Alhazred

by Donald Tyson

  “What a haughty expression on the face of that slut,” Martala grumbled. “Who does she think she is?”

  “She is the Princess Narisa of Yemen,” I said, my voice hollow in my own ear-holes.

  Chapter 51

  Martala regarded me as though I had plunged a dagger of ice into her breast. This is the woman you love? The woman you speak about?”

  I nodded, barely hearing her words. Since my expulsion from the palace at Sana’a, I had contemplated Narisa’s perfect features a thousand times in memory, yet to look upon them with my eyes made them appear unreal, a face viewed in a dream. I drank her beauty with the thirst of desperation, trying to fill the emptiness in my heart. When she let the embroidered curtain fall shut and withdrew her white hand, I almost cried out, so keen was my frustration.

  She had gazed directly at me, yet no hint of recognition had stirred in her brown eyes. I told myself that the horror of my mutilated face deceived her memory. I must get closer with my veil of glamour in place, so that she would see me as I had looked while her lover at the palace. Then she would know me and express her joy. A thought rose like an eel from the depths of my mind and I pushed it away, yet it returned, no matter how often I repulsed it. Where was my own joy? Where was my love? I felt only a strange numbness, an unfulfilled expectation.

  Naleen showed no haste to continue on the Damascus road after the last heavily laden camel of the caravan passed, but sat with the reins in her hands, watching it diminish in the distance. Belok came close to the wagon seat and they murmured together in their own tongue. I paid them scant attention. My mind was occupied with the question of whether to follow the caravan immediately, or to wait until after the fall of darkness. I must see the princess face to face. How was I to approach the caravan without arousing the suspicions of her armed guard?

  While I debated this matter, the wagon was driven to the side of the road, and Belok and his brother set about unhitching the horses. It was a curious time of the day to stop, still early afternoon. Had I not been distracted by the ache in my heart, I flatter myself that I would have comprehended their purpose more quickly. As it was, I only understood after they put saddles on three of the shaggy beasts. They had changed their clothing, and wore hats to cover the striped yellow kerchiefs on their heads. Even the boy wore a different shirt.

  Approaching Belok, I laid my hand on his arm as he was about to swing himself into his saddle.

  “Let me come with you. I can be of service.”

  He stared at me, his expression opaque.

  “You know what we do?”

  “Yes. I know you intend to rob the rich caravan that passed. I will help you.”

  “They saw the wounds on your face. They would recognize you.”

  I made the passes of the charm and spoke its word. He nodded grudgingly as my features changed.

  Martala watched me from a distance, hugging her arms across her chest, the hurt still in her eyes. Belok glanced at her.

  “We have only four horses.”

  “The girl will stay behind. If I fail you, she will suffer your punishment.”

  He grunted, probably wondering how much affection I had for the girl. At last he handed the reins of his horse to his son, and walked to the wagon to confer with his wife. To my surprise, she decided in my favor. Belok took back the reins and swung himself into his saddle. Without a glance at me, he ordered Rakk to saddle the fourth horse.

  Martala approached while we watched the boy carry the saddle from the wagon and throw it onto the back of the animal.

  “If you do this thing, no good will come of it,” she murmured, standing near me. “What has changed for you, since last you saw her?”

  “It is none of your affair,” I snapped. “Stay near the wagon. You are their hostage lest I betray them. If you flee they will surely kill me, and kill you when they catch you.”

  “I understand. I will wait for you, Alhazred. Do what you must, but remember my words.”

  Had she demanded to know what lay in my mind, I could not have told her. My thoughts roiled with empty longing and confusion. Determination warred with doubt, pushing the balance first forward, then back. I threw her words away, unwilling even to consider them for fear they might weaken my resolve. After so many months, fate had reunited me to the woman I loved. This could not be an accident of chance, I told myself. There must be purpose to so improbable a conjunction.

  We walked the horses at a moderate pace, following the wheel tracks of the caravan. In late afternoon, we overtook the straggling camels at its rear and swung wide to the left side of the road, as though to escape the dust that hung in a cloud behind the plodding beasts. This was opposite the side we had occupied while the caravan passed the wagon. The riders on the left would not have gained a clear look at any of our faces, though it was unlikely even those who rode on the right would recognize us, so little attention had they given us in their passing. I noticed other solitary riders and small groups, following behind or to the side of the camels. By their appearance, they did not belong to the caravan.

  “Riders alone or few in number always seek security in the shadow of an armed caravan,” Belok explained when he observed the direction of my gaze. “It is considered an uncharitable act to drive them away.”

  From the ease of his manner, it was not the first time he had worked this deceit. His brother sat his horse equally relaxed, but the boy’s face shone with excitement. I guessed it was his initiation into serious thievery. He felt my gaze upon him and glared with challenge. I smiled mildly and looked away, reflecting that ghouls were younger when they went on their first hunt. The test of manhood always came, sooner or later, and had only two outcomes—glory or shame. This was Rakk’s day of trial.

  I could not resist separating myself from my companions and riding forward until I was almost abreast of the gilded wagon. The mounted guards cast their eyes upon me, but said nothing when I made no attempt to approach. To my surprise, the curtains were parted to take advantage of the rays of the setting sun, which made the gold leaf on the side and wheels flash like flame. Narisa reclined on a bed of cushions, her unveiled face to the opening, her cheeks painted with golden light. Beyond her I saw two handmaidens. One knelt and massaged her naked foot with oil while the other read aloud from a book.

  I stared at her face, willing her to notice me. She felt my eyes upon her and glanced at me with disinterest. For a dozen heartbeats, our eyes remained locked. Something stirred deep within her gaze, and her eyelashes fluttered. I knew with certainty that she recognized me. I forced a faint smile upon my lips, feeling like a fool, wondering why my heart beat like a leaden bell. She frowned and her rouge-reddened lips became hard. Without turning her head, she spoke several words to the servant at her feet. The girl reached over and drew shut the curtains of the wagon. They closed across an expression of disdain on the face of the princess, an expression I knew well, but one reserved for her slaves and servants, never before cast upon me.

  One of the guards noticed my interest in the wagon and made a curt gesture with his hand, warning me to drop back. I let the pace of my pony slow, and fell back into step with Belok and his kin. I was scarcely aware of what I did.

  Narisa had recognized me, of that I was certain. I had anticipated that she would struggle to contain her joy, would laugh aloud, weep, rise from her seat, call out my old name, but I had seen only reserve and irritation in her countenance.

  She has forsaken you, my love.

  Sashi’s inner voice held a note of satisfaction. I tried to ignore her words, refusing at first to consider them. She was a jealous creature, that I already knew, and would say anything to weaken my love for Narisa. Yet, as I searched the image in my memory in vain for any trace of welcome or affection in the dark eyes of the princess, I realized that Sashi spoke the truth. Was I so greatly changed from my ordeal in the desert that I
no longer stirred her love? Or had her mind broken after being compelled to witness my punishment, and rejected all affection for me?

  My thoughts grew so troubled, I scarcely noticed Ell in casual conversation with one of the mounted guards of the caravan. He rode back to rejoin us and caused his mount to fall into step beside his brother.

  “This is the bridal caravan of a princess of Yemen.” He spoke in Arabic for my benefit. “She goes to be united with her husband in Constantinople. A marriage of political convenience, arranged by her brother, the king. The caravan carries her dowry.”

  At this final word, Belok’s dark eyes widened.

  “The wealth carried on the backs of these camels must be great,” he said. “No wonder there is so strong a guard.”

  The words of the younger brother brought blood pounding in my ears. I tightened my hands on the reins of my mount to keep my balance in the saddle, and fought down sickness in my belly. Narisa was pledged to another man. The marriage contract had already been signed, and now she journeyed to consummate her union with her husband. Reason enough to reject me. Yet still I wondered that she had shown such coldness, and what action I should take. Martala’s words returned to me. Nothing had changed. I could never be a husband to Narisa in my present state. Even so, how could I allow her to give herself to another man and lose her forever?

  The evening camp of the caravan occupied a large space, with a dozen fires burning at intervals around the gathered wagons. When we left our horses hobbled and sat at the edge of a fire, the soldiers who tended it made no attempt to drive us away. They shared their bread with us, and Belok gave them some of the salted goat meat he had brought on the journey. The soldiers laughed and joked among themselves, for the most part ignoring us. Their numbers made them careless. Apart from two posted guards, who stood leaning on their javelins, few bothered to glance out at the surrounding darkness.

  Belok leaned over to speak to me in a low murmur.

  “Can you move without noise?”

  The absurdity of a man asking a ghoul whether he could move silently through the darkness almost caused me to laugh aloud. Repressing this urge, I nodded with a solemn expression.

  “I am going to teach you a great secret of my people. It is the only way you can serve us.”

  “I am honored by your trust,” I lied.

  He turned his body as though to warm his back at the fire, and I did the same. In the shadow of our backs, he passed me a slip of parchment. Opening it, I distinguished a curious symbol inscribed with what appeared to be blood. The fire’s glow that passed between our bodies lit a prick of red on the tip of his index finger, and I knew it was his own blood on the parchment. He made a gesture with his hand. I watched closely while he repeated it, then imitated it.

  “Good,” he nodded with satisfaction. “Now listen closely.”

  He spoke a word in his own language. I let him speak it a second time, then repeated it. He made me repeat the word several times until he was satisfied with my way of speaking it.

  “Our goddess has given us power to steal from those who are not her worshippers. Those near enough to hear the word of her charm fall into a deep sleep.”

  “I have heard of such a trick used by necromancers,” I said. “A hand with candles on its fingers, made from human fat.”

  He spat on the ground.

  “This is a holy thing I teach you, not a trick.”

  Chagrined by his manner, I felt my irritation mount.

  “Why am I not asleep? You spoke the word to me.”

  “First we speak the word, then we make the motions of the hand. That causes the charm to function. If the gesture is made before the word is uttered, there is no effect. How else could we teach this charm?”

  I could not argue with this reasoning. I wondered if the charm would work for a man that failed to worship his goddess, who could only be Shub-Niggurath. If so, it would be a useful magic to acquire.

  “The sign on the parchment gives power for only one night beneath the moon,” he added, as though reading my thoughts. “The rays of the sun frustrate its working.”

  “What if the moon is below the horizon, or does not show her face?”

  “No matter. As long as the sun has set, the spell will work.”

  The hour grew late, and the campfires burned down to embers. The soldiers and slaves wrapped themselves in their cloaks and settled onto their sleeping mats beside the warm circles of stones. The murmur of voices diminished, until only the grunts of the camels as they shifted against their restraints could be heard, mingled with the faint but ever-present night sounds of the stony land. I lay beside Belok, his brother and son on his opposite side. He gave a skillful imitation of a man asleep, breathing gusty sighs interrupted with the occasional snort from his nose.

  These deceiving snorts ceased, and I felt his finger touch my thigh in the darkness.

  “It is time,” he whispered.

  I saw the vague bulk of his shadow rise up and work its way around the edge of the glow from the dying embers of the fire toward a night guard, who stood with his face turned away. He moved with almost no sound on the small pebbles and loose sand, not as silently as a ghoul, but with greater skill than I expected. When he was near enough to the guard to touch, I saw his mouth move. The guard began to turn, and he made the gesture. Slowly, the knees of the soldier buckled and he collapsed with a soft sound to the ground.

  Ell and Rakk immediately gained their feet and began to move around the campfires, whispering the word of the charm and making the gesture over the sleeping forms of the soldiers and slaves. The few who stirred into wakefulness at their approach were stilled with the charm. They kept well apart from each other. I realized that if one were to speak the word of the charm and make the gesture within hearing of the other, the hearer would be put to sleep, and I took care to move far enough away from them as they worked to avoid overhearing the word. The other night guard stood watch on the opposite side of the wagons. The Thugians worked their way around the encampment. Soon, everyone outside the wagons lay entranced.

  Rakk moved toward the gilded wagon of the princess. I approached quickly and set myself between him and its curtain.

  “This wagon is mine,” I murmured.

  There was enough glow from a nearby hearth to illuminate his face. He smirked in that knowing way of his, so unnatural in a child.

  “She is beautiful. Do not take too long, or my father will become angry.”

  He left me for the next wagon. Belok and his brother were occupied with the piles of packs that had been removed from the camels, evidently content to allow the boy to put the occupants of the wagons into trance.

  I tried to part the side curtains of the gilded wagon, realized they were tied shut from the inside, and used my dagger to slit them apart by sliding its blade up the gap where the curtains met. Through this opening I reached my arm and released the ties at the bottom of a curtain by touch, so that I could pull it aside. Gentle breathing came from within the wagon. With utmost care, I eased my body through the opening and knelt until my eyes adjusted to the faint ember glow from the hearths that found its way into the interior.

  There was more space in the wagon that I would have guessed. The princess slept on the cushions of her bed beneath a blanket of soft wool. Her handmaids lay on the floor, one beside her and the other at the foot of the bed. I crawled to each slave in turn and whispered the word of the charm into her ear, then made the gesture. Neither showed any change, leaving me to wonder if the charm had worked. Moving with caution, I raised myself and sat upon the side of the bed. I did not know what I intended to do or say. For several minutes I did nothing except sit and gaze at the shadow of her face, which grew brighter as my eyes became more accustomed to the gloom inside the wagon. She had the face of an angel.

  Upon a table next to the bed I noticed a
brass lamp, and beside it what could only be a tinderbox. Some impulse made me open the tinderbox and strike its flint on steel. The flutter of flame on the tinder seemed bright. I touched it to the wick of the lamp. A steady glow filled the wagon. The handmaidens continued to lie unmoving upon the floor, giving me some hope that the charm was effective. In the warm light of the lamp, I studied the features of my beloved. A vague dissatisfaction stirred in my heart, but I pushed it away.

  Her eyes fluttered open, lazy with sleep. They rolled from side to side, then fixed upon me. I touched my fingertips to her parted lips. She seized my wrist in both her hands, her long nails digging into my skin, but continued to stare at my face, making no attempt to thrust my hand away.

  “I came back for you, Narisa,” I said, sliding my fingers off her lips.

  “Whatever you want, take it and go. If I scream, my guards will kill you.”

  Her manner puzzled me. Beneath her fear was a gathering resolve. I saw no expression of love, yet I knew she recognized me, as she had earlier in the day.

  “Can you speak this way to your lover?”

  “My lover is dead,” she said coldly. “He died in the Empty Space. I am traveling to join my husband.”

  Her feigned indifference should have driven me to fury, but I felt nothing apart from a distant sadness.

  “Don’t you remember our pledge? We swore to be faithful to each other forever.”

  “Children say foolish things,” she hissed, anger gathering in her eyes. “I am a married woman. I do not know you.”

  My own anger rose in response. I took the glamour away from my face.

  “Do you know me now?”

  She spat into my face and started to rise. I held her down, and she began to struggle and kick.

  “You are no more than a thief. I will call for my guards.”

  As she filled her lungs with air, I spoke the word of the sleep charm in a quiet voice and made the gesture. Her eyes closed, and the breath slowly sighed from her lips. Her face softened into the face of the child I remembered, the child I had loved once, but loved no longer.