‘Hailaz, prince of Lyye, awake.’
Hailaz woke up at once, and in panic attempted to rise. Someone was here, someone who knew him. He looked up and saw a small figure, silhouetted between the sparkling pillars, against the rosiness of dawn. Its appearance was concealed in shadow, and he could not really tell if the voice was male or female. But he was still flooded with relief. Whatever phantoms had tortured his mind during the night, the glorious reality of day swept the cobwebs from his eyes. The city had just been asleep. With the advent of day it had clearly come alive once more. He could sense movement and noise beyond the obscuring columns.
The person who had spoken advanced into the hall and stood over him. ‘I am Lord of these halls, prince. Do you have reason for seeking my hospitality?’
‘Forgive my audacity,’ Hailaz begged obsequiously. ‘Yesterday, my father’s city was razed to the ground by the Fenilix from the north, and I was driven into the wilderlands by the same fiends who butchered my people. I have ridden long and have injuries. I seek only sanctuary.’ He paused and remembered, easing himself up onto one elbow. ‘A strange singer lured me to your home in the night.’ He could see now that his host was hardly more than a boy, clad simply in hugging deerskins, not unlike the many wide-eyed slaves that once scampered through his father’s palace. Not unlike his own attendant Xal-Liha, whose probable fate could only cause him to wince in pain as he gazed upon this lovely youth. Poor Xal, whose huge and tender eyes had never mocked him, most probably lay dead and broken amidst the carnage of his home. ‘You knew my name,’ the prince wheedled. ‘Has news reached here already of Lyye’s untimely fall?’
‘Untimely? Hardly. And yes, I know of you,’ said the boy, with only a hint of contempt. ‘All things witnessed by the hills of Morstar are known to me. You are in the ancient city of Vaengir, and this is my revered Hall of Ages you violate with your self-pity. Get to your feet, Prince of Lyye. As you are here, I can afford you aid, for well you need it. Follow me.’
The proud boy stalked towards the end of the Hall without another look behind him, and Hailaz had no choice but to stagger after.
Hailaz was led through many fine and sweeping halls, eventually being ushered him into a splendid chamber. He leaned against the doorframe, and examined the sumptuous luxury of the room. A doorway to the side revealed a bathroom, where scented steam rose from a bath, ready drawn and presumably for his use. What good fortune this was! He pushed from his mind the strange fact that nowhere in the palace had he seen any servants going about their duties. But for his exotic host, the place still seemed deserted.
The boy aided Hailaz across the room to the great tapestried bed that was set into the wall by tall windows of pale yellow glass. Hailaz lay in an ecstasy upon the soft coverlet, all his pains aching gloriously. He looked forward to a warm soaking. The boy knelt at his side and made to draw off the prince’s stained and shabby boots.
‘No,’ Hailaz said, ‘you are master of his palace. It is not fitting that you attend upon me. I have thrust myself upon your hospitality without invitation. Leave me be, and I will presently find the strength to attend myself, I assure you. I do not deserve even the attentions of your meanest slave, for if you know me, you will know the curse and revilement I carry. Do not soil your hands that others may shun you also.’
The boy sat up on his heels and laughed merrily. ‘Poor fool, Hailaz. You are truly a mean individual caught up in your own misery. Believe me, you know little of curses. Also, the song that brought you here belongs to me. It is the spirit of the Falls. You had no choice but to come here. Therefore I will attend you. My servants are sullen and unpleasant. As a prince, you deserve more than that.’ And he carried on with the business of peeling off the well-used boots.
Hailaz regarded the boy thoughtfully. He could not tell what blood ran in those tender veins. The small face was inhuman, beautifully alien, sallow-skinned and almond-eyed, with a mouth curved in a perpetual smile, but hardly of mirth. His head was framed with serpentine hair, multiply braided, so that it seemed a hundred black snakes hung from his head. Looking at those black-irised eyes, Hailaz thought that the creature was far older than the appearance of sixteen years or so bespoke. There dwelt in his eyes a perverse humour, a patient irony, laced with such a vengeful bitterness that Hailaz was unnerved by his unobtrusive touch.
Once bathed and clad in a nightgown of soft cloth, Hailaz sought the comfort of the bed, feeling wonderfully at peace and secure in his new-found haven. His mysterious host promised to bring him sustenance shortly, and he fell into a slumber. But strange phantoms arose in his mind, twisting his sleep to fearsome nightmare, so that he woke raving and fevered to find the boy gazing into his troubled face with an expression akin to amusement. It filled Hailaz with a greater horror than he had yet known, realising that in his recumbent position he was completely at the mercy of this strange being.
‘You are fevered,’ the boy murmured. ‘Drink of this broth.’
Fighting the nausea that rose in his stomach, Hailaz obeyed, fearful of arousing the boy’s disapproval.
‘Tomorrow, you will feel so much better, Prince of Lyye. I will release the Spirit of the Falls to woo you in your sleep with pleasant song. It is very healing.’
‘My mare, did you find her?’ Hailaz asked suddenly, remembering the faithful beast.
‘Rest easy, Hailaz, she crops the sward above the Falls. All animals are welcome here.’
The boy left the chamber, leaving Hailaz alone, and not unafraid, for the space of one day and one night.
At the end of this time, as the boy had predicted, the fever and pain had left Hailaz completely and he felt better disposed towards the strangeness of his circumstances. Fresh, well-made clothing had been left out for him, and he rose from his bed in a mood of happy congeniality.
Once Hailaz had dressed himself, his host appeared and accompanied him to a pleasant dining room that looked out over a sunny patio, beyond which the marvellous gardens of the palace could be seen. The room was light and airy, decorated with vivid green plants that trailed from baskets down the walls and sent ferny tendrils out into the room. For the first time Hailaz had the chance to see two of his host’s servants and they did indeed appear to be a pack of lack-lustre individuals. Their movements were sluggish and clumsy, their eyes glazed, as if they were under the influence of some potent philtre. But the food they served was well-prepared and mouth-watering, and after all his previous hardships Hailaz found the meal invigorating.
The boy sat opposite him, and though he scarcely nibbled at his own food, seemed content to watch his guest heartily devour great portions.
‘You said you are Lord of all this city?’ Hailaz asked out of politeness, thinking it was quite possible that the boy’s father had once ruled here, and dying while his son was still young, had caused the youth to inherit the title before his time.
‘Yes,’ the boy replied with a sharp-toothed smile. ‘I am Gahrazel and this is my city.’ He gestured widely and laughed. A discomforting note of insanity rang through it.
Hailaz began to wonder if he had fallen into the hands of a lunatic. He wiped his mouth fastidiously on a napkin, searching for a suitable topic of conversation. None came.
‘You observe me very strangely, Prince Hailaz,’ said Gahrazel. ‘Does it disturb you to think someone so young as I can rule a city? Do you look upon youth with contempt? Maybe I remind you of the young slaves within your own lost home, whom you treated ruthlessly, without thought for their own sensibilities. You know, of course, what I mean?’
‘Yes,’ Hailaz answered, wincing at the smouldering fury in the boy’s eyes. ‘But do not think I thought that of you. I am thankful for the kindness you have showed towards me, and moreover I do not think you are as much of a child as you would have me believe.’
The boy smiled.
At that moment, another servant entered the room. He bore a silver charger on which reposed a carafe of wine. Hailaz uttered a startled cry and dropped the
napkin he still held in his hand. The servant was one of his own company, who had so mercilessly left him for dead beyond the wilderlands. ‘Mahor!’ Hailaz cried. ‘Do you not know me?’
The man ignored him and poured out a goblet of wine. He never looked up once nor acknowledged Hailaz’ presence.
‘Speak, Mahor,’ Hailaz urged. ‘Did Gahrazel bring you here too? Why do you wait upon his table?’ He touched the man’s arm to attract his attention and was horrified to find the flesh was cold, and dull as clay, as if no life moved in his body. It seemed his eyes were filmed with the nacre of the tomb.
‘What have you done to him?’ Hailaz screeched at the boy. A terrible inkling of the truth stirred in his blood.
Gahrazel was smiling, lazily and cruelly, smoothing the kingly robes he wore. Hailaz felt a shock course through him as the almond-shaped eyes fixed him in a cold gaze.
‘Have I not rescued him from the desolation of the wilderlands? It amuses me to have new faces around the palace.’
Trembling, Hailaz challenged him. ‘That I do not believe! I would say, Gahrazel, that this man is lent a horrible animation, when in truth he should be mouldering in his tomb.’
Gahrazel speculated upon the Prince’s ashen face and damp brow. He threw back his head and laughed. ‘I choose to keep him in this state, because humankind are otherwise difficult to manage. They are too eager to create trouble and attempt petty heroics. This way, they accept my dominion without question.’
‘What kind of a fiend are you?’ Hailaz said in an outraged, low voice.
‘Do not fear,’ spoke Gahrazel placatingly. ‘If you would know the truth, come with me.’
He rose, ophidian, from his chair. Hailaz saw that the costly robes he had worn had vanished, as if they had never existed at all, beyond illusion. Gahrazel stood naked before him, clothed only with anguine ropes of midnight hair. But this was not the only transformation. Hailaz shuddered to see that the youth’s skin was scaled like a reptile. The scales were smooth and pale, and glistened like pearl. There was no indication of a sex; he seemed neither male nor female. ‘This is the truth of me,’ Gahrazel said. ‘I do not need the constricting vestments of a human being.’ He indicated his strange, supple flesh. ‘This, my integument, is my kingly robe.’ He walked out of the room without a further word, and Hailaz followed mutely, filled equally with curiosity and dread.
They came to a great balcony that overlooked a bustling market-place, filled with people. The shrill cries of darting children mixed the homely sound of barking dogs. Stall-holders cried out to advertise their wares. Women in colourful robes moved among them, examining the produce. There were no beggars to be seen – a common sight in Lyrrian markets – and all the people, including the merchants, appeared healthy and well dressed.
‘My people,’ said Gahrazel quietly. ‘In thrall to me, yes, but their lives are perfect. At night, I bid them sleep without dreams until the dawn, but at daybreak, I bring them alive again. I find silence very... sad.’
Hailaz peered over the balcony and saw that all below was not, as first appeared, quite all as it should be. There was something heavy in the smiles, something dead in the lithe limbs of the young women. ‘If there is sadness here, it is the state of these poor creatures,’ Hailaz observed. ‘They are walking dead. Truly you are a monster, Gahrazel, and have killed all these people.’
‘You are ignorant,’ Gahrazel said and taking one of Hailaz’ hands, pressed it against his squamous hide. ‘This is what I am, Prince of Lyye. I am of the Colurastes, the serpent people.’
The flesh was strangely warm; Hailaz did not expect that.
‘These animals,’ the boy continued, with a grimace and a gesture at the crowd, ‘deserved all they got from me. It was just punishment. But come, you shall hear the tale from he who shall tell it best, the erstwhile king of fair Vaengir, Lord Arax. He shall recite it. Come.’ And still holding Hailaz’s hand, he dragged the prince back into the palace.
In a curtained throne-room, long deserted, and cloaked with a pall of thick, grey dust, King Arax brooded in the silence on a mighty throne, his body swathed in dust. Here, Gahrazel had not arrested the machinations of time; it had worked its chaos of decays upon the once magnificent apartment.
‘Here sits the king of Vaengir in his rubble,’ the snake-boy said delightedly. ‘It still pleases me to see him like this. He was such a proud man, proud and selfish. Always wanted his own way, as kings do. I keep him alive, so that he may contemplate his sins. He has been given eternity to repent. One day, I might even release him so he may see what I have done to his fair city. How he hated dirt and disorder. That is why I keep his city spotless - except for this room.’ He laughed, a sound that Hailaz found quite manic.
The whole scene and atmosphere was so oppressive, Hailaz needed to sit down. Carefully, he negotiated the accumulated detritus that had once been splendid carvings and decorations, and eventually found a seat on a crumbling divan.
Ensorcelled Arax scowled down from his throne. He was still handsome, even though he might have been frozen in that way for centuries.
‘Awake, Arax,’ Gahrazel commanded. ‘Awake and tell your sorry tale, for here is one who would like to hear it.’
Slowly, Arax lifted his head, and a gleam of life entered his grey eyes. Dust trickled down from his hair and brow. Mournfully, he gazed upon his keeper.
‘Speak, Arax, speak,’ said Gahrazel. ‘Tell Prince Hailaz here how you came to be in this pitiful condition.’ He sat down on a moth eaten chair, a perfectly bestial smile upon his curving lips.
Like an automaton, the wretched king turned his eyes on Hailaz. His voice was faint, as if his throat was full of dust. ‘Long ago, this city fair, Vaengir of the Singing Falls, was the capital of a great kingdom that was known from Morstar and beyond as Tinsantrel. Of great power were the cities of Tinsantrel and, most of all, the jewel of her hills, fair Vaengir. Her people were strong and healthy, and summer lay long over the green and gentle flanks of Morstar. Happy people raised their sheep and cattle there, and wealth poured out of the land.
‘Of all the inhabitants of this forgotten country, none was more contented than I, its king. I had three beautiful wives, who bore for me incomparable children. The rooms of my splendid palace were stacked high with jewels and treasures from far, exotic lands. The Singing Falls filled my spirit with joy and my heart with peace. I enjoyed nothing more than to lie in the spray of the Falls and listen to the sweet voice that sang from its shimmering droplets. No, I lacked for nothing. My country was strong, and but for one calamity, might have lasted for eternity. Even now, Vaengir could still be a queen of cities; my sons and their sons ruling here in wisdom. But doom came to Vaengir, upon a summer’s day, when two foreign merchant-adventurers rode into her streets.
‘These travellers visited many of the city taverns, where they boasted of their exploits, and of the strange and wonderful things they had brought with them from far, unmapped lands. Eventually, they came to the palace gate and requested an audience with me, professing they had in their possession a thing that would interest me greatly. I had already heard of these travellers and was curious about what wares they might offer to me.
‘I gladly received the men and offered them hospitality. They spoke to me of a strange creature they had caught in a land far southward, which was unknown even to the wise scribes of Vaengir. In return for this fabulous creature, they were willing to accept gold and jewels. They said they knew I had a love of unnatural wonders and liked to collect them. And so, they brought forth the snake-boy, Gahrazel, he of the Colurastes.
‘All of my wives gasped at the creature’s loveliness. They exclaimed over the nacreous lustre of his scaly skin and yearned to stroke his braided hair. The snake boy would be a wonderful adornment for the court, they said. They had never beheld such a bewitching creature.
‘To please them, and also myself, for I could see that here was a rare prize, I paid the merchants what they demanded, and then bid them on the
ir way. Oh, how blind I was to the truth! I thought that Gahrazel, though strange, was nothing more than an innocent boy. I could not see I had accepted into my royal house an ageless lamia, who was furious at being entrapped.
‘The merchants had bound his body thrice with the magical twine of the wolf-hemp, a ritual act that had nullified the creature’s powers. In ignorance, I cut those restraining cords with my own, jewelled dagger. Whereupon, the creature could once again speak.
‘He said to me, “Let me go free from this house, Great Arax. I see you are a fair man, and you know you have no claim over me. I hail from the Colurastes, and even now my siblings weep for me upon the flat, wet rocks beside the speaking river of Shyya. Let me be free, so I may rejoin them. I am not meant to dwell within the halls of humankind.”
‘I refused this request resolutely, for I had just paid a great sum for him. Also, he was the most beautiful and unusual creature I had ever seen. I had to own him. My wives were in accord with me, and nodded their heads vigorously when I told the boy there was no question of his leaving.
‘Gahrazel contemplated my words for some moments, then said, “You have indeed paid a great many jewels for me. I can see that you appreciate me in an aesthetic sense. As I said to you, I cannot dwell in a place such as this for long, but in goodwill, I elect to stay here in your palace for five years. But, in that time, neither you, nor any of your people, must contemplate even to lay a finger to my flesh. Should any of you violate my wish, fair Vaengir will suffer my curse and the whole of Tinsantrel shall perish.”
‘I was amused by his words. He was just a boy, yet he spoke as if the might of my guards could do nothing to prevent him leaving should he decide to do so. As I said, I was ignorant of his power then, but in amusement agreed to his terms. I let him have his dignity.
‘Gahrazel dwelled in the palace for four pleasant years, never appearing any older than when he first arrived. I know he found us as fascinating as we found him, and perhaps had events occurred differently, he would have decided to remain here even after the five years had ended. In Vaengir, he was treated as a prince, and had the freedom of the city. Among his siblings, he would again be only a lowly hunter who procured food for their great serpent king.
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