The Ultimate Weird Tales Collection - 133 stories - Clark Ashton Smith (Trilogus Classics) (128 page)

Maal Dweb regarded them for a little, not without pride in his own sorcery. The struggle had been difficult, even dangerous; and he reflected that his boredom had been thoroughly overcome, at least for the nonce. From a practical standpoint, he had done well; for, in ridding the flower- women of their persecutors, he had also eradicated a possible future menace to his own dominion over the worlds of the three suns.

Turning to that Ispazar which he had spared for a necessary purpose, he seated himself firmly astride its back, behind the thick jointing of the vans. He spoke a magic word that was understood by the monster. Bearing him between its wings, it rose and flew obediently through one of the windows; and, leaving behind it for ever the citadel that was not to be scaled by man, nor by any wingless creature, it carried the magician over the red horns of the sable mountains, across the valley where dwelt the sisterhood of floral vampires, and descended on the mossy knoll at the end of that silver drawbridge whereby he had entered Votalp. There Maal Dweb dismounted; and, followed by the crawling Ispazar, he began his return journey to Xiccarph through the hueless cloud, above the multi-dimensional deeps.

Midway in that pecular transit, he heard a sharp, sudden clapping of wings. It ceased with remarkable abruptness, and was not repeated. Looking back, he found that the Ispazar had fallen from the bridge, and was vanishing brokenly amid irreconcilable angles, in the gulf from which there was no return.

THE FULFILLED PROPHECY

You may set this story down as a case of coincidence. Indeed, you may not believe it at all. But the facts are well authenticated, and to my mind are far too remarkable to be accounted for by the coincidence theory.

I found the first part in an old Telegu manuscript, written perhaps seven centuries ago, and which today is in a private library in Madras. If fate or curiosity should ever take you to that city, and you obtain access to this library, you will discover this manuscript, and may read it for yourself.

The thing purported to have been written by one Vikram Roo, a priest, who in his time was of much importance in Rajahpur, a Kingdom of the Deccan, which ceased to exist, politically speaking, about three centuries ago.

Skipping a considerable amount of literature pertaining to himself, and the virtues of Natha Singh, the then Rajah of Rajahpur, the manuscript ran somewhat as follows:

It was during the reign of this most beneficent ruler (Natha Singh) that the strange event which I am about to relate, occurred.

It happened in the order of things set down by the fate that the omniscient Natha Singh, on a Wednesday, called his viziers about him and sat on his throne in the Hall of Audience to dispense justice to his subjects.

And it came to pass that many cases were judged by the omnipotent ruler, whose decisions were wise and just to all.

At length there entered the Audience Hall a wandering Jacquer. Upon his face were the marks of years, and his long locks were as the snows of the eternal Himalayas.

Natha Singh leaned towards him expectantly, and all present awaited his complaint in silence. For a space he spoke not, his eyes, which glowed strangely, as one who sees many things, fixed upon the Rajah's countenance. At length he spoke, and his words fell heavily upon the ears of the hearers.

"Know ye Natha Singh" he said, "that thy Kingdom shall come to an end. This shall not happen in thy days, or in the days of thy sons. But many years hence when thou and many that shall follow thee are but memories of yesterday, then shall come from the North a great army. And at the head shall ride a warrior on a white horse, whose birth was in a far land. He is a mighty general, and his men are as the sands of the sea. And before them the warriors of the Rajah shall melt as even as snow in the desert. And on that day shall Rajahpur fall, and those dwelling therein be given over to the sword. And before the sun has set, the reigning Rajah shall die, and his Kingdom pass to his conquerors. And after him there shall be no more of thy race, and Rajahpur shall be but a province of a mighty empire. And upon thy throne he of the White Horse shall rule, as a governor holding office under an emperor."

The Jacquer ceased. For a space he stood silently, and then he turned to go. Slowly he passed from the Audience Hall and into the streets of Rajahpur. For a time there seemed a presage of gloom within the Hall, and the Rajah wondered if indeed, this strange prophecy should ever be fulfilled.

But the Jacquer had passed from Rajahpur, and no man might say whither he had gone. In his eyes was the look of one who has seen many things.

Several months later, while at Hyderabad I came across the sequel. A friend to whom I related the story contained in Vikram Roo's manuscript, supplied me with a history of the wars of Akbar. Opening one of the volumes, he pointed out a passage describing the fall of Rajahpur. The book was by a native historian, little known, even in India, nowadays, and was authentic in every particular. The author, who lived during the reign of Shah Jihan, had taken great pains to make his work complete and accurate. The passage pointed out by my friend was as follows:

"Abd-ul-Marrash, the famous general, after his conquests in Rajputana, was sent by Akbar to conduct a war in the Deccan. His extensive and successful services had earned him the entire confidence of his Master, and, in this new campaign he more than fulfilled Akbar's expectations. Abd-ul-Marrash carried all before him. Several minor states he crushed at one blow—— At length he came to Rajahpur, a large and important Kingdom situated in a fertile plain of the Southern Deccan, and ruled over by a prince named Nasir Singh. Nasir's army, which he led in person, met Abdul- Marrash on the plains without the walls. The great general, mounted on a white horse, headed the charge, and carried his foes before him like reeds in a storm. Soon all was over, and Nasir Singh's army, in which was the flower of Rajahpur, lay dead upon the field, or was captive to the conqueror. Nasir himself escaped and reached the city in safety.

"Rajahpur was taken the same day; Abd-ul-Marrash, too impatient to await the following day, pressed on, and ordered an immediate attack. All was carried, Rajahpur sacked, and Nasir Singh slain in a vain attempt at escape, before sunset.

"As a reward for his distinguished services, Abd-ul-Marrash was created subadar, or governor, of this new province."

THE GARDEN OF ADOMPHA

"Lord of the sultry, red parterres And orchards sunned by hell's unsetting flame! Amid thy garden blooms the Tree which bears Unnumbered heads of demons for its fruit; And, like a slithering serpeat, runs the root That is called Baaras; And there the forky, pale mandragoras, Self-torn from out the soil, go to and fro, Calling upon thy name: Till man new-damned will deem that devils pass, Crying in wrathful frenzy and strange woe."

-Ludar's Litany to Thasaidon

It was well known that Adompha, king of the wide orient isle of Sotar, possessed amid his far-stretching palace grounds a garden secret from all men exccpt himself ahd the court magician, Dwerulas. The square-built granite walls of the garden, high and formidable as those of a prison, were plain for all to see, rearing above the stately beefwood and camphor trees, and broad plots of multi-coloured blossoms. But nothing had ever been ascertained regarding its interior: for such care as it required was given only by the wizard beneath Adompha's direction; and the twain spoke thereof in deep riddles that none could interpret. The thick brazen door responded to a mechanism whose mystery they shared with none other; and the king and Dwerulas, whether separately or together, visited the garden only at those hours when others were not abroad. And none could verily boast that he had beheld even so much as the opening of the door.

Men said that the garden had been roofed over against the sun with great sheets of lead and copper, leaving no cranny through which tbe tiniest star could peer down. Some swore that the privacy of its masters during their visits was ensured by a lethean slumber which Dwerulas, through his magic art, was wont to lay at such times upon the whole vicinity.

A mystery so salient could hardly fail to provoke curiosity, and sundry different beliefs arose concerning the garden's nature. Some averred that it was filled with evil plants of nocturnal habit, that yielded their swift and mordant poisons for Adompha's use, along with more insidious and baleful essences employed by the warlock in the working of his enchantments. Such tales, it seemed, were perhaps not without authority: since, fol lowing the construction of the closed garden, there had been at the royal court numerous deaths attributable to poisoning, and disasters that were plainly the sendings of a wizard, together with the bodily vanishment of peopIe whose mundane presence no longer pleased Adompha or Dwerulas.

Other tales, of a more extravagant kind, were whispered among the credulous. That legend of unnatural infamy, which had surrounded the king from childhood, assumed a more hideous tinge; and Dwerulas, who had reputedly been sold to tbe Archdemon before birth by his haggish mother, acquired a new blackness of renown as one exceeding all other sorcerers in the depth and starkness of his abandonment.

Waking from such slumber and such dreams as the juice of the black poppy had given him, King Adompha rose in the dead, stagnant hours between moonset and dawn. About him the palace lay hushed like a charnel-house, its occupants having yielded to their nightly sopor of wine, drugs and arrack. Around the palace, the gardens and the capital city of Loithé slept beneath slow stars of windless southern heavens. At this time Adompha and Dwerulas were wont to visit the high-walled close with little fear of being followed or observed.

Adompha went forth, pausing but briefly to turn the covert eye of his black bronze lantern into the lampless chamber adjoining his own. The room had been occupied by Thuloneah, his favourite odalisque for the seldom-equalled period of eight nights; but he saw without surprise or disconcertion that the bed of disordered silks was now empty. By this, he felt sure that Dwerulas had preceded him to the garden. And he knew, moreover, that Dwerulas had not gone idly or unburdened.

The grounds of the palace, steeped everywhere in unbroken shadow, appeared to maintain that secrecy which the king pre- ferred. He came to the shut brazen door in the blankly towering wall; emitting, as he approached it, a sharp sibilation like the hissing of a cobra. In response to the rising and falling of this sound, the door swung inwards silently and closed silently behind him.

The garden, planted and tilled so privily, and sealed by its metal roof from the orbs of heaven, was illumined solely by a strange, fiery globe that hung in mid-air at the centre. Adompha regarded this globe with awe, for its nature and purveyance were mysterious to him. Dwerulas claimed that it had risen from hell on a moonless midnight at his bidding, and was levitated by infernal power, and fed with the never-dying flames of that clime in which the fruits of Thasaidon swelled to unearthly size and enchanted savour. It gave forth a sanguine light, in which the garden swam and weltered as if seen through a luminous mist of blood. Even in the bleak nights of winter, the globe yielded a genial warmth; and it fell never from its weird suspension, though without palpable support; and beneath it the garden flourished balefully, lush and exuberant as same parterre of the nether circles.

Indeed, the growths of that garden were such as no terrestrial sun could have fostered, and Dwerulas said that their seed was of like origin with the globe. There were pale, bifurcated trunks that strained upwards as if to disroot themselves from the ground, unfolding immense leaves like the dark and ribbed wings of dragons. There were amaranthine blossoms, broad as salvers, supported by arm-thick stems that trembled continually.

And there were many other weird plants, diverse as the seven hells, and having no common characteristics other than the scions which Dwerulas had grafted upon them here and there through his unnatural and necromantic art.

These scions were the various parts and members of human beings. Consumately, and with never faillng success, the magician had joined them to the half-vegetable, half-animate stocks on which they lived and grew thereafter, drawing an ichor-like sap. Thus were preserved the carefully chosen souvenirs of a multitude of persons who had inspired Dwerulas and the king with distaste or ennui. On palmy boles, beneath feathery-tufted foliage, tbe heads of eunuchs hung in bunches, like enormous black drupes. A bare, leafless creeper was flowered with the ears of delinquent guardsmen. Misshapen cacti were fruited with the breasts of women, or foliated with their hair. Entire limbs or torsos had been united with monstrous trees. Some of the huge salver-like blossoms bore palpitating hearts, and certain smaller blooms were centered with eyes that still opened and closed amid their lashes. And there were other graftings, too obscene or repellent for narration.

Adompha went forward among the hybrid growths, which stirred and rustled at his approach. The heads appeared to crane towards him a little, the ears quivered, the breasts shuddered lightly, the eyes widened or narrowed as if watching his progress.