The Kurilusa, part 7. The Descent Beneath the Tower

The Descent Beneath the Tower

And it came to pass that at the foot of the hills the King of Kings commanded a second capital to be raised, far from the shining cities of the plain.

Few among the elven lords dared lay stone upon stone in that troubled land, yet he, being lord of lords, desired to dwell nearer the war, and—so some whispered—further from his sister-wife.

This new city was set, as his heavenly consort decreed, upon the buried ruins of the Elder Ones, whose foundations none could measure, and whose stones breathed a still and ancient might.

And the King of Kings found the site good, for the omens drawn from the scrying-pan were fair.

In its midst they raised a tower vast and gleaming, whose summit sought the very heavens, while its roots delved deep beneath the earth.

For the catacombs of the Elder Race still yawned beneath its footings, and it was said that the Heavenly Queen would oft descend into their shadowed halls, seeking that which none could name.

The Vanishing of the Heavenly Queen

But upon a day she returned not.

Then did her lord grow troubled, and he took to his scrying-pan for comfort, yet it showed him naught but darkness, and the hissing of beasts.

Therefore the King of Kings girded himself in warlike splendour, taking up his mighty blade whose edge had been quenched in the blood of kings.

His chosen warriors followed him, each bearing a torch of sacred flame.

First among them went Pelamar the Faithful, called also Tazurón, the One Who Stands Nearest, for none stood nearer his lord in counsel or in battle.

The Serpent of the Deep

Deep they descended beneath the black-polished vaults of the ancients, until they came upon a silvery thread like woven moonlight stretched along the stone.

And they thought it laid by the hand of their queen, to guide her back from the dark.

So they followed it a long while, until they found it burnt as by fire, and its end lost.

Then despair fell upon them, and as they stood thus, there came a roar and a rush of smoke, and from the shadow burst forth a serpent vast, its body long as a river, its scales gleaming like meteoric iron in torchlight.

Its teeth were as swords, and its breath rose as billowing vapour.

So fierce was its coming that it cleft the company in twain, the king upon one side, and his men upon the other.

Then did faithful Pelamar throw himself before the beast, striking it upon the breast; yet his blade bit not, for its scales were as shields.

And with a blow of its tail the serpent cast him through the air as a child’s pebble upon the tide.

Had not his armour been wrought of royal craft, surely had he perished. Yet he lived, sorely broken.

Then the warriors of the King of Kings, undaunted, rushed forth, but none could wound the beast, and many fell to its fury.

From its mouth poured forth a foul ichor, whose breath was poison, whose touch was flame.

And when the torches met its vapour there rose a blast of fire that filled the vaults, and all who stood nearest were burnt to ash.

Then those that still had strength fled, bearing Pelamar among them though he begged to remain.

“Let me die beside my lord!” he cried, but they said, “He is dead, and thou shalt bear witness.”

The Slaying of the Serpent

Yet the King of Kings was not dead, nor daunted, though his flesh was scorched and his armour corroded by the serpent’s vile ichor.

He stood alone in the dark, defiant, stripped of splendour, yet burning in wrath.

Then did the serpent coil to strike anew, and swift was the king to leap aside.

Oft did he dart and weave beneath its writhing form, until the monster found itself knotted in its own fury.

Then, seizing his chance, the king leapt beneath its head, and with his sword of ancient lineage smote it behind the jaw.

There burst forth a torrent of purple blood, as though a sea had been loosed.

And when it drenched him, behold—the burning pain was soothed, and his marred flesh was made whole, though his skin now shone faintly as scaled marble.

The serpent, dying, thrashed so mightily that the way behind was sealed by its corpse.

Thus was the king shut in the deep, alone among the dead.

Then he took up his arms and marvelled, for his armour, greened by the serpent’s ichor, shone fairer and stronger than before.

The Reunion in the Deep

From the way the serpent had come did he hear the sound of yet more hissing,and he thought within himself that others would surely follow.

Yet being the bravest of his kind,who had proven himself the foremost among both mortal and divine,

he went forth without fear toward the sound.

Through a narrow corridor of stone he passed, and there beheld his heavenly wife, perched upon a ledge of rock,

her oil-lamp held aloft to ward off the serpentine brood

that swarmed about her in ceaseless coils.

Weary she was, for long had she sat thus, a captive among the offspring of the great serpent, whose mother’s death had made them restless and fierce.

But as her lord entered the chamber, the serpent-children struck not,

for he was still drenched in their mother’s blood, and they knew not his form from hers—

for a serpent-mother feeds her young upon her own blood, and they knew his scent as their life.

Then did the heavenly wife rise up in tears of gratitude and cast her arms about her divine husband, and there, in the deep bosom of the earth, did they embrace and become as one.

The Wandering in Darkness

Yet the way out of the deep was hidden from them, for they were lost in the maze, and had only the serpent-young to guide their steps.

Then the King of Kings enquired of his heavenly wife, saying:

“What sought you in the darkness of these halls?”

And she answered him thus:

“My lord, I sought our son, and now have I found him,

for a voice within my breast called me hither.”

At these words the Lord of Lords rejoiced greatly, saying:

“For such a boon I would have traversed any pit,

even to the black heart of the world,

for the sake of thy voice and our son’s promise.”

So they abode in the deep, and for sustenance preyed upon the serpent brood that followed them.

Their blood they drank, their flesh they ate, for they said: “As they have done, so shall we also do.”

And the sun they saw not, nor the moon, and the count of days was lost to them.

And though they called upon the gods, no answer was given them, for the gods mocked their cries.

Then bitter tears they shed, for the heavenly wife grew heavy with child,

and they said among themselves:

“Surely the gods delight in cruelty,

for they grant us a son only to imprison us thus in the bowels of the earth.”

The Cry That Shook the Deep

As her womb swelled, so did their despair, until they came again upon a wall of ruin,and the way before them was closed.

Then the Lord of Lords, filled with anguish unbearable, lifted his voice in wrath and cursed the gods of his fathers.

So mighty was his cry that the stones trembled, and the very deep groaned in reply, as if the world itself took pity upon his grief.

And lo, the rubble was rent before them, and a faint light pierced the darkness.

Then spake the heavenly wife, her eyes upon the trembling stone:

“See, my lord, it is by thy might we are saved.”

The Ascent to the Light

So they crawled forth upon their bellies, as the serpents had taught them,and passed through a long and narrow cleft into a wider hall.

And the King of Kings perceived that it was the very chamber where he had first descended into the deep.

There he saw that the path below had been sealed by elven hand, yet the way into his tower still lay open above, and he bade farewell to the serpents that had guided him, thanking them for the life they had sustained.

Thus he took for his house the sigil of the coiling serpent, for it was by serpent’s blood he had been remade.

And the serpents wailed in anguish at their parting, as the divine pair ascended at last to the light.

The Return to the Tower

But when they came again to the tower’s floor, none were there to greet them.

The halls were silent and their splendour dimmed.

Then they met a human servant who, beholding them, turned and fled in terror, for the lord and his heavenly wife shone with the sheen of the divine.

Wondrous and confused they stood thus, until they made their way to their chambers.

There came to them Pelamar the Faithful, who fell upon his face and wept bitterly.

He cried aloud before them, saying:

“Forgive me, O Lord of Lords,

for I abandoned thee in cowardice and shame,

and because of my words the lords of the realm proclaimed thee dead.

Now is the land in turmoil, and many claim thy throne,

for none believed thou wouldst return from the deep!”

Then the King of Kings lifted him up, forgiveness shining in his eyes, and from that hour Pelamar was called

He Who Saw the Shadow and Yet Served the Light.