Night's Daughter

Night’s Daughter

Marion Zimmer Bradley

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The Marion Zimmer Bradley Literary Works Trust

PO Box 193473

San Francisco, CA 94119

www.mzbworks.com

Contents

Night’s Daughter

Contents

Author’s Note

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

About the Author

Copyright

Author’s Note

On Night’s Daughter and Mozart’s The Magic Flute

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The first performance of the opera The Magic Flute was in 1791, a collaboration between the composer and his librettist, a popular clown and performer in the Kasperl tradition of comedy in Vienna. From the time of the first performance it was recognized that into the fairy-tale scenario a serious meaning and allegory had been inserted. Ever since then, for the last two hundred years, thoughtful people have been asking, What does it mean?

I fell under the spell of the magic flute when still a child. (In fact, as a teenage science-fiction writer, I adopted for a short time the pen name of Astrafiammante, after the Queen of the Night, and though I soon outgrew it, first abridging it simply to Astra and then dropping it entirely, no one who was a fan at that time has ever let me forget it. I still get teased about it at science-fiction conventions.)

I have spent most of my adult life as a writer of fantasy and science fiction; I see the story, of course, in that light.

In this re-creation, I have of necessity used many sources. I have, of course, read commentaries about the Masonic symbolism of the opera—Mozart and Shikaneder were both Masons—and seen the Ingmar Bergman film which made a superstar of Haakon Hagegaard as Papageno. I might as well say at once that I adopted from Bergman only one idea: that Pamina was the daughter of the Queen of the Night by Sarastro. This makes good sense of the whole tangle of relationships, even to the rivalry between the Priest-King and the Lady, otherwise inexplicable.

Other influences on my version include the persistent legend that an ancient civilization before our own was destroyed by its misuse of certain sciences, and that one of these was a blasphemous attempt to interbreed man and animal. In the light of current research into recombinant DNA that is not nearly as fantastic as it sounded when I first read about it.

I mentioned science fiction fandom above; there is a commonplace, facetious remark that reality is a crutch for people unable to handle science fiction. Some people, desperate for their preferred reading to be treated as respectable—that is, on a par with popular fiction about adultery in the suburbs—grow very angry when it’s quoted at them. But my favored reader is one who can read with his full awareness and does not need to be pacified by familiar settings or such characters as can be found on the street corner or in the soap opera of the mundane world.

So I like to go one step further and say that science fiction is itself a crutch for people unable to handle fantasy. As science fiction forces people to imagine the technology and cultures of the future, without the crutch of the here and now—tales of adultery in the suburbs, the familiar hairdryer novel—so fantasy forces the reader to confront his or her own archetypes, the images which move within the human subconscious, without even the imagined future binding us to our mundane world. Here we move directly among our own psychological archetypes, the inward needs of our minds and spirit. In the words of Michael Straight, commenting on J.R.R. Tolkien, Fantasy does not obscure, but illuminates, the inner nature of reality. Such creatures of eternal imagination as the bird-man Papageno, or the Queen of the Night, do not need to be explained by such commonplace imaginings of mundane life as recombinant DNA; like the Cheshire Cat and the Wicked Stepmother, they exist within the collective imagination, if not of the human race, at least of the English-speaking universe.

Is this, then, fantasy, science fiction, parable, allegory, or simply a fairy tale to feed the child within us all?

That answer is for the reader. As a writer I only stand here with my magic flute and play you a magical tune.

—Marion Zimmer Bradley

Berkeley, California,

December, 1983

Prologue

Of the Halflings of Atlas-Alamesios

In the beginning was the Serpent, and later it was told among Men that the kindred of the Serpent had come first, and had aided the hands of the Makers in the fashioning of Men. However it was, in those days the Serpent-kin were not known as Halflings, but as Mankind, as well as the Sons of the Ape.

In those early days, so it was said, at the center of the Year, when the Sun begins its returning-round, in the Night of Darkness, it was the Serpent-lord who coupled in the Great Rite with the Priestess of the Night. So it was that the blood of the Serpent (so they said in those days) had entered into the kindred of the House of Night and the very blood of the priestesses. The chief among the priestesses, who in those days were called the Daughters of the Moon and Stars, came to be known as the Queen of the Night; or in later days, as the Starqueen.

And since the Serpent-kin had come so close to the heights of thought and sentient intelligence of mankind, in their pride of creation, the priest-kings of the House of the Sun wrought other Halflings. They made the Seal-folk and the Kindred of the Dolphin, to go down into the depths of the ocean beds and bring up oysters for the tables and pearl-oysters to adorn the girdle of the Starqueen and the crown of the Sun-priests; they also herded fish for the nets of the fishermen.

Later they created the Bird-folk in the hope that they would have servants who could fly and bear messages between their towns; but in this they mostly failed, for the Bird-folk were so fashioned and structured that their wings would not bear them. (The Makers had decided that first of all, all Halflings should bear the shape and the semblance of Mankind.) And furthermore, the Bird-kindred were mostly half-witted; some of them had wit enough to be singers and musicians at the courts of Starqueen and Sun-priests, but otherwise that experiment was not a success, and by the time of our tale, few of the Bird-folk remained on Atlas-Alamesios.

They also created Halflings from the Dog-folk, in the hope that they would have servants of the uttermost faithfulness; and in this they were mostly successful, for the Dog-folk were intelligent, but not too much, so that they found their truest happiness in serving those they loved. They also created the Kindred of the Cats, but these were rebellious beyond measure, and fled to the interior, where lay the remains of the People Who Had Gone Before (some said these were the first of the Makers) and there they lived, preying upon the countryside. And they created the Ox-folk who could bear great burdens, and from their labor were built the mighty pyramids and temples which stand to this day in the ruins amid the jungle and tangle of deepest rain forest.

It is not known how long Mankind and the Makers lived at peace with the Halflings. All civilizations have memories and folktales of a Golden Age when all people lived at peace. Perhaps there was such a day, and perhaps not.

But, and it is not known how or why (but rumor says that it all originated with the Serpent-kin), it became known even to the Makers that all was not well between themselves and the Halflings. Not only did men scorn Halflings, but Halflings who had too little of the true blood of Humankind began to think of themselves as flawed, inferior, lacking what was essential to being human. And in some ways this was true, for, having too little of human intelligence, some of the Halfling-folk were too witless even for servants, far less able to conduct their own lives. Partly because of this, when Halfling interbred with Halfling beyond the borders of their own kind—from innocence or because the priests, in malice or simple curiosity, had ordained it—such a tangle of genetic materials came into being that Men were filled with loathing. The sight of a Bird-Serpent was terrible to them, or a Dog-Ox, or a Seal-Cat. Harmless as these were, they were also useless, and not fitted for survival; their lives often became burdensome to themselves and to their masters.

And those of the Makers who experimented, not only with couplings between ill-mated pairs, but by breeding from germ cells in their hidden vivariums, created more terrible things yet: the dreadful Feathered Serpent, and the Dragons of the Changing Lands, who partook of the nature of Eagle and Serpent, and the Lion-Eagles who ravaged the deserts. And these too, escaping from their hidden places, interbred with one another, and created at last such a confusion of forms that, they say, the gods themselves rebelled at what they had done.

It would take too long to tell of the wars and troubles which followed: of the demand of the people for a King from among untainted Mankind; of the wars between the Sons of the Ape and the Kindred of the Serpent; of the establishment of the Royal House of Atlas, and of the Sun-kings who were their priests. And it was from the House of Atlas that at last the word was given, that the making of Halflings must cease, that no Halfling might be allowed to breed even with his own kind unless he could pass certain Ordeals to prove the worthiness of his blood to reproduce its own kind (and there were few who could demonstrate intelligence enough even to enter these Ordeals), and that the vivariums must be destroyed. Also, they declared that the mating of Mankind and Halfling must cease forever.

And to this last there was some reason. For in the making of Halflings, they had retained (in order that their servants should increase rapidly) the swifter breeding of the Animal-kind. The Halflings looked much like Mankind; but they littered with the swiftness of the Beast-kind, so that one of the Dog-kindred could sow the earth with forty or fifty sons and daughters while only one generation of Man’s children, three or four in number, grew to maturity.

And so the priests realized that soon they would be swamped in Beast-folk without wit to learn or to rule, and would have a great multitude without enough intelligence to be anything more than slaves. Nevertheless, though many of the priesthood and the House of Atlas were thus enlightened, there were still those who felt it right that Mankind should rule over all the Beast-kind and Halflings, and that they need have no obligation to treat them in accordance with Law or even common humanity.

Now at this time, there lived in the Temple of Night a great priestess who called herself, as her mothers and foremothers had done, the Queen of Night; as with all such Queens, her personal name was long forgotten. She had taken, as had many of the Starqueens, a lover from among the Serpent-folk, and to him she had borne three royal daughters. When the word came down from the Great House of Atlas that all mating with Halflings should cease, she was very angry; yet she bowed her head in apparent docility; and even agreed, as the Great Atlas was old and dying, that she should mate with the heir apparent, a quiet and priestly youth known as Sarastro, to bear him an heir who should join in his blood the two royal houses of Atlas-Alamesios, the Great Temple of Mother Night and the Royal House of the Sun.

Although the Starqueen was now almost past the years of childbearing, she agreed to this; the two were married in the Temple of Light, and a year later the Starqueen bore a child, a daughter whom they named Pamina. When this daughter, hereditary Starqueen and heir to the House of Light, came to sit upon the throne of Atlas-Alamesios, then (thought the Starqueen) her daughter Pamina should nullify what the Starqueen considered the weaknesses and follies of the House of Light.

But the truce between the Priest of Light and Priestess of the Old Dark Goddess could not last. In the second year, before Pamina was weaned from the breast, Sarastro and the Starqueen quarreled because of her vicious and cruel treatment of her Halfling servants, which she would neither amend nor cease. So the Starqueen fled from the palace of the Sun-kings and took Pamina with her to the Temple of Night. There she vowed enmity forever toward Sarastro and the House of Light. Sarastro was grieved, for in spite of all her arrogance and pride, he had loved the Starqueen with all the strength of his heart, and loved her still. But his father, who detested the woman to whom he had married his son, said, Let her go; she is an evil creature, and so are all those of that kindred. One day you will marry another wife who will bear you a son without the taint of the Serpent.

Soon after this, the great priest and king of Atlas-Alamesios died, and Sarastro ascended the throne of his forefathers. Still he took no other wife, but bided his time until Pamina should be grown to womanhood, to rule with her mate after him.

And here our story beings.

Chapter One

There was blood on the moon.

Princess Pamina, slight and frail, stood on the balcony staring in affright at the dull, blood-colored mist that was creeping across the face of the lunar disk, crawling across the face of the moon. Never had she seen anything like this before. From far below, in the city that was now only patches of greater darkness against the night, she could hear a muffled sound like wailing; wailing from far away, in terror of the red slime that swallowed up the silver chasteness of the night’s face. Pamina felt that she too should wail, fall to her knees, and cry out in terror and repentance.

But she was nine years old, youngest daughter of the Starqueen; she had been taught to bear herself in dignity even alone in her own chambers, and one day she would rule over all these people. She could not run and hide within her rooms to weep in fright. Yet the terror was within her. What had gone wrong in the night, and why did not her mother, who was Lady of the Night, right it at once?

Within her chamber, she heard stirrings; then behind her, she saw the shadowed form of her half-sister Disa, eldest daughter of the Starqueen.

You must come at once, Pamina. It would hardly have been fair to say that Disa’s voice was unkind; it was too indifferent for that. You are no longer a child; did our mother not tell you that at the time of the next procession, you should join us?

I did not know that this was a time for processions, replied Pamina, and felt her heart pounding heavily inside her chest. Processions? They were a thing of sunlight and rejoicing, not for this dark night of fear and wailing in the streets.

Yet Disa’s words were obscurely comforting, too. Her mother knew of the wrongness in the sky, and was she not Starqueen? Something then would be done to remedy this hideous color on the moon, the dreadful darkness covering the night. She went obediently into her chamber, where her Halfling servant, one of the Dog-folk, a small plump female with soft, lopped-over hairy ears, awaited her with three processional robes flung over her outstretched paw-like hands.

Which of the robes will my little mistress choose to wear?

Her voice was something not quite a bark, nor yet a whine, but it held the qualities of both, and to Pamina it was dear and familiar. She knew well that to Rawa she was the very center of the world; she had been cradled in those hairy arms and comforted against that soft body since she could remember. But since she was old enough to know anything at all, it had been impressed on her that Rawa, as a dog-halfling, must not be expected to make choices or decisions for herself; for that, like all Dog-folk, she awaited the word of master or mistress.

Pamina turned to Disa, not knowing what was the right choice for a procession at this unexpected time. Disa frowning, inspected the proffered garments.

None of these will do, she finally said, scowling so that the light revealed the narrowly pitted nostrils, the curious flatness of her face. Have no ritual garments been provided for night processions, Rawa?

I have had no orders, said Rawa meekly.

This answer did not please Disa, who lashed out, Witless Halfling! and struck Rawa across the face.

Well, there is no help for it, I must fetch you one of my own robes; it will be too long for you, but you can girdle it up at the waist, and perhaps, since it is dark and she will have much else to think of, our mother will not notice—if you are very fortunate, Disa added, with a menace that made Pamina tremble as much as the Halfling woman. Disa paid no attention, but hurried away, turning to fling a threat back over her shoulder.

As for you, Rawa, perhaps you have been too long with your mistress and are beginning to take your position as royal nurse for granted! Perhaps a term in the stables as rat-catcher would restore your proper sense of humility!

Pamina went and hugged Rawa as Disa left the room. The soft body of the dog-woman was trembling.

Don’t cry, Rawa, I’ll talk to my mother, she knows how much I need you. Mother won’t let her send you away, she said. But she was not certain. Her mother had so many cares and responsibilities, she left the managing of the residence, where the four princesses lived, in Disa’s hands from one moon to the next. Disa might indeed put her threat into action before Pamina had a chance for audience with the Lady.

Rawa probably was not clever enough to think this all the way through, but the doubt in Pamina’s voice communicated itself to her, and she made a little whimpering sound and clung to the child. But in the next moment she moved away, sniffling loudly. Pamina, who knew Rawa’s moods as well as her own, immediately reacted.

What is it, Rawa? What is it, is there someone here?

Rawa only whined and continued to sniff around the corners of the room. Then she made a swift series of little rushes toward the balcony, and with a harsh barking sound, pounced. There was a shriek, and Pamina called out, What have you got there, Rawa? Show it to me, at once. Naughty girl!

The dog-woman only growled through her teeth, Bad! Bad! Doesn’t belong here, no she doesn’t, as she dragged in something from the balcony. Pamina hurried to inspect the slightly built form of the Halfling immobilized under Rawa’s paws.

This one was no taller than Pamina herself, clad in a scanty green shift which barely covered long delicate limbs which looked so fragile it seemed Rawa’s rough grip could snap them in two. Her hair was a soft crest, like feathers of brilliant scarlet and yellow, growing down in silky iridescent layers along her neck and shoulders. Terror distorted her features, but Pamina recognized her. The bird-halfling had been brought in from the city to juggle for her, sing for her, entertain her on her last birthday celebration.

Let her go, Rawa. No, I mean it, she added sternly as the dog-woman made a little growling sound. Reluctantly, Rawa released the Halfling woman, who scrambled to her feet, squeaking in terror.

Papagena, Pamina said, taking a step toward the bird-girl. What are you doing here? No, Rawa, I told you, let her alone, she couldn’t hurt me if she wanted to, and certainly not with you here. And she wouldn’t hurt me anyway, would you Papagena?

The bird-woman was almost gibbering with terror, but as Rawa released her and backed away, she pulled herself to her feet.

Princess, you were kind to me, and when they came to take me for sacrifice, I remembered you and came to you... Don’t let them take me! Don’t let them take me away and kill me, don’t—

Rawa whined, backing away still further.

Mistress! Mistress, send her away or we shall all be in trouble—it’s not allowed to meddle with the sacrifices, and I smell it on her, the incense—she smells of death! Send her away!

Quiet, Rawa, Pamina said again, though inwardly she was quaking. She should have known, the very night smelled of death, with blood on the moon and the wailing in the streets. She knew of the sacrifices and had never before this questioned them, far less believed that they could touch her or anyone she had ever known. That this faraway half-disbelieved terror could reach out and touch the harmless Papagena, who had entertained them all here at court, filled her with a new and unknown emotion she did not know was rage. She only knew that her teeth chattered and there was a foul taste at