Night's Sorceries by Tanith Lee

Author:Tanith Lee
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: DAW
Published: 2017-03-24T11:24:26+00:00

4. The Sleeping Heart

The door was some thirteen feet high and had about it neither a handle nor any visible lock or keyhole. Nevertheless, Pereban advanced, and pushed and heaved at it, and smote it some forceful blows, at which it resounded like a gong. When he had recovered from its booming, he tried to grip the heavy panels and elicit movement, but could get no purchase. After that he stood away, and summoning from his priestly training some esoteric passwords of opening, proclaimed them. The door did not even quiver. Then Pereban kicked it.

“This is a punishment,” he said at last. “I did not thrash myself enough with the thorns. I wished to escape the enclosure of the mountain temple, and here I am shut up in a moon.”

Then he threw off the fur robe and used the metal apricot, knotted in his sash, to beat himself.

Chastisement comforted him with its habitude. Although he knew the gods were indifferent, yet he had come to believe they still reckoned such practices correct among mortals. Besides, the exercise warmed him more than the robe had done. And, all the while, old teachings of the temple entered his mind. One phrase in particular recurred to him, which had been written in an elder book penned before the revelations of the Goddess. This went as follows:

“He that seeks a thing and does not truly desire it, finds it not, though it be put into his hand. Yet he that seeks the most rare thing in the world, truly wanting it, shall discover it, though a hill has covered it over.”

(Well and good, said Pereban, and beat himself more vigorously.)

“And in this same way, coming to a door, how many shall find it closed. But he that truly would enter there need only knock thereon, and the door shall be opened.”

When these sayings had gone through his mind a sufficient number of times, and when he was in a sufficient glow, and his arm tiring, Pereban put on his robe again, tied the sash, stowed the apricot, and turned back to the door.

“And do I truly wish to enter?” inquired Pereban. “Punishment or destiny, I can only proceed. So much I accept.” And then he knocked mildly on the door and said, “Open, if you please.”

The door opened.

Another might have given a shout of laughter, or curses, but the young priest had by now composed himself. He passed through the portal of iron with a calm tread and looked about him.

The environment beyond was a long chamber tiled by crystal, in which flickered faint lamps. The illumination seemed unreal and phantasmal, as if the room were filled by water. Nevertheless, Pereban advanced, and soon he came to an avenue of white pillars. At the end of the row lay a basin of inky liquid. The other side of the basin was a couch draped in silver and hung with gold. Did something lie asleep there? Even as he strove to see it, the whole of the floor between the basin and the couch quaked up.

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