The Worm Ouroboros, Eric Rücker Eddison [epub ebook reader txt] 📗
- Author: Eric Rücker Eddison
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conductor along the grass walk between the shadowy ranks of Irish
yews, that stood like soldiers mysterious and expectant in the
darkness. The grass was bathed in night-dew, and great white lilies
sleeping in the shadows of the yews loaded the air of that garden with
fragrance. Lessingham felt no touch of the ground beneath his feet,
and when he stretched out his hand to touch a tree his hand passed
through branch and leaves as though they were unsubstantial as a
moonbeam.
The little martlet, alighting on his shoulder, laughed in his ear.
“Child of earth,” she said, “dost think we are here in dreamland?”
He answered nothing, and she said, “This is no dream. Thou, first of
the children of men, art come to Mercury, where thou and I will
journey up and down for a season to show thee the lands and oceans,
the forests, plains, and ancient mountains, cities and palaces of this
world, Mercury, and the doings of them that dwell therein. But here
thou canst not handle aught, neither make the folk ware of thee, not
though thou shout thy throat hoarse. For thou and I walk here
impalpable and invisible, as it were two dreams walking.”
They were now on the marble steps which led from the yew walk to the
terrace opposite the great gate of the castle. “No need to unbar gates
to thee and me,” said the martlet, as they passed beneath the darkness
of that ancient portal, carved with strange devices, and clean through
the massy timbers of the bolted gate thickly riveted with silver, into
the inner court. “Go we into the lofty presence chamber and there
tarry awhile. Morning is kindling the upper air, and folk will soon be
stirring in the castle, for they lie not long abed when day begins in
Demonland. For be it known to thee, O earthborn, that this land is
Demonland, and this castle the castle of Lord Juss, and this day now
dawning his birthday, when the Demons hold high festival in Juss’s
castle to do honour unto him and to his brethren, Spitfire and Goldry
Bluszco; and these and their fathers before them bear rule from time
immemorial in Demonland, and have the lordship over all the Demons.”
She spoke, and the first low beams of the sun smote javelinlike
through the eastern windows, and the freshness of morning breathed and
shimmered in that lofty chamber, chasing the blue and dusky shades of
departed night to the corners and recesses, and to the rafters of the
vaulted roof. Surely no potentate of earth, not Croesus, not the great
King, not Minos in his royal palace in Crete, not all the Pharaohs,
not Queen Semiramis, nor all the Kings of Babylon and Nineveh had ever
a throne room to compare in glory with that high presence chamber of
the lords of Demonland. Its walls and pillars were of snow-white
marble, every vein whereof was set with small gems: rubies, corals,
garnets, and pink topaz. Seven pillars on either side bore up the
shadowy vault of the roof; the roof-tree and the beams were of gold,
curiously carved, the roof itself of mother-of-pearl. A side aisle ran
behind each row of pillars, and seven paintings on the western side
faced seven spacious windows on the east. At the end of the hall upon
a dais stood three high seats, the arms of each composed of two
hippogriffs wrought in gold, with wings spread, and the legs of the
seats the legs of the hippogriffs; but the body of each high seat was
a single jewel of monstrous size: the lefthand seat a black opal,
asparkle with steel-blue fire, the next a fire-opal, as it were a
burning coal, the third seat an alexandrite, purple like wine by night
but deep sea-green by day. Ten more pillars stood in semicircle behind
the high seats, bearing up above them and the dais a canopy of gold.
The benches that ran from end to end of the lofty chamber were of
cedar, inlaid with coral and ivory, and so were the tables that stood
before the benches. The floor of the chamber was tessellated, of
marble and green tourmaline, and on every square of tourmaline was
carven the image of a fish: as the dolphin, the conger, the cat-fish,
the salmon, the tunny, the squid, and other wonders of the deep.
Hangings of tapestry were behind the high seats, worked with flowers,
snake’s-head, snapdragon, dragonmouth, and their kind; and on the dado
below the windows were sculptures of birds and beasts and creeping
things.
But a great wonder of this chamber, and a marvel to behold, was how
the capital of every one of the four-and-twenty pillars was hewn from
a single precious stone, carved by the hand of some sculptor of long
ago into the living form of a monster: here was a harpy with screaming
mouth, so wondrously cut in ochre-tinted jade it was a marvel to hear
no scream from her: here in wine-yellow topaz a flying fire-drake:
there a cockatrice made of a single ruby: there a star sapphire the
colour of moonlight, cut for a cyclops, so that the rays of the star
trembled from his single eye: salamanders, mermaids, chimaeras, wild
men o’ the woods, leviathans, all hewn from faultless gems, thrice the
bulk of a big man’s body, velvet-dark sapphires, crystolite, beryl,
amethyst, and the yellow zircon that is like transparent gold.
To give light to the presence chamber were seven escarbuncles, great
as pumpkins, hung in order down the length of it, and nine fair
moonstones standing in order on silver pedestals between the pillars
on the dais. These jewels, drinking in the sunshine by day, gave it
forth during the hours of darkness in a radiance of pink light and a
soft effulgence as of moonbeams. And yet another marvel, the nether
side of the canopy over the high seats was encrusted with lapis
lazuhi, and in that feigned dome of heaven burned the twelve signs of
the zodiac, every star a diamond that shone with its own light.
Folk now began to be astir in the castle, and there came a score of
serving men into the presence chamber with brooms and brushes, cloths
and leathers, to sweep and garnish it, and burnish the gold and jewels
of the chamber. Lissome they were and sprightly of gait, of fresh
complexion and fair-haired. Horns grew on their heads. When their
tasks were accomplished they departed, and the presence began to fill
with guests. Ajoy it was to see such a shifting maze of velvets, furs,
curious needleworks and cloth of tissue, tiffanies, laces, ruffs,
goodly chains and carcanets of gold: such glitter of jewels and
weapons: such nodding of the plumes the Demons wore in their hair,
half veiling the horns that grew upon their heads. Some were sitting
on the benches or leaning on the polished tables, some walking forth
and back upon the shining floor. Here and there were women among them,
women so fair one had said: it is surely white-armed Helen this one;
this, Arcadian Atalanta; this, Phryne that stood to Praxiteles for
Aphrodite’s picture; this, Thals, for whom great Alexander to pleasure
her fantasy did burn Persepolis like a candle; this, she that was rapt
by the Dark God from the flowering fields of Enna, to be Queen for
ever among the dead that be departed.
Now came a stir near the stately doorway, and Lessingham beheld a
Demon of burly frame and noble port, richly attired. His face was
ruddy and somewhat freckled, his forehead wide, his eyes calm and blue
like the sea. His beard, thick and tawny, was parted and brushed back
and upwards on either side.
“Tell me, my little martlet,” said Lessingham, “is this Lord Juss?”
“This is not Lord Juss,” answered the martlet, “nor aught so
worshipful as he. The lord thou seest is Volle, who dwelleth under
Kartadza, by the salt sea. A great sea-captain is he, and one that did
service to the cause of Demonland, and of the whole world besides, in
the late wars against the Ghouls.
“But cast thine eyes again towards the door, where one standeth amid a
knot of friends, tall and somewhat stooping, in a corselet of silver,
and a cloak of old brocaded silk coloured like tarnished gold;
something like to Volle in feature, but swarthy, and with bristling
black moustachios.”
“I see him,” said Lessingham. “This then is Lord Juss!”
“Not so,” said martlet. “‘Tis but Vizz, brother to Volle. He is
wealthiest in goods of all the Demons, save the three brethren only
and Lord Brandoch Daha.”
“And who is this?” asked Lessingham, pointing to one of light and brisk
step and humorous eye, who in that moment met Volle and engaged him in
converse apart. Handsome of face he was, albeit somewhat long-nosed and
sharp-nosed: keen and hard and filled with life and the joy of it.
“Here thou beholdest,” answered she, “Lord Zigg, the farfamed tamer of
horses. Well loved is he among the Demons, for he is merry of mood,
and a mighty man of his hands withal when he leadeth his horsemen
against the enemy.”
Volle threw up his beard and laughed a great laugh at some jest that
Zigg whispered in his ear, and Lessingham leaned forward into the hail
if haply he might catch what was said. The hum of talk drowned the
words, but leaning forward Lessingham saw where the arras curtains
behind the dais parted for a moment, and one of princely bearing
advanced past the high seats down the body of the hall. His gait was
delicate, as of some lithe beast of prey newly wakened out of slumber,
and he greeted with lazy grace the many friends who hailed his
entrance. Very tall was that lord, and slender of build, like a girl.
His tunic was of silk coloured like the wild rose, and embroidered in
gold with representations of flowers and thunderbolts. Jewels
glittered on his left hand and on the golden bracelets on his arms,
and on the fillet twined among the golden curls of his hair, set with
plumes of the king-bird of Paradise. His horns were dyed with saffron,
and inlaid with filigree work of gold. His buskins were laced with
gold, and from his belt hung a sword, narrow of blade and keen, the
hilt rough with beryls and black diamonds. Strangely light and
delicate was his frame and seeming, yet with a sense of slumbering
power beneath, as the delicate peak of a snow mountain seen afar in
the low red rays of morning. His face was beautiful to look upon, and
softly coloured like a girl’s face, and his expression one of gentle
melancholy, mixed with some disdain; but fiery glints awoke at
intervals in his eyes, and the lines of swift determination hovered
round the mouth below his curled moustachios.
“At last,” murmured Lessingham, “at last, Lord Juss!”
“Little art thou to blame,” said the martlet, “for this misprision,
for scarce could a lordlier sight have joyed thine eyes. Yet is this
not Juss, but Lord Brandoch Daha, to whom all Demonland west of
Shalgreth and Stropardon oweth allegiance: the rich vineyards of
Krothering, the broad pasture lands of Failze, and all the western
islands and their cragbound fastnesses. Think not, because he
affecteth silks and jewels like a queen, and carrieth himself light
and dainty as a silver birch tree on the mountain, that his hand is
light or his courage doubtful in war. For years was he held for the
third best man-at-arms in all Mercury, along with these, Goldry
Bluszco and Gorice X. of Witchland. And Gorice he slew, nine summers
back, in single combat, when the Witches harried in Goblinland
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