“As I said, my Lord,” Janela replied, “you may test all I’ve claimed afterwards. But I tell you, my fellow magi, that any power can be used for sorcerous purposes. Just as your breath has force enough to turn a child’s wheel toy, it can also power a small bit of magic, such as sweetening your breath if you fouled it at lunch with a garlic dish.” Janela grinned. “But I doubt it’s enough to sweeten a foul temper.”
There was much laughter at Vakram’s expense. He glowered about him, making all only laugh louder. But when his eyes caught the Prince’s wide grin he quickly turned away.
After silencing him Janela moved on. “Now, we can all speculate quite easily on what forces are at work in this, the common world. The natural world. There is heat and light, the force that makes things fall, the force that draws a compass needle, the various forces imparted by motion and that displayed when lightning strikes. And so on and so forth.
“Then there are uncommon forces. The forces of the spiritual, of magic and sorcery. Which again take many forms. All of which I think may someday prove to be mere counterparts of common forces. The opposite side of the coin, if you will.”
“What of the gods, my Lady?” Tobray asked.
“What of them?” Janela said. “They must obey the same laws as you and I. If they exist at all.”
There were gasps at this heresy. But I noted the gasps were few. There were more doubters than I would have imagined in Farsun’s ghostly court chamber.
“Are you saying magic is no more important than these other forces?” Tobray said quite calmly, showing by his mild tones that he was among those doubters.
“It isn’t a question of importance, my Lord,” Janela answered. “Use determines such things. If I need to cook that garlic dish Lord Vakram favors then heat must rule or he will go hungry or eat a poor meal.”
Vakram flushed deeply but said nothing. The laughter was subdued. Janela saw her mistake in pressing her advantage over an already defeated opponent and shifted ground.
“The real importance,” she said, “is that all the forces we’ve discussed — and those we skimmed over — are actually one force. We separate it only because that is what we observe. Heat cooks. Light lights. And so on.”
“It’s as if there were one god,” Tobray said, “but with many faces. And we see the face we wish to see or are forced to.”
“And that god...” Janela began...
“... would be a force himself,” Tobray completed for her. “And therefore merely a part of the whole.
“Assuming,” Janela said, “that He... or She... exists.”
“Yes, yes,” Tobray muttered. “Assuming that.”
Vakram roused himself. “Might I be so bold, my Lady,” he said, “to ask a question and be spared your sharp wit?”
“I’m sorry for that,” Janela answered. “I was nervous from being in such august company and spoke without thinking.”
Vakram nodded but I knew he hadn’t accepted her apology. “My question is this: What does it matter if there is one force or many? As Lord Tobray so aptly put it, I cannot eat this knowledge. Even with garlic. And I cannot form it into anything useful.”
“You can by using the tools you are most adept at, my Lord,” Janela replied. “Which are your magical tools. It is the practice of sorcery, not religion, that leads not only to understanding but the ability to manipulate at will.”
She waved the table of objects. “I had many things I was going to use to demonstrate,” she said. “But I don’t think it’s necessary now. I’ll teach any and all of you my methods. And in my notes you’ll find my proofs. I’m certain I erred in many things. I was in a rush. Even so, I’d stake my life on the final results.
“As for practical use, why that is the only reason I pleaded for this assemblage. If it were merely academic I would have spoken to you separately.”
“You mean the demons?” the Prince broke in. “You’ve found a way to turn your knowledge into a spear against the demons?” His eyes sparkled with youthful hope.
“Yes, your Highness,” Janela said. “I believe I have.”
She swiveled, pointing to a pair of the tree’s great roots.
“You have all seen the tree that towers over these ruins,” she said. “Just as you all know it is magical.”
“We do indeed, my Lady,” Tobray said. “But it’s magic isn’t of any importance. The tree is just a pretty that makes a day more pleasant for lovers.”
“I beg your forgiveness for contradicting you, my Lord,” Janela said. “But it is more than a romantic pretty. If you examine it you will see it gives off more power than it could possibly require for its needs. The very demonstration I made with the gold bracelet was much easier to perform because we are in its presence.
“I believe it, and its kind were bred to produce such energy, like flowers are improved by gardeners for their fragrance. It was grown here for a purpose of vast importance in your history. Its presence, sirs and ladies, is not the result of idle fancy, but the design of a witch who discovered a magical spring that is twin to or even the same spring that flowed in her homeland.”
“Where does the tree get this power, my Lady?” Tobray asked.
“From the world the demons rule,” Janela answered. “From the realm of King Ba’land, himself.”
The wizards were rocked by this. Loud argument raged between them until Tobray brought them to order with an imperious wave of his hand.
“Please explain further, my Lady,” he said.
“Gladly,” Janela said. “The tree draws on the power of the demons’ natural world — if you can imagine such a thing — just as they draw on ours. Except they are leeches, consuming all they can. Especially human misery, a force we haven’t spoken of. But it’s there, my lords and ladies. It’s there. And it is that hunger for our misery and greed for our resources that drives them, that has led them to ravage us all these thousands of years.
“You should know this as well. All that is common in our world, is magical in theirs. And all that is common there is magical here. Which is what the tree feeds on.
“The tree that can give us an entirely different kind of power. That is power over our enemies.”
Another uproar. But this time I heard no debate. These were long-suffering people, anxious to grasp at the smallest hope.
“You all know the story,” Janela said, “of King Farsun and his queen, Monavia.”
There was a buzz of agreement. “We know it well,” Tobray said, smiling. “It’s one of Tyrenia’s most popular children’s fables. The good queen and the cowardly king. The demon who lusted after and used his evil to win the dancer.”
Solaros broke in, adding, “And the prince who was kept in the tower by his father’s cowardice.” He looked around at the others. “You didn’t know that, did you?” he said. “That’s part of the tale that’s never told. Lord Antero recited it to me just the other day. Just another example of the things Lady Greycloak has dug up that have been under our noses all along.”
Janela laughed. “Thank you, your Highness,” she said. “I couldn’t have begged a greater testimonial than that.”
She took a deep breath as if resigning herself about what was to come. She withdrew the figurine of the dancer from her sleeve.
“Do you all recognize this, lords and ladies?” she asked.
“Indeed we do,” Tobray said. “It was once a popular toy in Tyrenia. Any number of them were produced.”
Bitter humor filled me when I heard that. So much had been gambled, twice, counting Janos, for what turned out to be a child’s amusement.
“I am going to attempt to show you the true story of Farsun and Monavia,” Janela said. “And in that story you will readily see how we can confound the demons.”
Janela turned to me. She smiled but I could see she wasn’t looking forward to her final demonstration.
“Amalric,” she said, “I’m likely to be affected as before. I’ve put some things by my bedside, and written directio
ns as well. Will you administer them to me... if I cannot do it myself?”
“I think we should give the entire thing a miss,” I said. “It’s too dangerous.”
“But necessary nevertheless,” Janela said
With that, she walked out to the stone platform, placed the doll in the center and retreated.
She bowed her head in concentration. The light dimmed and the room was hushed as the familiar scene of the tiny dancing maid shimmered into view. Then the dancer vanished, leaving only the doll-like figures of the courtiers.
Janela made a great motion and we all gasped as the scene blossomed larger and larger until it filled the chamber we sat in. We became a shadowy audience peering into a past which lived again. We heard the low chatter of the courtiers as if we were among them. We listened to the music swelling from the instruments the musicians played in the pit.
The air was warm from all the bodies present and as I gaped about the court chamber I could see it was all new again. Gone were the cobweb mantles, gone were the invasive tree roots, gone was the feeling of long dead ghosts.
The banquet table groaned under the weight of fresh and tempting food. The smell of delicious sauces and spices mingled with the pleasing aroma of delicate incense. Jolly servants passed among the crowd, re-filling their plates and goblets.
But there was an evil edge to the festive spirit. There was an aftertaste in the air we breathed of sour demon flesh. Now I saw the demon courtiers moving through the crowd and in the private viewing box King Ba’land glared out with his single yellow eye. I looked over at the thrones and saw that Tyrenia’s monarch, King Farsun, was sullen and drunk. Queen Monavia sat beside him, attempting a gay smile at something a jester said. But she seemed pensive as if waiting for something to happen.
Then Ba’land roared, “Your court is wearisome tonight, Sir.” The music stopped and court chamber grew silent. Farsun shrunk and grabbed up another wine cup to hide his shame at being so rudely addressed. “Where is the dancer? Where is Thalila? Bring her on, if you please!”
Farsun gulped down the last of the wine. Motioned for a servant to fill it again.
“Yes, yes,” he said. “You are right, my friend. I was growing bored myself.” He clapped his hands, signaling for the dancer.
The musicians piped the overture and all eyes — both past and present — swiveled to the dancing platform.
It was as if an invisible curtain had parted as the maid twirled into view. She was as beautiful and seductive as ever. But before her sensuality had sprung from innocence — as if the lovely maid was unaware of the musical musk that emanated from her dance and infused the air.
This time, this dance, the innocence was gone. Thalila danced like a courtesan. Each thrust of hip and bounce of breast begged a caress. Her eyes burned with sinful wisdom and her fingers traced slow, graceful paths along her fine white limbs. Her lips were swollen, entreating a kiss. Her slender thighs trembled to be parted and pierced.
I was as aroused as I have ever been in my life. My member rose up and became like the engorged snake that had once hunted Melina, the woman who stole my innocence and left only a faint trace of her hot perfume which still disturbs my sleep. For a moment I was even carnal twin to King Ba’land, who gnashed his teeth and roared obscenities at the dancer.
I tore my eyes away to shed her spell. I glanced at the thrones and saw Queen Monavia had gone, while King Farsun was slumped over, snoring in a drunken stupor.
When I had somewhat recovered I looked back and noticed for the first time Thalila held a rose in one hand. She ran the blossoms along her body and waved it teasingly at the demon king, smiling coyly and casting her eyes down. The demon squirmed in lustful pleasure, his talons needling out and withdrawing, over and over again.
Then horror chilled what passion remained as I saw Thalila dance off the platform and twirl toward Ba’land. She teased him for a time, coming forward, then retreating. But each sequence took her closer to him until she stood before his box. She laughed and held out the rose.
Ba’land’s paw stretched — slowly, as if in wonder at her offer.
Then he grinned hugely and snatched the rose from her hand. He kissed the flower and held up for all to see. His demon courtiers bellowed their approval. Thalila twirled gaily about, her gossamer veil swirling around her naked hips.
Once again she stepped forward and a pretty hand darted out and plucked a single petal from the rose. The demon reached for her but she danced away, shaking a teasing finger.
Ba’land rose from his seat and threw open the gate to his box. He lumbered toward Thalila but she retreated, moving back until she once more stood on the platform.
There she waited. Still. Trembling. Ba’land mounted the platform and went to her. He stopped, his yellow eye glaring at the court chamber crowd.
“Leave us!” he shouted. And the courtiers, human and demon alike, made a hasty retreat.
He turned back to Thalila. I thought I saw her shudder but if she did she quickly recovered, lifting up her lovely face to smile at the demon.
Ba’land clawed her into his embrace, his black cloak covering them both.
The court chamber was empty now. Save King Farsun, snoring on his throne.
There was a stirring among our group. We thought it was over and were frankly puzzled at the purpose of the display. Then Janela’s shadowy form moved and the scene of the unlikely lovers dissolved before our eyes — to be replaced by another.
We found ourselves looking into the room of the Queen’s witch. It had been empty when Janela and I first saw it. Now it contained a small, lacquered table covered with sorcerous symbols. Against one wall was a case filled with odd-shaped containers. The others were covered with tapestries with mysterious scenes woven into them. And standing at the table, grinding ingredients in a crucible, was a woman in a witch’s cloak.
She was tall with striking features and when I looked close I could see her resemblance to the Lake People. There were several silver leaves next to the crucible, which I realized were from the magical tree. She put them in and ground them up, one by one.
The door opened and Queen Monavia entered. “The King sleeps,” she said. “We must hurry, Komana.”
The witch said nothing but continued grinding with her pestle. There was a tap at the door and both women turned, startled. Then came a series of taps and they relaxed. The Queen opened the door.
To my surprise I saw the dancer enter. She looked frighteningly young and vulnerable in the white robe she’d donned since we saw her last. There was a faint trail of blood on her cheek.
“Ba’land waits for me in his chamber,” she said. “I have to go soon or he will become suspicious.”
The Queen embraced her. “I’m so sorry, Thalila,” she said. “If only there were another way.”
“Well there isn’t!” the witch broke in. “And do not pity only her. There’s price we all must pay for this night’s work.”
Komana gestured at the dancer. “The rose petal. Where is it?”
The dancer fumbled it from her sleeve. The witch snatched it and turned back to her work. Monavia and the dancer looked at one another for what seemed an eternity.
“I will love no other, but you,” Thalila said.
“And I, you,” the Queen replied.
“Ba’land may possess me,” the dancer said. “But he will receive only coldness, only hate from my embrace.”
The Queen wiped a tear. Then they both kissed; a long, lingering meeting of lips.
“I’m ready, now,” the witch said.
The two lovers parted. After one last look the dancer fled the room, her feet a ghostly patter on an ungentle stone floor.
The witch moved to the stone altar and drew out the box set in its center. She lifted the lid, set the petal inside, then closed it again. Long witch fingers pinched powder from the mortar on the table and sprinkled it over the box. The powder sparkled as floated down to coat the engraving of the dancer. Komana chanted:
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Life from darkness,
Grace from evil;
Part the demon curtain
And let us walk free.
Dancer to rose
And rose to dancer
And power
From a demon’s kiss.
There is no barrier
From one world
To the next.
And I saw an eerie light glowing through the box.
But the witch wasn’t done. Komana set the box aside, then lifted a jug and poured clear water into the crucible and quickly mixed the dregs. I needed no one to tell me that the water was from the underground spring. Then the silvery liquid the witch created was poured into a small goblet.
She gave it to the Queen, saying, “Fill your mouth with it, your Highness, and hold it until the proper time. Don’t let one drop trickle down your throat, for it will kill you, and then where will your son be?”
The Queen nodded. “I understand,” she said.
We all watched as if in a trance as she did the witch’s bidding.
Next came the box. Without instruction Queen Monavia opened it and removed the petal.
She shuddered as she took it and the witch moved quickly to grab the box as it fell from her hand.
The Queen stood still, as if frozen. And then we saw a most marvelous form float from her body. It was the Queen’s other self, a self that I had once been, if only for a moment. The Queen’s ghostly self shimmered with life and power. She didn’t hesitate but walked away, the witch staring after her.
Monavia’s spirit didn’t bother with the door. She walked through it, leaving her temporal body behind. We were amazed witnesses to her progress, watching her move down long corridors through the walls of other rooms, past men and women who did not see her ghostly form.
Finally we were back in the darkened court chamber with the remains of the abandoned feast — and King Farsun who snored on his throne, his wine goblet still clutched in his hand.
The queenly ghost floated to him. It leaned over, gently turned his head and spit the liquid into his ear.
Kingdoms of the Night (The Far Kingdoms) Page 46