The Quest

by Wilbur Smith

  ‘Do you truly wish me to unveil myself, my lord?’ she asked.

  He was so taken by surprise that he could not reply at once. Eventually he said, ‘It seems that I have waited all my life for the moment that you do so.’

  ‘I want you to have all of me. I will hold nothing back from you. I set no conditions on you. I expect nothing from you in return but your love.’ She threw back the silken sleeves and held up her bare arms.

  They were slim, rounded and firm. She took the hem of her veil between those tapering fingers and began to lift it from her face. She paused at her chin. Her neck was long and graceful.

  ‘Be very sure that you wish to look upon my face. I have warned you what the consequences may be. My beauty has enslaved all before you who have looked upon it. Will you be able to resist it?’

  ‘Even if it destroys me I must do so,’ he whispered. He knew that this was the fateful moment when they joined battle.

  ‘So be it,’ she said, and raised her veil with infinitely tantalizing deliberation. Her chin was rounded and dimpled. Her lips were full and curved, charged with red blood to the colour of ripe cherries. She licked her lips. Her tongue was tapered and it curled at the tip like that of a yawning kitten. It left a glistening trace of saliva on her lips, then drew back between small, lustrous teeth. Her nose was narrow and straight but flared slightly at the tip. Her cheekbones were set high, and her forehead was wide and deep. Her arched brows formed a perfect frame for her eyes, which were dark jewels that seemed to dispel the shadows with their glory. They looked deep into Taita’s soul. Each separate part of her countenance was perfect. Taken as a whole, it was incomparably lovely.

  ‘Do I please you, my lord?’ she asked, as she swirled the veil off her head and let it float down to the green malachite tiles. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders in a sable cascade shot through with ruby lights. It hung to her waist, springing and curling, vibrant with life of its own.

  ‘You do not answer me,’ she said. ‘Do I displease you?’

  ‘My mind cannot encompass your beauty,’ he said, in a voice that shook. ‘There are no words that can describe even a tenth part of it. Having looked upon it, I understand how it may burn a man to ash as though he were caught up in a raging forest fire. It terrifies me, but I am unable to resist it.’

  She glided closer to him, and the perfume of sun lilies enveloped him. She stood over him until he was forced to turn his face up to hers.

  She stooped slowly and placed her lips on his, warm and soft. Her curling kitten tongue slipped deep into his mouth. For a fleeting moment it twined round his own, and then it was gone, but the taste of her filled his mouth like the juice of some wondrous fruit.

  She whirled away across the malachite tiles. Her translucent robe billowed round her as she arched her back and pirouetted until the back of her head almost touched the bulge of her buttocks, her hair brushing the tiles. Her feet danced until they blurred with speed. His eyes could not follow them. Then they stopped and she stood on tiptoe, still as a statue, only her hair swinging round her.

  ‘There is more, my lord.’ Her voice took on a deep, throbbing intensity he had not heard before. ‘There is much more. Or have you seen enough?’

  ‘If I gaze upon you for a thousand years, I will never see enough.’

  With a toss of her head she threw her hair off her shoulders, and stared at him with those smouldering eyes. ‘You stand on the lip of the volcano,’ she warned him. ‘Even at this late stage it is possible for you to draw back. Once you take the plunge there will be no return. For you the universe will change for ever. The price will be high - higher than you can imagine. Are you prepared to pay it?’

  ‘I am ready.’

  She slipped off the robe over one shoulder. Its curve was perfectly harmonious with that of the long, delicate neck. She let the robe fall lower, and one breast strained to be free. She released both. Round, full and womanly, they swung against each other. She let the robe drop until it caught on the curve of her hips. Her belly was as smooth as a field of newly fallen snow. A fiery ruby glowed in the pit of her navel.

  She undulated her hips and the robe slipped down her slender thighs to garland her ankles.

  She stepped out of it and came naked to him, with that long gliding stride. Once again she leant over him and put an arm round the back of his neck. With the other hand she cupped one of her breasts, drew his face towards her and eased the nipple into his mouth. ‘Take suck, my lord,’ she whispered in his ear.

  As he drew on it like an infant, the nipple swelled between his lips and it began to exude a thick creamy fluid. Taita relished it, until she pushed his head away and drew it out from between his lips. ‘Be not so greedy,’ she admonished him. ‘My body has many delights for you to savour. You must not satiate yourself too soon.’

  She stepped back and ran both hands down her belly with a smoothing motion. His eyes followed them slavishly. She moved her feet apart and bent her knees, spreading her thighs. He watched her hand burrow between them, deep into the cloud of dark hair. Then she brought it out again and held up a forefinger. It was glossy with a pellucid dampness.

  ‘See how I long for you,’ she whispered huskily, as she touched the tip of her wet finger with her thumb. When she parted them, a gelatinous thread stretched between them. ‘This is the true ambrosia that all men crave.’ She came to him. ‘Open your mouth, my lord.’ She slid her finger between his lips, and the heady scent of her sex pervaded his senses.

  She reached down with her free hand under the hem of his tunic and took hold of his manroot. Already it was as hard as ironstone, but in her cunning fingers it stretched harder and longer still.

  He looked deep into her eyes and saw in them a stark, predatory hunger that had not been there a moment before. He knew that it was not for what she held in her hand but his very soul that she lusted. Now she placed both hands upon him, lifted him to his feet and led him to the couch. She knelt before him, loosened the straps of his sandals and slipped them off his feet. She lifted her head and nuzzled him, taking him between her lips and sucking voraciously. As she stood up again she lifted his tunic over his head, then pushed him back on to the couch.

  She stepped over him with one leg as though she was mounting a steed, then crouched over him to guide him into her secret depths.

  He uttered a deep groan as the pleasure became so intense it was transmuted into agony. She froze immobile over him. The muscles deep inside her pulsed and contracted, tightening as inexorably on him as the coils of a python round its prey. She locked him in a union so powerful that neither could break from it. Her eyes gazed into his, filled with the triumphant glare of a warrior about to make the killing stroke. ‘You belong to me.’ Her voice was the hiss of a serpent. ‘Everything you are is mine.’ No more dissembling, she had stripped off her disguise to reveal her true colours.

  He felt her carnal invasion begin. It was as though a barbaric horde had besieged the citadel of his soul and was battering down the walls. He rallied all his powers to resist her, closing his gates to deny her entrance, hurling her back from the breach. The look in her eyes changed to consternation as she realized he had enticed her into an ambush. Then her expression became murderous, and she surged back into the attack.

  They struggled against each other, at first evenly matched. He moved his body to one side, and when she threw her weight across to counter him, he rolled with her off the couch. Locked together they crashed on to the malachite floor, but she was under him and bore the brunt of his weight. Just for an instant the grip of the muscles deep within her slackened at the shock. He used the lapse to drive himself further inside, trying to reach her centre. She tightened instantly, holding him out.

  They strained against each other silently, pitting all their forces, holding each other in precarious equilibrium.

  He felt her summon her reserves and gathered his own in readiness.

  Then she launched herself against him in a psychic avalanche. She was
forcing a breach in his defences, breaking through into the secret places of his soul. He could feel his body yielding to her. Once again, gloating triumph lit her eyes. He reached down and closed his fist over the Periapt of Lostris that still hung at his throat. In his mind he conjugated the word of power: Mensaar! His manroot leapt with the impulse, and she cried out incoherently as she felt it. ‘Kydash! Ncube!’ he shouted. A bolt of psychic power flashed from the Periapt. Like a lightning strike, it flung Eos from the breach in his soul. Once again they held each other at bay, their strength evenly matched. Locked in each other’s flesh they lay as still as figures carved in ivory.

  The oil in the lamps burnt low, the flames guttered and went out. The only light in the chamber came through the shaft high in the roof above.

  That light faded as the sun set behind the mountains, and left them in darkness to continue the battle. All through the night they were braced against each other in the hellish coupling, his manroot buried inside her, her muscles clamped on it remorselessly, no longer organs of procreation and pleasure but deadly weapons.

  When the dawn light seeped through the shaft in the roof, it found them still locked together. As the light strengthened, he could see into her eyes. In their depths he discerned the first flutter of panic, like the wings of a trapped bird beating against the bars of its cage. She tried to shutter them from him, but he held her eyes as she held his sex. Both were far past the borders of exhaustion. There was nothing left in either but the will to hold out. She had locked her long legs round his hips, and her arms round his back. He clasped her buttocks in one hand, pulling them on to him. His right hand, still clutching the Periapt of Lostris, was clenched at the small of her back. Very carefully, so that he did not alert her, he eased open the lid of the locket with his thumbnail and the chip of red stone fell into his palm.

  He pressed the stone against her spine, and felt it grow hot as it turned its power back on to her. She screamed, a long despairing wail, and struggled weakly, pumping her sex like bellows in a desperate effort to expel him. He timed his thrusts to her spasms. Each time she relaxed he drove in deeper. He reached the final barrier and, with one last mighty effort, pierced it.

  She collapsed under him, moaning and gibbering. He covered her mouth with his own and thrust his tongue down her throat, stifling her cries. He rampaged through the inner sanctum of her being, tearing open the coffers in which her knowledge and power were locked away and draining the contents. As he did so, his own strength flooded back, multiplied a hundredfold by what he took from her.

  He stared into her unspeakably lovely face, into those magnificent eyes, and saw them change. Her mouth gaped, drooling silver ropes of saliva. Her eyes turned opaque and dull as pebbles. Like a lump of wax held close to a flame, her nose broadened and coarsened. Her glowing skin faded to sallow yellow, became desiccated and as rough as the scaly hide of a reptile. It puckered into deep creases at the corners of her lips and eyes. The vibrant curls fell out of her hair, leaving it straight and flecked with dry skin from her scalp.

  Taita was still buried inside her, drawing in the torrent of astral and psychic substance that flowed from her, like the waters of a burst dam.

  There was such a vast quantity that the flood continued hour after hour. The ray of sunlight from the shaft in the ceiling had crept across the malachite tiles and reached the centre mark of noon before Taita felt the flow weaken and shrivel. At last it dried up completely. He had taken all there was. Eos was drained and empty.

  Taita allowed his manroot to deflate and slither out of her. He rolled off her and stood up. His sex was swollen, bruised and rubbed raw in places. He suppressed the pain and went to the silver jug of water on the table beside her couch. He drank deeply, then sat on the edge of her couch, watching her as she lay on the floor.

  She breathed harshly through her open mouth. Her eyes were fixed in a blind stare on the roof of the chamber as her body began to swell. Like a corpse left in the sun, her belly ballooned as though filling with the gases of decay. The slim arms and legs bloated. The flesh puffed, soft and shapeless as a bladder of butter. Taita watched as her flesh billowed until her limbs disappeared in the pasty white folds. Only her head remained, tiny in comparison with the rest of her.

  Gradually her swollen body filled half of the chamber. Taita jumped off the couch and backed against the wall to give her space to expand.

  She had taken on the shape of a queen termite lying in her royal cell in the centre of a mound. She was trapped within her own flesh, able to move only her head, the rest of her pinned down by her own grossness.

  She would never be able to escape from this cavern. Even if the trogs returned to help her, they could never drag her through the narrow rock passages and tunnels into the open air. .

  A dreadful stench permeated the cavern. A thick, oily fluid oozed from the pores of Eos’s skin and ran down her carcass, each drop pale green with the sheen of putrescence. The nauseating odour clogged Taita’s throat and smothered his lungs. It was the smell of rotting corpses: the victims of her murderous appetites, the unborn babes she had torn from the womb and the young mothers who had carried them; the bodies of those who had perished in the famines, droughts and plagues she had bred and loosed upon the nations; the warriors who had died in the wars she had incited and commanded; the innocents she had condemned to the gallows and the garotte; the slaves who had perished in her quarries and mines. It was compounded by the fetor of an immense evil that issued from her mouth with every rasping breath she exhaled. Even Taita’s control of his senses wavered under its miasma. Keeping as far from her as the confines of the cavern would allow, he moved along the wall towards the mouth of the tunnel.

  An ominous sound brought him up short. It was as though a gigantic porcupine was rattling its quills in warning. Eos’s grotesque head rolled towards him and her eyes focused upon his face. Her features were ravaged so no trace of her beauty remained. Her eyes were deep, dark pits. Her lips had retracted to expose her teeth, like those of a skull. Her features were ineffably ugly, the true mirror of her twisted soul. She spoke in a croak, harsh as the cawing of carrion crows: ‘I shall persist,’ she said.

  He reeled back at the rankness of her breath, then braced himself and looked steadily into her eyes: ‘The Lie will always persist, but so will the Truth. There will never be an end to the struggle,’ he replied.

  She closed her eyes and spoke no more. Only her breathing rumbled in her throat.

  Taita found his cloak, then slipped through the green chamber into the passage that led to the outer air. As he came out into her secret garden, the sunlight was striking the top of the cliff but it left the depths of the crater in shadow. He looked around carefully for any evidence of Eos’s trogs, searching for their auras, but there was none.

  He knew that, with her destruction, they had been deprived of a guiding intelligence. They had crept mindlessly into the tunnels and passages of the mountain to die.

  The air was cold and clean. He breathed it deeply with relief, washing the stench of Eos from his lungs as he went to the pavilion beside the black pool. He took his seat on the bench where he had sat with her when she was still young and beautiful. He pulled the leather cloak round his shoulders. He expected to find himself exhausted and wasted by his ordeal but elation filled his being. He felt strong and indefatigable.

  At first this bewildered him, until he understood that he was charged with the power and energy he had taken from the witch. His mind soared and expanded as he began to explore the mountainous accumulations of knowledge and experience that now filled him. He could look back over the millennium that Eos had existed, back to the beginning time.

  Every detail was fresh. He was able to fathom her lusts and desires as though they were his own. He was amazed by the depths of her cruelty and depravity. He had not understood the nature of true and utter evil until now when it had been clearly revealed to him. There was so much to learn from her that he knew it would take him a natural
lifetime to examine even a small part of it.

  The knowledge was seductive in a vile and loathsome way, and he knew at once that he must condition himself to resist its addictive fascination, lest it corrupt him too. There was dire danger that the grasp of so much evil might turn him into a monster of her like. He was humbled by the thought that the cognizance he had wrested from the witch, added to his own arsenal, had made him now the most powerful man on earth.

  He rallied his powers and began to lock away the vast body of foul matter in the deep warehouses of his memory, so that he would not be haunted and sullied by it but could retrieve any part as he required it.

  In addition to the evil, he had now in his possession an equal or greater quantity of wholesome learning which might be infinitely beneficial to himself and humanity. He had taken from her the keys to the natural mysteries of ocean, earth and heaven; of life and death; of destmation and regeneration. All this he held in the forefront of his mind where he could explore and master it.

  The sun had set and night had passed before he had assembled and rearranged all this in his mind. Only then was he conscious of his creature needs: he had not eaten for days, and although he had drunk, he was thirsty. He now knew the layout of the witch’s lair as if he had lived in it for as long as she had. He left the crater and went back into the rocky warren, finding his way unerringly into the storerooms, pantries and kitchens from which the trogs had served Eos. He ate sparingly of the best fruits and cheeses and drank a cup of wine. Then, refreshed, he returned to the pavilion. Now his foremost concern was to make contact with Fenn.

  He composed himself and made his first cast across the ether, calling to her clearly and openly. At once he realized he had underestimated the power of the witch. His efforts to reach Fenn were blocked and turned back by some residual force that emanated from her. Even in her enfeebled condition, she had managed to spin around herself and her warren a protective shield. He abandoned the effort, and devoted himself to finding a means of escape from the mountains. He searched the memory of Eos and he made discoveries that staggered him, taxing his powers of belief to the utmost.