The Way of Light

by Storm Constantine

  ‘You are quite a paragon,’ Taropat said. ‘Is it real or are you simply an accomplished actress?’

  ‘If the effect is positive, does that matter?’ she asked, then grinned at him. ‘Oh, I’m not a paragon, I assure you. I have strong convictions, that’s all, and I’ve learned a few things. Not everything, by any means. I wouldn’t want to know everything, because then I might as well be dead.’

  Taropat studied her for a moment. ‘I’d never have imagined having this conversation with you. I can appreciate why Shan is so smitten with you now. You are certainly adept with words. Valraven is very lucky. I hope he knows that.’

  ‘The Taropat I met a few weeks ago would never have said that,’ Varencienne said, getting to her feet. She felt dizzy, exhilarated, because a thousand words she had kept tightly within her had been given their freedom, because he spoken kindly to her. ‘Shall we go and make breakfast?’

  The company set off before morning had taken full claim of the sky. They followed a narrow path along the side of the mountain, high above the valley, which looked endless. It was a path that had been cut by a glacier millennia before, and it extended as far as Hanana. Below, a thick forest hugged cleared areas, where a few farmers had sown barley fields. Shaggy sheep with huge curling horns grazed on the opposite hillside, their tiny hooves sure upon the almost vertical meadow. Varencienne saw a brightly-coloured blur moving among the sheep and at first thought it was a spirit of some kind, but then realised it was a running shepherd child, dressed in a brilliant red cape. She looked down at the path, which was littered with quartz chunks reflecting the early sunlight. It was as if she was walking upon water. There was a strand of red upon the path: a ribbon of blood, or a ribbon of wool? She saw that it was made of silk, something that a girl might wear in her hair. Seeing it there was an omen. It lay perfect among the glittering stones: a lost memory, an accidental still life.

  By mid-morning, there were increased signs of life in the valley, even though the landscape itself was more wild and desolate. Snopard said this was because they were near to the Holy City and that many people had settled in the lands around it in order to supply produce for the Highest of High, Aranepa, Supreme Vana of Venotishi. A tributary of the sacred river Nankara cascaded over a precipice into the valley, filling the air with noise, colour and light. Just beyond the waterfall, the mountains leaned together so that the river valley became narrower. It was here that Varencienne and her companions had to cross to the other side. This was achieved via a narrow bridge of hairy rope and wooden slats. Anyone with vertigo would have fainted on the spot, as they were hundreds of feet above the valley floor. Between the splintery slats, Varencienne caught sight of crows wheeling beneath, uttering hoarse cries. The river was a muted roar, foaming white and silver over its rocky bed: Lady Yakse, eldest daughter of Venotishi. Snopard muttered propitiatory prayers all the way, running a string of black, polished magic beads through his fingers. Varencienne could almost feel the personality of the river goddess, wild and exuberant in her threshing power, ignorant of the small human specks crossing her roiling body.

  In late afternoon, as Varencienne had hoped, the party turned a corner on the narrow path and a panoramic landscape opened up before them. They were so high above sea level that the peaks around them were capped in snow, an icing that would never disappear, not even in high summer. But one mountain alone was black and bare at its summit: the Peak of the Night. This was the holy mountain they had sought, and the citadel gat, Hanana, clung to its lower flanks like a girdle of carved stone. Ellony told her mother that the mountain was Venotishi’s heart, which held Paraga in tight embrace. The heat of the life blood of the goddess kept the high peaks free from snow.

  ‘Volcanic,’ Taropat announced.

  ‘Is that likely?’ Varencienne asked. ‘Why would anyone build so extensively on the flanks of a live volcano?’

  Taropat gave her a withering glance. ‘Very well. It is the goddess’s beating heart that keeps the stone warm.’

  ‘The Nugrids believe that the prayers of the High Vanas in Hanana keep the goddess in a good mood,’ Ellony said. ‘Otherwise she might throw burning rocks down onto the citadel.’

  ‘It sounds perilous,’ Varencienne said.

  ‘Yet Hanana is hundreds of years old,’ Shan remarked. ‘If the mountain is active, it can’t have erupted for a considerable time.’

  The travellers had emerged onto a track that was on an equal level to the city, but to reach it, they would have to descend into the wide river valley below. At this point, Yakse’s mood was somewhat calmer than before, for she ran over a bed of shingles as she passed the citadel. A group of shepherds could be seen, guiding their goats through the stream, and there was much activity around the banks, which were wide beaches of glittering black sand.

  As they made the descent, Varencienne felt, inexplicably, a depression fall upon her. Ellony said that Snopard had warned her to expect this. There was nothing spiritual or magical about it. It was simply an effect of the loss of altitude. Still, Varencienne hoped it was not an omen.

  Halfway down the mountain, they came upon a small gat, half in ruins. Poles reared lopsidedly from its crumbled roof, from which a host of red and white flags fluttered. A man and a boy sat before a fire in front of the gat, drinking from wooden bowls. One of Snopard’s acolytes approached the pair and asked humbly if their party might share the fire to warm their own milk. The man looked at the boy, who made a quick gesture of assent. Both had a Nugrid look to them, having long braided hair and simple clothes, while being adorned with elaborate golden jewellery. Their faces were virtually covered by dark red scarves, which they lifted aside when they drank. Still, it was easy to see, if only from the luminous eyes, that the boy was well-favoured.

  Varencienne sat down with Shan and Ellony and remarked to her daughter what a handsome lad the boy was. He looked a few years older than Rav.

  ‘He is not what he seems,’ Ellony whispered to her mother.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Varencienne asked.

  ‘He does not live here,’ Ellony replied, but would say no more.

  ‘Aranepa is a boy,’ Shan said. ‘It’s likely others seek to emulate him. I’m sure that’s what we have here. These two will make their living from the boy’s prophecies.’

  The boy kept glancing at Taropat, in a manner Varencienne could not interpret. Was there hostility, pity or respect in his eyes? If Taropat noticed, he gave no sign. The older Nugrid conversed in a low voice with Snopard. His spoke very slowly, as if under the influence of some kind of drug. Perhaps it was another effect of the loss of altitude but Varencienne swore that the man moved slowly as well – too slowly. The atmosphere felt altogether surreal to her. These people were like figments of a dream that only a wandering subconscious could conjure up.

  Taropat looked impatient, clearly eager to tackle the last stage of their journey, but Snopard was intent on speaking with the Nugrid boy. He gestured towards him, but the older man shook his head, raising his hands in negation.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Varencienne asked Ellony.

  The girl screwed up her nose. ‘Snopard wants to ask the boy questions about his spiritual path, but the other one won’t let him.’

  ‘Then why doesn’t he just ask the boy outright?’

  ‘I don’t know. Perhaps he’s just being polite.’

  ‘Maybe Snopard should offer something,’ Varencienne said. She still wore a thin gold chain around her neck, hung with the Palindrake crest. She removed it and handed it to her daughter. ‘Give this to Snopard and tell him to use it as currency.’

  ‘That is generous, Mama,’ Ellony said in surprise.

  ‘Should you do that?’ Shan asked.

  Varencienne gestured at Snopard. ‘It’s just a trinket. Do it, Elly. I’d like to hear a prophecy.’

  Shan smiled. ‘You’re easily taken in.’

  ‘What do you mean? You know the Hamagarids have something special abo
ut them. This moment might be significant.’

  ‘As significant as your conversation with Taropat this morning?’

  Varencienne bridled. ‘You’re not jealous, are you?’

  ‘No. Just be careful. Words are cheap.’

  Ellony leaned over to Snopard and touched his arm to attract his attention. She whispered in his ear. The Nugrid regarded her a few moments, then took the crest from her hand. He spoke carefully to the boy’s guardian, clearly expecting a negative response. But when the boy saw the necklace, he spoke a few short sentences abruptly to his companion. Varencienne could not understand a word of it. Their dialect was different to any other she’d heard on the journey. With obvious reluctance, the guardian took the necklace from Snopard’s outstretched hand and passed it to the boy. He held it before his face, his eyes narrow. Varencienne thought he would speak, but he secreted the necklace into a fold of his robe and grimaced at Snopard, making a dismissive gesture with one hand. Snopard bowed his head and pressed his steepled hands against his forehead. He then spoke a few quiet words to Ellony.

  ‘I’ve just given something away for nothing, haven’t I,’ Varencienne said dryly.

  ‘Snopard says the gift was accepted,’ Ellony said. ‘He said we should leave now.’

  Shan laughed. ‘There, you see?’

  Varencienne grimaced ruefully. ‘Ah well, I hope the lad gets pleasure from it, or at least a good meal.’

  The group made the final descent to the shingle banks of the river. The water was not quite as calm as it appeared from higher up the path. It roared over the stones, frothing like beaten milk. Ellony knelt down to take a drink from it. ‘Fizzy!’ she announced.

  Shan and Varencienne knelt down beside the girl. ‘We should make a wish,’ Varencienne said.

  Shan glanced sidelong at her. ‘No goddess is so powerful,’ he said.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  He did not reply but bent low to drink from the rushing flow.

  Has he asked for me? Varencienne wondered. Does he want us to continue, beyond this journey? And what do I wish for? She glanced up and it could be no coincidence her gaze fell upon an elderly goatherd couple on the opposite shore. Children, perhaps their grandchildren, ran amid the goats, and the old people smiled upon them benignly. The man had a gnarled hand upon the shoulder of the woman, yet their connection was clearly so deep they might well have been embracing tightly. There were completely present in the world, without anxiety, without resentment. They were one with creation.

  There can be no happy ending for you, Varencienne thought. You are Caradore’s mistress, Valraven’s wife. There is no summer cottage with a loved one beside you and the sun sinking down the sky, slowly and warmly towards a final contented setting, welcomed after long years of happiness. She sighed deeply and bowed towards the water. Spray moistened her face.

  Great Yakse, she spoke in her mind, let all be well. Let harmony be restored. Give us the wisdom of Hamagara to take back with us to the world beyond. Let us do the will of the gods.’ She drank.

  Chapter Nineteen: A Sacred Beast

  The road to Hanana was wide and partly stepped. Many people and animals were coming and going along it. Buildings had been constructed to either side: flat-roofed dwellings and what looked like store-houses. Varencienne thought the road was like a thoroughfare to Paradise. The white citadel reared above them, its domes and turrets fluttering with a thousand flags. The thunderous music of horns boomed down from the high walls. People climbing towards them were like souls arriving from death, while those descending might be others heading off for rebirth. There was a chaotic aspect to the scene, but also, conversely, a pervading atmosphere of great tranquillity and spirituality. The hairs rose on Varencienne’s arms and her eyes filled spontaneously with tears. We are heading towards it now, she thought, so close. Soon I will know.

  The gates to the citadel were open wide and looked as if they hadn’t been closed for centuries. The Hananites were obviously not worried about security. The gates were of carved bare wood, some thirty feet tall, covered in stylised representations of demons and dragons. This was Paraga’s capital and his image appeared on the walls of nearly every building within the citadel. He was a delicate creature with enormous wings like sails. His face was almost feline, with long curling whiskers and enormous round eyes with slit pupils. If anything, he seemed out of character with the typically fearsome Par Sen deities and spirits. His benign gaze fell upon the hectic bustle of the streets, which were surprisingly wide. Varencienne felt as if she’d stepped into another world. Hanana was far more cosmopolitan than she had expected. A lot of the people around her – Hamagarid nobility from the richness of their clothing – appeared to be nothing more than tourists. They were pointing out sights of interest to one another as hordes of children ran about madly. A festival was due to take place very shortly, but Varencienne wondered where the ambience of stillness and magic so present in the eternal mountains and on the road just beyond the gates had fled. From Caradore to Hanana, she and her companions had travelled an uninhabited wilderness. Where had all these people come from? Few of them looked as if they’d be capable of, or comfortable with, the kind of experience Varencienne’s party had been through. These were people sleek with good living, who surely wouldn’t trek on foot through the high passes.

  In response to her questions, Snopard told her that the Hamagarid princes, of whom there were legion, lived mostly in the north, where the mountains petered out towards the sea. They travelled the Wide Road, known as Venotishi’s Gullet, with their caravans and entourages. Varencienne’s heart sank a little. Within the enclosure of the citadel, it was as if the mountains did not even exist. She wondered, glumly, whether she already learned all that she was supposed to learn in Hamagara.

  Nobody else was affected in the same way. Ellony was excitedly dragging Shan around by the hand, intent on examining the shops in the street, which were filled with colourful wares. Snopard indicated an inn he knew would accept some of Varencienne’s remaining trinkets as payment for board and then bowed formally, apparently about to make a departure. Taropat appeared far from pleased that the Nugrid believed their alliance to be over.

  ‘I wish to secure an audience with Aranepa,’ he said. ‘You must help me in this.’

  ‘I cannot,’ Snopard replied. ‘Go to the temple like everyone else and make your request. There is nothing I can do that will alter the vanas’ decision.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Varencienne said hurriedly, ‘for all your help.’

  The Nugrid smiled and bowed again. He bent to embrace Ellony for a few moments, then summoned his acolytes and marched off quickly into the crowd.

  Taropat expelled a grunt of irritation. ‘I hope you have some baubles left, princess,’ he said, ‘for I think we’ll need them to bribe our way to Aranepa.’

  The inn, called simply, ‘Wind, Rain, Wind’, had few vacancies because of the festival, so the party was forced to share a room. It had only two narrow beds, but the proprietress, a thin young woman, offered to supply a couple of floor mattresses, of which she had a plentiful supply. Varencienne now felt exhausted, and it took all her strength to go down to the dining room with the others for an early evening meal. The room was not large and was filled to capacity with diners. The smell of spiced meat filled the air, a welcome change to Varencienne after a mostly vegetarian diet upon the journey.

  While they ate, Taropat discussed with Shan when they should go to the temple and request an audience with Aranepa. To Varencienne, this was an impossible venture. Thousands of people would want to catch a glimpse of the High Vana. At best, they could hope only to join a massive crowd, with no personal interaction.

  This is the way of things, she thought. We seek answers and enlightenment, and expect to find it in others, but essentially, it is down to us.

  She hoped that what had she learned would be of use back in the world she knew. Anything could have occurred while she’d be
en absent from it. Caradore was like a distant dream and Valraven a figment from her imagination. She could not believe he had followed her trail into this wild country. Perhaps he was caught up now in other dramas, involving her scheming family in Magrast. He might believe she was lost for good. At that moment, she hadn’t the energy to care. The idea of leaving Hanana with Ellony, never to return to Caradore, but to find a home in Hamagara, among the natives or in one of the gats, was extremely appealing. Perhaps that was why she’d come here, to become an ascetic and renounce her former life of privilege completely.

  Her feelings about Taropat and Shan confused her. She was not in love with Shan, but delighted in his body and his friendship. With Taropat, it was another, darker matter. It would be so easy to give in and let the feelings spill out, in all their awful intensity. No matter how much she tried to reason with herself, every day the feelings deepened. She was sure Taropat was aware of it, that it was a prickle against his skin. What she did not know was how he felt about it. As far as she knew – and she had questioned Shan very carefully in the early stages of their relationship – Taropat had had no proper relationships since Tayven. He was still a man. He must desire it sometimes.

  After the meal, Taropat and Shan elected to explore Hanana, and Ellony begged her mother to let her go with them. The idea of regular bedtimes was now a thing of the past, but Ellony had intuited her mother’s strange mood and asked for permission simply because Varencienne might need her company. Varencienne tousled Ellony’s hair and told her to go.

  ‘Will you be all right here alone?’ Shan asked.

  Varencienne smiled wearily. ‘Quite all right.’

  He hesitated. ‘You lookc strained, worried about something.’

  ‘I’m just having a few thoughts,’ she said. ‘I need to be alone.’

  ‘We won’t be long,’ Shan said.

  Taropat gave her a penetrating glance as they left the room, but he didn’t ask her what was wrong.