Casmir stood slack-jawed and graceless, feeling himself in the presence of mysteries far beyond his understanding.
Desmei glanced at him sidelong, showing neither surprise nor pleasure. "So you have come."
Casmir made a rather strained effort to regain the initiative which he felt should rightly be his. "Did you not expect me?"
Desmei said only, "You are here too late."
"How so?" exclaimed Casmir in new concern.
"All things change. I have no more interest in the affairs of men. Your forays and wars are a trouble; they disturb the quiet of the countryside."
"There is no need for war! I want only Evandig! Give me magic or a mantle of stealth, so that I may take Evandig without war."
Desmei laughed a soft wild laugh. "I am known for my bitter bargains. Would you pay my price?"
"What is your price?"
Desmei looked out toward the sea's horizon. At last she spoke, so quietly that Casmir came a step closer to hear. "Listen! I will tell you this. Marry Suldrun well; her son will sit on Evandig. And what is my price for this presagement? Nothing whatever, for the knowledge will do you no service." Desmei abruptly turned and walked through one in a line of tall archways into the shadows of her palace. Casmir watched the thin form become indistinct and disappear. He waited a moment, standing in the hot sunlight. No sound could be heard but the sigh of surf.
Casmir swung away and returned to his ship.
Desmei watched the galleass dwindle across the blue sea. She was alone in her palace. For three months she had awaited Tamurello's visit; he had not come and the message of his absence was clear.
She went into her workroom, unclasped her gown and let it slip to the floor. She studied herself in the mirror, to see grim features, a body bony, lank, almost epicene. Coarse black hair matted her head; her arms and legs were lean and graceless. Such was her natural embodiment, a self in which she felt most easy. Other guises required concentration lest they become loose and dissolve.
Desmei went to her cabinets and brought out a variety of instruments. Over a time of two hours she worked a great spell to sunder herself into a plasm which entered a vessel of three vents. The plasm churned, distilled, and emerged by the vents, to coalesce into three forms. The first was a maiden of exquisite conformation, with violet-blue eyes and black hair soft as midnight. She carried within her the fragrance of violets, and was named Melancthe.
The second form was male. Desme'i, still by a trick of time, a husk of sentience, quickly shrouded and covered it lest others (such as Tamurello) discover its existence.
The third form, a demented squeaking creature, served as sump for Desmei's most repugnant aspects. Shaking with disgust Desmei quelled the horrid thing and burnt it in a furnace, where it writhed and screamed. A green fume rose from the furnace; Melancthe shrank back but involuntarily gasped upon a wisp of the stench. The second form, shrouded behind a cloak, inhaled the stench with savor.
Vitality had drained from Desmei. She faded to smoke and was gone. Of the three components she had yielded, only Melancthe, fresh with the subtle odor of violets, remained at the palace. The second, still shrouded, was taken to the castle Tintzin Fyral, at the head of Vale Evander. The third had become a handful of black ashes and a lingering stench in the workroom.
Chapter 11
IN THE CHAPEL AT THE TOP of the garden Suldrun's bed had been arranged, and here a tall dour kitchen maid named Bagnold daily brought food, precisely at noon. Bagnold was half-deaf and might have been mute as well, for all her conversation. She was required to verify Suldrun's presence, and if Suldrun were not at the chapel Bagnold trudged angrily down into the garden to find her, which was almost every day, since Suldrun gave no heed to time. After a period Bagnold tired of the exertion and put the full basket on the chapel steps, picked up the empty basket of the day before and departed: an arrangement which suited both Suldrun and herself.
When Bagnold departed she dropped a heavy oaken beam into iron brackets thus to bar the door. Suldrun might easily have scaled the cliffs to either side of the garden, and someday, so she told herself, she would do so, to depart the garden forever.
So passed the seasons: spring and summer, and the garden was at its most beautiful, though haunted always by stillness and melancholy. Suldrun knew the garden at all hours: at gray dawn, when dew lay heavy and bird calls came clear and poignant, like sounds at the beginning of time. Late at night, when the full moon rode high above the clouds, she sat under the lime tree looking to sea while the surf rattled along the shingle.
One evening Brother Umphred appeared, his round face abeam with innocent good will. He carried a basket, which he placed upon the chapel steps. He looked Suldrun carefully up and down. "Marvelous! You are as beautiful as ever! Your hair shines, your skin glows; how do you keep so clean?"
"Don't you know?" asked Suldrun. "I bathe, in yonder basin."
Brother Umphred raised his hands in mock horror. "That is the font for holy water! You have done sacrilege!"
Suldrun merely shrugged and turned away.
With happy gestures Brother Umphred unpacked his basket. "Let us bring cheer to your life. Here is tawny wine; we will drink!"
"No. Please leave."
"Are you not bored and dissatisfied?"
"Not at all. Take your wine and go."
Silently Brother Umphred departed.
With the coming of autumn the leaves turned color and dusk came early. There was a succession of sad and glorious sunsets, then came the rains and the cold of winter, whereupon the chapel became bleak and chill. Suldrun piled stones to build a hearth and a chimney against one of the windows. The other she wadded right with twigs and grass. Currents swinging around the cape cast driftwood up on the shingle, which Suldrun carried to the chapel to dry, and then burnt on the hearth.
The rains dwindled; sunlight burned bright through cold crisp air, and spring was at hand. Daffodils appeared among the flower beds and the trees put on new leaves. In the sky appeared the stars of spring: Capella, Arcturus, Denebola. On sunny mornings cumulus clouds towered high over the sea, and Suldrun's blood seemed to quicken. She felt a strange restlessness, which never before had troubled her.
The days became longer, and Suldrun's perceptions became more acute, and each day began to have its own quality, as if it were one of a limited number. A tension began to form, an imminence, and often Suldrun stayed awake all night long, so that she might know all to occur in her garden.
Brother Umphred paid another visit. He found Suldrun sitting on the stone steps of the chapel, sunning herself. Brother Umphred looked at her with curiosity. The sun had tanned her arms, legs and face, and lightened strands of her hair. She looked the picture of serene good health; in fact, thought Brother Umphred, she seemed almost happy.
The fact aroused his carnal suspicions; he wondered if she had taken a lover. "Dearest Suldrun, my heart bleeds when I think of you solitary and forlorn. Tell me; how do you fare?"
"Well enough," said Suldrun. "I like solitude. Please do not remain here on my account."
Brother Umphred gave a cheerful chuckle. He settled himself beside her. "Ah, dearest Suldrun—" He put his hand on hers. Suldrun stared at the fat white fingers; they felt moist and over-amiable. She moved her hand; the fingers fell away reluctantly. "—I bring you not only Christian solace, but also a more human consolation. You must recognize that while I am a priest I am also a man, and susceptible to your beauty. Will you accept this friendship?" Umphred's voice became soft and unctuous. "Even though the emotion is warmer and dearer than simple friendship?"
Suldrun laughed drearily. She rose to her feet and pointed at the gate. "Sir, you have my leave to go. I hope that you will not return." She turned and descended into the garden. Brother Umphred muttered a curse and departed.