about the trees. Thepools of the wood sprang todiamond, the foliagespangled, and breatheddisembodied music. Birdswhich sang by day stirredand sang for them by night.They lay down there, thelovers,and loved.Remember

me by this, they said, aslovers then, now, havealwayssaid,whomustpart.But the third night, after

their humble peasants’ day,they arrayed themselves likekings and left the cottagedeserted.Theywentdeepintothewood,toaplacethatwasso dense and black nothingcame there ever, not bird orbeast, not man, nor evendemon, probably, till then.

And here they waited forAzhrarn.A long while, too, they

waited, or a long whileAzhrarn, the Prince ofDemons, made them wait.The moon passed over theblack place, and one thinwireoflightprobedthrough,and then was drawn awayagain.She said at last, all

pretenseover,“Doyouguess

what he will demand ofyou?”“I think I guess. I believe

in a manner I have beenforetoldofitbyhim.”“Itisfearful?”“Perhaps. And just, in its

way.”“Ceasespeakingasaman.

Speak as Prince Chuz now,myguardian,mylord.”“Oh, beloved,” he said,

“my lady,my soulless soul’s

dreamofnightandsunrise.”“No,”saidSovaz,

“unlessyouwillrefusehim.”“Impossible.Itmustbe

done.”“Whatwillthelegendssay

ofyou?”inquiredSovazbitterly. aLordofDarkness,toacceptthebaneofaVazdruwhoonlyhatedyouforslayinghismistress.”“Onceitwas,‘Whydid

“You,

youkillmymother?’”“Once. But she was only

his.Doesthewinecallthejar‘Mother,’ when the wine isspilled? So I was for her,wineforhisuse.”But then the moon came

back into the dark. Not onedull wire now, but a vastiridescence, as if dry waterpoured through the trees, oraheatlessconflagration.Hehadannouncedhimself,

knocked upon the door. Itwas not politeness, only athreat; they should noticeandbecareful.Azhrarn walked after the

light, entered the glade, andstoodinitwiththem.And as she had said to

Chuz, so the Demon said tohim instantly: “Do youguess?”“ItwouldseemIdo.”“Do you consent?” said

Azhrarn.“Iadmireyoutoowell,”

saidChuz,“towrangle.”“Azhriaz,”saidthe

Demon.Butsheanswered,“Thatis

notmyname.”“It is your name,” said

Azhrarn.“Azhriaz,whatwillyou do, when he is lost toyou? You are nothing to measyet,butIamcurious.”“Stayso,”shesaid.“Ishall

onlyfollowhim.”“Thus let it be,” said

Azhrarn. “Now I shall tellyouwhatyouwill follow.Hehasbeenaman,andfair,andhehasbeenpleasedtoclaimall such deeds are hismadness. But by ouragreement now, to give mesome recompense he mustrelinquish his state and hispowers, and even theevidently charming mortal

guise thatheputon for you.Mad now Chuz shall be.Trulymad,asamortalknowsit. Mindless, screaming,foaming,andtearinghimself.More beast than any ass orjackal. Less aman than anyman he has artisticallydressed himself to imitate. Ashunnedoutcastof the tribesoftheearth,amockforeveryunearthly thing. To demons,a new joke theywill indulge

and disdain. No longer alord,aprince,oramagician.Foul and disfigured, eachsideofhim—allowthatImissno quintessence of the irony—mattedandmaimed,andsoto go scrabbling over theworld. That the world maysee,ifitisable,thatevenhisday-playing peers must becourteous to the Master ofNight. And all this, for amortal lifetime, he must and

will endure, till some grossmortal death rids him of thevile disease that is himself.Only then, Chuz, may Chuzbe Chuz again. The wholesentence you will serve. Orservenoneof it, andwewillfindanotherway.”“Mydear,”saidChuz,

languidly,“whatgreaterhappinesscantherebeformethantoexperience—ifforsuchalittle, while—thelittle

life-styleofmyownsubjects?”“Gothen,”saidAzhrarn.

“Behappy.”“No,” said Sovaz. She

spoke coldly and she seizedthe wrist of her lover. “Youwere Oloru. You are mine.Youmaynot leavemeathiswhim, to suffer for hisdisgustingsport.”“Hewillleaveyou,”said

Azhrarn.“Hewillsuffer.”

“Thenhetoobetraysanddesertsme,”saidSovaz.“Chuz,doyouhearwhatIsay?Ifyouobeyhim,Iconcludeitmustbeyourwillandyourwish.”But the face of Chuz had

subtlyaltered.Hesaidtoher,“Asmen die in the flesh, sothe undying, too, have theirdeaths.This itwouldappearistobeadeathofmine.Andhe, he has died often. One

night, he will recount thestories. For now,Oloru tellsyouthis:Ofallthestars,theflowers, the songs of earth,or beneath or above theearth, you are the brightest,loveliest, best.What is thereto fear? There is all time tomeetagain.”And then he walked away

from her, under the black,light-touched waves of thewood. Out of which there

sooncamethebrayingcryofan ass, and then a strangewavering shriek and thesplintering of branches. Andbirds that had slept thereburst upward to be gone inhaste.Presently Azhrarn, who

hadstoodlookingoffintothedark, said, “I am satisfied.For the moment.” And heglanced at the girl and saidtoher,“Thereistheroadhe

took, if you mean to goafter.”Then she did begin to go

thatway.AndasshewentbyAzhrarn,Sovazspoketohim,one word of Underearthwhichthecrudefilthy-mindeddwarfish Drin, lowest casteof demonkind, sometimeswroteuponthewallsofeachother’shabitations.“ThatIcallyou,”said

Sovaz,“andthatyouare.”

“Foryourmother’ssake,”hesaid,“Iwillrestrainmyhand.Buttherewillcomesomemidnightwhenyouwillmakeamendsforit.”“Whentheseasarefires

andthewindsseasandtheearthglass,andthegodscomedownonladderstolickthefeetofmen. Iwill.Perhaps.”Azhrarnsaidnomore.Nor

she. She had said surely

enough.And turning fromhim, she

fled away through the treesafter Chuz, like a frightenedchild.

PARTTHREEFairisNotFair

MADNESStherehadalways been, in oneform or another, ontheearth.When firstit came, it wasnameless,aswereallthings.Butsoonmen

coinedanameforit,since there must benamesforeverymoteand seed. And afterthe name came thename’sBeing,whichwas called PrinceChuz, and becamePrince Chuz, and

One of his own subjectsnow, Chuz. All Azhrarn hadsaid hewould be.No longer

fine. No longer, at his ownchoice, half shining bright,half eerie sinister shadow—likethelunaticmoon.Nowalumbering fear-shape atwhich to slam and bolt thedoors, to say,

But the beaststhemselves flee from it, theforests sink silent. Itflounders through mire andswamp, through the highpalisades of thorns. The

What beastpasses?

ducks rise from the reeds,exclaiming. In a dead tree ithaltstorest,ifrestitmust.Ina village street it appears,andthemenflingstonesatit,even take their bows andhunting spears and let flywith those. Till, quilled likethe porcupine, it absconds,squealing,hurt,buthit innovitalspot—foritstimetoendis far off. Did Azhrarn notpromise?

Madness has gone mad.Truly mad, and utterly. AndChuz’s princely kingdom ofthe mad—they know it. Itdrives them to worseexcesses, to more comatosedeclines.They pine, they take up

knives, and fall down in fitsto prophesy the world’sending,orthatsomecolossallumbering elemental, slickwithbloodandmud,prickled

by arrows, is sweepingthrough men’s lives like awindfromchaos.But only the mad

understand this. And whoheeds them? If the times areout of joint, were they notalways so? When was theworldeverperfect?Speakofgolden ages, ages ofInnocenceandDream.Thoseare tales for children. Thusruns the philosophy of the

Flat Earth, bearing someresemblance to that of theroundone.But where humanity had

hidden and muttered now it openly

stared and said, “Whatmaidenisthis?”Sovaz went by without a

look.The earth—what was the

earth toher?Abirthright solong denied, a treasure

Whatbeast passes?

house,analiendesert—Somesawherasamaiden,

a white dress, bare feet, noornament but her eyes, andher long hair for a mantle.Somesawher inmaleattire,striding fierce as a panther.Somedidnotseeher,sensedher,afragrance,themarkofone narrow foot in thedust....There was an anecdote. A

young lord, finding just such

an exquisite footprint, fell inloveevenwiththat,dreamingup an exquisite foot to fit it,so a limb, so a whole body,face, and personality. Andthen,sleeplessandwildened,he sent his soldiers overeveryinchofthatkingdom,tobring him all the women,young or old, virgin, nubile,prepubescent. The married,the celibate, the hag—allwerebrought,manyweeping

and protesting, theirhusbands, lovers, religiousorders, and relatives inuproar, and hurrying after.Whentheprocessioncametothelord’shouse,hehadthemtaken, the women, to theforest path where he hadspied the print of the foot ofSovaz. “It is sorcery,” hesaid. “She has disguisedherselftoteaseme,forthatisever awoman’sway, to flirt

andrunoffandsayNo,sincea man’s part is to demandand pursue and tell her Yes.Even theelderlywomen,onemay be one, hidden byher powers. But I will findher out.Even if she seems achildoftwelve.”So then the women, angry

or afraid, or hopeful andwilling, were made to seteach their left foot in thefootprint.Nonematched,and

thelordgrewpale,andpalerandmorepale.Thenatlastagirl came, among the verylast.Sheputherfootintothefootprint, and see! It was aperfectfit.Thelordleaptupandupon

thetrack.Themaidenwasofaseasonableage,latespring.And she was, as he hadknown she would be, verybeautiful.He tookherby thehand.“So,youcaneludeme

no longer.” “No, my lord,”saidthemaiden,andloweredher eyes. She was a poorman’s daughter and hadspent her days so far inherding sheep. She agreeddemurely and apologeticallywith the land’s lord that shehad set him this test, to besure of him, and thatcertainly her raggedappearancewasallpartofamischievous plan. “But

believe me,” she added, “itwas not my aim to vex you.My kindred and I have forlong years been under thesorcerouscurseofanenemy.My fatherwasonceaking.”“Iwillnottreathimasless,”said the land’s lord. (So webeholdherenotonlythefootof Sovaz, but the hand ofFate.) And he wedded themaidenandraisedherfatherand brothers also up to the

rankoflords,where,letitbesaid, they all livedrighteously.Meanwhile Sovaz followed

the mad, mindless animalthat had been her own lordand lover, sometimes losingthetrail.Her purpose set but also

grewdull.Hehadabandonedher, like others. It was aperverted adventure for him,tobetorturedinthisway.He

had preferred Azhrarn’sjusticetoherlove.But it seemed there was

nothingelselefttoher,buttofollow.Herpowerswerevast—she knew them withoutmuch trial of them. It mightbe she could negateAzhrarn’s malice. Or wouldChuz,revelinginpunishment,denythehealingspell?There was, it is true, a

tradition for such awandering search. Thelegendshadseveralexamples—for instance, how Shezaelthe Half-Souled had gone tosearch for the insane heroDrezaem, in whose bodydwelled theotherhalfofherspirit. How Simmu, when agirl, had followed her loverZhirek—before he became amage, when he was only apriest, exiled and tormented,

andmadwith anguish. Aftervarious trials andtribulations, Shezael andDrezaem had been united.SimmuandZhirekalso,foralittlewhile, tillFate,and thedemons,partedthem.Thoughlong after, they met again.Simmu(whocouldbemanorwoman, now a man) hadstolenadraftofImmortality,andsoincommodedUhlume,Lord Death. Thereafter,

Simmu came to rule in ademon-builtcityofimmortalsat the earth’s easternmostcorner. Here, Zhirek camebacktohim,butnolongerasa lover or a friend. AndSimmu’s city, Simmurad, ofrosy stone and jade andsilver, Simmurad lay underthesea,now.Verylikely,thesememories

attendedonSovazinherlongwalk.

While following the crazymindlessthing,shecameintothe murkier regions of theearth,pronetounreasonablehappenings.

The romanticsheltering forests layfar behind. Therewere hills, andmountains, whereonly the passingcumulusgave shade.

Shecouldoutfacethesun, the Demon’sdaughter, andsometimes, atsunbirthorsundeath,shecouldfallinlovewith the solar disk.Yet there were daysthe sun beat uponSovaz, and then shesuffered in hidden,deep-rooted ways.And she came to

travelmuchbynight,through the talllands, under themoon for a whitesun,andallthetearsof it, the stars, hermotionless continualcompanions.Nordidshe journey alwayson foot along theground. She daredall her abilities, andsometimes she

walked in the veryair,lavingherfeetinits coolness. Orsometimes she rodeon sorcerouscarpets, or calledblack birds fromtheir rocky sentryposts to carry her.And once,discovering a stonelion carved from thehill, the marker of

someforgottentomb,Sovazmadethebeastriseup,andsherodeon its back threenights and the daysbetween, before shereturned it to thedead.

It was a deserted district.Nonesaw.Only madness had gone

before. She noted theevidence of that progress.

There was little to be seen,muchtobefelt.Thenshehadwalked up into the highestterraces of the highmountains, and emergingonto a deep balcony ofgranite as the dawn began,she found the land fell awaybefore her, the jagged wallsofthemountainslevelingtoablanched barren plain. Thisspreadtothehorizon.As she stood in the

mountain balcony, somepeople, clad like destitutes,appeared along theneighboring ledges, out ofcavesandholesthere.“Maiden,” they called to

her, one after the other.There was somethingannoyingtotheirvoices.Andthen,anelderlymansteppedforward.Onthebreastofhiswretched robe he wore apectoralofgold,andacirclet

ofgoldaroundhisheadheldhis dusty hair from hiscolorless face. He pointed athinfingerather,onwhichaheavyringtookfire.“Maiden,”saidhe,“travel

no further. Do not seek theplain.Itisawickedzone,andaccursed. Beyond, by theriver—which is now a canaloffoulness—liesacitywhichis a city no more, but asewer. Turn back.Or, if you

areweary, rest a spacewithus.”“You are too kind,” said

Sovaz. “But maybe you arealso untruthful, the citybeauteous and wholesome—which, being the outcasts ofit, plainly, you revile tostrangers.” The spokesmansighedandfrowned.“Truly, we are outcasts.

Hesitateamongus,andIwilltellyouthecause.”

“Again,youaretookind.Iamuninterested inyourcity,oryourtalesofit.”And saying this, Sovaz

went on along the shelves ofthemountain, not attemptingto go down to the plain, butonlyseekingstill forhimshesought.Behind her, the refugees

from the city muttered andlamented.TherisensunkissedSovaz

viciously.Shewaswearyandsickatheart.Close to noon, she entered

acaveforreliefandrest.It seemed toherChuzhad

spent an hour or so in thecave. It was filled by anunseen noiseless scentlessawfulness, and in the softerrock ragged nails hadgouged a pattern. A littlewater ran down there, andSovaz drank from it, as a

human drinkswho is thirsty.For some needs are notneedful,yettheyare.Later, she slept. And she

dreamed, but in the generalway of the Vazdru, abstractfabulous dreams, though,waking up as the sun begantogodown,shedreamed foronehalf secondasawomanmight have done, and shesaw Oloru-who-was-Chuz,handsome, strong, and

cunning, and her beloved.But then he was gone.

There framed in the cavemouththesunburnedoutonthe plain. And there were,too, several other smallersuns which did not set:torches. The destitutes who

Forever I may go after andnevercatchuptohim.IsthatAzhrarn’spunishmentofme,also,formybirththatnowheregrets?

had stayed her earlier hadcomeandfoundherhere,andsat in the cave’s entrance.Themanwiththeinsigniaofgoldwas seated across fromher, glaring. Sovaz noticedtheyhadboundherwhileshesleptwith thickcords.Therewas some raw but effectivemagic on the cords, for shehad not been aware of thebinding, and she knew atonce it would take some

powers of hers to break theknots. She did notimmediately perform thefeat.“Andnow,”saidtheman,

“youwilllisten,insolentgirl.”“Then,”saidSovaz,“Iwill

listen.TakecarenottobetediouswiththisstoryyouinsistImusthear.”But theman onlywent on

withhisglaring.

“Out there,” he said,“miles off, where the sunperishes, lies the river, andbytheriverthecitywhichiscalled Shudm, though thatwas not always its name.Tiered and darkly gilded isShudm, and sixmasters ruleit,andthreemistresses.Butitismy classwhichwaswonttomake thegovernors there.Now, like a vulture, I sit upin the caves and watch the

city in my mind’s distance,and warn from it thosetravelers I may. But all Iinformofthehistoryofnew-named Shudm—whichmeans the Portioned One.”Sovaz yawned behind herwhitehand,andwithaslightgesture broke one of thebinding cords in two. If theman saw was not certain. Itwas black now, but for thetorchfire, and he leaned

nearer.“WhatdoyouseekinShudm?”Sovaz said: “You try my

patience. Go on with yourstoryorhavedone.”

Mygoalislost tome. Imay aswell behere as anywhere. Mysummer of love is ended.Winterarrives.But the man said, all-

importantly,“Wecallthetaleor

Butshethought,

Liliu, ApplesofFire.”

After which he told it her,in much detail, so her ownlife seemed towithdraw intotheshadows.

2TheStoryofLiliu

THERE HAD livedthen, in the tieredcity by the river, inthe days before itwas known asShudm, a richmerchant-lord. Hehadoneson,hisheir,bynameJadrid.Forthissonthemerchant

would, as they said,have plucked applesoffire—helovedhimso much and couldrefusehimsolittle.

In due course, amarriagewastobearranged.Butnoneof the prospective damselssatisfied the ideals of thisyoung man, though he wasshown several portraits, andwas even, in some cases,permitted to gaze through

curtainsandhedgesuponthehopeful candidates. Themerchant was at his wits’end, for riches and powermustpasson.One day, near sunfall, a

man came to the gate.Despite his lack ofattendants, the stranger wasfinely dressed and borehimself like someone ofconsequence. He wasaccordingly admitted. On

entering the presence offather and son, who hadhappenedtobeplayingchesstogether, the visitor spoke inthis way: “Sirs, I hear thatthis house requires a bridefor itsheir,but that tobe fitfor him she must be bothhighly accomplished and ofsurpassing beauty. Knowthen, that I serve a mightymaster,andthathisdaughteris of just such a sort. He

whose mouthpiece I am hastherefore sentme to tell youthat should the lordly heirventure this very night tofollow me, he shall secretlybe shown the girl, and maymake judgment whether Ihaveofferedtruthorlie.”Father and son were each

takenaback.“Who is he then, this

mighty one you serve?”demandedthemerchant.

“That I may not, at thisjuncture, tell you. You willreadily understand, in theunlikely event of your son’srefusingher,mymasterdoesnotwanthisdaughterorhishouse dishonored, and thereis slight chance of this inanonymity.”Themerchantdidnotseem

inclined to smile on thesewords.Butalreadytheyoungmanfeltacuriousexcitement

and desire to try theadventure—and turned tomurmur tohis father.Applesoffire—Perhapshalfanhourlater,

as the fire-apple of the sunitself lay redand lowon theriver, Jadrid was walkingalong behind the stranger-servant. Who had advisedhimthus:“Keepalwayssomesevenpacesatmyback.Utterno word to me, nor to any

other,neitherletanydistractyoufromourcourse.”Indeed, they were not two

streets’ distance from themerchant’sdoorswhensomefriends of the young man’swere seen approaching withgarlands and torches, enroute to an entertainment.NotingJadrid, theycalled tohim to join them. But he,faithfultohisquest,shookhishead gravely and moved on

withoutstopping.Awhileafter,asheandhis

guide were turning into thenarrower byways near thedock, a beggarwoman lyingin an arcade cried out softlyto Jadrid for alms. Itwas inhis mind to give her somecoins, but in the dark reddimming of the light, hethought he saw the servantmake a sharp gesture ofremonstrance. So Jadrid

ignored the beggar, and lefthermaligninghim.Thenextminute,agroupof

priests from one of thetemples appeared on thenarrow way, ringing bellsand chanting. As they drewclose, Jadrid stepped asideperforce to let them by, butone of the priests turned toclasp his arm, sayingurgently: “The body is onlydust;whythendoyouseekto

joy the body? It is the ever-living soul which should beyour care—” And a readytheosophicalretortsprangtothe lips of Jadrid, and hecrusheditdownanddumbly,if politely, disengagedhimself,beforehurryingoninthe wake of the mysteriousservant.Shortly after this, the sun

sankaltogether.Jadridfoundthathehadby

now followed his guide intotheoldestquarterofthecity.Soontheycameonadesertedboulevard between highwalls, above which rose thetopsofmanygreatmansions,but all unlit. The night waseverywhere, and dark, butstrung with stars, whichmade their white music ofsilence. Not a sound was tobe heard from the city’sheart; only sometimes there

would be a rustling in thetrees which overhung thewalls. Jadrid, who hadpersuaded his father, nowbegantosuspectvillainy,andput his hand to the longdagger at his belt. But theservant had paused beside asmalldoor,andunlockingit,intimatedthattheyoungmanshouldpassthroughalone.With some caution, Jadrid

did go to the door, and

peered inside. What laybeyond the wall was only agarden, rather overgrown,but with a variety of sweet-smelling blossoming trees.Even as he hesitated, a lightbloomed out in the midst ofthem,and therecame the liltof a long-necked harp, mostskillfullyplayed.“Why do you wait?”

whispered the servant toJadrid. “Each evening my

master’s daughter plays inthe arbor.Go only as far asthose three peach trees, andyoucanviewasmuch.”Just then, there came

winging through the air thenotes of a female voice,exquisitelysinging.Andas ifenchanted, Jadrid stoleforward to the peach treesandlookedbetweenthem.There in a little pavilion

burned three round lamps

that flashed with jewels. Butunderthelampsthereburnedthe brightest light and jewelofall.ItseemedtoJadridhehad

neverseensuchfairbeautyinany mortal thing, andprobably he had not.Trellised with goldenornaments, her hair was thesame dark red color thedying sun had been, and itsplashedinacascadeacross

her shoulders, and shone allgold too where the lampsburnishedit.Herskin,ringedwithgold,waspalerthanthefinest white paper. As sheplayedher song to the stars,the gems on her slenderfingers dazzled Jadrid. Buther eyes, which did not seehim,smotehimalmostblind.For some while she sang,

and surely never did amaiden sing so perfectly.

Jadrid stood rooted to thespot.Atlengththegirlsettheharp aside, rose on tiptoe toblow out the lamps, andalmostslewthewatcherwithher grace. Then she stoleaway toward the house, andvanishedindarkness.Slowly,Jadridturnedfrom

the peach trees and went tofind the servant, who waswaiting for him at the door,armsfolded.

“I—”saidJadrid.“Say nothing now,” said

theservantmildly.“Thereonthe road waits a chariot,whose driver has beeninstructed on the quickestroutewhereby to attain yourhouse.”Jadridlookedandsawthat

achariothad indeedarrivedby the mansion’s wall, withthree proud horses in theshafts, and a driver who

huddledtohisbusinessmorelikeamonkeythanaman.“Weshallhearfromyou,it

may chance,” said theservant.“Atfirstlight,”saidJadrid.“Suchhasteisnotneedful.

We are fond of the night,here. Send at tomorrow’sdusk, if youwish.” Then theservanthimselfwent into thegardenandclosedthedoor.Jadrid, all bemused,

walkedtothechariot,enteredit,andsatdown.Thejourneywentbyinadreamingwhirl,sothatthebridegroom—whonow wished to be nothingmore vehemently—scarcelynoted any of it, its unusualspeed, thewild agility of theleaping horses, theirthinness,theoddmonkey-likeslavewhomanagedthem.Returned to his father’s

house, and going straight to

thatfather’schamber,Jadridmadehisconfession.“I will wed this one, or

none.”The merchant was

troubled,but—applesoffire.

Nowthewholeaffairwas rather bizarre,but not unseemly,and in the end eventhemerchanthadputoff his doubts as

satisfied. Ittranspired that thestrange servant’saugustmasterwas avery learned but avery old man, foryears in wretchedhealthandnowneardeath. He, havingvast wealth and onecharming daughter,wished to disposebothwisely andwell

beforehisdeparture.He had thereforemade inquiries, anditseemedtohimthata particularmerchant-lord, thefather of Jadrid,would be a suitablefather-in-law, themerchant’s houseanexcellent andworthyone, and themerchant’s son,

Jadrid, a noblehusband.All this thegirl’s fathercommunicated to themerchant by meansof elegant letters,accompanied alwaysbygiftsofsurpassingmagnificence. Thatthe elderly invaliddid not himselfappear was due, ashesaid,tohisillness

having made himfeeble and reclusive.His child,nevertheless, he waseager to bestow onJadrid, and uponJadrid’s avowal shehad beenenlightened, anddeclared herself,dutiful daughter thatshe was, willing toabidebyherfather’s

choice.Her name was Liliu.

Besides her loveliness, shehad been gently and ablyreared,couldreadandwritein many languages, was amusicianofnoslightart—yetalso was she childlike andinnocent. And because ofthis, on a single point thefather begged indulgence. Itwould seem that, virtuousand loving as she was, the

girl had spent most of hertime with her ailing parent.Andhisillnesshadmadehimunable to bear any but therays of the moon or thesubfusc of candles; sunlightworsened his condition. Soher new protectors must, iftheywould,belenientatfirstwith Liliu’s aversion to thesun—for,livingbynightwithherfather,andtakingagainstthe sun for his sake, she

might wish to eschew thehours of day for a time,rising at sunfall as hadbecome her habit, sleepingthrough themorningand theafternoon.This seemed most

understandable. Besides, theideaofwakefulnightsdidnotdispleasetheyoungman.He,too,hadsomethingofthesortinmind.So letters and presents

wereexchanged,priestswereconsulted, the propersacrifices made to the gods(who,asever,ignoredthem),necessaries laid in,furnishingsmade ready.Andat last the night arrivedwhen, lit by torches, Jadridwent to claim his bride—forconvenience’ sake, since theold father was at death’sdoor,fromthepavilioninthegarden.

There she sat, veiled anddemure, among flowers andperfumes, her dowry (whichwas truly wondrous) piledaround her. The sick parent,as was expected, wasnowhere to be seen. Oddly,neither did she have anyattendants. It was assumedthey modestly stood back inthe surrounding trees,consigning her to thebridegroom’scare.

Jadrid had no worries onthisscore.They were accordingly

married, Liliu and Jadrid.Seldom was a bride morefair, more circumspect, ormore winsome. Seldom abridegroomsoenvied.Aloft in the bedroom,

having disrobed his wife,Jadrid learned that herperfections were as all-encompassingashehadbeen

feverishly dreaming theywere. And though shewas avirgin,andrenderedhim theproofs, yet she seemed,perhaps from her erudition,to have gained manywisdomswhich—withpropertimidity at first, but seeingthat her actions were notamiss, with ever greaterassurance—she practiced onhim,sothathispleasurewasdoubled and trebled, and

actuallywentbeyondallsuchmeager mathematical limits.Somuch so indeed, that laterevelers, who happened toeavesdrop under hiswindows, were highlygratified.Itwasinfactatthecrest of one such deliciousexcursion that Jadrid,flingingoutanarmunwarily,overturnedaewerthatstoodby the bed. The ewer, inbreaking,cuthim.

“Oh, my dearest lord!”exclaimed Liliu, as he sankback spent, to discover thathiswristbled.“It is nothing at all,” said

Jadrid.ButLiliu,notunfittinglyfor

a young wife, was mostconcerned.“No,no.Whocantellwhat

infectiontheremaybeontheedges of the broken thing.”

thought Jadrid, full of(Yes,

tenderest sympathy,

“Now, if you willpermitme,here is the surestremedy, which will cleanseyour veins of all poisonousstuff.” And saying this, sheput hermouth to thewound.Jadrid was amazed, andtouched at her solicitude.That venoms could beremoved in such a way, heknew.Buthowwellshemust

she hasbeen too long with a sickman.)

love him so to tend him!When eventually she waspositive all harm had beensucked forth—it took a littlewhile, she was veryconscientious—Liliu smiled,and set her lips to otherwork.Soon,shemountedhimlightly, and with anabandoneddancingbeautifulto behold and of a divineanguishtoexperience,beganto draw him toward the

seventhgatewayofthenight.I

thoughtJadrid.Anon, his loud groansbroughtanewtoastfromtherevelers below, and shookseveral fruits from thedamson tree that grewagainstthewall.When he woke at sunrise,

Jadrid saw his wife hadalready vacated their bed,and sought the daytime

Ah—whatawife havebeenblessedwith!

seclusionwhichhehad,kindhusband as he meant to be,prepared forher.Hehimselfsleptwellpastnoon.

Thefirstweeksofthemarriage, then,wentby in harmony. Theonlydiscordsoundedin the area of theyoung wife’spreference for nightoverday,fromwhich

she, so meek in allelse, would notbudge.

thoughtJadrid. So, herestrained hisdiscontent. (Ah, yes.Applesoffire.)

But in this way, Jadrid,having business affairs hemustattendtointhedaytime,saw rather less of his wife

That is thegreat love she boreher father,

than was customary, for hecouldnotkeepawakeall thenight through, as it seemedshedid.Therewasoneotherslight

peculiarity. At the nuptialfeast, Liliu had eatennothing, and drunk nothingsave a sip or two of water.This had been taken fortimorousness, or sorrow atleaving her father. Yet, evennow,Liliuwouldeatnothing

in her husband’s sight. Sheassured him, living as shehad so long with an ailingmanwho could partake onlyof gruel, she had got in theway herself of eating onefrugal meal a day, and thatalone. Jadrid remainedamenable to this custom,though it subtly discontentedhim.Afteramonthhadgoneby,

Jadrid became irritable over

little things.Onemorninghehad woken a space beforesunrise,wishingverymuchtoembraceLiliu.Butthoughthesun was not yet over thehorizon,hiswifehadalreadyleft his bed. AccordinglyJadrid broke his fast aloneand in an ill humor, and ithappened that one of theservants spilled a dash ofsalt, and Jadrid cursed her,because it was unlucky.

Suddenly the woman burstintoafloodoftears.“Oh,mylord,” she wept, “unluckyyoumaywellsay.Onlyletmego onmy knees and tell youthe thing I have kept hiddenthese past three days, andwhichhasfilledmewithsuchdistress, I have been nearlyoutofmymindatit.”Jadrid, astonished, forgot

hisbadmood.“Speak at once,” he said.

“Do not fear my wrath. Ihave none, unless youcontinuetokeepsilent.”Then the woman told

Jadridthis,asfollows.Owing to her tasks in the

house, she was frequentlyobliged to get up beforecockcrow, and one earlymorning, when it wantedsomehalf hour of dawn, shewasfillingawater jarat thecourtyard well when she

heard a stealthy noise,nearby and, as it seemed,underground. Somethingmade the woman cautious,indeed, rather afraid. So sheleft her jar and took shelterbehind a bush against theprivy wall. After a moment,her heart almost started outof her breast. For whatshouldhappenbutoneofthebig old paving stones in theyardbegantoliftbyitsroots,

and presently it stood on itsside,andupoutof theplaceunderneath came gliding adreadful apparition, in thepredawn dusk all glaringdark and white. No soonerwasitclearoftheholethanitset back the paving stone asifthehugethingweighedlikeafeather.Thenit turnedandlooked carefully about it.(Never had the woman beenso glad to bloom unseen.)

For sure, the arrival was aghastly sight,a femalebeingin a white shift, but alldabbled and filthy with dirtand—coulditbewithblood?Goingtothewell,itletdownthe bucket, and when thebucket came up again, thecreature washed itself. Andthen for the first time thewoman saw that what hadcome up in blood and filthfrom under the earth was

none other than her youngmaster’syoungwife,Liliu.“Whereshehadbeen Ido

not know, nor do I wish toknow. But surely somethinghaddelayedher—shewasallanxietylestanycomeoutandcatch her at her washing.Then, when she was clean,and hadwrung out her longhair,shewent intothehouseand away to her ownchamber that she cleaves to

by day. And now,” said thewoman sullenly, folding herhands, “I suppose I shall beslain for witnessing themisdeedsofmybetters.”“Not slain for that, but

whipped for lying,” saidJadrid in a rage—he wasfrightened,too.“Well,Ihaveproofofwhat

I say,” announced thewoman.“Showit.”

Soshedid.LeadingJadridto the courtyard, the servantwoman requested him tokneel down by one of thepaving slabs.At a glance hecould see it had beendisturbed,butanythingmightaccount for that. Not,however, for the strand ofhair, poppy-red, which wascaughtunderit.“She went out again last

night and returned again an

hour before sunrise. I heardherandlookedfromaholeinthe privy door. She was notcanny enough this time. Asshesetbacktheslabherhairwas caught, but she cut itthrough with her own sharpteeth, and then ran in haste,not bothering to take theevidence from the stone—forwhowould glimpse it if theydid not come looking for it,as I did. Now you, strong

lord,trytoliftthatstone,andsee whether any of us areplayingtricksonyou.”Jadrid then did try to lift

the stone, but even workingtill the sweat poured, andwithhisdaggerasalever,hecould not shift the piece ofpaving more than half aninch. Certainly notsufficiently to come at thestrand of hair still trappedbeneath, clearly on an

occasion when the slab hadrisenfreely....Eventually he rose, and

saidtothewoman,“Youwillstay quiet. Tell no one, noteven my father. You havewatched and seen her comein.NowIwillwatchandseewhereitisshe

If truth were told,Jadrid had a notionalready, nor did he

goes.”

much relish it. Ithappened that thecellars beneath themerchant’s houseabuttedundergroundon some ancientcatacombs,supposedly haunted,into which, by hisown boy’s means,Jadrid hadpenetrated once ortwice years before.

These forays hadrevealed nothingvery terrible, asidefrom rats andmummy-dust.Intheirturn, however, thetunnelsledoutofthecity to an antiqueburial ground, nolonger much usedsave by the verypoor,and itselfof illrepute.

Unbeknownst to any, then,Jadrid spent that dayenlarging,with ironbarandmallet, the exit point in thecellar which hadaccommodatedhimasaboy.By theafternoon,hehadgotthrough into the foulwarrenbeyond,where itwasalwaysnight, and choking on thedust,he liftedhighhis lamp.He soon found, as he hadunwillingly imagined he

would,aweirdtearinginthetangledwebsofpowder,andamarkonthestoneroofhighoverhead—here was theplacewhichcorresponded tothe loose paving in thecourtyard. Going up anddown awhile with his light,Jadrid next beheld on thetunnel floor and on some ofthe shelves thatwent towardthe ceiling, the muddledimprintofmanyfootfalls—or

ofoneperson’sjourneymanytimes repeated. Small feetthey were, with ringed toes,but they had been dipped insomething to leave such amark. And what they hadbeendippedinhadbeenveryred—Oh, horrible. And more

than horrible, most strange.Never having suspected her,having been so long herdupe, Jadrid now felt

everything coming clear. Asif, in some way he hadconcealed from himself, hehadknown —

“Forgive me, sweet wife. Icannot enjoy you tonight. Iamweary.”Sosaying,Jadridlaydown

and feigned the most abjectslumber. Yet she wasprudent. She did not stealawaytillmoonrise.

always

Whenhewassureshehadgone, Jadrid leapt up, flungonhisclothes,andbeltedonhissword.Herannoiselesslythrough the house and intothe cellar, and so came outinto the pitchy vault of thecatacombsbeyond.He had prepared for

himselfadulllamp,bywhichhe could just find his way.For the rest, he knew thepassages from before. He

went forwardwith enormousstealth nevertheless,shieldingthevaguelightalsowith his cloak. And as well.At a turning among thecubbiesofdisintegratebones,he caught a flicker ofbrightness—itwasthehemofher shift, the shimmerof herwhite instep and a whiteankle with a chain of goldupon it. So certain she wasthat none had tracked her

here, and so eager for herdestination, she went easily,never looking back. And he,taking pains where she didnot,pressedafter.Suddenlythetunnelsended

and came up through aquantity of caves into theopen air.Here the bats tookexception to Jadrid’s light

had needed none), andhe put it out. Still without aglanceoverhershoulder,the

pale flicker of Liliu sped onbefore him, and through theruinedwall of theoldburialground.The moon stood high and

madeasilvertwilight.Onallsides, among the funeraltrees and weeds, the talltombs roseup, thehousesofthe dead—and it remindedJadridinanawfulwayoftheboulevardofmansionswherehe had first followed to find

hislove.Presently,theydrewneara

very large tomb, in partscrumbled and fallen down,but elsewhere pillared, andsculpted in historic ways—ithadbeentherestingplaceofa mighty prince. Out ofcracks and holes, andbetween the carvingsof this,there streamed a greenishglow, and as Liliuapproached, abruptly the

door grated wide. Up thesteps she ran, merry as amaiden running to greet herhusband, and in. And thedoorhowledshutagain.Jadrid stood awhile. His

blood was ice, and manyanothermanwouldprobablyhave hurried away. Butanger, and love-gone-rotten,can work wonders. In lesstimethanitwouldhavetakenhim to offer a prayer for

salvation to one of the deafgods of the Upperearth,Jadrid had climbed a treewhich overlooked theprince’s bonehouse, and sogot on its roof. Here hequickly discovered anaperturetolookthrough,andavailedhimself.What a scene was that,

down below, and which hesaw in such detail. A greatstonecatafalque, fromwhich

the skeleton had long sincebeen rolled, and great stonechests much despoiled—onlythose of a superhumanstrength could have openedthem to rifle them—yet stillwith skeins of pearls, rubies,diamonds dripping down,and marvelous instruments(suchasalong-neckedharp)leaned by, and books oferudition centuries old, allgreen like the putrescent

phosphorus which made thelight, yet supposedlyreadable, andheld in coversof pure gold. On high,threescore filigree jewelrylamps, with the nastysubstance burning away inthem. In the midst of it allsome nine persons whopassedaroundbetween themnine golden, gem-encrustedgoblets, each containing adifferent colored wine. And

as they did so, like guestsbefore a feast, they laughedand joked with each other,kissedandintimatelyfondledeachother.Theymight,forafact,havebeenafamily,andinamannerofspeaking,theywere,doubtless.Eachwasofexceptional good looks,slender, pale, and with thatred-black poppy hair Jadridknew so well and hadadmired so much. And each

was clothed, too, as if newlyescaped from somebedchamber.Andtheninthofthem, of course, was Liliu,hiswife.“Then let us drink,” said

one of them, a man whocould have been brother orcousin of Jadrid’s wife, yetwhoheldhertohiminawayJadrid himself would havebeen shamed to do incompany. “Let us drink to

our immemorial lineage,ourdestiny,andoursuccess,andtoourgeniuswhencomparedto the clay-brains ofephemeral mankind. For ittranspires we have eachsucceeded. Who are lordsthen,buteverwe?”And they did indeed some

extra drinking, and toastedeach other again and again,in the green and yellow andscarlet and white and even

the black wines. And tickledandcaressedandlippedeachotherasneverbefore,makingall the while obscene anduncharitable comments onthe sexual ableness ofhumanity they had,apparently,everyoneofthemrecentlyhadtoendure.And then another door

opened to the rear of thetombandtheirservantscameout, some rather like

monkeys,somelikemen,andoneofthelatterwastheveryservant who had conductedJadrid to Liliu’s garden. Heit was bowed low, andproclaimedthatthefeasthadbeenbrought.The nine diners were very

muchdelighted,andmoresowhen this feast was laidbefore them on thecatafalque. They fell to withappreciating cries and

smackingof lips.ButJadrid,who also saw on what theybanqueted, had fallen proneamong the ornaments of theroofinadeathlyswoon.

When he came tohimself again, thesky was gray, thedew was down, andthe great tomb indarkness.Trembling,Jadrid gave some

prayers of thanks tothe gods (who werenot at allresponsible) that theghoulishfeastershadnotdiscoveredhim.

Now, Jadrid saw it all.Demonstrably theirracewasold, of “lineage” and“destiny” as the male ghoulhadremarked.Itwouldseemthat for some reason theysought to live among men,

andsotrickshadbeenplayed—not only Liliu’s uponhimself.Inhercasetherewasnoelderlyfather,nohouse—the mansion deserted, thechariotsomedeadking’s,thehorses—phantoms? Only thedowry, the plunder of ahundred graves, was real.Probably it was a variationofthisthemetheyhadplayedelsewhere. Nine in number,theyhadnow,itwouldseem,

snarednine families by theirdeceptions.Fromeightotherbeds, some of haplesswives,some of trusting husbands,these fiends stole out oncertain nights to meettogether and rejoice. Smallwonder Liliu did not care toeat with her lord. Smallwonder she abhorred thewholesomesun.Jadrid’s course was sure.

Hewould go home andwait

fordarkness.Whenshecameto him with her wiles, hewouldkillher.As he strode from the

cemetery, tears and rage onhis face, the sky waslighteningbutthesunnotup.Dwellers inhovelsunder thecitywall, seeinghimemergein thisway fromthehauntedburial ground, fled indoorsscreaming to each other hewas the very devil they had

feared all these years, whocaroused in the tombs allnight and ate their deceasedrelatives. Which irony waslostonJadrid.

It happened thatJadrid’s father hadbeen away a day orso on business. Andthatnight,whichwasthe night of hisreturn, Jadrid gave

ordersthattherewasto be a dinner ofespecialmagnificence.

Accordingly, about sunset,all came to the table, themerchant,andalsotheguestsand relations, every one ofwhom had been at Jadrid’swedding. Presently Jadridenteredwithhiswife.“Ihaveentreatedhertodinewithus,foronce.”

Everything was laughterandsmiles.Jadrid sat beside his wife.

He begged her to take somewine.“Prayexcuseme,”saidshe.“No. Tonight you must

drinkwithus.”“But you know, my lord,

thatIneverdrinkwine.”“A wonderful wife,”

exclaimed one of the guests.“Soabstemious.”

“Then at least,” saidJadrid persuasively, “youmusttastealittleofthismeat—”“Prayexcuseme.”“Thisfruit—”“Prayexcuseme.”“Apastrythen.Aspoonful

ofhoney—”“Excuse me, dear lord,”

said Liliu. “I have alreadyeaten. Alone, as is mycustom.”

“How frugal,” saidanother guest. And another:“Howcharminglybashful.”“Yes,”saidJadrid,smiling

uponhiswife,“it is truesheeats elsewhere, and notwithme. But tell us, gentle Liliu,what it that you eat? Theservants say they bear youdishes of food, but mostlythese dishes go backuntouched. Another hasdeclaredthathesuspectsyou

of throwing what food isgone tostraydogsunder thehousewall.”The guests laughed. Liliu

loweredhereyes.“A sip of wine now, to

bringsomecolortoyourpalecheeks,” said Jadrid, withvast concern. “A morsel ofbread,topleaseme.”“Excuseme,Iprayyou,”

saidLiliu.“Iamnothungry.”“This,”saidJadrid,“is

probablyafact.Forlastnight,Ithink,youateverywell.”Somethinginhisvoicethen

caused a silence in thechamber. Even the flamesstraightened in the lamps asif anxiously to listen. ButLiliudidnotraisehereyes.“What can you mean,

Jadrid?”themerchantaskedhis son. “You say she doesnot eat with you, and then

you say she has, to yourknowledge, eaten well. Thepoor maiden will bedistraught. You must notteaseherso.”“No?” said Jadrid. “An

endtotheteasingthen.”Andnowhis face and voicewerevery terrible. “Last night,having had a warning, Ifollowedmywife,whooften,itseems,leavesmybedinthedepthsofthedark.Ifollowed

her by way of the tunnelsunder our house, out to theburialgroundbeyondthecitywall.Andthereinatombshemet with acquaintances ofhers, her kindred, andtogether they mocked thesilliness of mankind, as theytore off the breasts of deadwomen and devoured them.And there they drank to theinferiority of men, as theyguzzledthebloodandbileof

corpses.”Horror struck the

company.Notonemoved,tillLiliujumpedup,andrushingto the merchant, she threwherselfathis feet.“Saveme,my father,” she cried, “foryoursonhasgonemad.”“Mad, yes, very nearly,”

said Jadrid, whose face wasnow if anything paler thanhers.“Ifyou,myownkinandfriends, doubt me, I ask you

tocallintheservants.Amongthem you will find one atleastwhohasseenthis thingI took forwife coming up atmorning through thecourtyardstones, towashoffthefoulnessofherfeedingatourwell.”Then Liliu jumped to her

feet again. She turned andgazed at them all, and herbeauty was gone, her faceugly and ravenous. Not one

who looked on her at thatmoment but did not knowJadridhadbeenhonest.“Oh, you, so cunning and

so clever the world reels atyou, oh dear husband, whatwillyoudo?”“Why, only this,” said

Jadrid.Andgoingstraightuptoher,heplungedhisdaggerintoherheart.She shrieked once, and

then she fell to the ground,

whilethecandlessanklowinthelamps,asifafraidtosee.

3.TheTaleContinues

EVERYONE in thehouse was sworn tosecrecy concerningthe events of thatawfulnight.Theoathwasa terrificone. Itwas given out thatJadrid’s youngspouse had diedtragically and

suddenlyat table,bychoking on a bone.(There was agruesome humor tothis of which Jadridhimself may wellhavebeenaware.)Ofthe other houses inthe city which mighthave fallen prey tothe company ofghouls, no heedwastaken. They must

look out forthemselves.

Liliu was buried next daywithmuchpompandlament.Jadrid was said to be

overwhelmed by grief. Hehad commissioned for hisbelovedaspecialmonument,and this was why she wasfirst to be laid in a burialchamber unconnected to thefamily mausoleum, and onground beyond the family

plot.Out of respect for the

family’s sorrow, the wholestreet where stood themerchant’shousewasclosedfor three days and threenights.Duringthisperiod,too,the

house itself stayed shut upand its inmates indoors. Itmay be true that Jadridgrieved, but his misery wasofa feverish, furioussort. In

dreams the alarmed fatherheardhis soncryout thathewishedhemightslaythefoulwitcha second time.Such islove.

On the third night, somehours before dawn as themoon was sinking, Jadridrousedoutofaleadensleep.Waking, he knew himself

still unconscious. For anightmare crouched at the

bed’sfoot.IthadtheshapeofLiliu, her perfume even, herlong hair of blackest redwhichpouredacrosshisfeet,and it leaned to the vein inhis ankle and sucked thebloodfromit.Jadrid struggled, and

wouldhaveshoutedforhelp,buthewasweakwithhorror.And even as he tried to freehimselfoftheviledream,thevile dream itself raised her

head and smiled at him,whilehisbloodranfromherteeth.“Bestill,dearestlord,”said Liliu. And she set herhandonhischestandpushedhim back. She had thestrength of a giantess; hecould not resist. “Why sosurprised?” said Liliu. “Is itnotrightawifeshouldbebyher husband in his bed?Ah,you did not think you killedme? Such flesh as I am,

nothing can kill it for long,not iron, nor steel, nor stonenor bone norwater, nor fire.Did we not boast ourgreatnessinthetomb?”Andthenshestoodup,and

laughing at him, became acolumn of spinning smoke,andthisvanishedintotheair.“Then, thank the gods, it

wasadream—”But lighting the candles,

Jadrid saw, and felt, the bite

inhisankle,andhowitbled.

Three mages were called tothe merchant’s house. Thefirst came with much show,andaretinueofservants.Hisownchairwassetforhiminthemerchant’shall.Hispagelaydownunderhisfeettobehis footstool. The robes ofthe first mage were sewnwith orichalc, and he held awand of goldwithwhich he

casually toyed, thoughlightnings seeped from itsend.“Theyoungman,”saidthe

first mage, “is beset by avampire. She is thirsty notonly for blood but forrevenge.Shewilldestroyhimifshecan.”“So much we are aware

of,”saidthemerchant.“I am glad to find you

educated,”saidthemage.He

snappedhis fingers.Agreentoadbouncedintohislapandpoured for him a sherbetfromaflaskofemerald.“Thechamber where the youngman sleeps,” said the firstmage, “must have branchesofthewildthorntreepiledatdoor and windows. He mustbe anointed with blessed oilfrom a temple given over totheworshipofsomegodwhoisreckonedtohavearisen,at

least on one occasion, fromthe dead. (There are severalof these.) If the vampire isstillabletomanifest,hemustrecite amantra,which Iwillteachhim.”Things were performed as

the firstmagedirected.Wildthorn brought from thecountry and laid at thethresholds, sacred oilsmearedonJadrid’sbody.Helay awake through the first

and second hours ofdarkness, but in the thirdhour slumbered exhaustedly.He woke to find the devil-womanseatedathisbedfoot,biting at his ankle. ThenJadrid exclaimed at her themantra the first mage hadinstructedhimin.Liliuraisedherhead.“Not iron nor steel, stone

norbone,waternorfire.Notscratchythornsnotstickyoil.

Not said Liliu. Andbeforehecouldstopher,sheraked him across the breastwith her long and pointednails,andthrustinghimdownbegantolaphislifebloodlikeafamishedrat.At this Jadrid letoutacry

so loud the house seemedshaken, and the merchant’sarmedguards,waiting in thepassage, rushed into theroom. But Liliu sneered at

words,”

their swords and spears. Shebegan to spin, she becamesmoke, then air. She wasgone.The secondmage came in

black and was cowled inblack. He wore a mask ofthinwood that revealedonlyhis eyes, and these notwell.He groveled to his godsconstantly, to show them heremembered them. Hegroveled also to the

merchant.“If you will allow this

wretched person to adviseyou, exalted sir, the efficacyof which advice is onlyvaluable in that it wasobtained by study of holylore, then you will dothis . . .” And his treatmentwas as follows. The youngman must fast that day, andbathe seven times in thecoldestwater.Anhourbefore

sunfall hemust have arrivedat the segregated unresting-place of his late wife, withwhathelpershehadselected,who must also have fastedand bathed seven times incold water. Going into thetomb,theyshouldwaitbythebieruntil thesunwasalmostdown, then snatch off thegravecoverings.Ignoringthedeadwoman’sappearanceofhealthy life, her opening

eyes, or any pleading shemight make, her husbandmust then lop off her head,cutoutherheart and set fireto it, and to the rest of thecadaver,separately.“Butshehastoldme,”said

Jadrid, “iron, steel, fire—suchthingscannotharmher.”“Whereisyourfaith?”said

the mage. “My gods knowall.”Jadrid was not convinced,

buthewasdesperate, andsoobeyedineverything,eventothesevenbaths.Just before sunset,

disguised as priests, he andhis band of retainers enteredthe small dilapidated tombwhereLiliuhadbeenlaid.As the sun began to sink,

theyapproached thebierandsnatched off the coveringsfrom thebody—findingonlywhat theyhad expected, that

shewas firmand fresh,withevery appearance ofvoluptuouslife.If Jadrid was disposed to

hesitate was not recorded.Undoubtedly Liliu openedher eyes and glowered athim.Inthatinstant,hesmoteoff her head, and next wenton with the rest of theprocedure.Whenatorchwasset to the remains, it seemeda jeering female laugh rang

aroundthetomb.As they paced back to the

merchant’shouse,itoccurredto each of the men, and toJadrid, that somethingwalkedbehind.Theyenteredthe house and barred itsdoors. Jadrid and his fatherthen kept vigil, with all theguardsand themaleservantsstanding by with drawnsword or heavy stave. Theblack-robed priest knelt in a

corner, praying andscourginghimself.Presently there was a

dreadful crash—it was theouter door being flungwide.After this the door of thechamber flew open and incame a smother of swirlingashes which spun and roiledand And becameLiliu. She was entirelywhole,notbearinganymarkto showwhere she had been

laughed.

so frequently and mortallysmitten.“Notironorsteel,stoneor

bone, thorn or oil or words,not the sword, not the torch,not aesthetics, rituals,traditions, faith, canridyouofme,dearhusband,”saidLiliu.“IloveyousowellI will drain you dry. Nottonight, for you are notprivateenough,buttomorrowIwill come to you.Noman

prayer

settoguardyoushallIspare.Onescratchofmynailsshallbe fatal to them. Defendyourself as you will, youcannot denyme. I will haveyour blood, I will have themarrowofyourbones.Lookforward to our meeting,sweet lord.Fornow,a token—onlythis—”Andsuddenlyshe flew at Jadrid and bitfromhishandthefirstfinger,and vanished with it into

nothingness.“The gods help me, I am

damned!” cried Jadrid. Andtaking his own swordwouldhave slain himself at once,had his father and theservants not prevented it byforce.Soonafterward,thesecond

mage was thrown from thehouse,and,atdawn,thethirdmageinvitedin.This third mage was

plainly dressed, neitherflamboyantnorobscureinhisbearing. He looked at Jadridandsaid tohim,“Donotyetdespair.” Then he sat downwith father and son anddiscussed matters as thoughdebating on the price ofgrain.Finallythemagespoketothem,inthisway.“I regret yours is not the

only house in the city to beplagued by this confederacy

ofdevilkind.Nevertheless,inthis fashion, something hasbeen learned of them. It istrue they are an old and, intheir own lights, estimablerace. They despise man, butmust now and then haverecourse to him. In thebeginning,theybelieve,theirraceandman’swereone,andman still carries certain oftheir tastes which he hassuppressed from an

egomaniacal squeamishness,and refuses to eat, in certainparts, even the flesh of pigs,since it is said to resemblethat of men. And so he haslost, they say, his strength,but remains fatally attractedto their kind, which, whennecessary, they exploit. Hehas,too,abilitieswhichthey,for all their superior talents,have not. She who namedherselftoyou is,likeallLiliu

her clan, impervious toviolence. Her body beingalways partially etheric, itcan never properly bedissipated by any physicalmeans. To strike her withblade, even to burn her—these strategies onlystrengthen her, for it is

in reintegrationwhichmakes suchacreatureperfectintheartofrebirth.”“Then I am lost,” said

practice

Jadrid.“Not so,” said the mage.

“If you will be resolute butone further time, you maygainsuchpoweroverhershewillceasetoannoyyou.”“By what means?” cried

Jadrid with understandableurgency.“Listen well to me,” said

the thirdmage. “There is ontheearthnomortalthingthatdoesnothaveashadow.The

making of such a shadow isonly this, that a solid objectimpedes the path of light.Now, there are somebeings,too, which may pass asmortal,untilitisseenthat,asthey are discorporate, lightshines quite through themand they have no shadow atall.”“Liliu?”“Not Liliu, for would you

nothavebeenwaryfromthe

first if she had had noshadow? Shadows Liliu’skind do have, but they arenot of the nature of thehuman shadow. The humanbodyisflesh,butthebodyofone of Liliu’s kind is partlynonfleshly. Just so theshadow,which in thehumanisnomorethandarkenedair,in the vampire is partlycorporate.Wherelightstrikesthem, itdoes somewhatpass

through, and so forcesvariousparticlesalsothroughinto the substance of theshadow. Why else, do youimagine, does this race sofeartheblastofthesun,whoisthekingofalllights?”“Then?”askedJadrid.“Tonight,donotgotoyour

bed. Stand ready in thechamber. Let her appear, asshewill,butbesurethereisabright lamp burning and a

knife hidden to hand.Cajoleher, then, and promise herrewards,andbegheronyourknees—for her people loveflattery and terror in equalmeasure. But all this while,manage it that the lightshines upon her and so hershadow is cast out. Thensuddenly run to the shadowand slash through it till asmuchasmaybeisseparatedfromher.Forfromheritcan

be ripped, and it will bleedand she will scream and seton you—but youmust resistand tear the shadow free.Now, when you burned her,it was into the shadow thatall her atoms fled, but sinceher flesh is whole, you willhave divided, at the firststroke, those atoms. Andfromthatfirststrokeshewillgrowweaker, and at the lastwill fall to entreating you as

you had entreated her,promisingyou allmanner ofrichesandmiracles.Youwillnaturally pay no heed. Buttake the shadow, which youwill find limp, skinny, andslimytothetouch,andthrustit in some bag or jar, whichyou must then tightly seal.Neitherairnorlightmustgetin. Keep it so only a fewmoments, away from herproximity, and the shadow

will wither to a harmlesshusk.Andasforsheherself,as you will learn, she willhavelostallherpower.”“AndmayIkillherthen?”

asked Jadrid, with blazingeyes.“Her kind do not die

easily,” said the third mage,“butyouwill findherdocileand much altered, unable toperform against youanything. Imprison her or

driveherout,asyouwill.”Thedayblossomed, faded,

fell. The night returned, andJadrid stood ready in hischamber,allalone,onebrightlamp burning, and a knifehiddeninthecushionsofthebed.Hepacedupanddown,up

and down, from the last reddrop of sunset, until thewindowswereblackasifthewholecitylayinsideatomb.

Then there came a flutteringinthemidstofthefloor,likefeathers, thenaspiralinglikea pillar of dust. And thentherestoodLiliu.“Beloved,” said Jadrid

instantly, “I know you areheretokillme.Haveyounotvowedit?”“Just so,” said Liliu, and

raisedherclaws.“Give me then,” said

Jadrid, “a few moments’

grace to make to you someactofcontrition.”“Your blood and split

bones will satisfy me,” saidLiliu,butshehadpaused.“Let me speak; I will be

brief,” said Jadrid. “Let metell you, beloved, that myfearhasgone fromme. Iamin a sort of ecstasy thatmakesmegladtodieatyourhands.Ihavelovedyouwithsuch passion, I would not

desire to die in any otherway. That I tried to betrayyoufirst,andthentodestroyyou—these were foolishchildish deeds, to whichothersbentme.Ihadasecretfaith besides that you, beingof a kingly race, could notsuccumb. Yet forgive suchtransgressions. If my agonywillpleaseyou,takeit.Yourbeautyisbeyondallbeautyinthe world. To have drunk

suchwine,fromsuchacup,Ihave been fortunate as it isgiven to few men to be.Better to have been yourlover a month and perish,than to lie whole centurieswithmortal womenwho aredross.”Now this had its effect.

The devil-folk of the ghoulshad a further weakness—itthought itself unsurpassable,and so was swiftly able to

credit others might think sotoo.“For these words,” said

Liliu,“Iwillcauseyourpaintobealittleless.”“No,” said Jadrid. “My

painismylastgiftoflovetoyou. Take as much of it asyou wish, and spare menothing.Fortoserveyou,mygoddess,ismyonlylonging.”And then he beckoned hertoward the bed, and Liliu

came to him, and as she didsothelampshoneonherandher shadowwas flungacrossthecovers,clearandblue.Out then he swept the

hidden knife, and with it heslashedattheshadow—anditfrayed and tore like rupturedsilk, and glitteringtransparent ichor fountainedup. And the devil-womanscreamed. She shrieked andthrew herself upon Jadrid,

andscratchedandbitathim,butherstrengthwasnotasithadbeen—And then all the clinging

threads of the shadow werecutaway,andJadridseizeditandrolleduptheslimything,whichwas no thicker than aroll of seaweed, and sprangwith it from thebed, leavingLiliu sprawled there. Andwhen she lifted herself, onlyafewvaguewispsofshadow

lingered, reflected on thewall.“Ohmyhusband,pityme.

Pity me,” said Liliu, “and Iwill bring you great treasure—”“Yes, you are not so

cunning with yourenticements as I, it wouldseem,”saidJadridbitterly.“I will make you a king,”

wailedLiliu.“Iwillloveyoualways.”

“You are stupid now aswell as filthy,” said Jadrid,andheplungedthecrumpledragofseveredshadowintoaleather sack, and tied thesack’sneck.AndwhenLiliucame creeping toward him,hekickedheraway.Shortlytheslightweightin

thesackwasslighter.And Liliu lay at his feet,

under her black-red hair,shuddering with feeble hate

andweakness.“Well, it seems Imay not

kill you,” said Jadrid then,“but your life will doubtlessbemoreirksometoyouthanthe quick kindness of asword. You shall be drivenoutintothemountains,ortheswamps beyond the river’sdelta.Thereliveordieasyouchoose.”“Oh, Jadrid,” said Liliu,

lying under her hair, “you

have made nothing of me,andIampowerless,butthereisonefurtherthingyoumustknow.”“Of you? I would rather

hear the nightbird rattle, orthewindthroughagrating.”“Remember,” said Liliu,

“how we boasted, mybrothers and sisters and I, inthetomb?”“That I shall never forget.

May you and your kind be

forever accursed. As youare.”“Remember how we

toasted,intheliquorsofmen,oursuccess?”“Foulbitch,yousickenme.

Can I cut out your tongue,now? And shall 1? I haveheardenough.”“Not quite enough. Did

you never wonder to whichsuccesswealluded?”“Your ability to deceive

mankind.”“Not merely. For all its

wisdom, my race, so close-bred as it is, cannot bearchildren of its own loins,unlesstheseedofourmenbesprinkled in a humanwoman’s womb, or thewombs of our womenquickened by the seed ofhumanmen.”Jadrid stood then like the

stone. In his hands, her

severed shadow shranklighter and lighter. Liliu laybefore him, seemingshrunkenandfragile,too,herhair and skin very dull, herlong talons all broken. Buther voice remained to devilhim.Hervoicesaid:“OhJadrid,youmaywork

against me as you will, butyoursonisinmybody.Howshallyoudealwith ?”

The third mage had goneaway. The household of themerchant-lord deliberated,andperhapsnotsensibly.It is hard for a man to

outlawhisfirstborn.They locked her in an

apartment of the lowerbuilding. Loyal servants ofthe merchant and his son,thesetendedher.Itwasquitesafe for them to do so. Forsure,thevampire-ghoul-devil

Liliu was wasted now, andburning down like a flamewhichhadnooiltonurtureit.Like a blood-red flowerwithout sap, she paled andfailed. Her wits seemedaddled,shewasanidiot.Themerchant’s son never visitedher. But every day thewomenmustmakeareporttohim on how the child faredwithin her—for each day, asshe flickered and sank, her

wombgrewlarger.Strangely,the sunlight seemed nolongertotroubleher.Shehadlost the precious part ofherself; there was nothingelsetoscorchaway.Atlength, thelaborbegan,

there in the locked room. Awhile before daybreak, shebroughtforth.They came to tell Jadrid.

The devil-creaturewas dead,all flaccid, like an empty

garment. Its hair had turnedcolorless and its teeth fallenout, andwhen theymoved itthe bones clinked togetherunder the loose skin, likecoinsinapot.Butthechild—ohthechild.Jadridsaidtohisfather,“I

will go now and look at thechildandmakemydecision.It has in its veins, after all,the blood of the living dead.How else could its atoms

have unnaturally survived,with the mother’s death,dismemberment, burning? Ifit is like her, then it is hers,andmustbedestroyed.”And the merchant, gazing

athisson’scoldgravenface,didnotargue.So Jadrid went down

through the house and cameintotheroomwherenowthesunflamedgolden.Andtherethe child lay in a patch of

sunlight. It was a beautifulboy. Flawlessly formed,already with a look ofintelligenceandperceptioninthe tiny face, the great eyes.Its skinwas transparent paleasthesheerestpaper;itshair,for already there was hairupon its scalp, was darkestred.Jadrid bent over the child,

frowning and cruel, andstretched out his hand from

which the forefinger hadbeen bitten. But three soundfingersremained,andtheboylifted his small arms and,laughing,grasped themiddleoneoftheseinbothfists.“Ohmy son,” said Jadrid. “Youarealsomine.”Andashetookupthebaby

in his arms, the sun ripenedin the window like an appleoffire.

“NOW,” BEGAN thestoryteller,“whensomeyearshadgoneby—”“Enough,” said Sovaz.

“Your story is predictable,and the remainder I discern.Darkness has grown pale,listeningtoyou.”It was a fact. Another

morningwasnear.

The man, though, lookedangrilyatSovaz,whohadbynow broken all her bonds,and sat before him in thatrock hole like night’s brightsymbol.“Ifyoucanfathomtherest,

then say the rest,” hemuttered.“Very well. Though some

of the fraternity of nineperished,somedidnot,whileall the babies were

sentimentally spared. Thesethengrewup”—shespokeofthis strangely, cruelly; shehadhadnochildhoodherself—“andlessandlesswerethefoolishparentsable to refusethem. At last these ghoulchildrencametoadultestate,and each exercised all thehabits of the ghoul parent,and next drove the humanparents out, or subornedthem,tookchargeofthecity,

andwarpedorwonittotheirown graveyard ways. Andthey have by now no doubtspawned other ghoul infantsby consent, seduction, andrape. And meanwhile theyrenamed the place for theirmanner of portioning thedead they devour, and otherspoiltheytake.Andyou,oldman, are Jadrid, once thewife-seeker.”“Woman,”hesaid,“doyou

jeer at me? You havesnapped the cordswe boundyouwith,butwehavegreatermagics. Mighty is Shudm,City of the Portioners. Itdrawshostsandcompaniestoitself, to be its fodder. Theycometheyknownotwhy.Fatmerchants and brawnyrobbers,theentourageofladyandsage,Shudmsucks theminacrosstheplain.Shudmisalways hungry and always

fed. But even the lonetraveler is welcome. And Iwill be rewarded for you.Look.Where is theomissionfrommyfinger?Ihavenone.Asagift,mysongavetomethe digit of an emperor, andthis finger has been minesome years, though thispriceless ring, another of hisgifts,hidestheadhesion.”“Since you are yet your

son’s friend,” said Sovaz,

“why warn me from theway?”“That is my humanity,”

said old Jadrid. “Such mobsarrive, we can afford nowand then to bemerciful.Butthe stubborn ones and thejeeringoneswetaketothem,even into the ghoul city ofShudm,fortheirpleasure.”Andthentheragsfellfrom

him and from hisaccomplices.Theywereclad

in some magnificence, of atawdry sort, but many ofthem were revealed ascrouchingmonkeythings,notmenatall.ThenJadridspoketo the ropes that had boundSovaz,and theycoiledabouther and held her fast again,and at another word of histheybecamesteel.“You are a witch,” said

Jadridwithvenom,“butyoursmall sorcery cannot match

thesorceryoftheirkind.AsIhavediscovered.Comenow.Wearegoingtothecity.”Atthat the monkey creaturessnatchedSovaz andboreheraway, by leaping bounds,down the sheer mountainledges toward the plain. Ahuman girl might well havedied of fear.But Sovaz kepther own counsel, made noresistance, and uttered noword.

All day tirelessly theytraveled over that blanchedbareplain,until,nearsunset,they reached a greatcemetery. Every tomb of itwas despoiled and the earthupturned everywhere, andbones hanging in the trees.Beyondthishorridareastoodup the city walls, with theriver beyond, but the riverwas thick and dull, though

the red dying of the sunsmeared on it. High in thefading sky carrion birdswheeled around, and in thedead trees where the boneshung, and on the wreckedtombs,suchbirdshadchosentheir perches, and stoodwatching with baleful eyes,andoneor twoof themheldperhaps in its beak a humanhand, or a hank of humanhair.

Andthecloseryoucametothecity, thebetteryouheardthe sounds of it, the wildstrainsofpipesandcymbals,or laughter, or loud cries.And its smell filled theatmosphere,ofburningresinsand sticky oils, and smoke,and under and over all, thetinctureofdeath.The gates of the citywere

shut,butitseemedJadridhadbeen spied approaching, and

ina fewmoments, theportalwas drawn wide. They wentthrough, theoldmanandhiscompanyofmenandunmen,with Sovaz hurried along intheirmidst.Whateveritoncehadbeen,

it was a dark city now,Shudm. The streets wereblack, narrow, straight, andofmanycornerturnings,andon each side blind blackstoneplatformswentup,and

the black tiers of thebuildings, out ofwhich darkwindows stared. Here andthere dark columns arose,carved and gilded, andbearingthewritingofseveraltongues—whichSovazmightread,butwhichtoldonlythelineage and legends of theghouls, whom they hadconquered and how mightythey were—in terms thatseemed always lying. And

sometimes, set in the wallswere grinning or silentlyhowlingmasksmadeofblackbronze, with the greenishcorpse phosphorus insidethem. From the doors andporticos of palaces andtemples, or the buildingswhich had been such in thedays when men ruled thecity, issued terrible groansandscreamingsandthenotesofblades,whips,mallets,and

other instruments of tortureandbutchery.Few persons traversed the

streets. Those that passedweremuffledandveiled,butas Jadrid’s gang went by,there would come a glint ofeyes or pallid greedy snoutsturning to look after. Nowand then a livid handwouldpluck at Jadrid’s sleeve, andthe nails of the hand wouldbe long and pointed. But

Jadrid never halted, nor hisattendants, and the captivewas borne on with them. Itwas a route they had bornemany captives, no doubt.Soon,someoftheveiledandmuffledonesstoleafterthem,hissing to each other softly,pawing the darkness, butrespectfullynotslinkingverynear.Whatdidshethink,Sovaz,

having allowed herself to be

broughttothisgrislyslough?Make no mistake, her

thoughtswere not those of afrightened girl, or even of asly and arrogant sorceress.Pressured by the emanationsofthishellhole,herbrainhadbecomepurelydemonic.Shewas all demon, now.Therefore,nottoberead.Atlengththeycameintoan

opensquarewhichdescendedon one side to the sewerlike

river. The space wasdominated by a huge blackedifice,lackingwindowsandallaperturesbutanentrance,this being formed as a vastandmindlessface,andinthefaceagapingmouthcrowdedbyfangsofstone.Withinwasa red light. And up the stairto it, and through and underthe fanged mouth, and intotheredness,theyboreSovaz.Andsointoahallmorelikea

colossal chimney than anyother thing, the walls of itsoaring up to a roof lostbeyond the hectic flames ofthetorchesthatburnedthere.Butnowandagainashadowcrossedthevaultaboveandashriek came down, or a dryblack feather: The carrionbirds of the city flew freelyalso here. The lower part ofthe hall was decorated withevery gaudy and expensive

item imaginable that mightbeobtainedfromthehoardofa sarcophagus. Among theinlaid screens and gemmyhangings, on carved couchesand embroidered rugs, sat orlay a quantity of men andwomen, all alike for theirpaleness and their darkcinnabarhair.Theirclothing,thoughcostly,wasasrabidlyunaestheticas therest.Someeven affected graveclothes.

(It was perhaps foolish toexpect good taste amongghouls.) Their pet slaves,whowalkedorcrawledaboutamong them, were naked,that the owners might thebetter caress and savor theflesh,sometimesevengentlybitingat it.Oneof theghoulprinceshadstationedhimselfbefore a ten-foot pitcher ofglasswithinwhich awomanhad been drowned in wine.

She floated, in a cloud ofhair, and the ghoul prince,turningatapinthesideoftheglass, drew a cup of thisconcoction. But havingsampled it, he declared thebrew not yet ready to bedrunk.From which it would

appearthese,whohadhumanbloodmingledwiththeother,could toleratewine and suchhuman refreshments, though

their preference was clearlyfor traditional delicacies.Likewise, no doubt, the sundid not harm orinconvenience them verymuch (in the story, the babyhadbeenleftlyinginapatchofsunlight),though,nodoubtagain, they avoided the rayson principle if left tothemselves—there was adecidedsenseofthenewdayin thenight-time city, sunset

being still dawn to them.(Part demon, all demon atthis moment, she couldhardlymissit.)Butnowtheghoulwhohad

tasted the wine turned andgazed fixedly at Jadrid.Jadridfelldownonhisface.“Beloved son,” whined

Jadrid, “see what dainty Ifound for you, in themountains.”“By my dead mother’s

shadow,” said the ghoul,“youhaveearnedforyourselfa sojourn in the city by this.For all the thousands I havesampled, here is one inthousands.” And he came toSovaz at once and looked atherandstrokedher.Presently the ghoul said,

“Andareyounotafraid?Doyou not understand yourdestiny,here?”Sovaz smiled. The ghoul

checked. He was unused tosuch attitudes. “You may,”saidSovaz,“tellmewhatyouthinkittobe.”“Solovely,”saidtheghoul.

“I believe I will delay andkeep you one night and dayalive. But when anothersunset comes, some meanswillbedevisedforyourslowdeath, at which I, and mybrothers and sisters, willpreside. Then we will dine

uponyou,asisourway.ButI shall keep this hair,” saidthe ghoul fondly, playingwith a long coil of it, “toedge some fine robe Ipossess. And your beautifuleyes shallbe set in crystal. Ishallwearthemasrings,andremember you often, andlovingly. Indeed, I maycompose a song upon yourmerits and renderyournameimmortal. What is your

name?”Allabout,theothersofthe

fellowship, who had beenlooking on jealously, nowtitteredandwhispered.Itwasnot often they asked a dishupon the table how it wasnamed. An honor for thatdish. But the honored oneseemed not to realize herbliss.“My name is nothing to

you,” said Sovaz, “and your

songnothingtome.Noryournight and day of delaying,nor your diet. I am onlytaking my leisure here,considering what I shall dowithyou.”Then, there was

distinguishable another tone,another voice, in hers. Youareallmydaughter,Azhrarnhad said. This moment youmighthearhowtrueitwas.YettheCityofPortionings

had forgotten Underearth, orthought itself to bedemonkind (mankind hadoccasionally confused thetwo races).Theghoulprinceonly widened his eyes andchuckled, captivated byinsolence.“Doesthefirstsorcerystill

apply?” inquired Sovaz, inthatvoicestill.“Nothingmayinjureyourtribe—fire,blade,stone,bone?”

“Oh, yes, sweetheart. Weareimpervioustoallsuch.”“While to the sun you are

somewhat inured by reasonofyourmixedblood.”“We tolerate but do not

care for the sun,which is anuglymistakeofthegods.”“And for your shadows?”

said Sovaz, and her voicewasnearlyflirtatious.“Behold,” said the ghoul,

and he raised his arm so its

black reflection fell acrossthe torches to a paintedscreen.“Theyarenowastheshadowsofmen,andhavenosubstance. Go scrape at thatonewithaknifeifyouwish,andsee.”“How then,” said Sovaz,

“mayIkillyou?Whereisthevulnerablespot?”“Ah,” said the ghoul, “do

not trouble your pretty headwith that. Ponder rather how

Ishalldealwithyou.”Andhe took her hand and

kisseditandmouthedit,andsoftly tongued her flesh.Sovazdidnothing topreventhim. So confident, Shudmcity,notoneofthemgraspedmeeknesswasneversomeek.“Dear Father,” said the

ghoul prince, “for thisdiversionbroughtmebyyou,Iwill feed youmyself, frommyownboard.”

Jadrid groveled. Yet thelittle graveworms andbeetles, which still kepthouse in some of the floorcoverings,mayhaveseenhiseyes as he writhed there,upsetting their domesticarrangements. And the eyesof Jadrid had a peculiarexpression.Sovaz said to the ghoul,

“So you instruct humanitythat it too eats human flesh,

here?”“We are never stingy.We

feed our flocks and herds aswell as we feed ourselves.And they get a taste for it.Theold fellow there,hewillbe dreaming of what I shallgivehimofyours.ButIshallkeep you all formyself, andfor a certain sister I amaffectionatewith.”Then he led her away

throughthechimneylikehall,

while his kin made signs ofhumorandenvy.Theypassedthen through a door into anundergroundtunnel—thecityhadalwaysbeenriddledwiththem,andbymeansofthem,even in the days of humanrule, the ghouls had comeandgoneabouttheirbusinessquitediscreetly.Itwasablackjourneythey

nowundertook,buttheghoulprince saw well in the dark,

and, as he could have noted,so did his victim. Behindthem stole only one of themonkey beasts, to guard theprisoner, or to denote therank of the prince by itspresence.Presentlyastair,ora series of humped shelves,went up. Kicking asideancient bones, the princeascended, and Sovazfollowed before the creatureatherbackshouldurgeherto

it. They came out into thebasement of a palace by theriver.It was like no palace

mentionedinthefather’stale.Little had been; the citywasmuchaltered.Ariot,orsomeother mayhem, seemed tohave passed through thebuilding. It was gloomy andunclean, littered withbreakagesandalsowiththosetasteless tomb goods the

ghoul race loved. Shards ofred glass clung in thewindows. Phosphorussputtered in the lamps. Nosooner had they, by dint ofclimbingdecayingstaircases,reached the upper rooms,than by the shine of suchilluminations Sovaz mightsee bony, hungry facespressed at the openworkwindows, and hear thescrabbling of long-clawed

hands and feet venturing upthewalls.“Fearnothing from them,”

said the ghoul prince. “Theyare part children of ours byhumans, weaklings, havingonly a fraction of the trueblood between them. Theygrow to our desires andappetites, but not to ourstrengths and beauties. Wepermit them to watch us,sometimes.Itamusesus.”

But he conveyed Sovazintoawindowlesscubby,thedoorofwhichheclosed—themonkeylike attendant leftoutside—andsotoacouchofrottingfinery,overhungwithcurtainsofgoldenstuff.“Disrobe forme,” he said.

“Let me see all the feast Ishallhave.”Then Sovaz smiled once

more, and something in thatsmile caused the prince to

hesitate, though beyond thedoor, they at the shardedwindows scrabbled andsnuffledeagerly.“Asmy lorddesires,” said

Sovaz.And she untied her sash

and unfastened her bodice,and as shedid so, thewholegarment fell away, and thereemerged out of it somethingthat was no longer soentrancingtothisprince.

“Delusions,” said hehaughtily, thoughhe steppedback a pace. “You cannotdissuademewiththat.”It was a kind of creature,

not wholly identifiable,shapeless and sinuate, mostlike a serpent, but standingupright, and with glowingeyes.Andtheserpentsaidtothe prince of the ghouls:“Pardon me, beloved. Howhave I offended you?Come,

embrace me. We shall havemuch love, and then I shalldie for you and you shallconsume my succulent,tenderflesh.”“Your trick disgusts me,”

said the ghoul, yet haughty,andyetstandingbackapaceforeverypacethemonstrousserpent flowed toward him.“Putonyourrightfulshape.”“So I have,” said the

monster, “to enhance your

delight.”Thentheghoulprincedrew

a curved blade from itssheathathisthigh.Itwasnotthe weapon he had intendedto loose on her, though theylivedasneighbors.“It seems I must slay you

atonce.”“Do so,” the monster

answered.“Ifyoucan.”At this, the ghoul swung

his blade upward and down

upon theapparition.And theblade, taken long since fromthe burial mound of anancient ruler, split in threepieces.“Delusions,” repeated the

monster softly, and it begantowind itself lovingly aboutthe ghoul prince, even as hestruggled out a thin daggerand stabbed at its eyes, butthedaggermeltedandranonthe floor all molten. “I have

knownonewhoisthemasterof such, and he taught memany lessons. Delusion anddelirium—O Prince-Portioner,whichportionshallbeyours?”And by now the monster,

whatever it might be—illusion,delusion, figmentofdelirium—had completelyentwined the prince of theghouls,sohecouldnotmovehand or foot, nor any limb.

And it squeezed andstrangled him so he had noteven the breath to cry aloudfor aid. He could only glareinto its unnatural eyes andgasp, “Discommode me asyou will, you may not killme.”“How you wound me,”

said the hallucination (andnowithad,mostironically,avoice like the voice of ahandsome youth named

Oloru).“Yousmashmyheartinfragments,tospeakinthiswayofmyamorousclasp.”Andwiththat itwrungthe

last whisper of air from theghoul and let him fallsenseless—not dead, as amortalmanmusthavediedinthat grip, only, as he hadmentioned, “discommoded.”Though rather more thansomewhat.Sovaz stood over him. If

she had changed her shape,ormerely caused him to seeand experience such a shapeinlieuofherown,certainlyitwasastrongsorcery,andthefirst of its sort she hadpracticed on or through herown flesh.Nowshe flinchedat an awareness of victory,how it must be, and how itwould alter her, too, moresurely than the form of thereptile.

To the ghoul prince shesaid,andthoughsenseless,heheardher, “Alas foryouandyoursthatIwasbroughthere.Iwillcastdownyourcityandall your people, and withthem those you havecorrupted to your ways. Novulnerable spot? One. Theverythingyouvaunt,thereisyour undoing. That whichyouareshalldestroyyou.”Demon pride, to the pride

of the boastful ghouls amountain to a pebble.Capture, rape, slay, devourher? She, the child of utterbright and utter dark? Andshe had other griefs andrages. This, the last drop ofwater which overspills thecistern.She walked from the

antiquerottingcubbyoflust,and meeting the monkeything that had been standing

guard there, she raised onefingeranditwascrushedintoa pile of cinders. As shecrossedthefloorsbeyond,thescrabblingdribblingwatchersat the windows gaped andsqueaked. Being stupidwitless beings, some triedeven to come down and getin her way. Then Sovazclappedherhands.Lightningbolts sprang from her palmsand whipped these lesser

ghoulsawayandlefttheminblack heaps. The last of themonkey slaves she metleaped in terror for roof topsandsewerstoescapeher.Leaving the palace, she

continued to walkaboveground. She was astrange sight in Shudm, notfitting. Again and again herway was barred, she wasmenaced, so as she walked,theroutebecamelitteredwith

deadscorchedthings.She retraced her steps

through the black streets,under the platforms and thepillars of lies.Overhead, thesky of night was dull, savenow and then catching somered sheen. The noises of thecity were as before, thoughlouder, for the revelry wasreaching its height. Thevarious sights she saw, highin windows, deep in

doorways, under arches,behind grills—these sightsshallnotbewrittendown.But as she drew near the

gatesbywhicholdJadridhadbrought her in, there camethe rattle and roar ofwheelsbehindher.Sovaz went on, she came

to theplacebefore thegates,and into the tall gatewayitself,andthereshewaited.Soonsomechariotsdashed

inview.Horsespulled them,the phantoms itwas said theghouls could make byflinginghorseskinoverbonesand animating theassemblage. In the chariotswere whirlings of sparks,whichquicklyresolvedtothefigures of the ghoul princesandprincesses.Drawingrein,they stood and leered atSovazandpointedwith theirtalonedfingers.Whileattheir

backs the multitude of theirhalf-andquarter-breedscamesnuffling. The ghoul princescried from their chariots:“We thank you for thenovelty of this chase. Butnow we shall take and rendyou.”Sovaz said, “Approach

then,takeandrend.”At which the ghouls

became mirthful and said,“Weonlysavor themoment.

Good wine should not begulped.”ButSovazsaid,“Iamglad

you are here to bid mefarewell.”And she turned and struck

the gate one blow with herslim fist—but at the blow aflame bloomed upward andthe gate crumpled like apaper.As thishappened, someof

the ghouls flung spears at

Sovaz,butthespearsspuninmidflight, and plunged backtoward the chariots. Thephantom horses reared. Oneprince fell with his ownspearhead between his ribs.As he did so he screamed“Tomorrow I will live again—thenletherbewareofme!”“Oh, tomorrow,” said

Sovaz.But the gate now entirely

disintegrated, and she went

outofit.The ghouls chased her a

considerable length over thebarren plain by night. Butthough she walked on hernakedfeetandtheyrodelikethe whirlwind in theirchariots,theycouldnotmakeup the gap, and besides,flamesandthornsandstormsof stones burst up in theirpath,andtheyswervedmadlyand in all directions, or else

wereoverthrown.So she left them, and so

shemighthaveleftthem.Butsoshedidnotleavethem.

Sovaz stood on the plainbeyond Shudm, as the sunrose.She raisedherwhitearms,

as if she persuaded the sunupward from its sleep inchaos deep below the flathollowearth.

All the hours of morningshe communedwith the sun,orseemedto.Hermotherhadheld this gleam in her veryveins; her father had onceoutstaredit,as itblastedhimto ash. There was suchambivalenceintherelationofSovaztothesun,butstill,shecommunedwithit,orseemedto,untilmidday.Itmayhavebeenapartof themagic shemade,oronlyachastisement

ofherself,apurgationbeforethespellwasfashioned.Thoughitlaymilesoff,no

doubtbyonesuchasSovazaglimpse of the citymight beobtained. Or else she onlyvisualizedthecity.Over the day-smitten

towers and walls of Shudm(uglier by day, all its blackfilthandspiritualgarbagetooopenly displayed), the airbegan to sing and to ripple,

and then grow oppressivelysilent and motionless. Andthen the air hardened, likecooling lava. And like lava,theairdarkened,untilitletinthefierceglareofthesun,butnothing else. Nothing—nolesser light, no noise, nobreath of wind or vapor,neither dust nor rain—nowisp of anything. Even thevagrant corpse-eater birdscouldnolongergetin,orout.

Shudmhadbeensealed.Likea tomb. Above, and alsobeneath. Even the labyrinthofcatacombsandtunnelswaslaterfoundtobeblockedup,by those inhabitants whoshortlyattemptedthem.Inside—notsimplyadome

but an egg of leaden crystal,there was Shudm now, andthe afternoon went by, andsunset,whichwas truedawnto theghouls, andnight, and

midnight. And in the firstovercast minutes of the newmorning, there was not onesensiblethinginthecitythatdid not know it had beentrapped.Theatmosphere,thickwith

smokes and aromas, turnedswiftly stale and choking;long before sunrise theypanted, and the morehumanly feeble of theirnumbersankdown.

Then they tried obviousand inventive ways, byordinary or magical means,of escape. And failed. Andcalled out to whatever godstheyowned.(ItismaintainedthatsomeofthemworshipedNaras,QueenDeath,downinthe Innerearth.)Butwhoeveritwas they called to did notanswer.Then theyragedandlamented, and the roar andmoan of this was heard in

distant places, not leastmaybe on the plain beyond,where Sovaz waited, nowseatedonasmoothhighrock.It is said Sovaz kept vigil

there formanymonths, forayear, watching over the fateofShudmoftheghouls.Thatsometimes she journeyednearer and looked throughthe tall poreless sides of theegg, and witnessed herselfwhat went on. Or else,

climbingtoahigherrock,shecalled the hawks of passageand asked them, “What aretheydoingnow, inShudm?”Andthehawkstoldherwhattheydid.But otherwise,wordhas it

that Sovaz left the vicinity,resuming it would seem hersearch for Chuz, who wasOloru and mad. She did nottherefore watch their plightbutonlysometimesimagined

it,orsummonedupaviewofit.How, locked inwith onlyeach other, and that eternalhunger of theirs which wastheir boast (andvulnerability), theghoul racesooncame tobutcheringandpartaking of the onlyavailable meat. Firstly theirmortal petswhowere slavesand destined for it anyway,and next their mortal pets—their parents, who were not.

Their partly mortal childrentheypreyedonafterthat.Butatlastnonewerelefttothemsave theirownkind.So theyfelltoupontheirbrothersandsisters, and in the end theycametohackingattheirownbodies.Nordidanyresurrect,or if they did, it came againto the same pass, till theywere wise, and stayed dead.And finally the black birdspicked at the bones of what

was left, which was notmuch.So she paid them out

strictly for thinking her onlya girl, whether she watchedor not, Sovaz-Azhriaz,Azhrarn’sdaughter.And one night, perhaps

sevenmonthsafterthedayofthe sealingofShudm,Sovazmet another woman on adescending mountain road.Theriverwhichhadgoneby

the city still moved below,down inachasm,buthere itwaspure, and themountainswere bone-picked clean, inthestarlight.Thewomanhad,however, hair of poppy-red,andshecrouchedonastone,castingnoshadow.Shemighthave been a ghost, or not.She held up her hand, onwhich gold rings shone (andthere was gold on her feetand her neck, and in her

tangled hair, but her clotheswereragsthatbarelycoveredher).“My son,” said this

woman. (Liliu?) “You killedhim.”“How do you know?”

inquired Sovaz. “Did Jadridscream some prophecy of ittoyou,whenyourson’sknifewas in his vitals? And wasJadridthensadormerry?”“In my heart I saw my

son’sdeath,and thenameofthe murderess is carried bythenightwind.”“Whatis thatsontoyou?”

saidSovaz. “Youdied at hisbirth.”“My child,” said the

woman.Andsheclaspedherhands, andherclawsclickedtogether.“Igavemylifethathemighthavelife.”“So,evenyourpeoplelove

theirchildren.Applesoffire.

O dearest Father, how is ityou candenyme anything?”Andattheacidmusicofthiscry, even the ghoul ghostfaded and shrank into thestone and was gone. Andconceivably in any case,Sovaz too was subject todelusions,andtheghostonlyonesuch.Sovazwalkedonalongthe

track. That night she cameupon him that had been her

lover—Oloru, Chuz,Madness—in a cave of themountains.

WHYHADSHEsoughthimstill? She had known how itmust be. It is not alwayspossible to behaveintelligently,oreventoavoidthe pain an unintelligent actwillbring.Thechildseesthefire bright on the hearth andfeels the heat of it, butmusttouch the flame and burn

herselfbeforesheiscertain.In thiswaySovazcame to

the cave mouth and passedintothefire.At first, there was only a

lumpofdarknessinthedark,whichmoved.Sovaz stood motionless,

butshemadelightblossom.The lump of darkness

huddled down out of thelight,anditmumbledanoise,butinnolanguage.

“Speaktome,”saidshe.“Icommandit.”And then the dark lump

lumbered upright and cameoutather,andstoppedapaceaway and capered, tearing atitself with nails the ghoulswouldnothavedisdained.There was nothing

anymore of Oloru, nothingbut the bloodshot eyes andfilthyhairheldamemoryandmade it obscene. Of Chuz,

there was some evidence.Every line of face and body—of the very spine andmuscles—seemed to havealtered. The back hunched,the arms dangled or lunged,the legs buckled, the feetsplayed. The mouth formeditselfintoarictus,squawked,relaxed, formed anotherrictus and another subhumancry. It drooled and foamedandbitatitsowngraywarty

skin.Itdidnot likeitself.Oranything.Thisthen,herloverandprotector.Sovazshowednohintofan

emotion.Shewaslikestaringice.She said, contemptuously,

“Greetings, Master ofDelusions,LordofDarkness,Prince Chuz. You are all ofyour own left side now, itseems,thesideyoukeptfromme, a male hag gone crazy.

Come, where are the finger-snakesandthethumb-flythatcracks its feelers? Where isthe brass rattle that soundedthroughBhelshevedwhenmymotherdied,orthejawbonesofanasswhichdeclaim?”At this, Madness the

madman brayed. The caverecoiled,andthenight.Sovazonly remarked, “A fine lovegift for my father.Unbrothers, each closer than

ever either was tome. Fool.Doyourpenance then. Iwillnomorebotheryou.”And having said this,

attempting no argument orcounterspell, shewentoutofthecave.But behind her the thing

was scampering, not tofollow her but to go higherup the walls of themountains. As it fled itshrieked and gibbered, and

laughed—ather?“Oh,” whispered Sovaz,

“oh,Chuz,behatedofme.”They say the smoke of

burning rose from herfootsteps awhile, as shewalked on over thedescendingroad.

In the morning she camedown at last to the delta ofthe river. The teeth of themountains sank in this

ground, andwhere the rocksgave way to swamp, reedsgrew tall as the tallest men,andthemostslenderofthemwere as thick around as aman’s strong wrist. As thewindsblew,thereedswailed,or clashed angrily likeswords.All day Sovaz wended

acrossthisland,andallnight,when a faint flushed moonglowed through the vapors

and behind the reeds. And,though she had left him soinstantly and with suchwords, the image of Olorustayedatherside.Sheachedwithherpain, yet nothing inthe swamp dared to troubleher, not the great-wingedinsects nor the long-headedhunting dogs; the wildfowlfeeding out on the watersrose like flung shawls at hercoming,andhastenedaway.

At dawn, when the dullrusset moon went out and adimrusset sunstoleup fromthe earth, Sovaz stoodlookingather reflection inapool, one straight beautifulreedamongtherestthatwerecrookedandstark.“Be vile,” Sovaz

admonishedtheterrainofthedelta.“Beautyisnouse.”Just then a second

(damson-colored) sun began

to rise—out of the pool. Itwasalotus,andasitcameupshimmering, it opened wideas an offering hand.And onthepalmof thelotus layonesingle unlikely object: a dieofamethyst.Twiceithadbeentendered

previously.Out of the heart-lake of Bhelsheved, for theunborn child, when Chuzvolunteered to be her uncle.Andlater,intheheart-temple

of Bhelsheved, to the bornchild.The first timeAzhrarnrefusedthegiftonherbehalf.The second, she had left itlying. But now she was awoman, and alone, and shereached into the lotus’sheartandtooktheamethystdie.Atwhich the lotus itselfflickeredandwasnomore.Sovazlookedcloselyatthe

die, turning it in her fingers.It was unmarked, as they

often were, the dice Chuzboreaboutwithhim,yellow,purple, black.Andyet, therewas a kind of shadow-marking on the sides. It hadfallen, this gem, into thepossessionofthosewholaterfought over it and tried tofightwithChuzover it—andin the flurry, the death ofDunizel had been prefiguredandinaugurated.They had stoned her, that

religious crowd atBhelsheved. The stones haddone no harm. Then somehand chanced upon anotherthing—a tiny bit of darkestadamant. It was a drop ofVazdru blood, the blood ofAzhrarn himself, lost somewhile since in the desert,foundtherebyChuz,keptbyChuz, and now seeminglyloosed by him. The drop ofblood, the only element

whichcouldmakenothingofthe safeguards Azhrarn hadset on Dunizel, piercedthrough all psychic shields,andkilledher.But perhaps this purple

gemwas another of the diceofPrinceChuz,nothingtodowith that particular event.Dice were ever about him.Had he not been himself atopaz die, for the sake ofSovaz?

Whatever the facts, astrange token of love. Forlovetokenitwas.Whentheduskcamedown

again, Sovaz still walkedamongthereedsandswamp.The die was hidden in herclothes, her thoughtsconcealed behind her eyes.Yet it was an amethystinedusk,thewatersandthesky,and the vague moon, alltinged mauvely with that

undemonstratedmatter.Near midnight, the girl

paused and slept a space. Inher sleep, she must haveremembered a dream hermother once sharedwith herin the womb—for being notcreated in theusualway, thespiritual essence had comeearlytotheflesh,andlivedinthe mother’s body longerthan in the general manner,and so learned things of the

motheras itwaited.Waking,Sovaz called a beast to her,out of some other realm, oroutofsomeforgottenlandofthe earth, or simply fromrefashioned atomsof the air.It flewhighover themoon’sface, then swept down,frighteningthewaterfowlandsetting the wild dogs tohowling. When it settled onthe ground it was a wingedlionofabnormalsize,paleas

curds,withabluishmaneandeyes of gold, and having asilent thinking face, as wiseas a human philosopher’s;wiser. This Dunizel haddreamed. Now Dunizel’sdaughterconjuredit.Sovaz mounted the lion’s

back, and sat down cross-legged between the widewings.Wherewould she go?Her

brainmurmured to the lion’s

mind. And its owl-eaglewings, white-tipped,powerfulaswinds,borethemup into the sky, and left thedelta and all that country farbelowandmilesbehind.Dreams.Wherewould she

gobuttoBhelsheved?

AFEWYEARShadpassed,not many, since that nighttheysaidpiecesof themooncrashed on the earth: thenight Dunizel died, andAzhrarn declared hiswar onChuz, and confiscated theblue-eyed child. Yet in thisbrief time, the white flowerhadwitheredinthedesert.

Holy Bhelsheved, thegods’ jar, had had adarkening future from thatinstant Azhrarn first tookagainst the place. The citywas uninhabited when onecame on it now, in thetwilight dawn, as the laststarsputouttheirtapers,andonlythequeen-starblazedonin the east. Bhelsheved’sflower-towers were emptyhives. Sand piled in gusts

along themarble streets, andno sorcerous mechanismanymore brushed it away. Itwas the same with thesinging roads which had ledthere over the dunes (theysang no more), and in thegroves outside the trees haddied or been chopped down,and the statues were rubble,orfilched.Theverygateshadbeenbroken and stolen fromfor their richness, and the

sky-colored windows of thefanes broken or taken, too.Notreasurewasleft.Nothinghad stayed sacrosanct. Theheart-temple was despoiledwiththerest,eventhegoldenaltar furniture had beencarted off. Various personshad muttered that such arobberywouldinviteadivinecurse, but they were alreadyunder it: the curse being ofAzhrarn’s making. Its ruin

was not epic, only utter. Acrackedjarnow,useless.Yet, in the pale gateway,

KingKheshmetsatinavividrobe,playingonapipe.Something crossed

betweenthemorningstarandthe earth. It was the wingedlionspeedingover.Italighteda short stretch from thegateway, and Sovaz glidedfrom its back. KingKheshmet, however, did not

raise his eyes. The shrill ofthepipewenton.AndSovaz,standing near enough hershadow touched his robe’sorangeedge,recited:‘Herethesunshuns,Unsheathes the wind her

claws.Yetinthegateisone:Fateremainsalone.Fate with fire-eyes broods

atthedoubledoors,

Playingapipeofbone.Fate with brown hands

unwrapseachday,Andcaststhehuskaway,When each waste night is

gone.”

At which Kheshmet, LordFate, left off playing andobserved,“Thedoors,doubleorotherwise,areabsent.Noristhepipeofbone.”“FourthLordofDarkness,”

said Sovaz, “why are youhere?”“Theexaltedshallbeflung

downandthelowlyraisedonhigh. That is fate’s law.Behold Bhelsheved, flungdown. I am obliged to callfromtimetotime,forform’ssake.”“Whyatthishour?”“You,” said Kheshmet

placidly, “havecomehere toseekyourownfate.Andhere

youwillfindit.Orpartlydoso.”“Whatismyfate?”“Do not challenge me,

Sovaz-Azhriaz, Azhrarn’sdaughter.Idonotknowyourfate,Imerelyrepresentit.”And getting up, putting

awaythepipe(whichwasofpastel jade), he offered hisarmcourteously toguideherintothecity.“Permit me,” said

Kheshmet, “to show youyourmother’stomb.”“No,” said Sovaz, and

drew back, while the lionsnarledandpaddedcloser.“Follow then,” said

Kheshmet. “Ornot.”Andheturned mildly in at thegateway,andontooneofthefourroadsofthecity.“Ihavea mind to go there myself.She too, Doonis-Ezael,Moon’sSoul,was apupil of

mine. Indeed, she had anallegiance to three of us: tomadness—it ran in thefamily; her ownmother wasanidiotuntilthecometcuredher—todestiny,andtodeath.Onlywickednesshadnothingto do with Dunizel. So, ofcourse, she became themistressofWickedness.”Presently, Sovaz entered

the gateway after Kheshmet,anddidfollowhimalongthe

roadbetweenthetemplesandshrines. The lion trotted ather heels, pausingoccasionally to preen itswings.HereSovazhadbeenborn.

Here she had been carriedabout and shown to thepeople, who believed her,then, to be a god’s progeny,andhermothertheChosenofthat god. The faintest ofremembrances lingered, or

returned. Her time in theUnderearth,andthethroesofsudden physical growth, hadwiped away the pictures anddeeds of her beginnings, tillonly emotion, bitter,bemused,hurtful,wasleft.The sun rose, and blue

lights shot from the smashedwindowsthatnearlymatchedtheeyesofSovaz.Kheshmet walked before,

andnowandthenhetookup

againandplayedatrillonthejade pipe. When thishappened, the ghosts ormemories of Bhelsheved’swhite pigeons transparentlypoureddown from the towertops to circle his hands andshavenhead.(Thelionstaredandlickeditsjaws.)They reached the gardens

of blossom trees beside theheart-lake of the city. Thegardens were a wilderness;

only groves of stumps stoodthere now, as outside. Thewaterofthelakewasunblue,unbright. Probably no fishremainedinit.“Here is the grave,” said

Fate, pointing to the turfbesidethelake.Therewasnosign,nothing

to show that the groundcontained anything, butSovazknewFatedidnot lie.Dunizel’sbodyhadfoundan

unmarked bed; Azhrarn haddisdained to cover thebeautiful flesh which hadbetrayed him for death, orelse he could not bringhimself to throw over it theblack soil. Some cautiousscholar or some simpletonwhohadpity,oronlyasenseoftidiness,sawtoit.Sovaz regarded the turf,

then she turned from it, andthen turned back. She sat

down by the spot, and laidher hand on the bare earth amoment. Today she wasdressed,orseemedtobe,asayoung woman, but fortraveling,andshehadaknifein her belt, which next shetook out. With the knifeSovaz cut some of her longhair, the way hair wassometimesshorninmourningin those lands, and others.Sovaz sprinkled these black

curling tresses over themarkerless grave. Soon,blackhyacinthsbegantorisewherethehairhadfallen,butSovazdidnotstaytosee.Shehadgotupagain,andwalkedawayaroundthelake.“Here she came to him,

living,” Sovaz murmuredaloud as she walked, “andhere she came to him, dead.Here they spoke and heretheylovedandhereheswore

to destroy the country andhere she dissuaded him.”Then Sovaz stood still andlooked down deep into thelake. The four bridgesreflectedinit,andthetempleat their meeting—everythingwreckedandrobbedthoughitwas. Then the lion reflectedin it, having flownup in theairafter theghostbirds.Andthen Fate, who had come tostand beside her. At this,

Sovaz saw her ownreflection, and that ofKheshmet in his vividgarment. Yet the imagestrembled and changed. Theyseemed to be not those of agirl and a man, or one whotook on a man’s form—butfirst a white column and acolumn of yellow-red,thereafterawhiteflameandacopper flame—but then twoyoung men shone upward

from the water. They werenot distinct, but the hair ofonewasthecolorofapricots,andoftheother,black.Bywhatevermeans,Sovaz

knewthemfromtheirstories—Simmu, who stoleimmortality from the gods,andZhirektheMagician,oneofthegreatestofhiskind,forhe had learned the magic ofthe sea peoples, a thing notoftenachieved.

“Do you see as I see?”inquiredSovaz.“Perhaps not,” said Fate.

“Yet if something unusualhasappeared,itwillbetodowithme.Iamitsharbinger.“Whenhe spoke, the image

ofSimmufaded,andonlythereflection of Kheshmetrippledinthewater.But thatof Zhirek continued beforeSovaz.“The fate of Zhirek the

Magician,” she said then.“Whatwasit?”“He had been blessed or

cursed with invulnerability,but immortality he spurned.Hewouldhave takenservicewithyourfather,butAzhrarnrefusedhim,forreasonsonlyspeculated upon. EventuallyZhirek,whocouldnotdieashe then much wished to do,took contrary service insteadwithUhlume,LordDeath.”

“Thetaleisanancientone.Surely, though invulnerableand long-lived, Zhirek willbynowbeended?”“Itseemstome,”saidFate,

musingly, “that thoughZhirekisdeadinallways,ofintellect,heart,andmind,hisinvulnerable health andvitality have not yetsurrendered him.Somewhere, he does live, orrather, does exist. And he is

mad, naturally. The awfulpunishmentofSimmu,whomZhirek always loved anddistrustedandsohated,madesureofit.ItistheinsanityofZhirek,maybe,whichattractstheideaofhimtoyou.Somenuanceofyourlover’s?”Sovaz picked up a pebble

immediately and threw it inthe lake, and the indistinctimageofZhirekvanished.“But you speak to me of

my own fate, Kheshmet.Whereisit?”At that, the image of

Kheshmet in the lake alsovanished,andKheshmetwithit.Sovaz smiled in anger.

They were all tricksters andwraithsandgaudyshowmen,thesemalepartunrelativesofhers.Up in the sky, thewinged

lion wheeled fantastically,

catching bird ghosts in itsmouth—which tasted ofsugary smoke, but alwayssomehow evadedswallowing.Sovaz wandered about the

desert city. But she wascareful to avoid those siteswhich it seemed to her shehad visited with her mother,nor did she go back toDunizel’sgrave.In the heat of the day,

Sovaz lay down in a templecourt, under a porch, andslept. She dreamed Zhirekstoodbeforeher inapriest’srobe,withacollarof jewels.Thestoriesmademuchofhiseyes, which had been thecolorofbluewaterinagreenshade,orgreenwaterunderasky of dusk. But his eyesweredarkernow,allshadow.Hesaidtohercoldly,“Itwasinmynaturetodogood,butI

gainedanevilreputation,andjustly. I did muchwickedness.Forget thevoiceofyourmother,whotoldyouAzhrarn was the darling ofthe world, who formed thefirst cats for a jest, andinvented love. Go and dowickedness as I did.No onecan escape destiny. It runsbehindandbefore.Itisinthebreathandtheblood.”“And where now,” Sovaz

askedofhiminthedream(ahuman enough dream, noVazdru abstraction), “wherenowdoyoudwell,diligentlyperforming wickedness toplease your conception ofdestiny?”“I do nothing now, I am

nothingnow.Neitherwickednor virtuous. And I have nolook of who I was, nopowers,andnoname.”“How is it that you know

ofme.”“I do not. It is you who

knowofme.”WhenSovazwoke,thesun

was setting. She called thewinged lion, and they spedup into the sunset, whichturned their paleness blood-red, and made the hair ofSovaz a storm cloud. Andtheyflewoverthedesertandoverallthoselands,towardafar-off shorewhere two seas

rantogetherandwereone.

She had announced to himshe would never seek him,never obey or pay homage,until seas were fires, windsseas,theearthglass,“andthegods come down on ladderstolickthefeetofmen.”AndAzhrarnhadsaidnomore.Now Sovaz stood on the

seas’ shore and shesummoned illusion to her,

andillusionhurriedtoattend.Inside an hour, a terrible

sight was to be seen in thatarea. The two seas whichjoined had become an oceanof raging arson over whichlightnings flashed andcrackled.Whilefromtheeastand north had flown twowinds, and they were saltwaters, and waves curledthroughthem,andtheysweptagainst the land in breakers,

roaring, with thin green fishwhirled in their midst. Andthe land itself chipped andsplintered, for it was glass,and under the surface youmight see through themineral trenches to lavalpitsand the bones of beasts andmen some centuries old, allcaught as if in crystal resin.Last of all, in the center ofthe frantic scene, a glowingladder seemed to uncoil

betweenthelightningandthetempest,anddropdownuntilit touched the glass of theearth. Here stood someraggeddirtysavagemenwiththeir mouths open inastonishment, and out of theheavens came flitting beingsneither male nor female,shining facsimiles of thegods. And the pretend-gods,reaching the make-believemen, bowed low and busily

lappedtheirfilthytoes.Nearmoonrise, though the

moon was not to be seen intheconfusion,adarksmoldermight be espied rushingupward through the crystalground. Sovaz kneeled,crossed her hands on herbreast, and bowed her head,in the attitude of an extremedocility.Suddenlysomeoftheglass

shattered, and a pillar of

black fire burst out. For amoment it towered thereagainsttheflamesandtorrentof sky and sea, and then itdied down and a man hadfilled its place, folded in ablack cloak. He glancedabouthimsomeminutes.“Iacknowledgeyourjoke,”

he said. “You are trulyVazdru. You will go to anylength, however sumptuousor cataclysmic, in order

solely to avoid thewords: ItappearsIamatfault.”Sovaz, kneeling, hands

crossed, head bowed, saidclearly, “It appears I am atfault.”Azhrarn snapped his

fingers, and thewinds let gotheir water on the ocean,which was quenched to seaagain. Freed, thewinds spedaway to the north and eastcorners of the world. The

earthgrewsolidanddense.Itputonsandsandgrassesandrock.Thefiguresofgodsandhumans disappeared, and theheavenly ladder became asilver necklacewound in theveiloftherisingmoon.Sovaz still kneeled, her

headstillbowed.“You were clever enough

toengagemyattention,”saidAzhrarn. “What do youwant?”

“I will do your bidding,”velvetly said Sovaz. “I willatone for my insults. I willrevere and adore you. I amyourslave.”“Changed heart,” velvetly

saidAzhrarn,“tellmewhy.”At that Sovaz looked up

andgazedathim,butnotintohis face,with unvelvet prideand unfriendliness. “There isno escape,” she said. “Youmademe foryourpurpose. I

willfulfillyourpurpose.”“You have grown to hate

mankind.”“Those I would love or

hate are beyond my love orhate. I hate none, and I lovenone. But I am respectful. Iam a dutiful daughter. I cutmy hair and left flowers onmy mother’s grave. And Ikneeltoyou.”“Getup,”saidAzhrarn.And he turned from her

andbeckoned to the air, andout of it came the wingedlion.Ithadtakenrefugefromthemaelstromof illusionssohigh up in the ether, its ruffand tail and wings weretrickled by tinkling essencesof the stars. Or else skyelementals had thrown thesecollected essences over it,like a bucket of slops, inordertochasethebigcatoutof their yards. It made

landfall beside Sovaz, andregarded her with its gravewiseeyes.Then a chariot came, up

from the earth. The edge oftheseaseemedtocatchalightagain at its coming. Ofbronze the chariot was, butinlaid all over with silver,with pearls set in and stonesof clearest blue, thickestblack. Three horses drew it,and theywere jet-blackwith

a blue streaming frost onthemofmanesand tails,andthe bits, and the reins andshafts, and the chariot-pole,all ranwithsilver thingsandthings of diamond, withmoonstones and colorlessberyls like ice. A Vazdruheld the skittish team,making them prance, andthenmaking them grow stillas stone. He did this withpanache, flaunting his skill.

And when once the horseswere stones, he looked longat Sovaz, marveling andstartled, charmed andirritated. Then, havingrendered Azhrarn extremeobeisance, he tendered thewomananexquisitebow.Shehad seen not much of thisupper caste of the demons,herownkin.ButtheVazdru,allofthem,lovedbeauty,andwere envious of anything

favoredbytheirlord.Azhrarn entered and stood

inhis chariot; it couldbenooneelse’s.HesaidtoSovaz,“Though

you have no power over thesea, you have pressed anillusion on it which mightconvince the credulous thatyouhad.Thesea-folkmaybeincensed at this. Also thatyou seemed to fill the airwith their waves and fishes.

Itisprudenttogofaroff.”“Does my lordly father,

then,feartheseapeople?”“Saltwater,” he said, “has

done me a service now andthen.”And far out on the moon-

spun ocean it seemed for aninstant phantoms rode, ayouth on a midnight horse,and these ghosts pursued inturnanotheropalescentghostlike a ship—but the images

dissolved.“Ihaveheard that story in

the taverns of men,” saidSovaz. “Sivesh, and thefadingofhisdream.A loveryoutiredofanddestroyed.Itwouldappear that thosewhowin your love are greatlyunfortunate.”“Donotletittroubleyou,”

said Azhrarn. “Themisfortuneisnotyours.”Therecametheflickerofa

diamond whip. The chariotsprang away and aloft—tower-high from the earth,horses and wheels, theVazdruprinceandhisPrince—andwaslostinthenight.ButSovazspranguponher

lion.“Follow.”They ran then, one behind

theother,somehours.Awildsight for those who saw, aracingchariotabovethetreesand a winged lion going

after.Themoon,whichhadbeen

rising, completed her climband turned her pale smokymask toward the world’swestern limit. What did themoon spy there, over thebrink? Chaos claimed herwitheverydescent,yetchaosdidnotharmthemoon,orthesun, only enriched them sothey came up from its armslikebrides.

Certain aspirations of thewinds,too,boundedafterthelion and Sovaz between itswings, like puppies eager toresume the earlier play withwater and fish. Buteventuallythesezephyrstiredand fell back. Then anightingalesangbelowinthegray-purpleshadowofalilactree,andanotherfromanilexall black jade. Manynightingales were passed by

beneath, singing, or silent inperplexity, and manygeographies were crossedover, both magnificent andpestiferous, many, manymiles.And sometimes (it is said)

hecalledtoherandbadeherbedutifulas shehadvowed,and there was a village or atown, or some temple, orcampofmalcontents,andsheshouldworksomewonderon

it to amuse him, submissivedaughter that she claimed tobe.And so that night (they

said) was riddled with roofsturned to porridge andcheeses to topaz, with owlswhichcriedinhumanspeech,and men who made noiseslike owls, or donkeys.With,too, a dread voice thatwhispered in sleepers’ ears:“Beware, for I know your

terriblesecret,anditshallbetold to all.” And at thephrases of this soft, awfulvoice, a thousand heartsmissing a beat, and athousand men and womenscramblingupinhorror.Andeverywhere lamps lit, andshouts raised, and screamsand blasphemies, andservants running and horsesfetched, and some at prayerand some at a gallop with

torches to fly the spot, andsometakingupthemeansofsuicide, and some sneakingout to kill their neighbors.While, in a very smallnumber of dwellings, a veryfew turned over and sleptagain, muttering in surprisetothemselvesorothers,“Butwhat terrible secret is this? Ihavenone.”All the night, therefore,

was a riot (ifwhat they said

was so). Many many miles,and after those, many manymiles after, till Azhrarn,letting the chariot of bronzeand silver idle at last,remarked to the girl on thelion, “Yes, that is fair. Youhaveacunningmind,thoughyou are yet a child, ademon’smind.Adutifulandobedient daughter for sure.”And his smile froze to hailthe fringed icy beryls and

pearlsalongthereins,andtheverydew thatwasbeginningto form upon the leavesbelow,thatfrozetoo.Soon after this a city

swelled before them. Therehad been several such, butthisonewasmighty,and layalongariver,amongfieldsofflowers. Animals of stoneguarded the quays and thecity’s two gates, and evenhereand there stoodupona

roof.Theywerewhiteassalt.The river itself was white,kissed by the sinking moon,and on all the spires of thecity, the moon had set, inparting,silverrings.“And here,” said Sovaz,

“whatmustIdohere?”“Ihaveheardhowyoudeal

withacitybyariver.Shudmof the ghoulsmay speak foryouinthat.Letthisplacebe.OrshallIgiveityoutobea

goddessin?”“AmItowantsuchagift?”“Oh, dutiful daughter,”

saidAzhrarn.“Youaretobea goddess somewhere, for Iwould teach this world thenatureofgods.”“Andwhatistheirnature?”

shesaid.“Indifferentandcruel.And

lovingnotmankind.”“In Bhelsheved,” said

Sovaz,“Ihaveseenanotion

written on a rock: that thekind gods saved the peoplethere from a monster theycallinthatlandAzhrarn.Nordid the gods save them onlyonce,buttwiceover.”“It isbysuchnotions they

haveearned the lessonIwillteach,” said Azhrarn. Then:“I have not rebuked you foryour discourtesy,” saidAzhrarn.Thedewwhichhadfrozen turned to steel and

dropped down the trees toconcuss little slugs. “Do notforget that I do not forget Ihavenot.”“I am rebuked,” said

Sovaz, “by the very life yougave me. And since it is animmortal,never-endinglife,Ishall be rebuked by itforever.”Then Azhrarn reached out

toherandputhishanduponherhead,verygently,andhe

said to her, “TheVazdru donotweep.”“Whoweeps?NotI.”“Each word spoken was a

tear.”But,thoughhegazedather

intently,whensheturnedhereyes to him,Azhrarn lookedaway from her, out over thenight. Whatever he mightsay, she could not help butrecall for him Dunizel. Thefirst sighthehadhadofher,

this child of his, an adultwoman, had gone throughhim like a sword, and therecanbenodoubtofit.Andhecouldnothelpbutdislikeher,too, perhaps; since he hadcreated her to do his workupon the earth, she was hisownwickedness,externalizedand incarnate. And hadDunizel, maybe, caused himto question his wickedness,his character, as it seemed

shehadmeanthimto?The chariot, and the lion,

hovered in the air, and thecity moon-gleamed below.Azhrarn removed his handfrom the girl’s hair, revokedhis caress (the lionshuddered), but said to her,“What now, then, is yourname?”And she replied,

“Azhriaz.”The meaning of which is

merely this: the Sorceress,Azhrarn’sDaughter.

7.TheStoryoftheStallion’sBack

THERE WAS a king whoruledthecityandlandsofthewhitestonecats,thenameofwhich was Nennafir. Hisname was Qurob. The veryday that he was born, awitch-woman came to hismother, even as she layswooningwithfatigueonher

bed, amid the fans of herhandmaidens. “Your son,”saidthewitch-woman,“shallbekingofNennafir,inhealthandbounty,andnomanwillraise a weapon against him,and no ill happening comenear to him, and his namewill be well remembered.Unless . . .” And here thewitchhesitatedmeaningfully,and thehandmaidsheld theirbreath, and their fans were

still, and only themother ofQurob sighed. “Unless,”continued the witch, “whenonce he is a king, he shouldever chance to ride upon astallion’sback.Forifhedoesthat, he shall lose hiskingdom,andheshalldie.”Atthesetidingsthemother

of Qurob rested upon herpillows,andshesaidnowordatallforsomewhile, thoughshe might be seen to be

thinking. Finally she didspeak.Shesaid:“Well,thisiswonderful fortune, for I amnot even the present lord’swife,butonlyhisconcubine.It is a small matter, surely,thatmysonkeepfromridingona stallion’sback—hewillhave geldings and mares inplenty forhisuse, ifhe is tobeking.Comenow,”shesaidto an attendant, “pour wine,and you shall all drink with

metothisgoodluck,andtheseeresswithus—andineverycup I will let drop one ofthesepearlsfrommynecklet,butforthewisewomanIwillletdropthreepearls.“Therewas much approval at thisdecision. The wine waspoured in the cups and eachpassed to the mother ofQurob, who, as she hadpromised, let fall in each acostlypearl,but into thecup

ofthewitchsheletfallthree.Then everyone drank, saveonly themotherherself—shewastooweaktotastewineasyet.And in amoment or so,everyone but her tumbledover with a groan and died.For in every cup, alongwithapearl, themotherofQurobhad let fall a drop of deadlypoisonfromaringshewore,butinthewitch’scupshehadlet fall three drops.And this

wasbecauseshehad thoughttoherself:Only Imust knowthis thing, I and my son. Ifanyotherknows,hemayseekto trick him into just such aride. In that she may havebeen sensible. She wasaltogether a clever woman.Nosoonerwerethewitchandall the attendants stretchedlifeless than Qurob’s motherbegan to scream.When helparrived, she told how a vile

sorceress had entered andoffered to make the newmother, a mere concubine,intoNennafir’squeen,ifonlyshe would work evil againsther lord. This she sternlyrefused to do, at which thesorceress cast a spell uponthewine,soitsleweveryonewhohaddrunkit—saveonlyQurob’s mother, who hadbeentooweakasyettodrink.And then Qurob’s mother

had herself recited a charmagainst witches, taught herlong ago by a priest—atwhich the loathsomesorceressherselfexpired.Allmarveled at this news,

as well they might. Andpresently the tale wasrecountedtotheking.“Here is one who is

steadfast,”saidtheking.Andin a while he went to visitQurob’s mother, and was

much takenwith her beauty,as he had been that priornight he got her with childandgaveherpearls.Affairs then went as they

mightbeexpectedtogo.The king raised Qurob’s

mother, he made her one ofhis lesser queens, awardedher lands and jewels. ThenQurob’s mother became acompassionate and admiringfriend to each of the three

other lesser queens and toeachshesaid,“Why,mysonisnothingtoyours.”Or,ifnoson yet appeared, “Why,mysonwillbenothingtoyours.”And she said, “I am anonentity,but it ismyjoytobe near you. Always I havenoted your loveliness andvirtue, and indeed I willconfideinyou,Ibelieveitisyou yourself the king lovesbest—truly, even better than

the high queen of Nennafir,for of course that marriagewas arranged when he wasbut a boy. I suppose that hewouldcastherdownandputyou in her place, if he wereable.”Andthatsaid,nextshediligently advised each ladyagainst the other two, andtold how she had heard itrumoredthattheymightwishtopoisonthefavoredone,orthe favored one’s child, or

thefavoredone’schild-to-be.Andshortly,Qurob’smotherdidtheservice,andpoisonedthe two lesser queens whowere least susceptible. Butthe night before she did it,shesoughtaudiencewith thehigh queen herself, andQurob’s mother fell on herface, and then beingpermitted to kneel, warnedthehighqueenhowthelesserqueens plotted against her,

and of one in particular (themostsusceptible),whowouldprobably murder her rivals.Sowhenthetwobodieswerecome on next morning,everyone knew who was toblame, and the lesser queen,the susceptible one, wastaken and flogged andhanged, and her corpse leftonthegibbetwherethethreewhitecatsofstonelaybytheriver.

And after that the highqueenraisedQurob’smotherandhadherasherconfidanteand spy. This went on forthirteen years, during whichtheboyQurobgrew,andwastaught by his mother to becanny, and to flatter anddissemble, and to be cruel,too, for she assured him,“There is a secret you musttell no one. You are kinghere.” And Qurob smiled,

and said, “Am I, Mother? Ishallbegladof that.”But toeach of the sons of the highqueenhesaid,“Iamnothingbeside you, but let me beyourslave,forIhavealwaysadmired you beyond duty,more as I would worship agod.” And then he kindlyadvisedthemeachagainsttheothersandtoldthemplotshehadheardof, andgave themaccess to evidence which he

simulated and paid others tosimulate. And during histhirteenth year, the highqueen died of a wastingdisease induced by Qurob’smother’s having introducedinto her food tiny toxicgranules.Andthentheking’ssons fell out and quarreled,and some killed each other.And one night Qurob, astrong handsome lad ofgracious bearing, knelt

humbly to the king andinformedhimaplothadbeenlaid against the king’s life,and though it broke his,Qurob’s, heart to speak, allmust be revealed. And nextmorningthetwoeldestoftheking’s sons were torn apartby horses, and their remainsleft in the square where thewhite cats of stoneoverlooked the river. AndQurob became the king’s

heir.Now three further years

passed, and the king, whohad grown old and sick,looked lovingly upon hisadoring heir, and that yearQurob was sixteen, hemurmured to the king,“Magnificent Father, let mespeak to you in yourchamber.”Thekingwillinglycomplied. When they wereclosetedtogether,Qurobsaid,

“Father, have I served youwell?”The sick old king nodded,

andwithtearsembracedhim.“Of all my sons,” said theking, “you alone werefaithful.”“Then know,” saidQurob,

“Ialone,ofallyoursons,wasfalse.” And then Qurobexplained everything he haddone, and reminded thekingof what had been done

throughhislies.Andthekingstartedupinanguish,andhisheartburstandhedied.When the diadem of the

cityhadbeensetonthebrowofQurob,hismothercametohim privately, in a shadowrobe of mourning tear-sprinkled with pricelessgems.“Now attend to me, my

son,” said she. And sheapprisedhimoftheprophetic

witch who had come to herthe very day of Qurob’sadventintheworld,andsaidhe should be a king. Butwhen he was king, he mustnot ride upon a stallion’sback, for if he did thekingdom would be lost tohim and he would die. “Ihave told no other livingsoul,” said Qurob’s mother,“and all who knew, I havemade certain they are

eternallysilent.Forifanyareaware but us two, they mayturn the chance against youandtrickyouintojustsucharide.”“Oh my mother,” said

Qurob,“Iamblessedinyou.Oh most sagacious ofwomen,andbest.Iwillheedyour caution. None shallknowsaveyouandme.”Now it may be thought

strange that Qurob should

distrust hismother,who hadall this while kept thedangerous secret flawlessly.Butmostmenmeasuremostmatters by themselves. Thewoman had weaned her sonto trustlessness, and thetrustlessseldomtrustanother.Supposing he had one daybeen at odds with her oversomething, or even that,growingolderandinfirm,shemuttered the story of the

stallion’sbackinafeverorinsleep?So Qurob kissed his

motherandgaveherpresents,andwhenshewasinherownapartments,he sentoneafterhertodrownherinherbath,so it should seem to be anaccident. For had she nottaught him for sixteen yearstobeprudent?The length of his lifetime

and half again, then, QurobruledinNennafir, tillhewasforty years. He ruled inprosperityandhealth,nomanstood against him, and,though he was harsh andtyrannical, none spoke ill ofhim but called him theBelovedKing.Andbesure,forallthefine

horses he selected, as ifcarelessly,torideupon,inallthese years he never once

tookastallion.One day, Qurob went

hunting. Beyond the flowerfields that garlanded the citytherewas a green plainwithwaters and spreading trees,and here lived raisin-blueboars and shining whitegazelles prized for theirskins. Nevertheless, on thisday,thepartystartednothing,and the king became sullen,in which humor he was

feared. At last the sun waswestering, and there in thetall grass by a pool, Qurobbeheld a gazelle drinking,whiteastheword,andwithablackstarbetweenherbrows.The hunt at once gave

chase, and the animal leaptaway fleet as a spear. Thiswas thought excellent sport,and every man shouted forgratification—and relief,seeingthekingwouldnowbe

in a gentler mood. And onand on the gazelle sprang,passing like a wind overgrassandstone,leadingthemtoward the eastern sky, withthelowsunattheirbacks.Butrideastheymight,and

cast spears, and shoot withthe bow as they might, theycould not get near to her orwound her and bring herdown.Andtheyleftthehoursbehind them under their

horses’ hoofs. The sun wenton to the western gate andknockedtobeletforth.Thehorsesflagged.Oneby

one the horsemen drew rein.Onlythekingsurgedon.Hiscourtiersdarednotsuggesttohim any other course, buteachmanbuthim,tosavehismount,nowdroppedback tofollowatawalk.Thegazelletheyleft to theking,andsheandhewere soongone from

sightintothecleardarkdusk.Qurob did not like

anything to elude him. Hisgelding labored, but hethrashed it and spurred it togreaterefforts.Helookedtoseethewhite

gazelle tire, but she did not.Sohecalledtohercoaxinglyover the echoing darkeningplain: “Sweetheart, I admireyouandwishonlytobenearyou.Letmecomeclose.Let

me protect you from otherswhomeanyouharm.”After a time, it seemed to

Qurob he heard the gazellecryback tohim:“Donot trythose lies on me, Qurob. ItwasItaughtyouthem,andIremember how you repaidme!”At that thehairbristledon

Qurob’s neck. He went firstchill then hot then clammycold, for it seemed he knew

the voice of the gazelle; itwaslikehismother’s.Just then the gazelle

reached a stand of trees anddartedinamongthemwithawhite flash. But she did notcomeout of the trees on thefar side. Going in after her,Qurobdidnotfindher.“Sorcery,” said Qurob in

some annoyance. “Or thatbitch’s ghost. I will takeofferings to my mother’s

tombtomorrow.”He had scarcely spoken

when the gelding shudderedandfelldeadunderhim.Qurob rose bruised, and

kicked the gelding’s carcassone final kick. Then heshoutedforhismen,knowingthey dared do nothing butfollow him. But they weretoo far off, as yet, to hear,and Qurob did not wish,suddenly, to be solitary in

that spot, the Beloved KingofNennafir.Accordingly he left the

cover of the trees, andsteppingout,what shouldhenext seedown the slope, butacotwithalighteddoorway,and the evening cook-smokegoing up.And nearbywas apastureinwhichahorsewasfeeding.Goingcloser,Qurobsawthishorsewasasplendidmare.

Notingit,Qurob,generallyso lucky, strode to the opendoorofthedwelling.Hesaidto the man he found within,“Down on your knees, oaf.For I am the king ofNennafir.” At which thepeasant sensibly obliged,leaving his meal to burn onthefire.“Whatisyourwill,mighty

lord?” timidly inquired thepeasant.

“Givemeyourhorse.Thatismywill.”“Alas,” said the peasant,

uneasily, “if you mean themare in thepasture, I shouldnot recommend it. She hashad such dealings recentlyshe is fractious, andwill notliketobearyou.”“What do I care for the

whims of the brute?”exclaimedtheking.“I have, though,” said the

man placatingly, “a noblestallion who is currentlycontentanddocile—”King Qurob swore a

dreadful oath. He haddetected sounds without ofspurs and hoofs, andunderstoodhiscourtierswerenow approaching. And hewasthinkingthis:IfIdeclinethe stallion, this dolt willquestion in his mind myinsistent preference, and so

will theythatarrivenow,mycourt. Besides, there arestallions ridden with thegeldings for the hunt, and Imay be offered one of thoseand must refuse. And theymay wonder at it, and mayrecallIhaveneversatuponastallion,andsodivineIhavesome secret reason, andguess it means no good tome, and trick me one day,justasmymothertoldme.

So Qurob drew his swordand lopped off the peasant’shead, and going out hewentafterthemareandgotholdofher,andwhenhiscourtcameup the king said, “Go fetchmysaddleandtherestofthegearoffthedeadhorseinthetrees.Ihavetakenafancytothisplumpmareandwillrideherhometothecity.”Andthathedid,thoughthe

stallions of the party were

troublesome at her presence,and sheherself unwilling, asthepeasanthaddeclared,andQurobbeather.Forallthat,shewasalush

animal,andQurobinclinedtokeep her for his stable.Havingforgottenherinotherbusiness, itwasawhile laterthat, recollecting, a morningcame when he called hischiefgroomandaskedforthemare.

“Alas, mighty lord, shedied. Shewas in foal,whichfoal she dropped before hertime, and it came out of herfeet-first,havingstoodall itsseasoninherbelly.And,hadthe foal lived, itwould havebeenthejewelofyouryards,for already it was in everyparticular themost choiceofstallions. And it is a greatshame that only once yourode on his back, and that

unknowing, when you rodeover the womb of hismother.”Hearing these words,

Beloved King Qurob wentgray as ash. He lifted hishands and took off the royaldiadem,andfromhis fingershepulledtherings.“Mysinshave huntedme down,” saidhe. “My mother’s curse, forcertainly she cursed me, hasfoundmeout.”Andhecalled

his trembling attendants andhad themstriphimofallhisornaments, and his raiment,andevenhisshoesheputofffrom his feet. And he tookwith him only one sharpdagger, andwalked fromhispalace naked and alone,astounding the city, anddown to the brown river,wherethewhitestonecatsofNennafir gazed away fromhimwithlovelesseyes.

Qurobhadnomindtowaitfor death, for he had oftensentdeathtoothers,orgiventhem death; Qurob graspeddeathmightbeunlikable.Sohecuthisownthroatandhiscorpsefellintheriver.And those many hundred

who had come to see andwho watched, notcomprehending any of it,were filled by terror andamazement,thoughnot,letit

besaid,bygrief.

POSSIBLY the tale of thestallion was untrue, orexaggerated. Generally onlythewarrior inbattlechosetoride an ungelded horse, andthen not always, for theywere intractable beasts.Perhapstherewassomeothercause for King Qurob’sguilty fear and self-

immolation.Whatever it was, there he

lay still, on his face, driftingdownstream and turning thebrownwaterred.Several thousands of

peoplewatchedhiscorpseonits way, lining the banks todo so, or staring out fromhigh roofs and balconies.And where the harbor was,the birdlike shipswere lyingwith theirwingsnoon-folded

anddipped,butmenclimbedup to themastheads or hungover the sides, looking outfor the throat-cutkingof thecity. Word had gone fastthroughNennafir. ‘‘And is itthe lord?” they cried. “Whatreasonhashe tokillhimself,the ingrate, when I, with somany good reasons,estimablyclingtolife?”ButifQurobheardhegave

no answer, as he went

driftingbyonhisface.Andsomesaid,“Hewasa

badmaster. Butwho is nextmaybeworse.”Qurobhad leftmanysons,

anddaughters, lust beinghispastime.Someof thesewerechildren, but others older.And there were some oftwenty-five years and more,that he had sired when hewastheheir.Thesemightbeexpected tosquabbleand the

kingdomnot to be the betterforit.Then, far down the river,

various sightseers thoughtthey caught another sight,that of a man in an orangerobe,walkingover thewaterwhere there was no bridge.Still others spied him on thequays. He was a beggar, arichlord.Heplayedapipeofjade,ormerelystoodmusing,gazingdownstream.. . .Fate

hadcometoNennafir.A few miles to the west,

theriverlooseditselfintothesea. In that direction thetieredmerchantvesselsofthecity were rowed, and fromthat direction they returned,someheavy-laden,somelightandwiththepromiseofgold.Now, seaward, westward,there seemed to be a sort offierce flash, either on thewater, or just above it in the

sky. There came a greatradiance suddenly, a secondsunrise, and from the wrongplace, which brought thepeopleofNennafir inhordestotheirwindowsandintothestreets—or else sent themburrowing to hide in fear.And silence fell, expectantand terrible. Those who hadcometowatchthefloatingoftheir corpse king were dueforsuperiorwonders.

The light in the sky turnssoft and flowerlike. A day-moon, not a sun.Only look,it is nothing horrible orfearsome,noseamonsteroutof the depths raging inland,no animate lightning. It issomething lovely and fair,something that makes abeautifulmusic,andtheglowon it is rainbows, and theglimmer of colors on thewingsofbirdsand thebacks

ofbigfishleaping.“A ship!” exclaimed a

thousandvoices.Itwasaship.Butoh,such

ashipitwas.It came upriver, between

thebanksofthecity,gliding.And as it came, Qurob’scadaver slipped down underthewaterandwasgone,fromsightandfrommind.Tall,theship,seventiersof

it,soitshouldnotbeableto

stay upright or tomove, andmany, after, declared thatindeed it did not rest utterlyonthewater,butalittleoverit, on a cloud of bright air.Yet seven oar banks turned,and the tips of their longspoonsstirredtheriver.It was the shape of a

colossal lily, theship,withamyriad down-folding petals,buttheprowwastheheadofaslenderdragonwhichcame

out from the flower withlookingeyesandpartedjaws.What woods had gone intothemakingoftheshipitwasnoteasytotell,foreveryinchwas plated by poured silverand hammered gold, so itblazed on and dazzledeverything that gazed at it.Transparent bubbles likeghost-suns hung over theship, and rays rang from thegolden oars. Multihued, the

birdscameandwentthroughthe sheen of it, and the fishsportedinitswake.Ithadnosail,andnooneonitsdecks,and no cry from within ofany directing the oars. Onlymusicplayed,withnosource.Itsoakedintobrainandlimb.The listeners felt a deliriumfasten on them, they longedto spring about and dance,and quantities did so,clapping their hands and

shouting joyfully, althoughthere was no reason for joy,moreforsuspicionandalarm.“Onlysee,”saidchildrenin

the crowds of Nennafir,“thereisaladyontheship.”It was a fact; the only

livingthingtobeseenwasupintheprow.Acrownofgoldspiked from the dragon’shead, and there in its circletstoodabeautifulwoman,alsoclad ingold, small as adoll,

herlongblackhairabouther.“That is a mighty

sorceress,” said the crowds,totheirchildren.But others kneeled. “A

supernatural thing,” theysaid.Upinthefenceofgold,the

goldenwomandidnotmove,yethereyesseemedtotoucheveryfaceandmind.Then she lifted up her left

hand—only that, a gesture

remote,outontheriver,highintheair.And the ship stilled, the

oars lay like teeth in aburning comb. The birdssettled, the fishes sank, andthemusicdied.But the architecture of the

city shifted, groaned, andcracked.Tiles scattered fromthewalls.Nennafirtrembled,with fright or pleasure. Andfrom their places there rose

up the white stone cats ofNennafir, yawning andsnarling in their carventhroats.Jumping from their high

roofs and slinking off theirplinths, they loped throughthe panic-stricken streets. Atthe river’s edge, where thepeople shrank from them,they gathered with creamyfire in their stone eyes,bowingtotheship.

Then the light of the shipwent out.Where it had beenbegan a huge wave, brownfor the river, with crystalveins and swirlings of goldand silver, and it swept overwith the dragon’s head stillstaring in it, and the goldencrown and the supernaturalsorceress, and curled downon the land. The multitudefled screaming before it,thinking to be drowned or

broken.Thus,on theemptied river

quay,Azhriazsteppedoutofthe burningwave, and stoodin a circle of bowing stonecats.The poets and scholars

wouldsaythis,thatthereshewaited, her eyes blue as thesky, her hair the night,dressed in the sun, her skinthe moon. And the city fellon its face to worship her,

knowingatoncethatabeingofUpperearthhaddescended.Shewasplainlyadaughter

of heaven, of the ethericregions.Her name, when they

learned it, carried a strangeecho, but they would notdecipher it.And thewaysofgods were beyond thequestioningofmen.As shewalked up through

thestreetsofNennafirtoward

the palace (where alreadycertainof theheirsofQurobhad set to, to stab, strangle,and poison each other), herfootsteps indented thepaving, which thereaftershone. For decades thesefootsteps were one of themarvels of the city, andworkedmiracles.Theyfadedin the end. She had noattendantonherwalkbutthewhite stone cats, thirteen of

them, which hedged herround jealously. And theawe-smitten peopledeliriously followed, someyetsingingandclappingtheirhands, some pale and in atrance, some flushed withanxiety.The soldiers at the palace

gate were moved to throwdown their spears andkneel.They understood no manopposesthewillofheaven.

The doors of the palaceopenedofthemselves.Thegleamingfootprintsof

Azhriazpassedoverthecourtand up the stair and into thehallswithin.So fair she was, the poets

wrote,whocouldlookatherand not know her for agoddess?Azhrarn had said: “I will

givethemagodtoadore.Letthemdiscoverwhatitistobe

ruledbysuch.”

BOOKTWO:Azhriazthe

Goddess

PartOne:MattersofStone

1IN A BONEYARD of adesert,menwere laboring touproottheslimtallstonesthewinds of time had sculpted

there.Thedesertwasallofstone,

pale and faceless. Its dustshad turned to dust and to adust of that dust, until theyvanished altogether. Nowthere was a light whitepowder from the chiseling,andaseachofthepillarsfell,thoughthepulleyssteadiedit,tiny shards flew off into theair.A road ranover thedesert

yardtoacitywhich,beingavassal,wasabouttomakeitsseptennial tribute. Preciousmetal and jewels, herds ofbeastsandslaves, theseweretheofferingsofthiscity.Butitwasrequested tosendalsomaterials of building, so aforest of trees had been cutdown, and here the forest ofstonewastumblinglikewise.“Behold this pillar now,”

said the overseer to his

newest gang. “One of theoldest in this haunted nastyplace. The wind has howledby it a thousand years, Ishouldnotbesurprised.AndnowitmustfalltopleasetheWitch-Goddess. Well, theydo a lot of building there, Igather.Strikeaway.”“What is that mark there,

high up, like a huge blackeye?”askedoneof thegang,a comely youth desirous the

overseer should notice asmuch.Theoverseerdidso.“Well,

my boy,” said he, “there areholesinsomeofthesestones,and sometimes somethingfills up the hole. And thentime passes and the fillingmarries with the stone, andturns to a stone itself. Someanimal,” said the overseer,taking the youth aside,“crawled in there, centuries

ago, and died, and becameone with the stone. I neverknew a hole,” said theoverseer, inviting the youthinto his tent, “that did not,usually, eventually get filledupwithsomething.”The rest of the new gang

toiled on in the heat of theday. Their mallets and axesbit into the stone, and theirsaws ate away at it. In themidst of the afternoon, the

stone swayed. The ropestautenedasthepillarteeteredin their grip; it swungsideways and plummeted,and the ropes pulled it upbefore it could beat on thegroundandshatter.Whenthestonewasloadedonthecart,twoor threemen climbed into look at the black opacitythatcurvedoutfromit.Theyrapped on the darkness, tosee if it would yield some

interesting thing, but it didnot oblige them. Theirutensilsmadenoimpression.Tothecitythen,thisstone,

withtheothers.Andthenintothe caravan of tribute, andaway eastward, a journey ayear and a half in length, tothewide landsof theWitch-Goddess. Of whom the cityheard much, though she hadneverbeenseenthere.

Shehadrisenintheeastlikea second sun. Three decadesthis city had known of her.Shewaseternallyyoung, theWitch-Goddess, alwayslovely.Cruelandpitilessshewas too, and warlike, and amagician. She descendedfrom heaven, and the seasandriversdividedthemselvesbefore her. She landed at aplace called Nennafir, theFlower of the River Bank,

and made it hers in threehours. And then, in threemonths,sheturnedthearmiesof flowering Nennafiroutward to conquer theworld,inthreethirds—andinthreeyearsitseemedshehadmade a good beginning.From coast to coast, isle toisle, the mountains, thevalleys, the towns, the cities—one full third, perhapssomewhat more. Only the

wastes,orremoterlands,hadshe, so far, ignored. Whereher legions did not go withtheir brazen tramp andbloody steel, where hermagic did not fly like ahoney-throated,jet-blackbird—kissing blade, killing song—the word of her went, thegossip, and thatwasenough.There had been others likeher, it was true. There hadbeenawitch-queenoncewho

subduedmanyofthelandsofthe earth and seduced manyothers, Zorayas, who wasnow a legend. But Zorayas,for all her might, glory,villainy, beauty, was mortal.Thisonewasagod.Todefyherwasnotmerelydeath,butblasphemy.A hundred stories were

toldofher,orsevenhundred,or seven thousand. Somewere lies, or other tattle (of

such as Zorayas and herkind),whichwere caught uplike flotsam in a tide. Someof the stories were realenough. But the deeds ofconquest and omnipotencehaveasameness,asdoestheexpositionofmostevil.The caravan of tribute ran

on,throughits initialmonthsof traveling, eastward, andsoon the tales lay so thickabout it the wheels of the

carts and wagons couldhardly move for them, andthecarriageanimalsstumbledand perished—stuck andstifled in the swamp of alivingmyth.In the third month of the

journey, the way becamephysically congested, byother caravans from otherplaces, all foaming into oneenormous channel, as if thedamsofcountlesswatershad

givenway.All roads now led to Az-

Nennafir.Mere city it was nomore,

but ametropolis covering sovastanarea,thirteengigantickingdomsmightbesunkinit.Acitylargeasacountry,andthereafteracountrysprawledthrough one third of thediscoveredearth:Empire.Mensickened,too,coming

even to the periphery of that

spot. The emanations of itssorcery, though longmonthsand endless miles away,filled mortals with wildemotions. Some men fellsubjecttofitsandtofevers—they danced in their sleep,slept as they walked. Thehale declined and the sickgrewwell.Therewasavaporofmadnesseverywhere.Andthelandchanged.First came a passage

through mighty mountains,and themountainswerebaldandshoneinthedistancelikepale silver.Nothinggrewonthem, no tree, no blade ofvegetation.Thosethatpassedup and over them saw theywereofagrayishgranitethatinsomepartshadturnedtoakind of mirror. The sunpierced through them, or themoon by night. Beyond themountains, rolling plains of

savage grass, the stems ofwhich were thick and green.The grass was sweet, andbrewedinavatmadeagreenwinewhich,drunk toooften,turnedmen’swits,orblindedthem. Birds drifted over thegrasslands on enormouswings, flying parasols ofdarkness. Sometimes theystooped and took someanimal from its cover, or achild—for herders lived on

the plains, in huts of grass,clothed in grass, playing onpipes made from the grassstems, and strange in thehead from breathing alwaysthegrassscent.Otherlandsfollowed,steep

andsteepled,lowastrenches,desolate, populous. Therewas a sea over which abridge had been built, andsupported partly, it must be,bysorcery.Itslegsweresunk

down deep into the bedrockunder the water. Many dayson the bridge the caravansmust go, seeing only oceanon either side of the highparapets,or thespurlingsea-sky overhead. And seafowlrosebefore thecaravans inawhite wind. Or sometimeshuge creatures were sightedinthewater,swimmingby.In the sixth month of the

land voyage east, the towns

and cities lay on the groundasthickaslocusts,eachwithonly a short stretch of freeland between, and over thisland the cities fought forpossession, but the caravanspassed,inviolable,sincetheycarried tribute to theWitch-Goddess. There was not acity now, a town, a village,that did not have a templededicated to her, and herlooming statues arose on the

highways. They were allunalike,yetallsimilar,whiteas snow or ice, the hair ofblack—ebony, agate—theeyes of blue—greatsapphires,orblueemeralds—and the offerings madebefore the statues lay thereand decayed; even the birdsof the air would not stealfromher,ortheconeysorthefoxes. Heaps of fruits, andvials of perfume and

amphorae of liquor, and onthe white stone altars thebones stuck up like drawnswords through the rottingcarcasses of sacrifice. Thedizzying stench of all thisfilled the atmosphereeverywhere around.Sometimespriestswereatthealtars. Flames burned andsmoke lifted, through theloudhymnsofpraise.Ithadabluerobe,herorder,bluefor

the eyes of the Goddess, abluelikenootherblueontheearth.Bynightinthoselands,yousaw the firesofofferingburning on every side,dotting the darkness, whichotherwiseglowedfaintlywiththe lamps of the crowdedcities,orglaredwhereoneofthemwasonfire.In the ninth month of its

traveling, the caravan whichcarried the desert stones—

along with those othercaravans which had traveledasmallerwhile,oragreater,but a trek of nine moremonths still before them all—came to the edge of thecountry known now as Az-Nennafir,theheartlandoftheEmpireoftheGoddess.

No man had ever gone onthis expedition more thanonce in his life. Once was

enough. And in mostfamilies, the onus of theadventure was passed fromfather to son, a destiny thatcouldnotbeavoided.The outskirts of the

heartland of the Goddess,locked in sorcery, weremostly empty. Here weredeserts, of a sort. After theteem of the cities, it seemedall life had hidden itself.There were many differing

accounts of these regions,and probably they did differvastly, from one sector toanother, for of the largenumbers of men whoapproached, each saw onlythat landscape he traveledthrough,and,undoubtedly,somuchwassufficientforhim.Thestone-bearingcaravan,

with its companions, then,came in over a rockyprecipitousheight,anddown

into a hollow smooth asburnished copper in thedawn.Longpansofmetallicgroundlaybeforethem,somewith pools of metallic waterin them, where none woulddrink, not even the thirstyanimals.Daystheymovedonthe face of this geography,underasweepingsky.Whenthe nights came, there werecuriousshapesintheheavens—not to be confused with

clouds; vague misty formsthat went to and fro, ghost-giants, or phantom gods.Stars shot from theirmoorings—iftheywerestars.Some crashed on the land,rushing over theencampments of thetravelers, lighting the skywithdreadfulcolorsbrightasnoon, making a sound ofscreaming, or tearing cloth.Wheretheyfell,overthedim

metallic hills, there wouldcome thunder and a blast offire, and out from that placewould roar a sudden briefgale, hot as a furnace,blowing the tents from theirpegs and men off their feet,andsmellingofessencesthathadnoname.A month or two then, in

thisoddenvironment,unsafewith falling stars. And thenthedesertofmetalgaveonto

adesertofbluesandunderadrenchedbluesky.Fountainssprangherefrombouldersofviolet quartz. The water andthe blueness refreshed anddid no harm—or seemed todonone;whocouldbesure?(Noman,theysaid,goesthatroadandreturnsassaneashewent. Theywere resigned toit,mostly,havingnochoice.)Another month or two in

thebluedeserts,trackoftime

already being somewhatapproximate. And then awhite desert, where streamsofmilkranfrombouldersofalabaster. And next, blackpastures running black beer—or ink; best be carefulwhen drinking. And thenpurewater,alandofit,alakegoingfromthefoot’sedgetothe horizon, with here andthere tangle-haired water-forests or primeval trees in

which fish nested, floppingfrom out the lake to tendroundeggs likeopals,sittingupon them and pantinggently, with solemn wintryeyes. A causeway led overthelake.Itstoppedatawall.The wall had become

visible some miles off, andeventhosewhohadheardofithadstared.Itwasawalloftiles, enameled with wingedbeasts or tailed beasts—it

went up and up, and up andup. It seemed toholdoff thesky.The caravans crowded the

causeway, piled against thewall.Thedayhadmeltedintothe lake, and the fish divedfrom their nests and played,gleaming, in the water. Themoon had come up, unseenbeyond thewall, in the east.She lifted higher and higheruntilshecouldcrestthewall.

Whenthishappened,thetileswhitened, and a doorappeared, unlocked bymoonlight seemingly,gradually gaping wide. Thecaravanswentthrough,tothelast wheel and pack animal,and the last man. Afterwhich,thewallcloseditself.Itwaspitchdarkinsidethe

wall, for the moon had nowgotoverthetopofitandlayoutside to please the fish in

thelake.But aglowing road layon

the inner side, a road likegolden fire.They saw it coilandwind away before them.Wearied out, yet obedientlytheytookthisroad,andwerelaved in its flaming aura,which seemed to give nolight above or to either side,but which nourished themfuriously. The exhaustedanimals pranced and trotted

and galloped. The tired menlaughedandcriedthemon.So they raced toward the

city thirteen kingdoms vast,andenteredit.

Therewas an opinion itwasnot, after all, sorcery, thatmadeAz-Nennafirthewayitwas, but rather the fantasiesof mankind concerning theplace.Thosethatreturned(notall

didso)murmuredofsizeandhue,andthemannerinwhichthings were contrary, and,too, of a beauty which hadupset them, driven themforever insane in littleways.Or huge ways. Dull mensometimes became poets, orhangedthemselves,afterAz-Nennafir, but that was theleastofit.Thesun there isblue, they

said. It is like shimmering

dusk atmidday. This is due,they said, to a canopy ofsapphirewhichoverpanesallthe kingdom—the Goddess-dom. Or it is a gargantuanlens set in the sky. Or plainmagic.Hereandthereaholehasbeenmanufacturedinthecanopy, lens or magic, andunder this the sun is to befound in an oasis of fierybrightness.By night, there are seven

moons, of various largenessand shade, and varieties ofstars—theyareclockwork,orsorcery, or both, and theymaybeseentomove,slowly,in wonderful formations,occasionally passing eachother,when—iftheytouch—they make a melodiouschiming.All growing things excel

there. They attain uncannyburgeonings,andtowerinthe

air. There are rose treeswhose roses are so great agirlmayreclineinthem.Thepetals are waxy, but theyexudeaperfumesufficienttorender one unconscious.Cedarstherearewhichreachthe height of a hill, or smallmountain, and the lowermoons,passingthroughthemat night, scatter their boughsto the earth, frosted withpeculiar incandescence. The

buildings, meanwhile, are astall, or taller. There arestairwayswhich it requires awhole morning to ascend.Therearespireswhichvanishfrom sight into the bluesunshine—theyhavestained-glasswindowsinthemwhichstretch down to the ground,as broad as three gateways,butabovegrowingnarrowasabeadedthread.And while the returned

travelers speak or write orscreech or babble of this,someone or other, notproperly fearful, may ask:“But did you look upon theGoddess? Did you gaze atAzhriaz, the Daughter ofUpperearth?Andonewhohadreturned

mightanswerinthisway:“After we had journeyed

some months through thebuilt country of the City of

Az-Nennafir,wecametothebankofalittlebrownsinuousriver. Oh, it was a goodquartermileacross,theriver,yet all the things about haddwarfed it utterly.Nevertheless, on the fartherbank, there went up anedifice which was a temple-palace of the Goddess. Thepriests came, and we laiddown our tribute. It wasweighed and counted, but I

hardlyheededwhatwenton.I stared only at that edifice,whichmightcontainher,shethat holds us in thrall. Now,she is cruel and pitiless andindifferent (which we havelearned,throughherteaching,the gods are to mankind—and indeed, have not thelessons of our livesceaselessly informed us thiswasso?).Weknowshemaystrikeusdeadwithalook,or

send any one of us to ahideous torture, which hashappened in the past, yes, tothosewhofearandreverenceher. While to ask her foranythingiswithoutpoint;shewill notgrant theboon.Andasforpleasingherbyprayerorbyoblation, thegods takeno note, nor any pleasure insuch, though omission theymay punish. Yet, she issupernalandsheisamongus,

and none, I think, stands atthe entry to one of herpalaces and does not dreamhe may catch a glimpse ofher.“Well then. Certain of the

towers of the palace soaredso high they dimmed frommyview.Onothers,thebluesunlight trickled like rain.Threeofthewhitestonecatsof the city, big as elephants,prowled on the farther bank,

before a flight of stepsmorethan three hundred innumber, andevery tread laidwith a mineful of sapphires.And above the sapphire stairwas a golden terrace, andabove that were two goldendoors—each itself the heightof a king’s house, cellar toroof,outhereintheordinaryworld.Andonthedoorswaswritten her name in symbolsso beautiful one could not

beartolookatthem.“Bynowthecrowdsonthe

bank, where the tribute wasbeing weighed and counted,had swelled to a millionpersonsormore.Suddenly atrumpet sounded, out of theveryether.Suchasilencefellthat a man might thinkhimself deafened, save hehears the tumult of his ownheart.“There came a perfume,

then, that all the swooningrosesofthatmiracleofcitiescould not rival, and thewaters of the river turned togoldandsilver,andfishesofjade sprang up in it, andazure lilies bloomed. Thegreat doors of gold with thename Azhriaz upon themopenedsoftlyastwobutterflywings.And therewas abluefire burning between them.Andoutofthefire,shecame.

“PerhapsImayfindwordsforall thingsin theCity,butfor her I can find very few.There is needed a newlanguagetodescribeher.Sheis very beautiful, as thestatues show her, dark andpale, with eyes of the sky.But she is the Goddess, andsohumanwordscanneverbeenough. She wore a silvergarment,butitwasalsogold.Suchjewelslayonherbreast

and arms and in her ears,upon her feet and fingers, atherwaistandinherlonghair,that seeing them, jewelsceased to mean anything atall. Shewore a high diademof gold, set with diamonds,and from it floated a veilcolored like a blush,sprinkled too with diamondsas if with water drops. Herarms she held outward fromher body; the nails of her

hands were long, and whiteassnow.Onthepalmsofherhands were gold and silverpatterns, or they may havebeeninfantstars.Herfeetdidnot rest on the ground, notevenonthosesapphiresteps.She stood in air, and a softgleaming cloud curled underhersoles.Herhairspreadoutlike raysof ablack sun.Shewas a vast distance from us,yet by her power she was

close enough one saw herblink, and when she did so,therewasaflashoffire,asifher lids struck sparks out ofhereyes.“Then, she spoke. Her

voicewas low, and sweet asmusic.Ihearditinmyskull,butnot inmyears.Shesaid:‘Do you know me?’ Andfalling on our knees and ourfaces, we cried out that wedid, and we worshiped her.

Somethrustknives into theirflesh,othersslewthemselves,orcastthemselvesdownintothe river, where the fish atethem, and we saw it andapplauded. I myself slashedoff my left hand—see thestump. That was my firstoffering. I felt no pain, onlyecstasy. But it was notenough to give her. I wasabouttoplungethedaggerinmy breast when again she

spoke.Shesaid:‘Remember,to the gods you are nothing.ToAzhriaz,theGoddess,youare only grains of dust orsand.Youdowell,however,to sculpt our images fromstone, for stone we are, we,the gods—stone that cannotbe broken, stone-hard-handed, stony of eye andmind, having stones forhearts. Yes, the gods arestones, andyouare sand.So

it is and always shall be.What then is your answer toheaven?’ And we loved herand groveled down, andswallowed thedeliciousmudof the river bank. That wasouranswer.AndoncemoreIraised thedagger togivehermylife,butIfeltherwhisperinmysoul:Notthat.Andshetold me what it was shedesired, without desire, ofme. And so, I have returned

and done her bidding. Thatwhich I am satisfied shecarelessly required and hasforgotten. Go to my house;you will discover there mywife and children, murderedforasacrifice.“Blessed be heaven, and

theGoddess-on-Earth.”

THEREWASaboywhohadtraveled with the caravanswest to east, and had chargeover the pale stone pillarsfromtheboneyarddesert.Hecameon the journeybecausehis father, who should havehad the mission, died of thefearofitamonthbefore.Theboywasnot inhappymood,

andworndownhimselfwithfright. It was not surprisinghe should often have baddreams throughout thejourney.However, it seemedto him the dreams wereworse when he lay near oneparticular stone, and thatwhen he slumbered distantlyfrom it, the dreams wereflimsy,ordidnotcomeatall.There was nothingremarkable about the stone,

exceptithadablackblemishatoneend.Whatthendidtheboy dream, lying near thestone pillar with the blackblemish? He dreamedsomeone flung him into afire,orelsehedreamedthatitwas he who did the flingingof another, and the victimwasonehe loved, thoughhenever saw who it might be,nor, waking, had he everlovedanywithsuchintensity.

Then again, there was onedreamwhere thepillar stooduprightandbecameaslenderdark-facedman, in a robeofwhite,who touched the boy,and theboymourned, forhewished to die and he couldnot. And there was also adreamwhenhebeheldacitytinted like swans and blood,and the sea covered it andturnedittocoral.He was an ill-educated

boy;heknewnexttonothingof the legends. The livinglegend of the Goddess-on-Earth had, let it be said,somewhatoversetthebalanceinthesematters.Butifhehadknownmoreof theold tales,he might well have said tohimself,“WhydoIdreamthedreams of Zhirek theMagician, he that killedSimmu, or meant to do so,and gave Simmu’s city of

Simmurad to the seas of theearth’s eastern corner?” But,unknowing,theboyonlysaidto himself, “Alas, thisjourney!”Andmovedfartheraway from the pillars ofstone.So the caravans came in,

likewreckedshipping,ontheshores of the marvel of Az-Nennafir.Andat laston thebankof

thebrownriverthen,withthe

gigantic spectacle of thetemple-palaceoverthewater,underthespectralshadowsofsevenmoons,expectingtobemaimed or die in themorning, and all around thetribute of a hundred lands,and their people—every oneof themwithmuch the samethought as he—the boyclimbed up on the supinestack of columns, and sleptthatnightlyingoverthevery

damned stone, from sheerdefiance. For what could adream do to himworse thanAzhriaztheGoddess?But a dream came which

was not like any of theothers.It seemed to the boy he

woke,andhelayallaloneontheriverbank,underagentlesky with a single crescentmoonandsomemildsingingstars. And nearby, through

the blue water flowers, awoman walked. She wasveiled, yet she seemed tohave a radiance on her. Hethought:Itisshe.But in thatmoment thewomancameuptohim,andhelookedintothedeep clearness of her eyes,andunderstoodnogoddess—forthegodswereunloving—would look so kindly on ahumanthing.“Lady,”hesaid,“whatisit

youwantofme?”“I will tell you a riddle,”

shereplied.“Youmusttrytoguessitsmeaning.”Then the boy forgot it all,

his father’s death, thejourney, the place, and thedelirious horror to come.Hesmiled and sat waitingattentively.“There is,” said the

woman, and her voice wasbeautiful to hear, “a casket

set with fabulous gems,glittering and hard. Andwithin thiscasket isacasketof gold, and within thatcasket a casket of silver.Openthesethreeinturn,andyou will find a casket ofcrystal, and inside thecasketof crystal one of pearl, andwithin the pearl a box ofvelvet.Andwithinthevelvetanexquisitejewel.Butwithinthejewel,what?”

The boy thought. He said,“Inside so many richwrappings, only somethingmorerichcanlie.”“Ah, you must read with

yourheartandnotyourwit,”said the woman, so tenderlytears started to his eyes.“Howrichisthebodyofanymortalcreature,yetunder itsfine covers, there is onlybone,andonlyboneremainswhen all the jewels of the

flesharegone.Bone,andoneother item, better than therest, but unseen. Now, openthesixrichcaskets,gazeintothejewel.Thereyouwillfindachild,weeping.”The boy sighed,

comprehendingnothing,savethat this did not needcomprehension.“Get up now,” said the

woman quietly, “and cut therope which binds the stone

you lieover.Atdawn,whenthe priests come to examinethetribute,thisonepillarwillroll away and fall into theriver. Do not let it distressyou. You shall go homesafely.”The boy turned eagerly,

andwithhisknifehecut therope which secured thebaleful stone to its fellows.Whenhelookedagainforthewoman, she was walking

awayalongthebankthroughthe flowers.Though itwasadream, a night breeze hadbegantoblow,andawingofher hair was tossed shiningfromunderherveil.Andthishair, though young as sheherself, was whiter than themoon. But the boy wasunversed in the stories. Herwhitehairtoldhimnothing.Dawn came, green and

turquoise, lifting its blue

cornflowerofasun.The river bank roused, the

boywiththerest,recollectingnothing of what he haddreamed.ThepriestsoftheGoddess

came over the river to shoreonaraftofgold,andtheoarsrowed by themselves. Thepriests, in the robes of thatbluelikewhichtherewasnoother, chanted in a shrillgroan, and bells rang, and

incense smoke, blue on blueon blue, unwove into thesapphire-liddedsky.The tribute of the many

lands was laid out like amarket, oddly quiet, and theblue priests passed silentlyamid the tribute, weighing,counting. Among themwerebotholdandyoung,andtherewere female orders,priestesses of Az-Nennafir,but in truth they each wore

the same face, ageless andlacking a gender. They hadgiventheirspiritstoAzhriaz,or to the ethos theyrecognized by her name.They had relinquished allidentity,andgainedinlieuofit no other thing. Pithlessgourds. They worshiped,knowingly, the indifferenthatredofheaven.But all this while, the

vaster part of the multitude

gazed only across the river.Theywondered ifshe wouldappear to them. She did notalways do so. For all theswarms of peoplewho cameto her City, only a fractionwitnessed her. The majoritywere bitter all their lives,cheatedbybeingspared.Sixwhitestonecats,bigas

elephants, patrolled thefarther bank. The jewelry ofthe stair glittered like a

glacier. The high doors ofgolddidnotquiver.The boy who had had the

dream was also gazing, hisheart in his mouth. He wasaware a priest came by him,eyeing the scores of whitenatural columns, bundledthere likehugeposts.As thethin hand of the priestreached out to one of thesebundles, its topmost column,restingsomethirtyfeetinthe

air, suddenly leapt free. Itflew outward like a livething,andthencamehurtlingdown.Thepriest,makingnomove to avoid it, raised hisarms and shouted aloud:“Azhriaz!” And the columnstruckhiminthechest;ashefell it ground over him andon,towardtheriver.Other men scrambled to

safety;onlytheflowerswereinthecolumn’spath,anddid

not stop it. That stone fromthe desert one and a halfyears away dropped into theGoddess’s river, and thewater gushed upward andpoured down again, but thestone,havinggoneunder,re-emerged, and lay afloat onthe surface like a longwhitebonewith one black knot init.Theboy,stillrememberingno iota of his dream, hadflunghimself flat towait for

death,buttheprieststooknonoticeofhim.Onecriedinagreat voice: “An omen! Thegift itself rushes tomeet theGoddess.”Buttheydidnotattemptto

fish out the pillar, bizarrelyfloatingthereand,bornenowdespiteitsweight—whichdidnotseeminclinedtosinkit—to drift with the currentdownstream.Andthatwasall.Presently

the boy, shaking withtrepidation, got up. Theportionoftributehehadbeenin charge ofwas declared inorder. The golden doors ofthe temple-palace did notopen, and the Goddess didnot appear. No attempt wasmade to salvage the deadpriest who had allowed thepillar to crush him. It wasthoughtoffensive to treat thesick or to display pomp in

funerals, since punishmentthroughillnessanddeathwasthecasualwillofUpperearth.Corpsesweredraggedbytheheels and hair to pits, andburnedthere.Andinawhile,some did this office for thepriest. Others came to dealwith the treasures of tribute,and soon the bank wasempty,but for all thepeopleand their much-lightenedbeastsandwagons, and their

hearts—emptiedalso.The boy stood and sobbed

with raging disappointment,one of countless others. Hewishedtoswimtheriverandimmolate himself on thesapphire steps. He shiveredwithresentful ire thathehadnot been asked tomurder orto die for her. Nor was healoneinthisseizure.And it was months after,

on the tedious journey

homeward,thathishystericalcraving gaveway to a sulkygladness. And it seemed tohim then that he had seenher, all alone by night, butthatwasinadream.

SOME QUANTITY of airtheremusthavebeen,trappedin the sealed cavity of thepillarstone, tokeepitafloat.Unsinking,itwendedthroughthebluedayontheriver.Theflowersofthebankbrusheditandsoughttodetainit,butitslipped easily from eachembrace, though showered

bypetal-tears.Spangledfliespursuedthestone,wantingtoalight, but found the texturenot to their liking, buzzilydiscussed it to its detriment,and flew away. And as thedaydeclined,andduskbeganto purple the river, the pillarcame between great gardenson the shore, and herearmored crocodiles ofprodigious size slunk fromthe reeds, and approached it.

“What manner of beast isthis?” they sinisterlymumbled. “It moves as wedo, graceful and leaden, butwhere are the jaws of it? Ithas only one dull eye.”Andthey snarled their teeth ofwhiteandyellow,andclosedup their lazy-lidded hellishgaze, and rowed away onstrongspikylegs.But the blossoming rushes

of the gardens, whose dusk-

colored lily heads stood upfrom the water, had made anetbeneaththesurface.Heretheycaughtenormous jewelsthat were sometimes thrownin the river, unwary fish ofstartling girth, and thecorpses of men who hadsacrificed themselves to theGoddess through drowning.Now,thenetcaughtthepillarof stone, gently, and held itfastaschains.

WhenthefirstmoonofAz-Nennafir’snightflewupwardfrom the east, and the firstdanceof thefirststarsbeganacross the sky, the stone laystill,whiteandgrave,amongthecrownsofthepurplerushiris.And the water sipped and

lipped the pillar. The watersaid:Taste,drinkofme,harddesertthing.Bewetasneverbefore. The river can

dissolve, in time, almostanything. I will lick youaway, and you will becomewater, too. Taste and drink,as you are tasted and drunk.Soakuptheriver’swineasitmeltsyou.Iamfullofdeathandlife.Icarrythemagicofthismetropolislikeanartery.I know black caverns whereneither thesunnorthemoonever shine,but theyare lightas day to those that dwell

there. And I know lairs ofweed where little creaturesswimabout thatare like tinylions and horses and cattle,butwith fishtails, andwherethere are tall shells thatscuttleonfringedspiderlegs.And I know where thecrocodilesgotodie,andtheirboneshavemadeatempleofcalcium, but their eyes onlycrystallizeandbecomelampsof pale green topaz. And I

flowinandoutofeverythingthat pauses or that passeshere, through its very body,and so learn all its secrets.Flowers grow far down thatno man has ever looked on,not even Azhriaz theGoddesshas lookedat them.Theyhavenocolor,here,butif theywere brought up intothe light, they would befound to have a color neverseenbeforeontheearth.And

there is a place where thereexists an invisible race ofinsects, who build complexcities of their own in theslime.Andthereisaforestofdead women’s hair, wherefernsgrowthatsinginfemalevoices. Ah, then, said theriver to the pillar of stone,when you become one withme, we will travel togetherand all these things youwillsee and know. But it may

take a short while, a fewhundred years. Be patient.Tasteanddrink.Soakup theriver’swine....High as sky, the temple-

palace on the river bank inAz-Nennafir of theGoddess.Few have entered it, and ofthose that have, fewer comeaway, to tell. Yet themoonlight of seven moonsfalls now in through thepaintedandstainedwindows.

What does the moonlightsee?Theouterprecinctisahall

ofjewels.Everygemstoneofthe earth is represented in it.There are columns built ofbutter-yellow beryls andberylsyellowasacat’seyes,or greenish as the eyes ofcrocodiles. And there arecolumns of crimson facetedcorundum and polishedcorundum of dragon-red.

Therearebluecolumnsalso,of transparent aquamarine,thatseemtohangsuspended,and jade and emeraldcolumns that seem to growlike trees or spouting wavesfrozeninviridescentice.Thewalls have scenes depictedon them, made all of thesejewels, and others, and thefloors are a jeweled mosaic.The ceiling has sevencarbuncles in it larger than

cartwheels, of bloodiestgreen and most astringentviolet . . . The moonlightspins and grows giddy andhastens through a half-opendoor into an inner precinct,whichisofgold.There is a carpet in this

room, on a floor of gold somalleable it is runneled andpittedlikemud.Thecarpetismade of the wool of goldensheep, so it is said. Golden

swords, each the stature ofthreebrawnymenuponeachother’s shoulders, uphold acanopy of golden disks.Gold, gold—the eyes arenumbed and see all thingsgolden.Even thecandlesaregold in golden sconces, andburnwithasheergoldflame.Themoonlight flees througha lattice of gold lace, into aroomofsilver.Aloft, a silver web.

Beneath,thefloorisapool—of fluid silver, boiling andbubbling.Silverbridgescrossthe silver pool, but themoonlight falls in love withthe silver room and fallsfainting with desire into themoltenliquid.Imagination, or hearsay,

mustgoonalone.Upastairofsilverflanked

bysilvergryphons,toasilverdoor with a silver keyhole,

and through that intoa roomwhich is crystal. Part milkythewalls,andpartlucid.Youmaylookupintothesky—soclose, for all the while, theenormous rooms have subtlyascended.Starsdanceon theroofofthisone,twirlingtheirskirts of tinsel. In crystalcolumns,whichareslimasagirl’s arm, crystal waterseemstoplay,andsometimesfish—that have no visible

bodies, only crystallinespines and little crystallineskullsandbright,brighteyes—flitaboutthere.Beyond and above the

crystal room lies a roomhollowedfromasinglepearl.Heaven alone knows (if itbothers) what monstrousoyster could have beenafflicted by what horrificboulder of grit to produce aresult so large. Smooth, the

pearl room, and slightlyflushed, but with nofurnishings, save anotherlong stair—each step ofwhich is, too, a single pearl,but, of course, infinitelysmaller. The stair ends at apearl-crusted door; thesepearls are only the size ofhand mirrors. The door isfirmlyshut,andwillnotyieldto pressure, to a demandingcryortoacourteousknock.

So far, there have beenglimpsed no attendants.Sometimes priests may befound on the outer stair ofthissacredhouse,buttheydonot enter even the room ofjewels, though they havespiedit.Inthetemple-palace,hordesofhumanslavesofallthepeoplesof theconqueredworld-thirdmaybesupposedto come and go.Yet, in thissuccession of chambers at

least, they have left noevidence.Nevertheless, by the door

of pearl, something waits. Itisnottobelookedon,hasnoform,makesno sound,givesoffnoodor.Butitisthere.Aguardian. And by night,surely other things come topasswithinthedoorofpearl?They say she has

supernatural handmaidensand pages more beautiful

than any mortal. Gorgeous,assheis,andwithblackhair,though they do not have hereyes.Theytendheronlyaftersunfall,beingchildrenof thenight.Butbydayorbynight,oh

whatsplendorsmustmanifestinside that inaccessible room—The room within the

jewels, the gold, the silver,the crystal, the pearl—was

bare. It was built of nothingimportant, it would seem tobeconstructedofwattle,andthe floor was wood. Fatcandlesburnedprosaicallyoniron spikes. There was awindow half amile up fromthe ground, that saw onlysky, but thewooden shutterswere fastened by iron bolts,and the sky, also, was shutout.A girl of seventeen years

sat on the floor, drawing onthe wood, with a wand ofocher, strange symbols. Shewore a gown of vermilionvelvet,asifshewerecoldinthe hot night.Her black hairmade her veil and diademboth. Her eyes weresapphires; she had no otherjewel that was to be seen:Herbeautywasenough.Three and thirty years—at

thevery least—shehas ruled

a thirdof the earth.And sheis seventeen still, theimmortalGoddessAzhriaz.Azhriaz finished her work

with thewand of ocher, andtaking up instead a wand ofbrass, she struck the nearedge of the drawn symbolsthreetimes.Smolderburstthere.Inthesmolderstoodaman

ofbrass,withbrazenhairandbatlike wings. His feet were

theclawsofaneagleandhehad one eye only, set at thecenterofhisforehead.“Iamhere,”saidhe.“Speak,”saidshe.“There is nothing new,”

said the brass man. “I havesearched about and lookeddiligently and long. Citiesburn and men die, as ever.And, as ever, they call outyournameandworshipyou.”“Go,”saidAzhriaz.

And the smolder perishedand the brass man with it,drainingdownintothefloor.ThenAzhriaz tookawand

of leprous turquoise andstruck the symbols threetimeswiththat.Andasecondsmoldershot

out,butmorelikewaterthansmoke.There was a bluish man-

being,withtwoalligatortailsfor legs, and he was horned

liketheyoungmoon.“Iamhere,”hesaid.“Speak,”shesaid.“There is nothing new,”

said the bluishman. “I havesearched about and listenedand pried. Harvests arereaped, of corn and flesh.AndmensingalwayshymnstotheGoddess.”“Go,”saidtheGoddess.Andhewent.Then she took a wand of

ivoryandsmotewiththat.Steamblustered.A white horse with the

headofawomancavortedinthedrawing.“HereIam,”saidshe.“Speak,”saidAzhriaz.“There is nothing new,”

said the woman-headedhorse.“Go,”saidAzhriaz——Andtheapparitionwent.ThenAzhriaz theGoddess

tookarosebud,abudofAz-Nennafir, large as a caldron,and threw it among thesymbols.Therecameatoncetheslowexplosionofa rose,thebudunfolding,theflowerlike a flaming torch,blooming, full-blown,stretched on its veins like asunshade—tillthelayersofitshattered.And from the heart of the

rosetherestoleacoilofrose-

redincense.From behind the incense

appeared a beautiful maidenchild, clad only in saffronhair, but her eyes were theheadsoftwosnakes.“Am I here?” asked the

child with her rosy mouth.“You are,” said Azhriaz.“Nowtellmeofmylove.”“Oh,”saidthechild,“your

love.Ihaveseenhimfleeingover hills when none ran

after. I have seen himscreaming at the heat of themoon and lying parchedunder the sun to be cool. Ihave seen him pluck thornsanddressandgarlandhimselfin them till his blood madestreamsontheground.Ihaveseen him eat poison andvomit it forth. I have seenhim squealing and hoppingthrough the years, and mencurse him and shun him and

fling stones and blades.Andafter the sun goes down,sometimessomecometohimlike slender dark shadows,and tease and torture him,setting the night flowers tostinghimandtheforestharesto bite him. And later theseshadowonesspit inhis face,and their spit is like a holyblueflame.”“I would spit upon him,

too,” said Azhriaz, but she

heldhersideasifaknifecutinto her. “And does heremember ever that he is aprince?”“Yes. Then he is worse.

Then he makes himselfcrownsofrustynails.”“And does he ever

remember the lovers OloruandSovaz?”“No. Once he passed two

loversinafield,amanandagirl, he fair, and she raven-

headed.Buttheystartedupinfear of him. Then he onlyclimbed a tree and tore theleaves with his teeth,laughing. He does notremember Oloru. He forgetsSovaz.”“Go,” said the Witch-

Goddess.Butthechildlingered.“Givemeanightoftimeto

wander the world,” said thechildwithsnakesforeyes.

“I will give you nothing.Go, or I will blast you, andwith thosepowersyouknowIhave.”“Yes, you are very

powerful, exalted mistress.But give me only then onehalf of the night to wander,forIamwearyofthatregionwherefromyou summonme.IwatchmadPrinceMadnessat your bidding, and IglimpsetheworldandIlong

toentertheworldwithallmyessence,notmerelywiththatlittlewraithofmethatisyourservant.”“I am pitiless,” said

Azhriaz.“Haveyounotheardofit?Iampitilesseventothepitiless. You shall have nonightandnohalfnightintheworld.”“Give me then but one

hour, Mistress of MadnessandDelirium,andIwilllead

you to a spot downriverwhereliesawhitestonefroma desert that the rushes havecaptured fast. And the stoneshall charmyou, for it holdsthe dream of one who oncespoke aloud a curse againstthePrinceofDemons.”Azhriaz lifted her head.

Her face was a dagger. Shesaid, carefully, “Azhrarn,Lord Wickedness, is mypeerless father, and I his

obedientheir.”The child shrank at the

voice of Azhriaz and at herlook, but still the child said,“I heard the river singing.The river sang as it caressedthe stone. I only tell thetruth.” Azhriaz rose. Shestood and gazed upon thechild, who said plaintively,“Give me an hour in theworld,andIwillguideyou.”“I need no guide,” said

Azhriaz,andsheclappedherhands.Atoncetheochermarkings

on the floor blew in the airandthechildwithsnakesforeyeswas caught up by themand dashed away, back intothe psychic junkyard fromwhichshehadbeensprung.Azhriaz stood alone in the

bareroomhighinthesky.Inher look were thirty-threeyears at least of arrogant

dominion, of the sea-wavesof war and encompassingunkindness, and of anunremitting chastity. Demonwomen had no wombs. Thewomb of Azhriaz, also amortal woman’s daughter,was now a closed dumbwinter fruit of ice. She hadtaken to herself mage-craft,battles, an empire, but nolover,sinceChuz.Yet she was seventeen

years still, as on the eve oftheir parting. And still shewas a weeping child, withinthe sparkling jewel ofsorcerousmight.Sheglancedat theshutters

and they clashed wide.Azhriaztookontheformofasomber moth—she was longsince accustomed to suchchanges.Between the mountainous

peaksoftheCityshebeather

way, past the stupendouscolored windows with boldlights behind, and thedarkenedpanesthatreflectedback the moons. To suchcalumnies as were practicedall about, she paid no heed,as she paid no heed to thesuicides and butcheriesperpetrated in her name, andseeminglyatherinstruction.Herparchmentwingswere

strong, but presently she

settled on the water of theriver, a black swanwith onehyacinthine ring of plumageatherthroat.In this guise, she caught

thestrandof theriver’ssongwhich pertained to the pillarofstone.She followed then that

strand,andcametothenetoftherushiris.One by one, the moons

weregoingdowninthewest,

and they lit bright pathwayson the river. In the shadowstheiriscrownsshowedblackas the swan herself, but thestonewaspallid.Azhriaz moved up along

the length of it, until shereached the curvingblackened blemish.Here shefelt the pulse of somethingpounding slowly andinsistentlyonandon.It is a heart, the heart of

Azhriazinformedher.The sorcerously embued

water, washing thepillarbone,stonydrysolong,hadalreadyworkedmagiconit. There had come about aloosening,therocklettinggowhat lay in it—or what laythere letting go the stone ofitshidingplace.Like an insect prisoned in

whiteamber,thebeinginthestone. Yet alive, in certain

ways, since unable so far tobedead.Andtherewasthescentof

a madness grown luminousand calm through its brushwitheternity.The swan came close and

touched the eye of the stonewithhernacrebeak.There was neither crack

nor crumbling. There was asigh. In the water a furtherdarkness flowed like blood.

Acavityshowedinthewhite,andthestone,losingbalance,turnedover.Itlayfacedownamongthe

irises,andthen,itsbuoyancyand its soul quite gone fromit, mourned by a storm ofbubbles, the pillar droppeddownanddowntotheriver’sfloor.Andthelastof thesinking

moons was able to describe,adrift in the rushes’ net and

three handspans underwater,the naked body of a man,whiteasthestone,butfortheblack hair flowering at hisloins and pillowing his headandshoulders.His eyes were shut. The

lids of them said, Do notwakenme, clear as if it hadbeen printed there. The lipswerefirm;thenostrilswaxedand waned, breathing thewaterwithnotrouble.

He had known the depthsofwater before, andperhapsrecalledit.Buthedidnotstir.Andthelastmoonfell,and

when it had fallen, Azhriaztookherownform,andstoodinthedarkontheriver.There was a desert place,

where even the powders andthedustshadgroundawaytonothing.Thiswas thesitehehadchosenforhisexile.

He had climbed one of itspillarsofstone,andenteredafracture there. He sat downon the bone floor and hebowed his head, and so hestayedformanyyears.By day the sun beat in at

him,bynightthebluewinds.He ate only what came tohim, which was the air; hedrankthedew,theinfrequentrain. He lived becausedeprivation could not kill

him,anymorethanaspearora sea or a flame. But hebecameablackenedwireandhisbeautylefthim.Menvisitedhim,andbirds

of prey. Both stubbed theirintentionsonthewallsofhisinvulnerability and despair.Death came to him only insleep, those fearsome sleepstheLordUhlumehadgrantedhim in return for erstwhileservice—slumber like a

tomb. And this way ofsleeping wiped his brainclean of everything at last.Even guilt and anguish andagony of mind weregradually spent, and almostforgotten.Then one night demons

cametotauntandseducethehermit inthefracturedstone.And in their vicious play,perhapsonlyby accident, hediscovered a curious

redemption from blame. Thesplinterofsteelhehaddrivenin through his invulnerableheart was, he discovered,only a nightmare. Where hehad spread venom, gardensflourished.Hiscursebecameablessing.Then he wept. He wept

away the final vestige ofhimself. And when thatended, he curled himselfwithin the stone. The

blacknessofthedeedshehaddonesealedhimround,butitwas charred and vitrified,with all the energy gone outof it, though it lay heavy onhimasmostrubbledoes.Invulnerable, stone-dead,

he lived, lived on, while thehurricanes of centuries blewby.Till they hacked down the

pillar and brought it to Az-Nennafir,andaboydreamed

Dunizelcameandtoldhimtocut that one stone free, andthestonerolledintotheriverand among the rushes. Andso lay there until Azhriazcameuponit.

The boy who dreamed hadnot known the legends. ButDunizel, the priestess ofBhelsheved, had knownesoteric lore, and mostmyths, both veritable and

false, and she had relatedstories to her child in thewomb. Azhriaz wasschooled.Azhriaz stood on the river

now,likeatalllily.Sheworeafter allone jewel—asquareof amethyst inside a littlesilver cage, fastened on ahair-fine silver chain. Itreposedandwarmedbetweenherbreasts, butnowshehadplucked it out, and held the

jewel to her lips, as if shekissed or requested council.Then she let go the jewelagain and thevelvet coveredit.“You may sleep no

longer,” she said to thepale,darkmanunderthesurfaceoftheriver.“Thatisover.”Theclosedlidsoftheeyes

said to her:What is over? Imay sleep for ever. I amunknown.

“You breathe the water,”she said. “Any peasant whoever heard the tale, wouldknow you. You are the onemade a pactwith the peopleofthesea,andbrokethepact,but not before you hadlearnedtheirmagic.”Then his eyelids raised

themselves.They had been once but

were no more the sky-reflecting color of the oasis,

those eyes. Now, they wereblack.He had shriveled and

shrunk and become a rock.Rebirthed, he had again theyouthful physical being of aman, but though this was ahandsome man enough, stillthebeautyofhisfirstlifewasgone, with the green-blue oftheeyes.“Ididnoneofthosethings

youspeakof,” said theman,

perhaps truthfully, sitting upinthenetofrushes,cleavingwatertobreatheair.Histhickwet hair streaked him nowlike ink, and water dropsflickered on his lashes. Buthis eyes were hard stones,well tutored how to be. Hewas, ironically, of the racialcoloring of the demons hehadonce attempted to serve.But as unlike demonkind,eveninhishandsomeness,as

dead coal is unlike the litvolcano.“Then,ifyouarenotwhoI

say, say who you are,”mockingly promptedAzhriaz.At that he smiled, though

hedidnotlookather.“Iamtheonewhoisstone-

born,” he said. “Andunwillingly.”“Sobeit,”shesaid.“Then

whoamI?”

“Some woman,” said he,“fromthatking’shouseIseeupstream.“You have been a long

while out of the world inyour pillar,” said Azhriaz.“Tomorrow you shall meetwiththekingofthiscity.Donotseektoevadethehonor.”“Everything is nothing to

me,” he said. And now hisopen eyes also appearedclosed. “I shall not evade, I

shallnotseek.”Then Azhriaz burned

brighter than a moon—andwasgoneintothinair.But he, who had named

himself,inoneoftheseventytongues of men, Dathanja,waded up from the river tothe bank, where the flowersovertoppedhimandthetreesflared thousands of feettoward stars that danced inpatterns.Andpayingnoheed

toanyofit,hesatdownthereand bowed his head, as ifmeaning to stayso formanyyears.Butthatwasnottobe.

ATDAWN,adetachmentofthe soldiery of the Goddesscame to the flower gardensby the river.Theywere cladin the blackest mail, everyscale of it limned by white-gold. In the helm of everymanwassetapreciousstone,and great plumes pouredupward as if from the war-

smoke of their brains. Theireyes glittered also from thatfire, furiously empty. Likethe black horses, the manesandtailsofwhichweredyedto red, puce, white, andbronze, they had been bredforcombatandforlittleelse.They waited, in their loftybarracks, day and night, forthe summons to go out andtake another third of theworld. They told each other

howitwouldbe,whoshouldbe killed, what cities wouldfall.Nowtheyrodedownonthenakedmaninthegarden,and grinned at him andgathered him up among theplumes,caparisons,weapons.They carried Dathanja

along the banks wherepilgrims and tribute-bringers—such tribute cameendlessly—stared in awe, orfailed to notice. Some were

imbibing the water of theriver, thinking it a cure-all,whichsometimesitwas,oritgave strange abilities, orhallucinations, or sent menwitless. Or it did nothing tothem,andthentheysulked.Atthesapphirestairbythe

temple-palace there werepriests, who progressed withthe soldiers up onto thegoldenterrace,andaroundit,and so to a ramp of pocked

and pittedmarblewhich slidupintotheskyalongwiththepalaceroofs.At the foot of this ramp,

the priests stopped still andchanted. (The naked manseemed to frowncontemptuously a moment,beforeboththefrownandthecontemptfaded.)Then the soldiery made a

dead set at the ramp andcanteredupit,thebrass-shod

hoofs of their horsesscreeching and striking fire.Inthemidstofthechargeoneof thesemenwasunsaddled.He whirled to his death onthe golden pavement farbelow without a sound, hisarms opened wide as if toembrace fate. The pitting ofthe marble ramp had beenoccasioned by countlessrushesofthiskind,andmanywarriorsdied,bothascending

and going down. This wasone of their means ofsacrifice to Azhriaz, whenbattlewasunavailable.At the top of the ramp,

high above the City, therewas a platform laid withalternating blocks of ebony,malachite,andorangejasper.And about this checkerboardthere waited human andbestial examples of thecountries of the conquered.

Themenandwomenwereofsurpassing beauty, fair, orcopper color, or black, andarrayed like princes. Andtherewereleashedanimalsofunusualsort,camelswhiteasmilkandhavingthreehumps,two-headed lizards, wingedserpents, turtles carapacedwithshieldsfitforgiants,andolder than the oldest hills.Braziersburnedwithscentedfire—to which the winged

serpents were sometimestaken to drink. Damselsplucked music frominstruments like sicklemoons.Walking their war-steeds

throughthislivingforest,thesoldiers who bore the nakedmancameatlonglast—forittookmostofanhourtocrossthe platform—to a pavilionmade of polished bones.Within it was a chair of cut

glass, smooth as water, andguarded by two adamantwolves, having each threegoldenlivingdartingeyes.In the glass chair sat

AzhriaztheGoddess.Her robe was scarlet, and

spinels burned in her hair.Goldwas strewn on her likefallen blossom, and she wasgloved in gold. It had beennoticed long since, curiousphenomenon, that the gold

worn by the Goddess,however, would insidiouslyalter over a period of time,becoming harder, cooler,morelikesilver.The soldiers gazed long at

her, then staggered away,drunkonthesight.Someranacrosstheplatformandflungthemselves down, fallingbetween the sky-scrapingtowers with cries ofsatisfaction. They had left

Dathanjaatherfeet.“Look up, Dathanja, O

Unwilling Birth of theStone,” said Azhriaz. “Lookup, and see thewoman fromtheking’spalace.”Dathanjalookedup.“Guessnow,”saidAzhriaz,

“whoiskinghere.”Andsheraisedherhandin

its golden glove—alreadysilveredasifwiththefaintestfrost—and all the slaves,

humanorcreature,fellproneto reverence her.And to thesudden stillness of that highplacecamedriftingthepraisesong of all the thousands ofpriests of all the countlesstemples of that metropolis,even from a hundred milesoff.Dathanja looked at her for

a great while. There was aquality to his look thatdemonstrated a firm

concentration of the mind.The glamour of what hegazedondidnotdistracthim.And seated before her nowon the rugs of the pavilion,naked as he had come fromthepillar,heneithervauntednor sought to conceal hisbody. He wore it as agarment.Eventually,he said: “They

call you a goddess. But youare not of the generation of

Upperearth, I think. Youhaveaboutyouthequalityofanother racewhose land liesintheoppositedirection.Yetthey shun daylight, and hereyou sit, blue-eyed under thesun.”“How wise you are,

Dathanja,”saidAzhriaz.“Doyouhearthenamemypriestsarecrying?”“Yes,” said Dathanja. “By

your name then, I knowyou

arehischild.”“How wise, how wise,”

saidAzhriaz.“Hegotyouonamortal,or

you could not endure theday.”“Oh, a blue-eyed mortal,

withdayinherveryfleshandsoul.Butnow,”saidAzhriaz,“enoughofshethatIam.Tellmeofhimyouare.”“I have told you. I am a

newborn infant. I am an

unmarked stone sloughed bystone.”“Zhirek,” said Azhriaz.

“The Dark Magician.Invulnerable, terrible.Simmu’s lover and Simmu’smurderer. Zhirek wholearnedthemagicofthesea-folk.Zhirekwhoofferedmyfather his service. But myfathersaidtohim,‘Ineednoserviceofyours.’”“That was a former life,”

said Dathanja in a low andalmostsilentvoice.“Letussee.”And removing the silvered

golden glove from her lefthand, she showed him adagger,whichnextshethrewintohisheart.Butthedaggerfell broken on the rugs. Hewasunharmed.Thenshetooka cup standing by her andgave it him. “Drink thispoison.”Hetookthecup,and

drank, and set the cup aside.Azhriaz kicked the goblet,andwhere thewine in it ranout,afearsomescorchsearedalong the ground. But theman was not affected. Andthen Azhriaz took the glovefrom her right hand andtouchedtheheadofthethree-eyedwolfatherrightknee.Itcame alive, every inch of it,and padded to the man andgaped its jaws forhis throat.

But something pushed thewolfaside,anditrolledawayand went back to the chairand grew instantly rigidagain,allbutitsthreeeyes.“Behold now,” said

Azhriaz. “This way Zhirekwas, for hismother had himseethed in a sorcerouswell. . . . And this way youare.Howisthat?”“Azhriaz,”hesaid,“itisto

me a memory—less visible,

far lessactual, than theglassofyourcleverchair.ForIamdonewithZhirek.”“The earth rings yet with

tales of his arrogance andwickedness, nevertheless. Inremembranceofthat,youarewell suited to my City andmy Empire. And now I amsure of this: Unless you hadconsented,thesoldierswouldhave had some problem tobring you here. Thus. You

werewilling.”Then Azhriaz rose and

clappedherhands.The pavilion dazzled into

the sky and vanished. Thecrowdsofbeastsandhumansalso disappeared, eitherspirited elsewhere orcanceled, never havingexisted at all.The checkeredplatformremained,void,withthe smothering gentian skyhung over it, and the City

round about too bright togazeon,andthetowersgoingup as it seemed to veryUpperearth, to illustrate howthegodsweremocked.Then two huge creatures

cameflying,likedoves.“Theyaremyslaves,asall

thingsareinthisplace,”saidAzhriaz. “Go with them, ifyou wish. For if you do notdesireit,Iwillnottusslewithyou to see if my magic can

crushyours—betweenstrongpowers such fights are sotiresome,” said Azhriaz,“even Lords of Darkness donotengageinthem,asIhavewitnessed.”The dove things alighted,

andcooedtoZhirekwhowasZhirek no more, gesturinghow they would bear himkindly through the air tosomewonderfulprospect.“And if I go with them,

what?”hesaid.“You shall be a prince

here. You shall enjoy theluxuries of Az-Nennafir; itslearning will be at yourdisposal, and its dower ofcuriosities.”“And by night, the living

imageofSimmuwillbesenttome,perhaps?”“Ifyoudesireit.”“I do not. Simmu is no

more, and nomore anything

to me. But it would be ademon’strick.”“Iamnodemon,”shesaid,

“butaGoddess-on-Earth.”Dathanja, who had been

Zhirek,regardedher.Hesaid,“Yes, you are a goddess. Sostrung with riches andenchantments you might aswell be destitute. And sobeautiful you might as wellbefaceless.”“You are wise, as I said,”

replied Azhriaz. “Do not betoowise.”Andshewasgone,but for

a second, a slender dragonfilled thewhole sky, and theCitywhisperedinitsstones.

Dathanja lived then somemonthsofhisnewlifeatAz-Nennafirof theGoddess.Hehad been once before in atall, tall city, the prize of awoman, but that was in the

former life, and besides,beneath an ocean. It mayhaveseemedtoDathanjathatAzhriazputnowatchonhim,that hemight proceedwhereand how he wished. But hemust know also that sinceeverypersonandbeingoftheCity, itseverybrickand tile,even thewaters and dusts ofit, were hers, she might atanytimehavenewsofhim,ifshewasinclined.Butitwasa

place of wonders, and someof these he inspected. Hewalkedthethoroughfareslikeother men, and for weekswandered far afield on itshills of marble and throughits obelisk woods. He spoketo travelers who came there,and no one stayed him. Hewatched unhindered, anduninvited, the orgies andrevels, the sorceries anddramas and festivals that

were its daily and nightlyfare. The extravagantsacrifices he saw, and howeasily death claimed them.He came to be known bysight,himself,forsomemarkofhershadbeenleftonhim,to protect him fromannoyance, or only in thewayafavoritedogisgivenacollar. For himself, heremained grave as the stone,and though the lensed sun

tannedhisskin,nootherhueofhimwasaltered.Blackofhair and blacker of eye, andin plain clothing of black,this way he went. Yet hewalked barefoot as Zhirekhadalwaysdone.None, asking or learning

his current name, addressedhim by the old one, andperhapstheydidnotknowit.Neither did the determinedlylasciviouswomenandmenof

Az-Nennafir approach him,nor any tricksters, nor anysage or scholar or poet.Andthiswas not solely themarkof theirGoddessonhim,butsome branding of his own.Dathanja did not entice lustorhateorlove,asZhirekdid.No one begged compassionof him, or sought to adorehim, or cast him down.Andwhen, rarely and in seemingerror, some might speak to

him, his calm stony eyesdrove them off, as once hisinvulnerablefearfulfleshhaddriven off the spears andlions.There was an avenue of

statues,eachrepresentingtheWitch-Goddess, and to oneside of it, high up, was agrove of olive trees, higherthemselves than a house often or twelve stories, andwith leaves like tarnished

water. Dark ferns flourishedbelow, whose heads wouldbrush the ears of elephants.Golden fruits scattered theground that had fallen fromno tree, and which, after aspace,hatchedoutbutterflies.At the center of the grove

hadbeenbuiltashrinetotheGoddess, where every dawnyoung women and youngmen would come to pour,fromvials,thebloodortears

of those they had injuredduring the night. Thebutterflies fed on thesesubstances, and immediatelyturned black, and flewawhile,thendrifteddownanddied. But from the littlecorpses would presentlyspreadagoldenstainthat,asthe day wore on, hardenedandrounded,untilbynightithadbecomeoncemoreafruitofgold.

To this grove Dathanjafound his way, and here hecame to sit, day after day,and sometimes to sleep onthegrassunder theferns.Hewatched the eternal circle,how the fruit hatched, howthe butterflies flew about,howthebloodandtearsweresplashed on the shrine ofAzhriaz and the butterfliesfed and blackened and felldown.Howtherecametobe

againgolden fruit, andagainthe fruit hatched butterflies.On and on, the cycle toiled,aroundandaround,andneverended.Onetwilightjustbeforethe

dawn, Dathanja took up agolden fruit from the earth,and, at the warmth of hishand,abutterflystraightawayhatcheditself.Itflewuptosituponhisshoulder.Soon theskybloomedand

there came the notes of areed, and singing. Into thegrove, preceded by a piper,strolled threeyouthsofgreatattraction, who nodded toDathanja and passed by himto the altar. “Here, heavenlyGoddess,” said one, “is thebloodofamanwhodiedinatiger’sjawsbecauseIaskeditofhim.”“Andhere,”saidthesecond, “the blood of a girlwhopaidmetokillhersince

I cared for her no more.”“And here,” said the third,“the tears of a fool whoweepsonmyfeetasIcaressmy new friend.” Then theylinked arms, and struck thepipertomakehimresumethesong. And so they lilted,singing,away.Then at once came three

youngwomen ingarlandsofpoppiesandorchids,andtheypoured out the contents of a

single phial between them,gaudily large as a bucket.“Behold, O Goddess ofgoddesses,” said one, “hereare the mingled tears andgore of those who haveworshiped at our shrinethrough the dark, andwhomwescoredwithournailsandourknives.”Thentheykissedthe altar and each other, andtwo coupled like lionessesunder Dathanja’s very eyes,

while the thirdwatchedhim,but her face was shut like afan. And then the three ofthemwentaway.The butterflies which had

hatchedinthegroveliftedina spangled spray and settledontheshrine.Allbutthebutterflywhich

had hatched in Dathanja’spalm, and this crept into hishairandhiditself.When the others had done

feeding, they blackened asusual, and flew up to hanglike thunder under the trees.Thentheonebutterflywhichhadnotfedleftitsshelterandfluttered out among them.The black butterflies, seeingits difference, turned on itandtoreitinpieces,fortheyhadclawsintheirmouths.The fragments of the

butterfly lay inabrightheapbeneath the fern, but when

the black butterflies floppeddown, the fragments, also,began to issue gold, and bynightfall,afruitlaywheretheonebrightbutterflyhad lain,aswithalltherest.Dawn returned; thegolden

fruit opened and thebutterflies flew and playedabout the grove. Then therearrived young men andmaidens, who made joyousand foul confession at the

altar,andthestonewasgivenits libation. But when thebutterflies settled there tofeed,threeflewanotherway,tothespotwherethemansatwatching them, and theygathered insteadonhis robe,and he sheltered them. Sobright theyburned, like littlepapers written by the sun.But later, when the otherbutterflies rose from theirfeast, black as if burnt, the

brightbutterfliesflewamongthemandwererippedtobits.When these bitswere on theground,theyissuedgold,andturnedtogoldenfruits.And this happened day

after day, for seven days, ornine, or more. But each daymore butterflies abstainedfrom the nectar of tears andblood, although they werethen slaughtered by thosewhichhadnot.

Onemorning,ahandfulofminutes before the dawn, asDathanja sat in the grove ofolives, and the butterflieswere just beginning to breakfree of the fruit, a girl stoleinto the grove alone, andstood at the man’s leftshoulder.She was a poor girl,

dressed in rags, and withneitherapreciousstonenoragarlandonherhair,butonly

a mean cloth to hide it andmuffleherface.Dathanjahadseen many destitutes in theCity. Generally theystretched dead in gutters,havingbroughtthemselvestoruinwith excess in pleasure,sadism, or ill-conceivedmagic. None would helpthem; it was not religious.Nordidtheyentreat.Thisgirlmight be one such, on herdescenttothecrematorypits.

But still she murmured toDathanja in a low dulcetvoice, “Why do you stayhere, lord, to watchbutterflies,whentherearesomany marvels in the City?”Sincehedidnotanswer, shecontinued, “Today there is acelebration. Mages will flywith wings and women willdance themselves to death.Eastward, a new palace hasbeen erected. The casements

areofcoloredrain,butithas,too, its own tame sun, thatlives in a cupola of cedarwood—whicheverydaywillbe incinerated by the heat,and so will have to bereplaced every day.Westward there is a bull ofelectrum that has trapped amoon between its horns; itspeaks awesome prophecies.And south there is a gardengrown from one seed. It is

onlysevenyardsinlengthorbreadth, but whosoeverentersislostamongitswalksand arbors for days on end.And north there is to be amarriage between a virginand a statue of chalcedony.And there are other matters.Why sit here and stare atbutterflies?”But at that instant the sky

lightened and there was anoiseofbellsandtabors.The

butterflies rippled on theferns. Youths and maidensran between the olives andpoured their libations at thealtar, relating what they haddone, then laughingly wentaway.Presentlyeverybutterflyin

the grove fluttered upward,and came to rest aboutDathanja, and some to situpon his shoulders and hishands. Every butterfly—but

one. And this one butterflyrushedtothealtarandfedonthe blood and tears, andturned black, and then itsoared about the grove andalighted on the bough of atree.Hereitfoldeditswings,and trembled, for it seemedtoseeatlastitwasalone.For a while, this stasis.

Then the one black butterflyshot into the air, and thrustitself upward through the

leaves,andbattereditselfandmangled itself, and floateddowndead to the earth.Andwhereitfell,goldspilledandhardened and rounded andbecame a fruit, all in a fewmoments. And then the fruitburstwide and from it camethe butterfly like a paper thesun had written. And whenthis had happened, thebutterflies flew in ones ortwos, or scores, upward into

the trees, and left the grovebehind. They vanished intothesky likea trailof sparks.ButthelastbutterflycametoDathanjaand looked intohiseyes with its own that werelike jeweled pins, before itspedaway.“Isee it isaparable,”said

the poor girl to Dathanja.“ButIcannotreadit.”“Azhriaz,” said Dathanja,

“putoffyoursillydisguise.”

And sure enough thedelusion dropped from herlike a veil. There she stood,Night’s Daughter, and shesaid, “But still I cannot readtheparable.”“Iamnotpriestor teacher

ormagiciananylonger.”“All three you are,” she

said,“andwilleverbe.”He sighed.He said, “Each

finds his own symbols, andcan therefore read them.But

to another they are thelanguage of a foreigncountry.Sowiththisgrove.”“I have said to you,” said

Azhriaz,“‘Beaprinceinmykingdom,’ and you havespurned the role.What next,Dathanja?”“I shall leave your City,”

hesaid.“Willyou?DoIpermitit?”“Yes,”hesaid.Azhriaz said, “I have not

told you so. But if I did,wherewouldyougo?”“WhereIamable.”“To wander, like all

madmen.”Azhriazwenttothealtarof

her shrine.She lookedat theliquors there. She spoke aword, and the shrine split.Out of it sprang a bush,which lashed and spat, forevery twig of it was aserpent.“Letthemofferhere

now,”shesaid.Dathanja laughed. It had a

bittersound,beforethelaughandthebitternessbothfaded.He got to his feet and hewalked from the grove.Azhriaz stood in his path,before him, though she hadbeenathisback.“Him you would have

served,”shesaid.“Serveme.Azhrarn’s murky ichor ismingled in my blood. There

is not a man or woman inthese lands,” she said, “whowouldnotgivetheirlivesforthreehours’suchserviceasIproposetoyou.”Buthelookedatheratlast

with his blackened eyes.“No,”hesaid.“I can bewitch you,” she

said. “Your magic you haverenounced,andinanycase,Idoubt it would match myown.”

“You can,” he said,“bewitch the world. Wherethen is the victory inbewitchingme?”“It is true,” she said. “Go,

whereveryouwill.”

IF IT WAS the room ofwattle, how it had changed.Perhaps the luxury wasillusion, or illusionhadbeenthe poverty before. Therewere fountains there thatwere cascades, of scent notwater. There were rugs thatwere lawns of flowers,draperies thatweremidnight

sky....Inthemidstadragonlay asleep. It was a couch,and on the cushions of it,Azhriaz lay in turn, awake,while her maidens combedthrough her long, long hairwithcombsofsilver.Entirelylovely, these maidens. Theywere Eshva. And Eshvaplayedmusic on themoonlithills of this room, suchmusic, likestarshine ripplingover glass. Nightbirds came

to the opened casements ofthe valley which was achamber, insomniac owls,dumbfounded nightingales.ThemoonsoftheCitypassedand repassed the windowslikepalelostships.Occasionally now Azhriaz

allowed the Eshva to sootheher, like a drug. But theEshvamaleswhocametohernow and then, and whosetoucheswere—tomortals—a

life’sdesire,thesesheturneduncivilly away. Some of theVazdru princes had alsocome toher, everyonemostprofoundly handsome, butshe had laughed at themcoldly. She was prejudiced,she said, against her ownrace. And coldly smiling inreturn,theylefther,theringsglaring on their fingers andthe daggers in their belts. Anumbermademischief,butit

was nothing against herpowers. Their maliceswithered at her doors likedying bouquets. They darednot do much—she wasAzhrarn’s daughter, andfulfilled his wish in theworld. Therewas a sentencespoken in some crystallinedarkness below: Surely shecouples with our kind. It iswithherlordlyfathersheliesdown. This unnovelty

reached the hearing ofAzhrarn.Helefthispalaceandwent

slowly through his cityunderground.Hesaidnothingtoanyof thoseextraordinarysubjectsofhis,astheybowedbeforehim,butashadowfell,and in the faces of some helooked, and their Vazdruhearts turned to water.Finally, one of themagnificent princes of the

Vazdru came out and metAzhrarn’s chariot in athoroughfareofblackruby.“Lord of lords,” said the

prince. “I am told you takeexception to a jest of ours.But you are Wickedness.Why does wickednessperturbyou?”Azhrarn said, “Do you

questionme?”The prince said, “By

philosophical mortals, who

areants,incestisnotcounteda sin, Lord of lords, whenwillingly performed andinducingnomishap.Isitthatyou are ashamed,OTerribleOne, to have caused so littleterror lately? Is it theslightness of the sin whichangersyou?”Azhrarn leaned from his

chariot and set one hand onthis prince’s shoulder. Thewholestreetturnedchillasif

snow had fallen. “Letmortals,” said Azhrarn, “errorphilosophizeastheywish.She that was born of me isnot my lover. I am not theclayofhumankind,and theirmuckdoesnotsticktome.”Thentheprincesaidsoftly,

thoughheshook,“Donotbeangry with one who lovesyou.”“Love?” said Azhrarn.

“There is no such

commodity. There iscarnality, our plaything.Thereisworship,andthereisobsession. Death you maysee walking the world, andFate, andDelusion, too, in aform I have kindly lent him.Butnomanseeslove,andnodemon sees it.” The princewho had accosted Azhrarnclosedhiseyes.Azhrarntookhis hand from the prince’sshoulder, but the prince

remained as if turned to ice,thereintherubystreet.LaterAzhrarn came to the

shore of an ironine lakewhere the Drin forges dullythudded and infrequentlychimed. Activity wassluggish. The Drin, recentlydisliking the sorrowfulclimate of Underearth, spentmuch time abroad on theearthabove,intheemployoftheforemostsorcerers,whom

they tricked and wheedledand ultimately wreckedwherever possible.But someDrin came now and rubbedagainst the chariotwheels ofAzhrarn.“There is a rumor,” said

Azhrarn.“Whobeganit?”The Drin squeaked and

squabbled. Several made upfantastic lies to gain hisnotice only for a perilousmoment. But one crept near

and touched the black-and-silversoleofAzhrarn’sboot.“An insect flits about thegardens of your city, andsometimes it makes a smallsound.Icanneverunderstandthe voice, but some do, andfrom this source all kinds ofrumors start. The insect isgreen in color, and on itswingsisthesymbolwhich,inthe Vazdru High Tongue, istheletterV.”

Then Azhrarn went up tohis palace again and into atower like a silver needle.Standing in the eye of it, hesummoned her, and shecame. Vasht, who had beenherself his lover once,Vashtblastedtotheshapeofatinygreen-winged leaf, at thetransmitted memory of thatotherloveofhis—bytheonewho now said:Noman seeslove,nodemonseesit.

“Idiscover,”saidAzhrarn,Night’s Master, one of theLords of Darkness, “thatVasht is green-winged notonly through her pain, butalso with jealousy andignorance.”Thebutterflyshimmeredin

theair.“Do you still imagine that

we may be reconciled inlove,Vasht?”saidAzhrarn.Itwas a fact, his voice had no

loveinit.The butterfly started

towardhim.Itpaused.“You love me,” said

Azhrarn.“Howmuch?”The green butterfly came

tohim;itbrushedbyhishairthat shone like midnightwaves, it lit upon his hand,strong and pale as a carvenstone. Then it lowered itselfuntilitreachedthepavingbyhis foot. There it folded its

wings,andwaited.“Truly, Vasht,” said

Azhrarn, and his voice wassofter than the nap of velvetand it lanced to the bone,“you have learned love’slessonwell.Forifanydoseeherwalktheworld, loveisahag, worse than plague orfamine, or even Death withhisghostlyshow.Loveinherrobe of rags with her hearttorn out and sewn on her

breast, love with her eyeswept out and only the blindsockets staring. Love is abitch,butshesuffers,andsosheknowsbesthowtomakeall things suffer that shekisses with her sickness.Vasht, I thank you for thislove of yours I do notwant,and I give you love’sreward.”Andheputhisbootheel down on the butterflyandcrushedit.

Now nothing could die inthe Underearth, it was said.And demonswere numberedamong the immortals. Yetonly this remained ofVasht,after Azhrarn had left thatplace:animpression,asifofthe thinnest jade, seared intothe paving—of a butterfly’stwo wings, like the twopiecesofabrokenheart.But in Druhim Vanashta

they said, “As he did with

her, so he does with hiskingdom.” And some of theVazdru, a great many ofthem,putonyellowclothing—which color to them wastheshadeofmourning,beinglikesunlight—andtheystoodbeneath his walls, andlamented in the seventhtongueof thedemons,outofwhich their chants andmelodies of sorcery weremade.

But Azhrarn paid noapparent heed. And they didnot then dare approach himnearer, remembering therewardofVasht.Theyspoke together.They

mockingly said, “Where isAzhrarn? Who has seenhim?” And some of themtooktheshapeofblacklions,but with yellow eyes, whicheye color, again, was a signof unease or sorrow or

extreme outrage among theircaste.Theyprowledtheblacklawns of Azhrarn’s palace,going in over the walls, andsnapped the bronze fish outof the trees, maiming them,so they flopped horribly inthe grass until the fantasticair and emanations of thatareahealedthem.At the center ofAzhrarn’s

garden a fountain played; itwas composed not of water

but of fire, scarlet fire thatgave neither light nor heat.Butthelion-Vazdrudugdeepinthestrataof thelawn,andtheycasttheturfandsoilsinupon the fountain, tirelessly,for more than a mortalmonth.Untilatlasttheflamewas choked and lay under ablack compost, which yetsmolderedstillinpartslikeacoldredcoal.But even to this, Azhrarn

seemedtopaynoheed.Thelion-Vazdruleaptback

acrossthewallsandresumedtheirmaleandfemaleforms.Then they rent their yellowclothes and cried in anarchicvoices, “Azhrarn, where isAzhrarn, the Beautiful, theBringer of Anguish, Night’sMaster?”And theyansweredthemselvesstonilythereafter:“Azhrarnisdead.”

But Azhriaz lay on thedragon’sback,andtheEshvacombedher hair and sang inwordless voices. And sheheeded them nearly as littleas Azhrarn heeded theVazdru,milesunderherfeet.Years ago, in the first

decadeofherreignovermen,Prince Wickedness hadsometimespaidavisit tohisdaughter.In those nights, she had

lived in the marbleapartments of the formerpalace of Nennafir, merelywith Qurob’s luxuriousness.TwoofQurob’ssonshad, inthat time, attempted tomakewar on her, but she haddestroyed their armies as ahurricane breaks a branch.And one of Qurob’s femaleprogeny,whohad laidaplotto murder the new Goddess,Azhriaz had fastened to a

wheel of silver that wassorcerously flung about theskyoverthecityallday,andhungabove the tallestpalacetower after sunset. Thescreams of this wretchedwoman became familiar tothe ears as the cries ofparticular indigenous birds,for, by magic, she was notpermitted death. Eventuallythe victim went mad. ThenAzhriaz had her taken down

and sent away into somehandy wilderness, with thereported words: “Go seekyour prince.” Various hadbeen the cruelties of theGoddessintheearlyyearsofher reign. At Azhrarn’sinstruction she performedmany deeds in order toeducate the earth in theviciousnessof thegods, and,more important, theirindifference to all human

suffering.Mostly, the visits of the

lordly father to the dutifulchild comprised suchinstructions. Azhriaz hadplaced for him a silver chairintricately molded, with acanopy of silk, and withinlaid steps leading up to it.Shekneeledbeforehim,armscrossed on her breast andheadbowed.Itwasaparody,and soon bored them. Now

she was polite and now hehad got his way, they hadnothing at all to say to eachother. And to be sure, theywere like many a mortalfatheranddaughterinthat.Probably,atthebeginning,

he tested her, to see if shewas faithful to his edict.Once the tests wereaccomplished, he let heralone. Next, some of theVazdruwere sent to her and

taught her demonicmagic—ortheyrefinedherskillsandlessoned her in the properrituals and occult languagethat should ornament suchart. (As callers, the Vazdruwere proud. And she, thehostess, prouder.) But themellifluous Eshva came atherwhim,topleaseher.Andthe Drin came, to fawn andbringgifts,or tofashion,outof the tributes of theEmpire

she had begun to establish,diadems and collars,clockworks, mechanisms.Theybuilt thatpillaredroomof gems (of course), and thegold room, and those ofsilver and pearl. And theDrindra she fetched up, too,the dregs of the Drin, andspoketothemintheirgabble,and found access throughthem to the bizarresupernatural tips where such

weeds and flowerletsburgeoned as the four thingsshe summoned to tell her ofher worth in the world—themanofbrassand themanofalligator legs, the woman-headedhorse,thesnake-eyedchild.Meanwhile,herhumanlegions milled more andmorelandsforherbread.So in the end she dwelled

alone, surrounded byeverything a third of the

world could bring her, andplayedatappallingsorceries,while, in her sprawlingGoddessdom, men didincredible mindless evils,eachinhername.For herself, she had done

directly very little evil. Andwhatshehaddone,mostly,atAzhrarn’s incentive,was herduty. For the rest, acceptingher as a goddess ofwickedness and carelessness,

men let loose all the rubbishin themselves for her sake.They supposed she came tothem in dreams and visionsand requested of themslaughter, rapine, andsacrifice of animal andman,suicide, and other items lesssucculent still. But this shedid not do; they managed itall themselves mostadequately.Andthedeliriumwhich fell on them like a

ravening panther at theinvocationofherbeing—thatwastheircreature,too.But Azhrarn, who had

made her to chastise theearth, he might have beensaid to be satisfied. Yet itappeared hewas not so verymuch concerned, having setthe toy in motion. Oncebefore he had inadvertentlyunleashed havoc, and goneelsewhere, to some other

interest, and not seen themesstillalmost thelasthourof mankind. Now there wasno other interest, butregardless, the mightyendeavorpalled.He,whohadinvented this play, in whichmillions were overwhelmed,continents tottered, menperishedasautumn leaves ina forest—he had turned hisheadaway.AndforAzhriaz, thefount

of the pandemonium, shelingered on her couch-dragon, and let her City goabout itsriotsunderthehighwindows. And lingering inthe flesh on the couch,otherwiseshepassedthroughamirrorshehadbeenstaringinto, and stood beforeDathanja on a hill at herkingdom’sedge.Brownandbarren thehill,

eventheskywasbrown,and

a tannic rain fell, withsometimes a brown frog ortwoinit.But Azhriaz came clad in

lights,withstarsinherhair.Dathanja, who sat on the

hillintherain,glancedupather.“Is your journey

charming?”sheaskedhim.“Perhaps,”hesaid.“Anddoyouthinkofme?”

shesaid.

“It now and then chancesthat I think of you, for youmanifest now and then, doyounot,toremindme?”“Whathaveyouseensince

lastyoulookedonme?”Hesaid,“Miseryandwant,

and fear, and death. I saw abeggar begging help from amuddystream.He toldme itwasasmuchusetodothatastobeghelpofheaven.AndImetagirlwholaydownand

said that I should rape ormurder her at once, as Iwished, for she could expectnothingelseofme.AndImeta priest who danced indelirium for the Goddessunder an altar piledwith thedead pilgrims he had givenher. But he found he couldnot seizeme, since I am yetinvulnerable, sohe ranawayinapoortemper.”“By day,” said Azhriaz,

“you set your face to thesunrise. You travel alwayseastward. Now what lies intheeast,OZhirek?”“I am not Zhirek,” said

Dathanja, andhis black eyesburned cold, before the fireandthecoldnessfaded.“Simmurad lies east,” said

Azhriaz,“undertheocean.”But the rain and the frogs

smote down, and Dathanjabowed his dark head, rather

inthewayshehadbowedherdarkerheadbeforeherlordlyfather. So she returned toherselfthroughthemirror.From the room of

landscape and scent, oncewood and wattle, the Eshvawomenhadallgone, leavingbehind a glorious waftinginexplicableness. Someonetootled on a pipe, out in theairbelowthewindow,wherethemoonsweresinking.

“Kingly Kheshmet,” saidAzhriaz, “it is a long whilesinceIsawyou.Whyareyouhere?”“Tooffer awarning,” said

Kheshmet, integrating in themidst of the room, andputtingaway thepastelpipe.He was arrayed solely as aking, and blared so brightthattheroomfilmedoverandrevertedtowoodandwattle.“You have warned me

previously.IsitsensibleFatecangivewarnings?”“Youseehedoesso,”said

Fate. “Besides, you aresorceress enough to divineyour likely destiny, withoutany clue from me. Myapparition is superfluoushere, though here, aseverywhere, I pay myrespects from time to time.Therefore I appear to you asa king and present the

warning modestly, as akeepsake.”“Warn me, then,” said

Azhriaz.“Inonedirection,thesea,”

said Kheshmet. “In another,the sky. Though you mayconquer all the world, theseas have their ownmasters,who may be your equals.And the ether is the floor ofothers who, stepping there,begintonoticeyou.”

Azhriaz looked at Fatewithsomeattention.“I beheld the building of

Baybhelu Tower,” saidKheshmet. “Few sawme, socircumspectly did I comportmyself, and such floridcousins there were aboutbesides, Lords of Darknessthickonthegroundasbeetleswhen a stone has beendisturbed. Nevertheless, theTower rose, to breach

heaven, and heavenbethought itself, and stirred,only as a feather stirs on apigeon’sbackwhenitsleeps.But because of that feather,Baybhelu fell down with acrashthatrockedtheworld.”“I,” said Azhriaz, “do not

build so high. I excavaterottenness, diggingdownward.” Her faceexpresseddisgustasshesaidthis.

Kheshmetsaid,“Youareagoddess,andadoredassuch,and you have the powers ofwhat you claim to be.Whatwillthegodsthinkofthat?”But, musingly, she said,

“Intheeast,Simmurad...”Kheshmet came close.

“Noteast,butinyoureyes,IwaswonttoseeChuzlikeanamber figurine. Now I seeZhirekwho isDathanja, likea figurine of black basalt.

When will the blue comeclearagaininyourblueeyes,Goddess-on-Earth, Soveh-Sovaz?”But Azhriaz reached out,

andwithalaughshepluckedthe tiny chameleon fromKheshmet’sscepteredstaff.Itcame to her a furiouslygrowling orange, then layupon her palm white as adove,makingapurringnoise.Kheshmet smiled; he

allowed her to fondle thelizard. He was an uncle ofsortstoher,afterall,andtherest of the family did notseem to have been toofamilialwithher.In a while they went up,

KingFate,Night’sDaughter,and the chameleon, toobserve sunrise at Az-Nennafir.The sun rose like a bud

unfurling.

Fate snapped his fingers,andagainstitsdisk,thegloryof the great nightmare of aCity crumbled, and only itsskeleton remained, theheights smashed, likeBaybhelu, the tall templesand mansions roofless, andgaunt dragons moved overthe desolation, and carrionbirds with dusty eyes blewoutofadesert thathadbeenparksandpalaces.

“Where the gods shallwalk,” said Kheshmet,“perhapsmetaphorically.Butat each footfall, anothertower falls.”Thenhemovedhis hand across the scene,and the City returned, quitewhole.“It seemed to me once,”

said Azhriaz, “that I mightonedaydie.”“Ah, Soveh-Sovaz,” said

Kheshmet, taking the lizard

up onto his staff in themoment before he vanished,“formorecenturies thanyoucould ever dream of, so, ithasseemedtome,shallI.”

PARTTWO:TheWarwith

SeaandSky

AS USUAL, it was a clearwinter morning inUpperearth.Nothing ever changed

there, or very little. The

ground of heaven was sky,and the sky of heaven wassky, and time, like the sky,hungeverywhereanddidnotmove and did not stay still.Tomorrow might beyesterday,andnextyearthreemortal centuries ago. But tothe gods this gave no causefor concern—andmen nevercame there, or would nevercomethere,perhaps....Thinblue morning, lit crisp-to-

brittle by an unseen sunwhich neither rose nor set,nevershifted,yetshonefromall sides. Not cold, nor hot,thatendlessday.ItdescribedtheWellofglass, containingthe fluid of Immortality,which Simmu once hadcontrived to borrow from,and inwhich, once,Azhrarnhadspat—making the leadenliquidsparklingandbeautifulfor a second or so. Against

the Well, the two fearsomeone-eyed Guardians slept, intheir gray cloaks. The storywent there had been longbefore, or would be long inthe future, three Guardians.Thethirdhadbeen,wouldbe,lost, in some curiousmaneuver, defending theWell(unnecessary),orfallingin the Well (unlikely), orfalling through the floor ofheaven (less likely), or by

incurring the displeasure ofthegods:unthinkable.Forthegodswerefaroff—

both in their unphysicalphysicality and in theirsupernalspirit-minds.To that limited number of

beings, of whom Azhrarnwasone,whohadwalkedtheUpperearth,itwasaformlessand mostly markerlesscountry. It had itsWell, andhereandtheresomeevidence

of possession might bedescried by those withexceptional vision—theharpstring dwellings of thegods, for example, eonsabandoned, the variousesotericintellectualexercises,suchascheckeredsquaresofunknowncolors,pavilionsofindescribable structure, aflight of steps, waterfall orarchway that neither wordnor penwould or can award

any ideaof.Distantlyon thehorizon were mountains, orthe frozen souls ofmountains, the shade of thesky, outlined by delicatesnows of imperviousadamant. Even should youwalktowardthesemountainsfor seven years, you wouldnot reach them. Theyremained always that exactdistance on the horizon asbefore.Tothegods,however,

theseinaccessiblecragswereeasilytobegained.Awhilethen,inthisregion,

some of the gods had beencongregated. Since thelocationwasotherwiseneverentered, it can only beconjectured upon. But therethey were, the lords ofUpperearth, who had allgenders and none,transparently robed,translucentoffleshandaflow

with the palest violet ichors.In high excitement, glassyflutterings would sometimeserupt from their garments,hair, or brains—and nowcontinuously did so. For thegods, thiswasamostsavageclamor. But their polishedeyesgaveawaynothing.AndtheywerevoicelessasEshva,more so. Yet it has to besupposed, as on otheroccasions it has had to be,

that the gods didcommunicate with eachother,andthatadialoguewasinprogress.Which,torenderit in sentences and phrases,wentsomewhatlikethis.“Ages past,” a portion of

the gods stated, “we werevolatile. We dressedourselvesinheavyskins,anddescended to the earth, andthere indulged in uncouthadventures,and leftbehinda

selection of legends, andeven, in some instances,progeny. Which last werecounted as heroes ormonsters by mankind. Andindeed,itwasinthosefoolisheras of our extremist youthwefirstmademan, toamuseus, and for a little space hedid.Butlaterwegrewoutofhim, and out of ourselves,and, purged of all suchnonsense,weretreatedtoour

upperworld to spend the restof time, as time is nowreckoned, in contemplations,andotherastralathletics.Letus, therefore, only continueas we are, ceaselesslypurifyingour purity.And lettheworld also go on until itdestroys itself by its grossrandomness. The earth is nolonger any concern of ours.And as for man, he is amistakewemade.And ifwe

notice him, he will naturallyoffend us, as one’s mistakesalwaysdo.”“But,” intoned another

portion of the gods, “thoughfor the most part the doingsofmanhavenobearinguponus,yet sometimeshiswillfulinnovations strike adiscordant echo even here.And this is one such, theirnewreligion.Ahumanthing,even one of their sorcerers,

investing himself withgodhead is only ridiculous.But this woman, being ab-human,hasvastpowers, andmay, through their stupidity—in which state all menperpetually are—be takenundeniably for a god. It istrue,whenwerovedupontheearth in our adolescence,webehaved quite often in suchways,andthelegendsweleftsupport the woman’s claim.

And this resonance of ourpast, and this affront to ourpresent (though neither pastnor present any longertroubleus), is ahindrance toour inward seeking.Thereforewemaynotignorethe discord. It must besilenced.”Then a solitary god

speechlessly spoke, and saidthis:“One ascended to our

countryandwalkedhere.Hewas no mortal, for suchcannot ascend or enter. Hewasofanimmortalracemencalldemons,andthesewedidnotmake, and therefore theymaynotbeboundbyus.Andthis demon, who was theirprince, is amagicianbeyondall imagining. And when hehadtalkedinsolentlytous,hekissed me, and I rememberstill the kiss.” And the god

lowered his head (or herhead,or itshead),andflyingcrystalsspedfromeveryfoldand pore and hair. “It is afact,” continued the godpresently, “that this womanmankind call a goddess isnoneotherthantheoffspringof that demon prince. Suchan adversarymay be said tobe worthy of our attention,and deserving of a supremeconflict,andwe,inescapably,

mustofferwartosuch.”Then the gods stared, or

did what amounted to thataction,but thereisnosourcewhich reveals what thatmight be. This one god hadnow (unvocally) uttered theveryconceptsof theiryouth.Sotherecameapause,whichundoubtedly lasted manymortalyears.Afterwhichthegodsaffirmedthatthisoneoftheirfraternityshouldtakeon

for them the onus ofretribution. He should do all—anditdidseemthathewasnow masculine, though howit seemed so is not told, norwas it probably by anystraightforward means. Andin this way, too, the rest ofthe gods punished him, forthe vestiges on him ofoutgrown things, not tomention for having beenkissedbyademon.

Thus, the god—whocarriedwithinhimselfall thegods, though a roguemember; they were at heartintrinsicallyasingleentity—thus, he set forth. Andcrossing Upperearth hearrived at a place like everyother,butherehegraspedtheinvisible substanceof the airand wrenched it free andmolded it, invisibly,betweenhis hands—then cast it from

him,whereitbrokeinvisiblyintothreeshards.These the god breathed

upon,oneaftertheother,andnextgatheredthemupagain,though still theywere not tobeseen.Hespoke then,orhemade

somepositive,audiblesound.Itwas a phonetic the like ofwhich no sorcerer of theworld had ever compassed,nor, let it be admitted, any

demon magician-princeundertheground.AndtheblueofUpperearth

split, a small vent, andthrough it,miles awayandalittle below, was a ragingthing, like many millionfurnaces melded into one,from which rays andstreamers and breakers offlame reeled and exploded.Then the god, who hadbreathed his divine breath

intothethreeinvisibleshardsofthefabricofheaven,flungthem down yet again, oneupon the other, into the coreofthesun.Thefirstshardstruckthesun.The second shard struck it.Andthethird.Ateachimpactthere came a surge of lightand heat more dreadful thanthose which the sun alreadyshot and flailed about itself.

Butwhenthethirdfirespasmguttered and died, there wasonly theflamingmassof thesundisk,terribleenough,butnotmore terrible than it hadeverbeen.And then.With a violence

that caused the upper airs tojudderinaskyquake,thesundisgorged. Once, twice,thrice, a torrent of scaldingmatter reared upward andsoared over heaven in a

roaring arc, led by a dot ofbrilliance unbearable to lookon, if any had looked, ashootingstarofcosmicarson—which, ending its flightsuddenly in mid-ether,stopped still and hung there,slowly cooling moment bymomenttoastabofdiamond.Until:They stood high up,

between earth and heaven,like three stooping hawks,

theirfeetuponthewindsandtheir wide wings spread.TheyweretheMalukhim,theSun-Created. They weremade to be the scourge ofmen, the warrior-priests ofthe gods, their messengersand envoys, the shiningsheathless blade of thatwhichhadoutgrownbattle.The firstwho sprang from

the solar firewasEbriel.Hestood on the right hand, and

he had been calcined toyellow-gold.Hisskinwasthemetalofaking’sgoblet,andhis eyes like topaz, and hishairwasalion’smaneofthehue of the tasseled wheat inthe field. His garments wereofthatpalecreaminessoftheasphodel, and the sheen ofhis flesh shone throughwitha golden radiation. Hisbreastplate was hammeredgold gazing with blond

citrines. His wings werewhitely gold as those of ayoungeagle.Hewaslikethespringsunatnoon.The second who sprang

fromthefirewasYabael,andhestoodonthelefthand,andhe had been seethed for agreater while, and his was agold dark as darkest bronze.So themetal of his skin, buthis eyes were like tawnyamethysts, and his hair a

stallion’smanethehueofthescorched rufous leaves ofautumn oaks. His garmentswere fulvous, like honey inbeer, and the burnish of hisflesh burned through with asomber radiation. Hisbreastplatewasofhammeredbrazen gold wounded withcopper zircons. His wingswere shadowed gilt as thoseofavulture.Hewas like thelate-summersuninthunder.

But foremost, and nearestto the world, with the solardisk behind his head, therestood Melqar, who hadstayedwithin the fireuntil itseared him white. His skinwas the fairest gold, themetalofasacredchalice,andhiseyeswerekindled lamps,and his hair a sunburst. Hisgarmentsdazzledwhiteasallwhite things, the newbornsnows, the bones within a

child,andthesunshineofhisbright golden flesh soakedthroughwith the radiationofa torch. His breastplate ofhammered white gold wassunned with golden beryls.His wings were white as aswan’s, yet golden white, aswan that flew always at theday’s rise. And Melqar waslike the sun of midsummerdawning.

But the sky itself turnedblack. Dismayed by theethereal disturbance, stormsformed in every quarter.Shockstolled,andthecloudsraninliketidalwavesuponabeach. The whole roof ofheavenwasblottedout;onlythe sun spiked through likethe tip of a white-hot spear.Nightclosedontheday.Andin every land of the world,downin theflatearth’sdish,

they saw it. Men trembled,andsagesandmagesforecastdooms.Priestsoffered to thegods, guessing, almostaccurately, that they wereangry.ButinthethirdoftheearthwheretheGoddesswasworshiped, they would donothing, for they knew thegods to be indifferent, orhating. “They will smite usanyway,” men said there.And so slew themselves for

fear ofworse, or ran to hidein cellars, or else performedthemosthideousvillainiesoftheir lives, frenziedly andrapidly, in order to geteverything done beforeannihilationsweptthemup.Butinafarcountry,where

the grim teaching of theGoddess had not yet gone,there was a scholar whowatched the stars through amightylenslargeasapalace

dome, mounted upon foursculpted tortoises of brass.And this man, though hisvertebrae rattled with terror,stayed to see. Many hourslater, the sky began after alltoclear.Itwasmidnight,anda moon rose in the east, aslender bow, yet fever-flushed. Then the scholar-astrologerwas summoned tothe house of his king, whoaskedquestions.

“My lord, I can only saythis.That I saw threearrowsof light fired out of the sun,and from these lights camethreewingedmen, one gold,onebrazengold,onewhiteasgold that is molten. Theystood in heaven, and thedarkness followed, but yetthey blazed bright, and rodeupon the clouds like greatand awful birds.And then itappearedthathewhostoodto

the right of the sky drew asword with a blade whichsizzled likeyellowlightning,and he in the left of the skydrew a swordwhich drippedred, like blood. But he thatstood foremost with the sunbehind his head, he drew asword like white flame, andheraisedithigh,yetwithitsedge down-pointing to theearth.“And I would venture to

suggest,” added the scholar-astrologer,“thatthisbodesnogoodforus.”

THEY HAD neither mindnorsoul,theMalukhim.Theyhad no heart. They hadspiritualwillandpurpose,butthese came from the gods’own. Though they werebeautiful, so are fires andleopards.Someninedaystheywere,

falling to earth, so leisurely

and so fraughtwithmeaningtheirdescent.The passage may have

been heeded, but, closingwiththevaporsoftheworld,they had shuttered theirbrightness. Those goldenfeet, naked as swords,touched initially the bareshoulder of a mountaintop.An emblem, the choice oflanding.Themosthightothehighmost. And three days

they paused upon themountainand frommilesoffmight be glimpsed there,glinting like jeweler’s work.But none saw it save someanimals thereabouts, orenviousravens.

Below the mountain laypurple deserts with rocks ofquartz and gullies veined bycostlyminerals,andhereandthere a long-armed tree that

turnedtoflint.The warrior-messengers

came down from themountain. Itwasemblematicalso that they shouldwalk ashort way, that they shouldinhale the air and tread theback of the world. For theyscarcelyneededto.At sunset, they paused

again on a high place, andlooked down, and Az-Nennafirlaybeforethem,the

City wide as an ocean,twinklingwith the first budsofitslights.Gods do not soil

themselves with deeds. Thatrequiresangels.Yabael took up a pebble,

andhurledittowardtheCity.Itflewsofastforsofar, it

caughtalight,andasparklingtail went after it. Over theCity, over the river of theCity, it raced, and crashed

through a tall window ofglass that had still the blushofdyingsunupon it.Below,among pillars of incense, amultitude started andshouted. But the pebbleflashedintothemidstofthemand tore downward throughthe body of a man, fromcraniumtoinstep,andburieditself in the floor beneath.The slain man burst inflames, and fell across the

altar. He was a priest ofAzhriaz. He had beenofferingthethirteenthhumanvictim of the evening, ithaving been thought properto give thanks, since theliftingof thestorm.Nowtheworshipers wailed in theirtemple, blessing Azhriaz forherdisdain.Theybelieved,ofcourse, the thunderbolt washerdoing.

‘Oh kind is she in herunkindliness,Andlovelyinherevil.Let us be worthy of your

hatred,Azhriaz!Azhriaz!’

Yet, whole kingdoms’lengths of streets andconcourses away, threestrangersnowstoodatoneofthelargegatesoftheCity.Itgapedalwaysopen,night

andday,thegate.Theleavesofit,inanyevent,weremadeofglass.When the three strangers

passed beneath, galvanicsscored the atmosphere. Butonly a sickman lying in thegatewaynoticedthis.They were cowled and

cloaked,thestrangers,oneinsinged cloth that tookshadow, and one in blondcloth that took light, and the

third in blanched cloth thatsangontheeye.Fools, thought the failing

one under the gate. (He hadbeen a magus once, exaltedand proud, and stayedarrogant though he perishedof hunger anddisease.) “Oh,wise masters,” he criedaloud, “give alms to awretched destitute.” He didthistoseeiftheywereidiotic—andirreligious—enoughto

doit.Andathiswords,tohissurprise,contempt,andhope,thetravelerintheblondcloakturnedandcastdown tohimsomething thatgleamed.Thesick magus scrabbled for iteagerly, then cursed, for itwasonlyanotherpebble,andbesides, it had burned hispalm. Then, from the burn,there flowed through him afrighteningsensation—itwashealthandvigorleapingback

onhim like two rabid tigers.Soonhegotupandranawayin horror, leaving the pebbletoblackeninthegate.All night long the three

strangers went through Az-Nennafir, and some beheldthem,andsomeattempted todetainthem.Butagreatheatplayedaboutthem,andthosewho caught the sleeves oftheir garments felt a touchlikeadesertwind,and those

who plucked their fleshseemed to have dipped theirfingersinscaldingsand.Andthough they were seen inseveral parts of that giganticmetropolis, both on itsmountainous heights and inthe chasmic lanes between,they did what no mortalcould do, traversing thewhole City in that singlenight.Near dawn, they came to

an inn on the river bank. Itrose story upon story, like acoileddragon,withwindowsofprimrosegreen.Andinthecourt,whichwasstrewnwiththe petals of bruised whitemyrtlesofunusualsize,thereposedastatueofchalcedony,a man in form, that heldclaspedcloseabeautifuldeadgirl whose hair streamed totheground.Herbodydidnotmortify; she toowasaltering

to a chalcedon. At their feetwas a message written insilver, which read: Such islove.The three strangers

approached the inn door,which, like the gates, gapedwide. The hall within wasloud and busy with carouse,despite the weary hour.Caged fires enlightenedrichesandriot, in themiddleof which a chained beast

crouched,thathadthefaceofa wolf, the hind legs of anenormous hare, the figure ofa serpent, the breasts andtressesofawoman.Thewhite-cloakedstranger

tossed down a last pebble,among the couches. Thepebble chinked and grated,bounced against a winepot,and spun to stillness. Therewasnoother soundanymorein that room.Everymanand

everywomanstoodorleanedor sat or lay in the attitudeadopted at the instant of thepebble’s flight. Some hadtheir arms raised aloft indramatic gesturings, othershumped in crazy positions,suspended in the fiercestperformancesoflust.Butthefires in the cages were alsomotionless, every flameglisteninglikeadagger.Anda number of cups had been

spilled,andhunginair,withthe wine half splashed fromthem like beads of tintedglass.The composite beast alone

was not affected.Nevertheless, it deemed itprudent to cower down andhowl, and when the threetravelers moved by it, itcrawled away until its chaingroaned and creaked andsuddenly snapped. And then

it crawled on into the darkbeyondthedoor.Upward through the

motionless inn the travelerstook their way. Over everyformerly vociferous floortheywended,andweregone.In the top tier, at the verypeakofthenewsilence,theysat down, and under theircloaks stirred an uncannyrestlessness, as great wingswerefolded.

It happened that a magnetbegantoexertitsinfluenceinthe City of the Witch-Goddess.They were drawn, the

citizens, they could not helpit. Sometimes there was adream they could notremember, or explain. Or itwas only a mute desire.Sometimestheydidnotevenwish to go—there.But there

they went. They left theircomforts,mageries,andtheirstudied wrongdoings.Worship and sacrifice theyleftalso.Theyabandonedtheluxury tradesofAz-Nennafirthathadmade themwealthy,and its debaucheries thatslowlykilledthem.Theyleftoff even ritual murder andsuicide. They trooped alongthewideroads,steeredalongtheriver,underthebluedsky.

They came to a building,oncean inn.But the innhadbecome peculiar, putting outoddlygracefulprotuberances,galleries, spires . . . growinglike a heavenly vegetable.Within this inn’s radius,which seemed to increasewith every hour, the windscame by and did not movethegrassesofthelawnortheleaves of the myrtle shrubs.Flowers lay on the ground

anddidnotfade.In the courtyard, a

chalcedony statue hadtoppledoverandbroken intochunks, none of which hadbeenpilfered.Acleanfemaleskeleton was mingled withthese.Mostly, the bemused

arrivals sat down about theinn and wondered andmurmured. As days andnightswore,somewouldfall

silent, and presently get upagainandhurryaway.Thesemight subsequently be seendashing through the Citytoward one of the severalgates—ajourneyofweeks,ormonths.Butothers laydownandslept,anddidnotwaken,thoughthewholeareasighedwith their concerted regularbreathing.A few ascended through

the inn. From the top tier of

it, which now resembled agorgeousdiademof filigreedlettuce,aquantityofthese,ina short while, threwthemselves off. Others camedown by the stairs, and yetothersdidnotcomedown.“Whatisthere?”“I...cannotsay.”“Or will not? Is it some

fresh magic of theAstonishing One, Azhriaz?Shehasbeenunseenbyusa

longwhile.”“No.No.”One man stood in the

courtyardandsaid,“Thesunwaits three times over in theupper room. Six-winged isthesun,withgoldenfeetandhair of fire. Evacuate thiskingdom,ordiehere.”“A punishment of the

gods? Then we are honoredbytheirattention.”“We are nothing to the

gods,aswearetold.Itisforthe Goddess they cast theirshiningnet.”Then the aesthetics

marveled.Did the gods seektoupbraidoneoftheirown?Still, somewenthomeand

got their goods together in arush, and soon were to beseen,liketheotherswhohaddone so, dashing for the exitpoints of Az-Nennafir. Butthe majority stayed where

they were, and the streetsaroundtheerstwhileinn,andthe river bank and the river,were thick with them, whilefarandnearwholesectorsofthe city were deserted. Yet,so populous was that hugeplace, it teemed on aroundeachvacuum.Andtherewereplenty of persons so stupid,or so erudite, they never feltthemagnetic force laid uponthem.

AZHRIAZ the Goddess waswalking westward, by theriver.Itwastraditional,whensheroamedabroadaboutherownbusiness,forthevicinitytobeemptiedbyhersoldiers,a duty they cherished. Theliving and the corpses thenremoved, no human thingwastheretoannoyher.Only

peacocks spread their fansalongtheavenuesandutteredtheirsoullessscream,andtheibis and the crane loweredtheirlongneckstodrinkfromgardenpools.Whiletwocatsof white stone turned theirheadswithanunnervingrasptowatch theirmistressgoingby.The Goddess-on-Earth

went down in the sunset totheharborbasin,whereonce,

morethanthreedecadesago,the merchant ships hadordinarily come and gone.Now only one vessel laythere.ThebarkofAzhriaz.It was not that half-

delusory ship in which shehad first plied upriver fromthewest.Thiswasaseagoinggalley, resting on mightychains at the center of theriver. A man-made ship, ormostly, with enamels

blazoned upon her, andbanneredwithfurledsail.Shehad three terraces of decks,and when once her portsshould open to let out theoars, they would quill herlikeaporcupine.Solid,theship,ifnameless.

Andnotquitenatural.Thosethathadseenherassuredyoushe could vanish—like herlady—at a word. Only thosewho had toiled to make her

truly knew of her—shipwrights, joiners—whohadbeenstruckdumbfortheduration. And, too, certainunnormal bipeds summonedgenerally by night.Althoughthe demons had not beencalled on, not even thosegeniusmetal-smithstheDrin.Azhriaz had not, it seemed,wished to inform theUnderearth of this venture,despite the fact that she

wouldknownothingcouldbekept fromAzhrarnher fathershould he look about for it.Maybe she had becomeassuredofhisuninterest.Now Azhriaz, having

observed her fine galley,stepped on the water. Shewalked over the river, pastthe sun as it sank, and liftedintheairtoattainthehighestdeck, under the great rolledcloudsofsail.

What was the ship for?Why, the sea. And why thesea, then? Standing on thedeck, Azhriaz traced, formomentary amusement, aname on the air in wateryletters.Simmurad.But immediately, the

letters died. Now she poisedlike an orphaned child, thisfabulous woman-girl,dwarfed by the stature of amere ship, her long-lashed

eyesdowncast.Was there not a futility in

everything? Why thenattemptanything?But she must rein back

thesethoughts.Therewasalltime,andshedamnedwithit.Best not to dwell on thecenturies,ortheminutes.Just then it seemed to her

sheheardastrangemusic,orsome other stranger sound,reverberatingfromthedepths

ofherCity.Hadsheperhapsheard it before? Attuned tothe auras, notes, nuances ofthe thousandspells thatwenton here, she had paid thisoddityslightheed.Yet,itdidnot harmonize, it wasdiscordant.Thesunhadsetbehindthe

sapphire lens; the afterglowlay along the mirror of theriver. Azhriaz raised hereyes, and saw three golden

starsflyupthesky.Nosoonerdidsheseethem

than extraordinary feelingswelled in her. She was notaccustomed to excitement,for her powers had,inevitably, deadened heremotional senses. So, for amoment, joy clawed at herheart.Yellowgoldandrussetgoldandgoldthatwaswhite,the three stars sliced throughthefirmament.Couldshenot,

putting on such wings, too,soar upward and meet withtheminconfrontation?Yet all about a weird

moaning began from everyside, the lapping of the river—a moan, the rushesmoaningat thewater’sedge.Theverychainsthatheldtheship groaned as they rubbedagainst each other, and theboards of the young vesselgroanedas if theyached.No

fishsurfacedfromthewater.The glowing flies that cametotheluminousnightflowersof thegardenandmade loveto them in error—thinkingthe flowers to be flies—putout their lights.Anassemblyof cranes took the air andflew low along the river andaway, away. What perfumewasthis?Asoftattaroffear.Then Azhriaz was angry.

Notinthemannerofmen,or

womeneither, in theVazdruway,flawlessclutterlessrage,with a razor’s edge.Her lipsparted to speak words likedrops of bane. But a hand,light as a pane of thedarkness, was set upon herhead.“No,”saidthevoice,black

catspawsilk,outofthenightwherenothinghadbeen.“You have made me a

goddess,”shesaid,assilken.

“Is there then something agoddessdarenotdo?”“It may be so,” said

Azhrarn.“Wait,andbestill.”Andsotheywaited,shutin

under theumbraof the sails,while the flaming starsquartered the sky on theirwings, then drew awaytogether inland, over theriver.“Thereisafterallanovelty

inmyCity,” saidAzhriaz at

length.“Donot be charmedby it,

littlegirl.Ididnotmakeyoutobespoiledinfire.”Azhriaz turned, and so

beheld her father, the PrinceofDemons,andevensheforamoment took breath at hismagnificence. He had comethere as prince and lordindeed, clothed in thearmoringsofmidnight,amailglass-black as dragon plates,

girtwith battle ornaments ofbone and jewel and staringsilver. Even a sword at hissidecasedinblackanditselfall blackness, with a bluetongue running on it. Abouteach arm there twinedserpents with bodies black-armoredashisown,eyeslikecurses, teeth for swords.Behind him and the halo ofhisclarified lightweresevenof the Vazdru, dressed after

his fashion, their facesmasks,theirhandswickedonthe gracious hilts of blades.But his face was like thesword stroke, so beautiful itwas,sosteeled,sosovereign.“Which fire is that?” said

Azhriaz. She spokehaughtily, and upon her theraiment of a queen began tobloom.Shedidnotliketobehumbleinsuchcompany.Azhrarn told her which

fire; of the angels with theirflamingswordshanginghighup like three thoughts ofgolden death burst from thebrainsofthegods.They say he knew by

havingwatchedinoneofthemagical looking glasses ofthe Underearth. But theysaid, also, that perhaps aghostpassedoversomelawnbefore his palace, andglimpsing it, hewent to find

suchaglass.Azhriaz may now have

saidtohim,“Iamnothingtoyou. Why come to me withthis? I have had a warning.My darling un-uncle, KingFate,broughtitsomemonthsago.” Azhrarn would thenhave answered, “I am nothere to warn you. I will domore than that. I have toldyou endlessly, as I toldanother, you are mine, and

what is mine will bechastisedonlybyme.”“So you have come here

armed to fight?” she said.Neither he nor those whofollowedhimreplied.In a second, Azhriaz was

cladnotonlyasanempress-queen,butlikeaprince.“Iwillfighttoo,”shesaid.

“It is my Empire, mygodhoodatstake.Thosegiftsyou gave me that I hold so

dear.”Azhrarn ignoredher irony.

He said, “They are sun-birthed. Their strengthsflourishbest byday, and thestaminaofmykindbynight.The sun is down. You,meanwhile, go to the rivershoreandwait.”“No,Iwillfight.”“Did I say itwas amatter

forwar?DoasIbidyou.”“OhinimitableFather,and

lordly Lord of lords, whatnameshallIgetintheworksofmenifIhidemyself?”Theface of Azhrarn had notchanged. It was thecountenance he had put on,with the battlegarb, to comehere, and hewould not alterit.“Azhriaz,” he said, “not

onlyshallyouhide,youshallfly the City. You flatter meby your estimation of my

power. But the gods are thegods.” And saying that, heturned his head and spat inthe river, and the waterspangled as if fireworksraced from end to end, thenwentblack.“Chuzwouldnotduelwithme,”saidAzhrarn.“Haveyouforgottensosoon?And heaven is not to befought with. It is a gesture,on all sides. But by thesegestures, mountains are

tumbledandlandmassessunkinthesea.”Azhriazturnedfromhim.‘‘You are too young and

have not learned to beafraid,”hesaid.Startledthen,shelookedat

himoncemore.‘‘Anddoyoufear?”Butheawardedheronlya

terrible smile. The nightopened,andtheVazdruweregone,Azhrarnbeforethem.

Azhriaz frowned, but herheart,whichhadthetissueofmortals also in it, quicklybeat.Sheflickeredoutinoneplace and re-evolved amidtherushesofthebank.And does he fear? Why

thentaketherisk,whybeginit?Inordertosamplethefearinitsdueseason?The atmosphere was

electric.Notanawareness inAz-Nennafirthatdidnotfeel

it, even to the beetles underthestones,eventothestones.Andsuddenlytherecamea

wildblunderofwings,andatorrential scurrying—thebirds, the lizards, the rats,coming forth into the night,runningawaythroughit.Andthe sleek pet beasts, thoseleashed and caged, thesemight be heard tricking andwheedling their ways tofreedom, and next running

too. Pads and talons on thestreets, the walls, tails andwings, feather and fur andleatherandscale.And in theriver the fish winging westtoward the sea, as the birdsdid through the sky betweenthe mindless dancing of thesorcerousstarsandmoons—Then thedarkwas slashed

open again, and out of itpouredanarmyofundersizedandhideousmonstrosities,on

whose swart unlovely limbsincredibleadornmentscoiled.The Drin, who—passing by—licked the ground aboutAzhriaz, then fell upon hership, the sea galley. And itseemedtheytoreitasunder.“Now,” she said, and

tappedherfoot.One of the Drin

approached her, crawling.“Mistress of Fevers andFantasies, Lady of

Constellations, Moon Queen—”“I am his daughter,” she

said. “One compliment at atimewilldo.Butspeakoftheship.”“Itistobemadeworthyof

you, Black Dream of theNight.”“Soitwas,worthy.”“To be made safe. And

wondrous, Mistress ofDelusions.”

“How?”“Letme go, and you shall

see, Ebony Honey from theSilvermost Wasp of theGardens of DruhimVanashta.”Azhriazkickedhimlightly

away.AndtheDrinboundedand squeaked as if he hadbeen fondled. Then hurtleddown toward thedisintegratingship.I have no power.Helpless

asafallingstaramI,thoughtAzhriaz as she stood on theriverbank.Whenhas itbeenotherwise? And she too spatin the river, and spangledlilies rose which the Drinhastily plucked, biting andpunching each other forpossession, as they rippedapart the galley of theGoddess-on-Earth.

Night ranged black above a

filigreed comber, themetamorphosed inn. It waslikeajademountainwhereitreflectedintheriver.Nofishrosethere,andinthereedsnofrogs crackled, the cricketsdidnotharp.Black night on the roof,

then, piercing its openworkfans. And night black in theroom beneath, Night,armored, mailed, jeweled—theVazdru.Andthere,before

them, merely three cloakedfigures, three pilgrims fromsomeotherland.Nothing said. Time

stopped.Then, to the challenge of

darkness, three cloaksunfolded,curvedupward,andwere wings, and a fount oflight flooded the chamber.Some of the Vazdru turnedtheirheadsalittleasideatit.Not Azhrarn. He stared

straight upon this nocturnalsunrise, at Ebriel the eagle,and Yabael the vulture, buthardest he stared at swan-winged Melqar that the sunhadsearedwhite,andbehindwhosesunbursthairthesolardiskseemedyettostand.“The gods,” said Azhrarn,

“are the gods. I say nothingof them. They are not here.But the rabble of the lowerskies, it seems, has some

quarrelwithme.”Long,longsince, Azhrarn outstared thesun. Ithaddulyblastedhim.Now the twin suns of theeyes of the angel bored intotheblackandoceaniceyesofthe Demon. One could notdryuptheother,northeotherquench that one. “Who amI?” saidAzhrarn. “Can it bemymodestnameisknowntoyou?”The Malukhim did not

speak.But the eyes spoke intheir own way. And thegolden hand, the sword ofbleached flame. And in thehand of Azhrarn, black-gloved,theswordofindigo.“But you,” said Azhrarn.

“The sun has sweated offthree drops. And there youare.The foulorbofdaywasevermyenemy.”Atwhich thepointsof the

swords touched each other,

nearly delicate, as if theykissed.But brilliance shattered

throughtheroomandintothesky,andbroketheclockworkstars so they rained on Az-Nennafirbelow.

When the first concussiondivided the sky, the Dringibbered, but did not ceasetheir labors. They went atthem more swiftly. It had

been a while since they hadhad much heart to makeanything. The magnitude ofthis assignment frightenedthem, filling them withcreativedelightanddoubt.Theyhadonenighttodoit.

The task should beimpossible. Yet demon-timewasontheirside.Theycouldnot shift the framework ofdarkness, nor keep the sundown in chaos for a second

more than it was habituallykept.Yet,within the boundsofthenight,thescopeoftime—or its scope for them—might be a little rearranged.So, they accomplishedcomplexfeats.The galley, only slightly

supernatural, had boiled andbubbled, and sorcery gushedin. By the hour the heavensbegan to igniteandroar,andsplintered stardust showered,

a curious thing lay in theharbor, with the Drinswarmingoverit.They must have plumbed

theshelvesoftheseas,togetthemodel right.Or theyhadgone out by moonlight andattracted the blue-skinneddolphins and the umberwhales. Ormaybe some hadplummeted amid the reefs,popping out to scare polypsand tobecomeamorouswith

reserved females of manylegs, andwish to court themin their shells, and not havethe space, and so comebackabove the sea bulging withinformation and unsatisfiedlongings...Some great fish had been

the inspiration of design.Quite properly, for wheresuch fishes swam, there thisship would go swimming,presently.

It was said to beglamorous,andmoresothantheoriginalgalleywhichhadvanished somehow into it.For the revolting Drin couldmake nothing that was notwonderful.But there was scarcely a

means of regarding the newship at this juncture, whatwith the river now in spate,and with the sky every nowand then exploding. It must

suffice to say that there itwas.Azhriaz,standinguponthe

bank, was no longer clad asempress or warrior-prince,butplainly,inblack.Andbutfor her beauty she seemedslight and small, unfit for aworldofsuchdrama.Finally one of the Drin

cametoher,andlyingonhisface,putthetipofafingertoherankle.

Thegirllookeddown.“Supreme Mistress, we

have done all he told us todo. The sorceries are gelled,without and within. Therivets closed. All secure.Comenow,board thevessel,I entreat you. There is onlyhalf a glassful of thelovesomedarknessleft.”“But,” she said, and

glancedabouther,“whoistobewithme?”

“Noneisneeded.”“TheCity—”saidAzhriaz.“Let go the City. He will

hang cities on your whitebrowlikepearls.”“A vast quantity of lives,”

said Azhriaz. Her face waswhiteindeed.TheDrin,puzzled,gobbled

politely at the bank. Whatshould she care for humanlives,theDemon’sdaughter?Though,evenhe,once—

“Beloved of Glooms andShades,”saidtheDrinatlast,“we seek only to serve youandsohim.Comeaboard.”Then, Azhriaz glanced at

thesky,where the lightningscame and went and all theclockworkshadperished.“Whatcausesthat?”“The Great Quarrel,

MistressofDelirium.”“Whose?” she said,

childlike.

“Oh come aboard,”pleaded theDrin.“Havepityonus.”“You? Have pity on you,

but onnomortal?Andhe isembattled with sun-creatures?Not formysake,”said Azhriaz, beginning todrift towardthemetalfishinthe river. “It is his game, ofcourse, and he does not liketolose.”There was, in the fish-

vessel’s side, a round highdoor. Azhriaz the Goddesswent up to the door throughthe scalded air, and theDrinchittered.Butatthedoorwayshe said, “And where isChuz?” Not loudly enoughthat they, who were deaf inany case from all themillennia of hammerings,couldhear.“Andmymother?Where is she? And coldDathanja, that priest from a

womb-temple of rock—where?Iamalone.”Then she went inside the

mysterious ship. Themysteriousdoorshuttight.

It is not to be thought theycontended as men who areskilled with swords. Theyfought in the way of whatthey were, dark and light,earth and ether, thoughsomething too in theway of

dragons, and something inthe way of a tempest turneduponitself.The first blows, even if

they slew stars, wereforeplay. They danced, aslovers do, along the edge ofdeath, Azhrarn the Demon,Melqar the angel. And thestrokes of the black swordwere lilting, nearly tender,and the Sun-Created—whohad no soul, no purpose but

thewillofthegods—seemedinduced by the presence ofthisadversarytocopyandtomatchhim.SotheMalukhimalsoplayed,andtheswordofgolden whiteness teased,tempted, and the lastagonized stellar objectsshiveredtobitsnearby.And somewhere in this

terrifying prologue, the innroof fell away or wasdestroyed, and then they

moved in the sky an instant,and then they passed intosome place within the night,or beside it, a seconddimension as close to theworldastheskintotheskull.And close enough certainlythat the incendiaries ofconflict tore through andcrackedthemoons,now,likeplates.Thereisthistobebornein

mind. Azhrarn had

announced: I say nothing ofthegods.Theyarenothere.And in this way, by this

pious formality, he madepretense he did not know itwas against the gods hefought. Such then the gods,as he had said, that evenAzhrarn was politic. But yetagain the Malukhim, thoughnot in precise terms hisequals, yet they weresufficiently puissant. And

they were sun-beings, whilethe substanceofdemonstuffcouldnotendurethesun—The first and second

angels, Ebriel, Yabael, hadrisen and gone up the sky,sentinel now on twoprecipices of masonry, onewestwardandonetotheeast.They waited there, and didnothing. Only they gazedinward behind their eyes,after the dueling of their

fellow. For theVazdru, theyalso stood high up, theirmailed feet on black air.They kept between the twoangels and the fabric of theother dimension, guardingthe gate in absolute ifinexplicableways.Theywerepale as dead men, theVazdru. They had not beenamong those in theunderlands who put onyellow discontent. When

Azhrarn called them, theygalloped after him on theirsteeds of night, without oneword.The sky rang and

coruscated.Flung upward on the

forming cumulus, greatshadows, one coldest black,oneboilingwhite.The two swords met now

not to kiss or woo. Theyscraped, rammed, impacted,

mauled each other, clashedfree, spraying fire. Theclouds and vapors of thatinneralter-placeweretatteredby the onslaught. The twoantagonists bore no mark ofhaving been touched, eitherby the other.Yet the swordsthemselveswouldseemtobeliving things, containing andsustained by the force ofwhat wielded them. Eachmetal length sang and

throbbed as if with hiddenblood. Phalluses of spiritualdeath, then, organs ofungeneration.Suddenly (miles away,

next door through the thinskin separating thedimensions of night andfight) came the shiningwhistle of a silver Vazdrupipe. No less than a signal:The re-erected ship waswhole,andhadbeenboarded:

moved.Timewasvanquished—yet time conquered. Forthepipe said also thatdawn,invisible, perceived in otherfashion,dawnwalkedup thestairwaytotheearth.It would appear the

Malukhim, too, read themessage.On the towers theyopenedwide theirwingsandturned their heads, Ebriel,Yabael, eastward. AndMelqar opened also his

wings, and like a spear ofsmoking snow, he whirledupon Azhrarn. The twoswordsembracedforthelast,and split each otherlengthways. The dyingweapons, fixed together bythe blow, smasheddownward, gouging achannelthroughthechurningdark.Then Melqar had grasped

Azhrarn by the shoulder and

about the waist. Azhrarn inhisturncaughttheMalukhimbyhiswristandbytherimofonefoamysinuouswing.Theywereexactinstature,

tall and slender, yet with astrength no mortal couldattain, be he a giant of histribe. Their features werealike, perhaps, intranscendence. In no otherway.Therewasnostruggle,not

a movement now. Themuscular tonicity of eachdenied any further act to hisopponent.Theywere locked,breast to breast and eye toeye, in stasis,but the foliageof their hair, the verygarments that were on theirbodies, streamed back as iffrom the thrust of ahurricane.Again—far off, within the

hollow of the ear—the

Vazdru pipe shrieked itsurgentsummons.Azhrarn spoke quietly to

theangel.“I have gained what I

wished. It ismy notion nowto depart. Am I to take youwithme?”And then the angel also

spoke.Hehadnovoice, andso he thieved the voice ofAzhrarn,thoughthedarknessof its notes was altered,

pitched from that goldenthroat.“Descend with me,” said

the angel Melqar, “and allyour kingdom will beblighted.”“You are too boastful,”

said Azhrarn. “Only a littlegroundwillchar.”“You cannot take me

there,”theangelsaid.“Iwilldetainyouuntilsunrise.”“You cannot detain me,”

said Azhrarn. “Take youthereIshall.”And then, where they had

grappled, was a blackwhirlwind with a white, afiery avalanche with anavalanche of ink. Theseforces plunged andenwrapped, mingled, burstintoacolumn that spun, thatwrithed and ribboned andwas many-headed as a bushof cobras. Then, the tumult

ended. And there they wereoncemore, theangelandthedemon, locked together, eyeflaming upon eye,unchanged.“Then,” said Azhrarn, “I

cannot.”He smiled. Gently, he let

gothewingoftheangel,andnext the wrist. He stood intheangel’sarms.Azhrarn said, “One bright

flower has unfolded in the

east.”The angel said nothing

now.Azhrarn spoke oncemore,

but to the Vazdru. He said:“Go.”Not for anything would

they leave him. Theyprevaricated there, the otherside of the dimensionalpartition, until the easternedgeoftheskybegantogrin.And then, cursing

themselves, fled.They couldnot bear the fireball of thesun.But he, he had outstared

the sun. He had beenincinerated into ashes. Andfromtheashes,risenagain.“Here is yourmother,” he

said finally to the angel, butin a tone all music. “Thatwhichformedyou,warmanddear toyou.Forme, shehasonlyhate.Youwillsee.”

The angel did not loosenhis hold. He clenchedAzhrarntohim,andtheswanwings beat slowly, and theeyes burned on and on, thegoldupontheblack.Then the curtain of that

second dimension melted,andonlytheairoverthecitywas about them, piercedbelow by its towers andterraces. The lens or thesorcery that had tinted the

sky, this had been smashed.Theatmosphereswirledwithmotes, with clouds andsteams and enchantedclockwork debris, butthroughitall,andthroughthepiercing towers, inexorable,cameday.The horizon overbrimmed,

and out of the light stabbedsuddenlythesun.Azhrarn and the angel

hung in the midst of the

morningandflamed together—andinthatinstant,Melqar,hethegodsmade, loosedhishold.Therewasaflash,aspasm

of blackness. Azhrarn wasgone. Swan-hawk Melqarwheeled across the dawn.Expressionless, he alightedon another high place, thewinged warrior of heaven.Hiseyesweresogoldennow,they seemed sightless,

opaqueasblackestonyx.

In those ultimate phases ofstrife,theangelhadbecomeamimic,inthemannerofmostnewborn things. Hemimicked the flirtingswordplay of Azhrarn, nextits violence. When he mustspeak at last, he mimickedthe vocal range of Azhrarn,and facing him, was like amirror image, a shadow’s

gleaming shadow. So, asAzhrarn loosed his hold onMelqar, Melqar, become soimitative, had slowly beenimpelled also to loose hold.Azhrarn’sstrategy.But.Thesunhadcomeup.

It stared upon them—uponboth. In that gale of light,Azhrarnhadblazed—butwasnot extinguished. This wasimpossible. It mocked thelaws and the lore of

demonkind and of mankindalike. It must therefore bediscounted and reporteddifferently. Thus: Azhrarnhadtrickedtheangel.Hefledas the Vazdru had fled amomentbeforethesun’sdiskcame visible. Truth must besilent with her cry: Not so,not so, the sun discoveredhim.And he—he flamed fora split second as golden-whiteasMelqar—andat this

phenomenon, deceived oramazed,orpurelyuponsomeinstinct still ripe in hisbeautiful and soulless shell,Melqar released the enemy.Since the enemy, shade andshadow and night and blackwickedness—was also thesun.Truth is at the door,

howling and stamping herfoot. Truth is not alwaysdecorous.

Then best botch up anexplanation. Say this:Azhrarnhadmetwiththesunbefore,and thefirstmeeting,which killed him outright,and from which, beingimmortal, he resurrected,toughened his supernaturalfibers. A second meeting,sinceitwassobrief,hecouldbyafeather’sbreadthendure.Besides, go down now

after him, into his kingdom

of eternal night that-is-not-night-at-all. Behold. IsAzhrarnkindredoftheday?They were able, the

Vazdru, to enter theirunderworld at any point ofthe earth above. Yet,whereveronearththeywere,theirarrivalwasalwaysatthesame spot, directly outsidethe three gates of Azhrarn’sterritory. It was a matter ofdiscretion. One may assume

Azhrarn himself was notconfined by the rule—however, on this occasion,therulehadhaditseffect.Heisonthebordersofhis

ownlands,at thebaseof thefirstoutergate,thatofagate.He lies like somewonderfuldiscarded toy, one armupflung over his head. Theplates of mail are clovenfrom his body. There is nowound,notevenascratchor

trace of blood upon thepeerless flesh. Yet, throughthe pale clear sheath of it,you see the glimmer ofjewelry knives, the bones ofAzhrarn,PrinceofDemons.Three of theVazdru kneel

beside him—the others havebeen lost, sun-struck ash, orelse have run farther toconceal their shame atleaving him. These threeremain, snarling, like great

cats that smell burning, andareafraid.

ANDINTHEworldthesun,coming to Az-Nennafir,broughtdarkness.Totheeastandtothewest

and at the center of the sky,now, the angels took theirposts. The day itself was sostrangeandhorriblethateventhick-witted man hadascertaineditbodedill.Over

thehugecloud-pointingCity,thirteenkingdoms’widthandlength of it and more, thedawnhadturnedtobloodandthesuntotarnish.The groaning and the

screaming, the prayers—useless and known to beuseless—the exhortations,scrabbling attempts atexodus, the burrowings thatwould yield no safety, theecstasies of madness and

immolation—each and alloccurred: the correctparaphernalia of catastrophe.But, seen from the heavens,whatwasitbutafomentationin a hill of termites? Thatwhich is so small cannot beimportant.From the fair sword of

Ebrieltherebeamedalineofsunflowerlight,andfromtherust-tinctured sword ofYabael a spurting stem like

gore. The sword of Melqarnot being about him, hespreadhislefthand,andfromthe very palm of it a whiteraypillaredforth,andmettheothers, and there was asound, not loud, yet audibleperhaps to the earth’s fourcorners. A sound like noother, andafter this sound,asoundlessness, on earth andinheaven.There came down first a

rain of dirt and large stones,and hailwhich flamed. Seenfrom the sky, thedestructionwassolelyaprettypattern.After the rain of boulders,

filth and fire, a fog moredense than night; that toowentdownuponthelandsofthe City. And it swallowedthem.Theyweregone.Then the three Malukhim

lifted their heads, feeling forthepurchaseintheirunminds

of thewishesof thegods,orforthatpremierwish.Forbynowwhowas tosay that thegods had not alreadyforgotten what they wanted,the angels they made, theGoddess they haddisapprovedof,everything—and,soontobedisturbed,bya vague bang far below,would wax displeased aminuteattheinterruption.But theMalukhim,primed

automata, did not lose trackoftheirmission.There came a detonation.

There came a brightness.Theywereone.Theycutouta piece of the substance ofeverything, and werefinished.When the finish passed,

there was no aftershock, noafterglow. Nothing. Andbeneath theheavens,nothingalso. A dull cavity, going

from one horizon’s edge toanother, with a faintmovement of dust about it,hard and featureless, blank,and void. Not a fleck ofinterest in it.Not a speck oflife.Az-Nennafir.Then,intheuncoloredsky,

the blaze of the angelswinked out. They haddealingselsewhere.Onlysmittenskythen,and

the dead pit in the world’s

side.Theyremarked thisofAz-

Nennafir:They said, We are rotten

and will revel in rottenness.Androttennesswastheirs.Then they said, See how

vileweareandhowwellwedeserve punishment. Andpunishment heard themtalking.And they said, We are

helplessbeforedestiny,letus

have no hope for ourselves.Let us be sophisticated andsay to Death: See, we aredoomed, let doom claim us.We are waiting. And Deathlistened.Invokeandbeanswered.Andtheworstoftheirsins

wasthesinofdefault.There was then no more

ghastlyplacethanthatcrater,afterthedusthadsettled.

Whatofthefish-shipandtheGoddess-girl? Her city ofwickedness had been, intraditionalmode,razedbytheoutraged gods, and in acataclysmvitalenoughtodigaholethroughthesurfaceofthe world. Could even animmortal thingsurvive intactthisescapade?Because she had already

had built the great galley ofdecks and oars, and her

magicwaswoventhroughit,a kind of spirit or astralelementhadcometobeinit,which the Drin were thenable to employ, and whichthereforeeasedtheirlabor.The Drin were moreover

artificers of genius, themagics powerful, while theship had besides a kind ofdoublelifeuponandaboutit.AstheVazdrupipegaveits

warning, the ship already

fled. It had two means ofmotivation, and of these itusedthesecond,towhichtheDrin, before they vanished,ordered it. This means wassolelysorcerous.Theshipranfast as lightning, which wasall thespeedofwhichitwascapable. Itbroke through theriver at this rate, and hadreachedtheegresstothesea,evenasAzhrarnstoodeyetoeye with Melqar. And when

thesuncameandtheduelsooddly ended, the ship forgedeastwardthroughthewesternsea,andasitwent,itdived.Ithid itself under the waves,buteventhere,itran.Theboulders andhail fell,

but behind it. And the blackfog fell. And last, the light.Where by now the ship hadtaken itself, that final thudwas not heard. There wasonly a quiver that hollowed

allthewaterout,sothemostabysmal oceanic cavernstwanged at it, and the spinycorals cracked, and little seaanimals, only catching awhiff of the indecipherablenoise immediately died andleft the husks of their smallbodies fluttering in thecurrents, like the leaves onwinterstreams.For the fish-ship, it too

rocked, its great speed

slowed, it slewed, it buckedand rolled and went hugelytoppling downward throughthose deaf deeps of thewaters.

HAVING walked manymonths andmiles, Dathanja,black of hair and eye, andclothed in black, andbarefoot, reached a land ofwoods and waterfalls andvalleys. He had, as he wentby, seen the peripherylandscapes of theGoddessdom.Varioushighly

tinted deserts equipped withsmashingmeteors,aselectionof seas with bridges overthem, plains of intoxicantgrass—suchasthesehadmethis gaze. The altars too helooked at, and the deliriousworshipers. He heard theceaselessly repeatedphilosophy of the uncaringgods, just as in theCity.Hedid not deny it. Memory,fragmentary and transparent

asapaintingonbrokenglass,informed Dathanja of oldritesandprayers—whichhadbrought only disillusion andgrief. Itwas another life.Hedidnotdwelluponit,thoughinevitably it tutored andguidedhim.In due course he moved

beyondtheboundariesofthatdomain.Then therebegan tobe,atlonglast,onlytheusualanomalies of human thought

and religion. And thereafter,more primitive ground,lonelyofmankind.Eastward. The dawns out-

combed their yellow hair.The sunsets hurried. Theearthhadayouthabout it. Itcleansed Dathanja’s soul, orso it seemed to him.He hadnot often tasted calm—aserenity that was notembittered loss of feeling,numbness passing for peace.

What secret lay behind thiscool and quiet state? So, hereached the land of watered,woodedvalleys.Betweenonevalleyandthe

next, on the hillside, at themouth of a waterfall, therestood an ancient shrine. Itwas not devoted to anyparticular god, nor, perhaps,to the gods at all. Nonetended it. Trees and shrubsrooted in its court. Birds

housedanddiscoursedintheroof.Thehurryingsunsethadcommenced and slid downthewaterfallinitshastetobeaway.Dathanjaenteredthecourt,

and seated himself on theground to eat a feast ofgathered roots and fruit. Hehad been a wanderer in theformer life. He had had noneed to prepare himself forthis journey. To some, the

habit of itinerance isordinary.The dusk came, the night

came after. Stars unfastenedwindows in the sky andbegan their watch of theearth.On a paving stone,

Dathanja built and kindled afire. He, who had been amighty magician once, andwouldbringtheelementsatasnapofhisringedfingers.He

who might have produced apalacefromthehill.As the flames played

together, Dathanja beheld awoman standing the othersideofthelight.Hetookher,firstly, forAzhriaz,who hadmethimatirregularintervalson his trek, a thing soastonishingly fair he did notfindherbeautiful.(Shewasademon, too, and of all theraceshedistrusted theirkind

themost.)However, this was not

Azhriaz, either in disguisedperson or projected form.This was a human girl,humanly fair, so herecognizedasmuch.“Do you see me,

Dathanja?”shesuperfluouslyaskedhim.“Iseeyou,”hesaid.Shehadthelatersummer’s

hue; roses, malt. Behind her

was another, taller, and aman,whosaid,“Anddoyouseeme,Dathanja?”“Ido,”hesaid.The man came from the

shadow. He had the hue ofkingship; metals and dyes.Behindhim—“And that one also,”

Dathanjasaid.“Iseehim.”But the thirdwaswrapped

in the dark, and he had nohueanddidnotspeak.

“Whichofusistobegin?”inquired the summerygirlofthekinglyman.“I,” he said. And she

steppedaway.“Itisnot,”shemutteredinherhair,“alwaysso.”But the tallmanmoved to

the fire and beckonedDathanja. “You must comewith me,” he said. AndDathanjamust.They were high up then,

abovetheshrine,andthefirelookedtinyasasequin.“Ah, Dathanja,” said the

kingly one, mockinglyaffectionate. “You havedisappointed me.” And heseemed many men at once.He was sometimes like apriest incostlyyellowrobes,andsometimeslikeanazure-bearded king. Or sometimeshe was demoniac, and tookon a Vazdru air. Or else he

resembled Dathanja himself,save his featureswere ratheraltered and his eyes wereblue, or green.Butwhateveror whoever he might be, hecame to rest on a ridge andDathanja with him. “Suchpower was yours, beloved,”said the kingly one,coaxingly. “Do you notrecall?Emperorswentinfearof you. The very oceans didyour bidding. Do this! you

told them: Itwas done.Andyour sorcery is still spokenof. Your unspeakablecruelties,yourmightydeeds.Ah,doyounoteven recall amiteofit?”“Yes,” said Dathanja, in a

low, clear voice. “I dorecall.”“Acquiesce,”saidtheman.

“I will give all back to you.YoushallbeagainZhirektheDark Magician, and rule

men, and make a newlegend.”And at this, the kingly

changeable one unrolled thenight like parchment, andtherelay—illusionortruth—the kingdoms of the world,itsseas.Andmenkneeled toZhirek, or to Dathanja. Andsorcerycamelikeaperfumedwind,andcloakedhimround.He might do anything. Hisbrain took flight with the

sciences he had once keptlikehisdogs.“Acquiesce,” the kingly

one repeated. And he wasnow most like Zhirek. Hewas Zhirek, and he cajoledZhirek. “Take your glorybackagain.Beagainamageand a lord, so that everyfootstep of yours is writtenof.”Dathanja looked at the

illusions or realities of his

earlier life, and of hisproposed future, and aterrible pang, like pain orpleasure, cut through hisheart.Beforeitfaded.“No,”saidDathanja.“Ah, beloved,” said the

tempter. “Do you reject thissummitbecauseitisasin?”“Isitasin?”saidDathanja.

“IonlyknowthatthisIhavedone.Itispast.”“And you will walk

powerless in the world, thebuttofeveryaccident, at themercyofmen?You?”“I am at no man’s mercy

savemyown,”Dathanjasaid.“My apologies I offer you,foryoudonottemptmewiththis.”The man shrugged and he

laughed, and he was gone.Dathanjasatbeforethefireinthecourtyard.“Which of us, now?”

inquired the girl, of thatfigure still wrapped inobscurity.He did not reply.“Then it is to be me,” shesaid.She moved to Dathanja’s

fire, andwhenshewasnear,the glow of it was netted inher hair, wetted her bangles,and soaked her thin garmentsoalltheshapeofherwastobe seen, and she was wellmade.

“Ah, beloved,” said she.And he was in the fire withher.Like a drum the night

pounded, red and bright,blackandred.Sometimesherhair was of a watery sheen,sometimes an apricot shade,she was a sea-princess, shewas a girl who danced withunicorns.Andsometimesshewas a youth, her breastsflattened to hard pectorals

under his hands, her loinsupflowering where a full-fleshed anemone had closedhim round. They writheduponthebedoffire,andherhair streamed out along theearth.Herlimbsclaspedhim,fierce as a lioness, yet herfingerscameandwentassoftandslightasgrass.Herwaistmade motions like a snake,her mare’s pelvis galloped.They plunged together

through the fire into anotherfire beneath. The stars werewhirling through his brain,and at her core a silver startippednowthespearherodeupon. And into him in turnthe silver sped, andquickened in a shiveringwire, along the thrusting ofthe lance, through the tautshield of the belly and thestrivinggroin, to thesacrum,where the atom of eternity

lay buried in the spine. Andheheldher fast, thoughnowshe sobbed aloud andstruggled and wastransformed—to beast, tosprite,toconflagrationandtowaterfall.Heheldherbyhersnake’s waist, by herthrashing limbs, drowned inher mouth and carriedupward on the curved waveof her abdomen and herbreasts flowered upon their

flowers—riding the wingedhorse of lust, blinded, slain,born, disemboweled byecstasies, until the silverprobe pierced the atom ofeternity itself, and the wateroflifewasflungforth.The winged spasm fell

through the dark and shookDathanja from its back. Helaybesidethefire.“You have betrayed

yourself. You have shown

weakness and need. Yoursoul lay naked as yousuffered the fit of pleasure.You have sinned.” This iswhat thegirl said,outof thedark.But it was Dathanja who

laughednow.“That”hesaid,“isnotasin.”Andturninghisshoulder to the fire, and thestill-waiting, still-unseen,third figure (for the tallmanand the summer girl were

gone), smiling, Dathanjaslept.Yet, in thehourbefore the

dawn, Dathanja roused, andsitting up, beheld the thirdfigure seated across fromhim,bytheashesof thefire,againstthestarlesssky.Robed and hooded in

white, handsome black-skinned Death, the LordUhlume,regardingthemortalmanwithimmortalopaleyes.

“You must forgive me,”said Dathanja after a while,“ifIsaythatallthisIbelieveto be a delusion. Fantasiessent to aggravate or dissectme, by another, orconceivablybymyownself.And this being so, you also,lord king, are a figment ofmy mind. It seems to meUhlume,whowaskindtomein his own way once, andonce my master, would not

put himself to the bother ofthisvisit.”The vision of Death—

Dathanja was correct—responded.“It may be you are wise.

Nevertheless,Iamyourthirdandlasttempter,andassuch,Ihavevalidityandyoumustlisten.”(AndDathanjamust.)“You have lived out youryears of invulnerability, thatblessing-curse awarded you

bywitchcraft long ago.Likeeverything of the earth,sorcery decays, or it isaltered. Centuries havepassed, and you haveslumbered, and you havewoken, and you are not asyouwere.It istheresidueofyour own lost magery thatkeeps you currently fromharm. While you consignyourself to safety, safe youwill be. But the armoring

enchantment was sloughedwithin the pillar of stone.Shouldyoudesireotherwise,Dathanja, than for comfort,nowyoumaybeharriedandhurt.Now,ifyouchoose,youmaydie.”Then Dathanja sat in

silence, looking into thefaceof Death, or of Death’simage. At length Dathanjasaid,“Canitbeso?”“A dozen means of proof

lieallabout,”said‘Death.’Dathanja considered.

Zhirek, a world of timebefore,hadsearchedavalleyfor slicing stones, had drunkfromthemorbificwaterofit,had sought to hang himselfon its tree and to throwhimself down from itsoverleaning height. To noavail.Now,Dathanjareachedoutonehand,andtakinguparaw flint from the courtyard,

he stuck it in his arm. Andthe flint wounded him. Hisbloodflowedcrimson.“Iamglad of it,” he said. And heclosedhiseyes,andthecalmwithin him seemed to flowoutward with the blood, tosurroundhim,andtocomforthim, as the barrier ofinvulnerability had not.“Then,” said Dathanja, “thelasttemptationiscertainlytodie.And it isacunningone.

But, Death, I have learned.Men, too,areas immortalasthegods,andasinvulnerableasZhirek,whowasdippedinthe well of flame. Andtherefore it does not distressme to remain alive a littlelonger.ForhethatIwasfledwickedness and did goodonlyoutoffear,andthenfearoverwhelmedhimandhedidonly wickedness. My debtsaremany,butwickednesshas

no more sway over me. Ihave used it up. I am not,therefore,afraidtolive.”Andopening his eyes, DathanjasawthatDeathtoo—ordeath—had left him, and the longandpassionatedawnbegan.Going out of the shrine,

Dathanja went to thewaterfall, and cupping hishands, he caught the waterand drank. Presently a deerapproached with her faun,

and he offered them thewater, and they too drankfrom his hands. The faunallowed him to smooth itsdappled head. Untroubled,themother ate themoss thatgrew on the rock. AndDathanja rememberedSimmu, youth and maiden,callingthedeerandtheharestoracewithhim,communingwithbirdsandserpents.But Simmu was no more,

and Zhirek, the invulnerablesorcerer,wasnomore.ItwasDathanja who soon strodeawayintothemorning.

DARKNESShaditsabodeinthedepthsofthesea.Nordidit dwell alone there. Theseuterine cellars teemed withlife, yet it was a life thatexisted lightlessly for themost part, and when lightcame upon it, the strangerwasunwelcome.Light rays entered the

upper floors of the greattrench in a gentle blush.There came a swirling andlashing, as of a legion ofwhips, and larger entities,like huge black ghosts,blundered softly away. Butthe light sharpened. Itwouldnotbeheldback,oravoided.It pushed through the waterand the dark, and suddenlythe sea deeps burst tovisibility. A forest lay along

the top tiers of the trench. Itwas composed of a milliontendrils,oil-black.Andintheforest perched fish nests offlaxenfloss,andtheirmakers—finnilysprintingtoconcealthemselves—wereeachlikearainbow prism. The hugethings which had alreadycareered into flight, theywereenormousslothfulsacksofbillowingskin, andwherethe light sluiced over their

bodies,theyglimmeredacid-blue and bronze. Fartherdown the steps of the trenchtheillumination,strikinglikea bell, showed beds ofoceanic flowers, hot coraland rose, chillmelon-paleorsour melanic green, allslamming their portals indismay,andhereor thereonthem a slim startled creaturelikeagold-leafworm,boltinga last morsel of grazing

beforeitdashedfromview.Behind the light and the

upheaval,amonsterswam.It seemed most like a

whale, of giant proportions.Smoothasasilkenegg,and,seenby its owncorona, of asea-washedsilver.Themouthofthewhalegapedslowlyasit swallowed the water.Everything was sucked in,helplessly—fish, fish nests,loosened tendrils, grazing

worms,andstrayingflowers.Yet, from the stem of thegiant,acrystallinedefecationalmost spontaneously shotthem all forth again in atremendous gush.What talesthese animalcules mighthasten home to tell. Howthey had been eaten by awhale, flailed through itsguts, and emerged unscathedoncemoreintothemotheringocean. The whale,

meanwhile, never ceased toingest the sea, and to expelthe sea in drafts of purestflatulence.Above themaw of it, two

eyes beamed wide, bothround and bright, but oneonly with a black verticalpupilinit.So the unconscionable

thing went on, staring andcausing affright andpicaresque heroics along the

trench.Now and then its one

vertical pupil moved, andeven crossed from one eyeinto the other. Azhriaz (thepupil) looked out upon thewaterworldwhichthelampsofhershiprevealedtoher.When the blast of

annihilation rocked the shipand plunged it downwardinto these deeps, she wasstunned, her brain, like the

ship,whirling. Then she hadcalledonChuzinadvertently,and even once almost criedout a word which had nomeaningforher(whichwordwas “Father”). Soon enoughthe deep-sea ark steadied.ThentheGoddessarosefromthebottomofitandshookoffherfeebleness.Shewouldnotconsiderher

City,wipedlikedirtfromtheearth by an angel rag. She

would not consider how sherode under the waves. Shestood before the casementeye of the fish-whale-shipandfrowneduponsubmarinemarvels. Nor would sheconsider these. She wasalone. She was a Goddess.Thiswasthesea.Well,well.Thecraftprogressed,when

not by means of presetmantras,throughanengineinits entrails,Drin-built,which

gasped in fluid and expelledit, so making for a tirelessforward propulsion. Withinthe hub was a palatial suite,to which the Drin hadpretentiouslyaddedexamplesoftheirfinestormostobtusesmithery. This included,ringed about the mainchamber, a series ofgrotesque silver heads. Likethe whale, these breathed.And by breathing, gulped

awaythestaleair,puffedout,suitablyscented,therevivinggasesofthedryland.Whatever the submarine

sailorwished,shehadonlytodemand it. A quantity ofgenies seemed to have beenhammered inwith the rivets.Shouldsheneedasumptuousrepast,music,onemoresatinpillow for her couch, theseattendants supplied the item.They additionally guided the

vessel and maintained it.Azhriaz was asked to donothing, either with hermagic or her wits.Sometimes,hernewservantsmight be glimpsed: tintedwisps, bodiless spirals ofsmoke, protruding delicatehands, or half-seen childishfaces. Whatever were they?Efflorescences of Vazdruscience, or the uncouthDrindra in the process of

refinement—itwasnot to beguessed.The sea had its own

masters....Fatehadwarnedher, if she had even neededsuch a hint. Though she hadcast illusion on it once, nowshewastheocean’suninvitedguest.“Why,” said Azhriaz

imperiously, to her part-seenservitors, “do these depthshave color?They are always

inthedark.”Agenieflitteredforth.“OMistress,” said it, “the

sea-folk aremagicians.Theycamebeneathmillenniasinceand learned to prosper here,after a spatwith the gods. Itwasthey,then,whomadethevegetationcolorful.”“Again,why?”“Because the sea peoples

value lights. They go aboutwiththem,andthentheycan

admirethecolors,whichtheyenticedforthispurpose.”When she slept, after her

questionings, banquets, onsilkandsatin,shedreamedofcities flattened and thedeathofmen.NotVazdru dreams,not artistic. She wokescreaming. She called thegenies and had music, orstoodintheeyesofhership,regarding the water, and putsleepfromherlikeafaithless

friend.

They say she traveled in theseaforamonthorayear.The oceanic trench

continuedforatime.Itwasasort of valley of the region,and mountains soared aboveand beyond it, cliffs ofaqueous purple granites, outof whose steep caves weirdfish-mammals peered, andmooed at the ship, unheard.

The crests of thesestupendous mountains,thousands of feet overhead,might break the sea as littleislands.The ship had turned

alreadyeastward,asmuchasthevalleypermitted.Azhriazhad not given any direction,but the earlier ship of oarsand sail had been bound onaneasterlyvoyage; its spirit,held in this one, bore the

impress still, and the geniecrew humored the motive.Eventually the floor of thevalley-trench sloped upward.The ship accordinglyascended.Between the shadowy

heightsappeared,then,acupofglowingwater, intowhichthe ship propelled itself.Azhriaz, in the whale’ssinister eye, presently sawshehadcomeuponacityof

theseapeoples.Thereweremanyof these,

and most of them different.Thisonelayinahoneycombof grape-green sunlight, thatseemedtospillstraightdownthrough the thick tons ofocean aloft. It was a blackand iridescent city, very tall,with enormous arches andaperturessetstoriesup.Blackshapes that might be sharkshovered in its “skies,” and

here and there some chariotorotherconveyancesparkledas it soared across theaqueducts.Beneath the ship, pastures

of white anemones stretcheddowntowardthesuburbs.Onthe pastures herds ofelephantine lobsters werebrowsing.Mermenshepherdsglanced up and madeavertinggesturesatthemetalwhale. From the beginning,

the sea kings had bred suchslaves.Theyworegarlandsofsaltybarnaclesontheirweed-wildhair, and carriedknivesof coral and electrum, butthey were timid andingenuous.Azhriaz did not stay her

vessel. It swam on, until ithung in the funnel of greensun close to the city of thesea lords. The black-crowsharks had dispersed, the

chariots withdrawn. Nothingstirred.Azhriaz interrogated the

genies, and learned fromthem that the light camedown via a system of lensesarranged higher up to catchandfocusthesun.Butastheyspoke, another genie trickledoutlikepaintinmilk.“O Mistress,” this genie

exclaimed, and pointed withitslong-fingeredhands.

Far across the city anapparatus had elevated onone of the arches. Now itlurched and the water tore.Burningdarknesswithatrainof bubbling white camerushing upon the ship. Acatapulthadbeenfired.“Do not exert yourself,”

chorused all the genies toAzhriaz.“Itisnotrequired.”At this moment a pore of

the ship sorcerously opened

anda levinbolt sped forth. Itintercepted the missile fromthe catapult some distanceoff, and hurled it away sothat,eruptingandablaze, theball crashed back on theblack city. Fire and smolderpoured into thewater at thatpointlikeblood.Anotherballhad,however,

already been launched atthem.“We fight no more,” said

Azhriaz.“Wewillrunaway.”Thegenieschirruped.“It is unnecessary,

Mistress. All that they sendwe can destroy, and leveltheir proudest towersmaybe.”“Just so,” said Azhriaz.

“Andangelsdothat.Wewillnotfightbutfly.”The genies obeyed her.

They seemed neithersorrowful nor glad, not even

surprised at her curiouswhim.Themantraswereactivated

and the metal whale divedfromthesea-skiesofthatcitylike lightning. The secondmissile flung itselfharmlessly by below, andwaslostinwetgreenspace.

She had come among thecities of Tirzom of theeastern oceans. She did not

know it, but would learn.Black and beauteous werethese cities, and betweenthemlaythefertileplainsandmarine woods of theshallower shelves.Allwhichterritory the Tirzomitesclaimed.Jungles of kelp and

branching coral affordedcoverfortheshipasAzhriazstole upon the hem of eachmetropolis.Shesawtheblack

cupolas and pinnacles ofolivine, as the shy fish sawthem.My father is not here to

guide me, said Azhriaz toherself. I need do nothing. Ineednotmakewar.Andherdreams of battered Nennafir—which had become mixedwith others of the ghoul cityShudm—wereeased.Yet, though she hid

modestly, many in those sea

citiesofmagiciansknewthatsomethingpassed.Andsomecrept upon it,more crafty intheirforeststhanAzhriaz.Bytheir own abnormal means,the sister capitals of thatcountry sent news andwarning of the thing whichtrespassedthere.All this time, the ship

ascended as the ocean flooritself went up. And soon itwas possible to tell in those

waters the traffic of nightwith day above, as theaquascape faded or grewbright.One day the waters were

very clear and most crystalgreen. The subsea ark wasnosingamongthegladesofagreat weed wood, when theshiningeyesofit,onewithaslenderpupil,sawawayovertheplainsbeyondatallrock,and on the rock’s top a city.

It happened that this wasTirzom Jum, Capital of allthecapitalsinthatpartoftheworld.Even from a distance, one

could tell it was a city ofespecial size and import,while a colossal silvery halfmoon rested over the crownof it, the two points goingdownamongthewalls.Azhriaz questioned the

genies. The genies, their

wells of knowledgeseemingly floorless, repliedthatcertainoftheseapeoples—though thoroughlyacclimatedtotheocean—hada nostalgia for the airs ofearth. And these they mightdistill and set to play invarious chambers or gardensof their dwellings. It wouldappear that this city (anddespite the floorless wells,the genies did not, it seems,

knowenoughtonameit)hadgivenovertoearthairwholesections of its upper streets.They were contained,therefore, under a dome ofmagicalglass.Azhriazsaid,“Ishouldlike

toseeit.”Thegeniestoldhershedid

so.‘‘Closertohand.”Thegeniestoldhertheship

wouldgoclosertothecity.

“No,” said Azhriaz. “I donotmean tomakewar—thisshipistakenasathreat.Iwillgooutalone.”Thegeniesgazeduponher

with their vague childlikeeyes. Their incorporealconcentration was such thatAzhriaz asked of them:“Whatnow?”“O Mistress, though you

are Night’s Daughter, andthough you are a Goddess-

Witch, yet, these are thekingdomsoftheocean.”“Will my mage-craft not

availmehere?”“Perhaps,”theysaid.“Then,letmesee.”

Aporeoftheshiploosedher,like a dark tear. She hadmadeherselfabubbleofair,insidewhich she stood.Andwhen she moved the bubbleclung about her and went

with her. The air of thebubble stayed fresh,renewing itself constantly,and in itswake drifted otherslighter bubbles sloughedfrom the whole. Deliciouswith the Vazdru breath ofAzhriaz, they danced amongthefishandthefishlovinglypursuedthem.Azhriaz rejoiced in her

suddenfreedom.Shehadnotthoughttoventureoutbefore.

But long inactivity—as oncebefore—hadworn her down,makingherdepressionweightheheavier.Sheplayedaboutthe passing creatures, andthough she could not touchthemthroughthebubble,northeyher,shegazedintotheireyesandmadecirclesaroundthem, chased them, allowedthemtogivechasetoher.The plains below Tirzom

Jum were of the sheerest

sand, where lay incredibleshells. Striped and spottedthey were, like ocelots,creamy and resinous asamber, or whorled like thespikesofunicorns,orpureasthe thinnest porcelain—andof every color imaginable.Azhriaz paused over these,and contemplated piercingthebubbleamoment to takeupsomeofthemostbeautifulor strange. But the

murmuring of the geniesclouded her mind. The shipwas her protection. Shewould not risk undoing hermagic in the liquid element.Could it be she might notthen be able to reinstate thespell? And although it wasinconceivable she shoulddrown, the living breathlessstruggle was a horrible idea.She had never doubted herpowers before, never had

cause.Yetsheidledon,andsoon

the rock cliff of the cityloomedaboveher.It was a fact, the

Tirzomiteswerenostalgic,inascornfulway,fortheearth.The sun itself, thoughremoved through layers ofwater and sky, mightincoherentlybeseenhere.Onthe earth it must be highnoon, for a faint goldenness

burned in the apex of thewaters, and under the rock alittle frill of shadow lay onthesand.Azhriazdriftedupthecliff

with caution, keeping herdistance from the city.Midway along its slopes,ornate buildings began toappear, black as jet, withlynx-eyed windows. Sheglimpsed the momentum ofvehicles, and sea-blown

clouds that were enormoustrees. . . . Like a child shestaredatthis,andkeptaway,andwouldnotfight.One thirdbelowthecliff’s

summit, the curious domebegan. It too was a bubble,transparent, discernible onlyby the crescent gleam offiltered sunlight limning itscurve.Underthedome,upinthe air and gilded peridotlight, were the massive oval

archways of the architectureofTirzom,andthestreetsandsteps needful whereswimming had no place, thestalking towers and emeraldminarets.The Goddess floated, and

looked her fill. She felt hersadness and her guilt, herconfusion in the face of thewishes of others, of eternity—and one short second.What is this city to me?

Shouldshegotohershipandfire lightnings at it? I slewShudm. She had given theghoulstoeachothertognaw.She was the daughter ofWickedness.A blackness was slowly

detaching itself from therocky masonry of TirzomJum.Itflowedtowardher.Azhriaz, interrupted in her

guilt, becoming aware of it,thought itmundane. Itwasa

beast resembling a blackbladder, with optics of blue,like a jest at her own garband eyes. An octopus withthe snakes of its tentaclesaboutit.“Iamnotforyou,”shesaid

toit,thoughitcouldnothearandwouldnotheed.It came on, and Azhriaz

spreadoutherhand.Aglareripped through thewaterandrapped the octopus smartly,

so it was packed off in asuccessionofsomersaults.Inits fury it releasedawaveofinkintothesea.She had meant to kill it,

andhadnotdoneasmuch.Itdid not think her verydangerous,onlyirksome,anditcameonagain through theink.ThenAzhriazresortedtothe magic which wouldvanishherfromthatspotandbring her out inside her safe

ship. On earth, it had beenhardlymoremomentous,this,thantoblinkhereyelids.Butshewasinthesea.There was a surge that

buffeted and slungher downinto the sand. And that wasallitdid.Azhriazkneeledamongthe

shellsandfelt theseaonherbody, and tasted it in hermouth.Hercastingofpowerhadbrokenwidethebubble.

I am invulnerable. I amVazdru. The ocean cannotmurder me. Yet the salt seafilledher nostrils, her throat,herlungs,andtheagonyofitwasnottobeborne.ThenamI less than Zhirek? shewondered in terror andoutrage.And she cursed her father

andhermother,sunanddark,forwhatofthis?Her sight grew blind. The

octopushauledherupintoitsmultitudeofarms.

THROUGH perforatedscreens and lucid vanessoakedtheamphibianduskofTirzomJum:Itwassunsetintheworldabove.Lampswerebeing lit along the upperlevels of the city, a nightlyritual. Fire was a specialtyhere. Slaves gracefully slunkabout the palace halls,

dippingtheirtaperstoorbsofvitreous and sconces ofverdigris.Illumined in the sea-dusk

lamplight, the court of theking looked on the animalwhichhadbeencaptured.Like their cities, the

Tirzomites were black, andgreen. Their skins werepantherish. The hair thatsplendored their heads wasthehueofapples,andequally

so the not-white whites oftheir eyes.When they spokeorlaughed(asbelowwateritwasnotcomfortabletodo, itsubsequently becoming afashion up here), the insidesof their mouths and theirtongues were darkest green,their teeth like pure greenpearls. Other more intimateparts of them would havebeen seen to be green, hadtheyrevealedthem.Cutthese

persons, they would shedblood like drops oftourmaline. They were wise,though, not green that way,the Tirzomites. Educated,clever, and arrogant—andcruel,asallthepeoplesofthesea—which was, despite thefashion,nolaughingmatter.Thekinghimselfsatinhis

orichalc chair, with his twocatsathisfeet.Theywereofa bibred species, cheetahs

thathadnevertriedtheacresof earth, but rather coursedthe floorof thewaters.Theyhad the fins of golden carp,and spotted scales for pelts.They had recently huntedsharks;nowtheyglaredattheshackledthingonthecarpetsbelowtheirmaster’sfeet.“It is not ill made,”

commented one of thecourtiers. He spoke in thelanguageofTirzom.“Yet,so

beautiless.”“It is truly quite foul,”

agreed another. “Yet, it hassomevalueasacuriosity.”“Itbreathesthesea,despite

having no gills, and isunharmed.”“It is a female. It may

belong to some otherkingdom.Withwhomareweat war that might sendspies?”“With three or four states,

as is usual. Though theirpeoples have just suchhideouswhiteskin,theyhaveotherpropercharacteristicsoftheoceanraces.Thiscreaturehas none, however hard itbreatheswater.Besides,thereis the ship. We do notunderstand the magicalmechanicsofit,andthoughithas been surrounded by oursoldiery, it lies still in thewoods—wehavebeenunable

to gain access, so strong arethesorcerousprotections.Wehave had word from VeshTirzom that their catapultsdiditnodamage,butthattheship itself smote back anexploding missile into thecity.WhilefromTirzomBeycame the message of thosewhoperusedtheshipwhenit,oritsoccupant,slept.Andthemessagetoldofworkmanshipthereon that the forges of

mortalsdonotproduce.”“Enough,” interrupted the

king sharply, and the mer-cheetahs growled. “We willquestion the captive thing. Itswoonstoolong.Go,wakeitup.”“I have awakened,” said a

voice from the carpets, andalso in the language ofTirzom.Shereclined,Azhriaz,only

as if at leisure before them,

not deigning to stand, letalone to giveobeisance.Theking she regarded as if heweresomesupplicantshehadpermitted to sit down. Therestshedidnotbotherwith.It was a truth, she was a

goddessandhadgrownusedto homage, and not to get itirked her.And she had beenbesides conscious always ofherbeauty,ifindifferenttoit.Here, her white skin was

reckoned the depth ofugliness, overriding all otherconsiderationorfeature.“How is it,” said the king

of Tirzom Jum, “that you, adeficient foreign animal, canspeakourtongue?”“How is it,” said Azhriaz,

“thatyou, soeruditeandall-wise,donotknow?”For another fact, her

Vazdru training of recentyears had taught her every

tongueoftheearth(ofwhichthere were seven rootlanguages, andeachof thosesplit into ten sublanguages),and the seven undefiledspeechmodesofUnderearth.The teaching of these hadbeen a relatively simplething, involving touches ofnephriteandnacre....Timehanging heavy in herGoddessdom, however,Azhriaz had summoned the

Drindra, and now and thenthe Drindra had evenbreachedtheseasforher,andbrought her relics, includingcertain stone tablets or sewnbooks of the aquatic folk.Themagicianrythatpulsedinher very blood had notdeserted her; such would beabsurd. Her powers wereonly severely mitigated bythe environment. Theyenabled her now, from the

linguistics she had formerlystudied, to piece togetherTirzom’s vernacular. Indeed,though there were a host oflanguagesbeneaththewaves,yet they too sprang frommotherroots,andwerenotsounfathomableasthesealordsopined.Somethingof that, thissea

lordnowseemedunwillinglytocomprehend.“Then you are,” said he,

“by the terms of the earth, agreatsorceress.”“I am, by the terms of the

earth,apeerlessgoddess.”Atthis, the court of the kinglaughedextravagantly.The king put on a stern

face.“Weeschewthegodshere,

thoughwerespectthem.Youhave neither the manner northeaspectofagod.”Azhriazmet the king’s cat eyes

unrelentingly, but she knew,with sulky amusement, thatthisargumentwasirrefutable.Here, the Goddess ofNennafirwasnotmuch.“I will,” she said, “out of

tact at your ignorance,dispensewithmyholy titles.Ishallonlyinformyouofmyroyalty. I am Azhriaz, thePrince of Demons’daughter.” The king started.The court whispered. And,

for their parts, the mer-cheetahs lowered themselvesontotheirbellies,asifunsurewhethertosnarlorpurr.Presently the king of

Tirzom Jum said this:“Azhrarn we know of, andbetween all our kind and histhere exists a compact oftruce for he ismighty in hisway, but we also, as hewouldhimselfconfirm.”“You,” said Azhriaz, “are

mere magicians, and werehuman once. It is the seaitself, this element you havewedded, which so swellsyourpower.Shipwreckyouafew years on the land, therewouldbeanothersong.”At this the courtiers put

their hands to their daggers,and many discussed loudlykilling this upstart foreignthing atonce.Or, if itmightnotbekilled,ofdistressingit

inotherways.ThenAzhriaz laughed,not

fromhumor,butbecauseshesaw it was idiomatic. “I aminvulnerable,” she said. “Icanbreathethesea,thoughtome it is anathema. What doyou suppose you may do tome?” And she rose to herfeet, and clad herself by hermagicinthetrappingsofherearthlygodhead.Itimpressedthem, this vulgarity, as she

had divined it might.“Consider also,” saidAzhriaz, “if you attempt toharm me, my father mayforgo his truce with you.Haveyou,suchboldwarriorsas you claim to be, everfought a war with theVazdru? Insult me, and thejoyshallbeyours.”Then a man came to the

kingandmuttered inhisear.Thisoneworealongrobeof

black,andonhisbreasthungapectoralofgreenbones.Azhriaz attended to the

mutter. She waited till themandrewbackand thenshesaid to the king, “Yourscholar tells you, if I amAzhrarn’s,Imustproveit.”“Therequestisnotunjust.”“My father,” saidAzhriaz,

“has his own affairs to tendto. Imaycall tohim,andhenot hear the cry, no, not for

some while. Rest assured,nevertheless,thatatlengthhewill hear it, and that if youhave inconvenienced me, itmaynotgladdenhim.”“You have made your

threat,” said the king, “andyour boast.We are ready toextend all politeness to you,provided you demonstrateyourself worthy. Anycunning witch, who hadgained an ability for

breathingwater,might comehere and say what you havesaid. Should we be gentlewithyou forAzhrarn’s sake,and the parenthood bediscovered as a lie—such,too, might offend the PrinceofDemons.”‘‘Tocall tohimrequiresa

spell,”saidAzhriaz.“Ishallsetatyourdisposal

my own mage-chamber, andonly I andmy scholars shall

beby.”“Let me do it, then,” said

Azhriaz. But her heart beatheavily,andcold.

They ascended on foot—itwas all the rage to walk,since elsewhere in the seaone did not—between high-pillaredroofsofthepalace.Itwasnightonearth,andnightin the domed city. Stars hadalso been lit, far up in the

dome, by slaves, who mustclimb bizarre scaffoldingeachsunsettodoit,andoftenfell to their deaths on thestreets below. The kingstrolled amid burningtorches, and now and thenpaused beside someflowering shrub—for theupper citywasmantledwithplants, to supplement andenhancetheair.“Samplethisbloom,” he said to Azhriaz,

socourteousnowitbodedill,for it seemed he thought hecould be lavish with suchmanners; soon there wouldbe no need for them. AndAzhriazsaid,“Prettyenough,king. But black flowersremindmeofpathetichumandeath.”“Oh,Death,”saidtheking of Tirzom Jum. “Webelieve he is a relative ofours, sprung from our stockbut debased. His green hair

andeyeswhitened indisgustat his exile to dry land.” “Ideduce you have never metthe Lord Uhlume,” saidAzhriaz, who had notproperlymethimeither.“Foryou are only black as theblack men of the earth areblack.” “Theirs is a red-blackness,” said the king,contemptuously.“Orabrownblackness,orthepurpleblackof damsons.” “And you are

only black as jet,” saidAzhriaz. “But the LordUhlume, my un-uncle, isblack as black is black, andnoother.”The mage-chamber of the

kinglayalongdistanceupinthedome. Itwasa sphereofobsidian stuff, windowless,and held by three towers inclawsofbrackishbrass.Theking,andsevenofhis

chosen scholars, entered,

with Azhriaz, and the doorwasshutonthem.No sooner had this

happened than soft lightfilledthesphere.“All is at your disposal,”

saidtheking.“Commence.”“Stand back some way,”

said she. “Such things mayoccuraswilldazzleorscorchyou.”“Pray do not be afraid for

us.”

Yet, back they stood, andmade eight figures againstthe curving wall. Azhriazwent to the wide room’scenter,andwasalone.Mortals called to Azhrarn

by means of demon pipes,eithergiven,filched,orcomeacross. Then he did notcommonly answer. Onlymyth said that he did. Withthoseheloved,suchartifactswere rarely necessary. With

Dunizel, in the final monthsof their liaison, a thoughtwould have brought him toher side. And it must be hehad longed for this thought,but she, for the sake of hischild (for in her own way,she was adamant against hisproposed employment of it),had resisted. And now shewas dead, and Azhriaz hadbeenputtouseexactlyashevowed—

What did Azhriaz needthen, his unloved child, tocallherfather?Nothing.Yet she stood in the sea

king’s mage-chamber, andmadeavastshow.ToattractAzhrarn’sattention,toflatterhim,maybe.Oronlytodelaytheinevitable.She knew her phantasms

could not reach her here. Soshe invented phantasms,

which flooded the area,moping and meowing, andsome, in psychic fright atbeingcreated in sucha spot,psychically made psychicwater on the floor.Thereafter, many magicfireworkswereletoff.Andinthe wake of the colorfulconfusion, Azhriazsummoned the Drindra, thatshe knew must come, forseveral of them she had

chainedtoherasherslaves,adeed the Vazdru couldaccomplish.TheDrindracame.Whata

sighttheywere.****Note to Vera: The

paragraphbelowshouldbea footnote attached toabovesentence:While the nameDrinmay

be roughly translated asmeaning “they that have nowomen”—the Drin kind

beingonlyofthemalesex—the subnameDrindra wouldseemtomean“theythathaveno women—and no wits.”This statement, while notstrictlyveritable,yetprovidessomenotionofDrindralooksand personality. **EndFootnoteForemost stood a great

clod-hopping thing with alion’s body, horse’s feet, theheadofanowl,andthetailof

a pony—which tail wasplaitedwithribbons. Itmadenoises harmonious with itsappearance, but additionallyvocalizedthegabble-slangofthe fellowship. There werealso others, in the forms ofbears crossed with bats ordragons, oxen with dogs,toadswithgoatsandgazelles,andparrotshavinglonghairyhindlegs.Azhriaz, seeing the sea

king shrink in (laughing)loathing, addressed theDrindra twice over, once intheir gabble, andonce in thetongueofTirzom.“Valiantservants,youhave

braved the seas for me. SaywhoIam.”The ridiculous owl-lion

spoke for the rest, whoaugmented its oratory byemphatic grunts, burps, andsquawks.

“You are she that is hischild.”Azhriaz glanced at the

king,buttheking,spurninglyshrinking and holding hisnose, evidenced either nounderstandingoftheslang,ornobeliefinitsimport.Azhriaz said to the

Drindra: “Know me then.Now,takemehence.”At this, though she spoke

onlyinthegabble,guessinga

trick the king grew alert andhis scholars with him, andthey too began to weaveglimmering sorceries in theair.ButtheDrindraboiledand

burbled.Thelion-owlsaidinahiss,“OMistress,OLovelyOne,itmaynotbe.Thesearethe oceans, and have otherlaws.Forallyourpower,andours, you or we can donothingherethatgoesagainst

theirplans.”“Fools,”saidAzhriaz,with

a lashing glance, so theDrindra rolled in a debauchof agony across the psychicurinationsontheground.“Goawaythen,andtellmyfatherwhatyouhave toldme.AndsaytoAzhrarntheBeautiful,his daughter is here inthreatened peril, and sherequestshewillcometosaveherfromit.”

AtthesewordstheDrindraentered paroxysm. Theywrithed and screamed andravedandhootedandbrayed,until the mage-spherequaked.“Alas, alas,” said the owl-

lion,blushingwithanxiety.“Alas?Godomybidding,”

saidAzhriaz.“No, it cannot be done,”

saidtheDrindra.“Alas,alas.”And so saying, in a storm

of fur and feathers anduproar,theydisappeared,andleftherthere.Azhriaz waited a while in

the silent chamber, and theblack-green king of TirzomJum gave her space to wait,outofhisvictory.No other demon

manifested. The Drindra didnotreturn.WhiletheircryofAlas, their cry of No, thesehad somehow an all-

pervasive meaning to beunderstoodbyany.Eventually: “It seems he

does not deign to come toyou,”saidtheking.“Orelse,asyouhavesaid,heis—busyatotheraffairs.”Azhriazpointedatthefloor

ofthechamber.Abrightnesswrenched fromherhandandstruckthepavingandcrackedit.That she coulddo.But inanother moment, one of the

scholar-mages had muttered,and the crack healed, mightnever have been. This theycoulddo.Azhriaz turned. She went

tothekingandlookedinhisface.“Behold, your captive,”

saidtheGoddessAzhriaz.

Some days and nights wentby before they decided herfate.At first theykeptherat

the court, as an interestingfreak. Theymocked her, butshe would not answer orseem to hear. Or sometimesshedidanswermorecleverlythan they cared for. Findingthey might tether her withspelledcords,theydidit.Shebroke the cords. They retiedthem. She broke them. Itgrew tiresome. She seemedaloof,asifshelivedwithinapaneofsteelyglass.Theydid

notknowifshewasafraid,orangry,orindespair.Theydidnotknowifshefeared them,or admired themproperly. Itseemed perhaps she did not.Her equivocal vulnerabilityinfuriated them, and heruselesspowers, andheruglybeauty.Shequicklyceasedtoplease. Since such a captivecouldneverbe let free,whatwas to be done with thewretchedthing?

The scholar in black andbones muttered again to hisking. Azhrarn had notclaimed the woman, yetpatently she wassupernatural. Best be afraction cautious. Cast herdown, yet leave amargin inoffense. Do nothingirretrievable.So,intheend,Azhriaz,the

Demon’s Daughter, theGoddess-on-Earth, was

thrown out of the palace ofTirzom Jum, and left on themiddle streets of the city, adestituteforeignbeggar.

The middle streets laybetween the air of the domeand the waters of the lowerstreets. Being neithercompletelywatery,therefore,nor aristocratically gaseous,they were reckoned a slum.Heretooweretobefoundthe

semi-magicaltubesbymeansof which the air from abovewascleansedandrevitalized,and the large cubicles viawhich it was necessary tojourney from thewet habitattothedryone,orthereverse.And in the middle streets,about these valves and pipesand the inadvertent canalsthey sometimes formed, theoutcastsofthecitylived.Sincethesearaceswereall

descendedofmagicians,eventhe lowestof the lowamongthem had some magicaptitude or skill. (For thisvery cause, the slaves of theundersearegimewereforthemost part sub-breedingsbetween men and fish, orstolen human stock adaptedto the watery life. For themage-aristos preferred theservice of beings that couldwork no spells, and had,

preferably, no trueintelligence.)The rabble of the bottom

airlevelsofTirzomJumwasexotic. There were pride-stung illegitimates of theprinces, and revengefullamenting legitimates flungfrom high places for somecrime, or by the connivanceof enemies. And there wereschizophrenic half-bloodTirzomites, got by mistakes

with other peoples, someeven with pale skins, whichmade them targets foraversionandabuse.Azhriaz fittedbut toowell

inside the messy nest, andmadeslightstir.Therewas a sloping street

that lay beneath the steep,windowless,backblackwallsof three palaces, whose topsflowered into apertures, andproper existence, some four

hundredfeetorsofartherup.High over the street crossedbridges,whereslavesteemed,day and night, on theironerous duties. Sometimesthey also dropped in thestreet,when falling from thenightly star-lighting half amile overhead. The dwellersin the street found it easy toavoid being flattened bythese downfalls. One heardthe screaming from a long

wayoff, and thebothersomesound of a fleshly objectdriving through atmosphere.Thepersonsinthestreettookcover accordingly, thoughsometimes their possessionswerecrushed.Thepassageofa falling slave was neverimpeded by any of thebridgework: It repelled eachflailing body by magic. Theprinces did not wish eventheir lower avenues to be

spoiledbycorpses.Once thebodyhadarrivedinthestreetand was still, there was auniversal stealing out to robthe cadaver of anyworthwhilething.Andinthisway, the street in which thestar-lighters fell so regularlywasconsideredsomethingofaprize.The rabble of Tirzomwas

aesthetic.Amanmightbartera dish of food for a dainty

carving, then thefood-gainerchange his mind, and clutchthe other to him: “No, no,better hunger of the bellythan a starved soul.Retrieveyour slops, and return myvaluable.”Beforetherobberyof a dead slave, too, thethieves might pause amomenttoconsidertheangleof its limbs, if it had diedcouthly. The facts wererelated presently to those

whohadthejobofcollectingsuchcorpsesanddisposingofthem. Most were fed to theoctopusguardsofthecity,tohelp them keep a taste forman-flesh. Presumably thosewho had expired at a prettyanglefarednobetter.Azhriaz built herself a

house at the street’s netherend. It was not made ofdebris,shells,or thehidesofsharks, as were the other

dwellings. It was made ofbricks,andswank.Whatwassolid she had formed bymarshaling her powers, andthen dressed it by the samepowers to look every waygrander than it was. Thehouse had a white skin, andcasementsofpaintedglassinblue and deep red—theheight of unacceptableunfashion in the green-blackcity.

“Who is that haughtysubwoman?”“Sheisahostage-spyfrom

some inferior nation. Shecamehere ina shipofmetalwhich is kept in durance, atthe whim of our wonderfuldamnable lords, accursed bethey, and blessed above allothers.”“I have heard it said they

couldnotbesther.”“Norcouldshethem.Here

she is. She cannot escape.Sheistrappedhereforever.”“She has no gills and

woulddrowninwater.”“No.Thereisatankinher

house, large as a room andfull of sea, and she swimsthere submerged, or dances,and fish accept tidbits fromher fingers. This has beenseenthroughherwindows.”“She has said she is

Vazdru.Ithinkshelies,forI

am not convinced there aresuchthingsasdemons.”‘‘And I said a spell as I

emptied my bladder againsther house wall. The bricksareinrealityblack.”“Also,however,urineturns

to lilies where it touchesthem.”

The rabble began to visitAzhriazinherqueenlyhouse.So she entertained demoted

sagesandsackedlords—whowore tatters and behavedrudely out of gall. Andthieves she received, whopreyed on the higher city orthe lower wet city, andwhogarbed themselves likeprinces and had suchsumptuous social graces itwas impossible to conversewith them. And there camealso exiles to the white-skinned house (which had

every day more fair whitelilies blooming on it, forinsolenceprovokesinsolence,andagreatquantityofliquidwas drunk thereabouts). Allthe exiles were pale, somegreenofhair,someblue,andsomehadfishyeyes,orwerescaled, and one even had afishtail under her long robe,thoughshepretendedshewasonly lame and her litter-bearershadnotongues.

Azhriaz entertained eachand every onewith insultingillusory magnificence, likeidiot children. Delicacies ofthedryearthwere servedbyunseen attendants. Musicsplayed and the air drippedwith fragrances of land,sandalwood, balsam, andnard.One golden-green midday,

a lord’s mistake,aristocraticallyblack,butdun

ofhair, came toAzhriazandtalkedwithher.“I might increase your

station,” said Azhriaz at thefifth bowl of illusory butintoxicantwine. “Placedas Iam,Icannotdoit.But,whenIamgonefromhere . . .DoyouknowofanywayImighttake a brief holiday out ofTirzomJum?”“You say,” said the

mistake, “you are a demon’s

daughter. Trapped herehopelessly, as you also are,do you long for the vileUnderearth?”“I do not,” said Azhriaz,

canceling the wine. “Theviler customs here intriguememore.”Later, when the greener

afternoon began, a pale-skinned pale-eyed thiefstepped in. His face waspainted black, and his gills

gilded.“I have thought over your

earlier question to me,regarding a holiday. That issuperfluous, for I havedecidedtotakeyouundermyprotection, when your everydaywillbe aholidayof joy.You shall be my mistress.Since we are both blastedwith pallor, you do notoffendmesoverymuch.”“How generous you are,”

saidAzhriaz.“Praygoandbegeneroussomeotherwhere.”But in the green dusk of

Tirzom, a young blackman,withgreendusk too forhair,approachedthegate.Up aloft the stars were

being lit, and soon therecametheshriekandrushofaslavefallingtohisdeath.Theprincelyvisitorlooked

about. Several of thedenizens of the street were

hastening to move theirvaluablesoutofharm’sway.Louder and louder the

impending rush of the fall,and thinner and thinner thecries of the victim, almostsenselesswithhorror.The black lord moved

away from the gate ofAzhriaz and out into thestreet’s center. The rabble,whoalreadystaredathimforhishatefulperfection,nudged

eachother.“ItisTavir,”theysaid.The shadow of the falling

onefilledthestreet.The lord raised his arms,

spoke a word of power, andcaughttheslaveinhisgrasp.Toanybutamagicianitwasa feat impossible. But to amagician, nothing so verymuch. He did not evenstagger, nor shift from onesilk-clad foot to another. He

put the slave down upon theway,uninjuredandgazingathim.Therabbleweremovedto unapproving impressedapplause. The lord took nonote of this, and little of theslave,beyondanod.Thefinegreen headwas turned againtothegateofAzhriaz,andinanother minute he hadreturnedtoitandenteredthecourtyard of the house.Azhriaz had come out on a

balconyandlookeddownonhim.He bowed gracefully as a

thief.“Madam,” said he, “may I

comein?”Azhriaz said nothing, but

the door opened and stoodwide.

8TheStoryofTavir’sDream

“I AM TAVIR, a prince ofTirzom Jum. Because ourhigh caste is so uniform incoloring and so symmetricalof physiognomy, to an alienwe are oftenindistinguishable from eachother.Youwillnotrememberme.”

“Indeed that is true, that Ido not remember you. Butthe lapse isduesolely tomyuninterestinthewaysofyourkind. You are, however,doubtlessanintimateofyourking. We shall not discussmynotion toholidayoutsidehisdomain.”PrinceTavirsmiled. Inhis

green locks were woven theblackest agates; on his blackfingersandinthelobesofhis

well-shaped black earsburned the greenest agates.His shirt was vermilion,which was not the vogue atall.“Ihadheard,”hesaid,“the

entertainment in this housewaslavish.”Azhriazclappedherhands.

Stringed instruments rilled,incenses uncoiled fromsudden lamps, pitchers ofwine came sailing through

theair.Azhriaz clapped her hands

again.Allvanished.“You will be entertained

better,” said Azhriaz, “byyour king. Why are youhere?”“If youwill indulgeme, I

will speak first of a dream Ihave had continually sincechildhood.”“Speak on,” said Azhriaz,

“my indulgence being

immaterial.”ButTavirgazedatherand

spoke seriously, as to arespectedequal.AndAzhriazsparredwithhimnofurther.Thus, he told her of his

dream,whichwasthis:That he, a creature able to

breathe both water and air,haddrowned.Therehestood,his lungsbulgingwith salineliquidanddrawingneitherinorout,andhisskullseeming

floodedtoo,yetnothisbrain.His mind worked on in adreamyway.And it came tohim he was a statue,fossilizedtolimestone,whichhad endured there in thedepthsforcenturies,andwas,moreover,oneofacompany.Like a crowd of petrifiedghoststheywere,feetplantedinanoldmosaic, anddimly,ontheshoresofsight(fortheeyes of these statues did not

move), were vistas of awrecked palace. The oceanbustled in and around, andwent off again, and with itfish, and long cold seaserpents. Sometimes somewandering aquamite wouldpauseamongthestatues,andmake its home in aconvenient crevice—the dipbetweenawoman’sbreasts,afoldofrockyrobeorhair,orthe cupped palm of a hand

foreveropen.Buteven theseslithery nomads did notremain. Altogether, thestatue-Tavir concluded, thiswas no life for anadventurousspirit.At last, the sense that he

should leave his jail becamesoinsistentthathemadeasifto run away. And in thatinstanthedidrun,andfoundhimself at large and atliberty.Atfirst thissurprised

him.Thenhecametoseethatit was somemental or astralpart which had slipped theleash.Thestonybodystayedbehind, blank-faced, andwould not look at him. Hewasgladtoberidofit.Itwasso good tomove about afterthe endless years, and hedartedthroughthesea,losingall awareness of place ortime, or even of self, flightyasafish.

Howlong thisspree lastedhe could not be sure. Butafter a while, he began totake note of things and toreason again, and he grewonce more dissatisfied, andyearned for the expression,and the limits, of a fleshlycontainer.Howtogetone?Hemight

invade thephysiqueof someother, but who could guesswhatbattlewouldensue?To

findsomecorpseandoccupythat was not to be relished.Another means occurred tohim.He came on a city soon,

andthatcitywasTirzomJumupon its cliff, beneath itsdome—thoughatthehourhedid not know its name, norcare.Invisible and weightless,

he skimmedabout theplace,and when he wished to,

seeped in through the domeitself, and blew around theupperstreets.Now it seemed to Tavir,

who in the dream was notTavir, that he had beenformerlyaprince,handsome,and schooled in sorcery.Therefore he concluded hemust be again a prince,handsomeandasorcerer,forold habits die hard. And toexcuse this sameness he

remarked to himself that hecouldbeallthatagainanddodifferentlywithit—asbefore,let it be whispered low, hadhenotratherwastedhisgifts?Presently Tavir-not-yet-

Tavir beheld a gorgeous girlcarried in a litter. Black asnightshelookedtohim,withreseda hair. Such a moldcould only make handsomesons—He followed the girl. He

dared even, intellectual aircurrent that hewas, to sit inherlapandmurmurOh,dearMother! to her from time totime. Then, however, thelittercametoamansion,andthe girl was borne in. Whoshould greet her in an innerchamber but a stoopedfellow, princely black andgreen as she, but missingmost of his teeth and thoseremaining as black as his

hide, while his hair wasstreakedbywhite.Worse,helooked on the girl and said:“Goodday,Wife.Ihavebeenreadinginmylibrary—whichis, as you know, my onlypleasure—and the sage saysthis: ‘How privileged thebride that her husband hasnotdeflowered.’AreyounotthengratifiedthatIhavelaidnot one finger on you, andthatyouwillstayavirginall

youryears?”“Whatever you will,” said

thegirl,listlessly.ButTavir—andsoheshall

henceforth be called, for sohehadnowdeterminedtobe—Tavir flew up in the airlike a wax bung out of ashakenbottle,andhittingthechamber roof, exclaimed:“Never,onmylife!”Theagedpedantsuckedhis

un-nice teethandsquintedat

the ceiling. He was asorcerer, naturally, and haddetectedsomethingamiss.“Cansomeair-inhalingfish

havegotin?”inquiredhe.“Old fool!” raved Tavir

fromabove.“Iwillshowyouwhat a fish it is!” Andflapping down he gave theold man a sound blow. Andthoughnotcorporeal,hisshothad the strength of passionbehindit,sothepedant leapt

and clutched his nose.Waving a stick of carvedblack vitreous from somesubmarine lava flow ascooled now as his own, hecried: “A haunt! Some fiendlet loose by others’ carelessconjuration. Have I notwarned you before, Wife,that you must curb yourwitcheries.I am thehusbandand I will work the magic.Go to your apartments in

disgrace,andperusetheretheimproving books I have sentyou!” At which the lovelygirl shrankand trembledandcrept from the room. Tavirpursued her, pausing only toinflict upon the old pedantanother savage blow.Leaving him howling, Tavirrose with the princess upthrough the house into somedemure little chambers ofgreatrichness.

“Hush, Sweetheart-Mother,” he consoled thevirgin-wife, flittingaffectionately about her.“There are othermen in thiscity.”He remained concerned at

her dejection until, havinglockedherdoorsbybothkeyandcharm,theblackprincessproceeded to arrange a spelluponthefloor.Andwhenthegenie of it appeared, she

stampedherfootandrailedatitwithsomespirit.“Didyounot promise me a handsomehusband and a handsomeson?” screamed she. “Wherearethey,pray,andhowmuchlonger must I endure thiswait?” The genie lookedabashed, but Tavir, everresourceful, dashed into itsopenmouth, andby cleverlymanipulating the big tongueagainst the palate and fangs,

in proper rhythm with itsattempt to speak otherwise,caused it to announce: “Itshallbedone.Bytomorrow’ssunset, Fate shall rap thedoor.”Then, leaving both genie

and princess dumb withamazement, Tavir dived outagain and so through asuccession of closedwindows, and through thecitytofindhimselfasuitable

This deed was not so verytaxing for Tavir. He merelyselected from among thehighestofthehighprincesofTirzom Jum the wealthiest,best-looking, and mostaccomplished specimen,luckily wifeless. This princewas disposed to walk in hisgardens, and Taviraccompaniedhim.

“Yousuppose,”saidTavir,unseen, unheard, invidious,“thatyouarehappy.Butyouarenot.Hereyouare,andnoone by. Can it be yourscholars and your friendsnow bore you? That yourconcubines no longer wakeyour pulses? But you arewise. This is safer. Go outinto thecity,youwould findyourheart’sdesire.”Now, though he was a

mage, Tavir’s father (andthereisnousedenyingthatiswhat hewould become)wasyoung, and did not alwaysmeasure every act or idea.Andso,sensingtheimportofTavir’swheedling,theprincecametobelievethesefanciessprang from a sort ofsorcerous intuition.And thusthis educated and astuteyoungmanlethimselfbeledlikeabullbythenose.

Out into the city hethereforewent, and socame,in a sea-green sunset, underthe window of Tavir’smother (and no use denyingthat,either).“Do not look up at that

casement,” exclaimed Tavirto his princely father. Theprince naturally at oncelooked up at it. “Beware,”insisted Tavir. “Your heart’sdesire lies in prison within.

See her, and you are lost.Bestleavethespotinstantly.”Tavir’s father accordinglylingered in the street, besetbystrangeemotions.Tavirthenflewupthewall

and into the room of theprincess.Hefoundherintheprocessoftearingtobitsandburning the improvingliterature given by herspouse. Hastily blowing awhite smut or two from her

face,Tavirpropelledtheladyto thewindow:“Donotdarelookoutintothestreet.Yourfateisbelow—”Soshereachedthewindow

and looked down with awildly beating heart, andthere she saw the princelookingupinmuchthesamecondition.Soon she puts her hand to

her brow. The prince startsforward. “Madam, are you

unwell?”“Quitewell,” she answers.

It is a lie. The sword hasgoneinherheart.Asforhim,neverwasfishmorehooked.Just then a series of

appalling crashes, thuds, andyowls shock through thehouse. Tavir is about otherbusiness, chasing the agedpedantaroundhislibraryandhurling books and scrolls athis venerable head, now and

then getting in a hearty bitewith incorporeallyimpassionedteeth.“Save me!” cries the

pedant.“Madam,” says the prince

inthestreettotheprincessinthe window, “you are themoon clad in black pearl,yourcasementistheeastandyou rising in it to give melight.Iwouldsaymoreaboutthis, but I think your

household to be in sometrouble—”Andsosaying,hegoes to the house door andthundersonit.“Oh,fate,”faintlysaysthe

princess.The pedant’s alarmed

servants have already drawntheboltsandletintheprince,whorushesupstairstotheoldfellow’s assistance. Flingingwide the barriers of thelibrary,theprincestridesin.

“It is a conjuration—afiend—” shrieks the pedant,perched on a bookshelf andbatting volumes with hisstick.The prince utters an

admonishing incantation.Tavir,whoisnotofcourseatall affected by it, with apartingkick,desists.“Myrescuer,”says theold

man.“Her father?” asks the

youngone.“Whosefather?”Prudently the prince falls

silent.At this moment the

princess comeshurrying intotheroom,havingcombedherglorious hair and donned anattarofseablossoms,tosinkin a helpless swoon in thearmsoftheyoungprince.“She is my wife,” the

pedantintroducesher.

Muchtoolate.

Mischief-maker Tavir, soulon the loose looking forharbor. Less to do now thewheel is rolling of its ownvolition.But it is a fact, whenever

theprince is from thehouse,the pedant is set on. Nosooner does the young lordgofromtheporchthansomeservantoftheoldlord’smust

run to call him back. Or amessengerbe sentacross thecity.At any hour of the dayornight,themadelementalisready, to break and burn(even instructional booksgivenone’swife), to rip andruin, to trip and tweak andbonk and bang, and punchand thump and slap. Andtherearetimeswhentheonlyescape is for the oldman togo out. Yes, out of his own

house, for the persecutionends always at thedoor, justassooftenitbeginsthere.Inthe streets and parks, in themansions of others, there issafety.Whenhereturnshomeitisuneasily,andwithmixedfeelings does he find hisrescuer so frequently alreadybeforehim.“I have lain inwaitwhole

hoursbehindthefifthcolumnin the annexwhere it sprang

on you with the hot water,”saystheprince.“Ihavegoneinto each room, intoned theincantation, and burned rareincenses.” Doubtless this iswhy he is so out of breath,and the virgin-wife out ofbreath for a similar reason,having dutifully followedhim.But it seems the young

couplehavea furtiveglance.Whyhastheelementalnever

struckatthem?Well, Tavir has done a

thing or two in that quarter.He has said tohim, “Do nottouchher.Onetouchleadstoanother.”Hehassaid toher,“One touch of his hand andyouarewill-less.Runaway.”And the young prince hastouched her and the princesshas not run away. And aftermuch persuasion, denial,acquiescence, doubt—on

both sides—and not even aprayertoaidthem,sincetheirkind does not reverence thegods,Tavirhashadthesmugjoyofseeing themembracedupon a couch of spilledpotionsandunsaidexorcisingspells.And after this, all air and

aspiration, Tavir keepswatch. While, all ire andperspiration, the old pedantdoeslikewise.

Andonenighttheprincessisagitated,andTavirpeersinat her womb, as the pedantpeersinatawindow.Tavir’sgaze passes easily throughblack pearl flesh and heart-of-apple bones, and sees inthe sweet and secret innerroom,abudnolargerthananeyelash’stip.Theviewofthepedant is impeded by alattice.(Mine,quothTavir,staking

claim to what he has seen,unimpeded by anything, soall the wandering entities,wisps,andpsychicwigglesinthe cosmic crowd sceneshould be awarewho ownedthevacantlot.)But the princess is

revealing her delicatecondition to the prince, whoclasps his inamorata, andswears to protect her. “By aspell of my mother’s,” adds

the prince, “I might rid youofthisburden.”Rid?Burden? crows Tavir

inaudibly, hitting against theceilingonceagain.Unwitting ally, the pedant

chooses this moment to fallthroughthelattice.“Villain!” says he to the

prince, who is helping himup. “Did I not all this whilesuspect it was you yourselfset that fiendly thing onme,

to gain entry to both myhouseandmywife?”And stick awave, he is

howling now for hisretainers, and so forces theloverstofleeintothenightofsea-murmurous Tirzom Jum.From one rich house toanother, richer, theygo.Andat the threshold of thesecond, the princess says tothe prince, “Long since agenie divined for me that I

shouldbearason.Itisfate.”Which leaves thewayfree

for love and birth, and thebruised, battered, bitten oldhusband to instigate legalproceedings. And this, aftersometo-do,hedoes.Worse thanallotherhurts,

thatone.Spitting and choking with

rage, the toothless pedant,beforeninejudges:“Idivorceher,theingrate.Idivorceher,

theslut.Idivorceher,andthecraven thief is welcome tothebaggage.”Afterwhichhewenthometohismansion.Tavir, who was by now

nearing theendofhisdreamand vaguely guessed asmuch,hadintendedtohastenstraightbacktohismother—having decorously overseenthe divorce. She was at thistime big with the finegarment destined to be his.

At any minute, it seemed tothe anxious expectant child,the interior call might reachhim. Then he must rush inandrouse thefoetus fromitssoullessness, blend with it,and pass out with it to seekthe light of life. Yet,something made Tavir stayawhilewiththepedant,toseewhathewoulddo,andhehaddone indeed, only asimagined.

Therehe sat inhis library,huffing and muttering,referringtothissageandthatone on the inconstancy ofwomen, their worthlessnessandwickedness.Until, all atonce he laid the books asideand tears rolled from hiseyes, so the watching soulwasastonishedatit.“Alas,” said the old

husband. “Now I am alone.WasitnotenoughthatImust

suffer the shame ofimpotence, which even mymagic could not cure, thenthatImustmeetherandloveherinoldagewhenIrepelledher? Yes, bad enough, this.And the harsh means andwords I used to conceal myshameand the lies I toldherand the scrolls I misquoted,bad, too. But now she isgone, and I am alaughingstock, and will die

loveless. I deserve no better,andnobetterdidIget.”ThenTavir,havinghadall

his own way, was alsoashamed.He approached thepedant quietly, and even so,from intuitive memory, theoldfellowbracedhimselfforsomepinchornip.ButTavirsaidathisear,“Hush.Donotgrieve. There is no death. Infifty years you will beyounger than you are today,

andtherewillbemanylovesto comfort you. Let her go;shedeservesalife.Readyourbooks and revel in yourlearning. Who knows butnext time you may be thehandsomest of allmen—or,”and here Tavir slyly smiled,“theprettiestofallwomen.”The pedant staunchly

sighed, wiped his eyes, andselectedabookoflore.Then the calling sounded

for Tavir, and leaping up hedartedaway—butevenashedidso,hewoke.

AFTERSHEhad listened toall this, seatedwith her chinupon her hand, Azhriazawarded Tavir a rarecourtesy. She drew from atable a jar of sea-coloredwine and poured it into twoglass goblets.Thewinewas,orseemed,quitereal.Maybeone of the rabble, who

admired her as a quaintanimal, had brought her thegift.“A truth for a truth?”

inquiredTavir.“Youseemtosay that you believe mydreamisareality.”“Perhaps.”“Because of this dream,”

he said, “I learned theunfairness of treating withothers as if they are onlyshadows.“

“And so pity cuckoldedspouses, and catch down-plummeting slaves in thestreet.”“And reckon none should

beheldinourcityagainstherwill.”“I might leave at once,”

said Azhriaz carelessly.“Save, like you, I begin todislikethesheddingofmortaltears and blood. I will notmakewaronTirzom.”

“Nor will your demonservants,whoarenoaltruistsat all.Did theynot tell you?Youareaprisonerhere.”“Unproven,” said Azhriaz.

Butshepouredthewinefromher goblet on the floor,untasted, while in the gobletofTavirthecoolliquidbegantobubbleandsmoke.Tavir put the wine aside.

“Oneotherthing,”hesaid.“Ithought,”saidshe,“you

wouldbeallnightcomingtoit.”“Uponyourship,whichthe

lords here have taken fromyou, there is a sorcerousimpression. Of a journeyeastward. Of a human citysmotheredinsea.”“Simmurad. Where the

immortals who defied LordDeath were turned to coral,evenastheylived,andlefttobroodforeveronthefact.”

“Andinmydream,”beganthePrinceTavir.“Youwereatfirstconfined

aliveinsidealimestonecase,inasea-surgedpalace.”“Can it be,” said Tavir,

“mysoul,refusingtobeheldwithin the stagnant immortalbody, escaped it, and camehereforrebirth?”“Whataresouls?Ihaveno

soul,” said Azhriaz. “I amVazdru, an immortalmyself.

Nor did the immortals ofSimmurad,either,haveasoulleft between them.Immortality devours thespirit, fusing it with theflesh.”“Issuchadoctrinefalse?”Azhriaz said, “Rather say

tomewhatyoumeantosay.”Tavir glanced at the

bubblingwine inmomentaryirritation, and spoke a wordto it, at which glass and

contents shattered into thinair.“I am curious to look on

Simmurad,” he said. “Butthough my parents areentombed and I have nokindred to whom I mustdefer, the conventions ofTirzom and the edict of theking would not favor me insuch travel. I should beprevented,andperhapstakenfor an enemy of the state.

Yet, now there is yoursorcerous ship, capable ofsuch speeds our ownmagicians are surprised.Once aboard, who couldcatchupwithme?”“My ship will not obey

you.”“SoIguessed.Norareyou

abletoapproachit.”“I might,” said she, “take

onsomeillusionandgothereatonce,unseenbytheguards

ofyourking.”“There are other guards

about the ship than fleshlyones.Theywoulddetectyou.You know it, and have notgone there.Only a prince ofthe city, such as myself,could subdue the magics ofTirzom.”“I do not know,” said

Azhriaz, “that I am inclinedto leave this charmingdomicile. I am quite

comfortable. No. Let yourprincely brothers keep myship they cannot use. I willstayhereandlivequietly.”“What is that sound?”

asked Tavir, turning towardtheouterdoor.“Another hapless slave

falling to the street? Go outandcatchhim.”Butthiswasnotthefallof

a slave. Some other thingbore down on them, with a

taut, rumbling drone.Presently the upper levels ofTirzom Jum quiveredunderfoot and all about. Thefoundations of the blackpalaceswerevibratingabove,and the street of the white-skinnedhouse trembled as ifinfear.Then came a frightful

booming impact. The wallsof Azhriaz’s building, ofwhichshehadjustspokenso

much praise, collapsed—asdidthoseofathousandotherdwellings. The atmosphereitself had addled. Draperiesand cups, things literal andphantom, burst through theair.The outer wall having

ceased to be, Azhriaz mightlook forth, and directly intothe street, where a scene ofmingled terror and astoundwenton,allunderapeculiar

light. Upward from thethoroughfarethepalace-sidesascended their four hundredfeet; beyond the dearly litstars within the dome, andafter these, and that, the sea,in which soft night had lainbutlaynomore.There instead, plastered

and flickering like a muddyfireallaboutthedome,wasatype of burning meteordashedfromheaven.Sohuge

itwas, so ravenously ablaze,for some while you did nottell ithad thebodyofaman—a giant man, all burnedhimself to bloodiest bronze,with darkly blazoned wingsthat beat, like ten hundredvultures, with hair like themany-rayed comet, hismindlessly beautiful andsavagefacepressedsonearlyupon the encapsulated city,justasapitilesschildpresses

andstaresuponajarofants.Ohwhatafaceitwas,alightitselfwiththegreateyesofastorm. But worse than all,upraised through the sea, ared flame, blistering andsizzling, reflectingbloodstained glare upon thestreet and all the streets ofTirzom Jum: the swollensword of the giant-grownYabael, second of theMalukhim, a swordof blood

andsmokecomingdownlikescreaming thunder on thecity.

FIRE IN the air, fire in thesea.Theearthcrateredby it.Thegodswereangry.Orhadbeen. Or had felt that theyought to be. A sword in theworld’sheart—Deeper than the earth,

however,deeperthanthesea,anda littledeeperyet, downintotheshadydemoncountry

—what swords are glitteringthere?See, like a sword, a male

body in the black velvetsheathofahill.The eyes of Azhrarn were

open,liketwopoolsthathadno floor. Theymirrored, butdidnothingelse.Thelids,thelashes,theyneverstirred.Hebreathed, so slowly,depthlessly, it was notevident. The pulses of

demons, detectable by theirown kind, were not detectedby those three that guardedhimstill.Once or twice, in what

wouldhavebeenthespaceofa day, an evening day ofUnderearth, one of thesethree would go out of thedeepcave, from its recessofvelure moss, through thecurtains of creeper.Descendingthroughthetrees

thatclad thehill, theVazdruwarrior came to a streamwhereopalsblushedandsangandspranginthecurrentlikefish. Taking some of thiswater in a silver cup, thedemonwouldreturnagainupthe hill, into the cave, andrestthecupagainstthemouthof Azhrarn. Perhaps, thoughliquid was not essential todemon life, the waters ofUnderearth were, to its

inhabitants, restorative. Orpossibly the act ofmoistening the lips, or ofaccepting the drink—had hedone so—was a necessarysymbol.ButAzhrarndidnotseem to drink, as he did notseemtobreatheortolive.They had brought him

here,thosethreeprinceswhostayed loyal to him in theface almost of the sun itself.At the gates of this land,

summoning the black-bluehorses, they had lifted himand carried him—and theskinofAzhrarnburnedthem.He had touched the sun-thing, theMalukhim.Hehadtouched sunlight in amorning sky and fallen fromheavenlikeaseveredstar—As they neared Druhim

Vanashta, its slender spireson the horizon, a presenceblewupwardintheirpath.

The horses shied. TheVazdru clenched their browsin maddened anger, for theyhad cause enough already tobe desperate. The apparitionwas pallid, with eyes likecornflowers through a mist,and its golden hair hungdown its back. If it wasmasculine, or a female, isunresolved. Some say itwasthe ghost of Sivesh, or ofanother youthwho had been

the beloved of Azhrarn. Oryetthatitwasawoman,onehe had destroyed or ruined,who spoke in vengefulsatisfaction. Others named itfor Dunizel. Others said itwasallof thesepersons,andmore.Tothefrenzieddemonprinces, doubtless it took aform, perhaps out of historyorthefuture.Oritmayhavebeen only a safeguard ofAzhrarn’s magic,

autonomously alerted, in ashapeofenergy—shapeless.It said: “Do not go on to

Druhim Vanashta. Azhrarn’scityishiscitynomore.Theyhavesaidofhim:Heisdead.Andnowtheysay,Lethimbedead. Others of the Vazdruhave usurped him. Goelsewhere, wherever youwill, but do not go on toDruhimVanashta.Hismoonhasset.”

At this message, the threeprincesoftheVazdrulookedat Azhrarn, where he lay, tosee him wake at once incoldest ferocity. But he didnotwake.Sotheyrodeawayfrom Druhim Vanashta, andinto the dark countryside.They passed by theRiver ofSleep, where the leaden flaxgrew.Throughmeadowstheywent where crystal flowersbrushedthestirrups,andover

water where horses’ hoofsstrucklikebrightbells.Aftermuch traveling, they

selected a place whichseemedtothemsuitable.They laid Azhrarn inside

the velvet cave, on a slab ofrocktheyfoundthere.They stood guard

thereafter, the three princes,oneat thecouchofAzhrarn,and one justwithin the cavemouth, both with drawn

sword; while the thirdworkedmagic,aritualwhich,with mankind, would haveamounted only to a prayer.And at certain junctures, hethatguardedthecouchwouldtake his turn at constructingthismagic,orheatthecave’smouthwoulddoit.Andonceor twice each twilit un-day,oneof themwouldgo to thestream where the opalssprang, and come back with

water. . . . And so timepassed, a great deal of it.TimeintheUnderearth,timeon the earth above, andnothing altered in or aboutthe hill. Till time herselfgrew weary of making noimpression there, and evenshe stopped callingon them.Not even the winds of theunderworld blew by. Andthen at last even the threeVazdru ceased to do

anything.They let ritual fail.They did not go out to thestream, and the cupwas leftonthegroundbythecreeper,and only the dew fell in itwith an occasional silverchink.One stoodat theheadof the couch, and one at itsfoot. One stood just withinthemouth of the cave. Theyleanedupontheirswordsandbowedtheirheads.Likeiconstheybecame,theVazdru.

And nothing moved then.The blades of the grass, thefoliageofthetrees,eachwasstatic. There came to be akindofsubstancewhichgrewtogether over the cave’sentrance,likeamembrane.Only the stream ran on

below, with the opalsprancinginit.Oncea cupwas dipped in

me, sang the stream, a cupwhichhadtouchedthelipsof

ayounggod.For thestream,beinguntutored,didnotseemto know the differencebetween the lords of its owncountry and the lords ofheaven, nor between youthandimmortality.

Who had dared takeAzhrarn’s princedom fromhim?Longlongago,whenhehadbecomecinders,theyleftthe chair vacant, and

lamentedhim theearthover.But he had loved them then;his cleaving tomankindwasjust a fad. Now, loversunloved, they grew vicious,which condition was an artamongtheVazdru.He was of the princes of

DruhimVanashta,andhehaddressed inyellow.And later,with eyes of cold yellowhate, he was a lion andclawed the soil ofAzhrarn’s

garden,andcastinonthefirefountaintherethefirstclodofdirtthatsmooredit.This Vazdru lion sat now

in his man’s form, beautifulas night’s morning at theheart of Azhrarn’s palace,which was iron without,marblewithin.HisnamewasHazrond.On

hishandsstaredblackrubies.Nolongerdidhedressinthecoloroftheabhorredsun,but

in the sable beloved ofdemonkind. Yet the sablewasslashedacrossthebreastwithonebandofyellowsilk,heavily fringed andembroidered with yellowjewels and metals (all butloathsome gold), topaz andamberandbleachedbronze.“Play,” saidHazrond.And

someoftheEshvacameintothecourtsandsmotethesatintongues of their seven-

stringed harps. The songswere wonderful, and sad, asbefitted the aftermath of alord’s demise. The Eshvawept continually andexquisitely. No one stayedthem. Many Eshva did notcome anymore into the city,but wandered the outerplaces, lost in somberdreaming, their wild hairharp-strung with silversnakes. They were the

servants of the Vazdru, butHazrond let them be. “Theywillreturninduecourse,”hesaid. His voice was somusical, the flowers whichwere dying, or attempting todie, in the gardens, cranedtheir stems toward its notes,and started inadvertently tolive again. The Eshva tooraised their pale andflowerlike faces from theirharps. Even far off, on the

hills as they wandered, theycaught the distantmelody ofthat voice. In due course,theymust,theywouldreturn.The Vazdru were

marvelous to look on,nothing in that. But of themall,Hazrondwasof themostmarvelous. Perfectionperfected.Theysaid,anditisnot sensible to disbelievethem, that of all his caste,after Azhrarn, Hazrond was

thestrongest,themostgifted,the most fair. Like Azhrarn,maybe, asAzhrarn had beenintheadolescenceofeternity.Thus Hazrond sat in the

chair of Azhrarn, and pacedabout Azhrarn’s halls underthe caustic windows. Herested his long-lashed eyes,and tapped his long ringedfingers, did Hazrond, uponthebooksandadornmentsofthe palace. He reviewed the

hounds and horses in itsyards. He waited high up inthe needle’s eyes of thetowers, and gazed over thecitylikeaneagle.Now there is this to be

mentioned too, of Hazrond,that he stalks out suddenlyfromamongtheVazdru,intothemansionofAzhrarn, andassumes the palace and thecity.Butuntilthen,nothingissaid of Hazrond. Perhaps it

washethatAzhrarnspoketoin the rubystreet,pausing inthechariot to remark thatnomansawloveandnodemon,either. And perhaps he hadbeen often, this one, withAzhrarn, his charioteer evenontheverynight theDemonclaimed back his daughterfrom the earth. And it ispossiblethatwhentheyellowwas donned in DruhimVanashta, Hazrond had

sought an audience withAzhrarn and stood beforehim slightingly. AndAzhrarn, preoccupied, haddismissed Hazrond withoutcomment. And there is onetale, toldwithhindsight, thatwhen Azhrarn called theVazdru to him, before hefought the angel at Az-Nennafir, Hazrond sent toAzhrarn a finely wroughtsword budded with clear

jewels, Drin work, and thesword itself had said:“Hazrond dispatches me toyou and bids you look uponme as your defender, for hehimself is engagedelsewhere.” At whichAzhrarnhadcursed.And thesword had said: “Hazrondbids me say that he learnedthis tactic from his lord,Prince Azhrarn, who rulesDruhim Vanashta in image

only, his heart and mindbeingengagedelsewhere.”Yetoneblackflamefroma

black fire, Hazrond appearsatonceandthereheis,uponthe tower, his black hairstreaming,lookingabouthimlikeaneagle.No other of the demons

had opposed him. Hismethod was simple. Hewalked into the palace andsat down there, and—word

getting around—when hisfellowscamehenodded,andsmileduponthem,asifneveranotherhadownedthehouse.Until there had been thewhisper—What of Azhrarn?TothatHazrondhadreplied:“Ofwhomdoyouspeak?”Had they resigned

themselvesthattheangelhadvanquished their lord?Unarguably, no search wasmade for him through the

Underearth,orabove.Slow but sure, the sad

songs flowed away, and thewanderingEshvaonthehillsdrifted toward the city.While, down by theirsluggishlake,theDrinforgesbegantoflarehotter thanfora great time, and now andthenthenoiseofsqueaksandquarrelings arose there, asthey made glorious presentsto lay at thenew lord’s feet,

Hazrond’sfeet,andthenstoletheitemsfromeachother.And as for the uncouth

Drindra, they were in aturmoil, for, enslaved byAzhriaz and summoned toher, they had not dared tellthatherfather,whoseaidsheinvoked, was fallen fartherthan she. For Hazrond,doubtless he knew herstraitened circumstances inthe sea, and that the god-

primed Malukhim hadtracked her there. Had hewooed her once, and beenrejected?Ordidheonlyhateher as Azhrarn’s child, adebased demon, partlymortal? (Mortalhatredbeingthefashionnow,below.)Certainly Hazrond did not

trouble himself at the perilsofAzhriaz.“Play,” said Hazrond, and

the Eshva performed their

voiceless songs, likenightingales of snow. Andwith the black wings of hiscloak folded about him,Hazrond looked down fromthetowersofthepalace.

THE SWORD of the angelYabael crashed uponTirzomJum.To those beneath it was

apparentasascarletblastthatsmashedequallybothgroundandair.Thebuildingsofthatcity tottered andwent down.But thedome itself, its glassandsorceryriven,exploding,

spewed up the world ofatmosphere into theworldofsea, amid a millionpyrotechnics.Azhriaz was cast upward

tooinaplumeofblackwater,green fire, red steam, anddebris of all sorts. Herinstinct had beenimmediately to mesh herselfwithinabubbleofbreathableair. This she succeeded indoing, and in maintaining,

despite the tumult, andpresently she located herselfinside it still, andTavirwithher,foragallantimpulsehadcaused him to seize hold ofher, the moment theMalukhimstruck.For a minute or more,

nothingwastobeseen,oratleast to be deciphered byeither of them, beyond eachother’s outlines and themarginoftheairbubble.

Theoceanwas in ferment.It rocked and collapsed andupheaveditselfexactlyasthecity had done. Arrow flightsof fish tore by, slabs ofarchitecture, but mostlybloodied smokes. Whilebeyond it all, the creature ofdestructionshowedonlyasadullredglare,whereeventhewaterburned.

The concussion had tossed

them far away, Azhriaz,Tavir, that was theinadvertent helpfulness of it.Andbythisflukeofnemesis,many escaped. The angelitself,mindless golem that itwas, stood over the blastedmouseholeinalonginterludeoftriumph,andsothemouseitsought,thedemongoddessof all mice, rode in theupsurgefartherandfarthertosafety. They had been

hunting, it would seem, theMalukhim, at least two ofthem. Who knows how thisone—Yabael the blood-sworded, the vulture, thesecond scorched—how helearned to pierce the sea forher, but learn he did. And,worse than at Nennafir,unreasoning, he took acleaver to a mote of light,missed it, and decimated alltheotherlifearound.

They swung now in thebubble, high up amid thegreenest water, over whichone might tell the distantearthly dawn was spreadingher mantle. Their arms hadstayedabouteachother,eventheir hair had coiled andclung, the magician-princeTavir, the Goddess Azhriaz,for it was a fearsome thingtheyhadexperienced.The bubble bobbed them

intothetopfringesofawoodof weed, and here, the seaquietening somewhat, theywere able to rest. Theylooked back toward the cityand its cliff, but neitherwasany longer to be found.Instead, the sea was full ofunnaturalscenes.Halfamileaway there sailed by, like astrange ship, the upper tiersand cupola of a tower,seemingly unscathed, and in

thecageofitslongwindows,Tirzomite sorcerers andscholars were soundlesslyrailing against fate. A mileoff, whole storeys spunslowly through thewater,onthe stairways and roofs ofwhich, or what portions ofthese remained, lords andslaves alike scrambled aboutinfright.Nearertherepasseda succession of islandlikegardens,orthetreedwalksof

the city, coming unraveled,the great roots alone liketrees. Among them three orfouroctopuseswereforcingaway,darkeningtheseawithapanic of ink.And nearer yetcame floating a princely bedwith painted curtains, andlyingonitlikeablackstatue,tethered by her long yellowtresses,adeadbeautifulhalf-breed,whohadnotpossessedeitherthegillsorthespellsto

surviveimmersion.“Oh, alas,” said Tavir,

staringafterheringrief.“Blame me for it,” said

Azhriaz,sullenasachild.“1amthereason.Thesun-thinglunged at me, and your citywasonlyintheway.”“You are not the reason.

The gods, as ever, are toblame.”“Iamagod.”Tavir shook his green-

haired head, and from hislustrouseyes,tearsfell.ThenAzhriazweptalso.Theywepttogether in their little globeof air,whichneither needed,while all around those theydespaired for meandered by,some dead, some live andweepingtoo,forTirzomJum,nostalgic for the earth, hadneverlost theknackof tears.But the sea, itself all tears,the story went, the tears the

godsshedeonsagoattheevilof mankind, the sea scornedTirzomite crying and dranktheir tears and filled theireyesagainwithitsown.As for Yabael, seen from

thecoveroftheweed,hewasjust visible, for his giantheight and girth seemed tohave been lessened—voluntarily, or in theexpending of power. Therehe loomed over a heap of

clinker and glass, above aplain of broken spottedshells, and the smokes andseaborne ruins revolvedaround him, and his wingsrose flightlessly behind hisfiery head, his soulless eyessawnothing.“Let me be gone,” said

Azhriaz, “before he wakesout of his dream of death-lust,andhismasters tellhimthestrokemissed.”

“Yourseavesselisexactlyhere,” said Tavir. “Fate wasonyour side, for thedisasterthrewyoudowninthiswood,closeby.”“Yes, Fate is kin to me,”

said Azhriaz. “One mayanticipate an occasionalfavor.Blessingsonyou,dearun-uncle,” added she, withsome venom. And then shewhistled, like a silver pipe.And by some means not

normal,thegeniesofhershipheardher.Ithadbeencaptiveall this

time, here in the wood ofweed,andhadnevergrantedaccess,orahintofitssecrets,to Tirzom Jum. But flee itcould not, nor come to thedemoness,until,atthechimeof destruction, the guardsthemselves, and all theirmagical accessories andprovisos with them, fled

cityward, or away to moresecureclimes.Now,released,and ever sensitive to themistress it served, the shipcame quick as a pulsethroughtheweeds.“I shall accompany you,”

saidTavir.“Once the way is open, I

believe I cannot preventyou.”So they swam to the

porelike door the ship now

offered, and in a fewmoments were inside thebelly of it, among thefragrances and breathingcarvings.And while the angel still

stood over the city’s ruins,thegreatfishflashedaway.In less thananhour, some

countless areas of distancelay between Azhriaz andTirzom.Tavir sat on a couch and

grieved. Azhriaz wouldgrieve no more. Men arefools, she thought, and theirmagicians worse, anddemonsandgodsmorestupidthanthestupid.HadIwarredwith them from the ship, Imight have harmed the city,or theircitydonesome ill tome. But I would soon havegone from it, and so thehunter would not havewrecked it for my sake. The

thing that wished me slainslewthemandliberatedme.Thegenieshadappearedin

large numbers, as if to greetAzhriaz, or inspect her. Shemarshaledthemtocreatesoftmusicandtoservewinesanddishesforafeast,alltotemptTavir.ButTavir brushed thegeniesaside,andturnedfromthefoodanddrink.“These are no illusion,”

said Azhriaz. “Here, all is

real.Or sowemust supposeit.”“How can I drink, or lie

listening to songs, whensome thousands of mybrothers are dead ordispossessed?”“Go back to them, then,”

saidAzhriaz.“Iwillletyou.”“Permit me to stay,” said

Tavir,gazingather.“Iamanoutcast now. Permit me tostay, for your loveliness is

some solace to me. Butpermitmealsotogrieve.”“To you I am ugly,” said

Azhriaz. “As you are, inmyeyes.”“ThisIdonotcredit,”said

Tavir. “For all the while Itold you of my dream, youlooked at mewith excessiveattention. And for yourself,anyman not sightlesswouldacclaimyou.”“But you are grieving,”

said Azhriaz. And seatingherselfbesidehimshe foundan interest in an earring ofhis, which was green agate.Sointerestedinit indeeddidshe become, she took theearring into her mouth, andso,too,thesmoothdarklobeofhisear,andwithherteethshemeasured all thebalanceof it, how the earring wasmade, and next how the earwas made, and how they fit

one into the other, and withher tongue she described forherself the ear, so finelychanneled like some blackshell,evenwithapureblacksea cave in it—and againsther eyes lay his sea-greenhair so she might think shelay upon a bank of freshgreen grass, spiced with thespring of earth. And as shedid these things, her handsfound out his throat, which

was like a column of blackmarble, but with a heart-sound drumming in it, andwide shoulders and strongarmsthesame,warmmarble,and hands which caught ather hands, and letting themgo, encircled her. And thehands of each moved upontheotherthen,asiftheybothwould form the other out ofwater,orfromclay.Then they lay down

together, firstly he blackupon her whiteness and inturn upon the blackness ofher hair, but in a while, shelay above him, pearl abovejet above jade. Thensometimes he was a blackbow upon a white bowreflectedbeneathhim,orsheawhitemoon’screscentovertheblackcrescentofanight-timeworld.Now he had been an

immortal, or thought so, andwasat least amage.But shewas solar comet andmidnight, and a demon, heronly lover a Lord ofDarkness, and for all herchasteness, she was Vazdru,and theVazdruhad inventedlove.In the first phase of his

pleasure, it seemed to Tavirthat he rode a chariot offlametowardagateofflame,

butpassing through thegate,hebecamefireitself,andyetrode on. And now he waswinged, and he flew acrossthe sky. He was the wingedsun, andheheld theearth inhis arms, and that was thesecondphaseofhispleasure,buttheearthkissedhimwithperfumed lips,anddrewhimdownbyhersilverhands.Heplunged,andwasalevinbolt,hewas a sword that clove a

city to its core, and his hairblew backward in thewhirlwind’s rush and hiswinged body blew fromhim—hecriedoutinanagonyofjoy and drove to the earth’scenter, the third gate, to diethere—but did not die, norwastheflightended.Then, he held her still, by

aneffortofhisbrain,andhegasped upon that pinnacle,forgettingeverything,evento

his name, his nation, hissorcery. “Truly,” he said,“you are a goddess,” but hespokeonlywithhismind,forhe had no breath for wordsuponthatheight.“Thischaseyou leadme is for gods, notmen.Letmefall,Azhriaz.”“Notyet,”shesaid,andher

eyeswerecruelwithlove,alltheearth’sskiesinthem,andherhandsmovedonhim,andat each touch each inch of

skin, each bone, became aliving separate thing whichfollowed her in frenzy, andhecouldnotremain.Sotheytraveled,andclung

together, andwept, as in theterrorofthecity’sdeath.Andtheywereinoceanandinair,intheheartoftheworld,andthewomboffire,anddeeperyet they passaged on, andgoinginatafourthgate,andafifth,andthroughasixth,it

cametoTavirthathewasnolonger anything, but All,earth, sky, sea, the sun, themoon,theday,thedark,loveand death and quietude andwar,innocenceanderudition,immortal, finite, damned,forgiven, and delivered.Andfar away he heard his owncries flying under him likewild birds, and far above hefelt his shadow smite thegoldenroofofhisbrain—but

between,hissoulflungfree.Thus to the seventh gate

they came and through thegate they sped, locked andsilent now, and scarcelymovinginthebody,whileallelse shimmered and spun,fasterandmorefast.Tavir, Tavir no more, felt

that his heart had ceased tobeat, the clockwork of hisflesh had stopped.And evenAzhriazwasgone fromhim,

or had become for him notonlyAll andEverything,butNothing,beautifulandutter.Thencametheeighthgate,

and in the gateway he wasstayed. Before him andwithin him boiled the totaldissolution of all worlds, allspaceandtime.Hewouldnolonger resist, yet he wasreined, chained, anchoredthere.Heyearnedandstrovetoburstintoamillionshards,

into stars and suns, intonewworlds, a cosmos, the lastscream of ecstasy, whichnonewouldhear,halfformedupon his lips—but yet, butyet, the fetterswould not lethimgo.Then came a gentle

murmurwithinhim,acaressfarlighterthanaleaf.Andhewasstilloncemore,ceasedtotravel, to strive, and onlywaited. And from infinity,

unsought,theninthgateitselfcame upon him, rushingthrough space, like a wavewhich breaks, and he broke,shattered, and the universewasbornofhim.Senseless, wrung and

cleansed, he lay in the armsofAzhriazanddidnotknowhelived,andwasonlyamanand a mage. Nor did hegrieve any longer foranything.

But Azhriaz lay quietly,and perhaps she did grieve.For to the demons, whoimparted such pleasure,pleasurehadnotthevalueofthe shock it rendered mortalfiber. Itcouldnotstun them,nor surprise. And so it wasforthemalittleless.So she laywith her lover,

thinkingwellofhim.Buthertears fell again, with nonenowtocomforther.

The fish-whale-ship dazzledon, having nowhere else togo but drowned Simmurad,onemore city that had beencastdown.Through sea and time the

vessel ran, quick as thought,oronlyquickasagreatfish-mammal breathing in andout. And often now itsglowing eyes had each awatching pupil, Tavir being

one, Azhriaz the other. Orelse the pupils were away,practicing the arts of love—not only in the demonclimacteric, but in variousdelightful human forms.(And the first terriblegrandeur was never quiterepeated; such things seldomare, since after the first allmust be compared to thatfirst, and besides, as issometimes the way of the

most accomplished lovers,Azhriaz was thereafter moreand more easily bored withecstasy.)And they discussedanddebated, too, andplayedgames of learning.And theysquabbled.All ofwhichwasofinteresttothem.The genies meanwhile

flitted about and saw to theluxuriousrudimentsofliving.Andbeyondtheskinofthe

shiplaythesea,always.

Buttheseatheynowwentthrough, Azhriaz and Tavir,began to have an emptiness,notmerelyoffishandaquaticbeasts, but of all robustthings.Huge forestsofweedand coral grew there, it istrue, massive flowersbloomed, the currents ran,but each with a kind ofdeadness. And where theymightglimpseafish,itshonelike a tinder, and all the rest

seemed flat and cold againsttheslightignition.It had lain in the farthest

east,Simmurad,andlaythereyet, at the world’s dawncorner.“Will the vengeance of

heavenseekmeeventhere?”Azhriaz asked her sleepinglover. “And does Dathanjawander the sunken streetsunder the water, looking atwhatZhirekdidforDeath?”

“O Mistress, tomorrow,whenthesunaboverises,weshallcometoSimmurad.”Sothe genies announced, inconcert,journey’send.

Simmurad,oncetheredrose,cameoed from crimson rockand white mountainside.Simmurad,ananemonenow,bottledinbrine.Theycametoitinthesea-

dawn,sea-dyedmorning that

hadbeenrose-dyedwhenthecitystoodonland.Yetitwasmost often dawn here, evennow,theprolongedsunriseoftheeasternmostedge.The demon ship entered

the city slowly, barelybreathing,eyeswideandbothattentivelypupiled.Thegatesofbrasshadlong

ago come down. But in anyevent, traffic might advanceoverthewalls,asthetidehad

done. The high towers, andthe higher mountains, theoceancoveredalltheirheads.And the vast plazas and theterraced walks, the parkswhere ever-living deer andleopards had sported, theywere nomore than bowls ofwater. Not only everlastingimmortality, but mere lifehadgonefromSimmurad.Itsproper colors had beenwashed out, so the glimmer

of outer sun, or even thelamps of the ship, did notwake them. And the stoneitself, endlessly mouthed bythe water, had worn away.Notamonumentoracarvingwas distinguishable. Thepristine columns and spires,they were like meltedcandles.From a mass of kelp and

primeval fern, anunburnished dome or two

stubbed forth. By a matteddoorwaywasthestumpofanobelisk. Centuries before,there had been letters in thispylon. Amessage was, aftersome pains, still to bediscoveredthere.Itread:

IAMSIMMURAD.HEREINFOREVER,DUST.“Is it always so,” asked

Azhriaz, “that men must be

ridiculed by their ownlegends?”Tavirstaredsilently.Azhriazsaid,“Thiswonder

is finished, andwe shame itto gaze on it. We willdepart.”She was angered, and

disappointed, in manydissimilar forms. But Tavirsaid: “Humor me, and therecollectionofmydream.Letus at least remain here until

onedayandnighthavegoneby. To do less is to addanother shame to the place.Besides, it was a longjourney, and beyond isworld’s end, at the easternedge.Onlychaosliesoverit,wheremenwillnotorcannotenter. In the face of such asymbol, it is only correct tolinger,beforeturningback.”“I would not stay another

minute,”saidAzhriaz.

But,tohumorhim,shedidnoturgetheshipaway.Theycontinued to patrol theavenues all that long, wearymorning and dismalafternoon, looking ondesolation, and thevanquishment of humanideals. Nothing was to beseen that lived, for even themostembryonicfishesofthatdeep kept aloof or had beenscared from the vicinity by

the ship.Only a facsimileoflife, their own bold shadow,moved beside them on therotted walls, or sometimessome splinter of a bloodlessjewelmightleeringlywinkattheirlights.No man strode or swam

about the streets.Not evenaghostcaredtohaunttheruin.Sigh then, as the songsexclaimed, for thedeclineofSimmurad.

AndTavir himself, for theprinces of Tirzom wereaccomplished, hadsummonedforhimselfalyre,andsattheremelancholicallysinging in the fish-ship’s lefteye.“The glory is crumbled in

dust, the swords of delight

sheathedinrust,And off from the precipice

thrust, the scapegoats and

saviorsfalldead.Behold now the wreck of

ourlives, the honey spilled out

fromthehives,The pageant of Hate and

hiswives, in their garments of

choleranddread.Beseech then no gods—

theyareblind;

destroythatpoorhopeofthemind,Kneel rather to stones in

thewindandaskthemformusic

andbread.Wehavewovenourdreams

foracloak, our bright towers we

havemortaredwithsmoke.It isDeath, it isDeathwe

invoke, and the wolves of his

packwehavefed.”At which Azhriaz, turning

to speak to him inunfriendliness, started. Forwhere Tavir had sat, all seashade and dark, was anotheryounglord,pale,gold-haired,in a damson garment, withgloves—But before even she could

catchherbreathtocursehim,the vision faded. Unreal,

thoughtshe,lessfriendlyyet.He roams elsewhere,cackling and cawing. But Itake due note. Surely theapparition implies mylovesome lover, touched bythe dawn-decline ofSimmurad,ismakingapetofmadness.Therefore she did not

upbraidTavir,butshekeenlyobserved him. Of course, hewill in someway betrayme,

abandonme.WhenIlookfora shield, or a brother, todefendmyback,all theythatswore to be beside me aregoneoffonerrands.“There are knives in your

looks,” said Tavir. “Knivesof fairest sapphire. But stillknives.”“If my eyes do not please

you,” said Azhriaz, puttingher hands tenderly about hisneck, “close them with your

kisses.”ThisTavirwillinglydid.Their amorous dalliance

concluded the day, andseemed to put out the sun.Sunset was so swift in thatregion, one moment the seawas green, then ashen, thenblack.Azhriaz, who had held

Tavir as a flower holds itsownshadow,nowlethimgoand pretended to sleep. She

hadsensed,eveninthepangsof his rapture, a restlessenergy that was not whollyappeased.Presently, as she had

supposed he would, Tavir,despite the most adoring ofparting embraces, left thecouch, and went awaythroughthesuite.Thesorceryof Azhriaz was alwaysunhamperedwithin her ship:She stole after him smaller

and less visible than a moteof that glory-dust he hadelegized.Soonenough,hestoodnext

theship’sskinandcravedofit an exit into the sea. Andthe ship, commanded byAzhriaz toobeyhim,did so.In a shortwhilemore, Tavirwas speeding through theblackness of the drownedcity,airlesslyandeffortlesslybreathing in the manner of

thegilledprinces ofTirzom,and accompanied only by atiny glow of phosphorus,whichhehadenchantedfromthewatertolighthispath.Azhriaz was filled by

anger, and the unhappysatisfaction of being in theright. She took up her ownsorcery, with two or threesharpwordsbesides,andcladherself, still little as a mote,inasecondmoteofair.Then

shesprangafterTavirandtherecedinglight.If Simmurad was sad by

day, how much moredepressing in its robe ofnight. It was no place forpoets,thoughsongshadbeenmade because of it. Truedespair is only a blankwall;theremustberageorfoolishhope, or at least a shout, tomake anything of it. ButSimmurad.Oh,Simmurad.

Yet Tavir swam on, andAzhriaz went after. Sheforesawhisquest.Ofcourse,he went to find the one hehadbeen,orbelievedhehadbeen, if his dream were afact.So,inanhourorless,they

came again to that dissolvedobelisk, and passed throughthetangleofseawrack(Tavirhacking the way) into thecitadel.

There had been a domedvault, a floor of mosaic andsilver. Fountains had played,and at great tables, thenightly feast of theimmortals....Nowthewaterfeasted. All was blurred bywater. And a tainted severelightfell,fromhighup,likearain through rain, whereluminous filamentsembroideredthedeadchokedwindows.

Caught by the unmercifulgleam, here they were, theimmortal ones of Simmu’scity.Theyhadwontheirsliceof eternal life by feats ofwizardry, wisdom, or exoticcheek, surgeons and mages,artists and courtesans, theluscious, the cunning, theunhinged. Now, they werewhitecoral.Simply that.Forthese miniature builders oftheseashadbeenindustrious

overthecenturies.Nolongerwas any shape recognizable,not a feature, nor a gesture.Theywere limestone blocks.Where now the flauntingdreams? The water washedaway, thecoralmakersbuilt.Soon,eventhelegendwouldfade, and those that camehere seeking it—they wouldfind melted stones, a fewlumpsofthecoralinedetritusof the sea. They would say,

Simmurad,thatwassomeliewe were told. There is noSimmurad,wasnever suchaplace. Nor Simmu, and notheft from heaven ofImmortality for men, noheaveneither,nolifeeternal.Only this and here and now.Only what we see and canput our hands on. Wouldthere not, otherwise, beevidence?Tavir, having come in, let

historchdie.Hemovedasifhe swam in sleep, about thelimestone pillars. It seemedhe did not especiallyremember any one of them.Should he seek for one inparticular,howwouldhefindit?Therewasameans.Suddenlyavoicespokeout

loudly, there in the sea—through which, unlesssorcerously aided, you could

hear nothing at all—sorcerouslythen.“Well,” it said, “is liberty

good? Pray tell me of it. Iforget.”Tavir, quite naturally,

turnedandstaredabout.“Here I repose,” said the

voice. “On your right hand—” And it directed himzealouslyonhowitshouldbecome at. Tavir followed theinstructions, and after a

minute he hung in thewaterby a pillar of coralresembling exactly all therest.“Howisityoucanspeak?”

askedTavir,himselfnotwithhis vocal cords, but throughthemechanicsofseamagic.“Speak? Who says I

speak?”retortedthevoice.“Iimpart my thoughts by aneffort of magicianry, as doyou.Doyouforgetalso?Iam

amage.”“By my query I meant to

inquire,”saidTavir,“if Iamyouandyouareme,howisitI amhere andyou are there,andwehavedialogue?”“Tush,” said the coral

block testily. “It seemscertain thatwhen Iwaned toyouthagain,asyou,Igainedin silliness what Irelinquished in years. Payattention. For this is the

mighty theosophic paradoxwhich I, and other geniussagesthatthemonsterZhirektrapped here, long sincegrasped. All men possesssouls which are immortal.But some men preferlongevity or eternality of thebody, seeing that with eachnew life we are forced toundergooncemoretheidiocyof birth, childhood, andunknowledge,nottomention

the discomfort of physicaldemise. For example I, thatam you as you were whenme, joined the immortals,partaking of a drop of thedivine Elixir. Now, it isthought,”pratedontheblock,“that in a mortal madeimmortal,thesoulinfusestheflesh. This may be the case.However, by petrifying theflesh to stone, Zhirek, in hisovercleverness, separated the

soulineachofusonceagainfrom the earthly atoms—forno soul can ever be boundindefinitely, being itself afabulousthing.Thereforemysoulflewout—as,foratruth,did all the souls of all thoseprisoned in Simmurad. And,getting itself reborn, itbecame the dweller in thebodyof oneTavir, prince ofTirzomJum,andofaschemeof colors, I will say, strikes

oddlyonmyeye.”“But you,” said Tavir. “If

you are not me, who, uponthebonesofourtwomothers,areyou?”“Your former body being

immortal, it lives stillwithinthe coral. It is a wise sageyet,andhas,toboot, thefulllegion of your formermemories, which you, inyour greenness, haveforgotten. It is the body,

therefore, which speaks sograciouslyandintelligentlytoyou, andwhich calls itself I.AsIshallcontinuetodo.”“Uponmy life—oronone

ofthem,”saidTavir.Andfellsilent.“Tut, tut,” said the

immortal body reprovingly,“if only you had yoursagacityback,youwouldnotwaffleinthisway.”“Recounttomethen,”said

Tavir, “your learning. It isminebyright.”“Not so,” said the body in

the coral. “By your decisionto seek rebirth, you haveforfeitedanythingofmine.”“ButhadInotlivedinyou,

you would have learnednothing!”“And now you have

vacated me, you must learnallagain,bydintoflaborandgroans,” replied the body,

withtheutmostcomplacence.Tavirstruckhisfistinrage

upon the block. The motionwas slowedbywater, yet itsintent was bruising, and sobruised. The coralcomplained.“I have learned this,” said

Tavir, “to respect the life ofothers. I believeyou tohavebeen indifferent to all livesbutyourown.”“You,”saidthecoralinan

injured tone, “have merelyacquired sickly sentiment, afault it had previously takenyoumanyyearstoberidof.”“Youdonotknowme;do

notpresume.”“Andyoudonotrecollect;

presumeneither.”“Bymyspells,Icanreturn

withinyou,”saidTavir,“andexperienceagainwhatIwas,and collect up anysuperfluous knowledge you

may,debatably,retain.”At his threat, the body in

the coral turneduncommunicative. Tavir,with a grimace, betweenfascinated interest and deepchagrin, drew aside a way,andbegantopreparehimselfforsuchsorceryaswouldbeneeded.Azhriaz was not far off,

and had listened to all thatwenton.Nowshecouldhave

wished to transform herselftoherproperfeminineshape,but she believed this mustentail an airless passage inthesea,itslawsbeingastheywere and inimical to her. Soshe did not venture change,butwenttoTavirasshewas,atinylittlemoteinateardropoffragrantatmosphere.“Tavir,” she said, sending

herwords into his brain, forhisearswouldbedeaftoher,

“do not re-enter the coral.Onlyconsiderhowyouhavedreamed of theimprisonment, and how thatdream has lured you to thespot. Now the thing tauntsyou, and you are driven tobecome its prisoner again—that which was your priorbody has the stronger claim;there you lived the mostesttime,and, too, it is immortalandendures,andevenspeaks

ofitselfasaproudmandoes—”ButTavirdidnotheed,and

perhaps he did not hear, fornow he made a magic thatshone about him muchbrighterthantheluminantsinthe roof. And even asAzhriaz warned him, therecame a swirling, and a flushas if a huge lamp took light.Andthenitflutteredout,andonly the marine half-light

lingered.Azhriaz, who had known

and wielded such power onthelandthatmencoweredinterror at the mention of it,now looked down and knewherself powerless. Tavir layon the smeared mosaics andsilverof thefloor.Thewaterfingered his hair; his eyeswereshut.Thesoulhadgone,back through the coral intothe former body, which it

knew better, and which hadsignaled and called andfinally pulled it in by a longfineleash.“I have been then a

servant,” said Azhriaz. “Mypurpose was to bring youhere, to this, as yourcharioteer would havebrought you, or your ridingass.And for payment I havehad three kisses.My thanks,Tavir.”

“Myname,”saidthevoicefromthecoral,“isnotTavir.That is Tavir, there on theground. As for kisses, hekissed you well. I have hisnewmemories to add to theold. But that life is only amirage. It has been joyfulenough to be a youth, andspry and agile in thehorizontal art, but age andimmobility have theircompensations. The

adventurous existence willinevitably pall, for the manwhothinks.”“Traitor,” said Azhriaz. “I

willnot attemptyour rescue.Lie on the floor, greenlocks,and rot, and lie and think inyourcoral,androtalso.Youare one more fool.” Andwhen she had said this,Azhriaz saw the corals andthewaterand thewholedimhallbegintoflushagainwith

light. A most poignantexcitementwentthroughher,for she imagined Tavir wasfightinghiswayback toher,and she eagerly bracedherself tohelphim.But thenshesaw,withaheart-sinkingnot only due to sorrow, thatthislightwasnotthesameasthe first. It came thick andfast, as ifwineorbloodwaspoured.Ithadareddishglare.Themoon or the sun, rising

underthesea—Sheknewwhatitwas.She

felt a strange dark fear, andalsoawretchedwishtoyieldherself—and with that anurge to do battle.And againthedespairofSimmurad,andof all her confused andblazing years, mired herround, and she hesitated,questioned herself, whethershemightbelost.But itwasnot inher,after

all,todonothing.Andsoshespun about, and away fromthe ghostly ghostless citadel,toward the only chance tohand,thedemonship.Chuz had failed her, and

Azhrarn had dismissed her.Of mortals, Dathanja hadbarely spared her a glance,thoughherbeautyrockedtheworld, and for Tavir—Tavirwasdead.How loud the deathly

avenues were glowing now,asiftheyburnedthereinthesea. Azhriaz fled into hervessel, and next the vesselfled. For behind thereddening of the water, onherscent,cameagainYabaelthe Bloody and the Second-Scorched, that hound of thegods,thehunter.

BUT IT WAS Ebriel whowalked the mountaintops oftheeasterncorner.There were higher crags

beyond Simmurad; the seahad not covered them. Theyoverlooked the basin of theocean,andreflectedinit,thatwas all. When the longdawns warmed them, they

beamed, but there wassomething disquieting inthem always. Their peaksmasked, and maybe led to,the world’s very edge. Theywere a part of the last fencethat ringed the earth. Whocouldtellwhatitwouldmeantotraveloverthemandtotheendofthem—whocouldrisktheventure?Even the angel restricted

his pacing, he kept to the

innerplaces, thoughWorld’sBrink,andchaositself,couldsurelybenothingtohim.The sunset came andwent

quick as a careless kiss.Night and a few spare starstrickedoutthesky.TheMalukhimgleamedon

inthedark.Heseemedtobelookingdownintotheocean,asaman looksfor therisingoffish.“Youarenotwaitingthere

forme,”saidDathanja,ashecame up the midnightmountain slope, “but it is Iwhoarrive.”Theangelturned,andnow

looked at Dathanja. Even inblackness, the eyes ofEbrielshone, for the light remainedwithinhimconstantly.Dathanja came on. He

approached the angel, nearerand more near, until he waswithinthreefeetofhim.

There were many powersleft to Dathanja. He usedthem.Hesaid:“Ebriel,doyoustandinmy

way? There has been aconflict. Let us not re-enactit, inadequately. I am nodemon.And you are not themightiestoftheSun-Created;you are not Melqar, whocamefromthefirelast.”Then Ebriel, with a

whisperofhiswings,moved

aside. It was a gesture ofeconomy and beauty.Dathanja went by him, andreached the crown of theslope, where the mountainopened to loom above thelakeofsea.Hewas still amagewhen

he wished it. He cast hismind into the deeps, like aline. His thoughts, nothingelse,walkedundertheocean,and through that sunken city

there. He, too, had learnedeconomy.Therewasa lurid radiance

downbelow.Heperhapsdidnotice it, but gave it noattention, though, all thewhile, it heightened. He hadotherbusiness.TheawarenessofDathanja

came then into a hall,wherethere were columns of coral(flushed nowvery red).Andtherebegantobeastirringin

thewater.Zhirek, it said, in several

voices.Seehowthemurdererslinks back to gloat on hislegendarydeed.The thoughts, themind of

Dathanja, ignoring that too,went about and scannedevery column with care. Amultitude of personalitiesresponded, chaffering andbeguiling. But they lived inthe limestone as snails do in

their shells, and werecomfortable: They hadevolved theirowndestiny. ItwasnottheseuponwhomhehadworkedthevengeanceofKing Death. And of theeternal souls which he hadincarcerated, all were gone.Butone.And this one presently

came and tapped him, as itwere, on the shoulder, ahuman mind and thoughts

like his own, essence andpersonality together. “Here Irepose,” it said, insufferably.And, once the inner eye ofDathanja regarded it, itadded, “You are not as youwere.Iobserveyoursenseofdebt. You must set me freethen.”“IacceptthatImust.”“And at once, if you

please.”Insomehundredsofyears, inonesortoranother,

thisbeinghadstayedusedtogettingitsownway.Nothingwassaid,either,of

thefeelingsofUhlume,LordDeath, in whose name theworkhadbeenaccomplished.Therewouldseemtobesomeassumption a few centurieshadhealedhiswounds.Up on the mountain,

Dathanjamurmured.Below, from the russet

dimness his awareness

glimmeredout.“Wait, you dog!” snapped

thepersonageinthecoral.Asthe trap split, it wasdisgorged, and flailed withblathering outcry into theocean. “Oh base jackal! Icannot swim—” But next arecollection, forwhathadhebeen,thisone,intheinterim,but a gilled sea prince ofTirzom.So,outofthedepthsofSimmuradthefinalcaptive

floundered, breathing waterand not breathing it,drowning and not drowned.Vestiges of immortality stillonhim,just,yetnolongeranimmortal, soul cut loose,returned, staying separate: atesty, cunning, age-oldrefugee.“Howredtheseais.Wastheseaherealwaysred?Not so. Something is afoot.Someangryreddenedrushingthing.WhatdoesTavirmake

of it?” (Thumping andleafing through thatrelinquishedbody’smemory,as if through a muddledlibrary. Followed by anoutraged shriek and moreenergetic labors to surface.)“The angel—the brazendestroyer—oh, you dog-jackal of a Zhirek, to desertmehere—whatreleaseisthisyougiveme—”Dathanja, calm as the

night, the Malukhim, day innight, theybeheldsomethingplumpupthroughtheskinofthe sea, farbelow. Itbobbedand sank, it scudded andblunderedandshookitsfists.Then, remembering, ithowled a phrase of theancient thaumaturgy thathadonce earned it a niche inSimmu’s city—and wasvaultedhighintotheaironacarpetwithchickenwings.

In a trice, sage and carpetpelted down between thesorcerer and the angel,squawking.Thedialoguewas lost.For

at this instant, the sea begantocook.Thunderbellowedfromthe

horizon. The air bristled. Asunofdarkestfirearose.Likebloodboilingthroughavein,the apparition of Yabaelcame tearing through the

water, beneath it, invisible,save as a running gash ofravening scarlet withsomething man-shaped,vulture-shaped, the gougingbeak of it. The mountainsshook to their roots, andeverywhere avalanchesteemed down to splash intothe seething ocean. Steamgouted, the waves leapttoward the sky in fear. Theworldseemedonthevergeof

ending—Then ithadpassed.Likea

terrible fever, it drove away,undertheverylanditself,thecrags, all that redness, thebloodstained flare and noiseand shuddering. The seadropped back on itself,turning black.The boomingsand moanings died. A quietfell.Ebriel had folded up his

silent whiteness. Dathanja

lookedawaywhere the thinghadgone,towardthefarthesteast. The rescued sage wasdumb.As for the chicken-winged

carpet, in affright it had laidaneggupon theground,andleaving it motherless,vanished.

Thefinalsea.Itranunderthebasements of the mountains.Itwastheonlyroad.Shefled

byit,thelostGoddessinherdemonship.And she knew, flying east

andevereast,thattherewasalimit toher flight. If shehadnot known, the genies hadstarted up to explain. Theyfoamedabouthernow,thosesmoky creatures, as ifsomething were burning.They clasped their slenderhands, and their childlikefaceswerefullofwoe.They

had no nervousness forthemselves. It was for herthey misgave, presumably,becausetheywereherslaves,andthatonlyproper.“O Mistress. The earth’s

edge. The sea flows outbeyond the mountains tonothingness and otherness,into the limbo thatsurroundstheworld.”“Exactly,” said Azhriaz.

“Andthereisnowhereelseto

go. Since Simmurad, thechannelistoonarrow—toflynorth or south is to crashagainst the submarinemountains that abound here.To turn back is to meet reddeath headlong. May we flyup in the air? The spells ofthisvesselprecludeit.ShallItry alone? Oh, how swiftlythen would the destroyercatch me, closer to heavenwherefromittookitslife.But

this way, eastward, as yousay, is the unknown horror,the opposition to all earthly-living things—therefore alsoto that which pursues. Eventhe Malukhim will bediscouraged,anddrawback.”But the hunter did not do

this.Itcameonbehindlikealongrollerofblood.Azhriaz herself withdrew

fromtheeye-windowsofhership. It moved so speedily,

like lightning, she could tellverylittlefromtheview.Sheprowledtheexquisitebellyofthe fish-whale. She orderedmusic, and a feast—themelodies were weird andunharmonious, the food wasslops and the winesmoldered. She tried toenvisage theboundaryof theworld. To believe in it. Shewas not afraid. She wasterrified. She had no fear at

all. “Chuz,” she said, “1 amyour subject, too.” And shethrew the melting writhingapplesofthefeastagainstthewalls where the draperieswhinedandtore.Andshebither beautiful nails, like afrightenedmortalgirl.The ship sped on, through

the last channels of earth’seastern ocean, under themountains. There was nolight down there. Even the

water was not quite fluid.The ship began to rustle andto creak in all its joints.Themagical lamps expired oneby one. The music had thesoundofdistantscreaming.“O Mistress,” said the

genies.“Be still. If I am to bolt

intochaos, thensomust thatthingwhichhuntsme.Come,sun-hawk!” called Azhriazinto the flickering far-

screaming motion, into thedeaf un-sea behind, thesightless question before.“Follow,enemy.Follow,andchaos shall swallow you,too.”Suddenly the genies

disappeared. Not a wisp ofthem remained. And then aghastlyrattlingdinresoundedthrough the ship. Theultimate lamps died likeflowerswhichbreakapart.

Blackness came and sat inthe ship and in the eyes ofAzhriaz, and blacknesssmiled and said to her:Nowlookaboutyou.But Azhriaz covered her

eyeswithherhands.Then every noise stopped.

The ship grew soundless. Itgrew motionless. It hungsuspended.Azhriazkneeleddown.She

heldherbreath.

She could never die. Yetdeath was so close. Norelativeofhers,nohandsomeuncle who might bargain.True death, the facts of it.Andshewasalone.Thentherewasabangthat

seemed to crack the worlditself. And the ship soaredupward—so fast thateverything was left behind,the metal bodywork, themagical rivets, flesh and

bones—andfasterandfaster,until even thought andbreathinglaycrushedbeneath—and she heard, the black-hairedgirlaloneinblackness,milesoffandeonsunderher,her own voice crying out,like the voice of the infantthatstillshewasandyethadnever been: “Mother—Omymother help me! Mother!Mother!Omymother!”ButuntenableNothingness

orSomethingnesshadclosedupon the ship. Chaos, orwhatever chaos was at thehem of the earth. It gripped,and even as it gripped, itrecoiled.Motherhelpme—Andnow the shipplunged

downward, as if into abottomless abyss. Or intoone.Thisisdeath.AndIcannot

die.Ishalllivedeathforever

—A hand held the ship. A

hand so huge, so vast, theship lay tiny there as a shellupon a beach. The hand,weighing the ship, itscontents. It could not be ahandatall.Nor,intheblack,a face, stooping, staring,somehow seen unseen. Twoeyeswhose centerswere thespinning voids that had noname, have none, the depth

from which the seeds ofmatter spring, the toiling ofplanets unborn, the sleep ofworlds that are done. Thetinder box of life, the eyes,empty and full andoverbrimmedandopenwide.And the face in profile now,itsbrowall time, its featuresshiftinglikepalesandsalongthe slope of space. Themouth breathing out paleflame, a word, a wish. And

thehandcurvingback,asthehandofaboymightcurvetoflingawayalittlestone—But as the hand rises, the

great sleeve comeswith it, acurling wave with thegalaxiescaughtinthefolds—And under the colossal

curving and curling, aredness is running, directlythere,likeatornseam.The great sleeve sweeps

over tomeet the running red

of the tearing seam, meetswith it, envelops. Fire andunfirecurdlingandamillionstitchescomingundone.There was a moment of

pure electrics, coronas,sunbursts, novas. Each onevoiceless and without color.Thereafter there commenceda deep soft thunder. Itstretched and mounted andpassed through volume, intoasoundthatwasnosoundat

all.Soundless then, the

eruption. The world archeditsback,theskyleaned.Forasecond all matter heavedtowardoblivion, or new life,which was the same. (Evenheaven cratered supposedly,and flakes of sky scatteredlike plaster.) And then thebalance swung again.Smoothly, everything cameto rest, like a gentle wheel

whichrunsdown.Shaken like a bag of salt,

earth’s substance settled.Like salt, every grain in afresh place, yet salt still,thinkingitselfunaltered.And the huge hand, with

nothing in it now, returninginto the forms of unformfromwhich it had conceiveditself. No eyes to see, novoids of spinning things.Seeping away. Ceaseless.

Ceased.

To the ends of the earth, inthe remotest places, drowsy,half asleep, the rumoryawned and sleepily said,Somethinghasgoneoninthenight. But nothing hadhappened, surely, for theworld looked no different.The trees wore theirnecklaces of fruit, the goatsgave up theirmilk, now and

thenwithakicktogowithit,theyounggirls combed theirhair and put blossoms andbeads in it. The wise men,poring over their scrolls andglobes of quartz, in talltowers, shook their heads,puzzled,dissatisfied.Ifallarechanged,whowill

feelchangeintheair?Ismankindsafe?Yes.Istheworldwhole?Yes.Istheearthstillflat?Itis.

PARTTHREE:Underthe

HAZROND, Prince ofDemons, took on him, fordiversion, the shape of agreat black eagle. East andwestheflew,beatingwithhis

vast wings, north and south,to the four edges of theworld. He watched thelighted processions of mencrawling by below, andcrossed, with a cool glance,overthehighstonepylonsofcities. Once he folded hisinky wings on the roof of atemple. “He has not taughtyouanything, then,” said thewings, the feathers, the eyes—everythingbutthevoiceof

Hazrond. “Even he, Azhrarnthe Beautiful, with hiseducational plan. Butmankind cannot learn.Behold, dead lord, they arestill worshiping the gods,though they know now thegodscarenothingforthem.”An hour before the sun

shouldrise,Hazrondreturnedto the world’s center, andthence under the earth.Through a gate of agate he

passed, and a gate of steel,and a gate of black fire. HestrodeintoDruhimVanashta,and takingoutapipeshapedlikethethighboneofacat,heblewon it.Atonceademonhorse came galloping andHazrond leaped on its backand rode, faster than anywindofthewidewildworld,to his palace. There, lyingsupplicatingly across amighty doorsill, Hazrond

foundalittleDrin.“Mercy, glorious one!”

saidtheDrin.“Whathaveyoudone?”“Nothing,yet,alas.Formy

mere existence I crave yourpardon.”“Idonotgrantit.Whyare

youhere?”“It seems tome,”warbled

theDrin, “I have lain in theearth hereabouts, in thegarden, and been a worm. I

did worm deeds. I had fiftyworm wives, all of whombore me worm sons, whichwasofinteresttome,sinceasademonIaminfertile.Thentheonewhosetmethereasaworm—topunishme—forgotme.Or only, perhaps, forgothimself.Andthentherecamea curious hesitation in thewhole of Being, as if lifeherself caught her breath—andsoIwassprung,andhere

Iam.”“YournameisBakvi.You

stole a necklace of tears,”saidHazrond,musingly.“I do not remember that,”

saidBakviwithcaution.“ButI remember my fifty wivesand my five thousand sons.This garden is well worm-tilled,lord,onaccountofmyefforts.”“Who am I?” said

Hazrond.

“A Vazdru, shiningbrighter and better than anylightoftheearth.”“Whatmore?”Bakvi licked his lips. If

Azhrarn had forgottenAzhrarn,andifthisonecamelike a burnished stormthrough the door of thepalace—“The Prince of Demons,”

submittedBakvi.Hazrondsmiled,andpetted

theDrin,whopalpitatedwithecstasy. But it seemed toBakvi he did not palpitatequite as much as he wouldhave done if another hadpettedhim—Presently Hazrond, the

Eagle-Winged, theBeautiful,(Night’s Master?), went onintohissomberhouse.Bakvi skittered away

through the garden. He hadgot used to the garden, let it

be said. Used to tunnelingthroughit,fornicatinginit,toallmannerofitemswhich,indemonshape,hewouldneverhave dared. Meanwhile hisforge beside the lake wouldhavebeeninvadedlongsincebysomemiscreant.SoBakviloitered, and now and then,askance, hewould lieon thedark grass andwoo the ladyworms he sensed wereglidingthere,lovelyaswater,

through the undercountry ofthesoil.After a time, Bakvi came

down the terraces betweenthe cedars of silver trunks,restraining himselfcontinually from diving forshelter from the winged fishin the boughs—which, as aworm,hadbeennomorethansensible—and reached thegarden’s center. Here Bakvipaused,perplexed.

There had played on thisspot, formerly—and always—a fountain of heatlessunilluminating red flame.Now there was a mound ofearth,fissuredhereandthere,and the fissures smolderedlikerubies.Bakvi saton thegrassand

looked at the mound. Whenhehadbeen there anhour, ablack worm poked its snoutout of the ground andBakvi

caughtholdofit.“Pause a moment, my

son,”saidBakvi.But the worm wriggled

unhappily. “Youarenot as Irecall,Daddy.”“Nevermind that. Do you

seethatheapthere?”“Mysightispoor.ButIdo

seeit.Itglows.”“Go fetch the rest of your

brothers.”The worm remonstrated.

Bakvi threatened. The wormcringed and went away andreturned shortlywith ninety-nineotherworms.InBakvi’sworm day he had taught hisfamilytorespecthim.“Sons,” said Bakvi, “you

see I am not as I was.” Thewormssaidthattheydid,andasked if they should mourn.“Onlygetunderthatmound,”saidBakvi,“andbringmeupagoodhugepieceof thered

glowingstuffwhichis in it.”The worms were unwilling.“It will not burn you,” saidBakvi.“Itmaydosomethingworse, but that is no longermy affair,” he added tohimself. “Have I not,” heinquired of the garden,“presented you with fivethousand gardeners? Ahundred of themwill not bemissed.”The obedient worms now

wriggled into themoundanddelved about. Shortly, fortheyhadbeenlessonedtobemost respectful in Bakvi’swormdays,theyallcameoutagain, lugging in their midstalargeincarnadineclod.“It seems to us,” said the

eldestoftheworms,“thatthefire in the dirt, thoughheatless andnonilluminative,hasproperties.”“You shall all be kings,”

said Bakvi. “Now, followme.”And so saying Bakvi

waddled away toward theregionof the lake,where theDrinmetalsmiths hammered.As they went the hundredworms, made drunken bycontactwiththefountainfire,begantosingunseemlysongs(taught thembyBakvi inhiswormdays).Now Bakvi, if any had

asked him, could not havesaid preciselywhy he did ashedid.Indeed,ashecametothelake,andalongtherockybanks where the forges rangand the fumes puffed, andscoresofDrinout-peeredandasked where he went andwhatmurkylanternthatwas,Bakvi invented stories, andlied,andstillhedidnotknowexactlywhattruthhehid.At length he located a

dingy little vacant cave, andhere he crawled in and theworms crawled after,chantingandhiccuping,withthe ball of light which gaveno light. One last nosyDrincried inafter them:“What isthatyouhave?”“Onlyadullcoal to ignite my brazier,”said Bakvi, again. “It is amagic I experiment with,combusting a pat ofcentipedeexcreta.”

Having got in the cave,Bakvi further instructed hissons, and sent them belchilyforth again. In a state ofeuphoria they coiled in alldirections, and entering theworkshopsofthoseDrinwhoslept or were absent,appropriatedimplements,andtookthemtotheirfather.Soon enough, even as

waking or home-wendedDrin might be heard

screaming “Thief!” andthrottling various neighbors,Bakvisetto,riggingabench,starting a brazier, calling upold spells, while the wormsons sat admiringly inebriateallabout.From time to time, fellow

Drinwould plod to the caveentry,insatiablycurious.“Whoisthere?”“ItisIkki.”“Ikki? It seemed to me I

knew your voice. Yet Ikkiwasnot thename that tallieswithit—”“I am Ikki, and my

mistress is a scorpionwhosesting discommodes for amortal year, particularly intheridingposition.”“Blessings on you, Ikki,

andfarewell.”And later yet, now and

then:“Isthatyou,Ikki?”“ItisI.”

“Howisyourmistress?”“Stingful.”“Good luck attend you,

Ikki,andagainfarewell.”Bakvi toiled. He made, as

theDrinwereaccustomed tomake, an artifact, and dulyglamoured it. It was astoppered vase of silver, inthe shape of a bird. NextBakvi took up the clod ofearth and fire, and thrust itdown into the bird’s neck,

andsointoitsbody,andthenbunged in thehead.Thenheturned a key of corundumandthebirdflewaroundandaround.“There, it is done,” said

Bakvi.Andsosaying,hefellover an enormous roll ofblackcarpet.This turnedoutto be the eldest of hiswormsons, grown (unnoticed, forthe Drin, when intent uponsmithing, seldom saw

anything else) to prodigiouslength and girth. As had alltheotherninety-ninethathadcarriedthefountainfire.“Do not be alarmed, little

Father,” said the eldestworm, a smooth dragon ofblazingeyes.“Wethankyoufor keeping your promise,and making us kings. Nowwe will take you on yourjourney.”“Wh—wh—what

journey?” inquired Bakvi,trying to fit himself into acrevice,unsuccessfully.“The supernatural dirt has

made us uncommonly wise.We know the way. Come,takethebirdofsilverandgetuponmyback.”“Um,” saidBakvi. “I have

apressingappointment.”Butin the end hewas loaded bythe other worms upon theeldestworm,whichsprawled

away over the rocks in suchspeedy liquid humpings,Bakvishriekedwithhorror.“Ah, there goes that Ikki,

calling and showing off tous,” said the Drin. “What isthat monster he rides? Andwhere is that scorpionmistressofhis?”“Behind you!” wailed

Bakvi, with parting malice,and the worm rippled himaway with it, he knew not

where.

But they came to a streamwhere opals swam and leaptlike salmon and above thestreamwasablackhill.“Now I know why I was

afraid,” said Bakvi. But hedidnot,truly.Thewormputhimoffwith

thebarestcourtesy.Theotherworms, which hadaccompaniedthem,layonthe

ground like some giant’ssilken ropes. But all theireyes gazed upon Bakvi, andall their eyes indicated hemustgoupthehill,withonlythe silver bird of fire to aidhim.“Now why,” said Bakvi,

“did the earth catch herbreath? And why could shenot have done so withoutsloughing me? Azhrarn’spunishment of me was no

trouble. But this I do notlike.”Therewas a pathworn up

from the stream to a cavemouth in the hill. The pathsoftlyshone.Bakvithumpingupit,theshinemuddiedover.Bakvi reached the

membrane of Time’sAbsence, and the scent of itmade him sneeze. It was anuncouth and noisy sneeze.The membrane, offended,

tore. Bakvi, knock-kneed,tooth-chattering, bird-clutchingBakvi,paddedin.He could see nothing, or

verylittle.Astatue,slimanddark, stood nearby, twoothers farther off, and on aslab of rock, a figure, brightas a fallen moon, blackerthanthebloodofnight,closeas a bone, distant as heaven,astranger,andfamiliar.Bakvi fell to his face and

gibbered, and the birdfluttered from his grasp andhedidnotseewhereitwent.Then a voice spoke to

Bakvi.Itwasgentle,andveryterrible.Yet, at the sound ofit, the demon ichor in hisveinscameallalive.“I gave you only severity.

Whydoyoudothisforme?”Then Bakvi said, “Pile

acrimony on me.What doesthatmatter?Loveislove.”

And Bakvi thought tohimself, I am possessed andspeaklikeafool.Buthesaidagain: “Love is love. Shecannotbeseenbecausesheiseverything.Wefighther.Weturnheraway.Butwecannomoredoitthanthrowoffourown life. In the end, lovealone remains. In the end,love will inherit the world.Butthatisnotyet.”“Notyet,forsure,”saidthe

voice,sowondrous,soawful,Bakvi nearly perished,immortal that he was. “Tellme the reward you wouldhave.”Then Bakvi twittered with

cravenness.“Letmebe aworm again.

Let me be a big worm, likemysons.Letmebe thekingof the worms of the demoncountry.”And thenhe jumpedup to

abscond—and what was he,Bakvi, but a hugenigrescentperfectworm.Andgoingoutanddownthehill,hecrossedthe stream like a river andslid upon his willful sons,anddwarfedthem.“Who am I?” said Bakvi,

theworm.“Our respected daddy,”

saidtheworms,respectfully.“Go beneath,” said Bakvi,

“andtellyourmother,andall

mywives,togrow.Andthen,tomakeready.”

Under windows of sultrysapphire, Hazrond paced toand fro. He had been outhunting, had Hazrond,chasing with his horses andhounds the strayed souls ofmadmen asleep. But therehad been somethingwantingin the sport. They had notscreamed enough, maybe,

those souls, or they hadscreamedwithlaughterinthenightmare’sjaws.The earth had caught her

breath, or the nature of lifehaddoneso.WithhisVazdruawareness,Hazrond knewofit, unknowingly.Knew,also,he had somehow missed it.Themoon had stumbled andthe stars exclaimed. Oneinstant. Then all wasrectified. Why should it

concern him? Was he notPrince Wickedness,mankind’stormentor?Hazrond seated himself,

anddrankfromacupofglassawinemoretransparent.Alamplighteditselfacross

thechamber,andwithadeepruby ray. Hazrond looked atthe lamp. Though alight, itgavenone.Hazrond pointed at the

lamp, which went out.

Looking down, he found aserpentathisfoot,withrubyeyes.Hazrondkickeditfromhim—itwasalreadygone.Then in the middle of the

air, a bird of silver circled.Hazrondtossedadaggeratitand all at once its head shotoff—it burst into fragments,and only a flame floweredthere,flickeringandtwisting,giving no heat, illuminatingnothing.

Hazrond reclined in hischair, and took another sipfrom his cup. He wasdifferent now. Softer, morevivid. “Oh, are you about?”hesaid.“Youhavesleptlate,wherever you have beensleeping. Have you come tooffer me your service? Ahandsome page to bring mesweetmeats, or a minstrel topipemetunes?Whichisittobe,Azhrarn?”

Then the flame stretchednear.Hazrondsatinhischairand finished his wine. Intothe empty goblet the flameran, and filled it. Hazrondthrew the cup away with anegligent gesture. The cupwhirled; the flame gushedfrom it, vanished. The cupsmashedagainstapillar,andthe voice of Azhrarn spokebehind Hazrond’s leftshoulder: “When the night

returns to the earth above, Ishall return to DruhimVanashta,mycity,whichyouborrowedwithoutmyleave.”“You will be welcome,”

said Hazrond, “if anyrememberyou.”But the demon city was

trembling aroundhim, like abride in joyandanxiety,andtheveryheartsofdemonkindmight be heard, starting likehares—for there was not a

brickora leaforan intellectthatdidnot insomehabitualform answer him. EvenHazrond leaned toward thevoice, his eyes half closing,though the rings cut into hishandswherehehadclenchedthem.“Iamlordherenow,”said

Hazrond.“As much as you ever

were,” said the voice ofAzhrarn out of the shadow.

“Whichwasnotmuch.”“Weshall see. I awaityou

withpleasure.”“Do so,” said Azhrarn.

“Your pleasure will be briefenoughwhenoncewemeet.”

The day dropped out of theworld. In the countryunderground, which knewneither day nor dark, nightnevertheless was alwaysrealized.Agreatstillnesswas

alreadythere,inthecity.Nota note of music, not amechanicalbird,notavoice.Yet in their porticos and ontheir towers, the Vazdrustood,andnearby theEshva,as if to wait on them. Eventhe Drin had sidled in andcrouchedbehind thewindowpanes, the walls of gardens,squinting through eyelets,unable to keep away, full ofmisgiving.Asnightlaydown

upon the earth above, onebell of bronze gave tonguethroughDruhimVanashta.They had betrayed him,

nearly everyoneofhis race.Either in jealous ragedeliberately, or byacquiescence. Not one hadresisted a new order or ausurper’srule.Theyhadsaid,He is dead to us. They hadresumed their artistic feastsand gamings, and when

Hazrond passed by them,theyadoredhim.Now,whiletheEshvashiveredandshookwith sensuous emotions, andthe Drin squintily hid, theVazdru waited, simply that,immobile as the reeds whenno wind blows. The palefaces,whiteastheflowersofnight, those benighted eyes,were profoundly composed.Though the city silentlydrummedwith the uproar of

everyheartthatwasinit.Then thebell rangoutone

moretime—andwasriveninbits. Not an ear that did notcatch the commotion. Theeyesofthedemonsturnedallinonedirection.He re-entered his city,

Azhrarn, without ceremonyor state. He came neithermountedonhorsebacknorina chariot; he was on foot.And there was no one with

him, courtier or guard. Andhe was clad in black, onlythat.Andashemovedthere,the very air unfurled like ablossoming rose, the verymosaics blushed, the pillarsquivered like the strings ofharps. He was the city, andthe city knew itself. Andevery one of those therein,theyknewitalso.But they were dignified,

theupperechelonsofdemon-

kind. They did not castthemselvesdownbeforehim,the Vazdru, and though theEshva hung in a frozenmeltingfaint,neitherdidtheyobeise themselves. (And theDrinstayedfromsight.)So he walked, in silence,

along the silent avenues,followed only by dark eyes,and came at length to theblack palace where, fornumberlessgenerationsofthe

earth and timeless momentsof the Underearth, he hadbeen a prince and a lord.When he was half a mileaway,thedoors,oftheirownvolition, opened wide. Youmight hear the houndseagerlypantinginthecourts,but nothing else. WhenAzhrarn reached the palaceand the opened doors,Hazrondwasinthedoorway.Now Hazrond was the

most handsome of theVazdru, and the mostspectacular. He had put onmail and jewels and veryflames indeed. But Azhrarnhad returned to DruhimVanashta clad only in black,and one saw that Hazrond,beside Azhrarn, was as thegreat sea is, to the endless,depthless,inimitablesky.“Well, you are here,” said

Hazrond.

“Iamhere,”saidAzhrarn.“Itrustyouarewell.”“Iamsick,andthedisease

mustbe tornout.Hazrond isthenameofit.”“Iwillcomedownintothe

street,” said Hazrond. “Doyouwishtobrawltherewithme?”“Come down,” said

Azhrarn,“andsee.”Hazrond came down, and

set his hand on Azhrarn’s

shoulder.“They will be envious of

us,” he murmured, “that wetouchoneanother.”“Oh, Hazrond,” said

Azhrarn, looking into hiseyes, “do you imagine so?”And in that gaze, Hazrondturned pale enough you sawthe skull beneath his skin.Then a force came fromAzhrarn,sparkling,andflungHazrond onto the marble

flagsbeforethepalace.He danced back again to

his feet, this Vazdru princewho had been Prince of theprinces, carelessly, as ifnothing had hurt him, itwashisjesttobeflungandtofall.As he rose, he drew hissword of blackest blueststeel, and springing forward,hethrustthebladetowardthebreastofAzhrarn.They were immortals.

What were swords to them,andstrokes thatmenused tobring death? Emblems,language.Oh surely he hadknown, Hazrond, in thesecondAzhrarnspoketohimbehind his chair, and maybeeveninthesecondhehimselfusurped that chair, that hewastobetheloser?Azhrarn stretched out his

hand,emptyofanything,andlet the point of the sword

impale his wrist. But it didnot, for the sword haddisintegrated,andwasgone.And thenHazrondbecame

sheerlight.Itwastheessenceofhim,thepuredynamicthatunderlay the beautiful maleshape in which a Vazdruprince was wont to adornhimself—sulfurously blue,the vitality of Hazrond, likemoonlightseenthroughfeverand indigo. And it dashed

itself against Azhrarn. Itembraced him, bore uponhim.WhereAzhrarnhadstooda

black fire blazed in its turn,and the fire beat and fanneditself, and heightened to adeepcoldred.TheenergyofAzhrarn, thepsychicessenceofhim,scarletasthefountainofthegarden—itovertopped,it wrapped the blue fire ofHazrond.Itstruggledwithit,

but then there came anotherchange.For the red fire scalded

colder, hotter, to anincandescence: white. Andthe white fire in its turnbegantothrobandtomakeacolor that was like asoundlessringing.And Druhim Vanashta,

watching, would haveaverted its eyes, would havecriedout.Forthecolorofthis

firewasgold. Itwasgoldasgold is, and golden things,and itwas like the sun.Yes,evenlikethesunoftheearth,that to demons was the onetrue death. Like the sun,Azhrarn seared there, hisvital energy, and it burnedout the essence of Hazrondthe way acid would eat apaper.Until only a thin dustsiftedanddrifted,andwasnomore. And Hazrond . . . no

morewasHazrond.Notanoise.Notacry.Not

oneeyeaverted.So they saw him come

back,Azhrarn,theirprince,aLord of Darkness, Night’sMaster. He was a manclothed in gold andmade ofgold, his flesh and hair, allgold, and his eyes weregolden suns. He stood thereupon the streets of Night’sown kingdom, and was day.

Then the golden scream ofhis glory transposed. It wasall blackness, all coolness.Notmorning,butevening.And without a glance,

without a phrase, Azhrarnwalked into his palace, andthe doors shut softly as twosleepingeyelids.Say now, city and people,

whoisyourprince,andwhatishe?

DEMONS did not die. Atleast, they did not remaindead.(Theywerelikemortalsin that.) And the Underearthcould countenance noabsolute ending. The LordUhlume had never enteredthere. And so, as Azhrarnmoved through his darkpalace like a darker thought,

refinding it, the ashes ofHazrond, borne by a suddenbreeze, made their exit fromthe city and blew away overthe landscape of theunderworld.Theywerenotevenashes,

these ashes, but a substancethinner than air—blasted sofine as to be invisible. Theywere, indeed, actually,nothing.Andthissettledinahollow place, in the black

grass, and as they or it laythere, three Vazdru princesrode by. These laughedtogether, and spoke proudlyand cruelly, as if they hadrecently woken fromrefreshing sleep. They werethe three who had stayedloyaltoAzhrarn,andguardedhim in the hill. They madenow toward the city,anticipating generouswelcome,rightly.

“But this,” said one ofthem,“letusberidofit.Forit is a memory of despair.”Andhethrewawaythesilvercupwhichtheyhaddippedinthe living stream, and withwhich they had attempted tomoisten the lipsof their lord—but which had failed torestorehim.The cup jumped over the

grasses and fell into thehollow where, for want of

much better words,Hazrond’sasheslay.There was a hint of water

still in the bowl of the cup,which spilled.More, the cupcame charged with Vazdrusorcery, that prayer withinthe hill, thatwill to revivify.Besides, it had touched themouth of Azhrarn, like alover.The clear unlit light of

Underearthlappedeverything

like a balm, and the dust ofHazrondwiththerest.Intheworldofmenabove,

perhapsafewdayscameandwent. Below, a few beats ofbells and hearts. The ashes,sprinkledwithdewsofwaterand prayer, wove togetherlikemoss,hardenedlikeclayin a potter’s oven. To die inUnderearth was a verydifferent matter to a deathabove.

Hazrond, handsome andsplendored, thoughpalenowas one dead, and weak nowasonenewlyborn,layonhisback with scarcely thestrength to take up and kissthe silver cup which hadcome to rest under his hand.Then, in awhile,he sat, andleaning one palm on thegroundfromstrengthlessness,he drew forth the silver pipelike a cat’s thighbone, and

sounded it. And presently ademon mare came gallopingthrough the grass. But whenHazrond had mounted her,and turned her head towardthe city, she too paled. Herblackness turned thecolorofashes,andshetrodslowly.Azhrarn was seated in a

hall, beneathwindows like alion’s blood. He had beenreadingfrombooksof ivory,but now he rested one hand

upon them, and the other onthe carved arm of his chair.He listened and heard,beyond the songs andsilencesofDruhimVanashta,beyond all the enchantingaudiblescurrentlyputforthtoplacate and enamor him, thesorry hoofbeats on the flags,and then the doors openingonebyone,andthefootsteps,symmetricallystumbling.Hazrond entered. Azhrarn

said nothing; Hazrond cameon. He crossed the wholelength of the hall, while thewindowslavedhiminadeadsunset, and reaching the feetofAzhrarn,Hazrondkneeledthere. But, with hisswimming, burning eyes, hestared into the eyes ofAzhrarn.“Ask me only this,” said

Hazrond. “Why I took thiscity from you in your

absence.”“Why,” said Azhrarn,

“should your answer interestme?”“Because you fought with

asky-being,andsomepowerof the sun is also yours atlast, Azhrarn, together withthe might which was yoursalways.Andwe—wearelessthangrass,Azhrarn, andyouare everything we may notbe. Even the greatest of us.

You have nothing to fear.Noteven fromHazrondwhoisatyourfeet.”“Who told you,” said

Azhrarn,“IfearedHazrondatanytime?”“Oh,” said Hazrond,

smiling, “will you not fearmealittle,whenIhavedonesomuch for you?For I keptyou in their memory,exhorting them, by everyword and glance ofmine, to

forgetfulnessofyou.”“Stand,”saidAzhrarn.“I cannot. Your strength

crushesme.”“Lie on your face then,”

said Azhrarn. “And tell mewhyyoutookthecity.”“Because I loved you

enough to hate you. I lovedyou enough, when youremoved yourself, to fill thegaping void the only way Imight—by myself becoming

Azhrarn. Or as much ofAzhrarn as any could. Andthere are not many, myprince,whowereevernearerthan I. And you do fearme,Lord of lords, because youseeinmeyourownself.Youare the black sun, and I amthedarkwhichwasbefore. Iam your childhood. Andsomelongnight,Ihavecometo believe, I shall be all ofyou again, and forever, as

forever may then bereckoned.”“Riddles,” said Azhrarn.

But he rested his chin uponhis hand and he gazed atHazrond, and it was evidentthat, though no other did ormight, Azhrarn hadunderstood each sentence; itwasnoriddleatalltohim.“What now, then?” said

Hazrond.Azhrarnstruckhim.

It was such a blow that itdashed Hazrond away, andstunned him. But when hehadrecoveredfromit,hewastoughenedandenergized,androse to his feet. “That is notmuch for punishment,” hesaid.“Your punishment I gave

you before,” said Azhrarn.“Thatwasmyforgiveness.”ThenHazrond laughedout

loud. Such a laugh it was—

musical, and like the cry ofsome rare animal of greatbeauty, that softly kills all itsees.Oh, itwas the laughofAzhrarn.Yes,itwashis.“Iamdonewithmankind,”

said Azhrarn to Hazrond.“There are other games, or Iwillinventthem.”“Let mankind go,” said

Hazrond. “Let it rot. Theylearn nothing. They worshipthe gods still, though the

world was scarred by whatthegodshavedonetoit.Andthat woman you gave swayover humanity, theyworshipher yet as a god, though sheis agodno longer, andevenher worship theymisremember, entreating herfor pity, and calling herloving names, praising herkindnessandcare for them.”And Hazrond, standing byAzhrarn, looked to see how

these words would bereceived,thisreminiscenceofthegirlAzhriaz,hischildbyahumanfemale.But Azhrarn said only:

“She is an immortal and shelives.IfIoweherthat,letherlivethen.”“And I?” said Hazrond,

leaningclose, thathismouthmight brush the hair ofAzhrarn. “May I live also?OrmustIdieagain?Onlytell

me.Iwilldoitgladly.Iwilldie for you, I will endureagonyforyou.Iamyourself,that part of youwhich lovesyou best. Only notice me.HereIwaitatyourside.”Azhrarn, putting out his

hand, drew Hazrond down,sohelayacrossthechair,andso that their bodies pressedoneagainsttheother.“Waitnomore.”Druhim Vanashta, that

moon-star of cities, filled byherenchanted lovewhispers,her placatory cajolements,Druhim Vanashta felt thatlovemaking, and was madeloveto,allthevastjewelboxof her, and every one of thedemons—they felt thecaresses of that love, thefierceness of it, and theconcourses moaned and thetowers stretched themselvesin ecstasy—for by that love

he returned himself to them.He noticed them. He wastheirs,onceagain,body,soul—whichinhimwereone.And for Hazrond, the

vessel into which this lightand darkness entered, thisnight sea, midnight sky,black wine, red fire, theintimation of sun and ofdeath, the sensations of itpassed through him and intothe stones of the city, and

into the flesh of those thatwere there, or perhaps evenhe could not have borne thepleasureofit.As chaos had touched all

things, so this piercingharmonic shot through andthrough the Underearth. Itwas an ultimate possession.Druhim Vanashta, borneupwardonawave,poised inthe liquid silver of threeseconds lasting longer than

all time, then released,flowing down, sinking, oneambientsigh.And when the sigh was

sighed out, a green butterflymight be seen, among thecedars of Azhrarn’s garden.Vasht, reborn by orgasmicpsychic quake out of thepavingwhereAzhrarn’sheelhadformerlycompressedher.Howfreshthewingsofthe

butterfly. Azhrarn had

renounced mankind. He wasthe beloved, as in the past.He was the Prince ofDemons,theirs.Noother’s.There will come an hour,

quitesoonassoonisthoughtof there, when Vasht alsowill be noticed. The greenwings,athisglance,willbearobe of silvered green uponthe pearl form of a Vazdruprincess. His touch, loosingthe clasps of the robe, will

turnitblackasnight—

BOOKTHREE:

ATMEH:TheSearchforLife

PARTONE:Lessons1

DOWN THE mountain roadwalked a man clothed in

black, and close behind himanotherman,more advancedin years and more inventivein dress, this being robes ofocher scarfed with rubric,tasseled with purple,bordered and trimmed anddimpled with gold. Gray-headed, this one, under aplumy diadem, lugging astaff, and with, beneath theother arm, a silken bundle,egg-shaped. . . . Perhaps a

quarterofamilebehindthesetwo, a thirdpersonmadehisway. He was hooded in ablond mantle, but the noonsun lit ceaselesslyuponhim,so he seemed to shine,brighter even than theplumedonewithallhisgold.“Now saywhat youwill,”

saidtherevivedsage-magetoDathanja, who had, for agreat while, said entirelynothing. “That night in the

first wretched flea-bittenvillage, I was aroused neardaybreak, aware of anenormous occurrence. Andresorting to sorcerousexercise, I divined a changehad come about.Yetwhat itwas the spell would notdivulge.Beingpracticed,asIam, in all sorts of occultmathematic, I madecalculations.Whichinformedmethatchaositselfhadbeen

breached, and, in securingitself, had violently brushedtheworldoforganizedmatter—an impact felt not only inthe narrow confine of theevent,butthroughout,andtoall four quarters. Such amarvel must haveconsequences.And how elseshould this cataclysm haveoccurred but through anaction of the entity weglimpsed, tearing eastward

under the sea?What was itspurpose? Is it destroyed?Meanwhile, that otherheavenly bore goes onfollowing us, day and night.Awholemonthithasdoggedus.Mywizardrousresearches—thoughnotyou—havetoldmewhat the creature is.Butit returns no word to myquestions or expostulations.It merely, unmannerly brutethatitis,shinesuponme.”

Dathanja hadpaused, as iftolisten.Theangel,aquarterof amile away, paused also.The mage-sage shook hismagician’sstaffat theangel,andpreparedtoharangueoneandall.Havinglefttheoceanbrink

above drowned Simmurad,they had gone southwestward. Or, Dathanja haddone so and the mage,attaching himself, had done

so too, while Ebriel, forunrevealed motives,followed. They kept to thecrags, though the roseateshadings of the sea-mouthedeastern reaches were soonbled out. More ordinary,these dry uplands, and hereandtherewereisolatehumanhabitations.Dathanjatookhisway among them quietly,asking nothing but oftengiven, nevertheless, food, or

what shelter there might be.They were innocent, thesewayside people, seemingyoungastheland,withlargeeyescloudlessas theeyesofloved children. They wouldbringDathanjawaterormilkin a stone jar or rough claydipper,sit towatchhim,andsometimes then usher up tohim their infants, andDathanjawouldputhishandson them a moment, as if to

bless.Inoneplace,therewasa baby with sore skin.Dathanja took it from itsmother, unasked, unasking,undenied.Hepattedthebabywith the fawn dust, all over,and then carried it to thestream and washed off thedustandthesoreskinwithit,and there the baby lay,gurgling and brand-new,quite cured. The mage tookhuge exception to this and

berated Dathanja—who,sincehenolongerrecognizedthenameofZhirek, the sagewouldcallbynonameatall.“You, look how you debasethe brotherhood ofmagicians. Could you not,you who have sunkSimmurad, have healed thebrat by the touch of onefinger—by a singleutterance?Why this quack’spreamble?” Dathanja said,

“A parable is sometimesnecessary.”“Errantrubbish!”warbled the sage-mage.“Why,” said Dathanja, “doyouputonclothingwhenthesun is so hot?” Missing thepoint willfully, the mage-sage lectured Dathanja forfivemiles—theyhadbynowleft thatparticularvillage farbehind—on the merits ofvoguish attire, especiallywhen it was created by

illusion, and so toned thesorcerousmuscles.And with no comment,

Ebriel paced slowly afterthem.In other villages, and at

occasional lonelyhuts,manysmall wonders wereperformed by Dathanja. Heproceededwith themodicumof show, yet generally bymeans of a symbol, as withthe baby. A woman who

wept because the well wasdrywastoldtoweepintothewell—andwaterfilledit,saltatfirst,thensweet.Amissingcopper pot was located byarranging the other copperimplements of the house bythe doorstep, and presently,out of some brambles, alongcamebowlingthepot to jointheir meeting. Everythingwasperformedwithcareandgentleness.Dathanjamadeno

exhibitions of passionatetenderness, and none ofaversion. If itpleasedhimtoheal the sick, if it broughthim joy to help his fellowmen,youcouldnothavesaid.Hedidthesethingsasamanmight sweep his yard, aneedful, simple incident,neitheronerousnorfabulous,important only in omission.(Everything the angelwatched also, from his

distance, stilly.) And theingenuous ones of themountain lands, theyreceived the benison fromDathanja as it was given,thanking him without theword,smiling,notshouting.Butthesage-mageshouted.

His exclamations rattledalong the goat paths and theroads made only by thetreading of feet. He hadestablishedforhimselfatitle,

compound of his formername and that of the seaprince he had been inTirzom. Tavrosharak, thatwas he. And he toted theheavyegghischicken-carpethad laid in witless fright,always grumbling at itsweight, but, “One does notleave such significantdeposits lying.No, no, somepriceless gadget will behatched, no doubt. For this

reason, too, I must keep itagainst my person everyhour, to warm it.” At night,amid the blank bare peaks,Tavrosharak fashioned a bedwith posts and canopy, andsleptwiththesilk-packedeggheldclose.Andnowandthenhe rolled on it in sleep andawakened unpeacefully.Sometimes Dathanja woulddepart during the night, andthe Malukhim, Ebriel,

apparently more intent uponDathanja than upon themage-sage,wouldalsogobylike a straight pale flame.Rousedbythis, themagicianwould aggravatedly trampafter, or, summoning upsome conveyance from thinair, whirl upon them out ofthe skies. For days at astretchTavrosharakrodeinachariot pulled by dragons,and bearing down on Ebriel

was always dissatisfied thatthe blond figure wouldneithergetoutofhiswaynorstayinit,beingsomehowonesecondbeforethechariotandthenbehind it,nota sublime(hidden)featherruffled.“Whatisitthatyouwant?”

demanded Tavrosharak,diving upon the angel timeand again. “Is it somemessage from the gods youmust deliver? It is too bad,”

added Tavrosharak, jouncingalong in his car besideDathanja,thedragonshissingandcavorting.“Whywillthethingnotspeaktome?”And,wishing to lecture Dathanja,and finding charioteeringincommodious for thepurpose,hewouldsloughthechariot.“Somuchbouncing,”he averred, “may curdle thisegg.”Thus they progressed.

Then came the noon theystepped onto a road whichmenhadmadenotwiththeirfeet, but with their hands.Walking along it,Tavrosharak complainedabout chaos and Ebriel, andDathanja paused, and Ebrielpaused,asiftolisten.Butitwasnottolisten.A mountain rose on the

near horizon, higher than itsbrothers. Azure it was, half

submerged in the sky, butnearthepinnacletherewasaglistening disturbance, andnowandthenashaftoflightstreamed from it, and toreacross heaven like a wide-shotstar.“As I have said,” declared

Tavrosharak, but at thisinstant, the glistening on themountaincaughtalsohiseye.“I am,” said Tavrosharak,

“bound to go near, and to

investigate. There may be amiracle or a treasure.” Hegazed at Dathanja. “Butyou,” said Tavrosharak,winningly, “bold sorcerer,fearless—astheearthknows,evenofLordWickednessandLordDeath....Shoulditnotbe you who will climb themountainfirst?”Dathanja spoke to

Tavrosharak. “I saw enoughof miracles and treasures

longpast.Youarestarvedofthem,perhaps.Themountaindoesnotitselflureme.”“Ah, now, excellent

Dathanja—” beganTavrosharak. Just then astunning light, like a secondsunrise, opened at theirbacks,ascended,fannedovertheir heads with a hurricanerush of wings. TheMalukhim, unmantled, aflying flambeau, spedup the

mountain.“He has followed us

becausewe led him to somespot he wished to come at,”said Tavrosharak, after aswift thaumaturgiccalculation. “This I perceiveclearly now. And therefore,aswehave ledhimhere,wealso have been led.Something has pulled ushither. Come, dear Zhirek—that is, dauntlessDathanja—

you, more than I, the sun-beast has trailed. You morethanI,therefore,weredrawnhere.Themiracle isyours toclaim. Dare you refuse it?You are amighty healer, allcompassion. Oh bestDathanja,goupthemountainand render aid or counsel. Ipromise I shall be close. Atyourshoulder.”Dathanja had not attended

toanyofthis,buttotheflight

oftheMalukhimhehad.Andnow he felt an inexplicablehand laid on his heart andmind, which hand, before,hadonlybeckoned.Dathanjahad been aware thatsomethingdrewhim.Hehadnot and did not resist. Onlytheweakneedfearandavoidtemptation. And possibly tothis man, now, there was aserene happiness in eachsurrender, since no longer

thereby could he losehimself.He murmured, a syllable

only.Andthenheliftedasifhe too were winged, andwentafter theangel, shadowbehindflame.The summit of the

mountainwasacone,beatento translucence by weatherand the sheer proximity toheaven. It refracted theafternoon,andabetted,likea

mirror, the otherconflagrationwhichwent onbeneath.Therewasanaturalterrace,tinedwiththincopsesof rock. In this unlikelycradle, buzzing and flashingwithstrangeemissions, layabattered shattered thing, partmelted silver on a hugecrushed cage of bronze andsteel, its sides stoven in, itsdesign unrecognizable. Yetall about the area, a mile or

more, lay shapes and shardsand chips and crystals offreakish formation, andwidespilled stains that tingledwitheccentriccolors,sheens,andodors.Overall throbbeda kind of effulgent pulse,whicheverysooftenerupted.Yet these antics, visible asthey had been fromthousandsoffeetbelow,werenevertheless growing morefeeblewitheveryminute.

The Malukhim Ebriel hadalighted eastward on one ofthe rocky tines, and withfolded wings and goldenmask of face, looked downon the monstrous wreck.Dathanja,inturn,stoodtothewest, under the cone, andtheresurveyedthescene.Tavrosharak, speeding up

the mountain now saddledathwart a quirky dragon,called instructively to them

both: “Behold, it is somemightymagiccraftwhichhasfoundered,maybefallenfromtheair.Bewareadetonation.”It was, of course, the

demon ship of Azhriaz theGoddess, not dropped fromairbutsomehowejectedfromocean, chaos-riddled, whollydefunct.Tavrosharak, sensitive to

his own advice, circled thepeak cautiously. Ebriel

maintainedthevantageofthetine. Dathanja, after aninterval,movedforward.In the shade of the ruined

hull,nottobeseenatonce,ifat all, one might (or not)visualize a series of curvesand angles, proportions,densities,thatcouldbelongtothe figure of a man. Andhaving discerned that much,that could belong also to thefiguresoftwoothers,neither

men.Under the frame, among

the scintillant debris, abeggarsatontheground.Hewas swagged solely in aragged orange cloth, and hisbrown shaven cranium wasbowed. Across from himthere crouched a snarlinglizard, large as a tiger andtintedlikeone.Thismountedguard, it would seem, uponthe man, and upon the girl

who lay between them, herhead resting upon theman’sknees,whilehesmoothedherforehead, and quietly tidiedthecoilingfloodofhernight-blackhair.Shebreathed, thegirl;you

might see it, if you leanedclose. This Dathanjapresentlydid.Thebeggardidnot try to prevent him, northe lizard. It only glaredoutward at the angel on the

rock, and lashed its tail atTavrosharak’s circlingdragon.But throughthelidsofher

eyes, the blue irises werescarcely burning. Her facewas far away as a note ofmusicsoundedfromthecoldshoresofthemoon.“Azhriaz,”saidthebeggar.

“Soveh, Sovaz.” But he gotno answer, and seemed toawait none. To Dathanja, in

thewayofaking,thebeggaradded,“Didshesummonyouthen? Somewhere withinherself she has rememberedyou. Or forgotten.Forgetfulnessmightsummon,too.”“I see now how beautiful

she is,” said Dathanja. “Canthat be because some of herbeautyhaslefther.”“Or some of his fear has

lefttheonewhosees.”

King Fate, Fortune’sMaster, raised his vibrantvoice and called to theMalukhim: “Ebriel, youwhite eagle, you also seewhat you require—that thereis no Goddess anymore. Isheavencontent?”OnhisrockEbriel shifted one wing,whitely,thatwasall.“ShallIinform you,” inquiredKheshmet, “of what becameofYabaelyourbrother,inthe

sea, when the tidal wave,vomited from chaos, struckhim?” Kheshmet laughed, aslow, red-golden noise.“Destiny overtops evenangels. For that one wasborne into chaos just as thesun,hismotherandfather,isborne each evening. Andchaos remade Yabael beforeexpelling him, despite thewillofthegodsuponhim.Hehas since come forth again,

intoadistantocean,andtherehe blazes and runs on in hispursuit, which lacks nowonly a quarry. He is a fierystreaming orb, chaos andmatter, sun and liquid, along-haired comet of theseas.Andhewillhauntthereawhile, coming and goingover the water-skies of thesea peoples. They will telltheir times and seasons byhim,asmenhavedonebythe

cometsofheaven.Thatisthefate of Yabael, the sun-vulture,theholyrunner.”Ebriel spread his wings.

Yellowhismane,likewheat;asphodel and cream andtopaz was he. And that, itwouldappear,wasallhewas.Kheshmet continued to

strokethemidnighthairfromthe girl’s brow under hisfingers.“Ah,child,”hesaid.“The wicked are eternally

children,” said Dathanjasoftly. And he stepped backagain,asiftogoaway.That crucial moment, the

invented dragon of the sage-mage launched itself againstFate’spet,thesnappinggiantchameleon under the wreck.It was with a squall and avast flapping that thedragoncame, Tavrosharak yetaffixedtoitsswoopingspine,while the lizard rose with

bladedclawstomeetthem.Supposing there was no

time or breath for a spell:“Help,mercifulgods!”yelledTavrosharak, who kept old-fashionedideas.But Kheshmet only said,

“Hush,” in a voice mild asthe rustle of a parchment.And the lizard shrank downanddownuntilitwasthesizeofanutshell, and thedragoncame undone and was no

more. With the result thatTavrosharak fell onto theterrace, nor elegantly. Andlying bruised beforeKheshmet, Tavrosharakbemoaned the injustice of aworld where beggars mightalsobechoosers,attainmagicknacks,andusethemontheirbetters. Meantime, the egghad slipped from themage’sgraspand its silkenwrapper,and spun on the terrace

madly. Cracks spread acrossitssurface.“It is hatching,

prematurely. Whatevermisshapen mistake will nowemerge, it is the faultof thisorange one. All my laborgone for nothing,” grousedTavrosharak.Thentheeggsplit.Thebits

of shell sprayed out fine asseafoam,andfromthecentera lotus flower, winged by

petals, flew in the air.Damson-colored the lotuswas, with veins of clearestgold. It fluttered to the girlwho lay on the rock, andsettling and rising andsettling, light as down, ittouchedherforehead,thelidsofhereyes,her lips,her twobreasts—and the heartbeneath,itmusthavetouchedthat too, for suddenly shesighed, her fringed lashes

stirredonhercheeks,andshewhispered to the lotus in alittle,littlevoice,“IfIwereachild,Iwouldweep.”Butthelotusdartedupand

smacked King Kheshmetsmartly on each ear. And asFate’s fingers reached for it,themagentaflowercrumbledinto a magenta flour, thatshowered over him andflossed his bright garment.Fate clicked his tongue, and

smiled, with half his mouthonly.Thegirlwhohadbeen the

Goddess Azhriaz openedwidehereyes.She looked at Kheshmet’s

half-smile, and smiledherself,sadlyandsilently.“There,” he said, “you

havewokenup.”“So I have,” she said.

These were the accents of ayoung woman, of a Vazdru,

yetitwasthetoneofachild,the very one he hadcompared her to—this wasnot Azhriaz the Goddess. ItwasnotSovaz, the sorceressmistress of the Prince ofDelusions.“Soveh,” said Kheshmet,

using the name of herbabyhood.“LittleFlame.”“Where is my mother?”

said the child-girl-woman,staring at him in abrupt

mistrust.Adarknesstookherface.“Oh,sheisdead.NowIremember.Icriedout toher,butshecouldnothear.Sheisbeyondtheworld.Shewouldhave come to me if shecould.”She lay under the torn

ribcage of the ship,physically flawless. But thewoundsofchaoswereonher,for all that. She had had,from the first, almost, the

body of a girl of seventeen,and she had lived in it fornearly half a century. Butnevertheless, she was nowwhat she had always beenand never been, a child ofsevenyears.And this child, brushing

aside the forest of her ownhair impatiently, said,“Where ismy father? Iwantmy father. He will care forme.” And then her eyes, the

blue of the soul of nightbehind the seal of day, hereyes—that had looked ontortureandmurderanddeathanddestruction—hereyes,solovely,soincongruouslypure—they came to Dathanja.Andthelaughterofachild’ssheergladnessdawnedonherwoman’s face. She sat upquickly, and got to her feet,and holding out her handstowardhim,sheranforward.

UntilDathanja turned to ice,turned to Zhirek in front ofher.Thathaltedher.“Why?”shesaid.“Why?”“Whatdoesshewantfrom

me?”Dathanjasaid.“You well know,” said

Fate,takingthelizardintohishand, like a coal to warmhim.“It isahumorouserror,such as the gosling maymake, waking up beside thecat, and thinking the cat its

damorsire.”“Tell her otherwise,” said

Dathanja, as he stood beforethat wondering child’sfrightenedgaze.Black-hairedDathanja, black of eye, cladinblack,andpale,handsome:ciphersofthedemoncountry.“You must do it,” said

Kheshmet. “She is a child.She thinks she is yourdaughter.She thinksyou areanother.”

“I am not Azhrarn,” saidDathanja toher,she thathadbeen Azhriaz, who had hadhersoldierscarryhimtoher,inacitylargeasacontinent,a pavilion where a third oftheearthhadseemed tobowdownathername.And she shook her head,

but once more stretched outherhandtohim.“She is a child,” said

Kheshmet, again. “She does

not take you for him,perhaps. It is not necessarilyassimpleasthat.Butforoneofthedemonrace,surelyshedoestakeyou,orforonelikeherself, half demon, halfhuman,animmortal.Andfortheinstigatorofherlife.”“She has hated him

always,”saidDathanja,“thatonewhofatheredher.”“Regard her,” said

Kheshmet. “There is the

hatred.Look.”She stood weeping, a

weeping child, crying to herfather very low, askingwhatshehaddone,whydidhenotloveher,whyhadheshutherfrom him, abandoned her,alone and lost in the bitterworld.And Dathanja, who had

comesofarinhisjourneyofSelf,wasrootedtothespot,astoneagain.

Then a wind blew coldacross the mountaintop, andfrom the clouds, a weepingrain came down. In the rain,the figments ofmen, angels,rocks, allegorical Lords ofDarkness, seemed dissolvedand swept away. There hadbeen a valley in deep rain, agray rain of the heart, too.Zhirek recollected, and withit, all thosewhohadwept intheir turn through him. And

Dathanja went to the smallgirl who kneeled on themountainintheweepingrainandwept,andhetookneeled,and takingher intohisarms,he comforted her. He knewnothing of her as a woman,but only as a child sevenyearsold,whoclung tohim,for it had taken her half acentury to find him, to beloved,andtolove.And as he comforted this

daughter never born to him,helearned,andhecomfortedhimself,heldinhisownarmswith her. The one he hadbeen.Theonehewas.

LIKE A SEED dropped inuntended soil, whereconceivably nothing wouldcome of it, so the change inthe world. Out of sight andoutofmind.Suns rose and set, cities

roseandwerecastdown.Themoonsailedtheetherandtheships ofmen the seas. Time

stalked over the world,shaking her hair, disturbingeverything. Seasons budded,bloomed, withered. Thecaravansofdaystirelesslysetout, and the caravans ofhumankind, the chariots, thewagons,andthewalkers.Allwith their cargoes ofmerchandise, and lives. Andnight, the black hyacinth,closed their eyes, or blackUhlume the Beautiful, he

closedthem.Apalmfulofyearspassed.

How many years fit in apalm?Inachild’spalm—saythen,three.What it is to be a child.

The astonishment of it. Allthings so curious. What isthat?What is that? Tellme.Teachme.Letmelearn.In the lands they went

through, sometimes she waspitied. So gorgeous she

stopped the heart, so lovelythebirdssangforher,andtheclouds uncurtained the skies—andshea fool, retarded tothe age of seven years, ormaybe nine years. A brightchild, it was true. But still achild. They compared her tolegendary Shezael, the half-souled, fair, oblique—unfinished. Though in theplaces where black haircarriedastigma,theylooked

uneasily upon both of them,the infant-woman, and theadult man, her guardian.Some heard her refer to himas her father, though helooked barely old enough tobe such, and besides plainlyhe was a priest of somewandering order, and shouldbechaste,orifeverunchastethen at least circumspect.There was too, in thecompany, a disgruntled

magician (an uncle,perhaps?). Few took to him,since he seemed alwaysirascible,andwasinthehabitof sorcerously venting onbystanders his innerdiscontents. Luckily thepriest, a healer ofextraordinary facility, andalso himself a sorcerer,would put right what thishastymageputwrong.Thenagain, there was another

often of the party. Crackedlikethegirlandtheolduncle,itwould seem, for hewouldwalk always considerableyards behind, as if he hadquarreled with them, andlater sit on some boulder,observing what the healerdid.Andwhenthehealerhadcompletedhistask,afterhimagainwent this other fellow,who,itmustbeadmitted,wasasfairasthegirl,thoughina

differentway,allgoldforhersnow and jet and sapphire.However, several got theimpression that he washumpbacked under hismantle. Oh, they were astrange crew, the four ofthem.Andoverandaroundthose

countriestheytooktheirway,engendering health andentertainment and—best ofeverything—gossip. Through

the kingdoms, and acrossearthscapes that were inthemselves rather novel andunvisited. Or which,possibly, had come to be sofrom that iota of chaoticchange each devotedlyforgot.Andeventually, theycame

intoa landwhere therewereslate-skinned elephants uponthe roads, and haughtycamelswithvermiliontassels

about theirheads.Aparchedwind blew, for it was theseason of crisp bronzywithering, but along thebronze-brown hills whitepalaces stared on theturquoise sky. The folk ofthis region had no unease atblack hair, for they werethemselves a black-hairedrace, and with a black thatwas almost blue. The light-skinned among them were

the color of ivory, and thedarkamongthemthecolorofcloves. The land was railedbymountains, and parted byamightyriver,whereplayedhippopotami like airbladders,andlotusesgrew.Now the sorcerer-priest

sometimes told stories to thecrowdswhichgatheredabouthim.Oneday as hedid this,thedaughterof theprinceofthat area happened to be

going by in her litter. Shewas dark as sandalwood andhaughty as any tasseledcamel, though she had acharming human face.Having heard a rumor ofthese itinerants, led by ahealer-teacher, she orderedher bearers to bring herwhereshecouldhearthetale.Whenthepriestconcluded,

the prince’s daughter calledto him loudly, “That is all

very well, but if you are asorcerer, you should alsoperformtricks.Doso.”The priest, turning his

blackeyesuponhers,replied,“All the earth is a magicthing. Only glance into thetree that shades us. See howthe wild figs have ripenedthere, and how the leavescover it. And once, this treewasonlyaseedhiddenintheuntended soil. Beside such

sorcery,madam,any trickofmine would be a frailmatter.”Thentheprince’sdaughter,

annoyed, stamped herbangled foot hard on theground. At once the earthunseamed itself andoutof itthere reared suddenlyamostterrifying snake. Red asdying fire it was, with thefangsofaleopard.Ittoweredupovertheprince’sdaughter,

even as the crowd jumpedaside shrieking, and openeditsjawstobiteoffherhead.The priest spoke to the

snakeinalanguageunknownin that country. But thesnake, which understoodmany tongues,most of themforked as its own, swungitself about and, seeing whoaddressed it, bowed itselfdownthreetimesover.“OMagus,”saidthesnake,

“I know you by your eldername. One of my kin youslew, long ago, under thewasteful waters men callOcean.”“I am contrite for that,”

saidthepriest.“I see that you are,” said

the giant snake. “But yourdebtistoyourownkind,andyou have slain, too, enoughofthem.MayInotdecapitatethis one uncivilmaidenwho

rudely stamped just nowupon the roof of mydwelling?”“Forbear,” said the

sorcerer-priest.“Becauseyoubidit,Imust

reluctantly obey,” said thesnake,andfrowningbetweenits cat’s eyes, it droppedstraightdownintothegroundlike a rope, and the earthsewedtightagain.Thenthecrowd,whichhad

hesitatedtorunaway,onceitfound the priest to be thesituation’s commander,vehemently acclaimed him.And the prince’s daughterthrewherselfathisankles.“I am dear to my father,”

saidshe,‘‘andhewillrewardyouforsavingmylife.”“I will take no reward,”

saidthepriest.“Winter is coming,” said

the prince’s daughter. “The

leaves will blacken and thefruit become husks. Wingeddustswillscour thehillsandvalleys, and frostswillgnawon them.Rainswill fall. Letmy father build for you, forhe will do so, a palace, andinstall there a hundredservants towait on you, andyours,” and here shegraciously indicated thecarpingolduncle,who—lostin a tome—had not troubled

even to get up, the mantledother up the slope, and theidiotgirl.Then the priest softly

laughed.His laughtersaid, ifanyhadbeenabletodecipherit, Such palaces and suchservice I have had as mightshame emperors, and couldhavethemagain.Here,wherethe wild fig tree grows, Imightcausetheverywindtobuildwith bricks and raise a

mansion to confound allothers.But if I do not do it,and yet still refuse you, it isfrom a stamping pride likeyourown.And so he said to the

princess, “Not a palace. Butsome more modest shelter Iwouldaccept.”Then he too looked down,

and saw the girl who was achild gazing at him intently.When the snake had come

from the earth, she hadstayed by him, and taken asharp flint in her grasp,perhaps to defend him.Nowshe let go the flint, and hetookherhand.Seeing this, the princess

asked if the woman wasreally a simpleton, as therumorhadit.“Notso.Shehasbecomea

child. She was an empressonce.”

“Fate is fate. Nothing issure,” prosaically appendedthe princess, as she tiptoedover the snake’s roof to herlitter.On the banks of the wideriver, then, where theshrinking autumn sun castbarsofamber, therecame tobeastonehouse.Thebrownshore ran into the brownwater, and the hippopotami

tooktheirmudbathsbeneaththe house wall. Roses grewthere,andvines,andnowandthen a long-legged cranewouldpassdaintilybetween,or there would fall a furrydewofbees.Every morning, shortly

aftersunrise,Dathanjawouldleavethehouseandgoupthebank to the spot whereanotherofthewildspreadingfruit trees gave shade. From

this vantage he might seesome miles along the river,and over the land on eitherside, away into the morninghaze fromwhich pierced thetiaras of the mountains,sparkling nowwith snow.Awhite city or two he mightalso discern on either hand,and the white town of theprincess’s father, and hispalaceofpaintedwindows.Sometimes a multitude

already waited for Dathanjaaboutthetree.Hewasfamed;menwouldmakeexpeditionsto reach him. All day long,throughthewheyofmorning,the cinnamon of afternoon,into the deep-dyed dusk thatquickly gave on night, hewould heal and he woulddebate,forsomecametohimfor a decision even inargument, or to have aprophecy explained which

hadfoxedthem.Andhesentnone from him at a loss, orempty. His patience wasboundless, and his strengthseemedlikewise.Frequently the girl he

called Soveh was with him,and in the early day shewould lean by his knee. Butshe disliked themidday sun,and to elude it even climbedthe tree and hid in thebranches. Persons healed

there,anddrunkwithwonderand relief,might come awayalso with a memory of awhite flower looking downthroughthedarkleaves,uponthetriumphofhope.At other times, she played

along the bank, or swam inthe river, for she hadforgotten how to walk onwater, and to swim was allthe instinct left her. Undertheriver,amongthestemsof

the lotuses, she met thehippos, graceful as swans inthatelement,whodidhernoharm, and occasionally lether ride—unseen by mortals—on their backs. Whendarknesscame,Sovehwouldmakegarlandsforherselfandfor Dathanja, all clung withfireflies, and so light himhomewardtothestonehouse.Inthoseweeks,thewatcher

of the blond mantle was

seldom come on. “He mustkeep to the house,” thepeople of the neighborhoodsaid,“Onlylethimcomeoutagain and show us hisunusual hair, which is thecolor of the summer grain.”But it began to be said thatone of the two sorcerers hadsummoned to their service ahuge golden bird, for suchhad been seen, flying overtheskyatdawn,orthreading

the swift sunset, and othersdeclaredithadmadeaperchforitselfatopahillacrosstheriver.For themagicianuncle,he

too kept from sight, thoughhis carping might be heardfrom the upper room of thehouse,asheporedthereoverhis weighty collection ofmagegoria. “Pray do us noharm,Uncle,”saidthecattle-herders, between amusement

and earnest, as they drovetheir charges by under thewindow.While the priest and the

childdiscoursedbelow,oratetheir simple meals, or weresilenttogether,theytoocouldmakeout—if theysodesired—thatmutteringintheupperroom.And itmightchanceawhirlwindwould be draggedin there by a spell, or someother undomestic item, and

thestonesofthehousewouldrattle, so at length Dathanjamustgooutandrepair them.(The child was not afraid.Theupheavalsinterestedher,and in return she sometimesthrew garlands, figs, ormangoes in at the upperwindow.)But the sage-mage

Tavrosharak, reborn out ofdrowned coral (twice), hepaidnoheed.Hewouldhave

nothing to do withhumankindanymore.Hehadtaken up residence in thehumble house because saidhouse had occurred, but theupper room was filled tocrowding with costlyfurniture—subtracted frompalaces by air-borne devils.Andamid itall,Tavrosharaklived, hemmed in byvaluables, and served eachdusk a fabulous repast

whippedfromundertheverylips of kings. And to hisunhuman minions neitherwould Tavrosharak speak,butsent themaboutbyothermeans.Hewouldgivewordsnowtonone,savetohisownreflection ina silveredglass,and to this he did talk, andconversed long with it. Butevenwith that he sometimesfell out, and then would notspeaktoitfordays.

Along the margin of theshore, the lotuses had turnedto twilight mauve and tomagenta. Elsewhere theyclosed their cowls likehermits; shriveled. The sunwaned and a bleak windbreathedupontheearth.Dathanja saw the color of

the lotuses below the house,andhowtheydidnotdie.ButSoveh the child, playingamong them and swimming

between their stems, onlytook them for another aspectof all life, which was aconstantnoveltytoher.Theydid not, therefore, cause herhurt or aggravation, as toSovazorAzhriaztheywouldhave done, beingrecollections of Chuz. Andshe had not questionedherself if, by the lotus thatbrokefromtheinsaneegg,hehad found some way, even

inadvertently, to bring herconsciousness out of thenothing where it hadwandered. Or if this act, aswith the coloration of theplants in the river, wererandom, or chosen, of onewhooncehadbeenherlover.Thewintercame,ridinghis

serechariot.He flungbeforehim the flowers and fruits,theleaves,thebirds,thenew-mowndays.

A dust wind blew. Theshutters of the stone housewerebolted fast, aswere theornate panes of all thepalaces.Likesticksofbrittlesugar, the reeds. Thehippopotami had made forthemselves long caves in themud, and slept there, orfloated in the river,somnolent, with their roundeyes fast locked as anyshutter or pane. And the

winter frogs, and the lizards,andthegrasshoppers,creptinby night to the shore of thefire. Sometimes the sick orweary, seeking Dathanja,were also let in to share thelowerroom.Theywentawaysinging, through wind andfrost,carelessnow.Itwas the endof the third

year.The child played by the

hearth, making paper

garlandsforallthefrogsandlizards there, and their littleeyeswerelikerowuponrowofbrightbeads.Dathanja satand looked at this, and putaside the precious book hehad been reading, which theprince’sdaughter,alongwithmuchelse,hadgivenhim.“Howoldareyou,Soveh?”

he asked the child in thewoman’sbody.“IamsevenorIamnineor

I am eleven years of age,”saidshe.“Foryoutoldme.”“Whathaveyoulearned?”“Only to be alive,” she

said, and she laughed, andhung a paper garland on thetoe of his shoe. (For theprincess,seeinghimbarefoot,had given him shoes, andsometimes Dathanja worethem.)Butthelizardforwhomthe

garland had been intended

came and pulled it off andgave it to Soveh again,stretchingoutitsneckforthetoken.Across the river, in the

west, a star rose, and later itflew over the roof. ButTavrosharak had squabbledwith his mirror again and itwasquietintheupperroom.It would seem Dathanja,

priest,healer,sorcererthathewas, must know some

witchcraft that could havecured Soveh of all herdelusions. Or maybe he hadattemptedit,buttheeffectofchaos proved obdurate. Or,hehadnotattemptedit.One by one, the creatures

at the hearth allowed her toadorn them, and remindedher when she omitted to doso. They knew, it appeared,she was not only a retardedgirl. And the hippopotami,

they knew. Why not, whenshe breathed water as sherodeuponthemunderit?And the lotuses had found

outorbeentold,bloomingonthrough the gales and thenightsofice.Andevensomeoftheservitorsthatthemage-sage called up, they hadguessed, and glared downthrough the floorboards ather, while they were beforehim.

And the angel also, thatknew,keepingitswatchuponthemall.

ONE DIM veiled morning,Soveh was under the housewall, playing agameofherswith small stones she hadcollected. It was a complexgame, involving rulers andruled, armies, citadels, andominiscient strokesof fate—those few who had chancedto ask her to explain her

childish hobby had beenmostly astonished, andsometimesdiscomposed.Assheplayedshesang, in

a voice so beautiful the veryair seemed hushed to listen.The sun,not long risen, sentits rays through the strippedtrees along the shore, andovertheriver,polishingas itwent the islands of four orfive floating hippos. Everynight the sun descended into

andsojournedamidchaos. Ittouched the child-woman,whohadalsoenteredtheUn-nessbeyondtheworld,withamusingfinger.Your grandmother, your

mother’s mother, said thesun,onceweddedmylight.Itisalreadyinyourbones,andyoursoulknowsit,mypowerand thepowersofchaosandnonmatter. There is no needtohide.

Soveh won a city with alegion of small brownpebbles. I am not ready tobelieveyou,yet,saidSoveh’savertedhead.Just then, Dathanja came

out of the house, and Sovehran up to him. “Here is theking of all the stones,” shesaid, and gave to him apebble of a strange andnatural stripe, opaque black,transparent blue, a beautiful

thing shehad saved forhim.Dathanjatookthepebble,andnext her beautiful facebetween his hands, and hekissed her quietly on theforehead. “What have Itaught you,Soveh?”he said.“About the seasons,” shesaid,“anddarkandday,andwhy trees grow, and wherethe sea is. And how to beloved.” Dathanja said, “Yes,thatistrue.Youhavelearned

that very well. But do youknow then what you havetaughtme?”Thechildlookedat him, and the womansmiled. Neither knew theother, but both were for amoment before him.Dathanja said, to both ofthem, “You have taught mehow to take. It was thehardest lesson, the longestmissed,andI learneditfromyouinthreeseconds.”

In the house Tavrosharakmightbeheard saying to thesilvered glass: “Do you notagree that it is impossible tolive in such squalor, or tobring the intellect to bearupondeedsofoccultscience,when there is this constantraucous hubbub under thewindow?”Then Dathanja laughed,

and the child, and theywalked together up the bank

toward the tree,where todayonly the slim gilt figure ofEbriel was waiting—who, attheir approach, opened hiswings and drifted like adaffodilhawkintothesky.“How golden he is,” said

Soveh.“Isheourenemy,orafriend?“I do not know,” said

Dathanja.“Nor,I think,doeshe,now.”“ThereisawhiteObehind

hishead. Is itacloud that isso round and burns socoldly?”Dathanja paused and

looked at the orb of light inthe sky, across which theMalukhimhadnowflown.Atlast Dathanja said, “That isthemoon,whichhasrisenbyday,andfollowsthesunoverthesky.”(Now,itissaidthatsucha

thing had never happened

before, that themoon of theflat earth dawned only afterthesunhadgonedown.Or,ifever it had happened, it hadbeen in the chaotic primitiveages, before reason orderedtheworld.)In another moment,

however, the white orbdisappeared inside a truecloud, and meanwhile somewagons and carts drawn bybullocksbegantocomealong

the river shore, filled bythose who sought Dathanja,and behind these, riders onblue elephants. The day’sworkhadbegun.But the daywas dark, and

most silent. So soundless itwasthatthespeechthehealerhadwithhispatients,andthedebates he had with thosewhowished tobe tutoredbyhim,seemedtheonlyattesttolife for miles. And then

again, from time to time,clear as a clarion, you couldhear Tavrosharak upbraidingasolitarycricketforthedinitmade in the vine under hiswindow.“Healer,” said one of the

debatersseatedonthegroundbefore Dathanja, “this is acurious day. How thick thepanesofit.”“The atmosphere,” said

another, “is charged as if

withlightning.Someeventisdue.Shouldwefear?Shouldwe entreat the gods forclemency?”“Why should you entreat

them?”saidDathanja.“Because perhaps our sins

havemadethemangry.”“Sin,”saidDathanja,“does

not anger the gods. It is wewhoangerourselvesbywhatwe do amiss. When you dowrong, ask forgiveness of

yourself,foritisyourselfyouhave harmed far worse thanany other man, and that inproportiontoyourcrime.”“Saythen,”saidoneofthe

debaters, “I kill my ownbrother. Surely that is aworse sin against him thanagainstmyself?”“Not in the least,” said

Dathanja. “For, though yoursin in wrenching from himhisselectedlifeisverygreat,

he will have another life.While you have sullied foryourself that life which isyourown,asifyouhadtakenupmudandslimeandrubbedthemintoyourgarments,andyoumustliveoninthatmuckuntil conclusion and rebirth.Nor will you be free of thestaineventhen, tillyouhavetoiled and striven to cleanseit.”“Ah, Master,” said the

man, “by these words weknow,aswehavebeenledtobelieve, that you arewithoutanysin.”“I am the most sinful

among you,” said Dathanja.“My soul is thick with thefilthoffoolishterribleevils.”Those who heard this

gaspedandprotested.Finallyone who had come ridingthereinsilkandvelvetonanelephant said to Dathanja,

“How then, priest, do youdare to invoke healing, or tooffer solutions to thoseeventswhichperturbus?”“He,” said Dathanja, “that

drinks from the poisonedwell and dies there, do theynot leave his skull on a postto warn other travelers fromthewater?Or,ifhesurvives,will henot know,best of allmen, which wells to avoid,and better than those who

havenevertastedthepoison,norswalloweditdown?”“Do you say then that all

men must first do evil thatthey may learn how to dogood?”“There is no ‘must,’”

answered Dathanja. “I sayonly that, inmost cases, thisishowitwillfallout.Andaswith individual men andwomen, so with mankinditself. Until at last the cruel

and selfish stages of infancyand adolescence are finishedwith, and the peoples of theworld—which may not thenbe any world we shouldrecognize, for the date is faroff—these peoples shall be,all of them, grown to adultestate, in heart, spirit, andmind. In which time, whichshalldoubtlessbetime’send,there will be no villainydone, no ambition vaunted,

no struggling one withanother. Nor will it growfrominnocenceorignorance,that era of compassion andmildness, but from anenduring knowledge gainedby example and experience.And then, in that ultimatetime, before the last of thesuns sets and the last of thestars goes out, and theendless adventure ofexistence removes itself to

someotherfinercourse,thenthe gentle, the good, and theknowing, they and theyalone, those that we shallcome to be, shall inherit theearth, before the earth is nomore.”A profound quiet now lay

upon the slope above theriver, under the tree. It hadkept its leaves, the wild fig,thoughtheywerewornthin.“Yet,”saidtheriderofthe

elephant, “you,a sinner,youhave said, say all this too,and are weightless as thoseleaves over our heads. Howcan you walk upright, howcan you speak so blithely, ifyourdeedsareasyousay?”“Once,” said Dathanja,

“there was a merchant, whoowed money to many othermerchants in the town. Hekept mighty ledgers, andpored over them day and

night.So intentwasheuponhow much he owed, and socarefully did he groan overthe accounts, that his tradewas ruined. He was near tobecoming not only a debtor,but an impoverished debtor.Therecameone tohimthen,and said to him, ‘Throwawayyourbooks,andgooutinto the town and earn yourgold,foryouaretalentedandwill soon be rich again.’

‘But,’ said the merchant,‘how am I to remember towhom I owe these debts,unless I keep note of them?’‘Do only this,’ said hisadviser, kindly. ‘If you seeanythatlack,orifanyapplyto you for funds, where youhave it, give it them. In thatway those in need you willsustain, and those you oweyou cannot help but repay.’And so themerchant burned

the ledgers and forgot them,butgoingoutheearnedmuchgold,madehimselfthedebtorof everyman, and did greatservice for all. And lightlydidhewalk,thatman,havingsosimplifiedhislife.”“But for sure,” cried the

elephant’svelvetrider,“thereare some bad men abroad,andtodogoodturnstothemwouldbeidiocy.”“Yet,” said Dathanja, “if

youwouldpunishthem,thenyou must keep note of theirnamesandcarrythelonglistwithyou,alwaystakingitoutand consulting it, whereveryougo.”“ButifIdokindnessestoa

wickedman, hewillmake afoolofme.Hewillgrindmelike grain between themillstones.”“Does he,” said Dathanja,

“makemoreofafoolofyou

bysupposingyouafoolthanyou make of yourself bywasting your time and effortin the constant striving toreturn ill for ill? A hungryman who finds a fruit treemay eat someof the fruit. Itis perhaps sour, or perhapsdeliciously sweet. Eitherway, the matter is soondiscovered and themanmaygo on with his journey.Conversely, he may halt

under the tree for an hourwith his stomach crying tohimforfood,decidingifitisworthbitingatthefruit,sinceit may not be to his liking.Each has his own life, andcame to this place to live it.The easier his dealings withother men, the more time isleft for his own pursuits.Now suppose,” said thepriest, “you sat here by thewater, where you had come

to think or dream, orcontemplate the world, or tosleep. And a man came toyou and struck you in theface.Whatthen?”“Why, I would jump up

and clap him back, twice ashardashehadstruckatme.”“And thereupon he would

strike you most hardly yet,and you would strike himmorehardly,andsoon,untilonehadmaimedorkilledthe

other. And say you are thevictorandheliesprone,thenyou must fly justice or therevengeofhisfamily.Oryoumust gain a way torecompense them. And allthis while you have beenfighting, planning, or flying,you have spent your energythatyouhadmeanttouseonyour own account. Now,when theman struck you, ifyou had only said to him,

‘Strike me again for goodmeasure, I have no quarrelwithyou,’ perhaps hewouldhave struck you, or perhapsnot,buttheaffairwouldhavebeen finished with, and youat liberty to go on as youwished.”“Master, I see it is a

parable, but nevertheless,some men, being allowed tostrike another unchecked,willmake a habit of striking

there. Is that not also aninterruption?”“Life is a series of blows,

in any case,” said the priest,“birth and death being thegreatestofthese,butbetweenthem, many of lesser sort.Andisitpossibletoreturnormend every smack of fateand life? Sit down beneaththestorm,forifyoushoutatit,itwillnothearyou.”“Now by the gods,” said

thevelvetrider,“tellmehowtogetwisdom.”“Leave your mansion and

your wealth. Wander theworld. Accept only what isgiven, but where you areable,giveawayagainallyouhave.”The rider’s face fell to his

silkenboots.“MustIdothis?Isthereno

othermethod?”“Therearemany.Theywill

takeyou longer. It ishard torunwhenyourfeetaretiedtoapalacegate;itishardtoseethroughwindows of emeraldand silver. You putdifficultiesinyourpath.Thatisall.”Andthentheskyturnedthe

colorofthewornfigleaves,asmoky shadow-shade, andthe men who had soughtDathanja, one and all,exclaimed in fear. Even the

bullocks lowed and snorted,and the elephants squealed.Afterwhich,thesilencecameagain, three times moreleadenthanbefore.The elephant’s rider drew

from his belt a pale emeraldset in silver, and gazingthrough it at the sky, heannounced: “The face of thesunhas turnedblack, thoughallaboutitstreamshisbrighthair.”

It was the first eclipse ofthe flat earth, or the firsteclipse of the sun by themoon which had been seensince theagesofchaos. (Forchaoshadbeenbrushed,andbrushed in turn the world,andchangedit.Thingswouldnever be quite as they hadbeen.Naturetookstrides,sheraced.)“It is the rage of heaven,”

quavered certain of the sick

who had been healed, andnow felt guilty for beingcomfortable after years ofanguish.“It is this priest’s abstruse

teaching, which has upsetthose gods who control thesky’sdisks.Inamomenttheymay throw stars at him. Letusrunaway!”But others plucked at

Dathanja’s sleeve, where hesat serenely, and the child-

girl leaned on him withoutany sign of alarm. Dathanjasaid, “The moon has comebetweenusand thesun. Inaminute or so the moon willtake her way onward, andthisphenomenonwillcease.”The child looked into his

facewithherblue,blueeyes.“Tella story tous,” said shesoftly,“whythemoonshouldapproachthesun.”Dathanja motioned all the

nervous and frightened onestositdownagain.Hespokeaphrase that brought a vastcalmupon them, there in thedarknesswith thehairof thesun streaming from a blackhole in the sky. Even thebeastslaydown,andeventheriversmootheditself.

4TheStoryoftheSunandtheMoon

LONG, LONG ago, andlongeragothanthat......theSunhadagardenin

the east. But he had hadwords with the Moon, andwould not let her into thegarden. There came a duskwhen she could bear hercuriositynomore.TheMoon

summoned one of the wide-winged moths that fly bynight. “Go you into thegarden,”shesaid,“andseeofwhatsortitis.Returnandtellme.”So the night-flying moth

flew down the miles ofheaven and over the back ofthe earth, into the east.Presently he came to a highwall, higher than the sky itseemed. Upward again he

flew,butthewallappearedtomeet and become one withthe darkness. Around andaround he flew, but thewallwas a vast circle, withoutbeginningorend.At last themoth grewweary and fell tothe ground under the wall.Here he found a tiny eyelet.Folding close his wings, hecreptthroughthislittlespace,andemergedintothegarden.How beautiful it was. The

lawns were many-tiered andwith the nap of velvet, andmorevelvetyeventhanthesewere the rock shelves andsteps over which rivuletstrickled. It was the Sun’sgarden,andsoevenbynight,the rock was warm, and theair of the gardenwaswarm,and scented with a hundredfragrances. The shrubs grewtall as trees. The trees werelike mighty spires, and the

perfume of their wood andtheir moisture nearlydrowned the moth, so hemust rest on an amber stonewhich glowed. Everywhereabout such stones layscattered,andeachglowed.ItwastheSun’sgarden,andallbright and fulvous thingswere there. The trees werecrowded by golden fruitwhich shone like lamps;fireflies played above the

pools, where creatures withorange pelts and fiery eyesstole down to drink. A fishleapt:Itwasatopaz.Eventually thenightbegan

to fade. The mothremembered who had senthim on her errand. Hereturnedtothewall,andaftermuchsearching,hefoundtheeyeletandmadehiswayout.TheMoonstoodlowinthe

western sky, with her pale

hair around her, looking forhim. “Well,” she said, “youwere gone a whole night. Isthegardenfair?”The moth told her that it

was. He described themanner of it, the plants andfruits, the lights andfragrances, and the animalswhichinhabitedit.TheMoonwasenvious.“I

wish I might see this also,”shesaid.

TheMoonsat inher twilightpavilion under the westernhorizon, thinking about howshemighttricktheSun.Their quarrel was many

thousandsofyearsold.Theyhad forgotten what they hadquarreled over, but neitherwouldunbendtotheother.Atlengthshemadeaplan.

“I shall not traverse the skytonight,butleavetheearthin

darkness.WrappedinablackmantleIwillgointotheeast.The moth found a way intothe garden, and so will I. Isthe Moon less wise than amoth?”WhentheSunrodewestin

hisblazeofglory, theMoonhadmoved her pavilion intothe east. When the finaltorches of the Sun’sprocessionvanished,thestarscame out with mirrors and

bells. They called to theMoon to join them, but theMoon had other business.She wrapped herself in herblack mantle and steppeddown the night until shecame against a vastencircling wall. Higher thanheaven it seemed, withoutbeginningorend.The Moon searched

awhile, and then she stoodawhileinthought.“Perhapsit

is not so after all,” said theMoon. “I am no wiser thanthe moth. Indeed, I am lesswise.”Afteratime,sheheardthe

soundofwater.Turningfromthe great wall she found arange of hills, and there acave. She passed into thecave and in it was a streambed and a stream flowingawayundertheground.The Moon spoke to the

streaminitsownlanguage.“Where are you going?”

askedtheMoon.“Into the Sun’s garden,

whereallisgoldandglad.”“MayIgowithyou?”“It is forbidden,” said the

stream.“Why?”“You are the Moon, with

whomhehashadwords.”“No,”saidtheMoon,“you

are mistaken. I am only the

light of seven silver citiesquenched by a cloud faraway.” When she deniedherself,theMoonfeltapang,butshewasresolute.Thestreambelievedher.It

permitted her to lie downupon it and bore her with itunder the ground, and undera mighty wall, into thegarden.Here the stream bed was

laidwith shining jacinth and

jasper. The Moon rose fromthewater, and looked about.So she walked through thegarden,itshighplacesanditshollows. She touched thegolden fruit on the trees anditranglikegongs,shebeheldthe fiery beasts playing onthe lawns. She was filledwithjealousyandadmiration.Asshewalked,theflowersinthe grass turned silver. Shewas reflected in three pools,

to theeast, thewest, and thesouthofthegarden.Eventually thenightbegan

to fade. The Moon went tothe stream which constantlyenteredthegarden.“No,” said the stream. “I

brought you but I will notreturnyouhence.”“Alas,”saidtheMoon.She hurried to the wall,

seekingawayoutasshehadsought a way in. She grew

anxious, for the first torcheswerealightintheeasternsky.Finally she perceived thelittle eyelet by which themothhadescapedthegarden.The Moon waned, makingherselfslenderasanawl.Butwhen she lay down to passthrough the eyelet, shediscovered the web of aspider had been spun there,all golden with the Sun-strength of the garden—and

theMooncouldnotbreakit.The Moon was angry and

afraid.Intheeastshesawtheburning incenses andfirecrackers of the Sun’sprocession. Resuming herusual form and size, theMoonrantoavasttreehungwith foliage. Into this sheclimbed, and hid herselfundertheleaves.Then the Sun came over

the horizon. He rode a tiger

of cinnabar. Scarves ofyellow and rose unfoldedfrom the beams that dancedinhis following; thebannerswere loud as the noise oftrumpets.As he passed, he looked

down into his garden. Hislight was so colossal itblindedevenhim.Hedidnotsee thedrifts of silver in thegrass, or the palenesssmoldering there under the

boughs of a tall tree. Hereflected his glory into thethree pools where theMoonhad been reflected, and rodeon,wellpleased.

When theSunwasgone, theMoon tried many things toget out of the garden. Shecalled her half brothers, thelunar winds, but they wouldonly shake the trees, andwhen the golden fruit fell,

they sported with it—theywere very young. And shecalled the nightbirds thatworshiped her as a goddess,thenightingalewhohasbellsin her throat, and the owlwith his glimmering templewindows for eyes. But thebirds, though they hadsomehow got through thewall, were half asleep andcould findno egress suitablefor the Moon, and they

chirruped and whirred andmourned and yawned, andstared, and were sent awayabashed. It was now almostnight again, and the skymoonless.Someupstart star, thought

the Moon, will take myhonors. She will strainherself to shine morebrightly, and say she is theMoon, and the earth willforget me. Then the Moon

wept, and her tears madepearls about the trees,whichslowlyturnedtorubiesinthesunset.Presently there came a

soundthatcausedtheMoon’stears to dry in horror. Itwasthe note of a great keyturning in a large locksomewhereinthewall.Thena solar wind rushed throughthe garden, twanging theblades of the grass and

ruffling the fur of the fiercebeaststhere.ItwastheSun’smessenger, and the Sunhimself came close behind,blazing in a mantle of darkred.“Ah, how beautiful my

garden is,” declared the Sunpossessively,“morebeautifulthaneverbefore.Butwhatisthis?” he added, as his ownradiance lit the ruby-pearlsuponthegrass.“Comenow,”

said the Sun, parting thebranchesof the tree,“who ishidingthere?”“It is I,” whispered the

Moon.“Isityou?Whoareyou?”TheMoonstarted.Hedoes

not remember me, shethought.Well, ithasbeenaneonortwosincewemet.Andhe has always dazzledhimself. And wrapping herown mantle closely about

her,shedescendedandstoodbeforetheSun,verytimidly.“Iam,”saidtheMoon,“an

especially brilliant star. Sobrilliant the Moon wasenvious, and she sent mefrom her court. I came herebymischance, and couldnotfind a way out again. Willyou let me from yourgarden?”“Stay,”saidtheSun.“You

are very fair. I can see quite

easily how the Moon, thatpallidhag,wouldbejealous.”“Canyouindeed?”saidthe

Moon,andsheseethedinhermantle. “Nevertheless I haveduties to perform in thenocturnalsky.”“Stay with me only this

one night,” said the Sun,winningly. “Then, when Imyselfmustleavetolightthesky,youmaygobeforeme.Ihave long had a scheme to

chooseofall thestarsoneoftheloveliest,whoshouldthenbe my herald in the east.PerhapsIshallchooseyou.”“How generous you are,

howyouflatterme,”saidtheMoon.Andshehidherlooks,which might have splinteredglass,inhermantle.But the Sun vowed he

would not let her go untilmorning,sotheMoonstayedwith him, perforce, and

pretended to be dazzled byhim also, and it came to bethat she was. For as theystrolled through themarvelousgarden,heshowedher the most fragrant of itsflowers, and the best of itsfruitshepluckedforher.Andhis hands,whichguidedher,werewarm.When theywereweary,theyreclinedupontheblissful turf, and the Sundallied with the Moon, and

the Moon said to herself,SinceImakeoutIamamerestar, Imust permit this.AndtheSuncharmedher,despitethe old resentments. Shesoftened tohim.Somuchsoindeed,thatwhenthetorchesand trumpets of his eagerretinuedrewneartocallhimforthtodawn,theMoonwasrather regretful. Yet, as hewas departing, she waxedvexedagain.Soshesnatched

surreptitiously a throbbingstone from awaterfall and aburning flower from thegrass.AndatthelastshecutoffbystealthalockfromtheSun’s flaming mane, with alittle silver knife, as heembracedherinfarewell.ThentheSunletheroutof

his garden, and away theMoon fled up the sky, all indisarray, her mantle slippingfromherwhiteshouldersand

her hair fluttering about her.She ran across heaven anddidnotstopuntilshereachedherpavilion,andhereshefelldowninafaintofgrievance,pleasure,andshame.

The Moon brooded. Shebecame thin, less luminous,morepale.Shethought,Iwillpay him out, for his finegarden, for my humiliation.That he thought me a star

only, and dallied with me.But most of all because Ipermittedit.Then the Moon took the

flowerandthestonefromtheSun’sgarden,andthelockofhair from the Sun’s ownmane, and she made magic.When she was done, shewove a robe for herself, andthis robe shone sowonderfully, the stars whohad come to her pavilion to

visit her shrank back insurprise.Now let him think me a

star, thought the Moon, andshe rose up the skyblindingly.Sofairandsogloriousshe

shone that night that in thelands ofmen, the poetswhohad written harsh bitterMoon crossed out the lineandwrote instead0Moonofman’s delight! And those

who wrote old cold silverwitch changed it to warmgoldengirl.Truly,warmandbrightasgold,theverysunofnight, she was. Only thesecretloversdidnotblessherthatevening,or thieves,whoformerly had made herofferings.ButtheSunsawtoo,where

he had his own red pavilionin the west. And mountingthe black tiger he used for

night-time excursions, herode furiously westward tofollow her progress, and allthewayheheardherpraises.Itwassheallthiswhileinmygarden,hethought, inanger.She I plucked fruit for, andpretendedtothinkpretty.Andshe has stolen from meessentials of my light, andboasts tomen and gods thatit is only her own glaze thatadornsher.Well,letherrule

the sky, then. Till I havejustice, they may manage astheycanwithoutme.And going back into his

garden,theSunslammedthegate.When the procession of

morningcalleduponhim,theSun sent them away alone,and it was a vague drearydawnthatday,andformanydaysafter.ButtheSun,inhisgarden, learnedsomething to

hisadvantage.

Now in those far-off times,the gods were young. Theytookan interest inall things.Andwhenmankindbegantocomplain at their altars thatthe Sun no longer smiled onthe earth, and that thereforeeverlasting winter andbarrenness overtook them,thegodsheeded.They sent to the Sun and

askedhimwhathemeantbyhisabsence.TheSun repliedthathehadfallensick,lettheMoonoverseethedayaswellas the night, for she burnedso magnificently, surely itwould be no bother to her.(TheMoon, when she heardthis, blanched, and even herfinery could not disguise it.)The gods sent again to theSun,andsummonedhimintothe upper tiers of the sky,

where they looked down onhim:Hehadcomemuffledinastormcloud.“It is this way,” said the

Sun. “Someone entered mygarden and stole from me apart ofmy essence, the soulof my light. I am weakenedand dismayed. Correct thematter,andIwillresumemyoffice.”“Who stole from you?”

inquired the gods. (Even

then, they would tend tospeakinconcert.)“I do not know,” said the

Sun, “but I guess.” And hetoldhowhehadfoundoneinthe garden who assured himshe was a star, and he hadbeenattentivetoher,butnextthe Moon had appeared inglory,whilehesickened.Then thegods sent for the

Moon. She came, veiled inmist,andtremblingmuch.

“Did you enter the Sun’sgarden?”“I?” said the Moon,

astoundedtobeasked.“Did you steal from the

Sun?”“I?”saidtheMoon.“What proof,” said the

gods to the Sun, “do youhavethateversheenteredthegarden? For if she deniesboth things and is foundguiltyofone, thenguiltyshe

mustbeoftheotheralso.”Then the Sun grinned and

theMoonshuddered.“Only come with me

there,”saidtheSun,“andyouwillsee.”Sothegodsdescendedinto

the garden of the Sun, andwalked about there, and theearth echoed at each footfallof theirs among the great-leaved trees and by thegleamingwaters.

Night entered presently,and in the dark all glowedmost entertainingly, and tothe water’s edges came theorangebeasts todrink,whilethe topaz fishes leapt. Thenthrough the glades by thewaters rang female voices,and next there advanceddancinglythreelovelyyoungfeminine forms. They werewhite as the ashes of lilies,andtheirlongpalehairhung

around them; they woregarlands of yellow flowers,and amber necklaces andanklets, and these were alltheirclothing.“As I lay here in my

illness,”saidtheSun,“Isawthese three rise up from thepools of my garden and runabouthere,andwhenIspoketo them they came to melovingly and respectfully,showing no fear, and calling

metheirfather.““Who then is their

mother?”askedthegods.“Youmustaskthem,”said

theSunvirtuously.The gods did so. And

runninghappilytotheMoon,thethreecalledher“Mother”atonce.AndtheMoonblushedred

asasunrise.For it had been this way.

Shehadreflectedinthethree

pools of the garden, east,west, south, and the powersof the garden, which couldimbue even a spider’s web,had retained that reflection,and imbued it, and later theSun reflected there too. . . .Andlaterstilltherehadbeensome dalliance, which hadbrought all symbolicallytogether.“They are daughters to be

proudof,”saidtheSun.“One

shall light my way in themorning; she shall be theMorning Star. And another,who is a little darker, sheshall walk behind me atsunset to close the doors ofthe west—and she shall bethe Evening Star. But thefairestofthemIwillkeepbyme at all times, for there isnot yet any situation vacantthat is good enough for her,though there may come an

agewhenthatmayhappen.”But theMoon covered her

faceandsaid,“All isprovedagainstme.Iwaspeevishanddishonest and have donewrong. For hewould not letmeinthegarden,andhedidnot even, finding me there,remember who I was. And,worst of all, I loved himagain, as once long ago, andcould not remember ourquarrel.”

ThentheSun,hearingthat,wenttotheMoonandkissedher.“Ihadnorighttoshutyou

out.Youaremybeloved,andonly the distance that isalways between us made usenemies.”However, the gods

pronounced judgment for allthat,fortheywerenotinvitedlightlyintoanyaffair.TheMoon theyallowed to

keep her gorgeous robe, andeventowearit,butnotoften.And they decreed that shemusthereafterendlesslyalterher shape in the heavens,shrinking and enlarging andshrinking, as she had donewhen she tried to get out ofthegardenbystealth,inorderthat men recollect she wasinconstant, the ladyof secretlust, and thieves. But thisthey added, that since the

Moon and Sun werereconciled with each other,and only distance had madethem enemies, at particulartimes theymightmeet, thereinthesky,beforethegazeofmankind and all the world,and that at these infrequentmeetings the Moon shouldstand before the Sun as hekissed her (whichundoubtedlyhewoulddo),sothat his beauteous and great

lightwouldbedulled.AndsotheyreprimandedtheMoon’ssulky deception and theSun’svaingloriouspride.As for the two chosen

daughters, they came to bethe Morning and EveningStars, and they greet theirmother joyfully when theysee her in heaven. But thethirddaughter isstillwaitingfor her appointment. For thegarden, itpassedfromBeing

as such wonders did in thematuringoftheworld.But theSunand theMoon

havestayedclosefriends,andsowehave seen them tobe.For it was the privilege ofmen,bythismiddayshadow,to know that the lovers hadembraced each other overmen’s heads. That darknesswasonlytheirkiss.Nowwhocouldbechurlish

enoughtobeafraidofthat?

And even as Dathanjaclosed the story, the moonswam from the sun, and thelightofdayshoneoutagain,and the birds sang, and thehippopotami frisked in theriver.

THE SUN, having displayedhis kingly face again, rodewestwardandvanished.The crowd upon the river

bank arose and also wentaway,pointing,withintimateirony, to the evening star, asshewalkedsedatelyafterherfather, to shut thedoorsof ayellowsunset.

The priest and the childturned toward their house.Thechild,whohadbeenverysilentsincethepassingoftheshadow, said to him at last,“Ifthesuncanbeadarkness,cannotdarknessbeasun?”Dathanja said, “It would

dependupon the formof thedarkness.Itwoulddependonmanythings.”“Most youthful Father,”

said the child, “it is not

possibleformeevertothankyouforyourgoodnesstome,nor did you do it to bethanked. But I have sat atyourfeetandlistened.Ihavelearned.Andthewholeearthhas spoken to me. Also, myown heart. Such excellentteachers I have had. Andwhen the shadow left theearth,theshadowthatwasonme,thistoodrewaway.HereI am. No longer Sovaz, or

Azhriaz. No longer Soveh,yourchild.”The crepuscule had come.

The land was blue, and theriver, and in her eyes theblueness of every dusk theworldhadknown.Andinhisthatregardedher,everyblacknightwhichfollowed.“I am glad for you,” he

said.“For the sake of that

gladness, for a little while,”

shesaid,“letusremainaswehave been. For each growsup,asyouhavetoldme.Butthe moon, changing hershape, is still themoon, andjustsowithlove.”Sohetookherhand,ashe

had done in her three-yearchildhood, and they walkedtogetheralong theriverbankwhere the lotuses stillburgeoned,tothehouse.Not a lamp was lighted

there, not even in the upperroom, which was alsonoiseless.“He has argued with the

mirror again,” said the girl,and she and Dathanja burstoutlaughing.Inthemidstofthelaughter

they held each other close,and he said to her, “Weshouldnotlaughathim,”andthey laughed, and she said,“No, we should not,” and

theylaughedmore.“Ohlittlegirl,Irejoiceyou

areyourselfatlast.”“AmImyself?Whoisshe?

But I think no longer am Ianother’s,notevenyours,mykinsman,my kind lord, whocaredforme.”“What now? You will

leavemenow?”hesaid.“Andyou,” said she, “will

bepleasedtobeleft.Toyourwork,andyourprincesswho

givesyoushoes—”“Ohlittlegirl,howdoyou

knowthat?”“Ohdearfriend,myfather-

brother, the whole landknows. Even the frogs talkabout it. ‘What did he withher then? they ask. And thegrasshoppers tell them.” Atthat they laughed all overagain. And flirtatiously, bysorcery,theyeachofthemlitthelampsofthelowerroom,

so the flameswinked up outof the darkness like springflowers.Andthentheylitthefireonthehearth,blewitout,lit it, and they were bothchildren,sheandhe,whohadlivedanddiedandlived,eachintheirownfashion,agirlofseventeen whose yearsamounted to almost half acentury,amanperhapsinhistwenty-fifth year, who hadknown whole centuries

intact,andnumberless.“Letus,” repeated thegirl,

“not speak for a time ofparting. Though you havewintered in this region, yetyou are and will be again awanderer. And I—I mustseek my life under everystone, upon each pinnacle,withintheshadeandshineoftheearth,andelsewhere. . . .Butnotyet.Wehavethelastdays of winter still. And I

will be a dutiful daughter-sister to you. Iwill be a girlof the village and the town,and cook your food andmend your clothes, setflowers by your pillow, andsing to you. If in return youtellmestillyour stories, andholdmeinyourarmsasyouhaveheldme,askingnothingbuttheloveofachild.”“Here are all the lizards

and frogs, waiting by the

rain-jar,tobeletin,”saidhe.“Shall I allow them to cometomyhearth,whentheyhavebeen gossiping all thiswhilewith the grasshoppersconcerning myself and theprincess?”“Shame them by

overlookingtheirfaults.”So the assembly of frogs,

and other creatures of thebank, were permitted thewarmthofthefire.

Then,bythefirelightunderthe lamps, the man andwoman ate a rustic supper,augmentedbytwopitchersofwine ensorceled out of thevaultsofanearbypotentate.And later they slept, in

their allotted separateplaces,which were close enoughtogether.Neitherexperienceddesirefortheother.Ithadnotbeen their fate to be lovers,thoughtolove.

Dathanja dreamed that hewasseatedonahillsidewithamaidenwhosehairwasthecolorofapricots.Theyspokeand laughed together, whileshe fed wildfowl of the air,and slender reptiles fromunderrocks,outofherhands.And later they lay, he andshe, in the blazing grass, inlove. Below, on a plainbeside a lake of clearwater,unicornsweredancing,white

and rose and gold.Somewhere a bell rang fromadistant temple’s tower,andleavessighedastheyopened.And Zhirek, as Simmu

relaxed her clasp upon him,andhehisownofher,kissedher flameofhairandsaid toher, “Haveyoupunishedmeenough, have you beensufficiently revenged onme?”“You yourself punished

yourself, and avenged me.Andsuchthingsare,anyway,asilliness.”“The priests are liars?”

askedZhirek.“Yes.Allbutone.”And soon they joined in

love again, in love of love.And at that time, love wasenough.But the Vazdru Goddess-

girl, Sovaz-Azhriaz-Soveh,shedreamedthis:

Therewasabluemountainabove a green valley.Buildings grew up in thevalley, the stalks of towers.There was a temple,blooming from themountainside, row upon rowof pillars, and the stairwaysofroofsascending.Aromaticsmokes traveled from itscourts, straightas ruled linesinthesublimesummerair.But high up, near the

mountain’s summit, was asmall shrine made of bluemarble, so like the sky itmight be missed altogether.Here an old priestessdwelled, and very old shewas.“Threecenturiesshehasseenout,”thepilgrimssaidtothe dreaming girl, as sheclimbed the path with them.“But she is tired now. Tiredbyallherwandering.Sheisahealer and teacher, and a

prophetess. Decades she hasresided here. Kings come toher to explain their visions.Queens come and ask thattheirdestinybetoldthem,orthemeaningofportents.Andthough she is ancient, thiswoman, as one of the greatsnakes that dwell in themountain’s core, yet she canmakeherselftoseemayounggirl, satin-skinned and fleetas a deer.Why,” they added

to the dreamer, “have yousoughtherout?”“Iwouldhaveherexplaina

dream to me,” the dreamersaid.And then she was within

the mountaintop that laybehind the shrine. Enormouscolumnsrose,glossyasmilk,andvaporsfromthecavern’sthroat, some perfumed andsome acrid. An elderlywoman,allwizenedandbent,

a crone, sat on a ledge, andshe caressed the diamond-shaped head of a serpent,which head alone was thelengthofaman’sfoot.“Do not trouble about the

snake,” she said, in a voicelike a dry old leaf, so faint,yetaudibleas isa tinynoisewithintheear.“Snakes I have never

feared,” said the dreamer,and going near, she stroked

the snake also. And lookedup into the priestess’s faceandintosuchblue,blueeyes,herownwerefilledbytears.“Whatisyourname?”said

thegirltothecrone.“ItisAtmeh.”“Why did they name you

that?”“None named me but

myself. In the land where Iwasreborn,andwhereIwasa child, I had another name.

But in the language of thatcountry my name, whichmeantapetalofthefire,hadanother meaning, which wassparkoflife,andthewordforthis, in that tongue, wasAtmeh.Thus,when I setoutto find myself, I took thatname to be my own. Ah,young girl, pretty dreamer,”said the ancient priestess,“onedaywe shallmeet, youandI.Gonow,andfindyour

life.”And Azhrarn’s daughter

woke up, there in the housebythebrownrivershore.Shelooked at once at hercompanion, as he slept,seeing his beauty and hisyouth, his age, his sorrow,and the recompense ofknowledge—allthatuponhisslumberingface.Shewouldnothavewoken

him, yet she yearned to tell

himofherdream.But even as she sat there

undecided, the house doorrushed inwardwith a terrificcrash—and woke the entireworld,itseemed.

IT HAD SWUM for miles,andyears.Beneaththesea,inthe long depths under thedark green hills, whosecrowns were islands, and onthe surface also, under theblister of sun and glister ofmoon.Tallshipshadsightedit,andcalledafterit,thinkingto effect a rescue. Or they

had avoided it, supposing itto bewhat once it hadbeen.And the huge fish of theaqueous abysses had tried todetain it, or fish-girls withcoolgreen lipsandeyes likestars that had drowned. Buton and on it swam,indifferent, determined. Andsometimes even it went incircles, searching and notfinding. And sometimes itcrawledthroughsubterranean

channels. And sometimes itrested, whole hours at astretch, before it crawled orswam on again. So at last itreachedthemouthofariver,andswamupthat.Thewatersaltered from the tones ofocean to a tawny glass, nowand then blackening withnight. Rime lay over theriver, where enormousbladders floatedwith closed-up eyes. At length the

swimmer broke from thewater among the ice-coldstemsoflotuses,andsocameto a house, and flung widethedoor.And there it stood, the

body of Tavir, a prince ofTirzom Jum, spangled withwet, and with the seaweedstilluponitsshoulder.

The body of Tavir had notdecayed, not in three years

and more. Perhaps thecataclysm—chaos, whichtouched even angels—haddone something to the fibersof a corpse that lay so closetotheshock.Orelse,itslinktotheimmortalmagicianhadpreservedthediscardedflesh.To the girl and the manTavir’s body gave noattention, though both weresorcerers, and greater thanthat.

It prowled across the floorto the stair, and up it went,and giving there the seconddoor,thatoftheupperroom,a mighty shove, strode intothechamberofthemage.Tavrosharak had been

seated at his table (pilferedfromaking’slibraryandlaidwith books and curiosobtained in the same spot).He had been long silent, butnow he leapt up, oversetting

some bizarre unusefulexperiment, so holes wereburned in the table’s wood,andintheveryatmosphere.“Pay heed,” said Tavir’s

body.“Iwill,” saidTavrosharak,

although he made a pass ortwo and uttered a mantra orthreethatshouldhaveridhimoftheapparition,andfailed.“I am no ghost,” said the

body. “I am the whole skin,

and the physical soul—theegoofTavir.Youluredmetoyou, sensing your libertywould shortly come, andclaimed back the spirit-souloutofme.But Ihad lived. Ihad been a mage, like you.And I am young, as you—when you acquired yourimmortality—nolongerwere.Now,” said Tavir’s body,“Simmurad is nomore. It isdestroyed, for the Fire ran

through it, and then afearsome fierywave that rantheotherway.Wherefireandunmattermet inwater, a redsun was born, that dashedaway. And I was galvanizedtopursueit,awhile.Butthen,mymindawokeinme,andIrememberedyou.SoIsoughtout you instead. And here Iambeforeyou.”“What do you want?”

quaveredthesage-mage,still

flapping about in efforts toeffectsomespellofriddance,ineffectually.“A soul,” said the body.

“Yours, mine. That which Ihad.”“Andwhatofme?”howled

Tavrosharak.“Whatofyou?Lookatthe

lifeyouhavegivenoursoul,shut up day and night,dabbling and dithering,hatingallmen.Whatwillyou

learn inherebutwhata foolyou are? Come,” said Tavir,black,beautiful,alordofthesea,shininggreenofhairandeye, “come, dear soul, backto the one who truly valuesyou.Seeinmewhatyouwillgain.Andconsiderwhatyouhavelost,withhim.”“Stay, dear soul,” gabbled

Tavrosharak. “I will mendmyways.Wewillgooutandchange men into stones and

stones into sheep, andoverturnthewholeearth—”“Come,dearsoul,”coaxed

Tavir,“andwewillenjoytheloveliness of the world, andtrytorepairthepainofit.Wewill found a city under theseawhere the ocean peoplesshall live at peace together.All the teachingof thepriestDathanja,whichtheonewhotrapsyouhasoverheard—anddismissed—but which you

haveponderedon,allthatwewill try, and bring to bearupon our future lifetogether.”Themage-sagesatabruptly

downinhischair.Hegaveagrunt, and from his partedlipsspunflame.Itwasasoftfire,barelyvisible.ButTaviropened wide his arms toreceiveit.“There is,” said Tavir

presently, “a goddess in this

house, and the teacher, whohas such skill. But also thisbodyIhavenowwillnotliveforever. I must be swift. Nodistraction.Andso—farewellwithoutgreeting—”And Tavir spoke his own

mantra for a disappearance,soul-possessed and so amagician once more. Andwasgone.Meanwhile, the body of

Tavrosharak, soul-empty, sat

hardascoralinthechair,andit muttered: “How am I towork upon occult sciencewith such a disturbance?”And it called awhirlwind inat the window simply toberate it. For the immortalflesh of the sage had keptmuchof itsmage-craft, evensoulless,anddidsostill,and,too, its irritated personality,thatneedednosoultofuelit.Sothere itsat,andwouldsit

for centuries, grumbling andcomplaining, studying anddisparaging the books,quarreling with itself in themirror, and performing featsofannoyingsorcery.And the cattle herders

going under the windowthree hundred years hence,when trees had rootedthroughthefloorandroofofthe house, and the shores ofthe river widened almost to

the door, would still say inpropitiating voices to it,“Praydousnoharm,Uncle.”

THEWINTER,whohadlainhard upon the earth so long,pressing her down, havinghis will with her, left hersuddenly with only a chillykiss, and mounting hisbranch-bare chariot, hestormedaway.Pale gleaming days, like

zircon drops, came to the

earth, and clothed her infilmy yellows and wildgreens. To the brown landthey came also, bringingrobesofadenserdye,settingfiretoflowers,sprinklingthefields with whisperingfringes. On the trees theheavyleavessprangout.Thehippopotamiwashedofftheirmudandfoughteachotherinthe river. The elephants,breaking their tethers,

screamed and stampedamongthehillsbynight.The prince’s daughter, the

princess,cried inherpaintedbed.“Nowhewillleaveme.”But it seemed hewould not,yet, though he did notpromiseheralltime.The girl who had been

Dathanja’s daughter walkedontheshore,andtookthelastwinter lotuses for a garland.Against her throat, in a little

silver cage, a mote ofamethyst constricted theircolor. (Even chaos, toucherof angels, had not been ableto melt that gem. Or hadavoided doing so.) Itsinfluence had been with herthen and since, for good, forill.Andshehadhadherdaysof madness, surely, simpleandachild?Awhiteibisstalkedamong

the stems. It bowed as it

passed her, and uttered aweirdcry.Atmeh.For the earth knew the

name she had chosen forherself, the name whichmeant hereabouts Flame, orFlameofLife.One other too, maybe,

knew of her rebirth and hernaming.Andshe lookedwithmore

than sight across the brownriver,awaytowardtheland’s

boundaries. The snow haddissolvedfromthemountainswhere they rose, afloat likejeweled ships in the sky.Beneath, on one single hill,one dot of asphodel snow.TheMalukhim,unfoldinghiswings.Itmight have been he had

hibernated, or even flown tosome warmer clime. Or hehad only sat out the interim.Who could divine what

retributive angels did in thecold months, the will of thegods being so loose uponthem?Dathanjahadleftthehouse

and stood before thedoorpost. Atmeh went tohim. “It is,” she said, “todaythatIwillgofromhere.”“Yes,itistoday.”Theylookedateachother.She took up his hand and

kissedit.

“Wise healer,” she said,“gentlepriest.Wemaynevermeetagain.”“One day, far off, maybe

weshall.”“Willyouknowmethen?”“Do we not,” he said,

“always remember, throughall our several lives, oldfriends and former kindred,however we, or they, arealtered?”Heheldhertohim,and stroked her hair, long,

black, demoniac. “There istheangel,”hesaid.“I shall meet him. The

gods are conscious, surely, Iamnolongeragod.”“Youdonotknowforsure

yourroad,”hesaid.“Butyouwillfindit.”“SoIshall.Dearlove,”she

said,“farewell.”“Farewell,” he said. “Dear

love.”Thenmoving from him in

the rays of the early sun,Atmeh went along the bankandleftthehousebehindher.Thehippospaused in their

jousting to see her go. Thewhite ibis raised their ebonyheads.All thewinter lotusescrumbledawaytosmoke.But for Dathanja, his face

was not to be read, nor thedark eyes of it. Hewatched,or seemed to watch her, forsome while. But then he

turnedtothetreeatthetopofthebank.Thelittlecrowdwhichwas

already there saw himapproaching,andcriedouttohim thankfully.Hesmiledatthem, at each group offeatures, each healthy ordiseased body, for in everyonethereburnedtheflameoflife, in all of them, and inhim.And in thegirl, even ifby another mode, in the

manner of immortals, thatflameyetburned.Theywere,nearorfar,allone.Allthingswereone.Allmenweregods.Andlovewasenough.

Atmeh walked toward themountains. She walked as alovely human girlwould do,gracefully, through thecontact of her soleswith theground.Beforethemountainsshe would reach the hill,

there, westward, where theMalukhim opened and shuthiswings.She had, the girl, the

woman,allhermemory.Yetshe had been reborn intochildhood,andknownit,thenleft it—lacking only thegrowing pains of anadolescence. The world wastherefore very fascinating toher, known and new, seenequallyatdawnandatnoon.

By thismeans shehadcometo recognize the helpfulpower, the actual lesson ofbirth, death, and rebirth. Itseemed to her that her soulhad itself livedbodily,often,beforeithadbeensummonedto the child in Dunizel’swomb. For though Azhrarnbelievedhehadinventedtruelife, could even he do so?The humblest peasant couldcreate a child, and so could

the least sensible of men.Azhrarn, too, formed afleshly case, though hismethod had not been thesame(thecarnalactbeingartand pleasure to demons, butnever procreative).Nevertheless, could he, anymore than the peasant orrandom lackwit, who by aspillageof semengot lifeona woman, create the soulitself?Bythevariationofthe

lives—and deaths—Atmehhadclearlyundergoneinthisexistence, she had detectedtheothers thathadmadeandunmadeher,inthepast.Andnow an immortal, thequestion came to her, wasthere notmore to be learnedthrough a diversity of lives,through the confusion ofgenders, temperaments,creeds, wishes—through thevery and natural unknowing

of the infant, through thecontinuousrelearningevenofthe same lesson—for was itnot, inpointof fact,oneachoccasion learned in adifferentway?And thinking these

thoughts, she traveledthrough the brown land, dayby day, sleeping by night atthe edges of the buddingfields, or under somespreadingtreeattheroadside.

Supposing her a wanderingholywoman, goatherds gaveher milk from their flocks.She did not requiresustenance, yet accepted it.Sometimes, when it wasneedful, she performed actsofhealingormending,asshehad seen Dathanja do, andrather in his character, withsome uncomplexparaphernalia to offsetmarvel.

After a palmful of days(howmanyfit insideapalm,a woman’s palm—seventhen),shecametothefeetofthe hills, baked as cakes inthemorninglight,andbehindstood the mountainswestward. But between thetwo,Ebriel,awaitingher,andwith sword drawn—for shesawitsglitterlikeoneglaringsliver of ice the winter hadleftbehind.

Sosheclimbed toward theangel. She climbed throughmidday, and all oneafternoon, and when the sunwaswestering,shecameovera ridge, and there the angelwas,withthesunbehindhimlike a ball of gold. Heshowed black on thebrightness,andthisstruckher—again—how dark mightbecome light, since pallorcouldbeblackasink.

“Ebriel,”saidAtmeh. (Sheknew his name. There waslittle she could not know ofthe earth, and its adjacentenvirons.) “Ebriel, look atme,andconsiderme.Idonotchallenge heaven, now. Ifever I did. Say then whatmustbebetweenus.”The angel did not reply,

notbyword,noranyaction.Now, shehadbeen tended

by Eshva. And that

unspeaking speech of theirswasstillsecondtohernature.It is not properly said—whichinitselfisasortofpun—howtheunspeakingspeechwasspoken,orheard. Itwasnotexactlyamind-language,telepathic. Nor entirelycorporeal, though the breath,the eyes, and movements ofthe hands, limbs, and torso,evenof thehair,contributed.A language possessed of

symbolism, certainly.Whatever it was, andhowever exercised, theinspirationcametoAtmehtoemployitwiththeangel.Andsoshespoketohimagain,bythis tongue. She said, “Youhave heard my words, andyou have read me clear asstill water. But we cannotstandhereforever,youandI.Nor go on aswe have done,flying and flown after,

hesitating and alwaysoverlooked.”“Forever,” said the angel.

“What is that but the eternalstate of all things? Whyshouldwenot?”AndhetoousedtheEshva

speech, or an approximationof it, which seemed alsonaturaltohim.“Your masters are the

gods,”saidAtmeh.“Thatisso.”

“Whatdothegodsinstructyoutodo?”“I have their instruction.

Thefirstandonlymotivationgivenme,astomybrothers.”“The gods, if they still

concern themselves, which Isuspect theydonot, realize Iamnolongeranynuisancetothem.”“That has no place in the

scheme of me, or of mybeing.”

Itwastrue.Automatonthathehad remained, thisEbriel,his first command was thesum of him. He had castdownacityandaworlddombecause of it. And here thevery cause of the commandconfrontedhim.“But,”saidAtmeh,“Ihave

been left unmolested byyou.”“Youslept,”saidtheangel.

His eyes burned out of the

silhouette of him, each asavage topaz, and each notliketheeyesofaneagle—butlike the eagle itself. “Nowyou waken, and come here,asisright,thatwemaymeetin combat. And so, at yourawakening, I perceived youwould.”“To fight is an emblem,”

saidAtmeh.“Mustyouhaveit,Sun-Born?Mustyou?”“Behold. The sword is

from the scabbard,” he said.“WhenIhavesheathedit,thematter will be done. Untilthathour,then.”“I am an immortal,” she

said. “And you, I think.Wemay transmute, but notperish.”“All lives are so. It has

been discussed before. Suchthings do not obviate ourcombat.”“Impoverished Ebriel,”

saidAtmeh,withtheflashofdarkandangerinhereyes,orperhaps just the last flash ofthe sinking sun, “you areonlyafool.”Astheeveningmovedover

thehill tomeet thecoal-bluewall of the mountains, itfoundtwowarriorsthere.Anangel, the sun-holdingcitrines of his breastplate,golden hair and sword. AndAtmeh become Sovaz again,

orAzhriaz, inmail the colorof themountain’s face,nighthair, sword of metal like apale twilight. And theevening glimmered acrossthem, then passed on. Buttheystayed,andtheyfought.Howtheyfought.It was related that, from a

hundred miles off, men sawthe ignitionof thoseblowsaquarter of the way up thenightsky.Itwasrelated,that

when the swords smote eachother,anarcofbrilliancetoreout. And sometimes the hillitself was struck, or the air,and lava burst from the oneand boiling steam from thesecond. And then again theswordofeachofthemmightstrike home into the bodyofthe opponent. At this, theatmosphere itself must havecaughtitsbreathwithagony.But they, one an elemental

thing,theotherscarcelyless,agonizedorotherwise,healedinaninstant,ordidnotneedmedicine. It was like theformer fight in many ways,that between Azhrarn andMelqar, save for the mutualwoundings, but then thesetwo were younger. As withthat former conflict, it isnearly useless to describe it.Itwasinexplicable,itwasanaffront to every mortal

warriorwhoeverdueled.Anemblem,asshesaid.Midnight passed over the

hill in the wake of eveningandmerenight.Atmeh fell back, and

leanedonhersword.Thoughshe might fight untildaybreak, all day till sunset,allnighttilldawn(forever,ashehadsaid),yetsheallowedherselftobeweary,almosttosink with weariness—of the

soulifnotthebody.“If you would rest,” said

Ebriel, in the Eshva speech,“doso.”“Fool,”saidAtmeh,aloud,

in the voice of Azhriaz,“restingandtoilingtilltime’send. Fool. And I a fool topermit this.” Then shedropped down on the earth,her eyes shut. Her soul wasso weary it had drained herbody.

Theangelstoodnearby, toguard her if the need arose.Shewasvaluabletohim.Shewas his reason, after all, forexistence.Butpresently,asifshehadinhaledstrengthfromthe hill, Atmeh opened hereyes again. She lay andlookedupat theangel in thestarlight.“Ebriel, bargain with me.

There is some kinshipbetween us; we both have

sunfireinourveins.NowifIcan strike you three times,and not myself be smitten,before the sun returns—thesunwhoisdirectlyfatherandmothertoyou,andindirectlyagrandparenttome—ifIcando that, will you grantme aboon?”Ebriel regarded his

adversary. His eyes grewpeculiarlylambent,asthoughhe had come to love her.Of

course,theywereswornfoes;perhapshehad.“Since we shall contend

forever, it is reasonable thatwe should be courteous, andplay such games as yousubmit.Smitemethreetimesunsmittenbeforesunrise,andyour boon I will grant,provideditisinmyscope.”“Oh, believe it,” said

Atmeh, and she smiled, forshehadheard—atlonglast—

a fallible trace of earthlinessinhischoiceofphrase.The strife on the hill then

changed its tone, seeing itnowhadapurpose.As a combatant, Atmeh

wascapricious, cunning, andswift. Perfect coordinationandvisionwerehers—whichin themselves made her apeerless swordswoman. Theadroitness may have beeninherent in her, for the

Vazdrusorcerer-princesweresorcerousalso inmany typesofmartialskill.Andperhaps,in the years of her boredgoddesshood, she had hadherself, fordiversion, trainedby her war captains in thecrafts of affray public orpersonal. Yet she did notengage in this fight with aformat either female ormasculine. Her attitude wasnot human. Neither, of

course, was that of theMalukhim—which doubtlesswould have slain a humanswordsman, and one ofuncommoncleverness,insidesevenseconds.Three hours of darkness

wereunspent.Inthefirsthour,acrescent

bowofmoon,havingcastitsquiver of light, went down,andasitdidso,Atmehcameclose to the Malukhim, and

loweredhersword.As Ebriel’s moon-

outshining blade leapedtowardherheart,Atmehsaid,“You are beautiful, Sun-Created,” in the voice ofAzhriaz, and Ebriel’s strokewas missed—in surprise itwould appear: Who wouldthink tosayorbesoboldasto say such words to anangel?Andashemissed thestroke, the blade of the

demoness clove through hisright arm (not at allwounding it), and she said,“One.”The angel drew away. He

staredather, thewhiteeagleofheaven.Theyfoughttherestofthe

hour, then, and by hercompetence she did not lethim touch her. But in thesecondhourbeforedawn,shespoke again to him, in the

voiceofSovaz.“Ifyouwereonlyaman,Ebriel,thereisawayyoumightovercomeme.There is a way you mightpierce me, and kill me too,for a little while. Do youknowofthisway?”“Donotattempttotrickme

again,” said the angel. Hiswings opened like toweringfans, and Atmeh sprangbeneath his sword andclipped the left wing a

glancingblow.“Two,” saidAtmeh. “You

trick yourself. I know yourkind does not lie down inlove.Nor loves in any otherposture.Saveforthis.”Then they battled like two

hawks that have fallen fromthe sky, like two lynxesabovemeat.Theybattledlikeaman and a woman finally,in that old battle each sexknows,yetwithouttheflavor

ofdesire.And three times, despite

her finesse, the angel almoststruck her, negating herdouble assault upon him.Twice, chance saved her,small things—a rock thatturned her foot (she whonever stumbled) and flungher from the zone of thestroke, or a sudden gust ofshale from the hill which,tossed against his sword,

deflected it. (Chance? HerUncle Kheshmet?) But onetime she herself spun up inthe air to escape, and didEbriel forgetwingless thingsmightalsofly?In the east, the nightwore

thin.Abruptly the girl drooped,

herbody,theslimcruelarm,and the weapon of bluemetal. “Enough,” she said.“Enough.”

Ebriel inhis turn letdownhissword.“Letmerest,”saidAtmeh,

in the voice of the childSoveh. And she sank to theearth and closed her eyesonce more. Her body layboneless as her long hair.There seemed no vitality inher.Ebriel stood for a space,

looking at her. Then, liftinghiseyes,hegazedtowardthe

east, where the firstmagnificence began. And inthat moment, Atmeh castherself upward, fast aslightning, and she cameagainst him and thrust herswordall its lengthintohim,through the very heart ofhim, if hehadhadone.Andnextminutethesunroseandshowed each of theirincredible faces, and lit theiramazingeyes.

“Beloved,” said Atmeh,“demons are not to betrusted.Andmortals,neither.AndIamboth.Three,Ebriel.Ihavewon.Youowememyboon.” And she kissed hismouth, briefly, in the way abird alights upon a boughwhere it knows it may notlinger.But Ebriel laughed. He

laughed. Aloud, andbeautifully.Hesaidtoher:“I

award it you, then. WhatmustIdo?”Atmeh said, “We will

constructatruce.Duringthis,wewillgotogetherandseekyour two brothers. Yabael,the Sword of Blood, theSecond-Scorched, torment ofthe ocean. Melqar, the thirdout of the sun, the Sword ofSnow, he that the Prince ofDemonsstrovewith.”“To this I agree,” said

Ebriel.And now he spoke, aloud,

as a man does, and Atmehsmiledagain.Thereroseuptheskythen,

with the unjealous sun, theSun-Created on his wingsand the demon-created,wingless,inacloudofhair.They knew where to seek

Yabael. They could knowalmost anything. (Thoughthatalsomayhavebeen true

ofmankind, and yetmay betrue.)Thusoverthemountainpeaks they went, and downthe lands beyond where theearth smelled pungent as aspicery,andsofromsugartosalt, and to the cup brim ofthe sea. And here theyplunged,anddescendedfromazure to green ember, andfrom that to dimness. Therethey found a niche in amighty cliff and stood

waiting, breathing thewater,yet circumspect, since theoceans’lawsweredifferent.Perhaps a mile below the

cliff, a tall city of the seapeople lay on the sand, builtof shells. Its skies weredoved by white whales, thatmysteriouslysanganendlesssong,which,bymagicalone,under the water, could beheard.Soon one of these

marvelous pale beings camedrifting from the city wheretheirmusicwasprizedabovethe captured gold ofmen. Itcame to the niche and gazedinatAtmehandtheangel.Itseyes were small for the sizeof it, yet huge by any othergauge,andsapphire-blue.“Travelers,” said the

whale,orrather,itsangthesewords to them, and politelyin a language of earth, that

they might understand itbetter,“asIseeyouhearme,and as I see you breathe inocean, I conclude you aregreat in magery. But do notgooutofthecliffforawhile.Shortly, a comet of the seawill journey by. Thisobliterateswhatevercomesinitspath.”“White Lord, we thank

you,” said Atmeh, singing,Vazdru that shewas, a song

to complement his own.“What of the city there, andofyourownpeople?”“Amagicprotectsthecity,

of which our singing is aningredient.”And having toldher this, the whale swambackagainamongtheothers,and resumed his portion oftheendlesssong.Perhaps one twelfth of an

hourlater,avastbloodyglowdiffused in the sea, and a

fearsome noise that was nonoise,butthecliffthrummedand rumbled at it, and fromthe plains beneath spouts ofsandsheeredup.Itmovedsoquickly,thecomet,therewasslight warning of itsimminence. It came all atonce on the stages of itsflight, and suddenly it camenow on this one. Everythingwasdrowned in redness,androckedandgripedtoitsroots,

and through the sea came aburning fiery sword,shapelessyetawful,andwitha lashing tail of flame. Thisthen,Yabael.Whatever ability the

secondof theMalukhimhadhad to reason—it was gone,as shape was gone. ChaoshadblendedwithYabael,thatcompendium of ether andsun, sparking thecomplementary sprinkle of

chaos already in his atoms.AndYabaelbecameasavagelittle sun that hunted thewater for prey it did notremember—and in the eventraced by that very prey,Atmeh,andbyEbriel,itskin,andbythecity,whosetowersrippled—and away on thecircling,blindchase.Asthefiresdied,thewater

softened from scarlet tosilver, the whales sang on.

Theshellmetropolisstood.Atmehlookedintotheface

ofEbriel.Ittoldhernothing.She spoke, by the Eshvameans.“YabaelisthefirstlessonI

offeryou. It ispossibleevenfor theMalukhimtoalter,orfor change to be forced onthem.And, too, it ispossiblefortheMalukhimtocontinueinahopelesstask,which,likethestrickentree,willbearno

fruit.”Ebriel’s face told her

nothing, but his eyes burnedwiththefireofthecomet,redwithingold.“You cannot follow him,

beloved. You cannot changeashehasdone.Come.Uptotheworldagain.”Up to the world they

sprang. And the seas partedabout them as though everyprincess of the waters had

flung the contents of herjewelcasketatthesun.Theycoulddiscoveralmost

anything: They discoveredwhere to seek Melqar.Nevertheless, this discoverywas not so easy as the first,for while Yabael’s cometraged, the substance ofMelqar had grown vastlyquiet.Melqar, last fromthesolar

melting pot, Melqar the sun

of midsummer dawning. Hethat fought with the Demon.He that had, for a time,vanquished the Demon. Hethathad,findingAzhrarnalsoa light in the sunrise, letAzhrarn go down into theearth and the dark. Or wasbeguiled into doing so, incertain stories.Or did so forreasons less and moreobscure. Melqar who stolethevoiceofAzhrarntospeak

with.Melqar who, when thefight was done, stood on atower of Az-Nennafir withsightless-seeming orichalceyes, and sheared the Citythrough with a blade ofwhiteness let from his handitself.Butwhatthen?When Azhrarn lay in the

Underearth,whatoftheangelwho caused it? And whenAzhrarn,salvagedbythefireofhisgarden,whichmightbe

of the essence of his ownimmortal fire,whenAzhrarnretrieved his power, threwdown his enemy and madehim a lover again—wherewasMelqarthen?They covered now a

notable distance, Atmeh andEbriel, beating through thesky.Thesunenteredthewestandvanished.Theroofabovewent black and the moon—herself wingless yet

traversing air—crossedheaven.Thestarsbloomedintheir parks,whichwereonlyvisible at night (for the starsdidnotmove,as theyhad inDathanja’sparable).Throughthedark,astheday,theangeland the demoness flew on.And when day came back,flewstill.For though either of them

might have reached anyearthly place instantly, in an

eye’s blink, the psychicshrouding about Melqar didnot allow this. It demandedof them a slowness, anattempt. There must bearrival rather than mereadvent.No source describes the

route. They tell of days andnights, sun,moon, stars, anddistance. No road orgeographic clue. Well, then.One cannot presume too

much.It was a high place,

inevitably.Itwasamountainin the middle of a waste ordesert, which maybe,centuriesbefore,hadbeenthebed of an enormous lake orlandlocked sea. Where thewater had gone who couldsay,butgoneitwas,andonlythe mountain pouredstaticallyskyward.Atmeh and Ebriel put

downuponthemountain,justbelow the summit, andclimbedtoaplatformthatlayoutunderthesunlightlikeanaltartable.At the center of this

platform, which was neitherlongnorwide,thereglowedakind of mound of faintlyhoney-colored crystal. But itwas not that at all. It hadbeen made from heat andcooling and the ethereal

breaththatflowedagainstthemountain’s thin atmosphere,out of a creature whichreclinedthere,andwhichhadalways breathed, or whichhadlearnedtobreathe.Under the shining quartz,

Melqar. He slept deeply, heslept a sort of death. Hisexcellence, in sleep, dazzledthrough the mound andseared the eyes. His eyeswere shut. The extraordinary

wings lay beneath and byhim, framing him in themuscular feathersofgiganticswans. His right hand restedacrosshisbreastandgrippedlightly yet completely, evenunconscious, a sword ofsnow.Ithadformedfromthelighthehadwielded,orfromhis own unusual flesh. Thesword was Melqar, Melqarthesword.Yet,heslept.“Is he waiting, perhaps?”

said Atmeh. “For the ordersofthegods.Forsomethingascrucial.Fortheendofearth.”Ebriel gazed upon the last

of his kindred. Ebriel’s facetold nothing. Then his eyeshalf-shutteredthemselves.“Your second lesson is, as

was the first,” said Atmeh,“that the Malukhim maychange.Andtheymaypursuefruitlessness. And they mayachievenothingbutarace,or

a slumber. But the thirdlesson is also here, Ebriel,childofthesun.Hedoesnotstartup,doeshe,thisone,tofight with me? He grips thesword, yet does not lift itagainst me.” And she struckthe quartz three blows.“Wake and do battle withme!” But Melqar only sleptin the sheen of the sunthroughhoneycrystal.Hedidnotstir.“Ebriel,”saidAtmeh,

in the voice ofAtmeh. “Thegods forget and that is alltheydo.Menforget,yetmenremember even inforgetfulness. I am halfdemon, and immortal. I willtell you how I mean toproceed. I shall seek to losemyimmortality,thatfabulousgift for which men havemurderedone another. Iwillstrive to be onlymortal. Fornow I know too much to

learn the rest.And the rest Imust learn, for it is somuchmorethanallIknow.Itismymother’s blood whichunderstands this. My quest,Ebriel,isnottobeagoddess,or a demon. But to be ahumanthingwhichlives,anddies—and is reborn. Tosloughmyimmortality—willbe to gain it. To search fortrue life, Ebriel, that is myhope, to find my soul.

Therefore, make peace withme.”Ebriel turned from the

contemplationofhisbrother.HeopenedhiseyeswideandlookedatAtmeh.He saw a lovely girl,

dressed in a blue garmentbeltedwith a cord of silverymetal, her black hair fallingabouther,andinherfacetheabsurdityandjoyofwhatshehadsaid.

AndEbriel,forheavenwasdumb and deaf and highabove, raised his brightsword, and broke it in twopieces,andthrewthemawayintothedeadlake.Butwherethey entered the earth,glitteringwaters bubbled up,and flowers came out likesmall suns, to look aboutthemwiththeirpurpleeyes.Ebrielflewupintothesky,

beatinghiswingsagainst the

lowest floor of theUpperearth, and he changedhimself into an eagle then,andthesunlighthidhim.Atmeh walked down the

mountain.She walked over the bare

tilesofthewastewhichsoonmight fill with water andflowers.She walked some while,

andthenshemadesorcery.Abeastsoaredtotheground.It

was the winged lion of herpast, or another that was itstwin, blue-maned andphilosophical of face, “Dearfriend,”saidAtmeh,“doyouknow me?” The lion bowedand licked her hand. Thenshe mounted it, for she wastired at last. And they, too,flewaway.

PARTTWO:UncleDeath1

ON THE SHORE of a seastoodadesertedtemple.Thosethatcamethere,and

infrequently some did cometo that place, descended astairway of hills. The beachwas of fine pumice, which

glinted. The sole thing thatstooduponitwasthetemple,whose domes were like acollection of beehives.Beyond, the sea surged withcurioustides.Fromadistanceitlookedmerelypeculiar.Butgettingcloser,yousawitwasan ocean of cloud whichfoamed and creamily ran inand out on the shore. Fromsomesubterraneanventthesemistspouredup,orwerenow

and then sucked down. Onoccasion, the tidewas so faroutthatahardbarepastryofrock might be seen, intowhichheat andmoisturehadformedtheloosepumice.Late in the day, under a

pomegranate sky, a travelermoved along the beach andentered an arch before thetemple. Under that vault,carvedwithmaidens,camels,iris flowers, and dragon-

winged bats, hung a bell ofblack bronze. The travelerrangthebell,whichclanged.But the clangor died away

along the shore, and wasforgotten there. The sea ofcloud smoked. The skydeepened, and a starappeared.Unanswered, but with no

show either ofdisappointment orimpatience, the traveler

seated him- or herself(mantled,booted,itmightbea youth or a woman) underthe arch, and leaned upon abigstonebatthere.Presentlythebatspoke.“Whatdoyouseek?”“One,”saidthetraveler,in

afemalevoicemostmusical,“whoreputedlyabidesinthisspot. A sorceress, that intheselandstheycallKiras.”“Just so,” said the bat.

“Pray do not lean upon mybelly. From time to time Ibecome fleshly, and fly bynight and feed. My stomachis now full of digestingmangoes and plums. Youwill, besides, find my leftwing more comfortable.”(Thetravelerobligedthebat.The wing was not morecomfortable, but forgraciousness’sake,shemadeno comment on the fact.)

“ForKiras, she ishereand Iam her slave. She bids meinquire what business youhavewithher.”“The same that all have

who search her out.You areher slave, she is another’s,and that other the slave ofoneIwishtovisit.”“Tush,”saidthebat,“Kiras

isnotaslave.Sheserves,andshe that Kiras serves, servesalso, yet she is more a

familiar and consort than aservant,tothatOneyoureferto.Who, in any case, is notvisitable. I must warn you,everyone will take umbrageatyourdescription.”“Unfortunate,” said the

traveler.Andshegavethebatanaffabletap.Itfellfromthearch and became fleshlyalive, and chittered withrelief at the transformation.In a short while, seemingly

unremembering its task asinterrogator, it zoomed,burping,intothetwilight.Shutters flashed open in a

domeofthetemple.“Who,” squawked a

woman’s voice, “rashlytamperswithmycreatures?”“Invite me in,” said the

traveler.“Youshalllearn.”“Oh, some arrogant

sorceress, is it?” cried theraucous one at the window.

“Let you be instructed. I amtwice your age, and am aparagonofmyart.Besides,Iboast a powerfulconnection.”“Well, well,” said the

traveler. “How pleasant foryou all that must be. Youneed have no fear, then, tounfastenyourgatestome.”“Overbearingbrat thatyou

are, can you not evenpenetrateonelittledoor?”

“Sobeit,”saidthetraveler.And standing up, she

walked toward the domewherethewindowgaped.Asshe did this, the very templewall itself, with all itscarvingsexclaimingaloud inshockedsurprise,flewwide.Kiras, the paragon,

withdrew. The travelerpassed up the avenue and inby thewall, which closed atherback.

The temple was in foxydarkness. It whispered,perhaps only with thediscussions of the carvedcreaturestherein.Great spiders, large and

brachial as copperchandeliers, hung inluminescent webs from theroof, and stared at thetraveler from a multitude ofcoolintelligenteyes.“Greetings, sisters,” said

the traveler politely, and thespiders,whodidnotimaginethemselves associates ofKiras, bowed. Moving eachher eight furry arms subtly,they spun more light upontheirlooms.ButjustthenKirasentered,

bringinglightwithher.Sevenunsupported torches

of red fire roared about her,to reveal shewas dressed insnakes, which hissed, and

that her headdress was thespiny skull of somemonsterdug out from the shore, butset with jewels for femininevanity.Inage,shewassometwenty years. But her eyeswere eldritch, and her voiceuncommonlyloud.“Upstart!” began

screaming she, for she wasused to sorts of reverence.“On your knees! If you willnot respect me, then you

must my lady, from whosenamemyownisadapted.”The traveler put off her

hood, and her black haircascaded around her, and tothe floor indeed. Demurelyshekneeled.ThewitchKiras took note

of the cascade, for suchquantities of hair oftendenoted some superhumanpower or cleverness. Shenonethelessscreeched,“Now

saywhoyouare.”“My name is Atmeh. I

have a weird kinship withyourmistress’smaster.Heisbywayofbeinganun-uncleof mine, my father beingsomethingofanun-cousinofhis.”Kiraswas now truly taken

aback.Butshesqualledout:“If you have fathers and

uncles who are Lords ofDarkness,why approach any

of them through anintermediary?”“To observe all proper

forms,” replied Atmeh,without rancor. “My uncle,thekinglyUhlume,hasneverformally made myacquaintance. It is a fact, Imight find a means to goinstantly into his presence.ButIchoosetoknock.”“It is all lies, that,” quoth

Kiras,whothoughsheserved

the wily and the wonderful,was herself neither. “Takethisforyoursauce—”And pointing toward

Atmeh, Kiras produced aswarm of gigantic stinginghornets,which tore upon thesuppliant.Atmeh arose, and opening

her hands, she gathered thehornets in a silver net. Andthe hornets were goldenflowers, whose perfume

filledthetemple.Then Kiras (a stupid girl,

and nomistaking it) clappedher palms noisily together,andupfromthepavingtherebillowedahideousbeast, theprecursor, maybe, of herheadgear. It pawed the floorandrusheduponAtmeh.But Atmeh sang a single

note,and thebeastbecameaswath of silk, which drapedherinbecomingfolds.

Kiras now backed a step.But even so she raised herarm to try again, and in thatmoment Atmeh seemed togrow impatient. She spoke aword, and all Kiras’s magicleft her. There she stood,garbed in snakes and skull,and unable to summon asolitary mote of dust. ThenKiras lamented from frightandhumiliation.“You shall have your toys

again,” saidAtmeh, “but fornow,Ihaveleftyouonlyoneability, to call your lady,Kassafeh.”“She will not heed me,”

cacophonouslysobbedKiras,on the paving herself now.“She ishis courtesan, she ishis very wife—She may bebusy.”“Oblige me,” said Atmeh,

“byattemptingit.”Andshealteredthesnakes

of the witch’s dress to birds—and with much singingthey all, every one, flewrejoicinglyawayandlefther,naked and afraid, under hermonsterskull.

It was beyond doubt that, atthisera,Death’smethodshadbeenrevised.Nolonger,asinthe legends, would he dealquite directly withhumankind—or if he did, it

was done most secretively.Gone thedays,andnights, itwould seem, when men sawhimstridebythemalongthehighways, and thanked theirgodsattheescape.Andgonethedaysofbargaining,when,foraccesstosomeemperor’stomb,orinordertomeetthereanimate form of onedeceased, mortals sold athousandyears of their time,post-mortem, to King

Uhlume. Some oddhappenings had gone on intheInnerearth,whichwas,orhadbeen,hiskingdom.Therewas a Queen Death alsorulingdown there,men said,Naras, that certain death-obsessive races worshiped.But for Kassafeh, who hadbeen the handmaiden ofDeath, shehadgrowndearerand more dear to him. Andthe tale ran now that Death

didnotdwellbelowtheearth,butsomewhereuponit,inanunnormal house on wheelsbelonging to his beloved, orelse in some best-avoidedfastness—fashions change.Eveninmythology.Yetthereremainedsuchas

Kiras, who were claimed tobe in service, by turn, toKassafeh,andthussomepathfor macabre commerce wasleftopen.

As the blue-mantledtraveler,Soul-Flame,Atmeh,had said, she might havefound ingress to Uhlume’sretreat, wherever it was, andburst in on him, but shechose good manners.Thereafter, though, she didnotwastetoowideawhileonKiras’sutterlack.Soon enough then, Kiras

wasinaclosetof thetempleone side of a lopped pillar,

and Atmeh the other, andbetween them on the pillar-drum, a little wheel ofyellowed bone upon a standof iron.Kiras had struck thewheel and it spun, aroundand around, on and on.Minutes whirled away uponit,andhours.Night had come and

cloakedthetemple.Laterthemoon bathed it, and thecarvingssplashedthemselves

overwith themoonlight, thenymphs philandered witheach other, and the camelsmunched the iris flowers—which bit them back. (Andstill the wheel spun, andKiras sat one side of it andAtmeh the other.) Then thered forests of morningblossomed.Thesungallopedup heaven. The templecarvings kept still. “We arestone,” they told the sun.

“We cannot move.” Thecloud lake boiled and purledunder aheliotrope sky. (Andthe wheel spun. Atmeh satlike a stone girl off thetemple wall. But Kirasmuttered loudly as a yell:“See,shedoesnothear.See,see, no one attends.”) In theafternoon all the birdsdelivered from Kiras’s dressran races in the ether, orbegan to build nests on the

roofs. “We are still snakes,”theytoldthetemple,andtheystretched and wriggled theirlong necks. “We shall layeggs—whatelsedoesasnakedo?”Butthetemplenomorebelieved the birds than thesun believed the templecarvingswhosaidtheynevermoved—for if the sun nowand then met the moon, sheperhaps informed him ofwhatwentonbynight.(And

the wheel spun.) Then thesun set. Under a nectarinesky,faroutonthecloudsea,onegoldencloudappearedinthe air. And the wheelstoppedspinning.Thegoldenclouddriftedin

andindoors,andcametorestbetween the two women inthe temple closet. The cloudgrew itself to be a woman,shawled in a golden veil.Only her eyes were visible.

First they were dark, thenpaleandferal.Kiras obeised herself. But

the apparition of Kassafehthe Changeable-EyedregardedonlyAtmeh.“In the past,” said the

apparition,well tutorednow,itwouldseem,“Ididnotcareforyourkind.”“I am also half mortal,

rather in the manner ofyourself,” saidAtmeh. “And

besides, once also you hatedLordDeath.”The apparition’s eyes

turnedblack,thenviolet.“Ididnotcomeheretotalk

of myself,” said she. “Yourproblem?”“There is a hidden thing I

would learn. Since itconcernsmortaldeath,Deathmay know the answer.Therefore, I would attendhim.”

“He will allow it,” saidKassafeh, or Kassafeh’simage.“Hehasentrustedmeto tell you so. He will meetyou below, in the old place,his kingdom at the world’score. Do you know yourway?”“Iamalsohalfdemon,not

inyourmanner,”saidAtmeh.“While, inmost things, thereismorethanoneway.Whichwill offend him the least,

pleasehimthemost?”“Pleasure and offense are

smallitemstosuchashe.ButIbelieveitmightsatisfyhimifyoushouldgodowntohimas your demon self. For thatiswhatyouwouldbeshotof,is it not, your immortal part,the very thing which lendsyouanyclaimonhim?”“Oh, Kassafeh,” said

Atmeh, “you are animmortal. That is your road.

Do not begrudge me minebecauseitisunalike.”Then Kassafeh closed her

eyes—uponthelidsofwhichwere painted eyes of goldthat changed to green—andshedissolved.Atmeh got up, and looked

upon Kiras, who lay alongthefloor.“Be kinder, Kiras.

Recollect, for every seventytravelers that seek you, and

that you distress, there maycome another like myself.YetnotsotemperateasI.Onthe understanding you willremember my warning, Irestoretoyouyourarts.”Kirasspokesoftlythen.“Iwillremember.”AndwhenAtmeh had left

her,Kirasconstructeda robeof crystals for herself, andwalked like a dancer. Butlater, when the birds laid

their eggs, she stole some,andthesehatchedsnakes....

WHAT WAS it, of course,but mere politeness whencalling on a relative, tojourney in familyresemblanceandname?She had called down from

the hills her mount, thewinged lion with thephilosopher’sface.Thenrodeupon it tosomespotdeepor

high. And there she drewupon herself the persona ofAzhriaz,andshestampedherfoot—orsomesayshepulledup a tall gray weed whichgrew there—and the earthcracked, itparted.Andagainmounting the lion,shespoketo it, and bound it bysafeguards, and even by agarlandofherownhair.Then like a flung spear

theydescended.

Down, down, throughgalleries of rock and soil,through veins of water,mineralarteries,andthegrassrootsofalltheworld.Down,down, throughashadowanda sheen, through a sluggishcold lava flow which mighthave been a deadlylanguorousriver—andwhichwas—down, down, throughthe last strands of ordinarymatter, bursting the final

linkswithdayor timeor themundanely beating heart oflife—And made landfall as a

spear would, hitting firmupon a surface ground, inInnerearth, the sphere ofmortal death—if only inignorantparlance.

Innerearth was the way italways was and had alwaysbeen. Nothing new, or

seldom, was ever said of itsgenerallandscaping.Thereissometimes virtue inrepetition.Atmeh-Azhriazstoodupon

a plain, and about the plainwere rolling hills with, hereand there, another plainbeyond,andon the lefthandarangeofcliffs.Thecolorofthis landwas gray; the plainwasadesertofgraydust,thecliffswerelead,andthehills

stone, and where theirshadowsfelltheywereblack.Above, the skyof Innerearthwas dullwhite andmight bedescribedalsoascomfortless—though none of theprospect was remotely cozy.Nosunormoonorstarswerelit here. The sky did notchange, only occasionally acloud blew over it like ahandful of cinders. Andthough, through the deaf

blankness, there sometimessounded thundering wind, ithad barely the strength topushthesecloudsbeforeit.Now, the winged lion,

whatever it actually was,remained a creation of theearth above, and so it was asort of inverted ghost in thedeathland.Itcastnoshadow,and its step could disturbnone of the gray mosses ordull pebbles underfoot. It

seemed, too, disinclined tofly, as if it doubted themiserable sky could keep itup, and certainly there werenoaircurrentssturdyenoughtofillitswings.Atmehspokesoothinglyto

the lion, and it set about awalk, she riding its back,cross-legged between thefoldedwings.Andshe,beingwhatshewas,castashadow,as the cliffs and hills did,

long,slender,andpitch-blackupontheground.Theywalkeda longwhile.

The sky did not alter, therewasnospecifictime.They roamed between the

cliff shades, and over thestony hills, and by a sky-white river on whose edgesgrew petrified poppy husks,depressingly gray as all therest.But eventually, having

followedtheriverawhilelesswhile, there began to bevisibleonthehorizonabankofdarkcloud,whichwasnotcloud at all, nor stone, norshadow.But a forest, and offull-blowntrees.Illusionwaspreviouslyrife

down here. It had been thekey and the clue to survivalfor those living corpseswhowere the guests of LordDeath.Fromthinairmightbe

constructed anything. Yet toone such as Atmeh it wasamply evident that neitherillusion, delusion, nordelirium of any kind hadmade the forest. It hadseeded. It had matured. Itlived.Lion and lady entered the

trees.There were black pines,

whosequillsborethefaintestblush of blueness, cedars

denser black, but vaguelybloomed with viridian.Silver-giltandpronetoclink,yettheywereconesthathungon the boughs or littered theground, where a dark mossgrewthatbuddedswarthily.Among the live thickets

too were stirrings. Birdsshowed themselves that didnot fly,butstalkedalong thebranches. They were likeravens, but their beaks were

flushed, their eyes prisms.Andwhere the trees thinned,you came on pools of sea-green water—and from thebasinspairsofleopardsweredrinking, in coats of blackspotted by broken rings ofgold.Theyraisedtheircaninemasks at the lion, whichgrowled, then lowered themto drink again. In their earswerepreciousdropsthecolorof the water. And once a

peacock crossed the forestfloorbeforetheriderandhermount,witheyesofpolishedturquoise in his tail. TheyweretheimmortalanimalsofSimmurad, maybe. HadUhlume not presented themtoNaras, when he razed thecity?The trees soon divulged a

road of grape-dusk marble,which spilled into a valleybeyond. Pylons towered by

the road, obelisks of smoothtranslucent black, and oneither side, and throughoutthe valley, such standingstonesarose,someingroups,others isolate, and betweenand around twisted marbleavenues. The valleyotherwisewasalllawn,aturfof blackest green, like ivy.Black mansions clusteredaboutonit,wherethepylonsdidnot.Itmightbeatownof

the dead. At the valley’sfarther end, up under themindless sky, was a sablepalace with inky columnsbraceleted by gold, andslashed in lizardinewindowsand windows salamander.Albino poplars ranked likewhite feathers by the walls.There were gardens blottedby scarlet plants, and treeswhose fruit lookedpoisonous. Before the high

portico a three-legged standof silver held a bowlof fire,which streamed up smut,ceaselessly and seeminglywithoutpurpose.In the stories, Death’s

domicile had been a simpleaffair. But in the stories ofNaras,neitherhadherpalacebeen this way. For sherecreatedthesubstanceofherearthly life here, or hadmeant to, they said.Possibly

the essential nature ofInnerearth had corrupted herwork. Or had she grownenamored of the new stateovertheold?Naras had outstayed her

thousandyears,somuchwaspositive.Naras,QueenDeath—what was the modest titleNarasenofMerh,tothat?Atmeh paused above the

valley. A tributary of theblanchedriver ranbefore the

palace, and the palacereflected in it, and the fire-smut, the windows, thepoplars. Nothing movedabout the house, nor in thetown. If all the prior guestshad departed, no more hadbeengarnered.Atmeh urged the lion on,

downthemarbleroad.Astheypassed,notagrass

bladeshifted.At the river, Atmeh

dismounted.She tethered thelionbysorcerytothelimbofavenomousdamson tree.Asshe walked on alone, theinsolent fruits of these treesfell into her very hands, totempt her, but she only letthem go. She crossed theriver by walking on thewater, and when she did so,two or three of the poplarsbowed down to her. Theliquid itself smolderedather

footsteps. Conversely, thesmokingfireatthedoorwentout.Ebony inlaid with ivory,

the doors. They swunginward, and Atmeh enteredthe silent hall of her un-uncle, King Uhlume,MasteroftheDead,oneoftheLordsofDarkness.Yes, there would seem to

havebeenacompromise.Thehallwasthisway:Grimstone

hungwith thepeltsof thingswhich could not die(somehow), banners fromwars unfought (surely?),burnished weapons, carpetsand draperies that delicatefingers of earth had wovenand embroidered, their dyesoddly altered, their patternschangeable—The floor, like the doors,

wasinlaidwithivory,butthiswas the internal scaffolding

ofmenandbeastsandfishes,tibias, ribs, pelvises,craniums, the lastwithgemsintheireyes.Between pillars girdled

gold,thecourtofDeath,menand women young andantique together, posed togaze at the one who nowcame in—but through thebodies of these courtiers, asthrough the floor, youmightsee—nottoaskeleton,butto

an emptiness. They werephantoms, these lingerers.Souls and flesh, both weregone,andthepsychicresiduehadwornthinasoldgloves.However, at the hall’s far

end, a quarter of a mileperhaps from the door, rosetwomighty chairs ofwhitestbone.Bone-whitehoundslayattheircarvenfeet,andblackhounds, and one hound thatwaspastelblue.

In one chair sat awoman,and in the other a man. Shewore a gown the color milkwouldbe,ifitwereblue.Herskin was black as blackwouldbe,ifblackwereblue.Her eyes were lighter blue,but that was the whites ofthem, and at their centersshrilled infernos of yellow.On her grape-purple hair—likethemarblesandwindows—wasaqueen’sdiadem,and

likethepillarsshewasringedbygold,saveher righthand,which was as much askeleton as anything sunk inthe floor. This then, Naras,QueenDeath.Butintheotherchairwasa

manof theblackestskin, thewhitest hair, clad in whiteandunjeweled.Hiseyesweretwo tears, two openings intobrightfog,twonothingnesses—

“Lordly Uncle,” saidAtmeh, “I extend myhomage.”“Despite your

misapprehension of ourrelationship,” said Uhlume,“youarewell-mannered.Youdid not learn it from theVazdru.”“No,”saidAtmeh.Andshe

bowed (another slenderpoplar), in parentheses as itwere, to Naras. But Naras

onlyglared.“What doyouwant?” said

Death.“Has no one told you,

lordly un-Uncle-who-is-not?I have confessed freely. Iwould become one of yoursubjects.”The Lord Uhlume, King

Death, or alternately KingUhlume, Lord Death, restedhisblackchinuponhisblackhand, and looked upon her

beautifully and with an icyendlessmajesty.(Intheotherchair, Naras snapped herbonefingers,once.Whenshedid so, every one of thehunting dogs disappeared,saveforthehoundofchilliestblue. This dog, a bitch, shefondled.But thatwasall shedid.)“You are the daughter of

Azhrarn,” said Death atlength. “And his demon

blood it is which has madeyou an immortal. This iswithin the present order ofthings.Youarenoconcernofmine.”“You are Death. Tell me

howImaylearntodie.”“Why do you yearn to?”

said Death, leaning yet hissculpted chin upon hisringlesshand.“To liberatemy soul from

mybody.Thatmyspiritmay

inhabit many lives and belessonedinthese,andsojointheadventureallhumansoulshaveastheirright.”“Men do not consider in

this way,” said Uhlume.“Menshunbodilydeathwithterror,andenvythosewhodonotperish.”“Thatisonlythesafeguard

of forgetfulness. Enhanceyour reputation by it,” saidAtmeh.“Makememortaland

perishable.Greatereventhanyour overthrow of Simmu,Immortality’s Thief—calledalso, sometimes, Death’sMaster—to bring down ademon’schildtotheclay.”“You are hungry for

endings.”“Not at all,” said Atmeh,

withaverymelodiouslaugh.“Ishalllivelong.Ishalllearnmuch,evenasIam.Butitisnot enough. Metamorphosis

is necessary. Will you grantthefavor?”“Atmeh-Azhriaz,” said

Death, “it is not within myjurisdiction.”“Yourefusethen.”“I do not,” said Death,

Lord of Darkness, potentateof earth’s core, “have thepowertodoso.”Then Atmeh turned to

Naras.“Lady,” said Atmeh, “do

yousupposehelies?”Itwas,apparently, thepart

of Naras now to laugh. Shedid so. The laugh, nearlyinaudible, had a frozen heatinit.Thenshespokeinalowvoice that was, one mightsay,ofthetonalvalueofherhair.“You mention

metamorphosis. Here is one.There has been a trucebetweenus,heandI.Wedo

notexchangechit-chat,butasyou note, we presentourselves as joint rulers ofthis muck heap. And in theworld, they telloftennowofme. Death, they say, shewalks on the battlefield.Death, theysay,Imether inthe marketplace. Behold,”saidNaras, stooping forwardalittle,“Imighthaveleftthisstony midden centuries ago,to partake of that adventure

you hanker for, that savageflightofsoulsthroughwitlessbirth-and-death and birth-and-death-and-birth. But Iwas cheated of the life Ivalued, my life as Narasen.And now I have assumed ithere, and here I will live itand queen it, till sated—whichshallnotbeforawhileyet.Asforhim,thisone,thisuncrownedMaster of Death,you will find he has lost

interest in gravematters. Heskirts the plague ships andthe war zones, he rests onsilkenbeds,notallinanimate,avoiding tombs. Is that notso,Oblackvulture?”Uhlume glanced at her.

Then his eyes returned toAtmeh.Now, theywere likeopals. They had sight andmight be seen. There were,most oddly, dreams of colorin them. Changeable. (Like

Kassafeh’s?)“Itisso,”hesaid.AtmehlookedatDeath.“You say you will not or

cannot aid me. But youyourself—”“No more,” said Uhlume,

gently. “You perceive, if Iabdicate, I leave a worthyand practiced successorbehindme.”Now, it was a bizarre

conversation, this, if it is to

be credited (be sure, it iscredited).But there is this tobe assessed. If the state ofdeathwereonly interim,andmen,spirituallyeternal,neverdiedsaveintheflesh,Death,even his symbol, hadultimately no function. Whyshould he not, bored andwearied by those deadlymillennia, take up otherpursuits?“Then, Uncle,” said

Atmeh, “Iwillwish you joyof your new life. And goelsewheretoseekmine.”But Uhlume stretched out

hisshapelyhand,andAtmeh,animmortalstill,wasabletotake his hand inconscientious farewell. Amortal,naturally,wouldhavediedofitinstantly.Atmeh therefore vacated

the hall of the palace ofQueenDeath,whereUhlume

hadthoughtfittoreceiveher.And as the phantoms ofUhlume’s long-departedcourtiers fluttered about her,Atmehbrushed themoff likecobwebs.Nosoonerwassheoutside

under the bleak sky thansomething came bodilyyelpingandrushingafterher.Itwas thebluehound. It ranto Atmeh, and ingratiatinglypanted. Then it cried in a

young girl’s voice: “Do notabandon me, O mistress ofastonishments—deliverance!”“Can it be?” said Atmeh,

questioningly.“I am Lylas,” whined the

bitch-hound, “once anenchantress, nowignominiously bound andkenneledherebythatwoman,who, forallmypainsonherbehalf, continually ensorcels

me into this image, to ticklehersadisticwhim.”“FromwhatIhaveheardof

you,” said Atmeh, “mightthatnotbejust?”“Like all great ones,”

snapped thehound, “you area dolt. Too feebleminded inyour pride to see that if youwere to helpme, Imight beofusetoyou.Imighttellyoutheanswertoyourriddle.ForIamcunningLylasstill,Iam

winsomeandwittyandprettyandmyself.”“I commiserate, but will

promise you no help. Foryours to me, you havealready given itimmeasurably—for by yourvery words I discover someanswer does exist, which Ihadcometodoubt.”At that Lylas leapt and

pawed at Atmeh’s skirt, andlicked her wrists, until the

lion, still detained at thedamson tree, growled andbeatitswings.“Let me give you all the

answer! It is such an easytask. There are mirrors herewhichshoweverythingoftheworld, what passes there,whodoeswhat.SometimesIglimpseinthem,andIamsoastute, learn much in asecond.”SowhimperedpoorLylas, dropping away. “Let

me be useful. Then rewardme.”Atmeh laid her hand upon

the blue bitch’s anxiousbrow.“I can allow neither.Your

path is not mine. Yourpunishmentsandrewardsnotminetorender.”“Cruel foulness,” said

Lylas, tryingnow,regardlessof the lion, to take offAtmeh’s fingers, andunable.

“Yourfilthysun-damnedraceweretrickstersever.Andyouaremadbesides.Beaccursedwith them, all madmen anddemons.”Andhurryingtothesilver tripod, where the firehad begun to smoke again,Lylas boyishly lifted her legagainst it. She had alwaysbeen something of a slut.This attended to, she lopedback indoors to fawn uponhertormentor,Naras.

But Atmeh, having untiedthelion,remainedtowalktheempty town of the dead, inthought.She hesitated at last on a

garden slope where poppiesflamed,andaftera little, sheplucked one. For she hadheardtherewasananswertothe riddle of immortality’sending, that the task waseasy,andshe—mad.

SHE COULD know almostanything,Atmeh,butnotall.Her very quarrel with herconditionwas that she knewtoo much to learn as theinnocent may, or the infant,or the sagacious one whosees he is a fool. Yet, bysome law of the earth’s, orthe gods’, when they had

bothered to make them, thelibraryofasorceress’smind,or a demon’s, lacked hereandthereavitalvolume.Theway to rebirth shemust findout.But for theother business,

itwaschild’splay.One evening therefore, as

the stars were coming out,there entered animpoverished little villagebetween some hills a starry

maiden ridingona lionwithwings.“Look!Look!”outcriedthe

populaceofthevillage.“Itistheking’syoungestwife.”“Orperhapsitisademon,”

venturedafewofthepoorestand silliest inhabitants, andwere immediately ridiculedandputtomercilessscorn.Atmeh rode down the

streetof thevillage,betweenthe sad huts.A sick dog lay

by the muddy well. It hadassisted the village inhunting,butnowitailedtheyhaddecideditmustbekilledand cut up for itsmeat—butnoonehadyethad theheartto do it. Atmeh made agraceful pass above the dogwith her white hands. Thedogsprangbarkingtoitsfeet.It was strong and healthy,andwouldliveforahundredyears.

“A sorceress,” said thevillagers, as one, and cametowardherwarily.ButAtmehspokeawordor

two to the village, its stonesandmudbricks,andthewell,andthefieldsbeyond.Totheyards she spoke, where thepotswerestacked,andtothespaceful larders, and theorchards,andthethreegoats,and the very air. Once shehad turned cheeses to jewels

tocontentAzhrarn.Sheknewbetter now. Every storeoverflowed, every fieldwildlyburgeoned,everyflawand hole was sealed, newshirts, new roofs, newshoes . . . or, that is to say,the old ones, as they hadbeen, before years of wearwore them. The goats werefriskily getting under thebilly,andthebillyobliginglyfilling each with baby goat

insidethehour.Thewellhadwatersweetaswine.Thejarsofsourwineindoorswerefitfortheking,andtoogoodforhim,indeed.While intheairhungafragranceandabalm.It would come to be, in therescued dog’s twenty-fifthyear,thatthisplacewouldbefamous in the region for itscurative properties, andsufficientlyprosperousithadlent money to the king’s

sons, so that—in the dog’sthirty-fifth year—a man ofthe villagewould himself bemadetheking.For now,when the village

had done congratulatingitself, it applied to Atmeh.Why had she performed thiskindness?“You also,” said Atmeh,

“unasked, and with nosuspicion of return, havedoneakindnesstoastranger,

akinsmanofmine.”Wondering, the villagers

lookedateachother.“There has only been one

stranger, saving yourself,since my granddam’s time.An insane mad lunatic, whois in a desperatemad insanestate in theruinedcotup thehill. It could not be of himyouspeak.”But it was, of course, of

Theyhadcomeonhimsevenseasonsbefore,orlonger,fortheir method of telling timewassomewhatinventive.Thegoatherd who drove thevillage’s herd of three goats—soon to be increased tothirty—had been terrified onthehillsbyasuddenhowlingandalumberingshapewhichaccompanied it. Even as theherder turned to run, the

horror stumbled and felldown, slavering and cawingand kicking its legs atheaven.Thenitlapsed.Itlayas if dead.And the goatherdinquisitivelywenttosee.The felled thing looked to

be a man of eighty years,skinny and wasted, his headand face quite lost inmattedhair representing all colorsand all earthly dirts. Nakedhe was, and by this

nakedness, the goatherdbeheld that his life had notbeentranquil.Manydreadfulacts had been performedagainst him, beatings andwhippings, and impalingsbypikes,andeventhereseemedtohavebeenattemptstohanghim,tobrandhim,toputouthiseyesandlophisears,andto deprive him of hismanhood. These forays,while they had left fearful

scars, he had somehowsurvived intact. (And it hadseemed later on, to thewomenof thevillage, that inhis youth the maniac, forsuchheprovedtobe,wasnotuncomely.)Yet themadness,and the raving that was onhimalwayswhilehehad thestrength for it—they did notabate. There was no means,in the village, to try to sethimright.Thistheysawfrom

the start, as they did withtheirownwhosickened.Thefirst day, the goatherd wentto fetch his brothers, andwhentheyreturned,theymetthe madman on the track,revitalized, yodeling andjumpingandrendinghimself,while gnashing his brokenfangs. But once more, hisfailing vigor could not holduptheparoxysmindefinitely.Soonhecrasheddownagain.

They bore him to the emptycot. Here presently theyshackled him, for fear ofwhathedid tohimselfwhenable, and might also do tothem. So, he became thevillage’sproperty.When he was quieter, or

unconscious, they wouldcleanhishurtsandcoverhimwith straw and their ownragged quilts. If he roused,and would let them, they

spooned broth into hiswrithingmouth.Therewasagirlof thevillagewhohadasweet voice, and she wouldgotothecotandsingtohim,and it soothed him, themadman, tohearher.Andinthe spring, she took whiteblossom and laid it by hisface, and in the summer shebrought him roses with thethornsremoved,sohewouldnotharmhimself,hewhohad

torn out his own hair andclawed his skin—“She is alittle touched herself,” thevillage said. “Sheunderstandshim.”Butthenafamine came to the village,which meant that instead ofeachmanhavingnothing,hethen had less than nothing.And in that time, the girldied. That night, under thecrisp mockery of the stars,the madman rolled in his

chains and made a noise sounhuman, so desolate, theentire village thought itshoulditselfbedrivenmad.“And since then,” they

said, “he has been dying.Dying in great anguish. Hisenergyisexhausted,forevenwhen he screams now, nosoundcomesfromhisthroat,andwhenhe rollsandkicks,onlythecotshakesafraction,wherebeforeboulderswould

plungedownhill.Yet,thoughhe dies, he cannot die. Thiswesee.Hestrugglestothrowhimself in at Death’s door,butsomeportionofhimwillnot allow it. Or cannot. Sothey say the immortals are,who never die, if such evenexist.”Then they conducted the

beautiful maiden up the hilltotheruinedcot.“Here,” said the village

men,andopenedthedoor.The maiden thanked them

civilly,andsentthemaway.In thevillagestreetbelow,

the women brought thewinged lion bowls of milkand honey, and the childrenbraided violets in its mane.Therewastobeafeastoutofthefulllarders.Astheylitthelamps and torches, and tookfrom chests old instrumentsof music to string and oil

them, they did not glancetowardtheruin.“Heisinherhands,”theysaid.

Atmehhadsealed thecotbyhermagic.Itwasoutoftime,out of the world. Perhaps itwas only her heart, and nother magic, which had donethis.There was no light in the

cot, yet there was light,fragileasstarshine.Itseemed

to stream fromAtmeh, fromher garments and her hair,and,softer,brighter,fromhereyes.She stoodandwatchedthewreckedcreature, tiedbyironandwrappedinquilts.Itwas awake, and looked ather. It did not cry out, orattempt to, but its hugestarting eyes, whites bloodyand irises pinched away tonothing,strainedupwardintoher own that were so clean

andbeautiful.Lylashad said toher:You

are mad. And from thepositioning of the phrase, itscoincidencewith those otherphrases concerning theriddle’s answer, Atmehextracted her cue. Fate wason her side. That being so,scarcely anything would berandom.Andbecauseshehadsloughed all the formerangers, spites, resentments,

dashedthedregsofbitternessaway, Atmeh saw clearly tothe earth’s ends, and sofound,andattheproperhour,the means, and also—nearlyincidentally—theloverofherdawn.Had he been parted from

her?Evensplitintothegrainsand fragments of insanity,somehow had he not beenwith her still? Lotusesopening, thatoffered jewelry

dice, petals that flew andkissed, water flowers thatbloomed inwinter frosts . . .he had loved her in hermother’s womb, they said,crazyChuz,PrinceMadness.And now, lying on the

straw, in the last deludeddelirium, under Azhrarn’scurse, dying grossly asAzhrarn had decreed—yetimmortal in the essence ofhimself,unablequitetodie—

thus, Chuz, finally. The hilltrembled in its sheath ofgrass, to have such acircumstance taking placeupon it. The stars abovecrackled in their dry dews,havingnochoicebut to lookdownonthis.She did not say to him:

“Do you knowme?”He didnot.Hedid.Andshedidnotsay,“You

deserted me. You preferred

suffering’sgametothemusicoflove.”Hehad.Hehadnot.She said, “Beloved.” And

she laid her hand upon thewarped and raddled, hairy,bestial face. And when thebloodshot eyes closed at hercaress,sheofferedinherturnherflowertohim.Itwasthepoppy she had plucked inDeath’s garden. Its petalsdripped, like the purestblood, upon his eyelids, his

lips, and breast. All pain ittook from him at once, thisscatteringoftheflower.Thatwas the secret of the poppy,whicheventothisdayithasnotbeenabletokeep.For the pod of the flower

had been despoiled, the fruitof it. Atmeh and nighttogetherhaddrawnfromitatiny vial of bitterest juice.Likeall the fruitsofDeath’sgarden, this too was poison.

And this she offered to herlover.“You have done all he

asked of you. It isaccomplished, and it is over.You have paid in full for acrimeofwhichyouwerenotguilty,asIshallhearyoutellme, too, fromyourownlips,in the future. Drink now.Hereislife.”Butat the last,anddespite

everything,asshesetthevial

tohismouth,herhandshook.She could not help herself.And a drop of the drinkspilled on the quilts and itwrote a symbol there of thedemon tongue, probably aninsignificantone—but itwasenough. Azhrarn’s baneapparently had an energy ofitsown,andoutlivedboththeintentionandthesettleddebt.Recollecting his allottedlabor, the madman reared in

his chains. He nudged thevial from him—it soared upintheair—andahandcaughtit. Not the hand of Atmeh,but one she had clasped notlong ago, black as a raven’sback;blacker.Uhlume stood within the

cot, tall enough his headnearlybrushedtherafters.Hesaidnothingtoher,butgoingby the girl, he bent to thestrugglingmadman.

When the creature sawhim,whichitquicklydid,thefight left it. Even madmenheardlegends.Evenmadmenknew of Lord Death. It wasexcuseenough.And when Death offered

the vial, and in the vial theblood of the poppy whichDeath’sownbloodhadmade,the madman craned andstretchedtomeetit.Thirstily,greedily,hegulpedtheliquor

down.For a moment his eyes

wereonlycloudy.Theywereglad,seeingintheirblindnessall the vistas sight denied.Then, as a clockwork stops,hedied.“I stole from you,”

murmuredAtmeh. “Did I dowrong?” She hung her head,andher tearsfell.“Youhaveforgivenme.”IfshespoketoChuzortoUhlume,nonewill

say.But it was Uhlume who

brushed away her tears withtheedgeofhiswhitesleeve.“Therewillbeanight,”he

said, “when I shall come toyou and offer you anotherdrink and from another cup.Butyouwilldrinkit.”“Thank you for your

courtesy in that,” she said.“But will you, then, beDeath?”

“ItmaybeIshallnot.Butstill, for you, I will performtheoffice.”“The wheat grows,” she

said, “and is cut down. Andagainthewheatgrows.Yourswasaheavy task.But ifyouare only the chrysalis, lord,whatwillthebutterflybe?”“Askthatofallthings.Nor

exemptyourfather.”Then Atmeh laughed, like

a child—for she would ever

be a child,much as,when achild, she had seemed alsoancient decades beyond herspan. And like a child sheembraced Uhlume, andUhlume—hesufferedit.Andthey say he smiled, butwhocanbesure,foreventheskullgrinscheerfullyas if itknewsomethingthefleshdidnot.Yet so they parted, the

niece and her uncle, for acoupleofhundredyears.

After their parting, Atmehperformed a very ordinarymortal deed. She bathed thebody of the madman, andpoured over it spices andperfumes.She laid the limbsstraight,andcombedthehair,and shaved the face. Andwhen all was done, shebrought to the body, bysorcery, the clothing of agreat prince, the silks, thegems,anddresseditinthem.

And there he lay at last,dead Oloru, or the replicateof Oloru, rather aged andemaciated, yet still ahandsomeman, even a king,it would seem, who hadfallenonhardtimes.And over this body, in its

splendor, the village wasafterwardtopuzzle,forlikeapetrified substance alreadylong dead, it never decayed,but remained firm and

wholesome. Therefore theybuilt a tombabove it,withawindowofcrystalintheside.Those that came to take thecurative air of the villagewould also stare in at thewonderofthiscadaver.“What can it mean?” they

asked. “What can itportend?”For it was, and is, often

that way, with instanceswhich mean and portend

nothing.But Atmeh had left the

body at once,when shewasdone with tending it. Shepassed through the villagefeast unseen, and calling thewinged lion, rode over thenightsky.Theyflewhighup,nearto

the starfields, andbelow, theworld unrolled its carpets ofseas and shores, forests andmountains.

“I rule none of it,” calledAtmeh to heaven. “Listen tome, you peerless soullessgods, I rule nothing and noone, and soon, soon I willoutshine you, for Iwill be amortal.Andoneday, asyounever can, I and mine shallinherittheearth.”

PARTTHREE:TheLotus

WANDERERS there hadalways been. From thechoicest city to the diresthovel,theywerealikelihood,if not always welcome. Norso much remarked, unlessthey sold wares, or knew

scandal,orweresorcerers,orcaused death. Atmeh then, abeautifulgirlaccompaniedbya large lionlike dog—whichsome, but not all, claimedhad wings—traveled quietly.It was true some also saidthis girl performed healings,andothers declared theyhadbeen told of those who hadfoundadishfilledwithpearlswhentheyhadonlygivenhera dish of milk. Others

remembered she had toldstories which children andthe aged liked to hear. Stillothers recommended, “Donot get on her wrong side.”But not many had beeninclined to do that. Thosewhodidwereunsuccessfulinany case. For example, richlandowners who chaseditinerants off their estateswith dogs discovered theirdogs would only adore this

one. In places, personsentreated her to stay, for noreason but that the look ofherliftedtheirspirits.Yetsheneverremainedanywhereforlong. In her diligent practiceforhumannessandmortality,shewouldeatanddrink, shewould learnweavingand thecare of plants by simplemeans, and she would takeup and rock in her arms thisbaby or that, the rich

woman’s infant wrapped invelvet, the naked one raisedfrom the warm ashes of thefireside in some cave wherethepoorsubsisted.Andthesechildrendidwell, as if thoseslim arms, fine hands, hadimparted to them somethingrare. Yet now and then,despite all that, there werethose thought they saw theyounggirlflyingaboutintheeveningskyonherdog.And

now and then too, themanymenwhofellinlovewithhercame asking for her as theirlady,ortheirwife,andthese,gently, sheput aside, thoughto a handful she granted herfavors,butonlyinawoman’sway:Sheshieldedthemfromdemon lovemaking, for theymust be content with mortalwomen after, and she too,one day, content to be suchwomenherself.

Inthismanner,timemovedon,and latesummercame,agreat glassy heat, into thelandwhereAtmehwanderedwithherdog-lionbesideher.On a rosy afternoon, as

Atmehwalked along a dustypath, a child of, perhaps,seven years appeared beforeher, a boy raggedly dressedand clumsy of feature, butwithhairofrose-goldlikethesky. On either side the hills

went up and rills of waterglittereddown,butaheadtheway ran flat and broad withnothing on it but dust, andlight, from which the childseemedtohavebeenformed.“Luminous mistress,” said

theboy,bowingtotheearth,“there lies before you, threemiles distant, a humblevillage. Do you journeythere?”“Perhaps,”saidAtmeh.

“Mymaster,”saidtheboy,“who has heard of you, foryouarefamed,trustsyouwillpauseinthisvillage.Hemaythenelect tomeet you there.In token of which he sendsyouthis.”And the child came to her

and offered her a single tinyseed.Atmehacceptedtheseed.“AndmayIpatyourdog?”

askedtheboy.

Atmeh assented. So hepatted the lion with thepartialillusionofdoguponit.(And the lion wagged itstail.)Then theboyvanished,becomingonlydust,orlight.ButtheseedlayhardandstillinAtmeh’spalm.Atmehcontinuedalongthe

path, and after three milescametoagapinthehillsandthe village. It was a smallone, but prosperous, well

used to travelers, but kindlycarefulofthem.ItwelcomedAtmeh in, and as the duskfell, spread out a banquet,under the stars which hungoverheadthickasgrapesonavine.And it seemed the village

knew that here was a witch,foritpromptedhereagerlytoperform feats. So she didsuch things as might bepleasant,andwhichwerethe

stock in trade of what theythought her, doubling andtrebling the quantities offood, turning water to wine,causing lights to burn inmidair,andstrangevisionstodance and to foretellinterestinghappenings.But of the one who had

saidhemightmeetherinthatvillage,theboy’smaster,shesaw no sign. And presently,whenshe lookedfor the tiny

seed, it had crumbled intonothingness, less substantialeventhandust,orlight.Next day Atmeh left the

village. She climbed up asteep hill, the dog-liontrottingatherside.As the afternoon was

drawing out toward sunfall,Atmehcameuponagroveofwild orange trees beside apool.Andbythepoolstoodayouth, about thirteen years,

waitingforheritseemed.Hewas of a staid appearance,but well dressed, like amerchant’s son, yet his hairwashisonlyjewel,alustrousrosyblond.“Iridescent mistress,” said

thisyouth toAtmeh,bowingtotheearth,“thereliesbeforeyou, three miles distant, aproud town.Do you journeythere?”“I wonder if I do,” said

Atmeh.“My master,” said the

youth, “who has heard ofyou, for you are illustrious,trusts you will linger in thistown. He may then elect tomeet you there. In token ofwhichhesendsyouthis.”Andtheyouthcametoher,

andofferedhera singlepalebudonasingleslightstem.“I looked for your master

lastnight,”saidAtmeh.

Butsheacceptedthebud.“And may I pat your

animal?” asked the youth.“Whichisnotadogatall.”Atmeh assented, so he

patted the lion, which hadlessthanusualofthedisguiseofadoguponit—andwhichpurred. Then the youthvanished, becoming, itseemed, another of theorangetrees.But thebudlaywarm and still in Atmeh’s

palm.Atmehcontinuedalongthe

slope, and in something lessthan threemiles, shecrossedthebrowof thehill and sawthe town below. It wasindeed a proud one, and lether in only after someinterrogation, though the sunwasbynowsinking.As the dark came, Atmeh

entered the marketplace,wherethestorytellershadput

up their awnings and satunder their colored lamps.Here the girls of the nightalso sat, in rows, beneathbold torches, with copperrings in their ears andcornflowers in their hair.Atmehtookaseatnotfaroff,upon the ground, but she litno light forherself, thoughalight did seem to be there,where she was. A manquickly approached and

askedherifshewasawhoreor a fortune-teller or a telleroftales.“Noneofthese,”saidAtmeh, “yet we are of abrotherhoodandasisterhood.For we deal in magic, allthese,andI.”“How is a whore to be

magic?”scoffedtheman.“Go liewith one, and you

willsee,”saidAtmeh.At this, thegirlsunder the

torches became interested in

Atmeh in an amiable way—before they had suspected arival, and some had beenplottingtopushheroff.Gradually then, the night-

walkers of the town came tosit about Atmeh on theground, the stones of whichwere yet warm from theday’s oven. The peopledebated and discussedmatters with her, andsometimes they fell silent,

andshetoldthemstoriesthatwere not stories, and gavethem news of their fortuneswithout divination, andseduced them quite, withoutlying down in their arms.What she said was amusing,too, and comforting. Shespoke the truths which areforgotten, butwhich allmenknow in their hearts. These,beinggiventhemagain,werelike long-lost friends that

theyembracedgladly,ifonlyforoneshortminute.“Amanmay say to himself,” saidAtmeh,“whyshouldItroubleto do anything that is usefulor compassionate for half anhour,wheninanotherhour’shalf I shall go back to myformer selfish, cruel ways?But there is all the morereason for him, then, to dogoodwhenhecan.Tenyearsofevildonotcancelasingle

moment of gentleness or asolitaryprofoundthought.”Then a prostitute said to

Atmeh,“Butwhatofsuchaswe,whosindayandnight?”“What you do,” said

Atmeh, “is not a sin, unlessyouthinkitso.Andthenitis.For who can say they doanythingwrongbygivingjoyto another? And is it lessnoble to ask money for joythan to askmoney for oil or

silkorspice?Butifyouthinkalways,OhhowIsin,andsodespise yourself, you lessenand wound mind and heart,and there is no worse crimeon earth than to sour thesweetnessinyourself.Forthesweetness comes from thesoul, which no act of thebody ever can, at the last,corrupt.”As she spoke and

discoursed, however, Atmeh

became aware that someone,amantledshadowyfigure,satfar out at the edge of thelarge crowd that hadgathered. And now and thenhepartlyraisedhishead,andit seemed to her that underthehoodhishairwaslikethesheerest gold. But he neveraddressed her, or came near,and finally the night waned.In the first ray of sunlight,Atmeh looked for him, that

recalcitrant figure, and hewas nowhere to be seen. Asfor the bud on the stem, ithadcrumbledintoair.That day Atmeh left the

town. She walked through avalley thickwithnewwheat,and the lion flirted with thegrain and played with her,justlikeadog,certainly.Beyond the valley there

opened a wide paved road.No sooner had Atmeh

alighted on it than a youngman stood at her side, ofperhaps three and twentyyears,well favored, andcladlike a prince, though his fairhairwashisgreatestglory.“What now?” inquired

Atmeh,walkingon.“O mistress blinding-

bright,” replied the youngman, bowing to the earth,then falling into step withher, “there lies before you,

three miles distant, anarrogantcity.Doyoujourneythere?”“Not at all,” said Atmeh,

butshelaughed.“Thatisashame,”saidthe

young man, laughing also,“formymaster—”“Who has heard of me,”

saidAtmeh,“forIamfamedandillustrious—”“And also you are blessed

and revered everywhere,”

embellished the young man,“andthereforemymaster—”“TrustsIwillpause,linger,

hesitate, and delay in thiscity,” said Atmeh. “That hemay then elect to meet withme there.Ornot.Orhemayarrive and not exchange awordorlookwithme.Orhemayarriveandgreetme,andnext abscond. Woe anddespair,”saidAtmeh,andshelaughed again. “In token of

which,”sheadded,“what?”“This,” said the young

man,andheheldouttoheralotus of the palest clearesthoney amber, on a stem ofdamson-coloredquartz.Atmeh took the lotus. It

hadafragrance;thesunshinelay in it like a fish of flamewithinanorboffire.ThenAtmehwept,onlyfor

a moment, but her tears fellintotheheartoftheflower—

and the amber and theamethyst were gemmed bysapphires.“Youmay,”saidAtmehto

the young man, “pat thislion.”Theyoungmandidso.The

lionkissedhimfondly.“I will tell my master,”

said the young man, “thatyouaccepthisgift.AndthatIwas kissed. If not by you.”And he was gone, into utter

nothing—but the lotusgleamed and refracted inAtmeh’s hand, and itsperfumefilledtheday.

It was something more thanthree miles to the city, butAtmehcametoitatlengthasthe sun was westering. Itstowers and tiers rose up inthegold-leafair—butAtmehhad seen many cities, andruledoverone thathadbeen

tocitiesasayearistoaday.Yet this city was grand,

and arrogant as themessengerhadpromised.So, to get in,Atmeh,who

mighthaveputonherselfthepresence and adornments ofan empress—if not agoddess, from considerationof the gods’ thin hides—andstormed the gates by herglamour, Atmeh turnedherself into a dove, and the

winged lion into a wingedlionas small as adove.Andtogether they flitted in overthe mighty battlementswhereon were done inenamels just such doves andlionswithwings,buteachofthese was the size of anelephant.As the sun set and laved

the sprawling city, itstemples, its palaces, and itswarren of slums, Atmeh the

dovesatuponahighcorniceand gazed about.Honey andamber was the light, anddamson the aftercolor thatsoakedupwardfromtheeast.Sheflewdowntothesteps

of a temple. Here, by day,therewasamarket.Nowthecommerceceased,andbrazenbellsboomedoutfromabove,summoning men to honorheaven. In the shadow of apainted column, Atmeh

transformed herself againinto a girl, and the lionresumeditssize.Noneoftheworshipers noticed this, asthey hurried up the stair, ontheir way to plead with andbribethemarbleimagestheythoughtwereholyandmightbe persuaded to listen. Nordid they feel compelled toturnasideandaskthisfemalefigure,subtlyclothedinblue,her dog at her feet, to help

theminstead.It grew dark under the

temple’sheavybrow,andthesky filled with purple andstars. And then a man camewalking up the stair, alsocloaked in purple, with starsupon and in the folds of it.He reached the column, andcasting off his hood, leaneddown toward the womanthere. And he regarded her.Somewherealampwaslitin

the portico above, or elsesome other light had foundtheirfaces.“Itwasnotsoverygreata

while,” he said. “Do yourememberme?”“You?Who can you be?”

she said.And she raised herfaceandherarmstohim,andhe, taking hold of her, drewher up. Any who saw themthenmighthavebeenstartledby their beauty, and by

somethingmore about them,beautiful also.But none sawthem, only the paintings onthecolumn,andthebirdsthatnestedunderthetempleroof,and the flame in the lampthere,andall the starsof thesky.“Saymyname,”hesaid.“Oloru,”shesaid.“No,thatisnotmyname.”“Perhaps you are like

another,”shesaid,“aprince.

But they say he is also ugly—”“Neverwithyou,”hesaid.

“How could anything beugly, inyourcompany?Thatone, half hideous, halfdeformed, when heapproaches you, he growshandsome. Even his eyes,both of them, are golden.Look,doyousee?”She whispered his name.

Only he heard it. His face

wasmatchlesseither side, asall his body was (and thestarsonhismantlewerestars—not jabs of cutting brokenglass).Healsosmiled.Chuz,shehadwhispered.“But you are called

Atmeh,” he said. “How youhavechanged.Wherearethetricks you worked onmankind? The lands arelittered with those you havehealed, and those who teach

as you taught them, thesephilosophies of the undyingmortalsoul.”“Let us not talk of that.

TellmeratherhowitisImetyou three times overdisguised on my road, andwhy you teased me,appearing and disappearing,referring to yourself as‘master.’”“Ihaveservedmytermfor

AzhrarntheMarvelous,”said

Chuz, laconically.“AmInottherefore again my ownmaster?”“Nonetoruleyounow.”“Saveonlyyou.”Theydrewyetcloser then,

and their mouths touched asthemouthsofloverswill.They had been parted five

orsixdecades,halfacentury,a little more—not long. Butat their kiss, curious eventstook place. The birds started

from the roofs and began tosing,as if togreet thedawn.And the bells rang in thetemple top with no one attheir ropes. And elsewheremirrors turned to icicles, ormelted, emerald necklaceswerefrogs—“What is this madness?”

the citizens exclaimed.“Some enemy is playing ajoke.”And others, looking up

from their high avenues androof pavilions, pointed andsaid, “Now what is that?Some huge bird, or a bit ofblownwashing—”“Itis,”saidachild,“aman

and a woman seated on avelvetcarpet,andalionfliesbesidethem.”“Nonsense,” its elders told

thechild.And in the temple topone

of the bronze bells whirled

off inashowerof fireworks,and roses rained, and all theunlitlampswerekindled.“Some noble is holding a

feast,”saidtheelders.How mundane life was.

Onlyanotherevening,likealltherest.Forevensosoontheworldwasgrowingskeptical,and sensible, and sound, andblind.Butnotforthem,thisdark

of experience and reason.

Unreasonablyheandshe,onthe cloud of a carpet,magicians up in the air,lovers least reasonable of all—theworldagardenthroughwhich they passed. Throughwhich they might passforever. Or not, as theychose.

THEY JOURNEYED thenawhile together, or they leftoff rambling and made theirhome,nowinacottage,nowin a mansion. They werewandering entertainers,musicians and story-makers,they were a lord and hiscourtesan, a queen and herwarlord, or they were two

cats, one black, one yellow,two birds of the sky, twolights that shimmered overmarshesandwoodsbynight.And there are the tales, too,of a black-hairedman and ablondgirl,forbothwerenowshape-changers....And a year and a day, or

one long elemental day thatwas a mortal year, this theyspent together. They askedvery little of each other,

except to change stones intogold, to walk through wallsfor amusement—smallthings. If the gods noticedthem at this date is notrecorded, and probably theydidnot.Andifanyotherpaidthem attention, he did notprovide evidence of it.Azhrarn, the instigator oftheirwoes,hehadslept thenwoken, and his waking wasmore of a sleep than the

sleep. Mortals were nothingtohim.Andofsimilarworthsuch royalty as Lords ofDarkness.Therehadcometoexistasayinginthosetimes:Hedoesnotlookatus.Thosethatsaidithardlyknewwhatthey meant. But demonkindknew, and came up on theworld like the moon, andtoyedwiththemallthemoreforit.But for the lovers, they

were happy. Happy evenafter a mortal fashion, forthey too understood theiridyllcouldnotlastbeyonditsseason. This was thebitternessof joy, that itmustend, or else grow stale.Dunizel herself had writtenasmuch, in thedesert shrineofBhelsheved.So, then, a scene may be

pictured. A day like manyothers, gilded. A meadow

curded with flowers,mountains along the sky’sblue hem, far away yetvisible, like the foreshadowofparting.Atmeh is, on this day, a

king’s youngest, loveliestdaughter.Eye-blueherdress,flowers in her hair. At herthroatacollarofelectrumsetitself with a strangelywrought flower, amber,amethyst (which, theymoot,

mayhavebeenmadeforoneLord of Darkness by theDrin-folkofanother).BeforeAtmeh stands a boldwingedlion, looking as if it hadstepped directly from theenamelwork upon somemightycitygate—whereasinfact such enamels have beeninspired by sights of suchanimalsasthelion.The lion purrs as Atmeh

sings in its ear.ThenAtmeh

claps her hands, and with aflaunt of great pinions, thelion tips itself up into theether, soars, becomes a tinydaylightstar,andisgone.Atmeh sits down upon the

earth to plait a garland ofyellowflowers.A tree nearby opens, and

lets out Chuz, a poeticwarrior captain mailed andpurple-fringed.Buttheswordinthescabbardathissideisa

mauve-eyed serpent waitingonly to be drawn to terrifybystanders.ChuzkneelsbyAtmeh.He

is so handsome, so unlikehimself as legends have himto be, you are not entirelysure it isnot,afterall,Olorucome back again. Yet he iscertainly too fabulous forOloru.Tooabsolute.Mortalsnever have this look, offlashing fire made cool and

everlasting.“Wherehaveyousentyour

lion?”Chuzasked,asthegirlset upon his golden hair thegoldengarland.“Whereitwishes.Wehave

saidfarewell.”Chuz reclined. He lay

down, and his head resteduponherlap.Helookedupather.Nomortalwoman,withsuch a lover by her, couldhave said farewell in turn to

him. Atmeh was not yetmortal.“Tellme,”shesaid,asshe

gazeddownuponhim,“whatIdesiretobetold.”“Andwhatisthat?”“Youknowit.”“And did you,” he said,

“facilitate my return to you,only inorder toget frommetheinformation?”Atmehgazeduponhim.“Oh,tellme,”shesaid.

“That you may grow oldand die, and this exquisiteskin, this hair, these bones,your eyes that are the suntwiceover if thesunbecamethe sky—that all this maydecay, end, feed soil, andslugs. For that? My rewardfor telling you, to see youruinedasyourmotherwas?”“Youdidnot,”saidAtmeh,

“slay my mother. That Iknow. I knewwhen I forgot

tohateher.WhenIlovedheragain, then I knew. But nothowitcametobe.”“I will tell you that,” he

said.“Ifyouwish.”“Be wary,” said Atmeh,

“for if you do tell me that,youconfirmthemeanstomyown mortality. You note, Iamalreadyawareofit.”They had dressed as

humans. Like two humansthey rested together in the

meadow, mountains about,heaven above, and earthbelow.But how did he describe

for her the death of hermother and his portion of it,and his guiltlessness—whenfor thatguiltycrimeAzhrarnhad insisted Chuz bepunished? Not in words,surely. In a glance. By amethodofsilentspeecheventheVazdruandtheEshvahad

not coined. Those that cameafter, however, had onlywords,nornowthewordsofthe flat earth. Be patient, beattentive,thestorytellercries.Never more needful, thesevirtues,thannow.IntheeraofBhelsheved,it

had happened Azhrarn’sblood had spilled in thedesert there, three drops.Chuz had come on them, orsought them,and taken them

up and hidden them. Out ofmotives of mischief oradmiration or vindictivenessor all of these, andyet otherpromptings. For if theintellectofsuchasAzhrarnisawkward to gauge, howmuchmorealienthebrainofMadness.But there is also this. By

removing those threepolished obsidian drops ofunearthly ichor, Chuz kept

themfromthegraspandplotsofmen.NowpresentlyChuz stood

on the lake of Bhelsheved,and offered to Dunizel, in acourtlyway,anamethystdie,whichAzhrarnrefusedonherbehalf. And after that, thedie, one of a pair of dice,maybe,hadbeenfoundbyaninsane sect who worshipedstones. And then the die—acclaimed as a radiant stone

—was put into a leather bagaboutanoldman’sneck,andvenerated as a god. Butpresently again, whenDunizelhadbeenbroughtoutbefore the angry people asthe harlot of demons, andthey debated on how toexecute her, and if theydared, Chuz had tried toretrieve the amethyst. Ascuffleensued.Dice,pebbles,and other objects dashed

from the robe of Chuz. Ashout went up that stoneswere being thrown at theaccursed woman, and soother stones were thrown,with lethal intent. UnderAzhrarn’s protections,nothing harmed her until,along with all the debris,someone chanced to pick upand cast at her one of thedrops of Azhrarn’s blood.Andthatbeingtheonlyitem

which could pierce hissafeguards on her, it killedheroutright.Finally, when the child—

Azhriaz—was alone in thefane, Chuz appeared againandprofferedher, infant thatshe was, the amethyst, thevery clue, it seemed, to hermother’s murder. AndAzhriaz did not accept thejewel.NotuntilAzhrarnhadhadhisrevengeonChuz,not

till she was a woman andalone,didDunizel’sdaughtertake the amethyst from thatlotus in the swamps by theriver delta. And then everafter she wore it in a littlecageofsilveratherthroat.Shehadbeguntoguess,or

knewallof it.Chuz toldherfreshly, and for the first, inthe silent incomprehensiblespeech,orbyaglance,orbynothing save his agreement

thatshelearn.Perhaps he had cared for

Dunizel, or for Azhrarn.Perhaps he had been proud,andnot likedmankindtogetpower over a fellow prince.Or it had been just themadman’s pernickety wishfor tidiness. Chuz, findingthem, kept safe the drops ofblood.Hestored them insidethedieofamethyst.Itwasaneccentric jest, then, to offer

Azhrarn’s own property toAzhrarn, through Azhrarn’slover, and to be refused,spurned,putoff.Then,asthestorm gathered overBhelsheved, Chuz, madlyforcing the issue, bringingdown the roof on Azhrarn’sschemes, even mistrustinghimself (well advised), gavethe fateful jewel away. Hegave it to the stone-worshiping madmen, his

subjects. And the old manstowed the amethyst in aleather bag, from which heneverwould have allowed ittobetakenforanybaseuse.But, oh, Fate—if notKheshmet, his essence, thehappenstance from whichKheshmethadevolved.Priorto the jewel, the oldphilosopher had kept in hisleatherbaganamuletofgold.Gold,thatwasinimicaltothe

demons,andtodemontissue.The echo, the ghost of the

gold, in such nakedproximity, worked upon thedropsofVazdrublood.Theybegantomoveinsidethedie,to seek an exit. And Chuz,sensing that, in turn tried toregaintheamethyst,andwasunable. By the moment thedie was scattered with otherobjects in the fray, a singledemoniac drop had broken

free from its prison. Anameless hand seized it, andflung it for a pebble. It didthe very thing Chuz had notmeant it to. And Dunizel,though not the soul ofDunizel,perished.Two drops of blood

remainedinsidethedie.Theyhad stayed there, and weretheretothisminute,protectedby silver, about the neck ofAzhrarn’sdaughter.

“By which you confirm,”said Atmeh now, “that theyare also the means to mydeath. As with my mother.That power laboring againstitself, diamond cuttingdiamond. If I absorb thatimmortal energy changed toblackstone,itwillwearawaymy immortality. I will livelong,andgrowoldatlength,and finish. And thus I shallbefree.”

“But as you also know,”said Chuz, “I sealed theamethyst. Only my will cangive those drops of death toyou.”“Or,” she said, “the mere

actionofgold.”Andsheraisedthecollarof

electrumwiththelotussetinit. Under that, in the hollowof her throat, lay a goldenacornonachainofgold.Thegold had silvered; she had

wornitsomewhile.“Thedieishere,withinthe

gold. I believe it has alreadycompleteditstask.ButIwasalways half mortal. It wasnecessary to me, to learnfrom you and from no oneandnothingelse,thatyoudidnotkillmymother.”“Throw the bauble away,”

saidChuz.“PerhapsIlied.”“Azhrarn warred with you

foradeedofwhichyouwere

blameless. I too must begiven my right to savagefoolishness,thegloryofself-denial.”And Atmeh tapped the

acorn.Itcrackedinbits.Intoher palm sprinkled brilliantlavender dust, all that wasleft of the die, groundbetween the struggle of thegold and twodropsof ichor.These last appeared too inAtmeh’s palm, black and

boiling, sudden as meteors.Herhandflewtoherlips.Shetook those drops of deathwithin her mouth, on hertongue.Sheswallowedthem.Chuz sprang to his feet.

Like a young man whosewife or sister has abruptlyeatenpoison.All around, the birds had

stoppedsinging.Theflowerswilted.Ashadowmaskedthesun.

“It is done,” said Atmeh,lookingupathim.Shesaiditquietly, with compassion.“NowIshalllive.”Prince Madness stood

staringather.“YouareDunizel,”hesaid.

“She betrayed him withdeath.Nowyoudoittome.”“Did you not say to me,

once, there is all time for usto meet again? And there isthis life yet.Withme, it has

not been a piercing weaponcast—it will be mild, andslow. I shall live a fewdayslonger, some hundreds ofyears.”“You will be a hag,” said

Chuz.His facewaspale andserious. “You will die. Youwillcomebacktotheearthindisguise, beautiless, ugly,diseased,witless,awomanoraman.Unrecognizable.Thisyou wanted? To see my

shoulder turned to you? Tosee the foul side ofme, andthat hand which sends menshrieking to the mind’sbrink?”“Chuz,”shesaid,“areyou

not thesymbolofeverything—the fair and the vile,together?Andyou,thedealerin lunacy, a pitying father, arescuer, the kind physicianwhobindsthebruisesoflife.The spirit of poets, and

prophets,thelordoffrenzies,religions,music,magic,love,andwine.Youarethemasterof the key to the innermystery.Youarethebreakerofchains. I amyour subject,my lord, as I amyour lover.Always.And youwill knowme, till the last star bloomsandfades.Youwillknowmebeyond the ending of theearth.”Then Chuz kneeled once

more beside her. Like twohumans, theyclung together,andthecloudleftthesunandshowed them there. Theflowers lifted their heads.The birds exchanged theirsinginggossip.Whatwastheworld but passing things?Whatisitnow?“Whatwillyoudo,Atmeh,

asawoman?”“WhatIhavelearnedtodo.

ButIshallloveyoualways.”

“Loveiseverywhere,”saidChuz gently, stroking herhair, “and the death of love.And time, which is built ofthe histories of death andlove. Death and time I hadalways conceded, andacknowledged. And now Iseeplainlywhat love is.Notin you, pretty, mortal child.But inmyarms thatcomfortyouforwoundingme, inmyhands which soothe you for

it, inmywordswhichsaytoyou, in despite of me, Dowhatever you must. Thislesson I will not remember.NorshallIeverforget.”And Chuz lowered his

eyes,hismatchlesseyes.He,magnificent, a Lord ofDarkness, held in his armsnow a mortal woman. AsAzhrarn had discovered, thatwaslikeclaspingthetidesofthesea,thewindsofheaven.

How massively themountains stand, while lowtothegroundthesandblows.The sand blows on and on.And then there are nomountains, none at all, thesand has kissed andwhispered them away. Andstill,thesandblowson.

EPILOGUE:ThreeHandsomeSons

MANY THOUSANDS hadcome to consult the seeress,overtheyears.Shewaskind,and partial, but mostsignificant, she was clever.Shesatinsideashrineofsky-blue marble, far back in thethroatofit,wherethevapors

rose out of the mountain.Perhaps these vapors wereconducivetoprophecy.Hugeserpents dwelled, or hadcome to dwell, in themountain,andtheseweretheattendants of the seeress,smooth pythons andpatterned anacondas. Theydid no harm, exceptsometimes to scare theunwary. It seemed theseeress-priestess had an

affinitywithsnakes.How old she was, the

woman. Some said twocenturies, or three. Otherssaid shewas a younggirl ofexceptionalacumen,whohadgiven herself the appearanceof age in order not to temptor anger gods and men.Certainlyshehadbeeninthatplace a very great time, forgrandfathers andgrandmothers remembered

thattheirowngrandsireshadrelated how their grandsiresspokeofher.She had previously

traveledtheworld,toitsfourcorners. To its deeps, itselevations. Even under thesea, they said, shehadgone.And it seemed she hadmarried, or been loved, also,but this was normally onlymurmured of: She wasbeyond weddings and

couchingsnow.Nowshewashere, a blown grain of sandcometorest.Acityripenedinthevalley

underthemountain.Atempleblossomed from themountain’s side. Whenstrangers stayed there, theyasked,“Towhichofthegodsis this fine templededicated?” But the templewas not dedicated to thegods. It was dedicated to

man. And man wasworshiped there. In all hisstages—as a seed within awomb, as a baby, and as aninfant. As a female and amale child next, then asyouth and maiden, womanandman, father andmother,stoop-backandcrone.Andinthe inner cloisters mankindwas shown in beauty, orugliness, as prince andbeggar, as the leper and the

strong, being crippled orupright. One found icons ofthe artisan and the warrior,thescholarandtheslave,theking, the priest, the sage.And,cutfrompolishedstone,effigies of the enraged anddrunken,themad,thestupid,thesly, thegenius, theartist,themurderer, the savior, theinnocent. All these, andmore. And chiseled in thepillars here and there, or in

themarbleofthefloor,thesewords:REMEMBER THIS: ALL

THESE YOU MAY HAVEBEEN,ORMAYBE.REMEMBER THIS: IN

EACHANDALLTHERE BURNS THE

FLAME.

They said she had made the

temple, or inspired it, theancientseeressofthesnakes.Or perhaps she had only

chanceduponthetemple,andbeenpromptedtoremain.Or some said shedreamed

it, and her dream laid thefoundation,but shewas thenachildinadistantland.Whatever the truth, it was

to theoldwoman theywent,thepilgrims, for consolation,after they had worshiped

their own image in the hallsbelow.Thesunhadset; therewas

nothingnewinthat.The stars came out and

crowned the mountain.Nothingnewinthat,either.Themoon sailedup in the

east. This had happenedbefore.Down in thevalley,where

the poplars grew along the

road leading toand from thecity, there came a tappingsound.Tap-tap, tap-tap. Thecattlehadbeendrivenhome.Thetravelershadfoundtheirlodgings. The troupes ofplayers, the journeymen—allthese had made their campsinthegrassymeadows,undertrees.Andthenativecitizenswere indoors. Tap-tap. Eventhe brigands did not lie inwait upon that thoroughfare,

out of respect for the templein which they too, and theirhungers, were represented.Taptap-tap.Whocoulditbe,making along the night-timeroad, where the moon castthe shadows of the poplarsdown in stripes? Along theroad, toward the temple,steadyandintent.Tap.After dark, the temple too

was dark; only a lamp hunghereandthere.Butonelamp

wasontheouterporchabovethe gate, and a young priestwould sit there, to watchthrough the night, to look atthestars,tothink,andincasesomeone might have someneedortrouble.He saw then, the young

man before the Temple ofMan, a hunched inky figure,formless as a blot upon theair,inchingupontotheslopeof themountain like a black

snail. And it leaned upon astaff and it tapped with thestaff. And for some reason,the hair shivered on thepriest’s scalp. He stood andwatched the tapping snailcrawlinguptheslope,aroundthe turns and curves of themountain, all the whilegetting nearer. The priestshuddered and was amazed.He said to himself, Therehave been night visitors

before. True, it is not quitecanny. But there is nothingbad in it, surely. Besides, Inever saw one of them, andnow I shall. And besidesagain, whatever it is, I amhuman and will live forever.Even if a dragon comes andtearsmeinpieces,thefireofmy life it cannotquench.Letme be easy therefore, andbrave.Finallytheblackbeinghad

tapped all the way to thetemplegate.Thereitraiseditshead,and

the lamplight showed aseamed face, and lizard-liddedeyes.Anold,oldman,nearly old as the seeress,maybe.“Good evening, sir,” said

the young priest, masteringhimselfwithdifficulty,fortothe sense of fear had nowbeen added a curious awe.

Buttheoldmannodded,andleaned on his staff. Fromunder his hood strayedcharcoal locks. One gnarledhandgrippedthestaff’sneck,but the fingers of the othertapped on, upon the staffshead,whichwasintheshapeof a black dog, long in themuzzle, pointed in the ears,with two black jewels foreyes.Justsoweretheeyesofthe ancient, also, when he

widened them at the priest,black and brilliant. In likemanner, the eyes of theseeress had stayed bright inher ravaged face. For sure,thisisanotherofherkindred,thought the priest. And hetrembled.“I am informed,” said the

old man, “there is aprophetess here. Atmeh, sheisnamed.”Thenthepriestsighed.The

voiceof theoldmanwas sobeautiful, so full of musicand power, yet so full ofdarkness, too. The verysoundofitsweptthroughtheyoung man, like waterthroughachannel,likeadrugthroughtheveins.“Just so,” stammered the

priest,“youwillbewelcometogoin,doubtless.Asaretherestofherfamily.”“Her family?” said theold

man.“Whomighttheybe?”“Well,sheisaged,agedas

trees and hills, sir. But itwould seem, late in life—orthroughsomemagicalmeans—sheborethreesons,andbythreedifferent fathers—threekings, they say. But I havenever seen them—”And thepriest grew silent, faintlyashamedtohavedisclosedsomuch, and to one whopresumablyknewitalready.

But theoldmanpondered.He said, “You must tell memoreofthis.”Anditseemedtotheyoung

priest thatverydefinitely,hehadnochoiceinthematter.So,hetoldthestory,ashe

hadoftenheardit,fromthosewho had witnessed thepriestess’sthreenightcallers.They did not, it appeared,ever arrive together. Norweretheyatallalike.

Except that each washandsome,andeachwasrich—whatcoulditbebutthat,inherextensivelife,Atmehhadconceived and borne them?And that their fathers werekings, who could doubt itfrom their wealth and theirdemeanor? Apparently theythought it best to travelincognito here, and steal upthe mountain alone, to paytheirrespectstotheirmother.

Oneworeclothesthecolorofasunset,orangeandgold,andhis skinwasbrownas anut.Hewas themost dutifulson, and had stopped by themost often. Sometimes evenhe was early, and severalpilgrims had beheld him inthewesteringlight,sittingona rock at the wayside. Andthese declared he was thendressed as a beggar, thefurther to mask his regal

person. The second son waslessdutifulandhadnotbeenseen so frequently. He wasblond of hair andcomplexion, wore magentaanddiamonds,andhisbeautyupset theeveningbirds,whowould begin to bleat likesheep.(Andtherewereotherthingswhen hewas about—doors opening in unexpecteddirections,milkfermentingtoalcohol, the hair of girls

plaiting itself.) An odd one,thesecondson.Thethirdson,he wore pure white raiment,and patently he had beenfathered by a lord of theblackraces. In thebeginninghe had never once called onhis mother, being the leastdutiful of the three. Yet, inrecentmonths, hewas notedoften.“Heistryingtomakeituptoher,”theysaid.The old man in black,

when he had heard thisrecital, gave a laugh. It wasmelodious, but not good tohear, somehow. “And I,” hethen said. “What do yousuppose I am? The lady’sfather,perhaps?”“No,honoredsir,”saidthe

priest,“sinceyouarenotoldenough.”“Nevertheless,” said the

oldman,“Iwillgoin.”“Nevertheless,” said the

priest, “I am not inclined topreventyou.”At that, the oldman drew

close to the young one, andputting out his elderly claw,he touched the priest uponthe breast, once. This touchwasgentleasakiss,yetfromit such a rush of ecstasy ranthrough his body that thepriest fell to the earth. Andreaching sightlessly, hecaught the hem of the black

mantle to his lips. “Ohsupreme master, you aresurely a god, a loving god,youwarmme likewine, likelove itself. The sun by night—you are that sun—” Butthere seemed under hismouth and fingers only afierce beating like colossalwings—Coming back to himself,

the priest gazed around him.Noonewasby.Thegatewas

shut. The lamp burnedplacidly, and all themotionlessstars.“DidIdreamit?”The night wind, browsing

inthegrasses,answeredYes.“Yes,” agreed the young

man.“Adream.”

The priestess-seeress wassitting within the shrine. Byday, it was the color of thesky,butbynightpale, likea

smoky moon. Inside theshrine,thevaporsfloatedandthe pillars stood still, bothsubstances with a liquidglimmering on them.Between, on a ledge, wasAtmeh.Her robe was blue and

fresh in the lightof the littledishes of oil which burnedthere. Yet she was bentnearlydouble,shehadshrunkand withered, her skin to

parchment,herhairtogauze.Onlyhereyesblazedon,asiftheflameoflifeitselfdirectlykindled them. They werekeen, her eyes. A snake,whichifithadstooduponitstail would have knocked thehigh roof with its skull, layabout Atmeh like a coil ofcostly rope, its headquiescent on her lap. Atmehsaid now to the snake, “See,beloved. Here is one you

must bow down to. Or hemaychangeyouintoacat.”The snake obediently

looked, then, where Atmehlooked—into the shadows—andliftingitself,thesnakeletitselfdownagaintothefloorin a fluid obeisance. Thatdone, it swam away acrossthe shrine, and twined itselfabout a pillar, seeming tosleep, open-eyed in thefashionofitsrace.

A man walked from theshadows then. He wasmarvelously handsome, withhair that shone like blue-black fire, and clothed in allthemagnificenceof night. Ifany from the temple, or thecity, any pilgrims orpassersbyhadseenhim,theywould have exclaimed:“Why, we had supposed theseeress had three handsomesons,buthereisafourth!”

But there again, the facesof the three sons formerlynotedhadhadasimilarityofexpression. They wereenigmatic, perhaps, butbenign.What expression didthis fourthprince convey, sopale, so black of hair, in hismantle of black that seemedto hold the light of athousand black-bluelightnings? Expressionless,this one, yet surely not

benign.“Lord of lords,” said

Atmeh, firmly, softly,“pardonmeifIdonot,astheserpent did, render you thecorrect homage. But it is amortal failing, this stiffness.Myspiritbowsdowntoyou,even if my frame may not.Willthatdo?”“Mortal,” he said. “There

youare.”Atmeh replied, “And here

alsoareyou,myfather.”Azhrarn’sfaceassumedan

expressionthen.Itwasoneofblasting contempt, orrepugnance. But, after apause,hespoketoheragain.“TheDrin,” he said, “take

pride in their ugliness, forbeside the unsurpassableglamour of the Vazdru andthe Eshva, what is there leftforthembuttobehideous—apaltry comeliness would not

suffice. The Drin,nevertheless, convey theirrejected beauties by whatthey make, and everythingthey make, from the mostcomplexartifacttoatinypin,everything is exquisite. YetwhenaDrinmakesanythingthat fails to please him,which—to his mind—isimperfect, he destroys itinstantly. It is ahabit indeedwith all demonkind to

eradicate a fault. And you,”said Azhrarn, the Prince ofDemons, “you, who weremade by me, from sableshade and clear nocturnallight, you, carried in theflawlessvesselofDunizel—Iregard you now. To thisabjection you have broughtyourself. What should I do,confrontedbythatfact?”“My death is near,” said

Atmeh. “You need only

wait.”“Yes,hewillhavetoldyou

so, that third ‘son’ of yours,Uhlume. He is readying atenderstonycupforyou.Butthe end I might present youwithwouldbringyoupain, Ithink.”“If that isyourwish,”said

Atmeh,“tocausemetodieinagony, then do it. I will notstruggleordenyyou.”Azhrarn’s face altered. It

was not friendlier, onlydifferent.Hesaid,“Withsuchwords,

your mother came to me, atthefirst.”“She loved you from the

first.”“Love,” he said. “Why

pretend you have inventedit?”“Was I not,” she said, “a

demon, once? And did notthedemonsinventlove?”

“Nottheloveyoumean.”“Are not all loves secretly

thesame?Ahundredflowerssprung from a single root.The body’s love will teachthe spirit how to love. Thespasm of the body’s carnalpleasure,forgettingallthingsbutecstasyitself, teachesthebodytoremembertheecstasyof thesoul, forgettingallbutitself, the moments ofoneness, and freedom. The

loveamanfeelsonlyforoneother in all the world willteach him, at length, love ofallothers,ofalltheworld.Acryofjoy,whateveritscause,is the one true memory ofthose wonders the flesh hasbanished. A cry of love isalwaysacryoflove.”Then Azhrarn’s face truly

andutterlyaltered.Helookedather,andthoughhewasthedark incarnate, yet darkness

fellawayfromhim.“Little girl,” he said, “I

would have killed you seventimes over, each death adeathmorevile.Humanityismyplaythingnolonger,onlya toy for those that aremineundertheearth.Butyou,youare her child. You are hers.You are Dunizel. Not mine.Never mine. Though I madeyou tobemycurseupon theworld.ThoughImadeyouto

be myself. You are Dunizel,thatIloved,Dunizelwhowasthe moon and sun together.Your mother’s daughter. IcouldnomorehurtyouthanIwould tear thestars fromthesky.”ThenAtmehgottoherfeet,

old and bowed andwitheredinherrobeofsunnyblue,andshewentdowntohim,acrossthefloor,peculiarlygraceful,asacrumpleddying leafhas

grace. When she stood byhim, Azhrarn kneeled beforeherontheground.Hebowedhis head, and she set herhands upon it, upon thatmidnight ocean of hair, thatcase of ivory bone beneaththatheldthefirmamentofhisbrain.“Dear Father,” said the

crone,“donotweep.”He said, “That is the bane

onme.Icannot.”

“Each word you havespoken,” she said, “was atear.”She was so bowed and

shrunken that even as heknelt,hisheadmightlieuponher sunken breast.He laid itthere, and so she held him,the aged mother with herfourthhandsomeson,andshesang to him then, as theVazdru sang—for somemysterieshadneverbeenlost

toher.The substance of her song

theydonottell.Whodoesnotknow?

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