“Erianthee,” Nimuar greeted his daughter’s return with a slight respect. “We are looking forward to your Shadowshow.”
Erianthee smiled. “I hope it will be to your satisfaction.” Her smile was practiced, learned during her previous stays at the Emperor’s Court, and almost perfected while entertaining the various guests they had had.
Nimuar frowned a little. “Is your sister well? I must assume you looked in on her.”
“Yes. She is fine. She is already preparing to sleep. I made sure she was cared for,” said Erianthee, coming back to the place she had occupied at the table. “You are having the cordial, I see, and most of the candied flowers are gone.” They were, but for a pair of rose-petals.
“Yes. Would you want any?” asked General Rocazin from her seat. “I will send for more.”
“I think not, thank you, neither the flowers nor the cordial. I have to keep my head clear,” she said, the smile continuing as if of its own volition.
“As you wish,” said General Rocazin, and drank down the last of the opalescent liquid in her small cup. With an approving smile, she asked Erianthee, “Do you want to perform on the dais?” It was at right angles to this table, where the High Table was put up for great feasts.
“It would suit me very well,” said Erianthee, and glanced toward the open hearth at the other end of the room, pretending to be struck with a thought as she caught sight of the carving hanging above it. “I haven’t done one of the Womotomaj fables in a while.”
“They’re always interesting,” said Heijot Merinex, a bit too eagerly.
“Would that suit you, Papa?” Erianthee asked, hoping that her father would not be inclined to suggest a different story.
“Which were you thinking of?” Nimaur asked, savoring the last of his cordial.
“The Courtship of Svalen-Tu.” Erianthee managed to make this sound as if it were the inspiration of the moment. “It is a pleasing tale, don’t you think?”
Nimuar’s eyes glittered for an instant, then he nodded his head benignly. “That would be most satisfactory for this evening.”
Only Dinvee made a moue of discontent. “A story for children.”
“You will have grander saga tomorrow night,” Erianthee promised. “It struck me that this would be a diverting entertainment that would allow me to save my greatest efforts for our welcoming banquet.”
General Rocazin tapped the table with her empty tankard. “I believe the story is suitable and will not tax you too greatly.”
“It is short notice for a Shadowshow, even for so talented a woman as Erianthee is,” Bihn conceded. “Let’s have the fable, then, and the grander performance tomorrow.”
Erianthee respected him, thinking that if he liked the idea so well, she ought to suggest something else. “Very well.” She went over to the dais and summoned one of the footmen to approach her. “Bring the low table and set it up near the front. Place my screen immediately behind it and then set the two large standing candelabra at either end of the dais, so that the table is well-lit.”
“You mean, make it the way we usually do, but smaller,” said the footman Yrich, a youth of fifteen who had worked in the castle since he was eleven and considered himself a veteran of grand occasions.
“Exactly. I will use only five Spirits tonight.” Erianthee smiled widely.
“It will take a quarter hour to be ready,” he said.
“That is satisfactory,” said Erianthee. “Make sure the spell-hounds are – ”
“Out in their kennels, so they won’t bay when you begin,” Yrich finished for her. “Of course, Duzna.”
She could tell his feathers were ruffled, so she said, “I know I may rely on you completely. I’m a bit nervous tonight, and so I worry about every possibility.”
Yrich grinned. “You just let us take care of it, Duzna.”
“Thank you; I will.” She turned around and went back toward the dining table, resisting the urge to remind Yrich to set up the chairs for the audience. She noticed her father was waving her to his side. “Yes, Papa.”
“I am looking forward to your creations tonight, Erianthee.” He all but shone with pride. “Your fables are always a joy for all of us.”
“Do you think the story is appropriate?” She rubbed her palms together, preparing to manipulate the Spirits.
The glint in his eye vanished before she was certain it was there. “What could be inappropriate about a story every child over the age of two knows, from the farthest northern island of the Drowned World to the southernmost regions of Fah? They tell it in Pomig with a happier ending, and in Ymiljesai it has vengeance at the finish of the whole. In Haverartbow and Pomig, they have accounts that make it seem as if it happened immediately after the Cataclysm, the rest tell it as we do – in the thousand years after it, during the long Recovery. We talk of the love, and on Ymiljesai they speak of honor, but it is the same story. All of the Great World has variations on this tale; everybody knows one of them, or several. It is one of the Great Myths of the Great World. They probably told it in the Lost Times at the start of the Recovery, or so my studies suggest.”
Knowing her father well, Erianthee realized he discerned what she was up to, and approved of it. She managed a slight respect and glanced at General Rocazin. “Is it satisfactory to you?”
General Rocazin considered carefully. “I suppose you intend to do the version most known here in the Second World?”
“There are variations throughout Theninzalk, General, as well as throughout the Great World,” said Nimuar.
Erianthee was now certain that her father knew her plan; she said, “I will use the one most often told in Otsinmohr, Vildecaz, Cazboarth, Rocaz, Eltsigaranth, and Mindicaz.” Her list of duzkies, principalities, and Porzalk fiefdoms comprised the entire Boarthine Peninsula in the northwest portion of the Theninzalk continent. By choosing such a popular variation on the myth, she doubted her intention would be too obvious. “The version is the simplest: it has Womotomaj and Svalen-Tu, of course; the palace-master, Ihntof; the Kuyumai Aodil; and – “
”And Dojlan ae-Tsomso, the poor guard from Harro-ae,” Dinvee finished for her; she, too, was from Harro-ae, and spoke with as much pride as slyness. “I’d be a most ungracious guest not to want to see a story in which another Harro-aen is hero. How good of you to think of it.”
The scrape of chairs being dragged into place across the stone floor distracted the diners briefly, during which time, Erianthee framed her response. When the noise ended, she said, “A tribute, then, for a new guest.”
Bihn took Dinvee’s hand and finished the last of his cordial. “Nice of you to choose the story,” he said, ever so slightly slurring his words. “That was excellent.”
“Thank you,” said Dochanee Rocazin. “If you would like more, you have only to tell me.”
“Very good, General Rocazin; perhaps when the Shadowshow is over.” Nimuar got to his feet and nodded toward the chairs facing the dais. “I believe they are ready for us.”
“So it would seem,” murmured Dinvee, and looked directly at Hoftstan again; his evident discomfort amused her as she accepted Bihn’s hand to get up from her chair.
“It’s a pity Duzna Ninianee can’t be here,” said the castle-magician, Heijot Merinex as he came up to Nimuar.
“She has seen her sister’s Shadowshows many times,” said Nimuar. “It is better she should recover.”
“Of course.” Merinex agreed hastily. “Should the healing-magician be sent for? One of the footmen might be spared to fetch him.”
“I don’t think it’s necessary to take Zenoch Mai away from his hearth tonight; no doubt we can deal with this here. If my daughter is no better tomorrow, then I will have him come to her.” Nimuar put a hand to his eyes. “I hope the Shadowshow is very bright.”
Merinex knew he was being graciously dismissed.
This being an informal meeting, the guests were free to select where they preferred to sit, and did so, Nimuar being the last to choose
a place; he took a chair in the second row of six chairs, the one farthest from the warmth of the larger fire place, an empty chair between him and Dochanee Rocazin. In the first row, Yulko Bihn had the center seat, Dinvee on his left, Hoftstan Ruch on his right, and Merinex at the end of the row, an empty chair between him and Ruch. Once they had settled down, Erianthee spoke from behind the screen: “Womotomaj’s Courtship of Svalen-Tu.”
“We know,” Dinvee whispered loudly enough to be heard clearly.
Unfazed by this deprecating interruption, Erianthee continued as a figure about two feet tall materialized on the table, coalescing out of nothing, and taking form gradually. “Svalen-Tu of Tirin-Dzur was the most beautiful woman in the Drowned World, sung and celebrated everywhere as beyond compare; yet more than her loveliness and grace distinguished her – she was a weaver of wool and canvas, whose cloth was always without slub or weakness, and of a beauty unequaled by others, so she was sought out by merchants and nobles, by sailors and shipwrights.” The figure changed, forming a hauntingly lovely young woman with masses of long, soft-brown hair and a lovely face in the style of six centuries ago. She sat at a tall loom, and the speed of the shuttle was a blur, so rapidly did she weave. “This was in the ancient days, some centuries after the Lost Times, when many of the gods were still mortals, and the world was recovering from the Cataclysm. In those long-vanished days, the gods had children to send as mortals to aid mankind in the restoration of the Great World, and Womotomaj was among the first to undertake his mother’s command.”
A second figure formed, more quickly and clearly than the first, a strong man with the face of the figure carved over the main fireplace, a face that was at once charming and sinister. “In this time, Womotomaj, the son of Hyneimoj, like his two brothers and three sisters, was proving himself on earth, following the instruction of his mother, and the guidance of his father, Ondirpich, The Influential, who drew his children about the world even as he draws the tides. In his travels, Womotomaj discovered much about the Great World as he taught building in many forms, some of which harkened back to the Lost Times. In many places he heard of this radiant woman who wove flawless cloth, and he determined to voyage to Tirin-Dzur in the Drowned world, to see for himself if she was as accomplished as had been said. So, just after the Crocus Moon, after he had paid homage to Takzei, The Luminous, god-and-goddess of the Moon, twin of Tahmei, the Refulgent, god-and-goddess of the Sun, he set out in the new warmth of the Second Month, as ice was releasing its hold on the rivers and lakes.”
The figure stepped into a newly-formed boat of antique design, and the two sailed the length of the table, then swung around and headed toward the weaver, where they stopped, and the young man strode out of the boat, which became less than a shadow as Womotomaj left it.
“The son of Hyneimoj presented himself to Svalen-Tu as a merchant from far away, one who wished to purchase a great quantity of her weavings to sell on his voyaging and to use for his sails. But he was struck by her beauty and her skill, and that brought desire into his mind.” Erianthee paused as her figures mimed a bit of this conversation. “The more they spoke, the more Womotomaj felt himself enmeshed by the weaver as surely as if he had been the warp and the woof on her loom.”
The Spirit of the Outer Air who had been given the shape and role of Womotomaj flung himself down before Svalen-Tu, his hands joined to beseech her to love him, but the endearing woman said no as gently as she could, and Womotomaj got slowly to his feet.
“Although his heart was sore, Womotomaj’s mind already spinning plots, for he was and is The Fabricator, and plots come to him as readily as castles and bridges. He settled their arrangements for cloth, and he sailed away, promising to return in the Tenth Month, as the autumn nights draw in. He hastened his journey so that he might soon return to Svalen-Tu and resume his pursuit of her.”
The shadow-boat became more real and carried Womotomaj on a circuitous tour of the table-top, until there was a disturbance near the boat in the ripples of Outer Air that created the illusion of water which announced the arrival of the Kuyumai Aodil. “Womotomaj sailed throughout all the Drowned World, dealing his wares and hoping to find one who would advise him on how to win Svalen-Tu.” A figure that was a combination of human and otter rose in the ripples, his laughing face turned upward toward the boat. “In those times Kuyumai were more plentiful than they are now, and Aodil was the leader of more than a hundred of his kind. He asked Womotomaj what he could do to help the son of Hyneimoj, and Womotomaj said that he wanted only the love of Svalen-Tu, and he would be the most fortunate of mortals. The Kuyumai Aodil found this an amusing situation for the son of such a goddess as Hyneimoj, and said so, whereupon Womotomaj felt renewed purpose. He asked the way to Zegul-Gnax, the largest island in The Tail, to the home of Ihntof, the palace-master, who had built great castles and palaces throughout the Drowned World. Long ago, Ihntof had been Womotomaj’s finest pupil, and now Womotomaj needed his help.”
The Kuyumai Shadow led the ship and Womotomaj a complicated voyage among the many islands that rose and vanished as the boat with its single occupant and the Kuyumai approached and passed them. The Shadow-ship sped along the spectral coasts Erianthee conjured up, the Kuyumai Shadow continuing to lead the vessel. Finally a long string of islands appeared, three of them showing great fortresses and castles on them, and one – the central one – topped by a grand palace with domes and cupolas and glistening turrets.
“They had reached Zegul-Gnax, and the Kuyumai, in deference to Ondirpich, promised he would return again and guide Womotomaj back to his beloved.”
Womotomaj stepped ashore, and summoned Inhtof to his side; a new figure appeared, as tall as Womotomaj, but much bulkier. This was Ihntof, the palace-master, a truly imposing figure. “Ihntof and Womotomaj consulted as they climbed to the splendid palace, where Ihntof agreed to create a new palace for Svalen-Tu on the near-by island of Tushan-Loz where Womotomaj could court Svalen-Tu unhampered by the world. They fixed their agreement, and Womotomaj summoned the Kuyumai Aodil to guide him back to Tirin-Dzur.”
The Shadows continued their play, showing how Womotomaj disguised himself as he presented himself to Svalen-Tu as a petitioner from Ihntof, who was known throughout the Drowned World, and the Five Worlds as the greatest builder on the Great World. Womotomaj convinced Svalen-Tu to accompany him, which she did, in spite of the warning song of Kuyumai Aodil, who, with the aid of Ondirpich, guided their ship to The Tail and to Tushan-Loz, where Ihntof had built a palace made of Womotomaj’s magic, and capable of changing itself to accommodate her every whim. There were gardens that delighted all the senses in which marvelous creatures roamed, when birds sang and fountains perfumed the air, where rare fruits grew in plenty, and where even the insects were completely benign. There were grand halls and small rooms delicate as jewel-boxes, with all manner of things to delight her. There Womotomaj laid determined siege to Svalen-Tu, presenting himself to her in a number of forms” – a series of heroic figures rose and vanished on the surface of the table – “until he hit upon the one that Svalen-Tu could not resist, and then he made her his captive, his most dedicated love, for she believed he was not Womotomaj, but Rathmei-Ur, her first love, who was said to have drowned off Liriz-Zai.
“And so on, and so on,” whispered Dinvee again. “Everyone knows the story. No need to drag it out.”
Since Erianthee had been at Court before, loud comments no longer distracted her, and she continued with how Womotomaj, having won Svalen-Tu in his guise made the most of his conquest: he lay with her in every gorgeous room of the palace, dedicating one room to kissing, one to caresses, one to their nakedness, and one to their pleasures when their passions had been spent. But a time came when Womotomaj had to leave Svalen-Tu alone, and so sent for a guard, bringing Dojlan ae-Tsomso of Harro-ae to Tushan-Loz. At first, Dojlan, captivated by his charge, avoided Svalen-Tu for fear of what Womotomaj might do, but gradually he fell in love with Svalen-Tu and revealed his distress at his dawning affec
tion, for Hyneimoj’s son was known to have a dreadful temper. In his apology to Svalen-Tu, Dojlan revealed all he knew, so that she would not think harshly of him.
“Now Svalen-Tu realized she had been deceived, and that her lover was not Rathmei-Ur, but Womotomaj, and her realization destroyed the magical palace. Their appeals to Womotomaj met with derision, and a reminder that life was harsh for those who forsake the sons and daughters of the god. Only the Silent One remains to receive the devotion of those who abjure their devotion.” All the Shadowshow islands and palaces vanished; Svalen-Tu and Dojlan were left on a barren rock, where they should have perished. “They had nothing to sustain them but their love for one another, and they swore that if they could not live together, they would die together. Then Kuyumai Aodil, who had seen what had become of them, took mercy on them and brought them food and bits of driftwood, helping them to construct a boat, and when they had built it, towed them back to Tirin-Dzur, where they lived in dread of Womotomaj’s ire until they grew old. Then, shortly before their lives ended, Womotomaj visited them and asked their pardon for using them so unkindly; they gave him their pardon, and then the trio swore friendship forever, so that when Svalen-Tu and Dojlan died, many, many vials of tears were offered to the Silent One, and the weaver and her guard were enrolled among the lesser god for all they endured.”
The three Spirits of the Outer Air remained in tableau for a long moment, then broke into scraps of light, fading away; after a short silence, the applause began. Erianthee ended the spell and rose from her place behind the screen, then went to acknowledge the guests’ appreciation.
The Vildecaz Talents: The complete set of Vildecaz Stories including Nimuar's Loss, The Deceptive Oracle and Agnith's Promise Page 4
