Shimmering Splendor Read online

  “Of course you are,” she said, gathering her scattered wits. And then, recalling her determination to stop calling him creature or monster, she said, “People have names, but you have never told me yours. I am ashamed not to have asked sooner.”

  “My name?” He hesitated, and then said slowly, as if he were trying to remember, “Teras. You are kind. But why not call me ‘monster’? I will answer to it.”

  Was that what his kind and generous Aphrodite called him? Psyche was appalled and said sharply, “Perhaps I do not wish to call you ‘monster’ because I do not wish to think of you as a monster any longer. You have been much kinder to me than I to you. I am beginning to think you were quite correct when you called me a monster. In the past few days, I have had more time than usual to think, and I have discovered some very unpleasant things about myself.”

  “No! You must not spend your time tearing your heart to shreds. There is nothing unpleasant about you.”

  The voice was high and thin with pain and anxiety, the voice of a man who had torn his own heart to shreds and wished to spare anyone else that agony. Psyche did not even realize she had stretched out her hand. She had closed her eyes for a moment, as one does to shut out the sight of a face ravaged by pain. She felt her hand taken in a firm, warm grip. Her eyes shot open to see her body end at her shoulder. She must have gasped, because the hand let go and the dark shrank back, but what remained with her was the feeling. She had not lost sensation, even where Teras had not touched her. She had felt her arm extended, the brush of her sleeve against her flesh as she moved. The darkness around Teras did not swallow her up any more than did the night.

  Slowly Psyche put her hand out again. “May I touch your face?” she whispered.

  Chapter 10

  “Close your eyes,” Teras said, and when Psyche shook her head in denial, he first laughed and then sighed in exasperation. “Silly girl, did you think I was going to stick out my hand and somehow bring a normal man for you to feel? Keep your eyes open if you wish, then. I only suggested that you close them to save you the sight of your hand disappearing, which seems to bother you. But you are free to touch my face or any other part of me to your heart’s content.”

  Afraid her courage would fail, Psyche thrust her hand into the blackness at the level of her own head.

  “Hai!” Teras cried, “Gently. You almost put out my eye.”

  It was horrible to see her arm disappear, but Psyche had felt the glancing blow and now a face was pushed against her reaching hand. She felt the cheek, slid her fingers down along it to a chin, raised them to pass along lips, which moved against their tips, pursing in a kiss.

  “Stop that,” Psyche said crossly, and closed her eyes.

  Teras laughed. A hand seized her other hand and drew it toward the face, urging her without words to examine fully. The flesh was warm and dry, without unnatural knobs or ridges or any sign of an open sore, the cheeks, chin, and lips clean-shaven but with the faintest bristling that showed a beard could grow. She felt a nose, two eyes, a broad forehead above which was hair covering a rounded skull. Sliding down again her hands encountered two ears, a strong neck, broad shoulders. Psyche withdrew her hands and opened her eyes.

  “You are not a monster,” she said, her voice accusatory. “You have been frightening me for amusement.”

  “No.” The blackness bulged forward; her thigh and hip disappeared as her hand was seized. “I said it was not good to look upon me. That is the truth.”

  “You mean an illusion of monstrosity is upon you?”

  There was a brief hesitation. Then he said, “I will not answer that question. I told you I would not answer questions about my appearance. You will find nothing to disgust or frighten you when you touch me. That is all I will say.”

  “If you had children, what would they look like?”

  He did not answer and Psyche gripped his hand, which she thought was about to withdraw. “I am sorry if I hurt you,” she cried. “But I must know whether the punishment set on you will descend to your children.”

  “It was not that you hurt me. I thought you were asking the same question in a different way.”

  “No. What I meant was… I could not bear it if my child looked so horrible that it did not dare face the world.”

  “Your child!” It was a joyous exclamation. “Then you will marry me, Psyche?”

  He would not answer! He would not admit to her that a mating with him might produce a monster. All he wanted was to satisfy his lust. She pulled her hand away.

  “Marry!” she spat. “What sort of husband is so eager to mate that he will not warn the woman he calls wife that his children would appear deformed? What sort of handfasting can there be when you and I are alone, without witness? Not even the servants could swear to your promises. Are they not mute? When I bear you something so loathsome that it needs to go veiled in blackness, what claim could I make on you, whom I have never seen? Will you not drop me back on the altar, like refused offal—”

  Her hand was seized again, held hard against her struggle to free it.

  “Psyche, my love”—the voice was throaty music—“I am sorry my joy at the hope of your willingness to marry me overcame my sense. I did not mean to refuse to answer you. Beloved, I swear there is no reason in my past ill-doing or in my punishment for our child to be marred in any way. The spell set on me will not befoul my descendants. And witness or no witness, I will be faithful to you, will protect you and succor you until the day I die. There is my blood in your hand to warrant my swearing.”

  She felt something hot and wet on her hand and cried out in disgust. Then the grip on her was released, and when she jerked her hand back she saw a wet stain in the palm, black in the pale light of the new-risen moon. She stared at it, shuddering in revulsion, so filled with horror that at first she could not move to rid herself of it.

  “Wipe it carefully and save the cloth.” Teras’s voice sounded as if it came through lips tightened against pain. “With my blood, freely given, you can work any magic you desire upon me. If I fail you, you can kill me, or draw me back to you to serve as your slave.”

  “No!” Psyche cried, staring down at the little puddle in her palm.

  She had already realized that she could not simply wipe the blood onto the earth. If something evil smelled it and collected the grass and dirt, great harm could come to poor Teras. Carefully she blotted up the blood on the corner of her himation, rolling the smeared cloth inward so that no smallest fleck would touch another surface. The blackness bulged and a knife was lying on Psyche’s knees when it withdrew. She cut the edge off the himation, folded it still smaller, and tucked it into the bodice of her gown between the upper and lower girdles so that it could not be lost. Then she stood up.

  “I will go in and burn it now,” she said. “No person should be so enslaved.”

  The blackness had swelled upward when she rose. Now it moved to block her path. “Psyche…” The beautiful voice was very gentle. “That you have said those words is reason enough why I desire a life-bond with you. Do not burn my keepsake—at least, not yet. Hold it as a surety of my goodwill. You can burn it any time”—there was a soft chuckle—“but I do not wish to stick my knife into my hand again the next time you express a doubt of me.”

  “I did not ask for any surety.”

  “No, but what you said was all true, and it will be easier for you to believe my promises if you have so strong a token of my good faith. You do not know me well. I understand. It is hard to know one whose face you cannot see, whose expression is a mystery to you. I am satisfied that you should hold my life in your hand because I know, though you do not, that what you fear will never happen. In any case, my life matters little, Psyche, because you already hold my soul. You are the vital spark that has relit my inner fire. I do not believe I can live without you any longer—”

  Psyche had been standing quite still, looking a little to the side of the shadow that could not be pierced, almost hypnotized by the bea
uty of Teras’s voice and the beauty of the sentiments he expressed. And not once had he mentioned her appearance. She was just beginning to wonder whether he might be blind and perceive what was happening around him by other senses when the last sentence jerked her to alertness. If she listened in silence much longer, he could claim she had agreed to far more than she was ready to yield.

  “All I did was ask to touch your face,” she snapped. “That was no invitation to you to touch me or—”

  “I did not mean it that way. I meant that I need to be with you, to speak to you.” A brief pause; when he spoke again, it was plain that Teras was smiling. “Alas, I will survive without coupling if you deny me, although—”a heavy sigh“—not with much comfort.” A plaintive note changed the normal music of his voice. “It is very—ah—irritating to be always ready.”

  The tiny giggle that forced its way past her lips surprised Psyche and rather diminished the force of what she intended to be a repressive remark: “No man can be ready all the time.”

  “No?” Now the laughter was open. “Would you like to test me?”

  Psyche knew she should say coldly, “Not at all. Do not be so vulgar.” What she did say was, “It would serve you right if I said yes, first claiming that I was only investigating the truth and not offering any invitation to a similar investigation of my person.”

  “If you investigated long enough, you might reduce my state of readiness—for a while,” Teras rejoined in a rather choked voice. “In that case, I fear you would suffer more from the prohibition than I.”

  “Hmmph!”

  It was all Psyche could manage because she knew if she opened her mouth to speak she would bray like an ass with laughter instead. Talking to Teras was an utter delight. He was the only match she had found since her own wits—and beauty—had matured. The thought woke a feeling that that was not entirely true. Someone else had not been struck dumb by her face, but at the moment she could not recall who, and it was not wise to let her mind wander while she was conversing with Teras. One careless word had proved that already.

  “If I promise not to take advantage,” his voice was now blatantly wheedling, “will you not ‘investigate’ just a little?”

  “Stop that!” Psyche ordered. “You promised not to importune me.”

  “I never did! Never! Do you think me mad? I must do something if I wish to ease this state of readiness. I promised not to force you, but I fully intend to importune you as often and as persuasively as I can.”

  “You are infuriating!” Psyche exclaimed, stamping her foot. “Your mind runs on a single narrow trail without branches or turnings.”

  “It did not before.” He sighed gustily. “It was your suggestion that you would—”

  “If you say “investigate’ again, I will do something quite dreadful,” Psyche said.

  “What?” Teras asked with bright interest.

  She gave up and laughed aloud. “Throw myself on the ground and drum with my heels! There. You expected something quite different, I suppose, but I refuse to give you any further chance to importune me.” She hesitated, and then said softly, “I am not ready, Teras. Not so much because I doubt you, or even fear you, but—but—”

  “Must I go, then?”

  “No, don’t go. Come into the house. I have been reading and have come across several things I wished to ask you about.” The darkness moved aside, and Psyche, thinking he was retreating, added hastily, “Not any question that will hurt you or remind you of the past—”

  “I will not run away again,” he said. “Sometimes an old wound needs to be probed to make it clean.”

  “Not by one who is so ignorant that the cautery goes too deep. But this book is harmless—a treatise on plants—”

  “Plants! Oh, I forgot your question about the garden. I’m sorry. I will have an answer for you tomorrow.”

  “No, no, these are wild plants. I want to know which grow nearby, if any do, and if it would be safe for me to gather them. Come inside and look at the book.”

  “Will you grow uneasy with me again when my…black shroud is so apparent?”

  Psyche turned her head to look directly at the place seemingly cut out of the world. “That is part of what I must learn, is it not? It is growing colder. Soon we will not be able to spend much time here. If we are to be able to sit and talk so that I can come to know you it must be in a sheltered place.”

  “You are right.” He chuckled. “And coupling out in the countryside, although it is lauded in poetry, is much less pleasant in reality than in verse.”

  Psyche drew in her breath, but before she could speak, he continued. “But let us not jump into the deepest part of the ocean from a ship to discover whether we can swim. Let us wade out slowly and avoid the danger of drowning. Go tell the servants to darken the house, except for a lamp for yourself.”

  “Very well,” Psyche agreed.

  Turning to go, she trod on something hard and sharp, cried out, and stumbled. Instantly, she was blinded by utter blackness, clutching wildly at support, caught in a firm embrace, steadied, and put out into the silvery light of the moon a moment later. Despite the brevity of the experience, she had a strong impression of a big, straight body without deformity and the feeling that she might have clung a little longer regardless of the absolute blackness.

  “What did I step on?” she gasped, unwilling to think about the experience.

  “One of the game pieces I dropped. See, there it is. I forgot them.”

  “I did too,” she said. “Shall we try to pick them up?”

  “It would take all night. Tell the servants to do it in the morning, when there is light. Come, I’ll walk with you a little way to be sure you don’t trip again.”

  To her relief, Psyche found that she felt no renewal of horror when Teras entered the house. In fact, the light from the lamp she carried, being centered around her, showed less of the blotting out of reality than the moonlight, and when a side-glance showed the disappearance of a chair or the stair rail as Teras passed, she did not find it as chilling. She realized she was growing accustomed.

  In the book room she set the lamp on the table, untied and unrolled the scroll, and held it flat, turning her head into the dark behind her. “You see,” she began, and then stopped as she saw the blackness retreat. “Whatever is the matter?” she asked, turning back to look at the scroll.

  It was the book of poetry she had unrolled, not the work on plants. She had forgotten that she had left that one out, planning to ask him to point out which words in the translation matched those with which she was familiar and so manage to touch his hand “by accident”. She heard a ragged sigh.

  “I am so sorry,” she cried, springing up and letting the scroll reroll itself. Tears started to her eyes. “Teras, I swear I unrolled the wrong book. I had no idea—”

  “You couldn’t know this had any more meaning to me than any other, of course.” His voice was flat. “No, don’t cry, Psyche. It’s all right.”

  “I never meant to hurt you,” she sobbed, closing her eyes and running into the dark, clutching him to keep him from fleeing, murmuring she knew not what to soothe away the pain.

  She could not know how successful her maneuver was. The unfaltering grip, the hand that drew down Eros’s head to kiss his face, the soothing murmurs would not have been possible at the time he had translated those poems. Her nearness assured him as nothing else could do that he was no longer so obscenely loathsome, so revolting, that he had to leave the house before the servants could cook or clean. They had used to fall to the floor, writhing and vomiting, barely able to crawl outside if they accidentally entered when he was there, even when he was upstairs and they below. That was over, ended. The wound was clean and could heal.

  As joy wiped out remembered misery, Eros began to return Psyche’s caresses. He moved his head just a little so that her lips met his instead of falling on his cheek. He felt her tense and whispered, “Please,” against her lips—and she did not withdraw. Then
he put his arms around her, first barely embracing her so she could pull free, and when she did not, he used one arm to press her against him. The other hand he raised to run gently over her ear, down her jaw, along her throat, and up around her ear again. She shivered a little.

  He lifted his lips from hers just enough to form the words, “Can you bear to be this close to me?” and she pressed closer to reassure him in defiance of her fears and doubts, as he knew she would. He kissed her again, moving his mouth from hers to her throat, her ear, and back to her lips, which were fuller than when they first met his.

  Perhaps it was unfair to use her guilt, especially when she had done no wrong, to make her willing to yield to him, but the sooner they were together, the sooner her doubts and fears would be at rest. Eros slid the hand he was holding her with down her back, stroking, then cupping her buttocks and holding her tight to him so she could not mistake the urgency of his need. He brought his hand up again, stretched the fingers until they touched her breast. She made a little sound. Eros twisted his body and stretched farther until his longest finger just slid against her nipple, which was so hard and erect he could feel it through the cloth of her tunic and peplos. Her arms tightened around him and dropped to pull his hips closer.

  “Psyche,” he murmured, his lips moving against hers, “if you still feel you cannot let me love you, send me away now. I may not be able to stop later. But please…I need you so much.”

  Now or later, Psyche thought muzzily, what did it matter? In the end she would yield to him, and he was warm, and straight, and strong under her seeking hands. So let it be now. Her lips throbbed softly and she stretched her neck to press them against him—it did not matter where. His hand stroked her and she shivered again as a finger rubbed her nipple. It tickled and did not tickle; she wanted to wrench away and she wanted to push her breast hard against the teasing hand. And her nether mouth felt moist and swollen and at the same time gapingly empty.