M’arz’ahn

Rain was a chimera; a hallucinatory anecdote, a cruel dream.

The pervasive wind had finally stilled so I tried to work up enough saliva to spit out the accumulated grit of the morning’s travel, but couldn’t achieve enough moisture to notice the difference and only succeded in scraping my sandpaper tongue across chafed mouthparts.

I looked down from the crest of the hill.

A lazy river curled around the western edge of a mist-coloured city. While waiting patiently for Dauphene or Sandorsen to enlighten me regarding the sight below, I imagined the cool chill of the river-water and the ecstasy of sinking to the bottom of a pool, away from the ubiquitous dust of the prairie.

Emotive emanations passed between the two Sages, but they sat on the baldanders in silence. The sun slowly climbed the sky.

My patience — which had lasted for over an hour — finally ran out. With as much aplomb as I could manage, I asked: “What city lies below?”

Sandorsen replied with a query of his own: “What is it that you see?”

“A city many times larger than my home.”

“Describe it fully, if you would.”

I looked carefully and said, “Imposing walls surround a city of many buildings. A monolith-tower rises out of the city’s hub and thrusts high above the other structures. Radiating out from the tower are eight concentric rings of interconnected buildings.”

Sandorsen gazed downhill and said, “Do you see people?”

A moment later, I replied: “No. No signs of movement. Perhaps it is deserted.”

Sandorsen nodded and said, “It is M’arz’ahn, the ghost-city.”

The Sages slid off the baldanders and began to remove the saddlebags and assorted hardware from the animals. Dauphene strapped her sword to her back and Sandorsen cradled his staff in the crook of his left arm.

As soon as they were unburdoned, the baldanders raced across the prairie at an unbelievable speed and were soon lost to sight; the only trace was a straight cloud of dust many kilometers long that defied gravity, like charged particles suspended in air.

Dauphene and Sandorsen stuffed three packs with supplies and loaded the dzomo with the rest. The dzomo then trudged away toward the north-west, as if she suddenly had a determined will of her own. I gently probed my tender posterior: dzomo do not provide a comfortable mode of travel, yet she’d saved me many dozen kilometres of walking.

Dauphene sat cross-legged on a wind-blown boulder while Sandorsen shouldered one of the packs; he handed a second pack to me and started walking toward the city. I watched as his back receded. His pace was slow and deliberate; nevertheless, his strides were long and he surged downhill like a spring creek: with each step he slid several meters down the steep, sandy bank .

Dauphene said, “I’m opting out of this trip. I’ll see you soon.” I stood there; fear rising, an inexorable tide.

“Best get moving,” she said, “you don’t want to lose sight of him.”

I hurried to catch up, but by the time I drew near I was too anxious to ask questions.

When we’d travelled half the distance to the city a tawny falcon dove from the sky and, with outstretched talons, knocked Sandorsen’s hat to the ground. The bird soared back up and I lost sight of it as it looped back to the south; the falcon’s wake was powerful and I imagined myself sailing up, pulled by its flux-draught.

Sandorsen recovered his hat and mumbled something that sounded like: “Damn fool woman.”

We stopped at the entrance to the city. The archway in the outer wall provided a view of the first row of buildings, which were ancient, dilapidated, adobe structures, the likes of which were beyond my imagination. There was no apparent beginning or end to the buildings: they jotted in and out at odd angles in every conceivable direction: architecture from Escher’s dreams. The ordered, concentric architectural web that I’d viewed from the top of the hill had been an optical illusion. The entire city was built on a gentle slope and the structures had been crammed together in ramshackle arrangements.

A short path led from the archway to a courtyard. Across the courtyard were twelve doorways fanned in a concave semi-circle.

I glanced out the corner of my eye toward Sandorsen.

He was gazing at me, so I turned and looked into his eyes and he said, “I’ve decided to let you guide me through the city as part of your apprenticeship.”

My anxiety increased to a pitiful level; in spite of this, I was determined to show no hesitation. Surely, I thought, he expects me to fail and acquaint me, once more, with humility.

“Okay,” I said, peering into his eyes. “Do I get any hints?”

He gazed deeper: “This is your task: I cannot aid you. Many sorcerers, and their acolytes, have been lost forever in the labyrinth of M’arz’ahn. Be assured, however, that I have the utmost faith in you. Dauphene is certain of your success; she is advising me to ‘…relax and let the young man guide you, free of worry‘. On the other hand, this is not a task to be taken lightly. I’ve never been to M’arz’ahn, yet I did read an intriguing tome written by T’emūdjin that mentioned the city. As I recall, the book was specific on two details: ‘No matter which way you choose, the city may not allow you to retrace your steps’; and, ‘the method you employ to establish the correct route through the labyrinthine-city is the most important characteristic for success.’

“So,” he said, pausing for effect, “which way shall we go?”

I glanced behind, half-heartedly determined to walk out the archway. Regrettably, the archway was no longer there. Two paces behind us was a smooth, twenty meter high stone wall. To the left, and right, multifaceted buildings butted seamlessly into the wall.

I turned back around. There were no longer twelve doorways in a courtyard; instead, a rustic staircase led to a single door that stood open, inviting me to enter. So I did. Sandorsen followed silently.

There was a musty odour inside; not particularly unpleasant, but reminiscent of age and redolent-soaked dreams. I was confronted with three doors. I was careful to not turn my back to any of the doors, each of which had distinctive marks scratched into their surfaces. I gazed at the marks for several moments; suddenly, I knew that the correct path lay straight ahead. The middle door was different. What made it distinct was immaterial; I decided to trust my intuition and I enjoyed a mild sense of accomplishment as I strode through with confidence.

On the other side of the door was a path through a small courtyard with a carp-pond and a maple tree. Two smooth boulders rested in the tree’s shade. I sat on one of the boulders and Sandorsen relaxed on the other. Beyond the courtyard, the path stopped at a wall with six doors set into it. I sat quietly for over an hour; finally, I stood and walked through the second door from the left.

We continued through the labyrinth for three days. The route led us up ladders, through trap doors, off low balconies, into hidden lofts, across peaked roofs, and between, around and through obscure obstacles. We stopped only to eat, sleep, and use bathroom facilities that we found at regular intervals.

On the morning of the fourth day we awoke to a room without exit. The walls, floor and ceiling were seamless. When I turned around to leave, through the doorway we’d entered, it was gone. The wall, like the rest, was seamless.

Sandorsen looked around once and settled in the middle of the floor, quiet and still, in a meditative pose.

I surveyed the room and tested the solidity of all four walls and the floor; with temerity, I borrowed his staff and examined the ceiling by tapping the staff’s head against the uniform surface. I repeated these ministrations at regular intervals throughout the morning: a nervous, nearly constant probing.

Eventually, Sandorsen said “I implore you to desist. You’re annoying him and, although that is a significant accomplishment, I think it’s time to relax.”

I calmed myself down and accepted the hint: I gave him back his staff, sat in a corner and settled into a deep, meditative state. A gentle breeze brushed my face.

I stood and walked into the flow of air; unfortunately, as soon as I stood, the breeze died. I searched the room diligently; particularly the area from which the breeze had blown. I found nothing. Sandorsen shook his head slowly, three times, from side to side.

Once again I lowered myself into the corner and entered a deep state. As before, a breeze caressed my face; this time, I knew it for the illusion it was and let it pass without grasping.

Everything in the city, I decided, was a delusion.

A new sense of consciousness enveloped me. I could sense Sandorsen’s emanations, which bathed the room with luminosity; shards of brilliance pierced me and ignited a flash of perception. Sandorsen’s staff blazed a trail of awareness and, through closed eyes, I saw the walls dissolve. I stood and walked along a dirt path. Sandorsen followed.

The path snaked between a rockery to the left and a sand garden to the right. We walked slowly along the path and through an archway; beyond the archway, an elderly man was curled up, asleep on a wooden bench. At the sound of our approaching footsteps he awoke and stood. His face opened into a wide grin.

The top of his head was hairless: short, thin follicles formed a semi-circle of white from ear to ear around the back of his skull. He was wearing a long, tight, royal-purple coat with a high collar and tails that brushed the ground. The coat was buttoned from his chin to his knees. His pants were black and the pant-legs, in contrast to the coat, were baggy and the loose material rippled in the breeze. The man’s purple shoes were long and tapered to a fine point. His hands were covered with tight, fingerless, leather gloves. His fingers were long and elegant, with clean and manicured nails. His nose was long and pointed, and small ears clung to his head as if fearful of falling. He had long, bushy eyebrows, under which dark, beady eyes peered out of a clean-shaven face that was wrinkled with age. His thin lips barely parted as he spoke:

“Gentlemen! How delightful to have company. Please have a seat while I make tea. I’ll be right back.” He had a musical voice, which streamed effortlessly, with practiced inflection.

He sprang with extraordinary alacrity for a person of such obvious, advanced age. I watched as he walked toward a wall and, at the last moment, turned sharply into a nook in the building and disappeared; I had watched carefully, yet had no idea where he’d gone. His body had flattened and folded into a long, thin, stick figure; unexpectedly, he was no longer there. I looked at Sandorsen, and was going to speak, but he put a finger to his lips and shook his head.

The man reappeared out of nowhere, carrying a tray loaded with a teapot and three small cups. His sudden materialization started me. He said, “How rude of me. My name is Tobias. Unfortunately, it is inappropriate for me to learn your names. I should remark that few get this far in the labyrinth: congratulations and warnings are in order. I will guide you to the centre, but I cannot aid you when you meet her.” As he spoke, he poured three cups of aromatic tea and handed one each to Sandorsen and me. Tobias lifted his cup to his lips and slurped a great wave of liquid into his mouth. Sandorsen imitated the man. I drank in turn.

I hadn’t slurped my tea, which evoked a disappointed shake of Tobias’s head.

We sat and leisurely, yet noisily, emptied the teapot.

When the tea was thoroughly consumed, Tobias stood and gestured for us to follow. He guided us through the remainder of the labyrinth. He insisted that we “…walk as silently as possible and refrain from idle chatter.” He trod the steps of an experienced man; an unhurried, yet wary way, stopping to study each new room or courtyard for various lengths of time — anywhere from a few seconds to an hour — before proceeding.

I had no idea where he was leading us; but, at a deep level, anxiety screamed a warning.

Whenever we stopped for meals, or sleep, Tobias would disappear — as he’d vanished previously when he had left for tea.

He reappeared as soon as we were prepared to resume the journey through the labyrinth.

Whenever the need arose, he unerringly led us to a washroom. These rooms were squalid and permeated with scatological essences and the acrid tang of urine. In one washroom, two men lay asleep on the filthy floor. Tobias whispered that we should “step over the gentlemen and avoid disturbing their rest.”

I glanced at the men as I stepped over their prostrate bodies. Their faces were obscured, their clothing was soiled, and their hair and beards were long and bedraggled. Their bodies exuded an aura of fevered disease.

After several days in the labyrinth, Tobias guided us into in a large, circular room, nine meters in diameter. The ceiling was far above, at least thirty meters beyond the top of Sandorsen’s head. Tobias disappeared.

I suspected that we were now inside the tower, at the centre of M’arz’ahn. Sandorsen leaned close and whispered, “Lair of Lilith,” into my ear.

I searched the room frantically. Sandorsen’s words awoke a nightmare from deep within my paranoid psyche. Lilith: the ancient, malevolent seductress.

I heard her long before I thought to look up. Her limbs flashed with machine-like precision as she scuttled down from the top of the tower; she reached the floor, ambled toward us and when she was within a few meters she stopped and arched her body invitingly. A rhythmic purr resonated through me.

“Be careful,” Sandorsen whispered.

“Quiet!” She hissed.

Sandorsen struck the cobbled floor with his staff and its eyes blazed into wakefulness, like glowing emeralds. Sandorsen expanded: not physically; rather, with a menacing, numinous demeanour. I awoke to a new level of attention.

Lilith smiled. A deep, rumbling laugh stirred through her: “Put away your fancy stick, sweetmeat. It is the young one I want.” Her voice was thick with velvet husk.

She released a cornucopia of pheromones to seduce us: Sandorsen displayed no noticeable effects, I lost my equilibrium.

She glided over to stroke my cheek with the back of a stiletto-fingernail: a filament of pain drawn on my skin. I reached up with my fingers, blood was oozing out of a razor-thin cut.

She raised her hand to capture a drop of blood in her mouth. She licked her lips.

I felt an intense tingling at the crown of my head; awareness flowed up and out. I was viewing events from above, but was also inside my body, watching her with perfunctory attention.

Sandorsen gazed up at me and winked.

Lilith rubbed against my torso and playfully raked my hair with her claws. To my awareness, floating above, the scene was grotesquely sensual; though I was physically nauseated at the thought, I was attracted to her with a desire that was nearly irresistible.

She was a bizarre mutation; a synthesis of woman, insect, and machine. Her beautiful hourglass figure was covered with a skin-tight carapace of black leather; except for her abdomen, which was of crimson red. She wore a tight-fitting, black leather hood which attached to the carapace with a net of delicate straps. Her face was exquisite; with each movement, no matter how insignificant, she transformed into a uniquely stunning woman.

With a thunderbolt of comprehension, I knew lust for what it was. I understood her web of deceit and the surreptitious power of coercion. I sensed where lust came from and why it manifested. My current predicament was analogous to the room without an exit. The spell was broken.

Lilith, the predator, sensed the change and pounced. She had shifted tactics with astonishing speed; nevertheless, to the essence that was me and floated above, she appeared to move with exaggerated sluggishness. I gathered energy and repulsed her; a great hiss escaped, and she scampered up the wall and hid in a dark recess of the tower.

I was back inside my body. I had no idea how I’d fought her. Nor could I recall what I had understood about lust.

Tobias entered the tower through a hidden doorway across the room. He guided us back through the labyrinth, in an unhurried manner, to the spot where we’d first met him. He bowed and bid us farewell.

We re-traced our steps to the first courtyard and we stepped through the archway in the outer wall and discovered that we were on the opposite side of the city from where we’d entered.

I was mentally exhausted and Sandorsen half carried me most of the way to where Dauphene had set up camp, a few kilometres away, by the river.

Dauphene wrinkled her nose in distaste and pointed toward the river.

We found a delightful pool. After we’d bathed, Sandorsen prepared dinner.

The dzomo calmly chewed her cud at the edge of the firelight.

I sat quietly while reactions to the ordeal seeped in (I was saturated with questions, though most were never answered). I reached up with the fingers of my left hand to feel the scar on my cheek. My awareness grasped a vague texture; a spectre of a dream that grounded me with preternatural calm.

No words were spoken after the evening meal; we listened, instead, to the whispers of grasses beyond the glow of the fire.

As I was falling into the welcoming arms of sleep I overheard a hushed conversation between Dauphene and Sandorsen:

Harsh anger bit through Dauphene’s whispered question: “So, was it worth the risk?”

“He did well, but it is a difficult lesson.”

“Was it worth the risk?”

“Perhaps not. But do not forget that he is my charge.”

Dauphene sighed: “I know, Sandy. But it’s so heartbreaking.”

The voices echoed and faded into the night; murmurs in a dream.

Through my closed eyelids the fire cast a flickering, unworldly glow.

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