The Mirror
(Annals of the Jinns—9)
by R. H. Barlow
Upon a certain day in the year of the Plague of Dragons, the Emperor of Yondath held court in his ancient palace above the crypts. Many of his subjects had come from sheer curiosity, and when he cast sentence upon Khalda, at least two of the more squeamish shuddered. For he had condemned the sorcerer Khalda to the tortures of the Green Fungi, and of course every one knew what meant. Even if they had been obtuse or ignorant of the ways of the torturers in the subterranean rooms, the austere and saturnine look upon the face of His Majesty would have implied much that was not pleasant.
But Khalda, the only pupil of the wise one Volnar, stood scornfully before the throne and gave no sign of terror, although his doom was a fabled and terrible one. He even contrived an ironic obeisance before they took him away. The two ugly slaves that held him exchanged significant looks as they silently led him out of the gorgeously-hung room. Then those who had gathered began to depart, and many resolved not to anger their ruler after that.
Khalda's crime, it had been proclaimed, was that of high sacrilege. Not only had he sought through ancient and unwholesome magic the creation of artificial life, but he had spat upon the greenstone feet of the great idol in the market place, and asserted that the deity was impotent and its priests humbug. Perhaps this iconoclastic behavior was regretted by Khalda, since his destination was not pleasant to contemplate, but he gave no sign as the slaves led him through a series of connected chambers. Each of these dimly-lit rooms was more ancient in appearance than the one preceding, and after he had traversed some dozen, the very bricks of the wall were so slimy with old moss that they emitted a noxious odour. Likewise the passages grew steadily darker.
Legend told of the things that lay beneath the palace, and of the Head Torturer Malyat that had dwelt in his crypt for untold years without being seen by man. It was said that his face was obscured from even his victims, by an ancient and grotesque mask. On this Khalda reflected as the guards paused to light their tapers at a sconce tipped by a pool of sulphurous flame that seethed and boiled endlessly. He wondered at this, for no tracks disturbed the settled dust, yet the torch was as if newly kindled. Guided now by this melancholy light, they descended again, their torch but little dispelling the gloom. In this manner they made their way toward the lower chambers. Khalda wondered at the labor that must have gone into chiseling these chambers from the rock, and at the ponderous ornamental masonry that remained yet immovable after so long a time.
At length they came to an ultimate passage fronting a huge door of iron curiously decorated and covered with the patina of aeons. This appeared most formidable to the prisoner. It was upon this ancient portal that the guards smote with their clanging brazen swords and then retired, leaving Khalda alone. He wondered what evil thing would appear as he saw the door slowly opening.
Then, in a terrible silence that his shrieks did not wholly dispel, a metal projection not unlike a tentacle rhythmically emerged, swayed a moment, and wrapped itself about him.
And he was drawn into the chamber of Malyat.
Four cycles of the crimson moon elapsed before rumours found their way to the ears of the emperor. A tale was told of the last creation of the sorcerer, a masterpiece of malign sorcery, that had escaped destruction by the zealots of the greenstone god.
It was said that all the work of Khalda was evil, but that this last creation was supreme. Even unto his last days he had labored and expended his talents upon a certain mirror of strange design. No man knew the purpose for which it was shapen; but it was certain that Khalda had not constructed it for the dubious vanity of reflecting his withered visage. The polished glass in it had come from the subterranean artizans of Saaldae, and it was polished and silvered by devious means. And the frame was of ebony strangely wrought with a monstrous carving. Great skill had gone into this, yet none knew its precise whereabouts, and the tales could find no definite origin.
So the Emperor had scrolls lettered in the hieroglyphs of the land, and these were posted about the capitol and all the outlying provinces. And they said that any man that could produce this mirror would have a reward bestowed upon him.
At first there came many with false claims, but a supplementary proclamation was issued, to the effect that imposters would be painfully disposed of, and thereafter the ruler was little annoyed.
But in time there came an ancient one, unbelievably filthy, and clad in garments of odorous antiquity. His face was hideously wrinkled, yet it held a certain inscrutable wisdom. This repulsive being came unto the palace gates and demanded entrance. And the guards at first laughed, and then grew angry, and would have run him through with their long lances, had not the Emperor intervened and called upon his men to desist. For he had heard the commotion and became curious. Thus admittance was granted to the beggarly person, and he entered as if he had expected this from the start.
In dignity he went, and bowed before the throne, strangely incongruous amid the richly clad servants that shrank from him in repugnance. The Emperor's dwarf sought to make mock of the foul being, and rolled completely off his cushion in gales of false amusement; but he saw the eyes of the stranger and straightway climbed back, mumbling in a surly tone to himself.
The Emperor bade him state his mission, and the old one spoke in a manner remarkable for one so uncouth, saying, "I have brought the object you desire."
With great interest, the Emperor bade him display it, but the old one refused, stating in tones of certainty that he wished to make a few observations first.
"I might press my claim," observed the Emperor, somewhat amused by this effrontery.
"I believe I have likewise the right of naming my price," suggested the old man.
"Truly," assented his majesty, "but first tell me, what is this mirror?"
"It is the mirror of Truth," was the reply.
"A pretty allegory," remarked the Monarch, and settled back.
So it was, the unclean person spoke freely in the court of the ruler.
"You will recall that this mirror was constructed by a certain sorcerer," he began in an unpleasant tone. "And you will also recall that this sorcerer did you a great service once ... did he not, Majesty?"
The Emperor looked startled, and then very grave.
"He did ... but how came you to know of this?"
"I shall elucidate when the time has come. Likewise, did you promise certain things to this sorcerer in return for his labors?"
The Emperor's eyes smoldered with secret fury, but he said nothing.
"This you ignored, and some moons agone had the wonderworker—I believe he was referred to as a blasphemer in the sentencing—this man you had brought before you and sent to the terrible tortures of Malyat. Am I not correct?"
"That is common knowledge," asserted the ruler, uneasily.
"And he was taken to his doom?"
"My slaves seldom fail me."
"I am grateful to your majesty, for truth was essential. I have the mirror here," said the old one, abruptly.
"What wish you in return?"
"It is yours—my payment will be given me in due time."
And as the Emperor leaned forward, the man announced his identity and drew back his tattered robe, revealing the horror that lay beneath.
Then as the Emperor gazed in fascinated repulsion, Khalda drew forth the mirror, with its strangely shapen handle, and held it up that all might see.
And when the ruler looked therein, no man may know what was reflected, for a strange and terrible thing occurred. Some dire magic was at work, for the doom that came unto his majesty was alien to all accepted lines of death.
The End