by Steven Brust
Miska gave him a quick glance, but made no other reply.
Morrolan said, “You have, then, his coach?”
Miska shook his head. “I gave it into the care of the servants who came to look for his body.”
“And so, you must use your feet to return?”
“Yes, my good Morrolan, if I return.”
“Ah, then you may not return?”
“It is possible that I won’t return, or that my return will be delayed. There is nothing waiting for me there.”
“And so?”
“And so, I drink. I drink, and I wait to see what is in the cup fate sets before me. It is not a bad life, Dark Star. You do the same, only—”
“Yes? Only?”
“Only you are unaware of it.”
“Perhaps you are right. Then, you believe that some fate or destiny has caused us to meet?”
Miska shrugged. “Who can say?” He drained his glass, then, and stood up suddenly, appearing perhaps a bit unstable on his feet, but he said, “Come. Let us continue your quest.”
“What, this very instant?”
“Why not?” said the coachman.
Chapter the Second
How Morrolan Met Someone
Who Was Not, in Fact, a Goddess
Morrolan nodded and stood, leaving his wine unfinished, taken by a sudden desire to move forward in his mission. “Yes, let us do so, then,” he said, and followed the coachman out of the house and into the street. The air was clear and bracing after the closeness of the public house, and very dark, as this Eastern village had not yet found a way to light its streets, so the only light came from that which spilled, as it were, out of a few windows behind which lamps or tapers were burning.
As they stepped out, they were greeted by someone who said, “A very pleasant day to you, sir. I see that you found a room.”
“Why, yes,” said Morrolan. “And I thank you, sir, for your assistance earlier.” We need hardly add that the irony of Morrolan’s statement was lost on Erik, for, of course, it was he who had spoken.
“Good evening to you, Erik,” said Miska. “I hope the night finds you well.”
“Why, as it chances, it does,” said Erik. “And I hope the very same to you, uh …”
“Miska,” prompted the coachman.
“Yes, Miska,” said Erik. “That is right,” as if Miska required reassurance. “Are you two off to visit the goddess?”
“Goddess?” said Morrolan. “I was unaware that a goddess had taken up residence here.”
“How, you were unaware of this fact?”
“Entirely, I assure you.”
Miska said, “Tell me, my dear Erik, when this goddess arrived.”
“Oh, as to that, I have not the least idea in the world. But I know she is here, for I saw her not five minutes ago near the chapel.”
“That,” said Miska, “is a good place to find a goddess.”
“Why, do you know, that thought had not occurred to me.”
“Well.”
At this, Erik smiled and continued on his way.
“A goddess?” said Morrolan.
“I hardly think so,” said Miska. “Were it, in fact, a goddess, the good Erik would have identified her as something else entirely.”
“Ah,” said Morrolan.
“Nevertheless,” said Miska, “I see no reason not to walk over to the chapel and make our observations.”
“Yes, let us do so.”
This decided, they set off, Miska leading through one or two turns of the little streets of Blackchapel, until they came to the place for which the village was named. The original Blackchapel, was, in fact, no more than a large black rock of the type the wizards call sparkstone, which, coming to the height of an Easterner’s chest, was peculiarly flat on the top, giving the appearance of a high table, or altar, and stretching out some five feet in length, and perhaps three or four in depth. Upon its discovery, somewhere far back in prehistory, it became, quite naturally, a place where the Easterners would gather to practice their primitive rites. At times the altar was open to the sky, at other times it was covered by some structure or another.
The most recent form of the temple had come to be several hundred years before, when a priest of the Three Sisters, who were much worshiped in the East, caused to be built a small temple around it, made of sparkstone, obsidian, pumice, and other black stones that could be found in the district, from which the village soon gained its name. There were two large stone doors to the chapel, also black, which would have been difficult to open were they, in fact, ever closed; but by custom they remained open at all times, and it was at these doors that our friends at length arrived.
Upon entering the chapel, which was lit by half a dozen torches evenly spaced upon the wall to the left and the right, and which emitted thick, oily smoke that blended into the dark walls and ceiling, they at once saw a figure standing at the altar, facing them.
“Well,” remarked Miska quietly. “Erik was closer to the truth than I’d have thought.”
This comment was drawn from Miska by the sight of the individual who stood at the altar, and was, perhaps, more of a comment on Miska’s taste in female beauty than in any attribute of this person. On the other hand, we cannot but admit that “beauty” as the concept might apply to an Easterner is not something of which this historian could claim to have any knowledge or appreciation—indeed, it is obvious that such an abstraction as “beauty” is hardly meaningful except within a species. This said, however, it does not mean that the historian can abnegate his duty of sketching, however briefly, every new person who brings himself to the reader’s attention, and with whom the reader will be expected to spend some time. This description may appear before the individual appears, as the individual appears, or even, in some cases, after the reader has come to know the individual more or less well; but appear it must, and so, the time being so convenient, we will pause now to say two words about the woman who faced our friends from across the altar of Blackchapel.
She was, then, small, even by Eastern standards, slight, with dark hair around a narrow face dominated by large, bright eyes, and she wore a plain black garment, rather like a robe, save that it was belted at the waist and fit rather snugly, and, as that was all our friends could see as they entered, it will have to do for our initial sketch.
While her frame was slight, her voice was strong as she said, “Greetings, my friends. I have been expecting you.”
“How,” said Morrolan. “Expecting us?”
“For some reason,” murmured Miska, “that does not astonish me.”
“Yes, indeed,” she said. “I knew the time, and the place, although I did not know you would be a, that is, I did not know who precisely. And I knew you would be accompanied by a guide, although I did not know the nature of the guide. I take you to be a coachman, sir?”
Miska bowed at this.
“There are many stories of coachmen.”
“Indeed, madam. And coachmen, on their part, take revenge by telling stories of everyone else.”
“Yes, I have heard of this. And your name, my good coachman?”
“Miska.”
The woman nodded. “Very well, Miska. You have done well. Here is your fee.” So saying, she threw him a small purse, which he caught out of the air.
“How,” he said. “That is all for me?”
“You wish more?”
“Indeed.”
“What more would you wish?”
“How much is available?”
“Nothing,” said the woman.
Miska sighed. “Well, I should at least like to know how this all comes out in the end. You perceive, it might give me another story.”
“I have no doubt,” she said, “that you will come to learn about it, sooner or later. But for now …”
Her voice trailed off, her sentence punctuated by an eloquent look. Miska interpreted the look, bowed to each of them, and, addressing Morrolan, said, “Well, at least some of your t
asks are now completed.” With this he backed out of the chapel, leaving Morrolan alone with the strange woman.
“I am called Arra,” she said after Miska had left.
“I am Morrolan.”
“Morrolan?” she said. “‘Black Star.’ An auspicious name”
“I hope so. And who—”
“I am a priestess.”
“Ah! Yes, of course. I should have realized. A priestess of—?”
“The Demon Goddess. I serve her. You will serve her as well.”
“You think so?” said Morrolan.
Arra nodded. “Yes,” she said. “In fact, I am entirely convinced of it.”
“Well then,” said Morrolan. “Perhaps you are right. But will you do me the honor to explain why I will do this?”
“Because you wish for knowledge, and for power.”
“And I can gain these things by serving the goddess?”
The priestess indicated by a sign that, in fact, he could.
“Well,” said Morrolan, “I do not wish to say that I doubt you—”
“That is good. You should not doubt me.”
“—but how am I to know that serving her will lead me to knowledge and power?”
“Oh, you wish to know that?”
“Yes. In fact, I so strongly wish to know, that I cannot conceive of committing myself to the goddess before this question has been answered.”
“But then, what do you know of the goddess?”
“Very little. I know that her feast day falls in the winter, and that she is one of the Daughters of Night, and that she is said to take an interest in certain of the smaller kingdoms.”
“Have you heard that she takes an especial interest in those who study the arts of the witch?”
“I had not heard this. In fact, I had thought that was one of her sisters.”
“They are sometimes hard to tell apart.”
“Very well.”
“Nevertheless, it is true.”
“Then I accept that she interests herself in the study of the Art. What next?”
“Next? She is very powerful.”
“That is but natural in a goddess.”
“That is true, but, moreover, she is loyal.”
“Ah! She is loyal, you say.”
“I not only say it, but I insist upon it.”
“Well, I admit that makes a difference.”
“And then?”
Morrolan suddenly found himself in one of those moments where the direction of one’s whole life can change in an instant. Another might have hesitated, but Morrolan was not of a character for hesitation, and, moreover, he had set out from home with the idea in mind of putting himself into the path of just this sort of event.
“Very well, I accept,” he said. “Is there a ritual or a ceremony?”
“Yes, exactly.”
“Well, when shall we perform this ritual?”
“Unless you can think of a reason to delay, well, we can do so at once.”
“I can think of no reason,” he said.
“Then let us begin,” said Arra.
Morrolan went forward to the altar and, towering over Arra, he said, “What, then, must we do?”
“Will you agree to serve the goddess?”
“I will.”
“Very well, then.”
“How, that is it?”
“No, but it is a good beginning.”
“I see. Well then, what next?”
“Next is the consecration.”
“Ah, the consecration!”
“Exactly.”
“Well, but—”
“Yes?”
“What is being consecrated?”
“Your soul, to the goddess.”
“Ah.”
“Then you have no objection?”
“None at all. One’s soul must do something, after all.”
“That is true, though I had not thought of it in precisely those terms.”
“And from this, I will get power?”
“You will.”
“And will there be a cost for this power?”
“Of course.”
“And that is? For it is always good to inquire as to the cost.”
“Yes, I understand that. Well, the cost will be that you must serve the goddess.”
“Oh, I have no qualms about serving her.”
“It is good that you do not. Next, when you die—”
“Yes?”
“She will then have disposition of your soul.”
“What happens when I die does not concern me excessively.”
“That is good. Then can we begin?”
“I nearly think so.”
“Very well, then.”
As to the exact nature of the ritual through which Arra led Morrolan, we must confess that it has not come down to us; indeed, even if it had, we would no more reveal its details than would a Discreet reveal the intimacies which had been confided to him. Yet we can say that the matter consumed several hours, and involved various rare herbs, long incantations, body paints of certain colors, some amount of blood from both participants; and was, as far as Morrolan was concerned, physically and emotionally exhausting. When it had at last been concluded, at very nearly the exact hour of midnight, Morrolan fell into a deep sleep, stretched out behind the stone altar.
While he slept, Arra cleaned up the devices and material which had been used in the consecration, and, while she did so, Morrolan had a dream, which he later reported this way: “I was standing knee deep in a large, calm lake, that seemed to be Lake Vidro, only there were no trees along the shore, only large boulders. And as I stood there, I thought that I was looking for something, but I could not remember what it was. Then the water was disturbed, and a whistlefish broke through the surface and looked up at me, and it seemed that its eyes were two jewels, one green and the other red. After it had looked at me for a moment, it dived into the lake, and I knew I was to follow it. I did so, holding my breath, and under the water, which in my dream was very clear, I swam easily to the bottom, and there I saw, sticking in the sand at the bottom of the lake, surrounded by glittering light, a short black staff or wand. I took it in my hand, and it came away easily. I swam back toward the surface, which now seemed an impossible distance away, and I thought I should never make it, but at last, just as my lungs seemed ready to burst, I broke out onto the surface, and at that moment, I woke up, gasping for air.”
This is how Morrolan tells the story of his dream of the black wand. We confess that Morrolan is capable of exaggeration, prevarication, disingenuousness, and making something up out of whole cloth, wherefore we cannot insist upon the truth of the matter.
In any case, it was dawn when he emerged from the chapel, the Easterner called Arra behind him, Morrolan appearing pale and exhausted.
Morrolan said, “What now?”
“Well, how do you feel?”
“How do I feel?”
“Yes. Do you feel at all different than you did last night?”
Morrolan considered this question carefully, and at length he said, “Yes. I do. It is difficult to describe—”
“You feel as if there is a presence, just past the corner of your eye. You feel almost as if you were being watched, but by a benign presence. You feel as if you had a way of touching something that you didn’t have before, only there is nothing there to touch. Does that come close?”
Morrolan considered for a moment, then said, “No, I cannot say that it does.”
“Well, you are right; it is difficult to describe.”
“Yes.”
“At all events, your soul is now consecrated to the goddess, so that anything you do, you do for her. And anyone who attempts to thwart you, will be thwarting her.”
“It is an honor,” reflected Morrolan.
“It is that,” agreed Arra.
“Well, what now?”
“Now we begin to gather witches.”
“Gather witches?”
“Exac
tly.”
“You must explain why we would wish to do this.”
“I shall do so at once.”
“Then I am listening.”
“Are you aware that when two witches work together, they can create a spell more powerful than either acting alone?”
“I have heard that, yes.”
“Can you imagine a hundred witches working together?”
Morrolan thought for a moment, then said, “No.”
“It can be done, as long as there is a focus.”
“Ah. And what is the focus?”
“I am,” said Arra.
“We will gather a hundred witches?”
“With the blessing of the goddess, we will gather a thousand.”
“A thousand! Well, I think that will be enough. But where will we find them?”
“They will come to us.”
“How, they will come to us?”
“Yes. They will hear of Blackchapel, and they will come.”
“How do you know?”
“The goddess has told me.”
“Then I shall not dispute with her.”
“You are right not to.”
Morrolan looked out into the morning of Blackchapel and considered the future.
Chapter the Third
How a Dragonlord with an
Ambitious Cousin Considered
The Possibility of
Becoming an Emperor
We will now, with the reader’s indulgence, turn our attention from a place so far east that it is beyond the old border of the Empire at the time of its greatest expanse, to a place that is very nearly at the western edge—that is, to the far northwestern region of the continent, on a peak called Kâna, in the Kanefthali Mountains. It behooves us, before going on, to say two words about the district in general and this mountain in particular.
In the earliest days of the Empire, when the seventeen tribes (or sixteen, or twenty-one, depending on whether the number is submitted by a culturalist, a biologist, or a rationalist) united under the Dragonlord Kieron the Conqueror and the Phoenix Zerika the First and began moving east, among the first discoveries was a mountain range filled with, in the first place, large veins of iron ore, and, in the second, the race of the Serioli, who were mining this ore and turning it into such objects as were useful to themselves, many of which were also useful to the seventeen tribes. Here arose one of the first disagreements between Kieron and Zerika, a disagreement eventually won by the Phoenix, who, after using the newly created object that would come to be called the Imperial Orb to solve the language problem, negotiated with the Serioli for much of this ore, for the secrets of bladesteel, and for the rights to a portion of the mountain range itself. This portion centered around four of the mountains: Koopyr, famous for its large twin peaks where so much mountain buckwheat was grown and for its fertile valleys where oats grew and flatfoot sheep grazed; Needle-at-the-top and Redground, with their rich iron veins; and Kâna, which looked back north upon the others, with vineyards and orchards along her lower slopes.
