Delusion's Master (Tales From the Flat Earth) (22 page)

In the height
of the afternoon, two other bands arrived.

All told,
there were now four hundred people bivouacked outside the city, and seventeen
were young women in groups of seven, four, three and three, every one roped by
the wrist.

It was a fact,
it had been agreed to meet at this place on this day. Messengers had gone about
through the lands. The burden of the message, in every case, had been this:
That particular maidens, on their wedding night, had slain their bridegrooms.
Some by use of a knife, or a botched-up nasty poison, most by the application
of a long-stemmed hairpin driven through the skull at the doorway of an eye.
And these murderesses, standing over their husbands’ corpses, had violently
proclaimed that the gods of Bhelsheved had told them to do it. That one of the
gods himself had instructed them, promising that, as a reward for their faith,
he would take them to wife instead. But the god had apparently not kept his
promise. “It is
your
fault!” wailed the murderess-maidens, waving their
bloodied weapons or their poison-vials at fathers, fathers-in-law, wedding
guests. “You have interrupted. You have spoiled
everything
.”

There was
already a strange, gray doubt about the gods. About their care and their
validity. Also an obscured and tantalizing dream, a shadowy magnificence, which
had promised something to each and all—but this, as yet, was not discussed.

Some story had
long ago circulated about a maiden in one of the villages who had refused
marriage, and being wed, obstructed consummation, and that the gods had
recognized her; Dunizel’s history, somewhat tarnished. The outraged and
horrified kindred of the murdering brides did not, therefore, seek temporal
justice. They roped up their daughters, nieces, sisters, and drove them back to
the holy city like little herds of goats for sacrifice. Even those whose sons
and brothers had been killed at the slim fair hands of these women, made no
complaint, simply prowled behind the new procession, their eyes narrowed
against grit and hatred alike.

But the women
were proud, stepping proudly, shaking their unbound hair.

Each supposed
she was the chosen of the god, her fellow murderesses mistaken. But still each
had sympathy for her fellows, understanding the motivation of a deed which she,
too, (the positively chosen), had acted out.

Exalted and
venomous, the seventeen murderesses stood among the leafless groves outside
Bhelsheved, and the crowd of their accusers, unable to get a divine answer,
muttered, at a loss. Their discontent swelled, and was not only connected to
the closed western gate.

None of them
had ever seen the area at this season. Early summer was the time of pilgrimage;
during the winter they kept at home. Now they perceived Bhelsheved in its
nakedness, pallor frigid, gardens bare, sand like mummy-dust, creeping along
the walls. It is not always pleasing to peer behind the facade of things.

The night came
on in heavy, darkening breaths, and the biting, snapping cold of the frost
descended. The moon appeared and gazed down at them from blue eye-sockets,
until the very fires they lit seemed cold. Flames and faith withered together.
They held council where once they had feasted.

“We shall get
no help from Bhelsheved. We must decide this matter ourselves.”

“For sure, the
gods would have spoken by now—if truly they had ordered our daughters to do
such terrible things.”

“Your
daughters are wild cats. I have a dead son to prove it. Your daughters must be
punished. Here and now. We need no gods to tell us how to tie a cord to a
tree.”

“The gods are,
in any event, obviously indifferent. They do not wish to be bothered with us.”

There were
tears shed, wringing of hands, some altercation and many oaths. A few exchanged
blows. Eventually, the decision, taken by some with fierce approval, by others
with despairing regret. At first light, the seventeen maidens should be strung
from the trees a hundred paces from the city, and hanged until dead. And that
this might be a kind of profanation of a holy spot either did not suggest
itself to them, or else it brought them bitter satisfaction.

The
murderesses, crouching now by their own meager fire, still tethered, lifted
their heads as fire-eyed men strode up to them.

A girl with
tan hair brighter than the flames, stared boldly back into the unloving stare
of her slain husband’s father.

“Well, now,”
said she, “what news?”

“Good news,
Zharet,” he said at once. “You are to die at sunrise.”

Sixteen girls
began to sob and bemoan their destiny.

Tan-haired
Zharet smiled like a wolf.

“Kill us, and
be accursed. Though I alone was chosen of the god, these others acted in the
belief of his favor, and he will revenge us all upon you.”

“You demented
slut,” cried the man, “you have gone mad with your filthy dreams. I see you now
as I saw you last, your fingers painted with the blood of my son. And tomorrow
I will see you dance from a tree.”

Then she
sprang up, and she shouted at him: “I will dance in paradise when you squirm
and shriek on the blades of fiends.”

At which he
struck her, and as she lay on the ground she said to him, “And for that, the
god will shear off both your hands.”

The men turned
and walked away. Their steps were quickened, as if they wished to run.

In the midst of the night,
as the moon went down in the bare trees, Zharet woke because someone gently
combed her hair.

The sensation
was soothing, and at first she did not question it. But then she felt again the
bruise of her father-in-law’s fist. She remembered what she had done and what
was to be done to her, and that none were likely to comb her hair. She started
up.

“Hush,
beloved,” said a caressing voice. “It is only I.”

Zharet’s eyes
widened, for an ass’s jawbones rested by her face, cheek to cheek with her, and
it seemed they had spoken. Then she turned a little, and saw Chuz, seated
gracefully cross-legged on the frozen sand beside her.

The moon was
obscured, and the pathetic fire had died. There was scarcely any light to see
by, save for the weird luminescence of the frost itself. Nor did she know of
Chuz, who, like others, was poorly chronicled in the region. For a moment she
took him for her god, but only for a moment. The gleam of his hair was pale,
his right profile, though unusually handsome, did not charm or reassure her.
She had got the glimpse of a most unenchanting eye—

“Since you are
to die at tomorrow’s dawn,” remarked Chuz conversationally, “why waste the
night in slumber?”

The girl
shivered. She noticed he had combed her hair with a broad ivory fish bone. A
fish from the holy lake?

“Even though I
die,” she announced, “I shall proceed in spirit to the arms of my betrothed.”

“And who is
this fortunate one?”

“The dark god
of Bhelsheved.”

“Your faith is
admirable. Your sisters do not appear to share it.”

He indicated,
with a white gloved hand, the tumbled sixteen girls who lay about on the
ground. Even in exhausted sleep, their restlessness conveyed apprehension, and
several groaned at their nightmares.

“He will
comfort these, too, no doubt,” said Zharet loftily. “Although they
presumptuously mistook the summons he offered me as being also for themselves.”

The jawbones
of the ass laughed. Melodiously, for once.

Chuz tossed a
pair of dice on the sand.

Gaunt with her
ordeal, Zharet nevertheless took offense.

“It is not
seemly that you dice here.”

“Dice with me
then.”

“Less seemly
still.”

“Tomorrow you
will dice with lord Death.”

Zharet covered
her face with her hands. In the dark of that self-embrace, she beheld her
husband’s body, with the crystal knob of the pin protruding neatly from his
eye, and she giggled. Chuz seldom came where he was not wanted, where indeed
his aspect had not come before him. When she re-emerged from her hands, she
could make out a little more of his face, or of his two faces. They did not
alarm her.

“Very well,”
she said. “We will play at dice. And will you help me to evade hanging if I win?”

“More. I will
let you walk in Bhelsheved, despite the shut gates. And you shall see a wonder
there.”

“Shall I?” she
cried. He excited her. Madness recognizing itself, feeling itself at home. “But
your dice have no markings.”

At which she
began to see markings on the dice.

“Call,” said
Chuz.

For a while
they played then, and it seemed quite normal to her. But her luck was not good.
The dice seldom fell as she wished.

“No matter,”
Chuz said at length. “I will allow you to win. Provided you kiss me.”

The girl
laughed scornfully, propriety forgotten, and leaned forward.

“Not,” said
Chuz, “on the lips. On my left cheek.” And turning himself, he presented to her
that cranky left side of his, husk-dry, the seamed skin like gray parchment,
the rusty, bloody hair hanging down like worms. Zharet checked a moment, then
she shrugged. She kissed him firmly and without reservation. While she did so,
though she did not witness it, Chuz slipped off the glove from his right hand.
A forefinger that was a writhing serpent gnawed through the length of rope that
bound her to another captive not far off. As the rope fell between them, this
second maiden, who up till now had not stirred, did so. But Chuz said two or
three words to her, whose syllables remain unspecified, and she slumped back in
a stupor.

All around,
the camp was likewise vanquished. Two men, who had formerly stood sentry,
leaned upon a tree, snoring in unison. Only the noises of sleep came and went.
She did not know, the murderess, elated by her rescue, if her companion had
caused this unwakefulness to prevail. Surely the gods had sent him to her. She
had half looked to be plucked from the noose itself, before the gaze of all, by
stormy sprites, amid fanfares and lightnings. This method was less spectacular
than she might have hoped, yet also less hypothetical.

“Come,” said
Chuz. He was standing ten paces away. A fire which still burned had caught the
edge of his mantle. A perverse reaction was taking place, for the material
seemed to be burning the fire to ashes, rather than the other way about.

Zharet walked
dutifully forward, and Chuz moved ahead of her, between the empty stalks of the
groves. But hearing a soft stumbling, Zharet glanced back. Her sixteen
companions, their tethers still intact (groups now of three and three, and four
and six), were fumbling after her, and after Chuz, their eyes barely
open—tranced.

Chuz came to
the great western gate of Bhelsheved, closed and secured from within. Chuz
murmured to the gate, tapping its panels with his re-gloved fingers.

“Who dared
leave you ajar, mighty gate?” asked Chuz.

The gate did
not speak, yet all who were near knew it replied. It said, though it did not
say: “None left me ajar. I am bolted and barred from within.”

“I regret you
are mistaken,” said Chuz. “I have only to press lightly against you to come
in.”

“It is not
true,” did-not-say-said the gate. “Not true. You lie.”

“I shall push
against you. You will fly open.”

“Never.”

“Without
doubt.”

“You are mad,
thinking you can get in.”

“You are
madder than I, thinking you can keep me out.”

“None can
enter.”

“One can and
does.”

“Who?”

“The moon
comes and goes as she fancies.”

“Yes,”
said-did-not the gate. “I have been concerned about that.”

“I shall enter
now,” said Chuz.

“No, no. I
will lock myself up against you.” And there came the sound of large mechanisms
and valves as the gate frantically moved its bolts the only way left to them to
go—and unlocked itself in error.

Chuz pushed at
the gate and it swung wide.

“Now I cannot
get in,” said Chuz.

“Ahhh,”
did-not-sigh-sighed the gate.

Chuz walked
into Bhelsheved, and the seventeen murderesses went after him, sleepwalking,
all but Zharet, who stalked at their head.

The fanes were
like tombs in the cold darkness, though here and there a watch-fire blew,
ghost-white. The lake was dull and opaque, its surface matted by the dissolving
of leaves.

Clearly, the
gods did not winter here. The gods had gone away, or did not exist

Chuz halted.

“Listen.”

Wake, or
tranced, the seventeen murderesses listened.

They heard a
noise like silver tinsel, like silver beads, and then a song like the path a
snake makes through fine powder.

“Look,” said
Chuz.