This is how the most lamentable fall of Tídris came to pass.
As is well-known, every monarch that reigned over the realm of Dúmiel was a woman. Almost every queen of Dúmiel brought forth a maidchild as her firstborn. But even when the firstborn was a boy, it was the first maidchild to be born who became queen. This custom, by long observance, passed into law.
Now Dîamána, the second queen from last, was brought to bed of a child. And strange to say, the midwives could not readily tell the sex of the child. But at length they decided that it was a girl. And the parents, Dîamána and Ganrad, rejoiced at the birth of an heir to the realm. And they resolved to call her Dâyàmuna. Now when they came to name her on the eighth day, there was a great feast, with many guests from every part of the southlands. And among them were many wisewomen and wisemen, astûthégri, who did much good among the people.
But there was one ûthéga whom they did not invite, for she had a grim countenance, and many feared her powers. Her name was Sûwikka. Some called her Sûwikka Sikamôl (Bittermouth). However, she came to the feast unbidden, and as the guests gathered around for the naming, the ûthéga stood up among them all and cried out:
Ye doting dolts of the doomed city
A daughter you deem for Dúmiel’s throne!
No maiden this, but a man baby.
For his coming sister let him stand aside!
The queen and prince Ganrad were aghast, and moreover angry at the intrusion. But they were afraid to challenge Sûwikka outright. Seeing their hesitation, she said:
Do you lack courage? Look and be sure!
Unwrap swiftly the Robes of Naming.
The naked child shall announce himself!
Abashed, the royal parents commanded the nurses to undress the babe. And it was as the ûthéga said. He was a boy child, and somehow the midwives had been mistaken. But many there muttered among themselves saying, ‘The ûthéga has cast a rune upon the child.’ But others said, ‘For what reason would she do that? What has she to gain by it?’ Yet no one dared say anything aloud.
Then Sûwikka uncovered her naming present. A loud gasp went up from all the company. It was a great axe, grim and heavy. It stood out among the heaps of other naming presents, every one of which was fitting for a girl. Sûwikka turned to the child in his mother’s arms and proclaimed:
This axe, Ganting, in ages gone,
A giant swung when he joined battle.
It may stand here still as sign of siege
Or be borne boldly by a born warrior.
Then, without further ceremony, she departed.
There was a great hustle and bustle as the guests were given back their gifts and were bidden to return the next day when the child’s new name had been settled. So they departed, most of them to store their gifts against the day when the queen bore a maidchild. And many remarked how inauspicious were these things — the return of the gifts, the holding of the naming on the ninth day, the hasty aquisition of fitting gifts for a boy — on top of the ominous intervention of Sûwikka.
Above all there was the axe, symbol of war. The queen and her consort prince commanded their servants to put it in a secluded place. For fear of Sûwikka they dared not dispose of it, or even hide it away completely, so they put it on display among other ancient armaments in the great hall of the palace.
And so on the ninth day, the little prince was named. And they called him Dabros.
When the child was two years old the queen was brought to bed again. This time there was no doubt whatever. She was a maidchild, and everyone rejoiced at the arrival of the heir to the realm. The Naming day was held, and the child was called Rauwenna. The guests brought their gifts, and there was no sign of Sûwikka. But afterwards, when all the gifts were examined, and note was taken of the giver of each one, there was a gift left over, unaccounted for. It was a chaplet of corals, such as teething children were in those days given to gnaw upon. Yet there were three things of note about it. The coral beads were superbly beautiful, of many shades of red and pink, and such as must have been brought from the distant southern seas, far from Dúmiel. Also the chaplet was great enough to be worn as a necklace. And somehow, upon each of the largest beads, one each of the letters TARIVAL were contrived, spelling out its name.
Some wondered whether this coral necklace was the secret gift of Sûwikka, but some questioned why she should give such a fair gift, while others asked why she would give any gift secretly. Nevertheless, when Rauwenna began to teethe, her nurses gave her the coral necklace to bite on. They also noticed that her brother took much interest in the necklace, and was wont to play with it when the baby had not got it.
Now when they came to array Dabros in boys’ clothes, he disdained them, saying,
‘Nay, nay, for I am a maid like her.’
Despite his protests, they of course constrained the lad to wear his breeches, for they said,
‘Now then, make no fuss: you will get used to them and you will love to wear them.’
But he wept and said,
‘Never.’
Yet he submitted to them.
And when his sister reached the age to play at grown-up things, she would put on a fine long gown and play at being a princess, which, in truth, she was. But Dabros desired to play the same game and put on another long gown and toy rings and bracelets like his sister. And he spoke cajolingly, saying,
‘Little sister, let me wear Tarival, your coral necklace.’
Which she hotly refused, saying,
‘Nay, you are a boy, and you should not put on princess’s clothes! You should have a jerkin and a belt and a sword, and be a prince!’
Nevertheless, he wore Tarival whenever he could, and moreover girl’s clothes whenever he could. For he felt sick and sore in the body of a boy.
And when Ganrad his father deemed him to be on the verge of manhood, when there was the faintest darkening of the down on his lip, his father took him out a-hunting. For all could ride, maidens and boys alike. And indeed, the young prince loved his pony more than his little sister loved hers. The lad was loath to go, for he cared not for the killing of beasts. But he privily took with him the necklace Tarival to console himself, putting it on beneath his shirt.
Now his father loved the chase and always rode into the deepest and thickest woods. And so they came to the wild forest on the very edge of Dúmiel, near to the Greenmarch which fenced the land. And when the hunting party had got far out in the woods, they were caught in a sudden violent storm, and the prince’s pony took fright and carried him away from the rest of the party. It was not long before the thunder and rain ceased, and Dabros, though wet through, had taken no harm; but he was utterly lost.
And soon afterwards, night fell, but the Moon began to shine very brightly in a clear sky. The prince and the pony came out from the thick woods, and found themselves climbing a grassy hillside. Looking up, the prince could see something at the top, shining in the moonlight. They came closer and saw that an old man was sitting on a boulder at the pinnacle of the hill. He was no ordinary old man, for even seated, his stature was greater than any Hyûvanwa that Dabros had ever seen. His beard was long and white, his head bald, and his robes grey and patched. The young prince walked towards him leading his pony, and saw that the old man’s face shone like the Moon overhead, but his eyes were closed, as if in sleep. A feeling of awe came over the prince, and he fell to his knees before the old man, and bowed his head. And the pony got down upon his haunches too.
After a long silence, the old man spoke.
‘Who are you, who come in the garments of a man but are none?’
And the prince said,
‘My name is Dabros.’
And the old man said,
‘That has been your name these fourteen winters, but what is your true name?’
And the prince said,
‘It is Dâyamuna.’
He used the name that was to be given at the first Naming Day, when all believed the child to be a maiden. And he wondered how that name had come into his mind.
Then the old man rose up, and he was very tall, seven or eight feet it seemed, a veritable giant. He took from beneath his robe a many-faceted stone that glittered in the moonlight. Then he came to the prince and said:
‘I am Astagant, keeper of the Paryonal, the daughter of the stars. Stand up, child, and let this crystal heal your heart.’
So the prince stood up, and the old man knelt before him and placed the glittering stone against the prince’s breast. A thrill of heat entered his heart and ran through his body, and he suddenly felt whole.
Rising, Astagant said,
‘Now you shall come with me and I will bring you to the house of some trustworthy astûthégri who live nearby. You and the pony will lodge with them until your healing is complete.’
The prince did not dare ask the ancient man what his healing meant, though he hoped fervently. He felt he was in a dream, lying somewhere asleep and merely viewing what took place around him, as they walked, all three, down the hill and into a hidden valley among the trees. They came to a high fence. The gate opened to the old man’s touch. In the moonlight the outline of a great house could be made out. It had many windows and around it were outbuildings.
The old man bade him farewell, but in his dream state he could not reply. Then came forth three tall, dark women, whose skin seemed to shine in the moonlight. He knew that they were all astûthégri. One led the pony away to the stables. The second woman took him gently by the arm. She brought him into the shadowy house, where many candles burned. The third woman opened for him the door of a small bower, wherein was a well-furnished bed, a bathtub, and a table bearing food and drink. The first woman came with a great ewer of steaming water and filled the tub. Then said the second woman,
‘Child, we shall leave you alone until the morning. Take off those clothes. You will not need them any more. Bathe your tired limbs in the tub. Eat the loaves and drink the wine on yonder table. Enter the bed and sleep. Tomorrow, clothe yourself with the garments you will find awaiting you.’
Then, still as if in a dream, Dabros did all the things that he was told to do. He sank under the bedclothes and at once fell asleep.
When the one who had gone to bed a prince awoke in the morning, she knew instantly that the change she dreamt of had truly happened. Full of joy, she sprang from the warm bed. There was a looking-glass of smooth polished metal hanging on the wall. Gazing in it at herself in the early sunlight, she beheld the body of a beautiful young woman, wearing only Tarival, the coral necklace. She swiftly arrayed herself in the soft garments laid out for her, and began to sing:
Now I will praise Tarival, coral necklace from the seas afar,
And I will praise the secret crystal, daughter of a distant star,
And I will praise good Astagant, great giant of the Moon,
And I will bless this dwelling of the mothers of the rune!
Then the first woman came to her and said:
See, you are healed and yourself again! Now you are to abide with us for three months, to learn all women’s ways. Means have been found to tell your mother and father that you are alive and well; but where you are they do not know. And by the end of three months your hair will be grown.
For the prince’s hair was cut short about the neck.
And Dâyamuna said:
Who are you three ladies, mother?
And the lady said:
We are three Fâdhéri. We are of the Entellári who remained behind in secret when the Hyilavúna departed from the Midworld. We love the Berugwanna and we guard it against the Kúmi Netári. For, you know, that is where this house is, in the heart of the Greenmarch.
And I am called Melusendë, and my sisters here are Finarelya and Viditháli, and the name of this house is Hrútwikë.
Fear not to wear Tarival the necklace, child, for it was meant for you. The nets of Sûwikka delayed it, but could not prevent it from finding its true owner.
So she abode there three months, and her hair grew rapidly. At the end of that time Melusendë declared that it was time for her to return home, saying:
Now you must return to Tídris, the head city of your realm. For you, being the elder daughter of the Queen, are the heir. Now take heed, for you will displace your sister, who has been bred to the throne. She will hate you and try to kill you, and there will be enmity between her kin and your kin. Take courage, for the Paryonal’s might will never leave you.
And Dâyamuna said:
O Mother Melusendë, am I to go back all alone to my people, changed as I am?
And Melusendë said:
Nay, daughter, for you are the daughter of the Queen, and you are to be the Queen and mother of your people as was your foremother Vidnî. You shall be arrayed as befits a Queen to be. You shall have a worthy escort with whom to meet your people. For my sisters and I shall array ourselves as Guardians of the Greenmarch, and when the Moon rises we shall call the King of the Fâdhéri and his household, Fâdhéya and Fâdhéwa together, and they and we shall ride with you through the night and present you at the gates of Tídris at the sun’s rising.
And when night fell they arrayed Dâyamuna in the lightest of mail armour, and placed a silver circlet upon her head, but gave her no sword, for the Blade of Ingos is the symbol of her realm. And the three sisters arrayed themselves in similar wise. They brought forth Dâyamuna’s pony and three mares that dwelt in the stables of Hrútwikë, and they all four mounted.
Then Finarelya took a small sûronga horn and winded it. They waited, and as the Moon rose they heard the dim sound of horns in the woods, replying. And then from the trees’ shadows came twelve riders, two by two, with the King of the Fâdhéri at their head. Not indeed as glorious was he as King Olverúno, who was now but a legend in Dúmiel, but even so, grave and gracious, and withall, fierce-looking. And all the company bowed to Dâyamuna, and at once they spurred their horses and set off.
They rode at a speed that Dâyamuna had never before known; nor could she conceive how her little pony could keep pace with them, yet she did, whether it was from the enchantment of the horses of the Fâdhéri, of whom men say that they can even fly at need, or from some other power. It is many leagues from the Berugwanna to Tídris, much more than a night’s journey; but at first light they beheld the towers of the city and its two great bridges. And as they galloped across the bridge of the west on to the isle of Ravinnigos and the sun touched the tops of the towers, Erelinko, the herald of the King of the Fâdhéri, winded his horn, so that everyone in the city awoke.
The company waited at the gate, and at length there came forth to them Queen Dîamána and her consort Prince Ganrad, and Rauwenna their daughter, and sundry of their counsellors. They were abashed at the sight of this fair array of Doitherúna on horseback, and amazed to see in their company the young woman who had been, as they thought, their son Dabros. And Rauwenna scowled.
Then the three Fâdhéri of Hrútwikë and the King dismounted, and bowed low to the Queen and Prince, and Melusendë said:
Here, Queen Dîamána and Prince Ganrad, we bring back to you — instead of a vurwë elwa, a lost son — a fair and gracious nuldë elya, a found daughter; and all the ways and skills of womanhood are hers, and so may she prove a fitting heir on the distant day when she is called upon.
The royal pair now took themselves in hand and stammered out a fitting reply, bowing to their unwonted visitors; but they still held back from Dâyamuna, fearing some evil enchantment or illusion to have been woven about their son. But Dâyamuna ran to her mother and father and embraced and kissed them, and then to her sister, who received her embrace coldly, for she saw the necklace Tarival about her neck. Then little by little they all recovered from the shock.
The three sisters of Hrútwikë kissed Dâyamuna farewell, and mounted; then, with a sounding of horns the fifteen Doitherúna turned their horses and galloped away like lightning.
Then Prince Ganrad said jestingly:
It is well that we, at least, are unscathed by the visitation of these Fâdhéri!
But Dâyamuna said:
Speak no ill words of the Fâdhéri, father! For it is they who fence our land from the Kúmi Netári.
But he said:
So our grandams said. Some however think they are all one.
Dâyamuna had the wisdom to make no reply.
Rauwenna said:
You have brought my necklace back, indeed.
Dâyamuna said:
The astûthéga whom I lodged with told me that Tarival was meant to be my gift. She said that Sûwikka withheld it by her craft.
Rauwenna said:
A useful tale for you, no doubt! Ûthégri! Sûwikka! They are all one, as Father says.
Dâyamuna said only:
If you wish to borrow the necklace, you may do so with all my goodwill.
This seemed to enrage Rauwenna, and she called her sister thief, liar, friend of witches, and many other names. But Dâyamuna remembered that Melusendë had warned her that this would happen, and held her peace.
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