The old witch swept an errant strand of grey hair from her eyes, and squinted at the runes. She ought to go to the healers, she thought, but conjured herself a pair of floating reading lenses instead.
There was a knock at her door. Another caller.
“Do you think he’s really gone?” Laurel Kent asked.
“I am here, am I not?” said the older woman. “Do you think I would be on Tharn, if I thought Lord Mordru’s return was imminent”
“And why
have you come here, Mysa?” asked Laurel.
“I have no intention of seeking the position of Archchancellor again, if that is what you are asking,” said Mysa. “Nor do I hope to be named to one of the Continental Principals. No doubt I will be conscripted into some level of the new government; if so, I will serve honorably. Mostly, though, I hope to continue my studies, and reconnect with old... acquaintances. My acolytes. Argenius, of course.”
“Argenius?” Laurel started in surprise. “The quarter-demon?”
“He is my son,” said Mysa, simply. “Didn’t you know that? Really, Laurel, you must come down from your Ebony Tower more often. Of course Mordru will return eventually. He has lived for centuries, and will live centuries more. He has, to an extent, learned patience. Five years, ten, perhaps. He will rebuild a base of followers.” She paused, considering. “You seem rather concerned, considering that you were part of the coalition that brought him into power the last time.”
“He supported the expansion of Necromantic Study,” said Laurel Kent. “Few on the Sorcerer’s World would.”
“Ah, the one-issue voter,” said Mysa. “Don’t be embarrassed. I know how persuasive Mordru can be. But perhaps, in Necromancy, you have chosen the wrong issue to champion? Mordru raised zombies against the Galaxy three decades ago, and now, black wraiths and revenants. We will be spending some time and effort cleaning those infections from their hiding places on the Sorcerer’s World.”
“Necromancy can be abused, yes,” said Laurel. “It is somewhat more easily corrupted into a Black Art. It can be used to bring Death… but it is also about control over Death… preserving Life… The years I was held captive by Ivo and the Manhunter…”
“Yes, yes,” said Mysa, waving her hand dismissively. “I, also, have been held against my will, tortured, and abused. And by Mordru, if you recall.” Mysa examined the girl carefully. “There are fates worse than death, you know, Laurel.”
The young girl looked skeptical.
“Because I have so strenuously opposed Mordru,” Mysa continued, “I have allied myself with those who have fought him for centuries. I am acquainted with some who measure their life-span in millenia. But they, too, know that one day they will die. No one can live forever. And their last day will be just as brief as yours or mine.”
“I would like to forestall that last day as long as possible,” said Laurel. “I cannot think of anything worse than Death-- non-being-- annihilation.”
“Laurel, one of the great joys of my life is introducing my friends to one another,” said Mysa. “Perhaps you would like to meet someone. Hear his story.”
“
Am I your friend, Mysa?” asked Laurel.
“I use the term loosely,” said Mysa, “But, yes. He calls himself Prince Therion these days. Has a little place over in Handdale Province.”
There are, of course, innumerable shortcuts, magic roads, and hidden paths on the Sorcerer’s World. But Laurel had never traveled like this. Mysa got up, grossed the room, and seated herself again in a comfortable recliner. Her familiar, a little silver mink, leapt into her lap. Laurel looked around. They were elsewhere: someone else’s house.
It was not as elegant as Mysa’s little house. The apartment was all dark walls and dark wood. There was a faint smell of mildew. Through the windows, Laurel could see it was raining in Handdale.
“Welcome, Mysa,” said a voice. “My clock told me I would have guests today. That it is you is a pleasant surprise.”
The voice was deep and mild, but with an odd, muffled, quality, as though the speaker had marshmallows in his mouth.
“Hello, Therion,” said Mysa. Laurel looked in the direction Mysa was speaking. There was a shadowed alcove, and a large… personage… draped in a green-black hooded cloak. No part of him was visible. “You must have quite a clock. Ordinarily, no one can see my future.”
“Ah, that explains it,” said Prince Therion. “I was only expecting a single guest. Still, there is enough refreshment for all.” He waved one cloaked arm at a nearby table. There was a pitcher of juice, or possibly ale, and a dark cake on a clean cloth. “Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte,” he said. “Please, help yourself.”
“May I make the introductions?” Mysa asked. “Laurel Kent- Prince Therion. Prince Therion- Laurel Kent.”
“You have brought me another Beauty?” asked Prince Therion. “Surely you know by now, it is futile.”
“Her appearance is incidental,” said Mysa. “I brought her here to listen to your story.”
“The short version, or the long one?” asked Prince Therion.
“Oh, I think Laurel has time for the extended version,” said Mysa. “Help yourself to some cake, dear.”
Before Laurel could do so, a costume of livery appeared, completely empty of human inhabitant, cut two slices of the black cake, and poured two glasses of golden liquid. Pulling up an embroidered, cushioned chair, the empty clothing motioned Laurel to sit down beside Mysa.
Prince Therion laughed, a sound somewhat between a growl and a grunt.
“No need to be alarmed,” he said. “I’m sure you have seen stranger things on the Sorcerer’s World. As far as I can imagine, the servants are a manifestation of my own will-- I don’t believe they have a will of their own-- but sometimes manifest subconsciously. They are quite harmless. As harmless as myself.” He laughed again.
“Now, where to begin,” Prince Therion mused. “Do you know Earth?”
Laurel nodded, her mouth full of rich cake. The drink turned out to be a mild mead. She swallowed. “My home,” she said.
“Mine as well,” said Prince Therion. “Although, as near as I can determine, I was born in the 2nd century B.C. Near Greece. My parents were King and Queen of a small city-state. We were, like most places those days, at war. My father was killed in battle; my mother took his place at the head of the armies. She was killed in battle, too, but we evidently won the war. I was a small child. The seat of government moved from our castle to a palace nearer the city center, and power moved to my parents’ counselors. I was well cared for, provided with tutors and servants, and given everything I desired. It was imagined that one day, I would take my father’s place as King. I was certainly being taught all the courtly graces.
One night, on the eve of my tenth birthday, while I was asleep, I heard a great clamor downstairs. Someone was pounding at the castle door. None of the servants seemed to hear it. In fact, I could not find any of them. This was not too odd: I had never been to the servants’ quarters downstairs.
At last, the pounding and banging became so annoying, I went and answered to door myself. It was huge, and no small effort for a young boy to open. There was an ugly old woman, standing there in the rain. I could not imagine how such a small person could make such a racket. She asked to come inside the castle, to rest herself, to be provided some refreshment, and a bed for the night. I didn’t want to let her in. I thought she looked like a witch, and I was afraid. Besides, I really didn’t know how to make up a bed, or where to find refreshment, or even how to re-light the fire downstairs. I refused, assuming the haughtiness I thought becoming in a prince. She asked for a small casket of gold to take with her, instead, and she would buy her own lodging. I told her that if there was a casket of gold in the castle, I did not know where it was, and would not have given it to her anyway.
She changed. She transformed. She was no witch, but some god or other in disguise. She upbraided me for my ungenerousness, and told me she perceived I had no love in my heart, for anyone except myself. She cursed me that from that day on, I should become a hideous beast, that all would flee from me, unless I learned to love another, and found I was loved in return. If I had not learned this lesson of love within ten years , I would remain a beast, forever, and never know love at all.
My human servants fled in terror at the sight of me. I was left alone in the castle. This was when I discovered that the curse also provided me with all my physical needs. I found fine clothing hanging in the closets, appearing from nowhere. Rich meals were served to me by invisible servants-- such as the one who appeared here a few moments ago. I would open pantries, and find small casks of gold or jewelry. I had a different crown for each day of the week. But I despaired, for I was utterly alone.
Then one evening, just after sunset, I was strolling in the wood which had grown up outside the castle. I had turned twenty a few months before. I found a merchant-man, lost in the woods, and led him back to my castle. He was astounded by my magical servants, and the riches of the place. Now, the closets filled with fine clothing tailored for him. Starved for human contact, I treated him gingerly and generously. He stayed with me for several days.
He became accustomed to my appearance, and we explored the magic of the castle together. Eventually, I told him of the curse I lived under. He had three daughters of marriageable age, and promised to send them to me. I expressed little hope, but his response was, “What can it hurt?”
I gave him a gift in parting: a chest full of fine clothing, gold, and jewels. But, when he stepped beyond the grounds of the castle, the fine clothing turned to rags, the gold to dross, and the jewels to common pebbles. He was furious, accusing me of tricking him. I had no idea that there was a limit to the castle’s magic, and apologized. For an hour or so, we amused ourselves. On one side of the gate, fine clothing, jewels and gold. On the other, rags, tin, and stones. Ultimately, we watched the transformations in amusement. We did discover that the flowers in the castle garden survived the journey outside the grounds. He took a single rose as proof to his daughters that this was not a dream. The roses in my garden were extraordinary: damasked, crimson and burgundy.
One at a time, the merchant’s daughters came to visit me. Each stayed perhaps three months. They were vain things, easily distracted from my horrible appearance by the riches of the enchanted castle. The eldest was enamored of dressing and redressing herself in fine robes and expensive jewelry. She spent hours in front of the castle mirrors. The second spent her time thinking up tasks for the invisible servants. She seemed to take great pleasure in ordering the silent, empty suits of clothing about. The youngest, though, was different.
Her name was Kalos, and it suited her. At first frightened of me, as her sisters had been, she was also made comfortable and entertained by the magic of the castle, as her sisters had been. However, as time went on, she began to spend less time with frippery, and more time talking to me. She told me her dreams, and learned my history. We shared things about ourselves: our likes and dislikes-- she was very ill-disposed to citrus fruits, I remember. We spent hours just talking together. Eventually, we walked and talked. We ventured beyond the castle, into the woods that had grown up behind it, dressed in our more ordinary clothes. One morning I awoke, and discovered-- by the pain in my heart-- that I was in love with her.
But I could not tell her. She was a mere child of fifteen. She knew nothing about love. I was her dear friend and confidant, nothing more. She shared her secrets with the great beast. I shared mine-- except that one.
At midnight, as the day of my twenty-first birthday dawned, the castle shook. Kalos was alarmed, thinking it was an earthquake. She rushed into my room, just as I was rousing from slumber. I had always dressed in fine robes, playing the part of a human being. But now, she saw me, naked, in my full beastial form. Already frightened, she screamed and cowered in terror. I got up slowly, dressed, and tried to calm her. “It’s only me,” I told her. “Your friend.”
Eventually she did regain control of herself. But I knew what had happened. Ten years had passed since the goddess laid the curse upon me. I was now a beast forever… and the token of it was, that the love I had felt for Kalos had died in my heart.
She stayed another month or so after that. Nothing really changed between us, the castle’s enchantments remained to the same. But for me, everything had changed. In the dungeons, I found some of my parent’s original treasure, and sent Kalos home to her father and sisters with a generous gift. I returned to my castle, and awaited death.
After some years, our country was attacked again. The soldiers came up to my castle. I was fearsomely strong, and would pick up horse and rider together, casting them across the fields. It was an excellent way to exorcise my emotions. It was then I discovered I could not be die. I was literally cursed to remain a beast, forever.”
Prince Therion reached up, and pulled the cloak off his face. He was truly loathsome in appearance, tusks and horns growing haphazardly from his snout. His appearance, at least his head, was something of a cross between a wart-hog, and a wild ram. His thick fur was matted with fresh blood.
“The wounds, however, do not heal,” he said. “Not completely, anyway. Mortal wounds-- what would otherwise be mortal wounds-- do mend, but there is a great deal of scar tissue. I no longer feel love, but I can feel pain. Anger. Hunger. Fear.”
“Compassion,” said Mysa. “Hope.”
“Yes,” said Therion. “Hope is the worst. Oh, let’s not be maudlin, Lady Mysa. And when I say I do not experience love, it is not even in its lowest forms. Even that pleasure is denied me. I am… do people still use the word, ‘eunuch’?”
Laurel nodded.
“Far too much information, I suppose,” said Therion. “I sonic two or three times a day. I even built this little house near a hot springs, where I can cleanse my wounds, and even relieve some of the pain, temporarily at least. I don’t think the goddess expected me to fail. She supposed I would fall in love like any other man, and eventually die. It is a complex enchantment, but not particularly well thought out, in parts.”
“The curse has a clearly Empyrean signature,” said Mysa. “But we have been unable to ascertain what pantheon this goddess hails from. I understand that a few centuries ago, Hermes was convinced to visit here, and was able to heal his wounds, but they just opened up again in a few days.”
Therion nodded. “The Gil’dan sorcerers are particularly interested in my case, at present,” he said. “I have been puzzling healers for centuries, now.”
“What can I do?” asked Laurel.
“Nothing, I imagine,” said Therion. “I suppose Lady Mysa brought you to hear my story, in order to learn some sort of moral.”
“I thank you,” said Mysa. “For your openness, and your hospitality. Now that I am back on Tharn, I will see you more regularly. Stand and bow to our host, Laurel, it is only polite.”
Laurel did so, and had a slight sensation of vertigo. She noticed the color of the floor changing. The faint odor of mildew in the air was gone, and with it, a metallic scent of blood. They were back in Mysa’s little cottage in Khavilah.
![[Linked Image]](https://67.media.tumblr.com/ea9745ec77fa8a074acd6c86b117bf79/tumblr_ogway2BMql1uwm5uqo1_250.jpg)
Previous Thread
