Lord of Lies. David Zindell

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СКАЧАТЬ fingers, and said to Master Juwain, ‘“Lord of Light,” everyone called me. If this is true, how, then, should this Dark Lord called Morjin have power over me with his words?’

      ‘Is this the pride of a prince?’

      ‘It might seem like pride, sir. But I don’t think it really is. You see, after being forced to watch what Morjin did to Atara, no help for it and nothing I could do, nothing … after that, there wasn’t very much to be proud of, ever again. No, it is something else.’

      Master Juwain’s Juwain’s eyes grew bright and sad as he finally understood. ‘No, Val – don’t do this.’

      ‘Earlier tonight, you made a test of things with your horoscopes. But there are other tests to be made.’

      ‘No, not this way.’

      ‘I must know, sir.’

      Master Juwain pointed his gnarled finger at the letter and said, ‘I think this is an evil thing.’

      I nodded my head to him. ‘But didn’t you once tell me that light would always defeat the darkness? Either one has faith in this or one does not, yes?’

      Master Juwain sighed as he rubbed his eyes. He rubbed the back of his head. He sighed, his troubled eyes on the letter. Then he turned toward my father and asked, ‘And what, King Shamesh, do you advise your son to do?’

      My father’s eyes were like coals as he said simply, ‘Open the letter.’

      ‘And you, Queen Elianora?’ Master Juwain asked my mother.

      Her concern for me hurt my heart as she said, ‘Burn it, please.’

      Master Juwain asked everyone’s counsel. Nona joined my mother and Master Juwain in their desire to see the letter destroyed, while Asaru and Maram agreed with my father that it should be opened and read. And so Master Juwain looked at me and said, ‘You must decide, Val.’

      I nodded my head, then moved my knife toward the letter.

      ‘Wait!’ Master Juwain called out. ‘If you don’t fear the poison of the Lord of Lies’ words, then at least consider that he might have written this letter with a poisoned ink. Do not touch it with your bare hands!’

      Again, I nodded toward him. I laid down both the letter and the knife, then removed the riding gloves folded around my belt. I put these on. Then I picked up the knife again and used its sharp steel tip to break the seal of the letter.

      ‘Do you have enough light?’ my mother said to me. ‘Shall I bring you a candle?’

      I shook my head as I drew out the sheets of paper and unfolded them. It was awkward working this way, with my fingers covered in slips of leather. But the gloves kept my sweat from the paper, and the ink from my flesh, even as the small, neat lettering of Morjin’s hand leaped like fire into my eyes:

      My Dearest Valashu,

       I trust this letter finds you in good health, which my friends in your little kingdom assure me has never been better. You will want to know that I have made what could be called a miraculous recovery from the wound to my neck that you must have hoped was mortal. The wound to my heart, however, remains more grievous. For you have taken from me that which is dearer than life itself.

      ‘Well?’ Maram called out from next to me. ‘What does it say? Read it out loud.’

      I nodded my head and took another sip of brandy. I began reading again from the letter’s beginning, for Maram’s sake and everyone else’s. As I intoned the words that Morjin had set to paper, I had to fight to keep my voice from becoming his voice: smooth, suasive, seductive and strong. An image of Morjin as I had first seen him came into my mind: his fine, intelligent face that was radiant with an almost unearthly beauty; his hair like spun gold and his golden eyes. They were the eyes of an angel, and they seemed to know all things. They looked at me out of the black ink of his words as I continued to read:

       I know that you keep the Cup of Heaven locked and guarded in your castle as in ancient times. It is a beautiful thing, is it not? The most beautiful in all the world. And so I know that you will see in its golden depths the most beautiful of all temptations: to believe that you are its master, the Lord of Light – the Maitreya. How could it be otherwise? For you, Valashu Elahad, who feels so keenly the suffering of others, must long quite terribly for the suffering to end. This is a noble impulse. But it is misguided, and for the sake of the world, and your own, I must try to make you understand why.

      All beings yearn for one thing above all else: the light and love of the One. For this is our source and substance, and we long to return there. But this ecstasy of completion and deep peace is denied to us, and the proof of this is our suffering. Men suffer many things: dread of death and wounds and dashed dreams, but nothing so terrible as the desire that burns our beings to feel ourselves at one with our source. We suffer most of all because we do not understand why we must suffer: why the One, which is said to be all goodness itself, would wish all the agonies of the body and soul upon us. Have you not, Valashu, as you listened to the cries of the children being torn apart at Khaisham, as you cursed life itself, asked yourself the simple question, ‘Why?’

      The answer, I must tell you, is as simple as it is terrible: because of the One’s nature, which is the nature of all things. Can you not yet see that good and evil are the two sides of the One’s face, and his two hands, right and left? In one hand he holds the golden gelstei and makes the cosmos and all its creatures from the substance of his own being; with the other he casts them from the light and torments them. He builds walls of flesh around our souls to separate us from our source and from each other; he makes us rot with age, and crucifies us to the cross of life in the most hideous of anguish. He makes us to die. And so, at the end of all things, we must suffer the greatest ignominy: that of being erased. And then, forever, there is only nothingness and the darkness of night.

       Who has not raged that the One should make things so? Do you think that I, Valashu, have not wept bitter tears like any other man? Have not known love and loss? To fear that the beautiful light that is my soul will simply die like a candle flame snuffed out by cold wind – do you think I haven’t, ten thousand times, shaken my fist at the heavens over the cruelty of such a fate? Should I not, then, hate the One and all the works of his hand? Shouldn’t we all?

       Indeed, we should, for this too is the nature and design of the One. Hate, Valashu, is that singular force that separates. We are born as separate selves, and it is our right and duty to strengthen ourselves so that we might live our lives. But since life lives off life, whether beasts or men, we must strengthen ourselves against others, even as they would strengthen themselves against us. Hate gives us great courage in this war of all against all; it breathes fire into our will to become greater beings, and so to succeed in the quest for greater life itself. And so, like dragons, we might stride the earth in our power and pride, rather than cowering behind a rock and wailing at the injustice of life. And it is indeed cruel, as it must always be: for if you do not have the courage to become a predator, you must have the resignation to be prey. As night will follow day, the strong will devour the weak, on and on through all of eternity.

      It is just this success that gives us joy. It is measured by the degree of our dominion over others. In many individuals seeking their advantage, the world gains its greatest advantage as the hidden hand of the One raises up the strongest and bestows upon them the only true wealth. Then the accumulation of the riches of power gained, if invested in our bodies and beings, leads to ever greater riches. Thus СКАЧАТЬ