Manipulating the second amulet, he regained his normal proportions. The room, though still spacious, was no longer a hall of giants, and the cauldron beside him sank and lessened till its rim rose only to his shoulder. He saw now that the cauldron was filled with an unholy mixture of ingredients, among which were finely shredded portions of the missing flower-women, together with the gall of chimeras and the ambergris of leviathans. Heated by unseen fires, it boiled tumultuously, foaming with black, pitchy bubbles, and putting forth a nauseous vapor.
With the shrewd eye of a past master of all chemic lore, Maal Dweb proceeded to estimate the cauldron's various contents, and was then able to divine the purpose for which the brewage was intended. The conclusion to which he was driven appalled him slightly, and served to heighten his respect for the power and science of the reptile sorcerers. He saw, indeed, that it would be highly advisable to arrest their evolution.
After brief reflection, it occurred to him that, in accordance with chemical laws, the adding of certain simple components to the brewage would bring about, an eventuation neither desired nor anticipated by the Ispazars. On high tables about the walls of the alchemy, there were jars, flasks, and vials containing subtle drugs and powerful elements, some of which were drawn from the more arcanic kingdoms of nature. Disregarding the moon-powder, the coals of starfire, the jellies made from the brains of gorgons, the ichor of salamanders, the dust of lethal fungi, the marrow of sphinxes, and other equally quaint and pernicious matters, the magician soon found the essences that he required. It was the work of an instant to pour them into the seething cauldron; and having done this, he awaited with composure. the return of the reptiles.
The flower-woman, in the meanwhile, had ceased to moan and twitch. Maal Dweb knew that she was dead, since beings of this genus were unable to survive when uprooted with such violence from their natal soil. She had folded herself to the face in her straitened petals, as if in a red and blackening shroud. He regarded her briefly, not without commiseration; and at that moment he heard the voices of the seven Ispazars, who had now re-entered the alchemy.
They came toward him among the crowded vessels, walking erect in the fashion of men on their short lizard legs, their ribbed and sabled wings retracted behind them, and their eyes glaring redly in the gloom. Two of them were armed with long, sinuous-bladed knives; and others were equipped with enormous adamantine pestles, to be employed, no doubt, in bruising the flesh of the floral vampire.
When they saw the enchanter; they were both startled and angered. Their necks and torsos began to swell like the hoods of cobras, and a great hissing rose among them, like the noise of jetted steam. Their aspect would have struck terror to the heart of any common man; but Maal Dweb confronted them calmly, repeating aloud, in low, even tones, a word of sovereign protective power.
The Ispazars hurled themselves toward him, some running along the floor with an undulant slithering motion, and others rising on rapid-beating vans to attack him from above. All, however, dashed themselves vainly on the sphere of unseen force he had drawn about him through the utterance of the word of power. It was a strange thing to see them clawing vengefully at the void air, or striking futile, blows with their weapons, which rang as if on a brazen wall.
Now, perceiving that the man before them was a sorcerer, the reptile magicians began to make use of their own abhuman sorcery. They called from the air great bolts of livid flame, python-shapen, which leaped and writhed incessantly, warring with the sphere of protective power, driving it back as a shield is driven by press of numbers in battle, but never breaking it down entirely. Also, they chanted evil, siblant runes that were designed to charm away the magician's memory, and cause him to forget his magic. Sore was the travail of Maal Dweb as he fought the serpent fires and runes; and blood mingled with the sweat of his brow from that endeavor. But still, as the bolts struck nearer and the singing loudened, he kept uttering the unforgotten word; and the word still protected him.
Now, above the snaky chanting, he heard the deep hiss of the cauldron, boiling more turbulently than before because of those matters which he had added to its contents. And he saw, between the ever-writhing bolts, that a more voluminous vapor, dark as the steam of a primal fen, was mounting from the cauldron and spreading throughout the alchemy.
Soon the Ispazars were immersed in the fumes, as in a cloud of darkness; and dimly they began to coil and twist, convulsed with a strange agony. The python flames died out on the air; and the hissings of the Ispazars became inarticulate as those of common serpents. Then falling to the floor, while the black mist gathered and thickened above them, they crawled to and fro on their bellies in the fashion of true reptiles; and, emerging at times from the vapor, they shrank and dwindled as if hell-fire had consumed them.
All this was even as Maal Dweb had planned. He knew that the Ispazars had forgotten their sorcery and science; and a swift devolution, flinging them back to the lowest state of serpenthood, had come upon them through the action of the vapor. But, before the completion of the change, he admitted one of the seven Ispazars to the sphere that now served to protect him from the fumes. The creature fawned at his feet like a tame dragon, acknowledging him for its master. Then, presently, the cloud of vapor began to lift, and he saw the other Ispazars, who were now little larger than fen-snakes. Their wings had withered into useless frills, and they crept and hissed on the floor, amid the alembics and crucibles and athanors of their lost science.
Maal Dweb regarded them for a little, not without pride in his own sorcery. The struggle had been difficult, even dangerous; and he reflected that his boredom had been thoroughly overcome, at least for the nonce. From a practical standpoint, he had done well; for, in ridding the flower- women of their persecutors, he had also eradicated a possible future menace to his own dominion over the worlds of the three suns.
Turning to that Ispazar which he had spared for a necessary purpose, he seated himself firmly astride its back, behind the thick jointing of the vans. He spoke a magic word that was understood by the monster. Bearing him between its wings, it rose and flew obediently through one of the windows; and, leaving behind it for ever the citadel that was not to be scaled by man, nor by any wingless creature, it carried the magician over the red horns of the sable mountains, across the valley where dwelt the sisterhood of floral vampires, and descended on the mossy knoll at the end of that silver drawbridge whereby he had entered Votalp. There Maal Dweb dismounted; and, followed by the crawling Ispazar, he began his return journey to Xiccarph through the hueless cloud, above the multi-dimensional deeps.
Midway in that pecular transit, he heard a sharp, sudden clapping of wings. It ceased with remarkable abruptness, and was not repeated. Looking back, he found that the Ispazar had fallen from the bridge, and was vanishing brokenly amid irreconcilable angles, in the gulf from which there was no return.
THE FULFILLED PROPHECY
You may set this story down as a case of coincidence. Indeed, you may not believe it at all. But the facts are well authenticated, and to my mind are far too remarkable to be accounted for by the coincidence theory.
I found the first part in an old Telegu manuscript, written perhaps seven centuries ago, and which today is in a private library in Madras. If fate or curiosity should ever take you to that city, and you obtain access to this library, you will discover this manuscript, and may read it for yourself.
The thing purported to have been written by one Vikram Roo, a priest, who in his time was of much importance in Rajahpur, a Kingdom of the Deccan, which ceased to exist, politically speaking, about three centuries ago.
Skipping a considerable amount of literature pertaining to himself, and the virtues of Natha Singh, the then Rajah of Rajahpur, the manuscript ran somewhat as follows:
It was during the reign of this most beneficent ruler (Natha Singh) that the strange event which I am about to relate, occurred.
It happened in the order of things set down by the fate that the omniscient Natha Singh,
on a Wednesday, called his viziers about him and sat on his throne in the Hall of Audience to dispense justice to his subjects.
And it came to pass that many cases were judged by the omnipotent ruler, whose decisions were wise and just to all.
At length there entered the Audience Hall a wandering Jacquer. Upon his face were the marks of years, and his long locks were as the snows of the eternal Himalayas.
Natha Singh leaned towards him expectantly, and all present awaited his complaint in silence. For a space he spoke not, his eyes, which glowed strangely, as one who sees many things, fixed upon the Rajah's countenance. At length he spoke, and his words fell heavily upon the ears of the hearers.
"Know ye Natha Singh" he said, "that thy Kingdom shall come to an end. This shall not happen in thy days, or in the days of thy sons. But many years hence when thou and many that shall follow thee are but memories of yesterday, then shall come from the North a great army. And at the head shall ride a warrior on a white horse, whose birth was in a far land. He is a mighty general, and his men are as the sands of the sea. And before them the warriors of the Rajah shall melt as even as snow in the desert. And on that day shall Rajahpur fall, and those dwelling therein be given over to the sword. And before the sun has set, the reigning Rajah shall die, and his Kingdom pass to his conquerors. And after him there shall be no more of thy race, and Rajahpur shall be but a province of a mighty empire. And upon thy throne he of the White Horse shall rule, as a governor holding office under an emperor."
The Jacquer ceased. For a space he stood silently, and then he turned to go. Slowly he passed from the Audience Hall and into the streets of Rajahpur. For a time there seemed a presage of gloom within the Hall, and the Rajah wondered if indeed, this strange prophecy should ever be fulfilled.
But the Jacquer had passed from Rajahpur, and no man might say whither he had gone. In his eyes was the look of one who has seen many things.
Several months later, while at Hyderabad I came across the sequel. A friend to whom I related the story contained in Vikram Roo's manuscript, supplied me with a history of the wars of Akbar. Opening one of the volumes, he pointed out a passage describing the fall of Rajahpur. The book was by a native historian, little known, even in India, nowadays, and was authentic in every particular. The author, who lived during the reign of Shah Jihan, had taken great pains to make his work complete and accurate. The passage pointed out by my friend was as follows:
"Abd-ul-Marrash, the famous general, after his conquests in Rajputana, was sent by Akbar to conduct a war in the Deccan. His extensive and successful services had earned him the entire confidence of his Master, and, in this new campaign he more than fulfilled Akbar's expectations. Abd-ul-Marrash carried all before him. Several minor states he crushed at one blow—— At length he came to Rajahpur, a large and important Kingdom situated in a fertile plain of the Southern Deccan, and ruled over by a prince named Nasir Singh. Nasir's army, which he led in person, met Abdul- Marrash on the plains without the walls. The great general, mounted on a white horse, headed the charge, and carried his foes before him like reeds in a storm. Soon all was over, and Nasir Singh's army, in which was the flower of Rajahpur, lay dead upon the field, or was captive to the conqueror. Nasir himself escaped and reached the city in safety.
"Rajahpur was taken the same day; Abd-ul-Marrash, too impatient to await the following day, pressed on, and ordered an immediate attack. All was carried, Rajahpur sacked, and Nasir Singh slain in a vain attempt at escape, before sunset.
"As a reward for his distinguished services, Abd-ul-Marrash was created subadar, or governor, of this new province."
THE GARDEN OF ADOMPHA
"Lord of the sultry, red parterres And orchards sunned by hell's unsetting flame! Amid thy garden blooms the Tree which bears Unnumbered heads of demons for its fruit; And, like a slithering serpeat, runs the root That is called Baaras; And there the forky, pale mandragoras, Self-torn from out the soil, go to and fro, Calling upon thy name: Till man new-damned will deem that devils pass, Crying in wrathful frenzy and strange woe."
-Ludar's Litany to Thasaidon
It was well known that Adompha, king of the wide orient isle of Sotar, possessed amid his far-stretching palace grounds a garden secret from all men exccpt himself ahd the court magician, Dwerulas. The square-built granite walls of the garden, high and formidable as those of a prison, were plain for all to see, rearing above the stately beefwood and camphor trees, and broad plots of multi-coloured blossoms. But nothing had ever been ascertained regarding its interior: for such care as it required was given only by the wizard beneath Adompha's direction; and the twain spoke thereof in deep riddles that none could interpret. The thick brazen door responded to a mechanism whose mystery they shared with none other; and the king and Dwerulas, whether separately or together, visited the garden only at those hours when others were not abroad. And none could verily boast that he had beheld even so much as the opening of the door.
Men said that the garden had been roofed over against the sun with great sheets of lead and copper, leaving no cranny through which tbe tiniest star could peer down. Some swore that the privacy of its masters during their visits was ensured by a lethean slumber which Dwerulas, through his magic art, was wont to lay at such times upon the whole vicinity.
A mystery so salient could hardly fail to provoke curiosity, and sundry different beliefs arose concerning the garden's nature. Some averred that it was filled with evil plants of nocturnal habit, that yielded their swift and mordant poisons for Adompha's use, along with more insidious and baleful essences employed by the warlock in the working of his enchantments. Such tales, it seemed, were perhaps not without authority: since, fol lowing the construction of the closed garden, there had been at the royal court numerous deaths attributable to poisoning, and disasters that were plainly the sendings of a wizard, together with the bodily vanishment of peopIe whose mundane presence no longer pleased Adompha or Dwerulas.
Other tales, of a more extravagant kind, were whispered among the credulous. That legend of unnatural infamy, which had surrounded the king from childhood, assumed a more hideous tinge; and Dwerulas, who had reputedly been sold to tbe Archdemon before birth by his haggish mother, acquired a new blackness of renown as one exceeding all other sorcerers in the depth and starkness of his abandonment.
Waking from such slumber and such dreams as the juice of the black poppy had given him, King Adompha rose in the dead, stagnant hours between moonset and dawn. About him the palace lay hushed like a charnel-house, its occupants having yielded to their nightly sopor of wine, drugs and arrack. Around the palace, the gardens and the capital city of Loithé slept beneath slow stars of windless southern heavens. At this time Adompha and Dwerulas were wont to visit the high-walled close with little fear of being followed or observed.
Adompha went forth, pausing but briefly to turn the covert eye of his black bronze lantern into the lampless chamber adjoining his own. The room had been occupied by Thuloneah, his favourite odalisque for the seldom-equalled period of eight nights; but he saw without surprise or disconcertion that the bed of disordered silks was now empty. By this, he felt sure that Dwerulas had preceded him to the garden. And he knew, moreover, that Dwerulas had not gone idly or unburdened.
The grounds of the palace, steeped everywhere in unbroken shadow, appeared to maintain that secrecy which the king pre- ferred. He came to the shut brazen door in the blankly towering wall; emitting, as he approached it, a sharp sibilation like the hissing of a cobra. In response to the rising and falling of this sound, the door swung inwards silently and closed silently behind him.
The garden, planted and tilled so privily, and sealed by its metal roof from the orbs of heaven, was illumined solely by a strange, fiery globe that hung in mid-air at the centre. Adompha regarded this globe with awe, for its nature and purveyance were mysterious to him. Dwerulas claimed that it had risen from hell on a moonless midnight at his bidding, and was levitated by infernal power, and fed wi
th the never-dying flames of that clime in which the fruits of Thasaidon swelled to unearthly size and enchanted savour. It gave forth a sanguine light, in which the garden swam and weltered as if seen through a luminous mist of blood. Even in the bleak nights of winter, the globe yielded a genial warmth; and it fell never from its weird suspension, though without palpable support; and beneath it the garden flourished balefully, lush and exuberant as same parterre of the nether circles.
Indeed, the growths of that garden were such as no terrestrial sun could have fostered, and Dwerulas said that their seed was of like origin with the globe. There were pale, bifurcated trunks that strained upwards as if to disroot themselves from the ground, unfolding immense leaves like the dark and ribbed wings of dragons. There were amaranthine blossoms, broad as salvers, supported by arm-thick stems that trembled continually.
The Ultimate Weird Tales Collection - 133 stories - Clark Ashton Smith (Trilogus Classics) Page 95