“Yes, Mazlek. Yes.”
His hand settled on half invisible notchings in the wall. I thought it would not open, and almost screamed, but there came a soft grinding sound, and an area of dark stone slid sideways. Beyond, the light tripped itself on the worn treads of thirty steps, which I counted irresistibly as we descended, insanely struggling to keep my hysteria in check. Mazlek, too, was unsteady. The light flicked and slipped on the walls, and I heard his breathing, harsh and uneven.
There was a smell of death—the smell of a tomb.
We reached a stone floor; on either side walls pressed close—a narrow passage. At the end of the passage, a wooden door, simply bolted on the outside.
We stopped, staring at the door. Impossible that in that moment of finding we stood there petrified. Then I ran toward the door, breaking my nails as I scrabbled at bolts, and Mazlek was there too in a second, reaching for others.
The door jerked, and we pulled it open.
The shuddering lamplight jumped on a tiny oblong room, windowless, and carpeted by reeking sacking.
A figure sat facing us, cross-legged, covered in the rags and dirt of its imprisonment. Young, male, silent.
Fair hair, streaked and matted, lay on the shoulders in tangled coils. Slowly the face was raised, catching a little of the light. Black-blue eyes looked into mine. Under the filth, a delicacy, chiseled too fine perhaps, beauty, yet not feminine in the least. ...
“My lord,” I whispered, “Asren—”
I took a step forward, but Mazlek’s hand fell brutal and burning on my shoulder.
“No, goddess.” His voice was tight, bruising as his fingers.
“Why...? Why, Mazlek? Let me go.”
But I knew already. Neither he nor I could hold me back from a brink I had already fallen into.
The boy in the oblong room gave a little gurgling groan, and pulled himself away from the light of the lamp into one corner, where he curled himself into the protection of the fetal position.
I stood very still in the doorway, Mazlek behind, no longer any goal ahead of us, for we had found what we sought—Asren, Phoenix, Javhovor: but behind the eyes—nothing; behind the face—nothing. A brainless, helpless, whimpering thing, trapped in a body we remembered.
“Where is he?” I asked Vazkor.
“Who?”
“The Javhovor, my husband. He was with me before Oparr came.”
“The Javhovor is gone, goddess; he need trouble you no more.”
I remembered many things as I stood in the doorway. I remembered that never once had Vazkor spoken of him as if he were dead. I remembered Vazkor’s story that I had been sick because Asren had tried to poison me—a story I did not believe even then. I remembered the underground room with its draperies and littered floor, and, at the center, gold and precious stuff—the fantastic tomb-case—the empty tombcase. I remembered the Council at Za where the dead man who had been Eshkorek’s High-Lord screeched at me, “Vazkor’s witch-whore!” And the words took on a new meaning, for he must have known what had been sent to rot in his tower fortress—his propitiatory gift to the usurper. I remembered the lost word in the jeweled book of beasts. I remembered—
“Goddess,” Mazlek said.
“Yes,” I said, “yes. I know.”
I stared into the cell again. The creature which had been Asren had uncurled itself, and lay with its back to us on the sacks. My whole body was one throbbing wound of pity, and of disgust—I could not help it, I could not help it.
“Mazlek,” I whispered, “what now? We cannot leave him here—”
“No, goddess. But he is like a child. And afraid. If I take him by force he’ll scream, wake the Warden’s guards and Vazkor’s jackals.”
“Like a child,” I said.
I dreamed I was with Asren, a strange dream, for, though I knew it to be him, he seemed little more than a child. ...
He had turned now, was facing me. The vacant black-blue eyes followed the swinging movement of the yellow silks hanging over my hair. I took Mazlek’s knife and cut one of the strings. I shuddered as I entered the stinking room, but thrust my revulsion down. It was so unimportant. If I had loved, then I must love still ... I held out the yellow silk, the amber marigold shimmering at its end. He gazed at it, and did not flinch from me when I kneeled down beside him. One hand reached up, patted at the shiny toy.
There was a little spark of interest in the wide-open eyes. I put it into his hand.
“Come, Asren,” I said softly. I stroked the matted filthy hair from his face, and took his free hand. He let me draw him to his feet. At the door Mazlek took his other arm.
“Come, my lord,” he said.
I could not see him weeping because of the mask, but the tears were falling under it across his breast in dark streaks.
We left the dungeon, went through the cellars, and up the endless stairs to my chamber. Asren did not make a sound; fascinated by the piece of amber, he did not seem to notice anything else.
3
I went to Vazkor in the morning.
There was a man at his door, as Mazlek had said, but it was easy for me to get by him. It was early, but Vazkor was up, fully dressed though unmasked, seated at a table by the open window, reading from papers stretched before him. I had thought he might still be weak or ill, but he seemed neither. Perhaps my own distress gave his looks, for me, a visual edge, making him invulnerable, cruel and strong.
He rose, and stood looking at me, and at my borrowed clothes.
“Good morning, goddess. I must ask Eshkorek for a golden mask for you.”
“Vazkor,” I said, “I have found Asren.”
His face altered, a slight shifting of the dark planes. Impassively he said, “Really? It must have been unpleasant for you.”
“There is more to it than my displeasure. I have found him, and now I have him in my room. He is under my protection. What you have done to him is unspeakable—unforgiveable—I shall not let you do anything further.”
He regarded me a moment or so longer, then he turned away, and shuffled the papers together on the table.
“If you wish to act as his nursemaid, that is your own affair, goddess. You will have to feed and clothe him, bathe him, help him to achieve his human functions, and cleanse him afterward. Hardly a task I would have designated to your care. However, if it will ease your mind. I would only ask you not to overtax your own strength. You will have a child of your own shortly.”
“A child?” I said softly, feeling I would choke. “A child?Your seed, Vazkor. A thing which will carry, no doubt, the likeness of its sire. Why did you not kill him? Why did you kill only the brain?”
“He may still be of use to me. In his present state I can control him when and how I wish.”
“No,” I said.
“For the present, no,” he amended. “I am glad you have rescued him, goddess. You have perhaps anticipated events in a very fortunate manner.”
“You will not hurt him anymore,” I said.
“You forget, goddess, you also have destroyed men without reason. Your Mazlek will recall, I think, the wagoners you killed, simply to prove they were yours. Perhaps that will be your answer to me—to kill Asren when I come for him.”
I left him, and returning to my room, I thought of how I had kneeled by him in the cave, and wept because of him, and I felt I should go mad.
Yet, I had Asren safe for a while. For a while the black shadow would not trouble us.
He did not seem properly aware of his new surroundings. I could not tell if he were any happier or not.