Night's Sorceries

by Tanith Lee

  Finally, nevertheless, even the Chief Priest’s storehouse was exhausted, and he ended his litany. On the adjacent couches, the two other priests might be observed, so overcome by ecstasy at his lecture that they had shut their eyes the better to savor it. At the cessation of his voice they both started, as if coming awake from a wondrous dream or vision, as if, indeed, startled out of a deep sleep.

  Then approached the marmosets again, and sweetmeats were served and a wine even more enrapturing than the others. (And even Precious was taken another bowl of water.)

  “Reverend father,” said the prince then, “it is quite impossible for us to thank you for what you have given us tonight. But since words are inadequate, we hope that a few presents we shall offer you will repay you in kind. For such a mind and heart and spirit as yours demand a special reward. For ourselves, we have a long journey before us and must now, alas, set off. But of such amenities as you find about you we trust you will avail yourselves. In the morning, the gifts will await you. Meanwhile, pray keep for yourselves anything that takes your fancy, for example, the dishes and goblets. And your servant, too,” added the prince, “may retain his bowl and cup.”

  “My son,” cried the Chief Priest, and tears bulged in his bulging eyes. “I am overwhelmed. My only sorrow is that perchance I shall not see you again.”

  “There may come a day when we shall visit you in your temple.”

  “Ah, my son, what a time of rejoicing that would be.”

  “Good father, do not flatter me. I cannot believe so.”

  “Truly, truly, yes!”

  And so with mutual protestations, this noon-day prince took his leave of the priests, and she, too, though silently, that girl Beetle had named Night’s Daughter.

  After their departure, however, the jugs still held their wine, and the food kept hot and fragrant, tempting the priests again to stuff themselves.

  In a little while they heard a metallic, silky noise, and glancing up, beheld three lush damsels coming out of the wood toward them, dressed only in bells.

  At this the priests looked at each other, but not for long.

  To the notes of the unseen music, the belled damsels now began a sinuous and interesting dance. The priests watched them with much attention, and even left their plates untouched.

  When the dance came to an end, the dancers separated and moved to the couches of the priests, where they showed every inclination to lie down with them.

  Now the rule of the temple was for celibacy, but it was not one which had always been found advisable. As the dancers smiled on them, and stroked and twitched and untied them, with an obvious wish to be helpful and consoling, the Chief Priest issued his last decree of the evening: “It would be a grave and graceless error,” said he, “to reject the hospitality of our hosts. Besides, they are magicians, and to insult them is a danger, not to mention an unkindness on our part, seeing they have gone to so much trouble.” And after this he found himself too busy to say more on the matter. Though in a space such loud grunts and groans and squeals arose that some of the emeralds were shaken from the walnut tree.

  • • •

  At sunrise, the priests awoke from a refreshing slumber—to find all the means to hand for breaking their fast (though such a brief fast it had been) with the utmost appetite.

  Although the luxurious couches and cushions had remained, and the breakfast, there was no sign either of the hosts or any of their attendants. The walnut tree had also disappeared, and the lamps were gone; only sunlight lit the glade. It showed to the priests, however, that they were now gowned in priestly robes of such glory they had become lamps in themselves, while round their necks and on their fingers glowed astonishing jewels, and in the embroidered pouches at their gold-cinched guts lay quantities of emeralds.

  Then, what should come trotting through the trees than three silver-gray horses, trapped as if for kings, and of these that one intended for the Chief Priest caparisoned in purple, and with so many clanking tassels of bullion and skeins of pearls, it was a wonder it could take a step without falling down. A fourth horse came laden with coffers inlaid by onyx and gold. On investigating them, they found the jewelry plates and goblets of the feast had been thoughtfully packed for them, also apparel and furnishings, ornaments and appurtenances that caused the forest to ring, once more, with gratification.

  Last into the glade then came ambling the flea-ridden mule of Precious, which looked around itself with an affronted air. Precious, clothed only as usual, lay curled asleep under a tree, but at the admonishment of the Chief Priest arose, and after gasping and gaping a moment, averted both eyes and head.

  “Take up the clay cup and bowl of wood that were given you by the lord and lady. Do not spurn them”—Precious sullenly stowed the articles on the mule—“It seems to me that in you they noticed some flaw to which I have been blind, and for this reason did not feast or reward you.” Precious pulled an exaggerated face. “Do not sulk,” said the Chief Priest. “Such a night as that which has been ours cannot but have diminished your worth. Tread warily therefore. Not a word. Get on your mule.”

  And so Precious got on the mule.

  And the priests clambered aloft the elegant horses, and the third priest led diligently the horse laden by treasure.

  And in this fashion they set off for the village, discussing as they went how they should be stared at in the streets.

  Which was to be as they foretold.

  • • •

  The sun was again setting, as was its habit, when Beetle heard a hubbub in the village below the temple. He had been dwelling, during the Chief Priest’s absence, in that gentleman’s sanctum, which the rest of the temple had not cared to gainsay him, Beetle being the favored of magicians. Aside from excursions to the priests’ own table to dine, and to his new horse, Beetle had spent the hours in counting his rubies and making plans for a future beyond the forest. He had perhaps not expected the Chief Priest to return at all, and decidedly not for some days. But hearing the excited sounds, Beetle’s heart all at once sank. Can it be, thought Beetle, that those villains have been gifted, too? Where then is justice? And he walked up to the high roof where the beacon was lit at night to jog the gods’ amnesia. And gazing down, since his eyes were now strong and saw a fair way, he beheld a sight and a half.

  Now it had happened that, just as they were turning into the village, the third priest, who led the treasure-horse, had felt a sharp nip in his thigh, and he thought it was one of his mule’s fleas at work. But then it came to him that it could not be, for he rode, not the mule, but a splendid horse. The setting sun was in the priest’s eyes, and as he turned to his nearest companion, dazzled, he got an extraordinary view of him. For it seemed to the priest that his brother was not clad as the denizen of a king’s court, but sat there stark naked but for a few torn creepers and a quantity of mud. The third priest did not express any opinion on his vision, but he did rub his eyes and quickly look at the Chief of his fellowship. “Tut. It is the sun. For there is the father himself, also naked but for several large bird-droppings splashed about him, and at his belt (which seems to be a dead worm) is a gourd in which—no, no. The sun has dazzled me.” Lastly, the priest nerved himself to look closer home. And so he noted his own well-fed belly raised all nude and round to the smiling glow of sunset. And just then a flea nipped him again, for he was riding nothing but his old mule, with snail-shells and owl-pellets on its bridle, and a saddle enhanced by nettles under his sore rump.

  And thus it happened that the pink-stone village saw its Chief Priest, and two of his holy familiars, come riding their mules through the village street to the temple one evening, garbed in nothing but some sparse coils of arboreal things, and some globs and slops of things botanical, and the liberal anointing of things with wings. And having, too, gourds about them, and piled on one their mules, overflowing with rabbit excreta, desiccated bits of bark, and the leavings
of foxes and wild-cats. At which, not amazingly, a hubbub went up, and on seeing which—nor amazingly—Beetle hastened down.

  And on the road before the temple gate all met in confusion and the final unmercy of the sun. And, “Why, most pious father,” bawled Beetle, “what has befallen you?”

  After that came an interval of shouting and bluster, during which the Chief Priest attempted to pelt in through the gate, but Beetle and his own mule would not let him. And after that came a dizzied silence, during which up trotted Precious, unchanged and fully clothed, upon an unfestooned mule.

  “Let me speak!” screamed Precious then.

  So the village, guarding its glance against the Chief Priest’s undress, told Precious to do so.

  “I will denounce them,” shrilled Precious. “I was spared, but they are wicked men, and their sins have found them out—just as the virtuous Beetle was blessed.”

  And then Precious recounted this: Entering the forest bent on avarice, the priests had met the two sorcerers. These had been able, due to the sinfulness of the priests, entirely to beglamour them. But Precious, who saw through the spell, they left alone.

  “Then,” said Precious, “these men stretched out on the muddy ground, in the light of the million fireflies that had gathered there, and permitted themselves to be garlanded with stinking weeds and dead ferns. And being offered swampy water, they drank it and washed in it, and being offered rotten eggs and old birds’ nests and other horrid things, they devoured them with relish. (Though to me were given wholesome water and herbs.) Then the sorcerers invited the Chief Priest to hold forth on the nature of the gods, and this he did for five or six hours, uttering such blasphemies as I have never heard before, even going by the tavern. Saying the gods had voices like geese and dogs’ tails and drooled and made the world out of dung and—preposterous notion—that the earth was round and whirled about in a void. And now and then one of the other two priests would give a loud snore, by which he showed he agreed with it all. When eventually the dreadful recital ended, the two sorcerers took their leave. But next, three monkeys came from the trees and began to dance about, and soon enough these evil priests drew the monkeys down and rolled in the mud with them, and did such things that I could no longer bear to look. At sunrise, the three priests awoke dressed as you see, which they reckoned some advantage, got on their mules and returned here, boasting all the way of their success. I, the only unsullied one, returned also to give witness against them. But all that they did, deluded, was made possible through their unpriestlike greeds for food and strong drink, and their nasty forbidden lusts for flesh and gold.”

  This said, Precious hid face in hands, which caused several of the villagers to offer comfort. But others cried that a fearsome spell had been cast, and that the righteous priests were innocent of all blame, while especially in the case of the monkeys, Precious, too, had been deceived.

  “You think they are above that act?” shrieked Precious. And all at once put both hands to that drapery the sorcerers had not altered, and to certain bindings beneath, and ripped everything from neck to knee. And there stood Precious then, revealed as a plump and comely young woman, blushing with shame and rage, who said, “They bought me as little more than a child and reared me in secret to be the courtesan of that holy father there, and his favorites. To hide the truth they covered me and made me bind my breasts, and threatened me that if I revealed the facts they would put such a curse on me that I would die in agony. And I might have run away, but where was I to go? Besides, I had my own reasons for staying, one of which was a hope the gods would someday strip these beasts as naked as now they are.”

  Then Precious closed up the drapery and ran away.

  But the Chief Priest and his familiars stayed, all shrunken in their fat, and just then a weird calling was heard. Turning toward it, the village beheld three well-groomed monkeys hastening up the road. And these, being let through the crowd, jumped into the priests’ reluctant arms, and even into the reluctant arms of the Chief Priest, showering them, each man, with monkey kisses, and all the tokens and indelicate embracings that young brides of the coarser sort would render their husbands.

  • • •

  Beetle rode out of the village a second time, going in a different direction, to the south, and his heart was high for his luck had changed.

  But he had not gone far when a figure came flitting from the trees. It was none other than Precious, in a homespun gown, but wearing flowers in her hair. Beetle had always hated Precious when he had been a petted toadying boy. But as a girl, pretty and put-upon, Precious was another matter.

  Behind them in the village the priests were paying many dues, but Precious had not lingered to see. She looked up at Beetle instead, and informed him, “I loved you even before you grew to be so handsome. I left candles where you could find them to steal and eat, and I coated them with mutton gravy beforehand. When they sent you to the forest, I prayed and made offerings to the gods for your safety. I swore one day I should come to you and tell you all this. But now, see, I have brought with me a dowry.”

  And she showed him a silver plate set with exquisite jewels and a goblet of purest gold.

  So then Beetle lifted her up on to the fine horse and kissed her. Which was the sweetest kiss either of them had ever known.

  The temple in the village ceased to light its beacon. It trusted gods and sorcerers both would forget it. Beetle and Precious meanwhile lived miles off and in another land. And in another year, they raised together an altar to a summer-day lord and a dark lady they called the Daughter of Night. Precious also worshipped other gods, but Beetle only these. Yet when Beetle—no longer called Beetle, but by his former name—put offerings and incense at the feet of her, Night’s Daughter, Fate never told him he was ahead of his time.

  But Sovaz-Azhriaz was at odds with her father, Azhrarn, Prince of Demons, and Azhrarn had besides his own fierce argument with Chuz, Sovaz’s lover, the Prince of Madness.

  The Prince of Demons therefore hunted down these lovers, and the wild woods grew wilder. For the Eshva, the dreaming envoys of the demons, began to prowl and to dance there, and the demon high caste, the Vazdru, rode the paths and glades on their midnight horses. And there came to be many curious ill-meetings, by moonlight and by shadow.

  Children of the Night

  1. A Dream

  MARSINEH HAD HAIR the color of red amber, a skin like cream, and love-sick young poets sang sometimes under her window. Her father, moreover, was rich; she dressed in figured silk and put ornaments of gold about her throat and on her wrists and ankles. It was thought that she would marry well. One day a stranger arrived in the town. He was clad like the servant of a king, and attended by his own retinue. He rode to the house of Marsineh’s father, and there delivered a message. The mighty Lord Kolchash had been told of the maiden, and regarded her too in a magic glass. She pleased him and he would wed her. The wedding was already fixed; it fell in three months’ time, on the eve of the night of a new moon. That was that.

  “But,” said the father of Marsineh.

  “There can be no ‘buts,’” replied the costly messenger. “No one gainsays my master, Kolchash. Have you not heard of him?”

  “It seems to me,” murmured Marsineh’s father, “that I have. . . . But rumor is often misleading.”

  “Since you have no choice but to agree to the bargain,” said the messenger, ignoring this inference, “I shall present you at once with the gifts my lord has sent you, in token of his betrothal.”

  At which slaves—clothed like the slaves of a king—came forward with chests and boxes of such brilliant and glittering things that Marsineh’s father stood aghast. He remained so. And in this way, when the messenger and his company rode off, Marsineh’s father had not said anything more against the match, and it might be taken that he had agreed.

  “You have been greatly favored,” said Marsineh’s mother presently in a
n upper chamber.

  “An illustrious marriage has been arranged for you,” elaborated Marsineh’s aunt.

  Marsineh blushed like a peach. She was already quite in love, with the son of one of her rich father’s rich neighbors.

  “Who is it?” she whispered. “Is it Dhur?”

  “Dhur?” Mother and aunt laughed scornfully. And Marsineh paled like a lily. “Far better than any such thing as Dhur,” they cried. “You are to marry the exalted Lord Kolchash.”

  Marsineh uttered a faint low scream.

  “Now, now,” clucked the mother. “Dismiss foolish rumors from your mind. Kolchash, no doubt of it, is a mighty and munificent lord. You can get no better.”

  “Oh, spare me,” said Marsineh.

  “It is,” said the aunt judiciously, “too late for that.”

  • • •

  Who then was this Kolchash? In truth, very little was known of him or said of him. In those parts, his reputation rested on two or three supposed facts, and a few vague stories. He was reckoned to be fabulously wealthy, and this assumption at least his gifts to Marsineh’s father had verified. He was, while not himself a magician, yet possessed of certain magical artifacts—had not the messenger claimed his master viewed the girl in a sorcerous mirror? In station, Kolchash was a lord or prince, but where his lands lay was quite unsure. That he was old, however, was inevitable, since the incoherent tales of him had themselves existed several decades. These tales amounted to very little. And yet, they were neither domestic or cheerful. It was commonly observed, for example, that Kolchash kept a library of books each of which was bound in supple skin got from the hide of human infants. It was said, rather less often, that it would be impossible to do anything behind the rear side of Kolchash—since, but too literally, he had eyes in the back of his head. There was also a sometime saying of the region, when a cloud covered the evening sun: “Ah, Kolchash has let out his soul for an airing.”