For, beyond the smoke and the licking flames, another equine form began to grow. . . . They say that Lord Urar-Tuan was heard to gasp in that instant, the only time he had shown emotional vulnerability. He took several steps forward and reached out with his hand in an almost pitiful gesture of longing.
Here before him was the moment of fulfillment, the point for which he’d been studying the most ancient wisdom for endless seasons. Before him, Illusion Himself wavered in and out of time and place, His bluish equine form—chosen to complement the golden form of the mare, which was a mystical representation of the year of birth of Egiras, and which was incidentally known to be a particular temptation to Illusion— His form was burning with a different, cooler fire than the flame that had created the fire-mare out of the blood of Egiras. And, seeing Illusion Himself at last, Lord Urar-Tuan howled.
He cried out his exuberance, his glory, to the incandescent skies. And then he spoke ancient words that he knew were the most powerful kind of mortal-wrought binding.
“I attach you to me!” he repeated in all the languages known in all the lands that rimmed the horizon. “With the strength of my desire, my spirit, and my very life! In the same way, I bind myself to you—when you breathe, I breathe, when I die, you die!”
He spoke thus, knowing that what he was creating was a paradox, for a god could neither die nor need to breathe.
And thus, neither would he.
Because from this moment on, bound to the Lord of Illusion, Urar-Tuan knew he would become immortal.
The stallion in the form of electric blue flame stood at the side of the fire-mare. And then He approached with his muzzle to caress the mare which turned its Egiras-eyes of fathomless darkness to the Lord of Illusion.
You have what you asked for, mortal, said a voice in the wind, like a great void, and was miraculously heard by all—to which they later swore—from their hiding places around the caravan.
And in the balance, I have you. Do you understand the arrangement?
“I understand, oh yes!” exclaimed Urar-Tuan, an insane smile breaking out on his normally composed fine features. He took another step and reached out with his hand to touch. . . .
“No, father!” came the thin voice of little Egiras. She still stood with her back to them, and would not turn. And yet she knew what was taking place.
“Do not try to hold him, father. . . . You cannot hold Illusion, no one can. . . .” she whispered.
“What do you say, foolish girl?” hissed Urar-Tuan, whipping his head to stare at her, his face a roil of madness.
“You think you do, but you do not understand.” She finally turned around, slowly, and now the Lord could see that she was terrified but had been hiding her child-eyes. And still looking at his daughter, Lord Urar-Tuan put his hand upon the bluish flame of Illusion.
And felt nothing.
For there was nothing to feel or to touch.
And in the burning wind, out of the void came laughter.
You have bound yourself to quite another thing, mortal. Unlike me, this is a corporeal being, and its nature is incandescent air. And while I am nothing but directed thought, he is shaped by the matter of your mortal world, and in that form he can be destroyed.
“What . . .” whispered Lord Urar Tuan.
He is Mirage, and his true name is Tazzia. Take him, for he is my poor distant brother. Mirage often pretends to be me, and yet Mirage is the one I mock, for he is ruled by the forces of your world, and has little control over his manifestations.
But now, you’ve changed that. You have given him a ridiculous mortal form, and anchored him in the corporeal reality by the very nature of your being. Behold!
And as the voice of Illusion spoke and was somehow heard by all, a third equine shape began to shimmer into being at the center of the fire.
He was translucent at first, and then his hide acquired the gleam of mother-of-pearl and his mane and tail streamed incandescent white in the flames. He shook his head and neighed in amazed protest, and then stepped out of the flames and onto the white desert sands.
“No!” cried Lord Urar-Tuan, “This is not what I want! I must have you, Illusion!”
In a manner of speaking, it is exactly what you have, said the mocking divine voice, as the blue Illusion-stallion began to fade. Enjoy Tazzia, foolish mortal. Torment him to your heart’s content, and thus give me my pleasure. Because now you are fully mine, and in your final hour I will come for you to lead you into the ultimate Illusion. . . . And Lord Urar-Tuan howled once again, this time in fury, and he struck the beautiful creature Tazzia on its fair noble head. And the divine horse of mother-of-pearl cried out in pain, yet could do nothing but stand before him in shock.
Egiras turned away and began walking to the caravan. She did not watch her father call for ropes and roughly harness and bridle Tazzia, nor did she care to see that the fire continued to burn unattended, and in it still stood the golden mare of flames—an empty husk of illusion and her own drops of blood, on the border between existence and dissolution.
“How do you like the story?” said Zuaren, as the moon began to dip to the horizon. “I tell it well, and the telling inflames my blood also, to be reminded of this. For, as I serve Lord UrarTuan, every moment I spend with Tazzia I have to pretend cruelty. That is his way with Tazzia, and he expects no less of his hirelings. He has no use for Tazzia—he cannot sell him nor make him do his bidding nor even gain pleasure from his divine beauty. But he can cause it pain and delude himself that it is the Lord of Illusion and not Mirage that he tortures in useless revenge. . . .”
Nadir sat thinking in silence. He thought of Tazzia dissolving in the cold of night unto eternity, and yet unable to, and of its pain. He thought of this man before him, a soldier-guard who was yet oddly merciful and wanted justice.
Or did he?
Should Nadir believe this one, this Zuaren?
Who was he, in truth? What did he want?
And yet what did it matter, thought Nadir, when he had no other real choice but to accept his words. At least this one offered him a promise—he would help him get the cup back somehow.
As though Zuaren could read his mind, he said, “Now, remember what I told you earlier, that I would help you regain what is yours, what has been taken away from you?”
“Yes. . . . But how would you do that?”
Zuaren drew close to him, and suddenly grinned. “Tomorrow,” he whispered. “You will see. But in return you must do something for me.”
“What?” Nadir asked suspiciously.
“You will know it when I ask you, and not any earlier.”
“But—”
“If you cannot do this, then admit it now, boy. I will not hold you to anything. We part our ways, and you pretend I never told you any stories.”
“Why are you so eager to help me? How do I know you will not rob me and take the cup for yourself, just like the Lord Urar-Tuan?” said Nadir, his eyes intense. “How do I know anything?
Why should I believe anything you say, or trust you?”
“To tell you the truth, I don’t know. Why should you trust me indeed?” Zuaren said, pulling back and taking another bite of bread, and then opening a flask of water to wash it down. And then he pointed at the horizon and at the moon, which was almost hidden away. “My turn for the night watch is coming up, little man. I need to go and wake Grego, so that I can officially tell him to go back to sleep, and then, as soon as he does, I can get some sleep myself. Tazzia will not go anywhere, not in his condition, nor is he able to, because of the Binding. The only reason the Lord has us guard him is so that other idiots do not attempt to steal him. It has happened before. If it happens again, it will only wake everyone up, since Tazzia cannot venture more than one hundred feet from Urar-Tuan without beginning to scream in pain like a divine minion of hell.”
Nadir listened to this with interest.
“Why don’t you sleep now, boy, and think of what I’ve told you? Tomorrow let me know what you
decide. But once you promise, there is no turning back. You will do what I say when I tell you.”
Nadir nodded, and then got up in silence. He crept in the darkness back to his pack-beast and fell asleep soon after, curled up in an old cotton blanket on the bare cold sands. The next day, as the brilliant sun rejuvenated the desert, Nadir had made up his mind. There was something about Zuaren that he did not quite trust, something peculiar that made him pause in doubt.
As he passed the Lord’s great tent and saw once again the iridescent creature Tazzia which he now considered only in pity, and then saw the pale-eyed guard’s handsome face, he hesitated. Nadir stood impassive as Zuaren greeted him and winked at him. And then Nadir said one word only. “No.” With that he turned away.
I will get the cup back myself, he thought. I will do it my own way. When the heat grew more intense and it was nearly noon, Nadir came up to one of the merchant caravans, leading behind him his pack-beast.
“I want to sell this animal,” he said to the old bearded man, dressed in fine cotton, who stood next to a number of beasts herded in an enclosure of wagons. There were camels and dromedaries, and some mules and donkeys, not to mention some small wiry ponies. They were being readied for auction. All were full-bodied, with glistening hides and brushed manes and tailhair. Some had been sold already. The old man took one look at Nadir’s pack-beast, and then back at Nadir, and said, “What?
Are you crazy, boy? What have you got there, an ancient donkey or a pony? This creature is useless to me. It is too old, with a poor skin condition, and I could never resell him to anyone.”
“What would he be worth then, sir?”
The old man began to laugh. “What would you pay me to take him off your hands?”
And Nadir turned away sadly and walked slowly back to Lord Urar-Tuan’s tent.
“What now, boy?” said Lord Urar-Tuan, watching the dark glitter of Nadir’s intense eyes. Inside the tent it was cool and dark, and the Lord’s chiseled face was in shadow.
“I have brought back your gold coins, my Lord,” Nadir said. “All except one. Please take them back and give me back my cup. I will work as much as needed to repay you the one coin that I have used and cannot return.”
Lord Urar-Tuan considered him. And then he said thoughtfully, “If something different had not happened overnight, I would not even be listening to you now. But it did happen. My daughter Egiras tells me that wooden cup of yours has gone dry. She woke up, and it stood near her pillow completely empty—nothing but dry old wood.”
“What? What do you mean?” Nadir said.
“Yes, very peculiar,” said the Lord. “It seems that the cup worked its miracle only for you, or merely when it was in your presence—if it ever did. And now that I think about it, I wonder if the whole thing was not a trick to swindle me out of some gold coins, eh, boy? Was that water trick just some illusion work?”
“No, my Lord!” said Nadir in outrage. “It was all real! The cup saved my life in the desert!
Oh, please, I must have it back!”
“Very well,” said Lord Urar-Tuan unexpectedly. “Now, give me back my gold—all twelve coins. And you can have it.”
“Here are all but one. . . .” Nadir handed the Lord the silk pouch. Lord Urar-Tuan shook his head, as he accepted the pouch and hid it in his clothing. “Then you owe me one gold coin. Until you repay it, that wooden trinket is mine.”
“I will work for you, my Lord!” exclaimed Nadir, bowing his head in gratitude. “I will do whatever you require!”
And then Lord Urar-Tuan smiled darkly. “Good boy,” he said. “I knew there was a reason I liked you. Well then, I need no more cooks or servants, nor any other domestic hires, for now. Therefore, your task is to be my daughter’s obedient companion and plaything for seven days or so while we travel the desert toward the East. My Egiras gets lonely and bored when she has no one to play with, and on this journey she has had no adequate companions. You are the only one near her age, so you will do well.”
“Oh . . .” Nadir said. As the Lord was speaking this, he began to feel a sudden cold rise inside of him, a clamoring dark fear, a sense of impending fate.
And when it was over, because he had no other choice that he could think of, he slowly nodded in acquiescence.
“Excellent,” said the Lord. “Now go on, and keep her well entertained.” And then, just before Nadir had turned to do as he was told, Lord Urar-Tuan added, “But remember, boy, if she complains about anything, our agreement is nullified and I keep the cup.”
Hearing that, Nadir went still and felt his insides drain of all emotion, becoming like stone. Like her father, Egiras was an excellent tormentor—maybe even more so. Nadir had learned it after no more than half an hour in her presence.
Egiras, the pretty porcelain doll, had her own cozy little room inside the great tent. Delicately painted cloth divider walls were put up to create partitions. The floor was lined with bright rugs, and there were jeweled trinkets and pillows strewn everywhere.
“You,” said Egiras, barely able to speak the tongue of the desert peoples. “Pick up!” And she pointed at all the items on the floor, all the while staring at Nadir with a frown. The boy glared back at her and then immediately remembered that he was supposed to be an obedient companion. Besides, he knew that his cup was somewhere among her things, and he had to know its whereabouts even though he would not try to take it, being peculiarly honorbound. Thus, swallowing his pride and casting his gaze downward, he started to pick up the sparkling items on the floor, and to straighten the pillows and rugs. He was done in less than five minutes, while Egiras sat on a pillow in the corner, like a little queen, and picked at her tiny painted nails, watching him work from underneath the pearl fringe of her headdress.
As Nadir stood aside, she got up and made a great show of looking closely at the neatness of his handiwork. And then she stomped her little foot and screamed, and started to throw all her jewelry and pillows, so that once again the room was a disaster.
Nadir watched her in silent horror.
“You!” screamed Egiras. “Pick up!”
Nadir’s jaw fell open, and he clenched his fists. But then again he looked down, thinking, Ris, Grandmother! Help me, forgive me, for I deserve this, having taken gold in exchange for water.
Gold for water. . . .
And he began to perform the thankless task once again, in silence. For two days Nadir had been for all practical purposes a slave of Egiras. She had forced him to do ridiculous tasks and to run errands for her, so that the boy did not have a moment to sit down. Nadir had been sent to fetch fruits for her from the vendor, and when he came back with a large bowl of succulent dates, Egiras tasted one, scrunched up her evil doll-face, and threw the rest on the ground outside the tent.
Then Egiras was in the mood to play, and she took out her colored semi-precious rocks and a delicate game board of sandalwood trimmed with ivory. Nadir was shown, with many gestures and many uses of the words “no, idiot” in his language, the basic rules. He went through the moves in sullen resignation, and when Egiras won the first time, she laughed in sheer pleasure, but when she won the next time and the next repeatedly, she started to frown and chattered angrily in her tonal language. Finally, when he lost yet another time, she screamed like a wild carrion bird and slapped Nadir on the cheek, raking him with her sharp little nails and leaving a bleeding mark and an imprint of her metal rings on his dark skin.
Nadir’s eyes were murkier than night with intensity, and yet he did not move or flinch, and continued to stare in front of him.
Unfortunately, this made Egiras even more angry, and she struck him again and threw the game pieces at him in a sparkling jewel shower. And then she got up, her mood changing mercurially, so that she was suddenly remote like ice.
“Go . . .” she hissed, and pointed to the exit.
And Nadir could do nothing but obey—until he was called back again the next time. As he ran about on his various sorry errands, Nadir wo
uld pass occasionally near the place outside where Tazzia was tethered, and he would catch the fleeting gaze of Zuaren’s pale eyes. It seemed the man laughed at him now.
Or maybe it was only Nadir’s broken remnants of pride.
In the evenings and mornings, Nadir was sent to eat with the servants, and that was his only time of peace. He would eat hungrily, shaking with stress and exhaustion, and occasionally would feel Zuaren’s piercing gaze on him.
It seemed the guard was waiting.
After the evening meal Nadir had to return for another two hours or so to entertain the little wicked monster. Egiras had an odd ability not to sleep, or at least never seem to be tired, while the boy would be barely able to keep his eyes open. Finally Egiras got tired of his dullness, and she sent him off to sleep, in disgust.
As Nadir crept to his usual place outside near the large tent, he saw a shadow move, and then recognized the form of Zuaren.
The guard came before him, emerging suddenly out of the thick night like a peculiar god, it seemed, rather than a mortal man. Or so it appeared to Nadir, who was possibly hallucinating in exhaustion.
“How are you surviving, little man?” whispered Zuaren. “Maybe now you have changed your mind? Is your answer still ‘no,’ or do you want your cup back and to be free of your fate?”
“You . . .” whispered Nadir in return. “I don’t know. I—”
“All you have to do is a very little thing. Come now, boy, do it for yourself, for me, and for Tazzia. . . .”
And in the cold darkness of the desert night, Nadir frowned, torn with indecision. Torn, and he did not even know exactly why.
Finally, after an eternity had come full circle in his mind, or a mere blink of an eye, Nadir nodded tiredly.
“Yes,” he said. “I will do it. I hate her so much that I will do it. But only if you tell me what you plan to do. I do not trust you.”
Zuaren grinned. “I am glad, boy,” he said. “You can trust me or not, but I will indeed tell you, and thus reassure you that it is a harmless but clever thing that I plan.”