by Tanith Lee
2
The High-Lord of Za who welcomed us was a small, plump man. Though the phoenix is the symbol of every Javhovor, it is designed and cast so differently in every city that you can easily tell one mask from another. The art-form of Za was languid, with soft curving lines. The Zarish lord’s hair was long, yellow, and curled. Jewels dripped from his ears, and on his hands were openwork meshes of gold and pearls. Beautiful dove-masked women in the sheeny gray clothes of Za fluttered in the background. Music played. Formal words of greeting were spoken between lord and lord. There was a little embarrassment because the Javhovor of Za had not known the goddess was already present. He bowed hurriedly, striving not to look askance at my riding clothes, and a silence fell on the room.
Later, in my separate apartments, I heard the toy clock crashing the nineteenth hour.
* * *
They were all in the City, the lords of Ammath, Kmiss, So-Ess, and of the mountain place Eshkorek Arnor. The different colors of their soldiery and pavilions stretched down from the palace, through the broad open field at its back: red for Ammath, magenta Kmiss, So-Ess blue pastel, and the dull yellow of Eshkorek. Presumably these were the colors of their city stone, and it seemed incredible to me. I wondered what temperaments would come from a blood-colored place such as Ammath, or the purple wound of Kmiss.
I understood very well that I was to be a goddess again once inside Za. I donned the pleated jade-green silk, and countless ornaments of jet, emerald, and gold. The two women, in black velvet and jewels, came solemnly behind me with two colossal fans made from the stripped feathers of many white birds. The fan is a symbol to them of Greatness-Honored, but seemed absurd when snow lay thick on the ground. Behind the women came Mazlek and his ten under-captains, also clacking with ornaments and medals.
We entered the Great Hall of Za from its west end, where the huge marble stairway sweeps down a hundred steps into the room. Like staring from a mountain peak at the snake-carved pillars, a cypress tree of ebony and gold in the center, its branches touching a ceiling of gold lamps. There had been a fanfare at my entrance, they had cleared a lane for me; now, to a man, they bowed to me—heads dropped, most of the women on their knees. Contemptuously I glanced over them, and noted the ornamental false wings which drooped from many shoulders of both sexes.
I descended, and Vazkor approached and kneeled. I touched his head lightly, and said, “Rise, my husband,” after which he escorted me to a golden chair beneath the cypress tree. Here I sat throughout this first formal evening. There were entertainments—dancing and acrobatics I think—I hardly remember them. The High-Lords came to me and presented themselves. Each was arrogant, well-fed, and oddly in awe of me—except for the lord of Eshkorek. He was little, and bowed over like a man trying to withdraw inside himself; if he had possessed a shell like the tortoise, none of us would have seen him at all, I am certain. More than this, he was terrified of me, and I could tell quite plainly from the politely unmasked face and eyes that it was not my god-head he feared, but my Chosen One, Vazkor. There were some women too, rather lovely—princesses of the Cities, and concubines or wives of the Javhovors.
Toward midnight the affair began to end. Vazkor and I withdrew together. I had already noted his apartments adjoined mine. We parted at my doors, but, a little later, one of my women told me he was waiting in my reception hall. There was, apparently, a communicating door between our anterooms, though I could not see it.
“This is very formal,” I said when I went out to him. He was masked as he usually was now with me, except on occasion in public.
“Don’t trouble yourself,” he said. “I will not keep you long. You did well tonight.”
“There was nothing for me to do.”
“Sometimes the manner in which nothing is done is important. Despite your curious entry into Za, they are very enamored of you. Do you recall the dark-haired woman—Kazarl of So-Ess’ wife?”
“Not particularly.”
“Never mind. She’ll be sending to you shortly, begging an audience.” He paused, but I said nothing so he continued. “She wants a child, I believe.”
“Am I supposed to give her one?”
“Indeed yes, Uastis. Though I imagine she does not expect you to do it in the normal fashion. You will promise her a conception.”
“And if she remains barren?” I asked. It seemed a pathetic request, and I was not certain I could help her.
“So-Ess,” he said deliberately, “is a friend.”
“And Eshkorek?”
He looked at me for a moment through the glass wolf-eyes.
“Why do you ask?”
“The mountain lord seems to understand what this council is truly about.”
“There is danger in Eshkorek,” he said. “She is very much on her own and very secure in her mountains. It’s necessary I have absolute control of her. It would be foolish to ride out against the dragon, leaving a dragon’s egg to hatch at home.” He nodded to me. “I’ll go now.”
About half an hour after he had left, a woman came to me from So-Ess’ wife, and minutes later the princess herself entered. She drew off her mask, and kneeled, a beautiful cold woman, well-suited by her ice-blue dress.
“Rise,” I said. “I know why you have come.”
She flushed slightly.
“Now,” I said, “tell me why the child is necessary.”
“But, goddess, unless I bear, I will be cast off.” She looked at me hollow-eyed. “I have prayed and longed for your coming to Za. You must help me—I am desperate.” Stiff proud woman, she was unused to pleading. I looked at her intently, and seemed to know her suddenly.
“You do not conceive because you do not enjoy your husband,” I said.
“It is true,” she said, and looked away.
“Enjoy him, and I promise you a child.”
She sobbed a little, and I thought of the southern people who dreamed they were the Old Race, yet still judged their women on the ability to bear, and still bred frigidity, because the act of sex to them was still such a tremendous curiosity.
“Come here,” I said. I touched her forehead and looked at her through the open eye-pieces of the cat mask. She flinched once, then relaxed.
“I will give you this ring,” I said. “Wear it whenever your husband comes to you, and you will have both fulfillment and a child.”
I touched her forehead again and put the ring on her finger. She thanked me profusely and left. It had been easy, after all, though I was not certain her belief in me was strong enough, for all her prayers.
I took what sleep I could between the strokes of the clock.
* * *
At Za I dreamed of Karrakaz many times, and they were strange dreams, not particularly frightening, but somehow desolate. My life was very empty. Yet I could not seem to break free from it. Where, after all, could I go? Nothing was left that might have belonged to me.
The Council met—So-Ess, Kmiss, Ammath, Za, Eshkorek, and Ezlann. Behind each Javhovor, an array of bodyguards and captains, behind my golden chair at the table head, Mazlek, Dnarl, and Slor. Vazkor had sent me a letter, directing me how and when to speak, and telling me the cues he would give me. Committing the precise words to memory, I thought of Darak’s only written message to me, the misspelling and erratic formation of the letters. Vazkor’s was an elegant and scholarly hand, which gave away nothing except that it would give away nothing.
At the first meeting there was a lot of talk about the war, the campaigns to come, honor, victory, and the final amalgamation of the three alliances. At each new utterance, they would look to Vazkor. He had them already, and they knew it—his decision, the powerful aura of his iron mind, the sense of mental Power that hung about him, had quelled them utterly. By what he said, and by what he had instructed me to say, they began to edge themselves toward the election of one total overlord. It was an amazing sight.
I felt no pity for them, tangling themselves in Vazkor’s web. Except for Eshkorek, perhaps. He was not in awe—he was terrified, and there is a great difference. At the first meeting he held back, his head bowed. At the second and third meetings he was noisy in his silence. At the fourth coming-together the lord of So-Ess voiced the opinion that Vazkor, honored of the goddess, should take possession of the five sisters of Ezlann. I recall I thought myself naïve that I had not seen before So-Ess was a friend indeed, and Vazkor’s man into the bargain. I do not know what Vazkor had promised him, or how it had been done—possibly by the Power itself. I glanced around the table, and, like a dog sniffing out rats in the walls, abruptly I knew them all: So-Ess, Kmiss, and Za were his. Ammath was ready to fall. But Eshkorek . . . even as I reached him, he rose and stood there, bowed over, a bewildered, angry, frightened tortoise, sticking out its head at a serpent.
“No,” he said, “I do not think so.”
“What, my lord, do you not think?” Vazkor inquired.
“I do not think,” Eshkorek stammered, “I do not think any of our Cities should lose her independence.”
“There is strength in unity,” Vazkor said softly.
Eshkorek shook his head. He turned around to the others desperately. Surely he must know there was no help there?
“I simply say I do not think—”
“Truly, you don’t think,” broke in Kazarl of So-Ess stridently. “Purple Valley might turn on us all in the spring and howl around our walls all summer. One petty argument between City and City—only one—and there is isolation and collapse. No. Safer to be under one rule. I’m happy to bow to it.”
“The war has never created such a situation before,” Eshkorek said. There was silence. Abruptly, impossibly, he turned to me. “Goddess,” he said, “I appeal to you.”
I was astonished at his stupidity.
“Eshkorek Javhovor,” I said, “I am of one mind with my Chosen Lord.”
An incredible thing happened. I had seen it before, and I have seen it since, but it is always curious. Eshkorek’s fear turned to fury. He made a great lashing movement with both his hands.
“You!” he screeched at me. “Vazkor’s witch-whore! Fine goddess for an ancient line to grovel before.”
The table erupted into righteous horror; soldiers drew their swords. Eshkorek grunted, turned, and walked from the room.
“Vazkor Javhovor,” Ammath cried, deferring already and apparently instinctively to Vazkor, “let me send men after him. The insult to the goddess must not go unavenged.”
“Goddess?” Vazkor turned to me.
I did not know what to say. I was oddly shaken, for I could see the tortoise had judged me very well, despite his stupidity.
“Let him go,” I muttered.
They bowed low to me, and the meeting ended.
A little later in the day, while Eshkorek’s Javhovor was riding in the square, ordering preparations for departure from Za and the journey eastward to his mountains, a tiny piece of tile, dislodged from one of the turrets—by a bird presumably—fell and struck him. It entered the brain and killed instantly. It was a freak accident, yet none were particularly surprised that unseen forces had struck him down after his insult to me. The death had an enlivening effect on the City lords. They began to press for Vazkor’s sovereignty. Murder can be a useful lesson, and Vazkor’s men, of whom there were many, were everywhere.
* * *
After Eshkorek’s death, there was strange weather at Za. A three-day storm came from the east and blanketed the world in blackness. Candles and lamps burned in the palace night and day. In this eerie and unnatural light Vazkor was made overlord. There were various ceremonies, but I do not remember them very well, only the flicker of the false gold light on gold, and the greenish-dark sky, and the thunder. I saw less of him privately than ever before, though I saw him more often in public.
The crowds in Za were afraid of the storm. When it cleared they chanted prayers of thanks to me in the square. I do not know why they did not thank their own goddess, whoever she was, but then she had not woken yet.
There were other meetings after this, though he sent me word I need not be present. I was very tired, and glad enough not to go.
Five nights passed. On the sixth Vazkor came through that mysterious door which joined our apartments.
“Goddess,” he said, “everything has been settled for the winter campaign. We shall be riding southward in two days, by which time the bulk of the armies of Kmiss, So-Ess, and Ammath will have joined us here.”
“And Eshkorek?” I asked him.
“We shall meet them on the way to Purple Valley.”
“Who is lord there now?” I asked.
“A man,” he said.
“Yours?”
“Yes. I had been planning for this time, goddess, a long while before your fortunate advent. Your arrival made this day sooner, that is all. It would have come anyway.”
He used a different tone with me, and he had come unmasked. I felt weaker than usual; the tiredness was intense. I had needed sleep a good deal in the past days, as seemed necessary with me from time to time, and the clock had made sure I had not got it.
“Well, then,” I said, “we ride in two days.”
“No, goddess. We do not. You will remain at Za.”
I saw then that it had finally come, the moment of my elimination—not to death, but to womanhood and uselessness—and I had not been ready for it. It is true I did not want to ride with him across the bitter white wastes to make war on a name. But I wanted less the role into which he was so gently thrusting me.
“I too,” I said, “ride southward.”
“Though a goddess,” he said, “you are a woman. I have heard of your brawl with my soldiers over the village slut, but that is not enough to carry you through a battle.”
“I know nothing of you,” I said, “and you, Vazkor, know nothing of me. The world beyond the Ring would not interest you, so I will not tell you what I did there.”
“You lay with a man named Darak,” he said, “who resembled me.”
Of course it was quite logical he could have deduced as much from our first meeting, but it was shocking and painful to have him talk of it in this way, as if he knew all of it. Suddenly I began to tremble, and could not speak to him. I turned from him and walked toward the doors of my bedchamber, then stopped because he had followed me.
“I believe you did as I told you to in the matter of So-Ess’ wife,” he said behind me. “I gather she is both happy and hopeful. I have set you very high, and it is time you carried my seed to remind them you are mated with me.”
I stood in the doorway, petrified. It was not the act I feared, it was the act’s intention and purpose, and this man, so totally passionless in all he did, who was prepared to lie with me as passionlessly. I could not imagine such a thing between us. And yet I could. Suddenly my sense came back to me. There was nothing to be gained by denials. This moment was his, and it would be foolish to struggle against it.
“You are my husband and lord,” I said courteously, “you may lie with me whenever you choose, since I have found you acceptable and pleasing to me.”
We went into the large dove-carved room, and he shut the doors behind us. There was no one else there, the women had long since gone away. A few candles flickered, almost burned out, casting a dim thin light. One of Asren’s jeweled books lay by the bed.
I removed my garments without speed or hesitation, and let them lie where they fell. I began to think of Geret whom I had helped elect leader of the wagon people, Geret who feared me and raped me—though it was little enough to me what he did. Turning to Vazkor, I saw him standing quite still, clothed and silent. I lifted my hands, and pulled the mask from my face. His eyes narrowed, that was all. There was no longer any power in my ugliness to protect me against him. I let my hands fall. I
went, and lay down on the silken bed. After a moment, he came and stood over me.
“You see, Vazkor,” I said, “I am quite submissive.”
Two candles fluttered and went out together, then another, and another. Darkness was settling. He did not bother to remove his clothes, only what was necessary. Geret. Yet Vazkor could not sicken me or make me laugh at him. I could not best him afterward with cold water, and the threat of a fat white god. I had forgotten he must touch me, I had forgotten he would be clever in what he did, I had forgotten his weight on me would feel like Darak in the dark, the hands would be Darak’s hands, even without their scars. Even the moving shaft between my thighs. . . . Despite his silence, there was a kind of opening in me I could not help, and yet I hung above it, watching my own responses as if it were a dream. I do not know if he found pleasure in it. He did not seem to. For him it was another achievement, something else settled. He was so perfectly controlled, so perfectly indifferent, I did not even know his moment of helplessness until it was past.
His long hair brushed my face as he pulled away and left me, not Darak’s hair at all. The candles were dead. In the dark he said, “Thank you, goddess. I hope I shall return before the birth.”
It was ridiculous, his certainty, yet it chilled me. I said nothing, and soon he went away. I lay cold on the bed until at last the moon shone in on my nakedness and I found my sleeping mask and put it on. The clock began to strike the second hour of morning, and then the third, fourth, and fifth hours. My sleep had not been good in Za the Dove.
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