Lomones flipped through the rest of the book. “There’s nothing more written.”
“So you finished?”
“I suppose. But it ends on a strange note.” He sighed and leaned back, rubbing his eyes. It was dark except for a single bowl of water which glowed and provided light for the whole room, but night was creeping in and even the White Swan feather’s light faltered. Without the light, the room looked eerie. The walls were covered with tapestries of Diamea, spun with a fine thread that would glitter with colors when there was light. However, when there was no light, he appeared dark and menacing and only his purple eyes flashed...
“Hypnotizing, isn’t it?” Alzan said, watching Lomones intently. “When I open the windows, it almost looks like he’s flying.”
“It’s a good tapestry.”
“That’s putting it mildly. Sometimes, I wonder whether Diamea is alive, but just trapped in that tapestry. It’s divinely made, that tapestry is. I don’t know the artist, but maybe that’s just as well. The divine is always hidden.”
“Diamea’s dead.”
“Like I said, the divine is always hidden.”
Lomones set his lips grimly and flipped through the pages with its barely readable scrawl. Many of the pages were blurred with mud and a few pages were hopelessly wet, either by tears or rain – Lomones couldn’t decide. Some of the entries were clearly a result of ink experimentation. The entries from the forest clearly smelled like pinesap whereas some of the pages from the time of homelessness had a stench that Lomones didn’t even want to guess at. And then the entries themselves...
“Why did you make me read this?” Lomones finally said.
“Let me tell you a story.”
~
You are aware, first, that I have spent the last twelve years with the humans here? Don’t look nervous – I have not harmed them. My coming down to them was in peace. My students, if I may call them that, had been transforming into humans and mingling with these people for years, and they said that being with the humans was a pleasant experience. They asked me to join them several times in reverie, but I declined until now. I was under the impression that these people would not be interesting – it suffices to say that I was wrong and I have enjoyed my stay here very much. The people have been kind to me, though they were under no obligation to be kind, and I have never experienced any problem with them at all. Our relations have been purely enjoyable.
Now, you will understand my concern when several priests of whom I have high regard for knocked on my door frantically in the night. They cried out to me, “Oh, Lord of Night, Alzan! Open the door, for we have most grievous news for you!” So I opened the door, and lo! They were there, their eyes red with tears that clung to their faces like the petals of a dying rose. They tore at their hair and bowed to me, saying, “A Conqueror has come into our midst and has tried to ruin us all! We are very afraid and fear for your freedom. You must leave at once.”
When they said this, I was alarmed and very much afraid for reasons you are aware of. I said, “What news of this Conqueror have you come across and where does this Conqueror reside, so that I may avoid him?” For I wanted to leave at once so as to not be possessed by this Conqueror.
They said, “Oh, Alzan! We do not know the extent of this infiltration! The Conqueror was revealed to us unexpectedly, and we do not know who may or may not be a Conqueror! We have a family in custody now. The father is incapacitated, the mother is already dead, and the children have been imprisoned.”
“Is there any other family?” I asked.
“No. The father was an only child, his parents are dead, and so the children are the last of their line.”
“And the children? Do they have any children?”
“No, they are too young. The oldest is fifteen and the youngest eight. They have not had the chance to have children.”
At this, I became suspicious. You know better than anyone, Lomones, that Conquerors do not become Conquerors at children. The Conqueror, in her wisdom, teaches them science, languages, and arts, but does not try to convince them to go to her side as children, for she wants them to come to her side freely and knowledgably. She does not want slaves; she wants them to be her children and to love them as a mother. The older child may very well be a Conqueror, but the younger child would not be old enough to accept the Conqueror as her mother – the Conqueror would not allow it, unless the child was facing dire circumstances. Such as imprisonment.
So, I raised my eyebrows and said to them, “These Conquerors, if they are indeed Conquerors, would be easily verified by their blood. Take a sample of their blood and drop it into a glass of water. If they are indeed Conquerors, then their blood will be black and the water would become blackened and poisoned.”
The priests nodded to me. “This has been accomplished. The father’s blood has been clean, as well as the son’s, who is fifteen. However, when we placed the blood of the eight-year-old, her blood turned the glass murky and blackened with poison. She is the Conqueror.”
“And she is the only one?” I asked.
“She is the only one.”
At this, I became deeply disturbed. You know better than most, Lomones, how dangerous it is to mistreat a Conqueror, especially at such an impressionable age. By imprisoning her, they were causing her to become desperate enough to call on the Mother for help. I was concerned about this and said, “If she is the only one, then do not despair. The Conquerors do not harm the younger ones, nor do they influence them to do evil. It is only when they are mistreated when their hearts lean toward evil and the Conqueror guides them away from Diamea. Free the girl and give her gifts so that she may not be afraid and she may know your kindness.”
Here, they wept and said, “It is too late for that, Lord of the Night. She has possessed a Black Swan and keeps him to her side constantly. He is with her in isolation chamber. We had come to execute her upon knowing her blood type, and he was with her. When our men came to take her away, he attacked us, tearing off our men’s limbs and gouging out their eyes. They cried and begged for mercy, but he showed none and simply went back to the girl. We despaired, but thinking nothing of it, we sent a White Swan in to talk with the Black Swan, in hopes that we could come to a compromise. However, our plan was in vain. When the White Swan came, he attacked her too, spilling her blood so she writhed and lay on the floor, her White Swan feathers molting off her and new Black Swan feathers in their sharp cruelty sprouting up so that her blood fell into a pool on the floor and all we could hear was her screaming. We took her away, collecting her sacred blood and giving it to Diamea, so as to not make her possessed as well.”
At this, I despaired and said, “Ah, woe to those who imprisoned to her! We have destroyed ourselves.”
They said to me, “Do not blame the prison guards, Lord Alzan, for she had decided long before. She was always a cursed being who blocked the seers’ minds and kept them away from revering Diamea. Even now, our prophets cannot see the true way, muddled as they are. Nor think that this possession is a recent thing. She has possessed this Black Swan long before. In her village, when the people learned of her true heritage, they assembled into a group to fight this Conqueror, but when they gathered around her house, she sent a vicious Black Swan to kill them all. He tore off their limbs and gouged their eyes, but they did not die for Black Swans cannot kill. And, instead of leaving, he stayed there and watched them gasp for death in the night, a cruel guard of pain. When the White Swans came, they dismissed him without a thought, saying that this Black Swan had full right to do what he did. Then the White Swans killed the ones most in pain – men and women – and let the Black Swan fly away off into the forest, presumably after that wretched girl.”
“Who is the Black Swan, or did you find out?”
“He is Uclepidies, the Blessed One, but not so blessed anymore as now he is a slave to the Conqueror’s whims. Though he is crippled and cannot speak, the Conqueror manipulates him into doing evil.”
~
“Wait!” Lomones cried. “So, you are saying that Solea is a Conqueror? And that Uclepidies is merely possessed? But the diary says...”
Alzan smiled. “You’re upset?”
“Of course I am upset. What did you expect?” He flipped through the diary, squinting through the dim. “There! See? Uclepidies is kissing Daddy, quite independently from Solea’s orders. She doesn’t even understand what is happening. And then here again. Daddy wants Uclepidies to get inside him. They’re lovers. Uclepidies is simply acting as the girl’s father because Daddy is gone. She can’t be possessing him.”
“So you say that she can’t be a Conqueror?”
“Of course not. Uclepidies acts rash when he wants to protect. He’s always done that. He can’t tell them to stop; he doesn’t have the voice. And if he only attacked them a little bit, they could wound him critically, since he is crippled. He has to attack them if he wants to be successful. And he only does this when Solea is about to be killed.”
“But that doesn’t explain the blood.”
Lomones stopped. “The blood?”
“Yes, the blood. Her blood is poisoned, like a Conqueror’s.”
Lomones leaned back and rubbed his face. The darkness was oppressive now and the White Swan feather’s light had gone out long ago. All that was left was the red glow of Alzan’s eyes. “You said that her father and brother had normal blood?”
“Yes.”
“So she is a bastard child.”
“Yes.”
“Poor Solea!”
“Let me finish.”
~
Now, when they left, just like you, I was confused. But, at the same time as those who were suspected we apprehended, I decided to stay, for a little while anyway. If Uclepidies attacked me and tried to bring me to the Conqueror, I reasoned that I would be able to stop him. So, I stayed in this apartment and contemplated when I should go. However, just as I was about to leave, a rustle came at my door – the lock was being picked. And then a girl stumbled in.
I cannot do her justice by describing her. To say that she was the most wretched human I had seen so far in this world is the closest description, but even that doesn’t do her justice. Her hair was matted and thick with grease, her cheeks were sallow and caved in from starvation, and her clothes hung loosely on her in shreds. But it was her eyes that were the most arresting. Her eyes were wild – gray and fierce – and she had the look of a lunatic. She looked me over with cruel eyes, her hands shaking with the skeleton key she held in an unknown fury.
“You are the Black Swan?” she said, her voice trembling.
“Yes,” I said, unsure of her.
“I have something you might want.” And with that, her scarred fingers reached into her dress and picked out a small leather book – the one you just read. “You will be most interested in it, I believe,” she said, her voice quavering all the more. But her eye never wavered. She stared straight at me with a hunger that made me wonder if Diamea had sent her down to me so she could eat my soul. “But first, before I give it to you, I demand a favor.”
“A favor?” I asked.
“Yes, a favor. And you must promise to fulfill it and swear by your word that you will do it.”
I didn’t like this girl when she picked the lock, and now I detested her. I gritted my teeth and set myself against her, determined to be her enemy. “Why would I want to read that ratty book?” I asked.
“Because a Conqueror wrote it.”
My interest was piqued, I admit, though my face remained emotionless to her. I shrugged and paced away. “What is the favor, pray tell?”
“That I cannot tell you until you promise to fulfill it.”
Here, I grew mad at the girl. “Then leave, for I will not be blackmailed into doing anything for a wretched little girl such as you.”
“It is just a promise!”
“So what? So you can cause me to destroy the city, just because I gave a promise? No, little girl. I am a Black Swan, not a little boy. Were you to make me swear by my word, I would have to do it, no matter what, for that is what Diamea requires, no matter how awful it may be. I would not risk making you another Conqueror.”
The girl was desperate. “I promise, I will not make you do anything horrific.”
“Then why so secretive?”
“Swear it to me!”
“Go away and take your worthless book with you. The Conqueror shall die, as proper, soon enough and even her words will not survive past her agonizing death.”
Here, the girl started to cry. “She’s not a Conqueror!” she said.
“Prove it.”
She almost gave the book right there, but then she stopped, her face contorted. “Please, Black Swan, I am sorry. Be merciful and grant me my wish without asking what it is.”
“I shall not be. You broke into my house, threatened me, and demanded a promise that you kept secret from me. You have shown me no mercy – why should I extend it to you?”
She swallowed and swayed, the mad look growing on her face. “My request is this,” she said, her voice shaking with tears. “You have a kitchen. Let me go into the kitchen and make a meal for myself. I will let you read this book and, when you finish, I promise I will leave you forever.”
“So you want to eat then, do you?”
She nodded.
“Then go to the kitchen and find something to eat. I will swear by my word that I will allow you to eat whatever you can find in the kitchen without fear of reproof.”
She backed to the kitchen and handed me the book. Then, as if she was afraid I would beat her, she ran pell-mell to the kitchen, leaving me with this diary.
I didn’t open it at first – I watched the doorway and listened to the sounds of the cabinets opening and closing. The fool – she had forgotten that a Black Swan has no need for food. The cabinets opened and closed, but to no effect and finally I heard her collapse to the ground, sobbing her eyes out in dry tears. I called to her, “Come out, little girl, and stop crying. Do you expect me to read with your tears?”
She came out, pale and frightful, her hands shaking so badly that they reminded me of leaves in winter, dry and delicate, ready to plunge to the earth to be buried in snow. She looked like a ghost when she came out, but she sat down obediently on the tiled floor and curled up, her arms wrapped around her knees in a bony embrace. She didn’t complain, that one, but the fierceness in her eyes had disappeared and her body had declared defeat. She placed her face on her knees, the tears not out of her system yet, and shook for three minutes, not able to control herself.
Then she turned to me as I still stared at her and said in a broken voice, “Black Swan, you are a clever one and more clever than I would have ever expected. I expect no mercy from you, for you are right and Diamea did not create Black Swans to be merciful. I asked for a stupid request, and now I will starve. It was my own undoing and I acknowledge this fully. Pride is a foolish thing and I am prepared to die from it. However, if I must die, please do not let it be in vain! Read the book, please, and let me stay in peace, unfed, while you read. Then, when you finish, I will answer any questions that you might have or, if it suits you best, I will leave and never come back. How can I come back? When I leave, I shall leave to starvation and I shall die. My word shall be honored, as will yours, and Diamea shall look upon this pact with favor. I will not speak any more until you ask and I will not cry anymore to disturb you.”
And with that, she buried her head in her knees, her whole body shaking, and prepared to die.
I tried to read the book. Again and again, I reread the first two pages and again and again my mind wandered to the little girl on the floor, curled up so miserably. Her body had stopped shaking and she sat there, tears running down her legs, though true to her promise, I never heard a cry. Finally, I placed the book down. “Child,” I said, “if it is true that you are bound for starvation, at least tell me your name so that I may know who the defiant girl I met was.”
She looked up, her eyes dazed with hunger, and whispered, “Iluve.”
“And who are you, Iluve? Tell me your story.”
Iluve settled her chin on her knees, tears still clinging to her face, though she didn’t bother wiping them off. “My story is not important,” she said. “I am nobody.”
“That is a lie.”
Iluve flinched at this. “Please, Lord,” she said. “My story is in there too, along with everything else. The truth is that I am a worthless bastard and that even Diamea scorns me. My mother has been forced away from me and I have no one else left. I stole that little book that I gave you from my dear sister to prove my sister’s innocence, for she is on trial for death when she deserves nothing but life. When I was cast away, I visited the whorehouses in hopes for a job, for there no other work was suitable for me. A whorehouse took me in at first in pity, but when they found out that I was not a virgin and had been raped, they turned me away, because I was not pure enough for them and they didn’t want to deal with my fears. I have been living on the streets ever since on garbage and scraps and my only hope now is for my dear sister’s innocence to be revealed and an easy death. In my madness, I had hoped for a last meal of sorts, but I see that I am still repulsive in Diamea’s eyes. No matter. While you read, I shall pray for forgiveness and mercy from Diamea, though I deserve none. That is my story.” And with that she buried her head into her knees and sighed.
I was struck with pity for her then, though I was unwilling to admit this, so I crossed my arms and stared down at her. “And you thought that, instead of supplicating yourself willingly to me that you would play a game of cunning that you would surely lose?”
“Forgive me, Lord,” she said, not looking up. “I have admitted that it was a stupid move, and I have no hope for anything anymore. Do not despise the dead. Just read the diary of my poor sister with an open mind and do not judge her for my stupidity. I ask for nothing else.”
“You are not dead yet. Supplicate yourself to me and I shall feed you.”
She looked up me, her face changing as quickly as weather in a thunderstorm. At first came doubt and then came hope and then despair lined her face. “What should I do?” she cried.
“Crawl to my feet and kiss them. Then swear your submission to me and I shall save you.”
“For what? What new horrors shall await me?” She laughed nervously, her laughter sounding like sobs and shaking her entire body. “Here, I have death and death is sleep. There is no paradise for me, for I am repulsive in Diamea’s eyes. There is no hope for me in death, but at least it’s familiar. I know I shall waste away in an unmarked grave, unknown and despised by all as my flesh rots putridly exposed. I shall be collected from the streets and thrown in with all the rest of the garbage, where I shall disappear without a trace. That is the fate of me, but at least it is known! I am not afraid to die. But, to supplicate myself to you and claim total submission? That is the unknown, and I fear it. For, there is nothing I can do for you, oh Lord, that you would find useful, and you shall detest me for that. The only thing I have left is my body, and even then you would find it worthless. How can you eat a soul that has already been destroyed? I could offer it to you, but you would find nothing worthy of it, and then what should I do? Where would I be? I could offer you service, but what service could I offer that would be of use to you, oh Lord? There is nothing I can do that you cannot do better. I had hoped that my wit would be better, but I was foolish and wrong, for I knew nothing. I have heard that sometimes Black Swans love to have sex and long to ravish the bodies of us humans, so I could offer you that, but then why would you ravish me, who have been rejected by whorehouses? The only thing I have left is the little diary that you have in your hands, but even then, it isn’t mine but my dear sister’s, who claimed me as her sister, though we had no blood ties, and loved me as one, though I did not deserve it. But you have that already and I have submitted to death, for my promise is true and I will not break it, out of fear of Diamea. Diamea gives me no hope, but I am resigned to die. I have hated this world and I am glad to be gone, even though there is nothing left.”
My heart broke to hear this. I said, “Diamea gives hope, but his methods are hidden, so do not succumb to despair. Listen, I tell the truth. Diamea is dead and he is there to await you at death and to welcome you into his embrace. He has sacrificed himself for that purpose, even for you. Do not despair death, for there is nothing to despair! But do not reject life either, for life is a gift and those who reject what they are freely given are despised. Life is pain, but it is also a joy – the greatest oxymoron that exists! And we are forced to suffer through it, but through our sufferings we can attain higher joys that make the universe sing out and burst into color. Does not the universe pulsate in love? And through suffering, love is recognized and understood. Even in your suffering, you give me this book, out of love for your sister and hope that your sister may live and love some more. Is this not true? So, out of suffering comes sacrifice and out of sacrifice comes love. Therefore, do not despair as you suffer for, with your suffering, the universe rejoices and quivers in love.”
The mad look came to her eyes again and she cried out, “Then haven’t I suffered enough? If the universe sings out in love, then why have I been abandoned?”
“I am here. I have not abandoned you.”
“But you do not love me. The only people who have loved me is my mother and my sister, and both are gone from me forever more and I have no hope left.” She started to cry, but I reached down and slapped her so that her face flushed red from impact.
“Don’t wallow in your own angst – it’s unbecoming of you. Do you think you are the only one who suffers? Out of love, you come to me for your sister, but it is your own pride that wishes to separate you from me. Love is a connection that binds us together, so don’t isolate yourself from me, otherwise you are undeserving of the joy that is to come.”
“What joy is to come from sacrificing my freedom?” she asked, tears in her eyes. “Shall you hit me more?”
To this, I roared, “The physical pain that I have given you is nothing compared to the spiritual torture you intend on yourself! If you think that you are sacrificing your freedom from submitting to me, you have not thought it through. What freedom do you have now? Even in your thoughts, you cannot hide away because you live under the delusion that you are despised. You fool! As if the world revolves around you. So what you call freedom is merely a lie, for you are trapped in your own mind and delusions snap at you and belittle you while you believe that is the only truth. You think that you would be my lowly slave and that you would lose your freedom. Absurd! You are a slave already and have lost everything. But I will give you everything, if you should only believe in my words and trust in me, as a servant of Diamea. I offer you food and companionship. If you submit to me as a supplicant, I shall feed you. I shall clothe you in garments that princesses would die for. I shall heal your wounds and bathe you so that no more will you stink of rotting flesh and death. You shall become a new creation and you shall be connected with society again, and through this connection you shall find love and love shall set you free from the shackles of your slavery. I am a servant of Diamea, and in his name I work. Do not hide from me.”
“In Diamea’s name, you eat the souls of human, Black Swan,” she said. “Why should I trust you?”
To this, I said, “Why should you detest me for what I have to do to survive? I do not detest you for your belly, nor will I detest you for whoring yourself out, even though you were considered unfit to serve that way.”
Her cheeks grew pink at this.
“Put your trust in me,” I said. “I cannot promise you a life of pain – no one can promise that. But I will read this book and together we can decide what to do for your sister. If she is a Conqueror, as she is believed to be, then I can do nothing. But if she is not a Conqueror, as you say she is, I will stop her persecution and reunite you two in love, with my blessing. That is all I ask for. I will give you your freedom after that, I swear by my word. If your sister’s love means anything to you, supplicate yourself to me. Kiss my feet and promise submission. I will not torture you in any way as long as you submit yourself to me. To this and everything that I have said, I swear my word. Do not reject love for abandonment or life for death when you are promised everything.”
Tears came to her eyes. “I will do what you say and will not be afraid. But please, remember your promise.” She spread herself flat and started crawling, but she could not make it and her body contorted in pain so she had to stop, the veins in her neck bursting against the skin in protest. I came to her then so that my feet were near her head and she kissed them vehemently. “I submit myself to you,” she said. “Remember me.”
I picked her up and cradled her in my arms. She was as light as a White Swan’s feather. And then I kissed her head. “I remember.”
With that, we left for a restaurant.
