Night's Master (2 page)

2.  Sunshine

Azhrarn gave
the youth a name. It was Sivesh, which in the demon tongue meant the Fair, or
perhaps the Blessed. He made Sivesh his companion and lavished on him many
incredible gifts, as he had promised. He made him able to shoot with an arrow
farther and more cleverly than any other, man or demon, and to fight with a
sword as if he had had ten sword arms inside his one. Touching his forehead
with a ring of jade he made him able to read and speak each of the seven
languages of Underearth, and with a ring of pearl each of the seventy languages
of men. And, with a spell more ancient than the world itself he made him proof
against any weapon, steel or stone, wood or iron, snake venom, plant poison or
fire. Only water he could not protect him from, for the seas were of another
kingdom than the earth and had their own rulers. However. Azhrarn planned one
day to take the youth to the cold blue lands of Upperearth, and trick the
Guardians of the Sacred Well into giving Sivesh a draught of immortality.

Meanwhile, there was much for the young man to see and do, for now not
only did he roam Druhim Vanashta with the Prince, and share in all its
miraculous delights, but he rode beside him through the wild wastes of
Underearth. Azhrarn had given him, along with all the other gifts, a demon
horse to ride, a mare with a mane and tail like blue smoke and the remarkable
quality that she could run over water. Azhrarn and Sivesh would gallop together
across the lakes of the Underearth, beneath trees made of silver wire or bone,
or go hunting with blood-red hounds on the shores of the great river of Sleep,
where white flax grew like rushes. Azhrarn did not hunt deer or hare or even
lion on those shores, for the little cruelties of man were as nothing compared to
the huge cruelty of demon-kind. The Vazdru hunted the souls of men asleep,
which ran shrieking before the hounds; though it was only the souls of the
insane or those near death which the dogs were able to catch and rend, and even
these always escaped in the end—it was merely a sport to the demons. And
Sivesh, who had no memory of what he was, and knew no other laws than the laws
of Darkness, hunted merrily and thoughtlessly with his lord.

Eventually Azhrarn began to hanker after the earth above. Then he took
Sivesh with him also. They journeyed, of course, by night, for no demon loved
the world’s day. Azhrarn rose from the volcanic shaft like an eagle, but he had
changed Sivesh to a feather on his breast. Up into the sky they flew, and the
feather trembled against him. There below blazed the craters of the fire
mountains, there above blazed the face of the moon, framed by her mantle of
sky, the stars flung like diamonds across it.
I have never seen such
radiance at this,
Sivesh thought.
The fountain in the garden gives
neither light nor heat.
He was, though he had forgotten, a child of earth.
His mortal soul reached out for her blindly.

So, seeing that Sivesh enjoyed the world, Azhrarn came to spend much time
in it.

Sometimes, in the garb of travellers, they would visit the nighttime
cities of men, and enter by stealth the treasure houses of kings, and all the
gems and metals they found there Azhrarn would transform to heaps of dust or
drifts of withered leaves, for such was his pleasure. And often they might lead
astray some caravan in the desert or some ship to founder on the teeth of an
unfriendly coast. Yet all these things were childish games to Azhrarn; his
wickedness was of a far larger and far more subtle order. Nevertheless, it
pleased him to see how Sivesh obeyed him gladly and unthinkingly in everything,
and how adept the youth was. Azhrarn humored him like a beloved child.

Then one night, as they came from the hills of some earthly kingdom,
where they had left fire and murder behind them, riding on the demon horses of
Underearth with their smoking manes, they came on an old shriveled witch woman
by the roadside. The moment she set eyes on the riders and their strange mounts
she called out: “Blessed be the name of the Dark Lord, and let him do me no harm.”

To which Azhrarn, smiling, replied: “Time has harmed you enough with his
claws.”

“So indeed he has,” cried the witch, her eyes glittering greedily. “May
the Dark Lord grant me my youth again?”

At that Azhrarn laughed coldly: “I do not often grant favors, hag. But
though I will not give you your youth, I will see to it you grow no older,” and
a lightning slipped from his hand and struck the witch down. It was never wise
to ask a boon from a demon.

Yet the witch did not die at once, and as she lay there she stared up at
Sivesh. Marking the handsome face, and guessing him to be mortal, she said:
“Scorn me while you are able. You, too, are a fool, earthborn, to trust in
demon-kind and to ride on a mare of smoke and night. What demons love they slay
in the end, and the gifts of demons are snares. Go nowhere on a horse that
fades, for your dreams will betray you.” Then she lay back and said no more.

It was by now near dawn, and Azhrarn was impatient to return to the
center of the earth. But Sivesh, who was oddly troubled by the witch’s words,
dismounted and bent over her body. As he was kneeling there a curious pallor in
the sky made him look up once more, and on the rim of the hills he saw a glow
like a burning rose.

“What light is that?” he asked Azhrarn, wondering and in awe.

“That is the light of dawn, which I abhor,” the Prince replied. “Come,
mount your horse and let us ride swiftly, for I would not see the sun.”

But Sivesh kneeled on the ground as if in a trance.

“Either come now, or I must leave you here,” Azhrarn told him.

“Am I then born of earth, as the woman said?”

“You are. The sun to you, perhaps, looks fair, but to the Lords of
Darkness it is a thing of ghastly ugliness.”

“My lord,” Sivesh cried, “let me remain here for one day. Let me see the
sun. I cannot rest until I have done so. And yet,” he added, “if you command me
to return with you, I must, for you are dearer to me than anything.”

This softened Azhrarn’s mood. He did not wish to let the young man
remain, but he foresaw unease if a sight of daytime earth were denied him.

“Stay then,” said Azhrarn, “for one day.” Then, throwing him a little
piece of silver shaped like the head of a serpent, he said: “Sound that at
dusk, and it will draw me to you wherever you are. For now, farewell.” Then he
dug spurs into his beast, and galloped away faster than thought, and even
Sivesh’s mare, which had been stamping and whinnying nervously at the
lightening sky, fled too.

Sivesh felt a sudden fear at being left in the world of men, alone on the
hills beside the witch’s body, with the terrible glare of dawn filling the
east. But then there began in him a swelling happiness, that grew like a melody
in his heart. So he had felt when first Azhrarn had spoken to him at Druhim
Vanashta, but this time he could find no cause, except for the light over the
hills.

First came jade, next ruby, then a disc of gold which shot out rays like
arrows of flame, and set the whole world ablaze. Then such color filled the
land as the mortal, who had lived in the Underearth, had never seen, such
greens, such saffrons, such reds—his whole body seemed to catch alight with
them as the world seemed to catch fire from the sun. Never in Azhrarn’s
midnight halls or the shadowy bright streets of the demon city had he seen a
comparable splendor. He stood and wept at it like a lost child which suddenly
finds its home.

All day long Sivesh wandered about the valleys and the slopes, and what
he did there no one knows. Perhaps he charmed the wild foxes to follow him or
the birds of the air to his hands; perhaps he stopped at some shepherd’s hut
and found there a pretty girl who brought him a drink of milk in an earthenware
bowl, and a deeper drink, perhaps, from that other bowl the gods had entrusted
to women. Whatever he did, when the sun sank like a fiery tide into the sea, he
lay exhausted on the hill and fell asleep, and did not remember to sound the
pipe Azhrarn had given him.

Presently Azhrarn came, passing like an inky wind across the land, and
searching. Sivesh had not strayed far; the Prince found him easily. Azhrarn was
angry, yet seeing him asleep, his beautiful eyes fast shut with weariness, he
let his anger rest, and woke the youth with a gentle touch. Sivesh sat up and
looked about, and soon made out Azhrarn in the wind.

“You neglected to call me,” said Azhrarn, “so I must come looking like
your slave or your dog.” Nevertheless he spoke quietly and with some amusement.

“My lord, forgive me, but I have seen so much—”

“Tell me nothing of it,” Azhrarn said sharply. “I hate the things of day.
Now get up and I will take you to Druhim Vanashta.”

So they returned, the youth with his talk locked in his mouth and sadness
in his face, for he wished to share with Azhrarn, since he loved him, all the
joy he had felt at the world.

And how cold the city seemed, and how dismal, all its jewels and its
glamor faded by the brightness of the sun. While the eternal cool light of
Underearth was like a breath of ice upon his soul.

Azhrarn saw all this in the eyes of Sivesh, but he set aside his anger,
as before. He sought to divert the young man’s mind.

Azhrarn summoned the Drin, the canny dwarfish smiths of the Underearth,
and had them construct for him, in a single night, a vast palace on a high
place in Druhim Vanashta. It was built of gold, a metal not generally favored
by demons, lit by a thousand many-colored lamps, and girded by a moat of
volcanic magma. Such a house had no rival, even among the diverse glories of
the city. Sivesh marveled at it, but he could not hide his thoughts from
Azhrarn, for the gold was not like the gold of the sun and the magma in the
moat did not warm him.

Next Azhrarn gathered his people to a feast, and guiding Sivesh lightly
by the arm, he walked with him among the glittering guests. “It is time you
sampled women, my dear. You must take a bride,” he said. “See, here among the
Vazdru and the Eshva are the most magical beauties of my kingdom. Choose, and
any one of them shall be yours.” Sivesh looked about him, but the lovely faces
of the demon women were like masks of paper, their black hair sullen, their
eyes like stagnant pools, the movement of their limbs like snakes. He grew
paler still with anguish and could not answer. Azhrarn merely stroked his hair,
and smiled.

He went alone by night to the hill where he had found Sivesh asleep, and
there, adopting the shape of a black wolf, he dug in the earth with his claws.
After a while he found a little seed which was sprouting. Quickly he grasped
the seed, and in his swiftest form, that of a lightning flash, he sped back to
the Underearth. There in the dark garden, beside the fountain of fire, he
planted the seed in the ground and spoke over it certain words and sprinkled on
it certain dusts. . . . Soon he sent for Sivesh.

Sivesh stood beside the Prince of Demons, and at first he saw nothing,
only the bed of freshly turned soil. Then from the center of the bed there
spread a crack like a wriggling worm, and after the first, six more. Shortly,
there came an opening, and out of it the tip of some growing thing thrust like
the snout of a mole.

“Oh, my lord, what is this?” Sivesh asked, halfway between horror and
fascination.

“I have grown a rare flower for you,” Azhrarn replied, and slipping his
arm about the young man’ s shoulders, bade him wait and see.

The shoot of the mysterious plant now came springing up. As soon as it
had shaken itself free of soil it began to put forth leaves and buds, though
mostly they withered as quickly as they formed. One bud, however, swelled like
a bubble on the stem, swelled until it was of unusual size and then split open.
Inside stood a full-grown flower, shaped rather like the closed cup of a
magnolia, the palest violet in color, but veined with rose.

This was wonderful enough; the young man caught his breath. But what came
after was more wonderful still. The tight-shut petals of the flower stole open
one by one, each revealing behind itself another of a deeper and more ravishing
blue, until at last the entire blossom was spread wide like a fan. And at the
heart of the flower lay a sleeping maiden, naked among the flames of her own
hair.

“Since the women of my country were not fair enough to please you,”
remarked Azhrarn, “I have grown you a woman from a flower of earth. See. Her
hair is the yellow of wheat, her breasts white pomegranates, her loins honeydew.”
Leading Sivesh to the flower, he leaned forward and lifted the maiden out, and
as her white feet left the flower’s heart there came a little snapping sound
like the breaking of the stalk of a plant. At once the maiden opened her eyes;
they were as blue as the world’s sky.

Azhrarn the Prince of Demons gave her hand into the hand of Sivesh with a
secret smile, and as if to echo him, the maiden smiled also, looking into
Sivesh’s bemused face. And so sweet was that smile and that loveliness that
Sivesh forgot the sun.

Her name was
Ferazhin, Flower-Born. Sivesh lived with her in harmony in his palace at Druhim
Vanashta for one mortal year.

Azhrarn had taught him many of the ways of love. Demons did not adhere
only to a single road, a solitary room in the vast treasure store. The
delightful door of one chamber led into another. Ferazhin, with the honeycomb
of her loins, her apple sweetness, her wheat-field hair able to couch both her
lover and herself upon a resilient carpet of fragrant gold, was as ripe for the
pleasure of Sivesh as was the earth.

Certain it is that for that time he loved her, and maybe that she loved
him. She was not of demon-kind, though made by demons. Neither was she human.
She was a creature grown of earth-seed in supernatural soil. She bore the stamp
of both.