logo
  • Issue 34 – Spring 2017
  • Issue 33 – Winter 2017
  • Issue 32 – Fall 2016
  • Issue 31 – Summer 2016
  • Previous Issues
  • About Silver Pen
    • Silver Pen Bylaws
    • Writers Forum
    • Fabula Argentea
    • Liquid Imagination
    • Youth Imagination
    • Write Well Blog
  • Silver Blade Staff
  • Grand List of Cliches

  • Home
  • Issue 22
  • Issue 22 Stories

Published by Karl Rademacher on July 9, 2014. This item is listed in Issue 22, Issue 22 Stories, Stories

The Rockwizard and the Wheatrider

By Noah Youngs

WraithIt stretched a scarred claw towards the glimmer of moonlight above, inching forward slowly. A thousand times it had tested its invisible prison, felt the sting of fire and lighting as it was forced back into the depths. But no fire burned… no acrid bolt singed its mark. The claw crept forward again, touching at last a tendril of the moon’s light, so long yearned for. It let out a low hiss. From the chasms below, a chorus of multitudes answered back.

#

When the first summons from the Mage Guild arrived, warning that the Seal of Myth had been broken and the greater and lesser fiends let loose upon the world once more, Ulliem threw it out. It was the Guild’s own fault for meddling with things, and he wasn’t about to pack up and leave for some backwater just because they needed him to make a few superstitious peasants feel safer.

Certainly the danger was greater in the frontiers than it was here in the city of Lastrania, where professional soldiers and warwizards manned stout walls, but Ulliem wasn’t afraid. He was too old to bother with fear anymore.

“It’s all just so confoundedly vague,” he complained to the statues and ornately adorned bits of masonry that littered his shop. Really he wasn’t too surprised, since the guildmasters themselves probably had little idea as to the extent of the peril. The Seal of Myth was one of the most unorthodox pieces of magic ever conjured, rumored to be equal parts genius, madness and accident. For nearly a thousand years, generations of guildmasters had poked and prodded at it, trying to comprehend its success. “And now they’ve gone and broken it,” Ulliem snorted.

The next day another summons arrived, this one scribed on parchment the color of rusted manacles, and icy to the touch. In no uncertain terms, it threatened Ulliem with forced labor under the cruel whips of warlock jailors unless he obeyed his charge. With a plethora of long-suffering sighs, the rockwizard packed his bags for Dern.

#

Perched half-heartedly on the shoulder of a ragged hill, Dern was a meager collection of thatched houses and gapped-wood barns meant for surpluses that seldom came.  Above the town a stumpy keep attempted vigilant guard, anchoring a road that wandered down past Dern, splitting wheat fields and bending to accommodate the curves of a small orchard. Before the road disappeared back the way Ulliem had come, a small track branched off northward, mostly reclaimed by tough dusty-green grass, marching towards a narrow canyon that sliced into the hills.

Missing a turn in the path, the rockwizard wandered though the orchard, forlornly prodding at the hard, unripe fruits. He found the road again, unaware that he’d ever lost it, all the while cursing the carriage driver who had taken his money but dropped him off leagues down the road. Making his way slowly up the hill, past the wheat fields, Ulliem finally reached what a generous man might call ‘the center of town’. The rockwizard fell into a bony heap near the well, ignoring the stares of the dozen or so Dernians who had gathered after spotting his protracted approach.

Sun alleyMany folk accustomed to city and culture would have been dismayed by the dull prospect of Dern, but Ulliem, despite having lived in the midst of both, was neither. Stone was the only thing of permanence in his life– people just wandered in and out of it without leaving much behind.

What did dismay him was the question of what exactly he was supposed to do now that he was here. More sculptor than sorcerer, the rockwizard’s grip on the arcane had never been more than tenuous at the height of his study, many years ago, and his mildly prosperous career had been based largely on the skill of his hands rather than the strength of his incantations.

Not that it looked as if the village felt much need for a powerful wizard. Everyone seemed so calm. He’d expected a grateful parade, or at least a tearful speech or two, thanking him for abandoning the safety of Lastrania to save them from nightmarish danger. But even though he knew riders had warned every town after the Seal had shattered, he caught not even a whiff of dread.

“Where’s the governor of these parts? Where’s the engineer of fortifications, and the colonel of the militia?” he snapped at no one in particular, ignoring timid greetings and proffered hands.

Ulliem felt resentment swelling inside him, fueled by hunger and the fatigue of his weeklong journey. He’d managed to save up some money before the summons had come, perhaps enough to retire. But it was all gone now, spent on wearying travel. Picking a stalk of wheat from where it had hitched a ride in his robe, he began to chew on it angrily.

Finally a blacksmith pushed his way through the crowd, introducing himself and motioning to the rockwizard to follow him up the hill. Peering irritably up at the large man in his leather apron, Ulliem made out a broad, unsympathetic face, ruddy with forge-heat. Ulliem spat the stalk into the dirt and rose to his feet, mumbling obscenities under his breath as he trailed in the smith’s wake.

As they approached the squat keep, the rockwizard pursed his lips in disappointment. It was a sham-castle, built with barely enough strength to keep out fear. The four walls seemed to lean on each other for support, rife with holds for many-armed demons, and its warding runes looked to have been cast by false-bearded charlatans hoping to turn village superstition into coin. Worst was the stone, aching with strain and compromise. It smelled of a time when fiends were already painted into story, sealed in myth. It would never stand against their manifestation.

Just outside the arched gateway to the keep, a middle-aged man awaited, standing behind a woman seated in a rolling chair of the kind found commonly in guildhalls of medicine. She was graceful, even in her old age, but her eyes wandered about absently, and with a shudder Ulliem recognized the vacant stare of the mind-lapsed. It was a fate that sometimes came to the elderly before their time was spent, and the rockwizard had often wondered of late whether it lurked for him just around the next season’s corner, bemusing arms held wide in insidious welcome.

“I, acting mayor Ralten, welcome you to the city of Dern, on behalf of our citizens and my mother, mayor Lenorra” the man intoned in a reedy voice. Clearly bought for exorbitant prices from some traveling swindler, his clothes were gaudy, full of gold thread and colored-glass jewels. The way he held the rolling chair was more reminiscent of someone clinging to a badge of office than a loved one.

Ulliem had no skill at divining, but he had read nearly all the great books of Insight in his youth. Adding to this knowledge were many years of experience carving the likenesses of Lastranian aristocracy, including more than a few pompous and spoiled noblemen’s sons. The rockwizard saw at once that while the mayor Lenorra had been erudite and wise, her son Ralten had managed to travel the road of literature without passing through the city of learning, and had stopped a few leagues short of wisdom.

“Yes, very nice town” Ulliem snapped by way of response, still in a resentful mood as he gazed about disapprovingly.

There was an awkward pause, and then a mousy-looking woman in an overlarge striped apron appeared from inside the gates, followed by a half-dozen children of varying ages, who quickly formed into a line. Ulliem caught a delicious whiff of something baked trailing behind the woman, and he craned his neck to look for the source.

“Allow me to introduce the rest of my family,” Ralten said stiffly, clearly annoyed by the rockwizard’s response. He turned, his mouth entertaining a frown that looked quite at home. “It seems we are one child short. Adopted children are often more willful than natural kin.”

“Mmmmm,” Ullien agreed sagely, moving towards the acting mayor’s wife to speed on the commencement of the meal. Shaking hands, ignoring names, and murmuring pleasant nonsense, the rockwizard moved down the line of children until he reached the blacksmith.

“We’ve met, Wizard, by the well. I told you my name was Mungar,” the blacksmith reminded him emotionlessly, but Ulliem was lost in the smells of fresh cooking.

“Good lad. Carry on,” he replied, before moving once more and offering his hand to the empty air.

Ralten cleared his throat, momentarily unsure how to treat the seemingly senile old man. “Ah, do you have any questions about our city or the environs?” the acting mayor asked finally, tugging at Ulliem’s attention.

DesertSun“The canyon to the north, a quarry if I don’t mistake my guess? Do you still mine good blocks?” Ulliem inquired, momentarily diverted from gastronomical reverie.

“No quarrying in these parts. That canyon is a sacred place,” Ralten answered tersely, his face darkening, but Ulliem missed the reaction.

“Hmm, too bad. There was some sandstone lying about that was quite a luscious red… never seen its like. I might go take a peek and see if there’s anything of size,” the rockwizard mused.

Ralten looked suddenly angry, drawing himself up. “As acting mayor, you are under my direction. That canyon is a holy place, and I abjure you from setting foot in it,” he declared haughtily. “What’s more,” he continued, “I’ll thank you to keep any displays of magic or talk of fiends to yourself. We’re a simple folk here, with quite enough to keep us busy without you spreading fear with horror stories and nightmares. I don’t know what this business is the Mage Guild has gotten itself into, but I’m sure it has nothing to do with us.”

“Now, see here–” Ulliem said, offended, but Ralten interrupted, regaining his composure.

“Let us speak no more of this until we have dined, Master Wizard,” he declared, “my wife has prepared a meal in your honor.”

Ulliem grumbled, still affronted and of a mind to dispel a bit of the arrogant man’s ignorance. But his stomach was grumbling too, and in his experience ignorance was hardly ever conquered in a day.

The meal was not half-bad, and made all the better for the rockwizard by leagues of travel and cold, stale food. Ulliem found his good spirits returned, and lavished florid compliments on the acting mayor’s wife between mouthfuls.

“Lady, a more succulent roast there has never been on the highest tables of golden lords…Madame, truly what ambroisal meade you have deigned to grace us with…Oh goddess of ovencraft, thy pies drip with delectable juice!”

Ralten sat in sullen silence. After dinner, his furiously blushing wife led Ulliem to a room that smelled as if it might quite recently have been a meat-curing pantry. Exhausted and full, the rockwizard kicked off his boots, threw down his satchel, and dropped like a felled tree into the small cot, snoring loudly within minutes.

The next morning, Ulliem awoke early, sneaking out of the keep. Whistling a lively tune, he ambled down the hill, barefoot, heading for the very quarry he had been “abjured” from the day before.

farmlandFarmers were already in the fields, pausing to stare at him as he passed, but none moved to bar his way, and he made sure to wait until he had passed them all before turning northward. When at last he reached the canyon mouth, two pillars greeted him, standing sentry. They were fashioned out of the same deep red sandstone that seemed to find its origins in the canyon beyond, and Ulliem marveled at their craftsmanship.

“Now here’s some stonework,” the rockwizard murmured to himself, stepping closer to the columns. “Crafted in the Heuric style, if I don’t mistake my guess.”

A quarryman’s pickaxe was carved into the base of each pillar, chiseled skillfully to give the illusion of two entirely different stones being welded together. Above the axes, partially obscured by lichen, subtle runes wound about the pillars, calling for good fortune, safety, and strength of stone. There was something else too, hidden.

“Sir Wizard!” A cry came from behind him, breaking his focus.

Ulliem whirled to see a small girl running towards him. Her long strawberry-blond hair, uncharacteristic of the region, streamed behind her, and sunlight picked out a yellow ribbon at her waist.

“You don’t have to call a wizard sir, little girl,” he snapped, annoyed at having been caught. “That address is for trained knights and merchant’s second sons with deep enough pockets to buy the title.”

The girl nearly skidded to a halt in front of Ulliem, abashed, clasping her hands behind her back. “You don’t have to call a girl little, Sir Wizard,” she said seriously, staring at the ground. “That’s for babies and boys who pick their noses and don’t know right from left.”

Ulliem couldn’t help but laugh.

She looked up at him, smiling, before growing serious again, her miniature hand lifted towards the twin columns. “You shouldn’t go near the benee nee,” the girl warned in a solemn whisper. “It’s not a place for trampsing feet or loud breaths.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t traipse on the binny inny,” he reassured her indulgently. “I’m just going to have a looksee…” he trailed off, squinting at the girl suspiciously. “How did you come here lass? I always look behind me, and the fields were empty but a few moments ago.”

grassShe beamed at him, shifting her weight to one leg and twisting her other toe in the grass. “I rode the wheat,” she said simply, and the rockwizard loosed a chuckle.

“Hmmm, can I ride it too?” he asked amusedly, assuming that she had simply been hiding in a field. “These old feet are tired.”

She scrunched up her lips, shaking her head after a moment’s thought. “You can’t ride the wheat. It doesn’t know your song.”

The answer might have given Ulliem pause, except that he wasn’t listening, focused on the pillars once more. They were still nagging at him, and he stepped closer, closing his eyes as he placed a hand flat against the cool stone. There it was, just under the surface. More runes overlapped each other as if the column had been carved from the inside out, a higher magic than the rockwizard had ever even dreamed of achieving. Trying to recollect long-ago studies, Ulliem recognized a few of the sigils. A soul-binding spell? Ulliem frowned. That didn’t make sense at all.

A sudden jolt traveled up the rockwizard’s other arm, as if he’d touched a bell being struck. Ulliem looked down to see the girl firmly gripping his hand, her leaf-green eyes holding his.

“No,” she intoned firmly, and Ulliem found himself unable to move for a moment. Then the girl smiled, and the spell was broken as warmth flooded over the old rockwizard. In amazement, he allowed her lead him back down the grassy track and towards the main road.

“What’s your name, lass?” Ulliem asked as they approached the town.

“Thealenne“ she replied, and then began to sing a wordless melody.

“That’s a nice tune, Thealenne. Did you make it up?” he asked her.

She shook her head, sending strawberry-blonde hair flying in every direction like a started flock of birds. “Granma Norra, used to sing it before her songs got trapped inside. I don’t ‘member the words though, unless she sings it with me.”

“Granma Norra? Norra, Lenorra. That would make you Ralten’s missing adopted child…oh, er, hmmm.” Ulliem trailed off in consternation, not knowing if he had unwittingly revealed the girl’s false parentage, but Thealenne’s nose had wrinkled at the mention of the acting mayor.

“Uncle Ralten used to say he was my daddy, but I knew right away he wasn’t.” She declared firmly, and Ullien laughed aloud at her fervent tone.

“Aye, Thea Wheatrider, I wouldn’t have thought that he was.”

Thea clapped her hands and laughed happily at the title he had given her. She rose up on her toes, and then back down again, squinting at Ulliem with pursed lips. “Sir Ully!” she exclaimed, giving him a nickname in return, and the two were fast friends.

#

The following weeks quickly settled into a routine for Ulliem, who spent his mornings stomping around the town and surrounding hills. There were no signs of danger, and the rockwizard began to treat his post as something of a retirement after all. Dragging a chair into the shade just outside the keep walls, he passed long afternoons napping, an unlit pipe drooping from the corner of his mouth as he snored.

Sometimes in the evening Thea would find him and they would put on a show for Ralten’s other children. Ulliem played a cracked lute passed on by Lenorra’s late husband, and Thea would sing in a beautiful soprano that was amazingly complex. But for the most part the girl seemed to prefer her own company, and so he frequently passed the evenings alone, chiseling away at some small piece of the red sandstone. The rockwizard didn’t mind her absences, fully understanding the need for solitude.

It took the villagers of Dern less than a fortnight to get over their amazement at having a resident wizard, especially since he refused to perform any magic for them. Ulliem told any who asked that he was following Ralten’s orders, but secretly he was afraid that if the town discovered how meager his abilities were, they’d never trust him as their protector. Thus the rockwizard was largely treated as an irrelevant oddity, and those that did not ignore him quickly learned to do so after he began asking them about the history of the quarry.

The other resident of the keep, master farmer Kaid, was an overworked boulder of a man who was perpetually sweating, and turned to excessive drink as soon as his duties were done (or sometimes before). The man dabbled in some sleight-of-hand, and was forever trying to accost Ulliem so that they could swap “secrets of the trade”. Between avoiding Kaid and avoiding Ralten, who managed to irritate him more with every affectation, the rockwizard spent much of time in the forge.

The blacksmith gave no signs of annoyance at Ulliem’s presence, even though the quarters were close and hot; but then again, Mungar never gave many signs about anything. Ulliem had heard somewhere that the smith had been pressed into service for the War of Two-Dozen Dowries, and didn’t return quite the same as he had left. Still, Mungar was the closest thing to another craftsman in the town, and so Ulliem did much of his carving in the forge, to the ringing of hammer blows and the roaring of bellows.

It was during one such night, just shy of two months after the rockwizard’s arrival, that Mungar finally acknowledged his presence. Taking a break from the anvil, the smith deftly sliced an apple in two with a knife at his belt, and proffered one half to Ulliem, who took the gesture as an opening.

“I hope you don’t think I’m prying, but do you know anything of the circumstances of Thealenne’s adoption?” Ulliem asked innocently as he took the fruit.

The blacksmith blanketed him with a probing stare before answering.

“One of the copse-kin came through seven or eight years ago,” Mungar said, ”offering barkcloths and grow-all tinctures of the kind folk don’t trust much around here. Come morning the peddler was gone, leaving a cold firepit and a quiet baby in a willow-bough basket.”

Ulleim nodded to himself, as if confirming a prior suspicion. “And the quarry,” he went on, taking advantage of the smith’s unusual openness, “Binnyei Inyei? Benee Nee? When did the mining stop?”

There was an almost imperceptible tightening around Mungar’s eyes…the rockwizard might have imagined it… and then the smith answered slowly. “Long time ago, centuries maybe, this was a quarry town. Baine Enielle they say folk round here once called it…Lenorra used the name from time to time, though I don’t know the origin.” Pulling a broken plough-blade from the fire, Mungar stared at the glowing iron, as if planning his attack with the heavy hammer gripped by one large hand. “Folks don’t use any name for it much these days. All mining stopped after the slide, and it’s been nought but a grim reminder in the scores of years since.”

“The slide?” Ulliem asked, but apparently the smith had decided the conversation was done, for the hammer rose and fell, spraying fountains of sparks into the air, and Mungar was silent.

The rockwizard wandered slowly back to his room, mulling his thoughts with care. He had a hard time reading Mungar, and tried to wrack his memory for details about the War of Two-Dozen Dowries, a whimsical name for a brutally short, vicious affair. There had been rumors of atrocities committed for the sake of greed, he recalled, and blood that continued to drip long after the combatants had supposedly sheathed their swords.

Reaching deep into a pocket, Ulliem fingered a small piece of the rare sandstone absently. It was surprisingly warm, and for a odd moment Ulliem thought he could hear muffled singing, until he realized he was by the cupboard under the stairs where Ralten’s children hid when they were in trouble with their father, which was often. Recognizing the melody, the old rockwizard pressed his ear to the rough wood.

“Rise Up Quarrymen! Quarrymen Arise!

Fetch pickaxe and lampoil. To Work! To Toil!

‘neath heavy stone embrace, we mine.”

Ulliem found himself humming along to the tune, realizing that it was the same song that Thea often sang without the words. His accompaniment gave him away, however, and there was a startled silence inside the cupboard, before the door creaked open and a timid pair of brown eyes peeked out.

“Whaddaya doin’?” the eyes asked, narrowing suspiciously.

“Why, I was just try to catch a listen of that fine song there, sung so well,” Ulliem answered warmly, trying to coax Ralten’s youngest boy out into the open. “Where did you learn the tune?”

The eyes widened a bit at the praise, and a freckled nose emerged as well. “I heard Tob and Gindel singin’ it,” the boy answered, naming two of Ralten’s older children. “They say you only learn it when you turn from a boy to a man like they have, so I’m practicin’.” There was a pause, and the nose withdrew. “We’re not s’ppose to let grownups hear it.”

Ulliem smiled at the contradiction. “Well I’m a wizard, not a grown-up, so you can sing it for me,” he reassured the eyes, but they disappeared as well, closing the cupboard door after them. The rockwizard waited for a moment, but his only companion was silence.

When Ulliem returned to his room, he reached under the bed and pulled out his satchel, probing around inside it until he found the querybook. Magically linked to the massive Guild library, the querybook was an invaluable source of information. The trouble was, you had to wait for a scribe to processes your inquiry, and the rockwizard had been waiting nearly three weeks.

Opening the querybook hopefully, Ulliem saw the sketched outline of a golden quill in the upper left corner of the first blank page, and smiled in excitement. Grabbing his own quill, he hastily scrawled “Baine Enielle – or – Quarry of Dern”. He sat back on his bed waiting for the far-away scribe to notice. After a few minutes, neatly penned letters appeared on the page, listing a half-dozen books. He circled one, and there was a pause as the scribe cast whatever spell was necessary to summon the volume from the quite extensive shelves of the library. Then the querrybook fluttered slightly, ink draining from its pages, only to be refilled as if another book had been cast as a die and stamped onto the paper.

The rockwizard perused various texts until the candles burned low, and the golden quill started to fade, indicating that his time was up. Unfortunately, many of the accounts made only brief references to the quarry, but Ulliem managed to piece together that Dern had once been fairly prosperous on its account. The Sultans of Heur had bought the unique stone for their most ornate monuments and palaces, up until some sort of accident almost two centuries ago.

Ulliem let the candle exhaust itself with a wisp of smoke, lying back on his cot in the ensuing darkness.

“Why would they close such a lucrative quarry?” He mused aloud. There was always demand for colored stone among masons and sculptors, and men risked their lives daily to excavate far less vibrant hues. “It’s a dangerous business, quarrying. Accidents happen,” Ulliem muttered softly, his breathing becoming regular, tired old limbs leaden. “Regrettable of course, but no reason to deny the world such luscious stone. And those pillars! Strange spells, and secretive villagers…” His last thought before falling into a deep sleep was that many accounts had mentioned a memorial on top of Dern hill.

The next morning Ulliem headed east, up the slope of the hill behind the keep. Quickly steepening, the path struggled to pick its way through outcrops that became more frequent, and the rockwizard skinned both knees and an elbow scrambling over boulders. When the path faded away Ulliem halted, dabbing at the bleeding elbow, his breathing labored. He had climbed perhaps a thousand feet in elevation, but now a nearly-sheer cliff face presented itself to him, mocking his final attempt at reaching the crown.

There was no sign of a shrine, but Ulliem felt the need to conquer the summit anyway after how far he’d come. Glaring at the offensive stone barrier, Ulliem began stomping around the crest, looking for another way up.

The cliffs seemed to completely encircle the summit of the hill like an impregnable stone helmet, and Ulliem was about to give up when he noticed a narrow cleft in the rock. Hiking closer, the rockwizard found a set of steps, wide enough for the shoulders of two men.

The crown of the hill was an impossibly flat plateau, as if a knife blade had sliced off the peak to create a level surface for the memorial in the center. A low semicircular wall embraced the shrine, made of crimson blocks joined together so deftly that Ulliem was hard-pressed to find the seam with probing fingers. The wall cradled a cracked sandstone column, capped by a huge ball of quartz that Ulliem was surprised had resisted the ever-seeking fingers of thieves.

At the base of the column were two waist-high statuettes of kneeling men, so red that it seemed is if their touch might leave a stain. By their garb and gear Ulliem could see that they were meant to be quarrymen, but though their arms were arranged as if to grasp some tool, the minutely carved stone hands were empty. His mind whispered something familiar to him, but the rockwizard was tired from the arduous climb, and his old memory could not quite make the connection. The column itself was twined with runes, and the air seemed thicker, full of powerful magic – the kind of magic that cradled men’s souls.

“My, my, what have we here,” the rockwizard breathed in amazement, approaching the shrine carefully. A rectangular portion of the pillar had been sanded smooth, clear of runes, and at the top Ulliem recognized the crest of Val’Thul, a past guildmaster of stonecraft. Ulliem vaguely remembered from the yards of youthfully memorized lineage that Val’Thul had held office around the time of the alleged quarry accident, and that he had disappeared mysteriously. Below the crest a poem was inscribed:

O’er bracken and scree, through crook and cleft,

The Quarrymen march true

Grinding, rolling, relentless, they boldly live anew

But when the rose’s hastened bloom grows bare,

Petals fallow in the fields will lie

And the Quarrymen, ever marching, the Quarrymen will die

 

The column had fractured, as if the quartz were somehow too heavy for thick stone, and Ulliem couldn’t tell if there had been more verses to the poem. He did not examine it further, however, for the sun was quite high overhead and the descent would be treacherous enough without darkness to hide his path.

Climbing back down towards Dern, Ulliem’s thoughts were a turmoil of curiosity. Staring at the ground in front of him, pondering various wild theories, the rockwizard noted absently that his descent was shadowing the tracks of some wild animal. It was a strange imprint, three splayed lines that looked as if they had been cut rather than impressed. Scrambling down a boulder, Ulliem observed that the tracks continued right over the stone, slicing into the rock as if it were just more packed earth.

The blood in his veins turned to ice. ‘…razor sharp claws that do not slow for steel or stone,’ he remembered reading in the Mage Guild summons. Clutching his chest, Ulliem could feel his heart beating uncomfortably fast. Abandoning caution, he raced down the rest of the path, miraculously avoiding a fall, and didn’t stop running until he reached the mayor’s quarters in the keep and fell heavily into a chair in front of a surprised Ralten.

The acting mayor looked over Ulliem’s torn clothing and bedraggled condition with disdain before returning to his papers, waiting for the rockwizard to catch his breath.

“Fiends! Tracks in the hills!” Ulliem choked out finally, clutching the armrests while struggling to rise to his feet.

The acting mayor sniffed dismissively, not even bothering to glance up. “I’ve warned you already wizard,” Ralten admonished. “We don’t need this kind of fearmongering around here. I’ll thank you not to bring Mage Guild troubles to our doorstep.”

“You fool!” Ulliem exploded, all of his pent-up anger at the man suddenly giving him the strength to stand. “You pompous imbecile! These demons are more than trouble. They could be doom for all mankind! We need to get the villagers somewhere at least remotely defensible – the keep, or up on the plateau where the narrow stairs can be stoutly held.”

Ralten had been initially taken aback by the rockwizard’s outburst, but quickly found his own anger, rising amidst an avalanche of paper. “You trespassed on our sacred ground?” he accused hotly. “You have no business there. That shrine is for the citizens of Dern to mourn their ancestry, to pray to those spirits that watch over us and protect us. Have you no decency?”

“Deceny?” Ulliem screeched, waving an arm in the air wildly. “Everything around you is a breath from ruin, and you speak of decency? I have seen the signs with my own…”

“You have seen the signs?” Ralten interrupted coolly, his anger back under control. “And what, prey tell, do you know of such things” – the acting mayor paused scornfully – “rockwizard?” Ralten plucked a sheet deftly from amongst the scattered pile of papers. “I reached out to an acquaintance in Lastrania, and looked up your status with the Mage Guild. You’re barely more than a sculptor, Ulliem. What do you know of such things?”

The rockwizard felt doubt creep into his stomach like a slithering worm. The light had been failing…could he have imagined it? He opened his mouth, and then closed it again.

“Now then, I’m sure some wild animal gave you quite a fright in the twilight,” Ralten went on patronizingly. “Mungar will go take a look for tracks in the morning, and if there is something dangerous about, you can help us take appropriate measures. How does that sound?”

Ulliem drew himself up, suddenly almost too tall for the room. Leveling his arm at Ralten’s chest, he spoke in a voice much younger than his years. “Have a care, Ralten son of Lenorra, for the horrors of myth are at hand. See that ye tend to thy kin and thy charges, lest all come to slaughter.” Whirling quickly, the rockwizard stormed out of the room.

Instead of heading back to his cot, Ulliem marched out to the keep’s gate, closing and barring it laboriously while Ralten came outside and looked on in exasperation. Climbing the uneven steps to the walltop, the rockwizard planted his feet firmly, pulling his cloak about him to stave off the chill air. His gaze was directed intently east, but even though a half-moon shone down, Ulliem saw nothing but grass, rock, and tree.

Grim doubt crept into his mind, for what did he really know about the fiends? They were demonic creatures that used to ravage the ancient world, feeding on terror and superstition, but accounts of their true nature or source were few and mostly conjecture. Not even the guildmasters knew entirely what to expect, their summons having only included a few cryptically prophetic warnings taken from ancient songs and rhymes.

Eventually exhaustion overwhelmed Ulliem, and he stumbled back to his cot, falling into a defeated sleep.

In the morning, Ralten sent Mungar to the hilltop with the rockwizard, as promised, but though the smith scoured the ground intently, there was no sign of the demon tracks. When they returned empty-handed, the smugness in Ralten’s eyes was almost more than Ulliem could bear.

#

For the next week the rockwizard traced every inch of the hillside, but never found any more tracks or signs. At night he obsessed over the querybook, using what remained of his money to buy a priority inquiry and bypass the wait for a free scribe. Pouring over all the fiend-related spellbooks he was allowed access to, Ulliem tried to learn incantations or enchantments that might be of help. Thea came by once or twice, looking to play music, but in his studious fervor he sent her away. To his dismay, however, all the spells proved too advanced for his skill, and he despaired of being able to do anything to help the town.

More days passed, and though there were no further signs forthcoming, Ulliem slipped into a deep depression. Either there were fiends about, and he was too feeble to detect or challenge them with magic, or he had imagined the tracks, in which case he was too old and senile to be of use – hardly better.  On the last night before his priority inquiry expired, Ulliem tried to distract himself, scribbling the words “Val’Thul – and – memoirs” into the querybook. The wait was agonizingly long, and then instead of the usual listing of results, a direct note from the attending scribe appeared:

The volume you requested is classified as ‘Guild Sensitive’ and requires a passphrase specified by the author.

Ulliem pulled the candle closer, hunching over the querybook in excitement. After a moment’s thought, he wrote the only phrase he could think of: “Baine Enielle”.

Chewing on the end of his quill, Ulliem waited anxiously, his hope starting to fade. Then a single page stamped itself into the querybook.

The Confession of Val’Thul

A great weight lies on me, and I do not think I shall be able to carry on without relief. It concerns the good people of Dern, who have always sold me their unique and beautiful stone at a fair price.

It was with some concern for the integrity of his quarry that the master mason of Dern wrote to me, for he was receiving pressure from the Sultans of Heur to produce stone at a greater rate. Gladly offering my assistance, I booked travel to the distant town, but was intercepted by a Heuric seneschal, who promised vast donations to the guildhall if my evaluation of the quarry’s integrity should be favorable.

It will be my eternal shame to admit that for the duration of the inspection, I could think of little else but the number of new journeymen who could be fed with Heuric gold. Thankfully I will never know exactly by how much greed blinded me, for if it were certain that I could have prevented the catastrophe, my already-tortured soul could not bear the guilt.

About a week after my return, I received news of the rockslide that had killed more than half the men of Dern, and I immediately set forth.

A fog of hatred and grief darkened the village, and I could feel the souls of the perished quarrymen still floating in the nether, refusing to leave. Their anger burned fiercely towards the Heuric seneschals, already arrived to re-open the quarry, but also hottly towards me, their trusted advisor who had failed his charge.

With penitent resolve, I have decided on the only course of absolution. I will bind the lost souls of Dern to the Baine Enielle as I name it, Mason’s Ruin. The quarrymen shall keep their lavish stone, and Dern will be abused no more on its account.

If ever there is need of the bold quarrymen again, I shall place twin keys readily at hand, to avert new danger in atonement for that which I failed to prevent.

Ulliem sat back and massaged his temples, trying to process everything he’d read. After a moment he quickly reached for the querybook, writing: “Binding rhyme –or– Poetry forms used in binding enchantment”. A lonely entry appeared, and Ulliem circled it quickly, the words materializing on the page.

The Apprentice’s Encyclopedia of Enchantment: Binder’s Couplet

Aside from the keys to a binding, other factors (see entry on binding factors) can be worked into the enchantment. A binder skilled in his or her craft will often use something familiar to enhance the potency of the spell, but the benefit is lost if the factor used is forgotten. In order to keep track of a factor paired with a particular binding, a wizard will often compose a poem known as a binder’s couplet. The traditional couplet fills three verses.

Before Ulliem could jot down any more inquiries, the golden quill faded from the querybook. “So there is more to the poem,” he mused out loud, repeating the two verses from the memorial pillar to himself.

A squeak of poorly oiled metal-on-metal made Ulliem look up, and he saw that Lenorra had wheeled herself to his doorway. The ancient woman’s lips were moving, but no sound came out.

“Lenorra,” the rockwizard greeted her, “do you know the ending to this poem?” He tried to catch her eyes, but was met only with a vacant stare and silently dancing lips. After a moment, she wheeled herself on down the hallway, and Ulliem was left to try to sleep.

The rockwizard awoke to the sight of Thealenne waiting patiently beside him, her face uncharacteristically mournful.

“What seems to be the matter Thea Wheatrider?” he asked tenderly. “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy of late. An old man’s mind can play tricks on him sometimes.”

Thea shook her head sadly. “It’s not that,” she said. “Today’s the day the wheat stops singing.”

Ulliem nodded solemnly, tightening the yellow bow around Thea’s waist. “Would you care to accompany me to the harvest festival, noble lady?” he inquired. “We can give the wheat a proper farewell.”

Thea nodded three times, and they walked hand in hand down towards the village well. There they found all the farmers of Dern already gathered, split into groups, and taunts and jibes about who would harvest more wheat flew through the air. Ralten was there too, decked out in his most ostentatious baubles, and all that remained was for master farmer Kaid to arrive and commence the competition.

The morning dragged on, and still there was no sign of Kaid. A few jests were shouted out about how he had probably fallen into the well in search of more mead, but soon the jests turned to angry muttering at the delay. Ralten was clearly infuriated, and dispatched Munger to go find the missing drunk. After about an hour the smith returned, impassive as ever, but when he leaned in to whisper into Ralten’s ear, the acting mayor’s face went white.

Telling Thea to stay put, Ulliem hurriedly made his way over to Ralten’s side. “Tell me what happened,” he demanded in a loud whisper, but the man seemed to be in shock, and it was Mungar who answered.

“I found Kaid up the hill, dead, cuts all over. There were… animal… tracks around his body, lots of them, and fresh.”

Ulliem felt his body numb, the fear attempting to paralyze him. ‘…when daylight no longer deters, when the taste of blood is renewed, settle your affairs, for you have but till nightfall in this good life,’ the Mage Guild summons had warned. A strange calm settled over the rockwizard, and he felt suddenly alert and focused, as the danger he had been dreading finally arrived.

“Ralten, order everyone into the keep. We’ll have the best chance of holding off the fiends there,” Ulliem commanded, but the acting mayor snapped out of his daze.

“You have no proof that…”

“A man is dead,” Ulliem interrupted hotly. “Whatever the cause, you need to protect your people.”

Ralten glared at him, but then nodded reluctantly. The rockwizard hastened back over to Thealenne, forming the seeds of a desperate plan.

“Thea, I need help with something, and I think you are the only one who will listen,” he told her honestly. “It’s very, very important. Will you help me?”

She nodded, her eyes wide.

The crowd of villagers was fidgeting uneasily, slowly growing aware that something was wrong. Ralten started to address them, and the Ulliem and Thea slipped away unnoticed.

The climb up the hill passed in a nervous blur for Ulliem, his eyes scanning every rustling stand of oak, never keeping his back towards the same direction for long. Though calm at first, Thea soon picked up on the tension in the air. The closer they got to the peak, the more agitated she became, until at last she stopped at the foot of the hidden stairs, clamping her hands over her ears.

“I don’t want to go up,” she screamed, as if to overcome some tumultuous racket beyond the rockwizard’s hearing. “The spirits are singing angry songs.” Tears traced their way down her cheeks.

Ulliem knelt down in front of her, wiping her eyes and placing his callused, wrinkled hands over hers, drawing them slowly away from her ears. “Are they singing about you?” he asked gently.

She shook her head quickly from side to side, strawberry-blonde hair flying.

“And do they want to help the people of Dern?”

Thea nodded, calmer in her movements this time.

“Then can you endure a little hurt to help our friends? To keep all of Dern singing?”

Her lips pursed and her brown knit bravely, and then she nodded once more.

The quarrymen statuettes were light, but awkwardly shaped. Ulliem would have been hard-pressed to make the tricky descent back to the keep carrying both, and he doubted there would be time for another trip. Urging Thea on as they went, the rockwizard prayed silently that the sandstone wouldn’t chip as she dragged the figurine behind her down the hill.

They reached the keep with the last of the villagers, many of whom were still carrying harvesting tools uncertainly. Ulliem grabbed Thea’s hand, pulling her through the crowd in the overstuffed courtyard, mounting the steps to the western walltop as quickly as she could go. The rockwizard placed the figurines on the uneven stone, hearing the gate being closed and barred beneath them as he did. He was relieved to see that there was no permanent damage to the statuettes, but the relief was brief as a scream sounded from the throng of villagers below, and then another.

A roiling tide was cresting the hilltop, parting around the cliffs before rejoining in a sea of limbs the color of bile, climbing over each other like a mass of caged crab. The fiends themselves were like nothing on this earth, but familiar, as if the most vile creations of nature had been turned inside out and jumbled into oozing masses. In the courtyard below, villagers were milling about in terror, a few fainting, and many others vomiting into the dirt. Ralten stood on the eastern wall, half-turned, his eyes bulging.

Ulliem fought to keep hold of his own stomach, the waves of panic and revulsion that emanated from below threatening to overwhelm him. Focusing on the seated form of Lenorra, a lonely rock in the chaos, he breathed deeply, reaching out a hand to Thea who was trembling beside him. When her small fingers grasped his, he felt a momentary surge of hope, and muttered a prayer to gods he had never really believed in.

Chanting a poorly-remembered spell, the rockwizard touched the nearest statuette. “I release you, souls of Dern, to protect your progeny,” he shouted. There was a flare of light, and a muffled boom. Ulliem felt bones in his arm snap as he was knocked flat, but the miniature quarrymen did not move.

Hearing the blast, Ralten spun, quickly taking in the prone rockwizard and the crimson statuettes. The terror that threatened to overwhem his sanity found an outlet in fury, and he raised a shaking arm to point at Ulliem.

“You!” he screamed, cutting through the horrified moans of the villagers below. “You have vandalized our sacred land, angered the spirits that protect us. Who will be our deliverance now? You have doomed us!”

People began to look up from the courtyard, and other angry, desperate voices soon joined Ralten’s.

“The wizard has desecrated our shrine! He has brought this horror down on us!”

“Cast out the wizard. Appease the demons while there is still time!”

Ears still ringing, Ulliem gripped a crenellation with his good hand, doggedly hauling himself to his feet. If they turned on him now, blindly following Ralten’s idiocy, he couldn’t save them, couldn’t save her. To his left, he saw that Thea had pressed her back to the battlements, hands over her ears and eyes closed, but thankfully unharmed. Raising his own arm, Ulliem summoned as strong a voice as he could manage.

“This man you trusted, this arrogant popinjay, has kept from you the most perilous event any of us will live to see. The Seal of Myth has broken, releasing nightmare to appear at any time and suck us down into the abyss.”

A few of the more educated villagers went white, comprehending at last what was happening.

“Blessed spirits! The fiends, the fiends are loose,” someone moaned, but most were looking about in confusion, never having been taught the history of the world, still believing that demons were the stuff of legend and nightmare.

“Enough!” Ralten bellowed in fury, smacking stone with his open hand. “All that matters now is that you have destroyed any chance for our salvation.” He started working his way around the walltop, shouting down to the smith. “Mungar, stop him! Seize our sacred relics!”

The large man pushed his way through the crowd easily and started to climb the steps, but Ulliem was ready.

“Remember, soldier, the last time you obeyed orders without question,” he barked in his best impression of a sergeant’s rough voce. “Remember the war and sins you committed for an unworthy master. You have the chance now for absolution.”

Mungar froze, foot raised to the next step, and then began to tremble. The large hammer was suddenly in the smith’s hand, his eyes on fire, and for a moment Ulliem was afraid that he might have unleashed a demon of his own. But then as if an enchantment were dispelled, the smith’s body loosed, and the hammer fell.

Screeching in rage, Ralten was approaching quickly, still fixated on the statuettes. “Give them to me Wizard! Defiler! Give me the keys to our salvation.”

KEYS! Ulliem’s mind raced. ‘I shall place the twin keys readily at hand,’ Val’thul had said. He looked down at the two statuettes. He’d assumed that they were the keys themselves… but those outstretched hands, meant to hold some missing tool… Finally he made the connection, and his gaze slowly rose, looking northwest to the Baine Enielle and the two sentry pillars. “The pickaxes, one on each pillar…I missed it, an old fool!” Ulliem gasped, falling to his knees as hope drained.

The tide of fiends was halfway down the hill, hundreds, maybe thousands, the clicking of their claws on stone just becoming audible. There was simply not enough time.

A gentle tug on his sleeve broke the spell of despair.

“I can get them Sir Ully. I can ride the wheat.”

Ulliem looked down at Thea, his eyes suddenly watering at her bravery. “You know the danger, little Wheatrider? Fiends have no melody, and the cuts from their claws cannot be stitched.”

She smiled, pushing the horror away a little. “I’m the only one,” Thea answered simply.

Grabbing the girl by the waist, Ulliem stood and lifted her carefully to the edge of the battlements. She began to sing, a golden song full of rich earth, sunshine, and soft rain. There were horrified gasps from the courtyard below, and the rockwizard suddenly felt hands gripping his shoulders painfully.

Looking back with one last radiant smile, Thea stepped over the edge, and was gone.

“What have you DONE!” Ralten screamed into the rockwizard’s ear. He threw Ulliem to the ground and rushed to the wall’s edge, falling to his knees in shock.

The old rockwizard landed awkwardly, his injured arm failing under him, and his head bounced off stone, the world spinning. He fought the haze grimly, pushing himself up on one elbow and gazing down in trepidation.

Thea was almost a speck already, sitting cross-legged as tall stalks of wheat bent and straightened under her, carrying her swiftly and safely in an undulating wave.

Strong hands were thrust under Ulliem’s arms lifting him up, and the smell of leather and iron filled his nostrils. “How is this possible?” Mungar asked, his voice tinged with awe.

“She is a shaman of the Hathalsea,” Ulliem answered groggily, “the copse-kin as you call them. The songs of all living things are in her heart, and they love and obey her for it.” The rockwizard almost laughed aloud in relief and joy.

But it was short-lived, for with a crash the tide of fiends finally broke around the keep, circling madly. A gusting wind arose, seemingly from every direction at once, clawing at clothes and eyes, and carrying gruesome shrieks.

“What can we do?” The smith shouted over the gale.

“Get everyone on the wall. Use shovels, scythes, whatever you can find to hold them off as long as you can,” Ulliem shouted back, but his voice was tinged with hopelessness. He imagined Thea prying the stone pickaxes loose from the pillars, turning to carry them back, but she was cut off. “Get away,” he whispered under his breath. “Run and live for all of us.”

The sickening howls stopped as quickly as they had begun, followed by a silence that was the most terrifying of all, for it felt as if it were slowly compressing around them, pushed tighter and closer by encroaching horror. Faintly below, the clicking of claw on stone tapped a petrifying beat.

Then Mungar was shouting orders, and the villagers were slowly roused, obeying in a frightened daze. Still gripping farm implements in white-knuckled hands, men and women rushed to the wall-tops. Razor-tipped arms began to grope over the crenellations, some spidery or reptilian, others nauseatingly close to human. With a ragged battle cry, the people of Dern engaged the fiends, pushing ghastly bodies from the walls with thresher and scythe. Mungar was everywhere, bleeding from a dozen cuts, his hammer a blur as he smashed deadly appendages into useless lumps of murky ochre ooze.

Several farmers went down, rent with bloody gashes, but the wave of fiends slowed. There was the beginning of a cheer, but it was swept away by a sound like the ringing of a gong. The walls began to hum and shake, loose stones falling out and landing below with a clatter, and the cheer turned to shouts of alarm. It would not take much to bring the weak masonry tumbling down beneath their feet.

Hoping against reason, Ulliem looked west once more. Thea was closing in, riding a mass of wheat that tore itself up by the roots in its effort to speed her journey. But she was headed straight for the mass of fiends, towards rending death. A mournful trill drifted through the air, and then the wheat exploded in a puff of stalk and chaff, sending Thealenne flying though the air above the thirsty claws far below, and Ulliem’s heart hurdling into his throat.

She landed in the arms of an astonished Mungar, bowling the smith over, but both seemed unhurt. Thea was on her feet slowly, exhausted.

Running over to her, Ullliem hugged her small frame, tears falling freely. “You are a precious one, little Thea,” he murmured into her hair. Seizing the stone pickaxes from her arms, Ulliem took two long strides to the crimson statuettes, still kneeling peacefully among the carnage. He placed a pickaxe in each quarryman’s grasp, twisting them until there was a soft click. Stepping back hurriedly, he reached for Thea’s hand, and the two of them gazed west and north, nervous breath held amidst a sudden stillness, the rockwizard and the wheatrider.

With a thunderous boom, red boulders poured out of the Baine Einelle, tumbling through the twin pillars like whitewater from a sluice-gate. As they rumbled and rolled closer, shapes formed, the pebbly outlines of strong men twirling pickaxes.

Dropping from the walls, the fiends turned towards the avalanche, skittering from side to side. Another gong-like sound stretched the air, and the walls stopped shaking.

Instead the quarrymen slowed, losing momentum. The tide of rock reached the wheatfields below Dern, unfurling like the petals of a rose, but still slowing, stretching thin and bare.

There was the sound of another gong, and the mass of fiends surged forward, stopped short, and then again, and again.  Each time more of the quarrymen collapsed into lifeless heaps of rock, the march all but halting.

Ulliem looked down at the statuettes, seeing tiny fractures spreading across the surface, and Thea clenched his hand in fear. The spell was not strong enough to save them from the demons of nightmare. In final desperation, he began to chant the binder’s couplet, hoping that even incomplete, it might boost the spell.

“O’er bracken and scree, through crook and cleft

The Quarrymen march true

Grinding, rolling, relentless, they boldly live anew” he recited. But it was another voice that spoke the second verse.

“But when the rose’s hastened bloom grows bare

Petals fallow in the fields will lie

And the Quarrymen, ever marching, the Quarrymen will die”

Confused, Ulliem paused. Was it working? Was the stone answering him? But the other voice did not pause with him. The rockwizard spotted Lenorra in the courtyard below, standing from her chair and finishing the third verse in a musical tone.

“But warm the song: ‘Rise Up Quarrymen!’

Quarrymen with hands so deft

Enemy, face them if you dare” the old mayor paused, but there was no effect, the piles of sandstone in the fields lay still.

Then she raised her voice in a haunting melody, starting mournfully but gathering speed and energy as it went.

“Rise Up Quarrymen! Quarrymen Arise!

Fetch pickaxe and lampoil. To Work! To Toil!

‘neath heavy stone embrace, we mine.”

Realization dawned on Ulliem, and he shouted to the villagers: “Sing! Sing! Strengthen your protectors!”

In the courtyard below, young boys and girls looked at each other, still terrified, but hesitantly added their voices to the mixture.

“Rise Up Quarrymen! Quarrymen Arise!

Fetch caution and courage. Drink your mead! Eat your porridge!

‘neath looming crush, silent dark, sharp threat of death we earn our keep.”

There was a stirring in the fields, as piles of crimson rock began to quake. But it was not yet enough.

“Sing now, sons and daughters of Dern!” Ulliem tried again, feeling the last of his strength go out with his words. “Remember the song learned far from the ears of disapproving elders. Remember the stone and axe forgotten for the pain of loss, and let the quarry song ring out once more in the Baine Enielle!”

One by one, the farmers of Dern found their voices, for a melody learned nestles deep, and is not oft forgot.

“Drink your mead! Eat your porridge! This warm hearth visit might be your last.

For we risk life and limb, to fill family coffers to the brim,

to build the halls of lordly dreams and walls against the fiends.”

The ochre mass of fiends built itself upward, frothing and shrieking, but unable to drown out the voices of Dern as they joined for the concluding refrain in thundering unison.

“Rise Up Quarrymen! QUARRYMEN ARISE!”

There was a deep groan, as if the earth itself heard their song, and then the refrain echoed back in an impossibly deep baritone.

“Rise Up Quarrymen! QUARRYMEN ARISE!”

Geysers of sandstone shot into the air, human forms reshaping in their midst, surging up the hill towards the keep.

With one last piercing howl, the fiends let loose, flowing down to meet them.

The two waves, red and yellow, met with a crush and shattering.

Ulliem felt suddenly dizzy, his vision blurring as he gripped the wall for support. Reaching to touch the bump where his head had smashed into stone, the old rockwizard’s hands came away sticky. As the world faded, he heard the demonic shrieks become more frenzied and desperate, slowly drowned out by the relentless grinding of good strong stone, and then everything went dark.

#

Ulliem awoke to the face he least wanted to see, Ralten’s, looking awkwardly ashamed. Everything seemed slightly blurred to the rockwizard, as if time had snuck ahead without him and his mind was struggling to catch up. He tried to speak, but his tongue had no energy.

Ralten noticed the slight movement, and broke into a smile that was both relieved and contrite. “Ah, you are awake,” he said. “Don’t try to move. Keep your strength.” He attempted to mop Ulliem’s brow clumsily, dripping water in the rockwizard’s ear. “Mungar has some skill with battlefield medicine, but a guild healer from Lastrania will be arriving tomorrow to tend properly to you and the rest of the wounded…” Ralten kept on speaking, but the words seemed to grow smaller and fainter.

Ulliem’s vision began to fade, and with a laborious sigh he slipped back into unconsciousness. Clawing fiends scuttled in and out of his dreams, keeping him from rest. Sometimes the quarrymen would march through in a wide column, sweeping away the horrors, but always they would return, as if seeping from some invisible rift.

The next time he awoke, it was to a melodious song and the much more welcome face of Thealenne. The two beamed at each other, the rockwizard and the wheatrider, holding hands as Thea sang, and when Ulliem slept again his dreams were much sweeter.

  • Continue Reading

Published by Karl Rademacher on July 9, 2014. This item is listed in Issue, Issue 22, Issue 22 Stories, Novellas, Serial Novellas

Kamar and Budur

Translated from the original Arabic by Sir Richard Burton.

Condensed and retold by Joseph Green

 

QueenofCupsA story of the adventures of Prince Kamar al-Zamán and Princess Budur, as told in the “Tale of Kamar Al-Zamán” in A Thousand Nights And A Night;

My son,” said King Shahrimán, “this morning I felt a flutter in my chest, and fear it was from the wings of the angel of death.  I worry that my time draws near.  You are nineteen, and my only child.  I command that you marry without further excuses or delays, and provide me with grandsons.  I have a suitable princess in mind.”

King Shahrimán ruled the Khálidán Islands, in the sea near Persia, from his capital city of Unayzah.  He had reached his middle years without heir, and it was a matter of great rejoicing when his first wife at last presented him with a beautiful boy.

The king had summoned Prince Kamar to his breakfast room and invited him to sit and eat, but Kamar had declined.  He did not believe the king, though elderly, was anything less than perfectly healthy.  And he had been expecting this command.

prince“Honored father, I gladly obey you in all things, save this one.  I have studied this subject in many books, and learned that most of the misery accorded to men results from their entanglements with women; in particular, wives.  Their artifices are endless, their intentions perfidious and foul.  I will content myself with concubines, and never take a wife.”

King Shahrimán had provided his son with the best tutors and arms-masters, watching over his growth and development with close attention.  Kamar dutifully practiced with sword, horse and lance, but his heart had become enslaved to a love of books and knowledge.  He fancied himself better educated than even his father, and the wazirs and emirs who served him.

King Shahrimán recognized his beloved son’s stubbornness as youthful folly, likely to be cured by time.  But he could not brook such open defiance.  The king ordered his Mameluke guards to confine the young prince in an abandoned citadel in the oldest part of Unayzah, until such time as he should reconsider his decision.

#

Unknown to the king, a dry well in the courtyard of the old citadel led to the underground hall of Princess Maymúnah, daughter to King Al-Dimiryát of the fiery Ifrit tribe, the powerful ruler of Arabian Jinn.  Maymúnah rose through the well at midnight as was her custom, ready to fly upward and immerse herself in the light of the stars.  But the bright moonlight revealed something unusual, a palace guard, wrapped in a cloak, lying asleep outside the iron-bound door to the tower. Then she noted light leaking past an edge of the door.  Curious, in the way of Jinn, she flew up to an opening high in the tower and looked inside.  Seeing a sleeping man on a newly installed couch, with lantern and candle burning at either end, she descended to the floor, folded her large wings, and approached him.

Sketch4Princess Maymúnah was young, in Jinn years, and beautiful.  She stood twice the height of a human woman, with long hair black as night and lustrous coal-dark eyes, red fire glowing in their pupils.  Maymúnah wore harem silks that partially revealed the ebony loveliness of her slim form, so divinely made that all male Jinn she met lusted after her.  She had spurned every suitor, preferring the freedom and privileges of a king’s daughter.  When Maymúnah felt a need for the pleasures of congress, she assumed the form of a Nubian slave girl and enticed some handsome young soldier or merchant to her bed.

But Maymúnah was not prepared for the beauty of the young face lying on a pillow above the damask coverlet.  Prince Kamar had cheeks of rosy red, eye-brows arched like bows, and a wide and noble brow.  Intrigued, Maymúnah carefully drew back the cover, revealing a body, clad only in a thin sleeping shift, somewhat short in stature, but strong and perfect in form.

Seeing him thus, Maymúnah felt a stirring in her loins, a strong desire to change into her Nubian form; let this beautiful young man awake to find himself gripped in her strong arms.

But Maymúnah resisted the temptation.  She was of the Jinn who believe, and rested her faith in Allah.  Good conduct would be rewarded, and bad bring misfortune.  Maymúnah knew by his beauty that this must be the lone child of King Shahrimán, imprisoned here for some unknown offense.  She covered the sleeping youth again, resolving to keep him safe from harm, including the allurement of her own fiery embrace.

Maymúnah flew up and out of the tower, resuming her nightly journey to the lowest firmament of heaven.  But she had scarcely begun her usual sojourn there when she saw below her another Jinni, a young Ifrit named Dahnash.  Angered at being disturbed in her solitude, she swooped down toward him like a hawk on a pigeon.  But Dahnash saw her coming, and fearing her might, cried aloud, “I beg you, princess, harm me not!  And in return for your forbearance, I will tell you of a wondrous thing I have seen this night.”

Having already seen one wonder, Maymúnah was interested, and let Dahnash speak.  “Know you that two hours ago I visited the city of King Ghayur, Lord of the Seven Islands.  I found his daughter Budur, reputed the most beautiful maiden in all of Arabia, sleeping locked in a tower room.  It seems her father had determined to make alliance with a neighboring king by marrying Budur to his son, but she refused his command.  The princess said she would anchor a sword in the ground and fall on it before marrying a man she did not love.  The king took away her privileges and imprisoned her high in the tower, to reconsider her decision.”

Seeing that he had captured Maymúnah’s attention, Dahnash went on, “For a full hour I gazed upon her as she slept, enraptured.  I was tempted to steal her away and make her my own wife, but our king has decreed that any who take human companions without their consent shall be put to death.  Budur is without doubt the most beautiful human who sleeps on the Earth this night.  I love her dearly, and have made it my mission to keep her from harm.”

sketch1“You are wrong!” cried Maymúnah. “I have just seen a young man of incomparable beauty in the city below.  Your princess can be but a shadow in the mist compared to him.”

“It cannot be so,” said Dahnash.  “Come with me, feast your eyes on the beauty of Princess Budur, and you will change your opinion.”

“Nay, you shall come with me instead,” said Maymúnah.  She ordered Dahnash to descend with her to the ruined tower, where they entered through the high opening in the wall.  After gazing at the sleeping youth for a time, they flew outside again and into the sky.

“He is indeed a comely youth, my princess,” said Dahnash.  “But still . . . Allah has decreed that true loveliness resides in the female form, and men cannot compare.”

“What nonsense!” said Maymúnah.  “To the female eye, men are more beautiful by far.  But I am willing to gaze on this young woman you think outshines my sleeping prince.”

Flying by magic rather than their wings, Maymúnah accompanied Dahnash to the tower where King Ghayur had confined his daughter.  The night was warm, and Princess Budur slept under only a cotton sheet, her maid Ayesha asleep on a narrow bed nearby.  After gazing for long on her beauty, Maymúnah whispered to Dahnash that Budur was indeed a flower of feminine perfection, but still no match for Prince Kamar.  Dahnash stubbornly disagreed.

“There is a way to settle this,” said the Ifrit princess.  “Bring her, and we shall lay them side by side and compare.”

Dahnash laid a spell of deep sleep on both women, then lifted Budur in his arms.  They traveled quickly back to Kamar’s tower, where Maymúnah placed the prince under the same sleep spell before Dahnash pulled back the cover and laid Budur beside him.  She was an unusually tall woman, and the two were almost of a height.  The princess too slept in a simple shift, which revealed as much as it concealed of her young but fully-developed form.

Soryenerithe1FiriWebThe two Jinn earnestly compared the beauties of the young man and woman. Neither would yield to the other. Finally, in exasperation, Maymúnah said, “Very well, then. I will summon a third Jinni, by name Kashkash, to judge impartially between them. He is an evil creature, but one who suits our needs. In human form he enjoys male and female alike.”

Maymúnah smote the stone floor with her foot, and a moment later it split apart. Out of the chasm rose an old Ifrit of surpassing ugliness; missing one eye, humpbacked, and scurvy-skinned. Seven horns crowned his misshapen head, rising amid thick locks of twisted black hair. His form was deeply bowed, making him short for an Ifrit, though still taller than any human. He saluted Princess Maymúnah, and asked how he could be of service.

On being informed of what his king’s daughter required of him, Kashkash studied the sleeping youths for a long time, but still shook his shaggy head in wonder, and could only say that they were equal in physical beauty. “But I have a thought that may settle this dispute, my princess. Let us wake them by turns, and test their spirits. If one acts more honorably towards a helpless sleeping companion than the other, then that one is more beautiful on the inside.”

Maymúnah and Dahnash agreed to this. The three Ifrits made themselves invisible, and Maymúnah awoke the young prince.

Image36Kamar sat up in bed, and in the ample light of lantern and candle, saw a beautiful young woman lying by his side. Astonished, he stared at the revealed face and barely hidden body, and felt desire rise in his loins. But the strangeness of her sudden and silent appearance was disconcerting. Kamar looked around the open chamber, seeking who might have brought her there, and saw no one. He suppressed his natural lust, instead grasping both shoulders to shake her awake. But nothing he did could arouse the young woman.

Eventually Kamar decided this was a puzzle best left for the morning. But fearful this vision of beauty might disappear as mysteriously as she had come, he decided to keep a token. He lifted one of Budur’s perfect hands and removed a small but expensively jeweled seal ring. Kamar slipped it on his left little finger, and lay down again. When his head touched the pillow, Maymúnah once more laid on him the spell of deep sleep.

Dahnash awoke Princess Budur, who sat up, rubbing her eyes. She gazed around in disbelief at an unfamiliar room, then looked down to see a young man lying by her side. In fright, Budur moved quickly to the edge of the bed. But when the stranger did not stir, only continued to breathe heavily in deepest sleep, she composed herself. Clearly magic was at work here. Some unknown entity, probably a mischievous, Jinni, had transported her to this man’s bed, for reasons she could not discern.

Budur shook the handsome stranger by the shoulders, but he could not be awakened. She was by nature a curious and passionate young woman, though the constraints of maidenhood had denied her expression of those feelings. Now she felt free to somewhat indulge herself. Unaware of the three invisible Jinn closely watching, Budur felt Kamar’s rosy cheeks, and ran her hands over his muscular chest. Then she lifted his shift, taking a long peek beneath it.

As she dropped the shift, Budur noticed her own seal ring on the man’s little finger. Her heart beat faster when she realized her bed companion had been awake, before unbreakable sleep enthralled him. Whether he had examined her hidden treasures, as she had his, she could not know. But of a certainty he had not tried to take possession of them, shaming her while she lay there helpless to resist.

Budur raised one of Kamar’s strong hands, removed his seal ring, and placed it on her left middle finger. Then she curled up against his side and composed herself for slumber. The morning would surely provide some answers to this mystery.

Dahnash again placed Budur in deep sleep, and the three Ifrits lifted their cloak of invisibility. “That was a good test, Kashkash,” said Maymúnah. “It comes clear that the prince behaved more honorably than the princess. He neither uncovered her, nor took advantage of her when he could have. She, though, violated his privacy.”

Dahnash sighed, and conceded the contest.

“Nevertheless, you helped provide me with an interesting night,” said Maymúnah. “Therefore go your way without penalty, after you return this young woman to her bed.”

Maymúnah turned to Kashkash, fixing on him a stern gaze. “And I thank you for your help, Oh old and evil one, but I also command that you forget what you have seen and done this night. Dahnash and I have extended our protection to these two, and should you attempt to take advantage of either in future, I will tear off your head and feed your hideous body to the dogs.”

Kashkash bowed, hiding his one good eye from Maymúnah’s sight. He knew she was aware he often assumed the form of a handsome Phoenician ship’s captain and went prowling through port cities. In the past he had at times become obsessed with some handsome young man or woman, and if unable to seduce that person, would take him or her by force. That had ended when the decrees of Jinn King Al-Dimiryát made the rape of humans a crime punishable by death. Nevertheless, he felt a great lust for Budur and Kamar alike. He had never beheld such beauty, and was determined to have both, if he could so by seduction or trickery.

#

When Prince Kamar awoke and discovered himself alone he went raging to his father, demanding to be married immediately to the lovely young woman the servants had slipped into his bed this past night. All his previous bookish convictions about the perfidy and treachery of women had vanished like desert sea-shore mists in the heat of the rising sun.

King and servants alike protested that nothing of the sort had happened, but Kamar knew his experience had not been a dream. When they began to think him mad, he pulled the new jeweled seal ring off his finger, showed it to them, and pointed out that his own ring was missing; obviously taken by the young woman.

“Now this is indeed a great mystery,” said a puzzled King Shahrimán. “But if it has caused you to repent of your decision never to marry, then good may come of it. Go you forth, find this woman, and bring her to us.”

Prince Kamar bowed, and went his way. He set out next day, knowing he would not rest by day nor sleep well at night until he found that most beautiful of women again.

#

Princess Budur awoke in her own bed, immediately checked for the seal ring taken from the beautiful youth, and found it on her finger. There was not a doubt in her mind that the night’s magical adventure had been real, and the exchange of rings proved it.

Budur silently resolved that she would marry no one but this most handsome and honorable of men, regardless of her father’s wishes. But she kept her peace, showing the ring and relating the experience only to her faithful maid, Ayesha.

That evening Budur sent for a favorite older brother, Prince Marzawan. She told him of her strange but wonderful adventure, that she had determined to marry the unknown youth, and asked that he find him for her.

The kingdom was at peace at the moment. Prince Marzawan, a renowned warrior, had become very bored with his mundane duties. He agreed to help his young sister. It happened that Marzawan had heard of the beauty of Prince Kamar, he living in a nearby kingdom, and thought at once of him. In any case, the Khálidán Islands seemed as good a place as any to start his search. Next morning he chose a small number of his best fighters to accompany him, requisitioned one of the king’s many trading vessels, and set off.

Prince Marzawan sailed to Al-Tayrab, the closest large port in the Khálidán Islands. He learned that Prince Kamar had arrived the day before, and was buying supplies for an expedition. This seemed to Marzawan more than a mere coincidence. He asked for an audience, identifying himself as a neighboring king’s son, and was at once ushered into Price Kamar’s presence.

“My lord, I am on a quest for a well-loved younger sister,“ began Marzawan. He watched Prince Kamar closely as he repeated Budur’s story. “Now this might seem nothing but a dream, save for the exchange of rings,” Marzawan concluded. “But she still has his, and I ask if you possess a similar ring that I can verify came from my sister’s hand.”

Prince Kamar removed Budur’s seal ring and handed it to her brother. Assured he had found his man, Marzawan informed him that his sister had been stricken with love, and had sworn to wed only him. Kamar likewise affirmed he had sworn to his father that he would wed no other woman.

Delighted by the quick end of what could have been a long and arduous quest, Kamar embarked with Prince Marzawan for the Kingdom of The Seven Islands. Marzawan obtained an immediate audience for them with his father. The king, happy to learn that his stubborn daughter had fallen in love with a quite suitable prince, acceded to Kamar’s request for her hand.

King Ghayur summoned Budur. When she entered the audience room and saw Kamar standing with her brother, she gave a cry of joy and rushed to him. In the presence of her father and brother, she refrained from hurling herself into his arms. Instead she stopped and stood gazing into his eyes, then committed an impropriety by lifting her veil for a moment, to let him gaze on the full beauty of her face.

Even before the veil lifted, Kamar knew that he had found his intended. He removed her seal ring from his finger and held it out, saying, “Oh most beautiful of women, I journeyed here to find you, and return this ring. I have asked your father for your hand, but would never marry you against your will.   What say you?”

“I say nothing could make me happier,” replied Budur, turning away to hide the tears of joy flooding her eyes.

#

Nothing seemed to stand in the way of true love. Prince Kamar al-Zamán and Princess Budur were soon married. On their wedding night Kamar took his virgin bride’s maidenhead, and for two weeks thereafter the two did not leave their chambers, having food and wine sent in.

Although the fires of love remained hot in both their breasts, Kamar and Budur eventually resumed some of the normal duties of members of the king’s court. But two months later Kamar had a disturbing dream, one from which he awoke with dread in his heart. It seemed that he had returned to his father’s castle, to find the King lying in bed sick in both heart and body. The old man lamented that he would die of grief if his son did not soon return.

Kamar slept no more that night, and when Budur awoke he welcomed her to the day with words instead of the warmth of enclosing arms. He told her of the dream, that he was certain it was an augur of death for his father, and he must return immediately to the Khálidán Islands.

Prince Kamar sought audience with King Ghayur that very day, told him of the augur, and asked permission to return home with his new bride. The King agreed, and arranged for a splendid entourage to accompany them, including many rich gifts for King Shahrimán.

 

#

Nothing seemed to stand in the way of true love. Prince Kamar al-Zamán and Princess Budur were soon married. On their wedding night Kamar took his virgin bride’s maidenhead, and for two weeks thereafter the two did not leave their chambers, having food and wine sent in.

Although the fires of love remained hot in both their breasts, Kamar and Budur eventually resumed some of the normal duties of members of the king’s court. But two months later Kamar had a disturbing dream, one from which he awoke with dread in his heart. It seemed that he had returned to his father’s castle, to find the King lying in bed sick in both heart and body. The old man lamented that he would die of grief if his son did not soon return.

Kamar slept no more that night, and when Budur awoke he welcomed her to the day with words instead of the warmth of enclosing arms. He told her of the dream, that he was certain it was an augur of death for his father, and he must return immediately to the Khálidán Islands.

Prince Kamar sought audience with King Ghayur that very day, told him of the augur, and asked permission to return home with his new bride. The King agreed, and arranged for a splendid entourage to accompany them, including many rich gifts for King Shahrimán.

#

The ship made an easy voyage to Al-Tayrab, where Prince Kamar sent the contingent of guards in their entourage back home, replacing them with men from the local garrison. He also purchased horses and camels to convey their goods and King Ghayur’s many gifts. Knowing it was a journey of two days to Unayzah, and there were no inns along this road, Kamar also bought a few tents. Next morning the party set out, and after a good day’s travel, established a camp for the night in a pleasant grassy meadow a hundred yards off the road.

Kamar awoke in the gray light of early dawn with an urgent need to empty his bladder. He donned his clothes, stepped outside the tent and walked to a clump of trees on the far side of the meadow, where the men had gone to relieve themselves the previous evening. As he left the trees to return to the still sleeping camp, Kamar met the old astronomer King Ghayur had assigned to his entourage. He exchanged greetings and continued on his way, but had taken only a few more steps when he heard the beat of immense wings, and looked up to see a great black bird the size of a roc swooping toward him. Before Kamar could run a storm of air swirled about his head, and great yellow talons seized him around the body.

The giant bird swiftly lifted Kamar into the sky. The grip of the huge talons was painful, but not life-threatening.   Kamar squirmed around until he could look ahead, and saw the sea in the far distance.

Dread seized Kamar’s heart. This had to be a Jinni; no natural bird grew to this size. Kamar had read extensively on Jinn and their mischievous ways in his father’s books. Both male and female were notorious for changing into human form, and seducing or raping the most desirable of men and women. This had to be some evil Jinni who wanted the lovely Budur. If so, then he must have been behind the magic that transported her to Kamar’s bed that first night. But why had he not simply taken Budur then, while she was in his power? And why carry Kamar away now instead of killing him?

Kamar had no answer to these mysteries. Helpless in the bird’s grip, he could do nothing but wait. For an hour they flew with supernatural speed, all the way across the inner sea. A coastline passed below them. Minutes later their pace slowed, and then the bird descended, to hover over an open meadow. The talons released Kamar a short distance above the ground. He landed on his feet and suffered no injury, but then fell forward when his cramped legs would not hold him erect.

Kamar managed to turn on his back in time to see the great wings above him beat only once as the giant bird lifted up and away. In seconds it vanished back the way they had come, far faster than any real bird could fly.

Kamar lay still for a moment, letting his legs recover their strength. When he felt able to walk, he got to his feet and set off back toward the coast. Just before nightfall he reached the edge of a small port city, one surrounded by orchards and gardens. Hungry, he helped himself to some fruit from a tree as he passed by. But the owner of the orchard, an elderly bearded man, saw him and emerged from his nearby house to berate Kamar as a thief.

Having no coins, Kamar offered the jeweled dagger he kept tucked in his waistband as payment. The honest gardener saw that the jewel in the hilt alone would buy half his small orchard, and refused to accept it. Realizing he was dealing with a young man of good heart but little experience, he invited Kamar into his home instead, and fed him a proper meal.

The gardener inquired as to Kamar’s story. Weary after walking hard all day, but responsive to a sympathetic ear, Kamar told the old man of all that had befallen him, from the magical appearance of a surpassingly beautiful young woman in his bed to his present plight.

The gardener marveled at the tale, then said, “My son, it seems clear the evil one who brought you all the way across the Inner Sea is under some constraint that prevents him from directly killing you. Instead he separated you from your wife so that he may, by guile or trickery, assault her virtue. But I fear that for now she must fend for herself. A return by land would take a year and more. Our merchant ship that departs annually for the Ebony City in Arabia only recently returned. You must wait until it sails again. I have long needed an assistant, and you can work in my orchard and save money enough for your passage.”

Kamar saw wisdom in the old man’s words, thanked him profusely, and accepted the offer. He would be delayed by some months, but only death could deter him from returning to the warm arms of his young wife, and killing the evil Jinni who sought to replace him there.

#

Princess Budur awoke in the soft light of early dawn, to find her husband gone. She dressed, with the aid of Ayesha, and went looking for him. She saw the old astronomer at the edge of the camp, peering up into the sky, and inquired of him if he had seen Prince Kamar.

“I have, my princess, but hesitate to speak of what I saw, lest I be thought mad.”

Budur felt dread clutch at her heart, but admonished the old man to tell all. When he described the giant bird that had seized Kamar, Budur knew at once that magic had again entered their lives. It seemed clear that her husband had been taken away to leave her alone and defenseless. The several elderly retainers King Ghayur had sent to represent him to King Shahrimán’s court could not help her. And except for Ayesha, she was now the only woman in a camp filled with mostly lustful and foolhardy young men.

Budur commanded the old astronomer to remain silent on what he had seen, and returned to her tent. She no longer felt safe, surrounded by these strangers. But after some thought, she devised a stratagem that would bring her safely to the court of her husband’s father. King Shahrimán had magicians and sorcerers in his employ who could help her find and defeat the Jinni who had assumed the form of a giant bird and stolen away Prince Kamar. She vowed that only death would stop her from finding the man she loved, and freeing him if he had been made captive.

Budur informed the steward waiting to prepare their tent for travel that Kamar had slept late, and she would arouse him. She told Ayesha of her plan, and helped the maid don her own clothing and veils. Then Ayesha drew a cloth band tightly across Budur’s breasts, to press them flat, and helped her dress in clothes from Prince Kamar’s chest, including riding boots and turban. Budur drew the end of the latter across her face below the eyes, a common practice when riding the dusty road. She hung Kamar’s sword about her waist, then stepped outside and told the steward to proceed, deepening her voice and speaking in the manner of Prince Kamar. Since Budur and Kamar were almost of a height, no one detected the change.

The servants broke camp, and the party proceeded on toward Unayzah. Ayesha rode in Budur’s litter, while Budur mounted Kamar’s Arabian horse and rode with the men; easy for her, because she loved horses and had been riding since a child.

Now assured of safety at the end of the day, Budur felt at peace. But after two hours the captain of the guards leading the way rode back to the one he supposed to be his prince, much puzzled. “My lord, I have ridden the road between Al-Tayrab and Unayzah a hundred times, and know the lay of the land as I know my first wife’s buttocks. But something strange has happened. The familiar road on which we embarked this morning has changed, becoming one I know not at all. Yet we could not have taken a wrong turn, for no other road runs through here.

Princess Budur felt a cold touch of fear. Now she was certain she had guessed rightly; some powerful Jinni desired her young body. First he had stolen her husband away. Then he had moved them to a different road as they traveled, to prevent their reaching the safety of King Shahrimán’s court.

“Now that is passing strange,” said Budur to the guard captain, using her husband’s voice. “But since there is only the one road, I will not turn from it. Press on, and see what we may discover before dark.”

Dark came, and the towers of Unayzah had not appeared on the horizon. They made camp, and Budur huddled in her tent with Ayesha. The two women held a long discussion, and agreed it best to continue the deception until they reached some place of safety.

Next morning they resumed their journey, and rode on for two days, through a barren and deserted countryside. Although eating only sparingly, they ran out of food and went without breakfast on the fourth day. But before noon the road led them past a series of farms and small settlements to the gates of a city, its buildings and walls alike painted a forbidding black. Budur recognized it from descriptions by her father, and understood why they had been diverted here.

The gate guards stopped them from entering, and inquired as to their provenance. On learning that Prince Kamar al-Zamán of the Khálidán Islands led the party, the guard captain sent word to King Armanus, the elderly ruler of Ebony City and its surrounds.

As they waited, Budur quietly advised her guards and attendants not to mention the presence of Princess Budur, or her recent marriage to Prince Kamar. A long-standing enmity existed between her father King Ghayur and King Armanus. The princess would remain hidden in the entourage, disguised as a maid.

Concealed from view in the litter, Ayesha quickly doffed the fine garments of a princess and resumed her normal clothing. Budur, with a wrap of the turban across her lower face as usual, was admitted to the audience chamber of King Armanus. She went to one knee, as was proper when a prince met a king. But Armanus stepped down from his small black throne and raised her to her feet, welcoming someone he perceived to be a fine young man from a nearby kingdom. He offered the hospitality of his palace to the supposed prince, and commanded that the others in the party be lodged in his guest house.

Thus they abode for a day, resting from the ordeals of their travel. Then King Armanus summoned the supposed Prince Kamar al-Zamán to his audience chamber. Budur again donned the turban which concealed her face below the eyes, and the king and court accepted this as some foreign custom with which they were unfamiliar.

The old king informed Budur that he was desirous of retiring, due to ill health. He had been seeking a suitable husband for his only child, Princess Hayat al-Nufus. “Though we have not met, I think of King Shahrimán as a friend,” Armanus went on. “I would bind our kingdoms more closely together. It is my wish that you marry my daughter, after which I will crown you King of the Ebony City and retire to the countryside, where I can live out my remaining days in peace and quiet.”

The proposal was so unexpected that Budur felt stunned. She bowed her head, gazing at the feet of the old king while trying to think. To refuse was to risk his wrath; he had clearly set his heart on this marriage. But to accept meant that her true sex must eventually be revealed.

One choice at least delayed the inevitable. “My lord, I am honored,” said Budur, raising her head and meeting the King’s gaze. “I accept your most generous offer, and ask only one consideration. Bring forth Princess Hayat al-Nufus, and ask of her if she will willingly marry me. I would not force a young woman to wed against her will.”

“Now that is a generous thought, and confirms that you are of good character,” said King Armanus.

Princess Hayat had been waiting in an adjoining room. She entered when summoned, and stood before Prince Kamar. Then she did a bold act, reaching up and unfastening her veil.

Budur gazed with admiration on the young face so revealed. Hayat al-Nufus had skin two shades darker than her own milky white, with hair of midnight hue and long black lashes hovering over sharp green eyes. High cheekbones slanted down to wide, full lips, above a strong chin. The princess stood two palms shorter than Budur, but what she could see of Hayat’s body indicated she was fully grown, though of still tender years.

Any hope Budur had that Princess Hayat might refuse the supposed Prince Kamar, and thus save her from eventual discovery, died when the princess quickly agreed to the union.

King Armanus set the marriage for three days hence, and the investiture of Prince Kamar al-Zamán as King of Ebony City the day after. Budur returned to her quarters, where she summoned the old astronomer and consulted with him and Ayesha, the only two who knew her true identity. Neither could see any way to escape this trap.

The wedding was a magnificent affair, but all too soon night came, and the palace chamberlain escorted Budur to the private quarters of Hayat al-Nufus. She had learned that the princess was well-liked by her people, generous of spirit, kind and considerate of those who served her.

Instead of removing her garments, Budur sat on the edge of the carpet bed and gazed down at the lovely young face looking attentively up at her in the light of a dozen candles. Budur reached out and gently caressed the smooth cheeks of her new bride, then lightly fingered the delicate ears. On an impulse she removed her turban, for the first time exposing her full face, then bent down and kissed Hayat on the soft wide lips. Hayat gasped, but tried her inexperienced best to return the caress, her first real kiss.

Then Budur sat up, and said, “You are as lovely in spirit as in face and form. I must throw myself on your mercy, and beg your indulgence, and forgiveness.” In the middle of this speech she let her voice return to its normal soft tone, a woman’s voice. “I am not Prince Kamar al-Zamán but his wife, Princess Budur of The Seven Islands; the daughter of a king your father holds in enmity. Kamar was stolen away by a Jinni, and I assumed his identity to keep myself safe from other men. But some foul power intervened as we traveled toward the safety of my husband’s city, and compelled us here instead.”

In astonishment Hayat sat up in the carpet bed. She gazed into the lovely face of Budur, now clearly that of a woman, and saw the anguish, fear and uncertainty there. For a moment she felt angry that her first kiss had been by another female, but that emotion quickly faded.

“Now this is a strange way to spend my wedding night, but you must tell me the whole story,” said Hayat. She pushed the coverlet down, inviting Budur to join her. Then she watched as Budur doffed her outer garments, noting how her large woman’s breasts rose up when she removed the tight band binding them. Budur got into bed with the princess, sitting upright beside her. Then she told Hayat the whole strange tale, from the time she had awakened in the sleeping Prince Kamar’s bed to the present.

“Now I fear my husband, a man you would love as I do if you but knew him, is held captive somewhere far away,” Budur concluded. “It is my mission to rescue him, and so I pray for your mercy and forgiveness, and beg that you do not betray my true identity to your father.”

“Why, this is the most wondrous and romantic story I have ever heard!” declared Hayat. “I will tell my father nothing, and help you in any other way that I can. My only regret is that I must remain a virgin, and now cannot give my father the grandchildren he so longs for.”

“Now as for grandchildren, that must wait,” said Budur. “So must the surrender of your maidenhead. But as to the rest of your wedding night, my husband taught me ways of making love that do not require a man’s equipment. I will show and share some of these with you, if you so desire.”

Hayat lowered her eyes. Her voice choked a little when she said, “Well, I know nothing of this, but if you will lead the way . . .”

Budur shed the rest of her clothes as Hayat slipped off her shift, then took the beautiful young woman in her arms. She gave her a second and far more delightful kiss, one of only many to follow. Hayat proved a quick learner, and was soon returning intimate caress for caress. When they finally fell sleep as dawn neared outside, both were happily satisfied, and Hayat still a virgin only in that she retained an intact maidenhead.

The palace servitors let the newlyweds sleep till noon, but then the chamberlain summoned them to the king’s audience chamber. Hayat arose, pricked a finger, and sprinkled a little blood on the front of her shift. Then she left the garment on the bed and dressed herself, not calling for a maid as was her usual custom.

Hayat helped Budur tightly bind her breasts, then quickly cut her long dark hair to man’s length and style. They improvised a veil from a fold of the turban. The court had grown accustomed to seeing Prince Kamar with his face covered; the change from turban to veil should attract little notice.

When the two women joined King Armanus, they saw that he had summoned the nobles of his court. In their presence he formally transferred his kingship to Prince Kamar, declaring him King of Ebony City and all its accompanying lands. With his own hands Armanus removed his crown, after first seating Budur on the throne, and placed it on the younger head. Then he departed for his retirement home in the countryside.

King Budur declared the rest of the day a time for feasting and jollity, and ordered forty of the royal wine kegs broached and served to the people. And later that night, both a little unsteady from too much wine, all inhibitions fled, the two married women returned to the carpet bed and resumed the education and explorations so well begun the night before.

But next morning Budur arose soon after sunrise, leaving Hayat still sleeping. She breakfasted, then made her way to the king’s audience chamber and began fulfilling her obligations as ruler of the city. All day she gave audience to those who came before her. As a king’s daughter Budur had been well educated. She put that knowledge into practice by dispensing justice and rendering judgments with fairness and generosity to all.

Budur longed to start searching for Kamar, but could not in good conscience escape the bonds with which she had willingly bound herself. This small kingdom had been neglected as Armanus grew weak, and she had years of work ahead to restore it to health and prosperity. And though nothing could adequately replace the strong arms and manly equipment of Kamar, Budur did find solace in Hayat. The young princess, who knew nothing different, responded with zest and joy to Budur’s lovemaking.

Unable to leave The Ebony City, Budur could do nothing but wait, and hope Kamar made his own escape. Thus she spent her days, and her nights.

#

As to the real Kamar al-Zamán, he composed himself in patience and abode with the kindly gardener as the months crept slowly by, until at last he was informed the time had come; the ship sailed tomorrow.

Kamar had some money left after paying for his passage, and that evening took the gardener to a farewell dinner at a good inn. They celebrated his imminent return home with several glasses of wine. Musicians and a dancer appeared, and Kamar wanted to linger, but the old gardener protested that it was well past his bedtime and left.

A tall Phoenician, who had been sitting at a near-by table, approached Kamar and saluted him. “I see that you sit drinking alone, as am I. Would not the evening be more enjoyable for us both if we had someone with whom to converse?”

Kamar eyed the man warily, noting that he wore the regalia of a ship’s captain and was both unusually tall and unduly handsome. But the wine had made him mellow, and despite some misgivings, Kamar welcomed the captain to join him.

The Phoenician proved a generous companion, ordering wine in plenty and insisting on paying for all. The flutes and tambourines played, and the dancer strutted and twirled across the small stage, hips swaying, hands weaving a lovely fantasy. The Phoenician, who introduced himself as Captain Kash, had a deep, rich voice, and Kamar found he very much enjoyed his company. He continued to drink until pleasantly inebriated, but did not fail to keep in mind that he must be on board that ship early in the morning.

The dancer and musicians left the stage, and Kamar decided to go. He thanked his companion for the wine, and started for the door. But the tall man also rose, and said he would accompany Kamar for a time through the now dark streets. Robbers roamed the city at night, and he had his long sword at his side.

Kamar had his jeweled dagger, but that would be of little use against men with swords. He agreed, and they set out along the dark road that led to the garden just outside the city.

Kamar found his feet stumbling on the rutted street, and his companion put an arm around his shoulders to steady him. A moment more and the arm had slipped around his waist. They walked on for a few steps, and then Captain Kash stopped, turned Kamar to face him, and pulled him close for a kiss.

As the other man’s lips came toward his, Kamar came fully to his senses and turned his head. The lips brushed his forehead as he pushed hard against the tall man’s chest. He broke free and stepped back, hand going to his dagger.

But the Phoenician captain had been kind to him, and Kamar did not draw his weapon. Instead he said, “I fear you have misinterpreted my friendliness for acquiescence to activities in which I do not indulge. I pray you that from here you go your way in peace, as I shall go mine.”

Captain Kash stood silent for a moment, then said, “It were better for you all around if you accompany me to my place instead. I desire you, and if you wish ever to see your wife again, you will accommodate me.”

Kamar felt a thrill of horror course his spine. This was the Jinni who had abducted him! Here in human form stood the powerful being who sought to replace him in Budur’s arms. And even worse, Kamar now understood that this Captain Kash futtered man and woman alike; that he himself was the object of unholy and unnatural desires.

“I would plunge my own dagger into my heart before I would lie with another man,” said Kamar, and turned and walked away.

Captain Kash made no further effort to impede Kamar’s progress toward home. And next morning Kamar arose in plenty of time to board his ship.

On arrival at the Ebony City Kamar soon learned that the land was now ruled by King Kamar al-Zamán, who had married the king’s daughter and ascended to the throne when King Armanus retired a year ago. The old king had since died.

Kamar decided the wise course here was to keep his name quiet until he could discern the lay of the land. Calling himself Omar, he took a room at an inn. Over several cups of wine bought for locals that evening, he listened to tale after tale about the new king.

Next morning Kamar waited outside the palace gate until the guards admitted the day’s group of petitioners. From the rear of the large room he studied King Kamar al-Zamán. Seated on a modest black throne, the young king dispensed justice and rendered judgments with equality and fairness to all. Though the hair beneath the crown was short, and she concealed her face below the eyes with a thick veil, Kamar immediately recognized his wife.

Budur spoke in a deep voice, displaying a gravitas and depth of knowledge Kamar had not known she possessed. The stratagem she had devised to protect herself in his absence seemed clear. But the part Kamar could not grasp was how Budur had married Princess Hayat al-Nufus and, from more than one account last evening, provided for the young bride so well that most of a year later her face still shone with happiness and her eyes sparkled with the joy of living.

Kamar remained at the rear of the room without speaking, then returned to the inn. He was unsettled in mind, with no idea of his best course of action. Budur had somehow made herself king here, and he had to be careful not say or do anything that might expose her.

But unknown to Kamar, Budur had spied him at the rear of the room. Recognizing her husband despite his poor clothes and humble bearing, she had a courtier follow him when he left the palace. And that night she sent three Mameluke guards to seize the traveler, blindfold him, bind his hands, and bring him to her.

Not knowing what was happening, Kamar at first feared for his life. But the guards only deposited him in a chair, tied his hands to its arms, and left.

As the door closed Budur, still dressed in a king’s clothes but without her veil, removed Kamar’s blindfold. Then she kissed him, so long and thoroughly that both were left gasping for breath.

When their lips parted, Kamar said, “Words cannot express the joy with which I gaze on your face, beloved. But now release me from these bonds, that I may hold you in my arms.”

But Budur only smiled, and drew back a little. “In time, my husband. But first we must come to some terms. And we are still in considerable danger, from which you must relieve us.”

Budur went on, “In your name I have married the Princess Hayat al-Nufus, and been granted the throne of The Ebony City. If you agree that I have acted rightly, then tonight you will relieve the virgin princess of her maidenhead, and make her your true wife. Tomorrow I will announce that the long enmity between the courts of The Ebony City and The Seven Islands has ended. I, King Kamar al-Zamán, will accept the Princess Budur as my second wife. In three days she will arrive with a small entourage, and you will marry her. If you agree to these conditions, I will release you.”

Kamar gazed with disbelief into the face of his beloved. “You want me to marry a woman I have never seen? And pass the first night after our long separation with her, not you?”

“Unless you disavow my actions taken in your name, you are already married to her. And since Hayat has gone far too long without her due, you will not sleep in my bed until after our marriage, three days hence. My love, we owe Hayat more than we can ever repay. She sheltered me, kept our secret, and preserved my life. I have come to love her as I do you, and we will be sister-wives and closest of friends until death parts us.”

Kamar somewhat reluctantly agreed to the terms outlined, and Budur cut his bonds. As she did so Hayat entered from the next room, where she had been listening, and shyly approached her husband. Kamar gazed on her unveiled young beauty, only a little less than that of his beloved Budur, and felt desire stir in his loins.

Budur retired to the bed in the next room, but left the door ajar. A little later she heard the soft cry of pain when Hayat at last lost her maidenhead, soon followed by low sounds of joy.

After tonight, Hayat would well understand that the comforts women could offer each other were nothing compared to the gifts nature had provided a loving man. And by agreement between the two women, Kamar was never to know that they had found solace, and a measure of joy, in each other’s arms.

Next morning Budur made certain arrangements, sending out couriers with messages to a few people she trusted. At court King Kamar informed his ministers that the Ebony City had settled its long enmity with the King of the Seven Islands, and the new friendship was to be ratified by Princess Budur becoming his second wife, three days hence.

Well before dawn two days later Kamar, Budur and Ayesha secretly left the palace on horseback and rode north. An hour before noon they saw the sea ahead, and a screen of trees hiding a little cove. The three, hooded and veiled, were to meet a small boat that would convey them to a large ship waiting offshore. On arrival at the Ebony City it would be revealed that the Princess Budur, her maid and a eunuch guard had been secluded on board for the entire voyage.

They were a little early, and the horses were tired and thirsty after the long ride. Kamar halted at a small pond, in a grassy meadow a few hundred yards inland, to water the animals.

As Kamar stood chatting with Budur and Ayesha, the air suddenly filled with the sound of great wings thrashing, and a strong wind buffeted them. A gigantic black bird settled to the ground a dozen yards away, between themselves and the cove.

Budur and Ayesha gazed with fear and awe at the giant creature barring their path. Kamar had told them of his adventures, and they realized this must be the roc-sized bird that had flown him so far away.

As it folded long black wings onto the immense body, the bird spoke. Kamar recognized the deep, strong voice of the tall Phoenician, Captain Kash.

“You thought to escape me so easily? Nay, you shall both suffer for spurning me! This time, Kamar, I will carry you to a land so far away that a whole life’s journey will not bring you back to your beloved. Thus may you suffer, and she pine, for the rest of your miserable lives!”

The great bird took a long step toward them, balancing on one leg as it raised the other foot. But instead of waiting to be seized Kamar ran toward the creature, drawing his sword. He stood no chance in a fight, but even death was preferable to again being separated from Budur, and the sweet young woman with whom he had spent the past three nights.

Kamar ran past the grasping talons and beneath the towering feathered breast, out of the bird’s sight. He stopped beside the scaly leg, thick as a pine tree, and stabbed upward as far as he could reach. His sword penetrated the soft feathers and went two palms deep into the body. He quickly withdrew the blade and thrust again and again, a flurry of stabs that brought pain, even if not deep enough to kill.

The black bird squawked, a deafening sound, settled back on two feet and stepped away, trying to bring Kamar into view. But the creature’s size made it clumsy, and betrayed its intentions. Kamar ran with it, kept out of sight, and when it stopped and stood searching for him, resumed his attack. Blood started dripping from the new wounds.

The avian giant screeched in rage and took several steps toward the sea, covering more ground than Kamar could quickly cross. The huge black body wheeled around and the yellow eyes fastened on Kamar, still running toward it. The pointed beak drew back to strike, rage and pain having overcome all restraint – and again great wings beat the air, the wind from them almost throwing the humans off their feet. Two huge Arabian woodpeckers settled to the ground on each side of the black bird, folding in their wings.

The new arrivals had low head crests of dark red feathers, above bright yellow eyes and long sharp beaks. The black bird tried to spread its wings and fly, but the smaller woodpeckers were too quick for it. One savagely attacked the dark body; the other stabbed into the throat. The giant screeched again, a dreadful last sound. The bird attacking his neck thrust so swiftly and repeatedly, like a woodpecker hammering out a hole in a tree, that it quickly cut off the head. The one attacking the body already had its dark red intestines spilling out.

 

The dying giant fell, an impact that shook the ground.   As the last shudders of its death agony passed through the beheaded form, the two woodpeckers strutted around it in triumph, flapping their wings and bobbing their heads.

The three humans, watching the short fight in fearful wonder, saw the black bird begin to change after it died. In seconds the body shrank as it transformed, became that of a monstrous Jinni. Stunted black wings grew out of its back, on both sides of a very large hump. A multitude of horns rose out of the severed head, with two yellow teeth extruding from the upper jaw down over the chin. One dead eye glared out at them, the other already long dark and sightless . . .

Maymúnah felt a thrill of exultation as she bobbed and strutted in wide circles around the body of Kashkash. This was her first kill. She had kept her promise to tear off his head if he disobeyed her. The ugly old Ifrit had in secret acted to compel both Princess Budur and Prince Kamar to his bed. An enemy who hated Kashkash had only recently made her aware of this. On learning the full extent of the troubles his designs had brought on the young lovers they had vowed to protect, she had informed Dahnash and enlisted his aid. They went seeking Kashkash, arriving in time to see him attacking Kamar on the ground below. Maymúnah and Dahnash then transformed themselves into huge woodpeckers, birds capable of fighting the black giant.

Maymúnah felt a distinct warmth coursing through her bird’s body, a feeling mingled strangely of heat and lassitude. The killing of Kashkash had awakened the eternal need to reproduce, replace the life now departed. She looked at Dahnash, still strutting and bobbing, and felt certain he was experiencing the same strong urges.   Maymúnah surrendered to the primal demand, turned her back to Dahnash, and waited . . .

Kamar, watching in fascination, saw one huge woodpecker turn its back to the other, in the way female birds issue an invitation. Immediately the other giant ran to her, hopped on her back with surprising agility, and bore her body to the ground. The male bird grasped the neck of the female in his beak and vigorously treaded her, flapping his wings to maintain his balance.

Kamar watched the two unnaturally large woodpeckers mating. Their congress was brief, in the way of birds. The male finished and hopped off the female’s back, crowing in triumph and joy. Then he shrank in size and changed in form to a tall Ifrit, more than twice Kamar’s height. Dressed in warrior’s clothes, seemingly young, and handsome as Ifrits go, he looked nothing like the dead Jinni on the ground. He did have the same coal-black skin, and two white teeth extending from the upper jaw down to the bottom of the chin. Unlike any human, red fire burned in the pupils of both dark eyes. He smiled down at Kamar in apparent friendliness.

The second bird also flapped its wings and shrank, turning into a lovely female Ifrit dressed in revealing harem silks. No long tusks protruded to mar the beauty of a large but very human-looking face, though the lustrous dark eyes did have the same red fire burning in each pupil. She too smiled down at Kamar and the two women.

“You are safe now, my prince,” said the female, her voice deep as that of a human man, yet undeniably feminine. “The designs of the evil one on Princess Budur and yourself have brought him to his end.” . . .

Maymúnah turned to Dahnash, who had somehow become far more handsome and appealing since he treaded her back as a bird, and spoke in the language of the Jinn. “I have never yet invited anyone to my private hall, nor held congress with a male in our natural forms. But now I feel a need, and you have proven yourself an honorable and worthy choice. Let us leave these humans to their own affairs and retire to my home, from which I think we will not emerge again for several years, as they see time.”

“Nothing could bring me greater joy,” said Dahnash. He pulled Princess Maymúnah into his arms for a long embrace. The heat internal in both grew stronger, smoke curling from where their lips met, the sod charring beneath their feet . . .

Kamar watched as the two Ifrits separated and moved somewhat apart, making room to expand their large black wings. They rose into the sky and flew away, their tremendous speed taking them out of sight in seconds. He had not understood the words they exchanged, but somehow knew he would not soon see them again.

#

After several days of observing Budur in court, Kamar donned the king’s clothes and took her place, maintaining the habit she had established of wearing a thick veil. Such was the resemblance between the two that no one noticed the change. After another month King Kamar appeared without the veil, and people wondered why he had earlier chosen to hide such a handsome and manly face.

King Kamar al-Zamán ruled the small kingdom of The Ebony City and its surrounds in peace and amity, collecting taxes and dispensing justice during the day, and alternating nights with his two wives. He quickly learned to love Hayat as he did Budur. Well content, he took no concubines into his household.

A year after her second marriage Queen Budur gave birth to a son, a babe of surpassing beauty whom his proud parents named Amjad. A week later Queen Hayat gave birth to a son, as comely as his brother, whom they named As’ad. King Kamar sent word to King Shahrimán that he had fulfilled his father’s desire for grandsons. Continuity of rule for the Khálidán Islands was now assured.

Amjad and As’ad grew into well-trained and splendid youths, the ties of brotherly love strong between them. The siblings reached the age of seventeen, inexperienced but now lustful young men, and . . .

The End

 

  • Continue Reading