'Ware the Dark-Haired Man
Page 22
He also ordered a search to be made of the monastery compound and grounds, and the brothers dutifully spent the rest of New Year’s Day combing every room, nook, and hiding place in the abbey. The stranger’s clothes were found folded neatly in the cell assigned to him, and his horse was still tethered in the stable. But of the mysterious hieromonk surnamed Kyprianos von Thánátü, there was no sign.
It was a great wonder in Zándrich, which is still talked about to this day.
EPILOGUE
“THANK GOD THAT’S OVER”
Anno Domini 1242
Anno Juliani 882
“Thank God that’s over,” Queen Grigorÿna muttered under her breath, taking care not to wake the other occupant of her bed. She could hear the rough snoring of Hastur Duke (ad personam) of Paltyrrha and Royal Consort. It reminded her of a pachyderm’s lament that she’d first heard at the Zoölogeion in Alexandria—and probably had as much meaning to it!
She carefully eased her way out from under the plush coverings, and walked naked to the open window. The slight breeze of a late summer evening helped scour the pores on her skin, and carry away some of the sooty detritus of—she shuddered at the thought—their love-making. She whispered a spell of renewal, and slowly began to regain her équilibre. She breathed in and out very heavily for a half dozen—a dozen—cycles, and gradually her energy and composure returned. In just a few moments she appeared to shed ten years of age.
The marriage itself had been the highlight of the social season—well, truth be told, of a decade of social seasons in the Kingdom of Kórynthia—with the actual revelries being spread over three weeks of nonstop feasts and fêtes and folderol, culminating in the afternoon’s slow-motion ceremonial at Saint Konstantín’s Cathedral, presided over by the Patriarch himself. Everyone, including her new husband, seemed to be very happy with the setting, with the bonding, and with the outcome.
But that was nothing, nothing at all, compared to the humiliation of her semi-public deflowering this evening by her new Duke Consort—the hasty Hastur. Fortunately, she’d found an herb in Mösza’s old pharmakeia that gave a new meaning to the order, “be upstanding,” and the old man had come through with his usual stern uprighteousness. Gad, never again! Of course, there was no possibility of a child, but no one else needed to know that fact. Indeed, she was counting on her courtiers, noblemen, and councilors all to anticipate constantly the imminent prospect of an heir being born to the second reigning female monarch of the Obsidian Throne. Ha!
Well, she’d already made other plans. Little Lord Ferdy, grandson of Grand Duke Zacharias, had already been designated her primary heir in her will; and, if the Great God allowed, would eventually be adopted by the Queen with a more suitable dynastic name.
She returned to her bed, and planted a suggestion in her new husband’s brain that he sleep soundly till the middle of the morning, when, revived, rested, and refreshed, he would return to his quarters in the East Wing, full of self-satisfaction over his unexpected performance of the night before—and never questioning her absence.
Then she donned a white undershift and a robe of power, removed herself to her private transit alcove, and slipt betwixt the leys, pulling on one strand in particular. She vanished with a slight pop of air.
But Hastur Duke of Paltyrrha sighed, rolled over on his back, snorted a few times, and then opened his eyes and sat up in bed, smiling to himself.
The witch is gone! And while the cat was away, the mice would play.
He stretched his limbs, watching them crack as they straightened and smoothed out. He flexed his right leg backward at a right angle, something which in an ordinary person would have snapped that individual’s kneecap—but then, he was no ordinary person. Indeed, he wasn’t even Duke Hastur, that silly old goat!
He flung back the quilt that had covered his flesh, and ambled over to the Queen’s albaurum mirror—her transit device—admiring his own nude reflection therein. He was tall and thin and albino in coloring. He grunted, and his now-full head of hair suddenly turned a deep jet black, so dark that one could almost lose one’s soul in that bottomless pit of soulless tar.
“’Ware the Dark-Haired Man!” he said, making a gesture with the fingers of his right hand.
And the visage staring back at him morphed into the face of a harmless and gentle old matron, smiling benignly at the thought of the little thing that she’d accomplished.
“Were you successful, my old friend?” she asked.
“Oh, yes, dear Mösza,” he said. “You’re going to be a grandmother!”
AFTERWORD
“I LEAVE A FEW DOORS OPEN”
Anno Domini 2012
Anno Juliani 1652
One of the things that old authors tell young authors is never to fall in love with your own works, but to maintain enough of a distance from your own creations that you can actually edit, rewrite, and improve them. Of course, I do edit my novels and stories, and so does my dear wife and soulmate Mary, whose wise counsel has improved many of my tales.
However, I’ve never been overly successful myself at following that particular adage, although I do realize that certain of my fictions are better than others. So, I sometimes wind up preferring Brand X over Brand Y, for no obvious reason except that one represents what I would like to read in some other writer’s work—or that another appeals to what I consider important in both life and letters. Or, occasionally, just because it seems to me that one has more energy than another.
My literary sins of omission and commission are many, I’m certain, but this trilogy of historical fantasies, which was called The Dark-Haired Man in its first, integral incarnation, remains among the favorites of my own work.
The experience of penning this narrative is one of the highlights of my life. It just seemed to write itself, with a gush of creative fervor that’s never been repeated. Yes, I’m a better writer now than I was back then, and yes, I understand the art of wordmongering more than when I started; but, gentle reader, this one made such a bleat of joyous arrival that it remains an affectionate favorite of mine—and always will.
I love the setting, I love the characters, I love the magic that I created; and all of it seemed to mesh together as if another hand had fashioned it out of the æther for me. I have no idea whence it came: it just appeared, every night, over the course of two months and two days of nonstop writing—and, mirabile dictu, it worked.
I used pieces of my own memories and background and reading and...and, well, just everything. And it worked!
As with all of my creations, some readers approve of my fiction—a few very highly—and some don’t—a few very stridently. Sorry, but I can’t please everyone all the time, or even a few of you at any time. I write, in the end, for myself and for Mary, and if even one of you out there likes what I do, well, that’s a bonus to me.
I divided the original novel of TDHM into this trilogy to try to make it more salable in the present market, which is heavily oriented towards ebooks and audiobooks. In the process, I’ve expanded the running story of Princess (later Queen) Grigorÿna as a frame for the three books, and I’ve had a great deal of fun doing this. I tried to sync her later character with that of the young girl who’s warped at an early age by her association with powers beyond her ken, and I think I was successful at doing that.
As usual, I leave a few doors open here. Whether or not I will ever have the time or energy to walk through those several entry- and exit-ways is very uncertain. I had sequels planned to the original work that have never materialized, although I have written elsewhere of Nova Europa and the magical universe in which it’s lodged.
When I finish the division of the original novels into thirds, this next year, there’ll be a dozen finished glimpses into this most interesting of fictional vistas. Maybe, just maybe, there’ll be more someday. I do hope so.
If you like my little creations, please do let me know. I would love to hear from you. I can be found at my website,
www
.robertreginald.com
—Robert Reginald
San Bernardino, California
28 December 2012
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Robert Reginald was born in Japan, and lived in Turkey as a youth, plus a half dozen different U.S. states. He starting writing as a child, and penned his first book during his senior year at Gonzaga University. He settled in Southern California in 1969, where he served as an academic librarian for forty years. He currently edits the Borgo Press imprint for Wildside Press, having turned in more than 1,200 volumes in seven years, and has also penned more than 137 books and 13,000 short pieces.
His fiction titles include: twelve Nova Europa historical fantasies in four trilogies (2004-13): Melanthrix the Mage, Killingford, ’Ware the Dark-Haired Man, The Righteous Regicide, The Virgin Queens, The Prince of Exiles, Brother Theo’s God, Questions and Questings, Whither Goest Thou?, The Cracks in the Æther, The Pachyderms’ Lament, and The Fourth Elephant’s Egg; The War of Two Worlds science fiction trilogy: Invasion!, Operation: Crimson Storm, and The Martians Strike Back! (2007/2011); a science fiction novel in The Human-Knacker War series: Knack’ Attack (2010); a future dystopia, Academentia (2011); two Phantom Detective period mysteries: The Phantom’s Phantom (2007) and The Nasty Gnomes (2008); a comic mystery, The Paperback Show Murders (2011); and three short story collections: Katydid & Other Critters: Tales of Fantasy and Mystery (2001), The Elder of Days: Tales of the Elders (2010), The Judgment of the Gods and Other Verdicts of History (2011).
He’s also edited several anthologies: Choice Words: The Borgo Press Book of Writers Writing on Writing (2010), Yondering: The First Borgo Press Book of Science Fcition Stories (2011), To the Stars—and Beyond: The Second Borgo Press Book of Science Fcition Stories (2011), Once Upon a Future: The Third Borgo Press Book of Science Fcition Stories (2011), Whodunit?: The First Borgo Press Book of Crime and Mystery Stories (2011); More Whodunits: The Second Borgo Press Book of Crime and Mystery Stories (2011), The Christmas Megapack: Yuletide Stories (2012), and The Second Christmas Megapack: Yuletide Stories (2012).
You can find him at:
www.robertreginald.com