City of Pearl

by Alys Clare

  Neither Jack nor Hrype made any comment.

  But it flashed through Jack’s mind that he hoped Gurdyman would have a satisfactory explanation if – when – Thorfinn finally challenged him.

  After some time, Thorfinn roused himself. Turning to Hrype, he asked, ‘So where was Gurdyman aiming to make landfall?’

  Hrype glanced at him. ‘Corunna.’

  Thorfinn nodded. Then he closed his eyes, and for some time simply sat very still, his breathing steadily deepening. Jack, watching, wondered if he had slipped into a doze. He met Hrype’s eye, about to suggest as much, but Hrype shook his head. ‘Wait,’ he mouthed.

  Time passed.

  Then abruptly Thorfinn opened his eyes, blinked a couple of times and said, ‘Not Corunna. Oh, your friend Gurdyman may well have landed there, and my granddaughter with him, but it is not our quarry’s destination.’

  Oh, God, not another one, Jack thought. First Hrype, now Thorfinn. ‘How do you know?’ he said, trying to keep the angry frustration out of his voice.

  Thorfinn shot him a quick look, as swiftly looking away again. Then he said calmly, ‘You must both understand that I do not care where Gurdyman is; that my only concern is Lassair. She may still be with him, she may not. He may be in Corunna—’

  ‘He did not plan to stay there,’ Hrype interrupted.

  ‘—but Lassair is not,’ Thorfinn went on as if he had not heard. ‘She is in the mountains of the northern range, and at some time very recently, she stood beside an underground river where once I sailed.’

  ‘You cannot know that,’ Jack said forcefully. ‘I don’t believe you.’

  Thorfinn shrugged.

  And Hrype murmured, ‘She has the shining stone.’ Raising his head to meet Thorfinn’s eyes, he added, ‘Which was once in your keeping.’

  ‘In answer to your objection,’ Thorfinn said, turning to Jack, ‘I do not know. All I can tell you is that this place where I once explored has repeatedly been in my mind of late. It may be simply that we are sailing south, towards the coast of Spain, and my memories have been stirred up. It may also be because I am bending all my thoughts on my granddaughter, and some power far beyond my understanding is telling me where to find her.’ He looked to Hrype, then back to Jack. ‘My vote is one of three, and I suggest we each choose our preference. When we are able at last to leave here, do we sail for Corunna or do we follow my instinct?’

  Despite logic, despite rational thought that insisted Thorfinn could not possibly be sure, Jack said, ‘We follow your instinct.’

  And Hrype said softly, ‘I agree.’

  There was a brief silence.

  Then Jack broke it. ‘We’ll set a watch from early tomorrow, if the storm abates. We’ll take note of any ship that’s preparing to set to sea and check to see if our young man is aboard.’ He looked at Thorfinn. ‘Instinct is all very well,’ he said. ‘But I’m not yet ready to abandon the more traditional methods.’

  The storm died away overnight, and it was the cessation of sound that woke Hrype. He got up, nudged Jack and the two went silently out of the communal dormitory and emerged into the thin dawn light.

  In time to watch a cog in the very act of sailing out between the two arms of the harbour wall.

  Jack swore, for some time and without repetition.

  ‘Impressive,’ Hrype murmured.

  ‘It’s exactly what he did back in Cambridge,’ Jack muttered furiously. ‘He seems to know precisely when a ship’s about to depart, and he manages to insinuate himself on board before anyone else realizes what’s happening. I should have been prepared!’

  ‘If in truth our man is on board that ship,’ Hrype said calmly.

  ‘He is.’

  Hrype nodded. ‘Yes, I think so too.’

  Jack turned to him. ‘Do you really think Thorfinn knows where he is heading?’ he asked. ‘Or is it just an over-confident boast to give us a little optimism?’

  Hrype didn’t reply for some moments. Then he said, ‘Thorfinn has a long and colourful past, and he has travelled more widely than anybody I know. He and his kind were undaunted, and endlessly curious. Endlessly hungry, for new people to trade with and new lands to settle. Even if those lands were occupied by other people,’ he added with a faint smile. ‘So it’s perfectly possible he knows the north coast of Spain and has visited ports and sailed up rivers in his exploration of the country. Whether he really can take us to the precise place where Lassair now is, I have no idea.’ He met Jack’s eyes. ‘But I very much hope so.’

  Malice-striker was on her way.

  Jack and Hrype had raced back inside to rouse Thorfinn and pay a sleepy and very cross lodging-house keeper the money they owed. Hurrying down to the quay, they had discovered that Einar, having felt the change in the weather even as he slept, was in the midst of preparing to sail. Jack sought out the harbour master and discovered that the ship which had sailed soon after dawn was called the St James. She was bound for Bordeaux with a cargo of salt and, provided the weather held good, was going on south towards Bilbao, Santander and Corunna.

  Einar smiled as Jack relayed the news to Thorfinn and Hrype.

  ‘South,’ he murmured. He turned his head a little. ‘And the wind comes out of the north-east.’ Now Thorfinn too was smiling.

  ‘The St James has quite a start,’ Einar went on, turning to Jack and Hrype, ‘but she will have Malice-striker hard on her stern. She is heavily laden and we are not. I do not think she will lose us now.’

  SEVENTEEN

  The intensity of my initial period of training with Luliwa all but exhausted me. I knew time was passing – weeks, perhaps even a month or more – for even I, who spent so much time underground in the painted darkness, was aware that spring had come.

  Such was the force of her influence over me that I didn’t have a moment to ask why she was doing it: why she seemed so fixated on transferring into my consciousness the things she held in hers. Although I knew we could only be scratching the surface of all that she knew, nevertheless those first sessions with her, when I began to suspect what she was, opened my eyes as nothing had ever done before and made me aware how much I didn’t know.

  She was a healer, she experienced visions, she had the ability to look right inside a sick person and see the root of what troubled them. She introduced me to the idea that a physical symptom such as headache or cramp in the guts could have its origin in the mind, and she put the extraordinary suggestion to me that the pain would go away if the mental distress was eased.

  And, slowly at first, for I was resilient and disbelieving, she told me how to go about it.

  She was an apothecary and she made all her own potions, ointments and specifics from ingredients either grown by herself, in the sheltered little gardens beneath the out-flung arm of the mountain, or purchased from the traders whose ships regularly called at the ports along the coast. Her knowledge of the power of plants and other natural substances surpassed that of anyone I’d ever worked with, even Gurdyman.

  Gurdyman.

  I’d know all the time that one day she would speak to me of Gurdyman. The moment came on a bright day of warm spring sunshine, when the two of us had taken a break from the dark mystery of the caverns and passages under the mountain and had taken our work up to the little platform on the path up through the foothills where we had first shared a breakfast all those weeks before. We were grinding the seeds of fenugreek with pestle and mortar, and Luliwa had been telling me that the powder we were making was used as a digestive aid and to stimulate the flow of milk, and could also be mixed with hot milk to make a poultice to ease the pain of ulcers, boils and bruises.

  Now it was afternoon, and the rocky shelf was in full sunshine. It was warm, almost hot, and we were dressed in light clothing.

  ‘You do not ask how he fares,’ Luliwa said after a lengthy and, I’d thought, peaceful silence.

  I knew who she meant by he. And the peace abruptly broke apart as I realized how long it had been since I’d thought
of my mentor.

  ‘I should have done,’ I muttered. I couldn’t even say that I’d been worrying about him in silence, because I hadn’t.

  ‘Gudiyyema’ – she pronounced it as Salim had done – ‘is in no danger. He has recovered from the attack, and as long as he does not exert himself, he is well.’

  ‘How do you—’ But before I’d even completed the question I understood how she knew. Since she’d begun teaching me, I seemed to have learned how to make better use of the things I was already aware of; I had become better at working things out for myself. ‘Itzal. He goes to and fro between here and the City of Pearl.’

  ‘He does,’ Luliwa agreed. ‘You will have seen for yourself that it is not an arduous journey, and he is well accustomed to it.’

  ‘Does Gurdyman know I’m here?’ I asked in a small voice.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she said.

  There was a long silence. Then, gathering my courage, I said, ‘Why am I here?’

  She didn’t reply for so long that I thought she wasn’t going to. But then she said, so softly that I strained to hear, ‘Because of a … a wrinkle, in the natural order of things. There is a plan, you know, Lassair, and it represents the way that is destined for us; the way that ought to be. Yet sometimes people discover they have the power to interrupt this plan, and they ignore the inner voice that tells them it is forbidden; that having the power is one thing, but using it quite another.’

  I tried to think what she could mean.

  I said after a while, unwilling even to voice the thought but in some way compelled to, ‘When you say people, you’re speaking of Gurdyman.’

  And, sighing, she said, ‘I am.’ She was staring at me now, the gold in her eyes shadowed by whatever troubled her. ‘What I have to tell you is deeply disturbing, and it will undoubtedly distress you.’ She paused. ‘Are you ready to hear?’ she asked softly.

  I wanted to say No! I wanted to shout, to protest that whatever he was, whatever he had done, he was first of all Gurdyman, my teacher, my friend, and that I loved him and I didn’t want to hear what she had to say.

  But the voice in my head said, He brought you here with no word of explanation. He allowed you to think it was for your sake, to take you on a thrilling journey so that you would forget your grief over Rollo and your heartbreak over Jack. And he took you into danger, so that you almost died. And he refused to tell you why.

  And I heard myself say, ‘Yes. I am quite ready.’

  ‘Salim’s grandfather Makram was the greatest teacher of his age,’ Luliwa began, ‘and from birth he brought up his son Nabil to follow on in the same tradition. You have been in the City of Pearl, Lassair, and you have been told how it is the way of our people to share our wisdom, to propagate the dissemination of knowledge so that every man and woman may be brought out of the darkness of ignorance and into the light.’

  She paused for a moment, gazing into the distance as if looking at something remembered with quiet happiness. Then, not waiting for comment – I didn’t have any to make – she went on.

  ‘Nabil had a son, Salim, who inherited the ways of his forefathers and desired to absorb all that they would teach him. But the old man, Makram, had an interest in and a great talent for an area of knowledge for which neither his son nor his grandson showed sufficient aptitude, if indeed they showed any at all, and so the decision was taken to seek out some young person who did have such aptitude, and offer them a place in Makram’s household and under his tuition. And word came to the City of Pearl that a young foreigner had been found who seemed to be suitable.’

  Gurdyman. I thought it, but didn’t speak.

  ‘This young man had been born a long way away, and had come to our country as a small child. Quickly outgrowing the kind and philanthropic men of his village who had done their best for him, he set off to the hot south, learning as he went, always learning, uncovering his own rare abilities and in awe of them. Soon he felt that the whole of Spain was not enough, and he set off to travel the world. He went across the narrow seas into the vast and sun-baked land in the south, and worked his way east to Egypt, to the land of the pharaohs of old, where he was introduced to an amazing new world of knowledge that he had hitherto not even suspected existed. Soon that, too, was not enough, and on he went, striding through the Holy Land, on east and north, into the heart of the lands that stretch away into the endless east, following the trails of men who travel halfway round the world to trade and share the secrets of their own people. He turned north, into the lands of his own forefathers, and there was instructed in the powerful magic that is his northern inheritance.’

  The very words sent a cold sensation down my spine.

  What did she mean?

  ‘In the end, for he had exhausted himself, he returned to the land where he had been raised and grown to manhood, and, in time, his name became known to the great teachers of the City of Pearl. He was known as Juan then, for his parents had named him for the saint.’

  ‘John. Yes, he told me he had been called John.’

  Luliwa nodded. ‘He was renamed, of course, once he was in the city, for there are many called Juan and not a one is like him. He became Gudiyyema, after the character of our legend who—’

  ‘Yes, Salim told me,’ I interrupted. I was far too impatient to learn the things I didn’t know to waste time with things I already did.

  Luliwa smiled. ‘Of course, he would have done. Gudiyyema was very proud of such a name. It appealed to him very much, to be called after a powerful genie.’

  ‘It’s the name he’s known by in the place where we live,’ I said. ‘Everyone calls him Gurdyman, which is the nearest approximation.’

  ‘Everyone?’ she echoed softly.

  ‘Well, the small group who know of him.’ And, even as I spoke, I realized how few they were.

  ‘He is wise, I think, to keep his light shadowed,’ she murmured.

  My impatience overflowed again. I was desperate for her to get on with the story. ‘So, he arrived in the City of Pearl and Makram began to teach him,’ I prompted.

  ‘Yes. Makram was delighted to have an adept such as he, and Gudiyyema was like a man in paradise. He absorbed, digested and disgorged everything that Makram taught him, usually with some refinement of his own, and the household stood in wonder at his brilliance, which of course delighted him even more and made him begin to believe that no goal was too great, no achievement too ambitious.’

  ‘But?’ I asked, when she fell silent. I knew there would be a but.

  ‘Gudiyyema was not the only pupil in Makram’s house,’ she said very softly. ‘There was Salim, but as you will already have realized, the particular teachings that Makram offered were not for him, and in the main he was taught by his father, and a fine job Nabil did.’

  ‘Salim is a good man,’ I said.

  She gave a wry smile. ‘He would, I am sure, be pleased to have your approval.’

  I subsided, wishing fervently I’d kept the thought to myself. Who was I, after all, to pass judgement on someone like Salim?

  But I sensed that Luliwa was disturbed – distressed, even – and I suspected it had some cause other than my somewhat tactless remark. I reached for her hand. It was cold.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked. ‘What has upset you?’

  She shot me a glance. ‘You grow perceptive,’ she observed. Then, taking her hand away and sitting up very straight, she said, ‘The third young person who shared Gudiyyema and Salim’s education was endowed with a talent for precisely those matters at which Gudiyyema excelled, and listened with tightly focused, avid attention, just as he did, to every word that came from Makram’s lips. In time, all of them in that place of high intellect and brilliant learning understood that this person’s abilities exceeded those of Gudiyyema, and so it was their right, by the most ancient of traditions, to be Makram’s natural heir; the person who would be initiated fully into all that he knew.’

  She paused, and in turn the darkness of an ancient sorrow and the f
ire of an old and furious resentment flashed across her face.

  I waited.

  ‘But Gudiyyema was not going to allow that to happen,’ she said eventually, her voice quite calm. ‘He was the better, in his own eyes, and he decided to take what by right and by ancient law belonged to another. He was clever – so very clever – and he knew his rival’s weakness. He used it, and the rival was a rival no more.’

  She stopped.

  The echo of her words seemed to resound inside my head.

  So what was she telling me? That Gurdyman had refused to accept that another young man’s talent exceeded his own, and that it was this man, not himself, who would be the beneficiary of the great gift on offer?

  That Gurdyman had stolen something that by right should have gone to someone else?

  I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t want to believe it.

  But I looked deep into Luliwa’s golden eyes and I knew she had told me the truth.

  My head was bursting with questions and I yearned to demand an explanation. What happened next? Did he get away with it? But I could answer that one for myself: of course he did, for he was the Gurdyman I knew.

  I realized that Luliwa had got to her feet and, calmly and with swift, efficient hands, was packing away our equipment as if nothing of importance had happened.

  I could ask away until I was hoarse, I reflected ruefully, standing up to help her, but she wasn’t going to tell me any more until she was ready.

  The awareness gradually grew in me that there was suppressed excitement in the settlement.

  I hadn’t been told the purpose of what Luliwa was teaching me but, for all that it was not spoken of, I was fairly sure I knew. The long period of intense instruction had, however, produced a side-effect: it had made me far more aware of, and open to, the subtle currents around me. Or perhaps – and I thought this described the phenomenon more accurately – it had made me listen to my own inner self. Now, almost without noticing, this interior aspect of myself was observing, assessing and silently absorbing what were, with increasing frequency, amazingly accurate summaries of what was going on beneath the surface. And that quiet drone that sounded like a thousand summertime insects, first heard outside Edild’s house in my own village of Aelf Fen, was now with me all the time.