'Ware the Dark-Haired Man

by Robert Reginald

  “How is he?” he asked.

  “He’ll be just fine with a little care and some rest,” the lady replied, without even looking at him.

  The woman continued to work steadily, wrapping a bandage around the stricken man’s chest, and then knotting it tight.

  “There,” she muttered, before looking up straight into the king’s eyes.

  “Majesty!” she exclaimed, quickly bowing her head. “I didn’t know it was you.”

  “You were rather busy,” the king noted, smiling a thin smile. “And I’d rather have you devote your attentions to Kir than to me. What’s your name?”

  “Mála Lady Teuschpach,” she quietly responded.

  “The daughter of Yevséby?” Arkády asked, and when she demurely nodded, continued: “I grieve for your loss. Who inherited the title?”

  “No one, sire,” she said, sadness filling her voice. “The honor reverts to the crown. I am the last of my line, for my mother collapsed when she heard the news, and was struck senseless. She will never leave her bed again.

  “But we had no one else to represent our small dis­trict at this conference, so few of our men survived,” she continued, “and so I was chosen by the Council of Teusch­pach to come to Paltyrrha. With the little money that I had, I hired a nurse to care for my mother while I was gone. And that is all my story.”

  “Mála Lady Teuschpach,” the king responded, loudly enough for Kiríll and Zakháry to hear, “in gratitude for the service you have performed this day for my brother, I hereby create you Baroness Teuschpach, and grant to you all of the estates previously owned by your father, with re­mainder to the heirs of your body whatsoever. I will have the grand vizier prepare the letters patent when he is well enough to do so, but the creation is effective from this in­stant.”

  Mála knelt and kissed his hands.

  “Thank you, majesty,” she intoned, before turning back to her patient.

  Then the king asked for reports on a thousand dif­ferent subjects, remembered at the last to send a note of re­assurance to his Drúsha, and gradually, very gradually be­gan putting his house back in order.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  “SOMETHING NOT QUITE RIGHT ABOUT THE CORPSE”

  A few hours later, the king and his sister, the Princess Arrhiána, met privately in her apartments in the palace. After they had discussed several matters, King Arkády ordered their father brought to him.

  The deposed king had to be dragged in by the guards. Although obviously ravaged by the effects of the drugs he had been administered, he was still able to spit at the both of them when he was deposited in the chair oppo­site.

  “So, father,” Arkády indicated, “still fighting me, eh? I’m sorry for that, and I’m sorrier still that I must now order you confined completely to your house. You will have no visitors other than those authorized in advance by me. Your transit mirror will be removed, your rings taken from your fingers. No written communications will be al­lowed from your establishment, coming or going. You will be kept drugged so that you can’t use your powers. The guards at your estate will serve only under my orders, and those orders will be specific, and not capable of being countermanded by yours, ever. They will be instructed to use force, if neces­sary, to ensure that my orders are carried out. This is my final word on the subject. Take him away!” he said.

  Then King Arkády turned to his sister: “What about Brisquayne’s daughters?”

  “I’ve sent a messenger informing them of their mother’s death,” she noted, “and they’ll be arriving on the morrow, with all their family, including the King of Neus­tria. They’ll remain through the funeral, and then return home. Gad, how I’m going to miss that dear old lady!”

  “She was a very special person,” Arkády agreed, “whose spirit will continue to dwell in all our memories. I’ve decided to name the room where the tapestries were hung after her.”

  “She’d like that, I think,” Arrhiána stated. “What are you going to do about Melanthrix?”

  “I don’t know,” the king replied. “There’s some­thing not quite right about the corpse, which is why I or­dered it to remain inviolate. I think I’m going to have to handle that little problem all by myself.”

  “Who is she, Kásha?” the princess inquired. “I had the sense in the hall that she was speaking just to you, and the even stranger notion that you knew exactly who she was and what she was talking about.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t say anything further on this par­ticular topic,” Arkády replied. “I’ve given my word.”

  “But who...? No. No, never mind,” she finally acquiesced. “I know that face that you’re giving me. What will you do about the other conspirators?”

  “They’ll be given a fair trial,” he stated, “and then they’ll be executed, all except Lásky. He’ll be allowed to abdicate his title in favor of his younger brother, and then be condemned to a lifetime of servitude in the very prison that he used to govern. I find a certain ironic justice in that sentence. By the way, what’s the latest word on the grand vizier?”

  “Antónia told me that he’ll survive,” Arrhiána indi­cated, “but it will be a long and painful recovery. He was very seriously burned.

  “Kásha,” she continued, “I want you to think very carefully about what I’m going to say. I don’t trust father, not anymore. If he can find a way out of his cage, he’ll do so, and he’ll be back with an even larger and more danger­ous insurrection in the future. He’s gone mad in a way that can never be reversed. I urge you to find some means of controlling him better than by leaving him on his estate.”

  “I’ve thought about the problem a great deal, Rhie,” her brother replied, “and it comes down to this: if I err on the side of generosity, then so be it. I will not kill my own father, and I won’t imprison him, either. As long as there’s some small hope of reforming him or turning him back to the true path, I must take that chance.”

  “And Kórynthia?” she asked. “Are you willing to sacrifice the kingdom on the slight chance that father will redeem himself?”

  “I’ll give him one more opportunity,” the king said, “a very tightly controlled opportunity.” He grinned, ever so slightly. “I’m no fool, Rhie, really I’m not. But I have to try. I won’t go down the same path that he did.”

  “I’ve never thought you a fool, brother,” Arrhiána sighed, “no, never that. Of all of us, you are the noblest, the one person by whose mark the rest of the family now measures itself and will continue to measure itself in the future. No, brother, don’t ever lose those ideals.”

  The king just laughed.

  “I’m no saint, Rhie. I just try to do the right thing. Occasionally I succeed, with the help of you and so many other good souls; all too often I fail, sometimes very spectacularly.”

  Then he rose from his seat.

  “Now come, little sister,” he urged, “we have so much to do and so very little time in which to do it. We need to arrange for far too many memorial services, and the conference needs starting again. A country demands rebuilding. Time’s a-wasting.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  “THE BROTHERHOOD OF TIGHRIS LIVES AGAIN”

  That evening, the one known as Tau called the first meeting of the Brotherhood of Tighris held in six months. Only five members of the original nine reported that night to the island of Loryùppa.

  In the chamber of the Enneaphon, Tau began by re­lating the formula of passing.

  “My brothers and sisters,” he intoned, “I bring you good news and bad. Four of our members have passed into that great adventure beyond life itself. Their names can now be mentioned in this assembly. The Patriarch Avraäm iv, who led us as ‘Alpha,’ perished shortly after Killing­ford. Let his nomen be inscribed among the immortals, let his name be etched upon these hallowed walls.”

  Then he cut the name of his patron onto the surface of the chamber.

  “Axios!” came the muted response.

  Similarly, he celebrated t
he lives of “Kappa,” or Fra Jánisar Cantárian, and “Gamma,” or Gorázd Lord Aboéty, both of them foully murdered.

  Finally, he reached the fourth name.

  “My brethren,” Tau continued, “the next name on our list is that of ‘Mu,’ whom we now know was once the Princess Mösza, but who also postured as the philosopher called Doctor Melanthrix.”

  The one who was called “Thêta,” or Father Athana­sios, slumped in his cold stone seat, stunned as the import of what Tau was saying began sinking into his conscious­ness.

  Tau waved his hand to quiet the outbursts of his companions.

  “I now believe,” he indicated, “that this sorcerer was the individual who tried to destroy our organization from within. Therefore, I move that Mösza’s name be purged from the roles of the Brotherhood, and that she be cursed by generations to come for the witch that she really was.”

  “Agreed,” came three responses.

  “Thêta, what is your vote?” Tau inquired.

  Suddenly Athanasios realized that Timotheos was talking to him.

  “I—I must abstain,” he finally choked out.

  “And I vote yea,” Tau noted. “The motion is car­ried. Now, brethren, we must elect a new leader, and then proceed to search out new membership to fill our ranks. Are there nominations for the post of Alpha?”

  Athanasios was finally alert.

  “I nominate Tau,” he replied.

  Timotheos waited a few moments, and then asked: “Are there any other nominations? Very well, hearing none, I declare Tau duly elected.”

  He sighed.

  He moved to the largest of the nine stone chairs, and intoned the ancient formula: “I am the Alpha and the Omega. The one who was known as Tau is dead.”

  Then, looking around at the others, Timotheos added: “This meeting is adjourned until we can recruit and inaugurate four new members. Please let me know privily of any promising acolytes that you may find, and I shall question them closely. The Brotherhood of Tighris lives again.”

  “Amen,” they replied in unison, and began filing one by one into the transit alcove.

  Only Alpha, he who had once been Tau, remained behind.

  “Why, Mösza?” he spoke to no one in particular, “why?”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  “DON’T LEAVE ME HERE!”

  At midnight, the King Arkadios made his way to the chambers of the late Princess Mösza, she who had also been known to the world as Doctor Melanthrix. There he put to sleep the men standing guard outside the door with an idle wave of his hand, unsealed the old philoso­pher’s room, and quietly entered.

  He stepped to the bed, where Mösza’s body was neatly laid out, and picked it up, being careful not to touch any of the exposed flesh.

  What are you doing? came the little voice.

  Ah, he replied, I thought you might still be in there, Auntie.

  Where are you taking me, Arkásha? came the plain­tive query.

  Just for a little ride, the king noted.

  He carried the body down several levels, stopping once to regain his breath, using back ways that were little frequented even during the day. They met no one.

  Then he moved to the other wing of the palace via a narrow passageway accessed through a sliding door located behind a floor-length wall hanging. He finally came to Queen Brisquayne’s Gallery, as it would now be called, where Jaél’s extraordinary tapestries were on permanent display.

  He closed the door behind him with his foot, and placed the body of Mösza in the middle of the floor. Then he lit his ringflame, and went over to the panel depicting the Pit of the Demons. During his last visit here, Arrhiána had given him an idea that he wanted to try.

  The king deliberately centered himself, and then fo­cused his mind on the scarab device located in one corner of the artwork. He imagined it as alive, and touched it with his psai-ring, sending his energy surging through it. He was gratified to see the small image begin waving its six tiny legs. As the beetle suddenly scurried up within the hanging, it seemed to give life to the tapestry, and Arkády could feel a cold breeze and dank smell oozing from the picture. Then he retrieved the body of his great-aunt, and stepped into and through the image.

  Where are we? she screamed.

  Don’t you remember, Auntie? he asked. You brought me here once.

  Noooo! came the cry of terror. Arkásha, don’t leave me here!

  I’m sorry, Mösza, I truly am, Arkády thought, but what else can I do with you? If I put you where you can be found, you’ll move on to someone else, won’t you? And then this will start all over again. I just can’t take that chance.

  Please, Mamá, please! she pleaded. I promise to be a good girl, really I do. I know I was bad once, but you’ve punished me for that already. Don’t send me away, Málya, please don’t. It wasn’t my fault. Nésty said that she didn’t care, that she had hurt him, that only I could help. I didn’t know, brother, I didn’t. I believed him. And then he started to laugh, and he called me thin and ugly and strange, and he laughed some more. All I wanted was to be loved by someone. Please don’t send me away, Mamá, please!

  Arkády put the body carefully down on the altar, laying it out on the crosspiece, but again avoiding di­rect contact with the flesh. He tried not to look at any of the grotesque images lining the dank chamber.

  Mösza Karlománovna von Tighrisha, he intoned, Princess of Kórynthia, Countess of Rábassy, and Shaikha of Salaleh, rest thou in eternal peace.

  Waaiitt! she screamed again. You don’t know what they’ll do to me. Stoppp! You can’t do this. You can’t leave me here, Zee. Víktor, save me, please, save me. Kyp, you must help me. Kásha, please, I’ll do anything, I’ll give you the secrets of life and death, I’ll tell you how to transmute into shapes. Maaaamáááá!

  Then the king sensed movement of a sort all around him, of evil presences reaching out to one of their own.

  Saaave meee! Mösza shouted to Arkády. Pleeaase!

  But nothing could save her now, for she was damned, not only by her own nature, but by her own choices as well. The spirits dwelling in this place sucked her soul out of her corpse like a dog working marrow out of a bone, and they made her one of their own.

  The being called Huzzíyas then spake unto King Arkády: Why dost thou linger here, mortal man?

  I bow my head in sorrow and in shame, the king replied.

  Sorrow shall be thy lot in life, it whispered, but still thy fate transcends this one’s emptiness by a degree unmea­surable to man. Leave us to our pain, mortal, for that is all we have.

  Then King Arkády centered himself, and bowing his head, walked straight through the ouroborean transit mirror home to Paltyrrha, leaving his regrets behind. It was the Feast of Saint Eleutherios, and a new sun was rising in Kórynthia.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  “COME TO ME IN THE PIT OF DEMONS”

  On the final day of the year, which was also the Feast of Saint Sylvestros, the depowerment of the ex-King Kipriyán took place at the Church of Saint Ióv in Kóryn­thály. The former monarch had to be dragged from his house, and then bound and gagged, for he would not go willingly to what he perceived to be the slaughter of his es­pecial perceptions and powers.

  Only a handful of witnesses were present to see the unusual ceremony. These included the King-to-Be Arkády, the Hereditary Prince-to-Be Arión, the Princess Arrhiána, the Prince Kiríll, the Prince Andruin, the Princess Sachette, the Dowager Queen Polyxena, Queen Ezzölla, the Queen-to-Be Dúra, the Royal Council, and the Holy Synod. Among the latter was the recently-installed Metropolitan of Örtenburg, the hieromonk Athanasios Hokhanêmsos.

  The former king was lashed to the top of King Tighris’s tomb in the nave of the Church, and the members of the royal family took their places on either side of the ancient memorial.

  The great Sword of Tighris was carried in by six burly Albány guards, who set it on a table in front of Tighris-Mögila, removed the jewel-encrusted scabbard without touching th
e metal, and then left.

  The outstretched body of the living ex-king was carefully covered with a single piece of raw white silk, ex­cept for the face, which was left bare. This was overlaid with cloth-of-gold emblazoned with the crouching ochre tiger of the Royal House of Tighris. A belt of diamonds signifying his rank completed his uniform.

  “Let us pray,” intoned Patriarch Timotheos, being seconded by the Holy Synod, which now consisted of the Metropolitans Mêtrophanês, Konôn, Kyriakos, Eudoxios, Zôïlos, Aphrikanos, Athanasios, Nôe, Serapheim, Symeôn, Dositheos, and Hypatios.

  The solemn mass began. Clouds of incense swirled into the bright morning air. Then the Eucharist, the bread and wine representing the Body and Blood of Christ, was distributed to the communicants, as each of them solemnly presented him- or herself before the altar to receive the greatest gift of all from the hands of the primate.

  As the service began winding towards its conclu­sion, the Thrice Holy Patriarch of Paltyrrha and All Kórynthia moved to the head of Tighris’s tomb, with the Holy Synod standing in two lines flanking the prone but squirming body of the former monarch.

  Timotheos lifted his hands in supplication, saying: “Whereas it hath pleased Almighty God to remove our Sovereign King and Lord, the High and Mighty King Kyprianos, Third of that name, from his throne and from his station, let there be remembrance of his name for thrice times thirty generations, let the metropolitans and the lords and all the children of the church cherish his memory as king from generation to generation, for ever and ever.”

  “Amen,” echoed those present.

  “We beseech the Archangels Gabriêl, Mikhaêl, Raphaêl, and Ouriêl to sanctify our former king at the feet of the Almighty. May God receive him and welcome him into His family.”

  “Amen,” came the universal response.

  But amid such signs of peace, the former King Kipriyán began screaming to himself in horror, as the great figures of the angels suddenly surrounded him, forcing him to face the cancers eating away at the inside of his immortal soul.