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By the light of the four small waning moons of Xiccarph, Tiglari had crossed that bottomless swamp wherein no reptile dwelt and no dragon descended; but where the pitch-black ooze was alive with incessant heavings. At his side, in a sheath of chimera-skin, he wore a needle-sharp knife that had been dipped in the poison of winged vipers.
About him heavy-hooded blossoms leaned in venomous languor, or fawned with open mouths that exhaled a narcotic perfume or diffused a pollen of madness. His faculties, ever alert, wore quickened still more by fear and hatred. The fear was not for himself but for the girl Athlé, his beloved and the fairest of his tribe, who had gone up alone that evening by the causey of corundum and the porphyry stairs at the summons of Maal Dweb. His hatred was that of an outraged lover for the all-powerful, all-dreaded tyrant whom no man had ever seen, and from whose abode no woman ever came back.
He came to a gap in the horrible grove, and saw the saffron lights from the sorcerer’s windows. At length he came to a lampless, column-crowded portico; and, gliding silently as a jungle snake, he entered the mysterious house of Maal Dweb. The place was full of unknown perfumes, languorous and somnolent: a subtle reek as of censers in hidden alcoves of love.
On the couch, in sober garments, a man reclined as if weary or asleep. The man’s face was dim with ever-wavering shadows. He knew that this was Maal Dweb, whom no man had seen in the flesh but whose power was manifest to all: the occult, omniscent ruler of Xiccarph; the suzerain of the three suns and of all their planets and moons. But the thought of Athlé was a red mist that blotted all. The man before him lay with closed eyes and a cryptic weariness on his mouth and eyelids. He seemed to meditate rather than sleep, like one who wanders in a maze of distant memories or profound reveries.
Crouching tiger-wise, he made ready for the stroke. His arm, with the darting movement of some heavy but supple adder, struck fiercely at the tyrant’s heart. It was as if he tried to pierce a wall of stone. In midair, before and above the recumbent enchanter, the knife clashed on some unseen, impenetrable substance; and the point broke off and tinkled on the floor at Tiglari’s feet. He whirled about, thinking that Maal Dweb must be somewhere in the room. Baffled and terrified, he felt that Maal Dweb, the allseeing, all-potent magician, was playing a game and was deluding him with elaborate mockeries. ‘What do you seek, Tiglari?’ said the voice. ‘Do you think to enter with impunity the palace of Maal Dweb? ‘I seek the maiden Athlé,’ said Tiglari. ‘She has gone to find her fate in the labyrinth of Maal Dweb’. ‘Go now, Tiglari. There are many mysteries in my labyrinth; and among them, perhaps, is one which you are destined to solve.’ A door had opened in the mirror-paneled wall. The short night of the planet Xiccarph was not yet over; and the moons had all gone down. Tiglari saw before him the beginning of the fabled maze, illumined by glowing globular fruits that hang lantern-wise from arches of foliage. Guided only by their light, he entered the labyrinth. He climbed on by stairs and gradients lined with tossing, clashing aloes. He stepped forward upon the pavement through a narrow gap in this siagular hedge, and stood staring irresolutely at the serried blooms: for here the way seemed to end.
The onyx beneath his feet was wet with some unknown, sticky fluid. A quick sense of peril stirred within him, and he turned to retrace his steps. At his first movement toward the opening through which he had entered, a long tendril like a wire of bronze recoiled with lightning rapidity from the base of each of the flower sterns, and closed about his ankles. He stood trapped and helpless at the center of a taut net. Then, while he struggled impotently, the stems began to lean and tilt toward him, till the red mouths of their blossoms were close about his knees like a circle of fawning monsters. From their lips a clear, hueless liquid, dripping slowly at first, and then running in little rills, descended on his feet and ankles and shanks. Indescribably, his flesh crawled beneath it; then there was a passing numbness; then a furious stinging like the bites of innumerable insects. With the senses of one who drowns in nightmare, he heard the startled cry of a woman. Above the tilted flowers he beheld a strange scene which the hitherto impenetrable maze, parting as if by magic, had revealed.
Fifty feet away, on the same level as the onyx pavement, there stood an elliptic dais of moon-white stone at whose center the maiden Athlé, emerging from the labyrinth on a raised, porphyry walk, had paused in an attitude of wonder. Tiglari would have called out to Athlé. ’The maiden Athlé,’ announced the voices in solemn and portentous tones, ‘has beheld herself in the mirror of Eternity, and has passed beyond the changes and corruptions of Time.’ Tiglari, in helpless abject horror, waited for the completion of the metamorphosis. ‘The hunter Tiglari has been laved in the nectar of the blossoms of primordial life, and has become in all ways, from the neck downward, even as the beasts that he hunted.’ A great awe was upon Tiglari; his native fierceness, his savage volition, were tamed by the enchanter’s languid will. With one backward look of concern and wonder at Athlé, he withdrew obediently, slouching like a huge ape. His fur glistening wetly to the three suns, he vanished amid the labyrinth. Maal Dweb, attended by his metal slaves, went over to the figure of Athlé, which still regarded with astonished eyes.
DIY label focused on ambient punk, minimal-synth, dungeon-drone, wartime music and post-nuclear wave. Managed by a creative punx collective from Milano city.
supported by 88 fans who also own “MAAL DWEB - The maze of the enchanter”
A dreamy, beguiling, nostalgic dungeon synth quest through the shires. But, it's so much more than that. The LP incorporates some unique key changes, field recordings and a lot of Mort Garson style synth work. It sometimes reminds me of old 70's PG horror soundtracks. The record is addictive melancholy inspiration. The ideal music for accompanying the dawning morning of an epic adventure. brantly
supported by 85 fans who also own “MAAL DWEB - The maze of the enchanter”
Dinosaurs and Dungeon Synth? PERFECT. This is the album that really got me into dungeon synth again and made me continue my dinosaur obsession. winstonrandom
