The Quest

by Wilbur Smith

  Passengers, horses and slaves disembarked on to the bank. With only the crews still on board, the vessels were hitched with heavy ropes of twisted liana to teams of oxen and dragged up the chutes of fast water.

  Ashore, the men and horses climbed the track that ran beside the cascade until they reached higher ground. Above the cataracts the river was deep and placid, and the galleys rode lightly at anchor. All embarked again, to voyage on until they reached the next waterfall where the procedure was repeated.

  Three times they came to falls too steep and furious to permit the vessels to be dragged up them. Egyptian engineering genius was evident in the extensive works that circumvented the obstacles: a zigzag series of channels had been dug alongside the falls, with locks at each end and wooden gates to lift the vessels to the next level. It took many days and much labour to bring the flotilla up the water ladders, but eventually they were in the deep, gentle flow of the main stream once more. Since leaving the lake, the terrain they had passed through was fascinating in its magnificent diversity. For a hundred leagues or so after they had entered the Kitangule, the river ran through dense jungle.

  Branches almost met overhead and it seemed that no two trees were of the same species. They were festooned with lianas, other vines and flowering creepers. High in the canopy, troops of monkeys squabbled noisily in gardens of flowering orchids and fruit. Glistening monitor lizards sunned themselves on branches that overhung the river. At the approach of the boats they launched themselves into the air and fell to hit the water with a splash that showered the men at the oars.

  At night when they moored along the bank, tied to the trunks of the great trees, the darkness was loud with the cries and scuffling of unseen animals, and the roars of the predators that hunted them. Some of the crew set fishing lines in the black water, the bronze hooks baited with offal. Three men on one line struggled to pull out the huge catfish that seized the bait.

  Slowly the vegetation along the banks changed as they climbed up through the cataracts. The sweltering heat cooled and the air became more salubrious. Once they had negotiated the final water ladder, they found themselves in an undulating landscape of grassy glades and open forests dominated by many species of acacia - leafless and thorny; covered with soft, feathery foliage; with vast black trunks and dark boughs. The tallest were decorated with bunches of lavender fruit hanging like grapes from the high branches.

  This was a fertile, well-watered land with lush sweet grass filling the glades, and dozens of streams joining the main flow of the Kitangule.

  The plains swarmed with herds of grazing animals, and not a day passed when they did not see prides of lions hunting or resting in the open. At night their thunderous roars were terrifying. No matter how often they heard them, the listeners’ nerves jangled and their hearts raced.

  At last a tall escarpment rose across the horizon, and they were aware of a murmur that grew louder as they drew closer. They came round another bend in the river, and saw before them a mighty waterfall that fell in thundering gouts of white foam from the top of a cliff into a swirling green pool at the foot.

  On the beaches that surrounded it teams of oxen were standing ready to draw the boats ashore. Once again they disembarked, but this was for the last time. No device of man could lift the vessels to the top of those cliffs. In the settlement on the riverbank there were guesthouses to accommodate the officers and Taita’s party while the rest of the men, horses and baggage were brought ashore. The Basmara slaves were locked into barracoons.

  It was three days before Colonel That was ready to continue the journey. Now all of the baggage was loaded on to pack oxen. The slaves were led out of the barracoons and roped together in long lines. The troopers and Taita’s band mounted, and rode out along the base of the cliff in a long caravan. Within a league the road was climbing sharply up the escarpment in a series of hairpin bends and narrowed to a path. The gradient became so steep that they were forced to dismount and lead the horses, the heavily laden oxen and the slaves toiling behind them.

  Half-way up the cliff they reached a place where a narrow rope suspension bridge crossed a deep gorge. Captain Onka took control of the crossing, allowing only a small number of pack animals and men to venture out on to the precarious structure at a time. Even with a limited load the bridge swayed and sagged alarmingly, and it was the middle of the afternoon before the caravan was across the gorge.

  ‘Is this the only route to the top of the cliffs?’ Meren asked Onka.

  ‘There is an easier road that scales the escarpment forty leagues to the south, but it adds several days’ travel to the journey.’

  Once they were across the void they looked down and their view seemed to encompass the earth. From on high they surveyed golden savannahs over which the rivers crawled like dark serpents, distant blue hills and green jungles. Finally, on the misty horizon, the waters of the great lake Nalubaale along which they had sailed gleamed like molten metal.

  At last they reached the border fort perched on the ridge to guard the pass, the Kitangule Gap, and the entrance to Jarri. It was dark by the time they bivouacked outside it. It rained during the night, but by morning the sun was shining benevolently. When they looked out of their shelter Taita and Fenn were presented with a sight that made all the splendours they had seen up to then seem commonplace. Below them lay a wide plateau that stretched to a distant horizon. Along it rose a range of rugged mountains so tall they must have been the abode of the gods. Three central peaks shone with the ethereal luminance of the full moon. Taita and Meren had travelled through the peaks along the Khorasan highway, but Fenn had never seen snow before. She was struck dumb by the glorious sight. At last she found her voice: ‘Look! The mountains are on fire,’ she cried.

  From the summit of each shining mountain billowed silver clouds of smoke. ‘You were seeking a single volcano, Magus,’ Meren said softly, ‘but you have found three.’ He turned and pointed back at the distant shimmer of Lake Nalubaale on the far side of the pass. ‘Fire, air, water and earth…’

  ‘…but the lord of these is fire,’ Taita finished the incantation of Eos.

  ‘Surely that must be the stronghold of the witch.’ His legs were trembling and he was overcome with emotion. They had come so far and endured such hardship to reach this place. He had to find somewhere to sit for his legs could hardly bear his weight. He found a vantage-point from which he could gaze upon the sight. Fenn sat on the rock beside him to share his emotions.

  At last Captain Onka rode back from the head of the caravan to find them. ‘You may linger here no longer. We must move on.’

  The road descended at an easier gradient. They mounted the horses and rode down through the foothills and on to the plateau. For the rest of that day they travelled towards the mountains, through an enchanted land. They had climbed just high enough above the lake, the jungles and deserts to reach this sweet, benevolent clime. Each breath they drew seemed to charge their bodies and clear their minds. Streams of clear water ran down from the mountains. They passed cottages and farms built of stone with golden thatch, surrounded by orchards and olive groves. There were meticulously tended vineyards where the vines were heavy with ripening grapes. The fields were planted with dhurra, the vegetable gardens with melons, beans, lentils, red and green peppers, pumpkins and other vegetables that Taita did not recognize. The pastures were green, and herds of cattle, sheep and goats grazed in them. Fat pigs rooted in the forests, ducks and geese paddled in river pools, and flocks of chickens scratched in every farmyard.

  ‘Seldom in all our travels have we come upon such rich lands,’ Meren said.

  As they passed, the farmers and their families came out to welcome them with bowls of sherbet and red wine. They spoke Egyptian with the accents of the Two Kingdoms. They were all well nourished and dressed in good leather and linen. The children appeared healthy, but they were strangely subdued. The women were rosy cheeked and well favoured.

  ‘What pretty girls,’ Meren remarked.
‘Not an ugly one among them.’

  They soon found out why the pastures were so green. Suddenly the triple peaks of the snow-decked volcanoes were hidden behind a heavy layer of cloud. Onka rode back to them and told Taita, ‘You should don your capes. It will rain within the hour.’

  ‘How do you know?’ Taita asked.

  ‘Because it rains every afternoon at this time.’ He pointed ahead at the gathering clouds. ‘The three peaks that dominate Jarri have many names, one of which is the Rainmakers. They are the reason why the land is so bounteous.’ As he finished speaking, rain swept over them and, despite their capes, soaked them to the skin, but within a few hours the clouds had been blown aside and the sun shone once more. The land was washed clean and bright. The leaves on the trees glistened and the soil smelt of rich dhurra cake.

  They came to a fork in the road. The column of slaves took the left hand path, and as they marched away Taita heard a sergeant of the escort remark, ‘They are sorely needed in the new mines at Indebbi.’

  The rest of the convoy continued along the right fork. At intervals the troopers came to salute Colonel That, then left the column and rode away in different directions to their home farms. In the end only That and Onka, with an escort of ten troopers, remained with them. It was late afternoon when they topped a gentle rise and discovered another small village nestled below them among green trees and pastures.

  ‘This is Mutangi,’ That told Taita. ‘It is the local market town and magistracy. It will be your home for the time being. Quarters have been set aside for you and I am sure you will find them comfortable. You have heard it said before, but you are honoured guests in Jarri.’

  The magistrate came out in person to welcome them, a man of middle age named Bilto. His full beard was tinged with silver, but he was straight and strong, his eye steady and his smile warm. Taita looked at him with the Inner Eye and saw that he was honest and well-intentioned but, like Colonel That Ankut, he was neither happy nor contented. He greeted Taita with the greatest respect, but looked at him strangely, as though he was expecting something from him. One of his own wives took Hilto and the others, including Nakonto and Imbali, to a commodious stone house near the far side of the village, where slave girls were waiting to attend to them. Bilto led Taita, Fenn and Meren to a larger building across the road. ‘I think you will find all you need for your comfort. Rest and refresh yourselves. Within the next few days the council of oligarchs will send for you. In the meantime I am your host, and yours to command.’ Before he left them, Bilto looked again at Taita with troubled, searching eyes, but he said no more.

  When they entered the house a major-domo and five house slaves were lined up to receive them. The rooms were large and airy, but the windows could be covered with leather curtains, and there were open hearths in the main rooms where fires were already burning. Although the sun was still above the horizon there was a chill in the air, so the fires would be welcome when the sun set. Fresh clothes and sandals had been laid out for them and the slaves brought jars of hot water for washing. The evening meal was served by the light of oil lamps, a rich stew of wild-boar chops, washed down with a robust red wine.

  Until then they had not realized that the journey had exhausted them.

  Meren’s eye was paining him so Taita poured a warm balm of olive oil and soothing herbs into the socket, then administered a dose of red sheppen.

  The next morning they all slept late. Meren’s eye had improved but still hurt.

  After breakfast, Bilto took them on a tour of the village, of which he was proud, and explained how the community lived. He introduced them to the leaders and Taita found in the main that they were honest and uncomplicated. He had expected to detect some ambiguity in their psyches, as he had with Bilto and Colonel That, which might be attributed to the proximity and influence of Eos, but there was nothing of significance, just the petty foibles and frailties of humanity. One was discontented with his wife, another had stolen an axe from his neighbour and was consumed with guilt, while someone else lusted for his young step-daughter.

  Early in the morning of the fifth day Captain Onka returned to Mutangi to deliver a summons from the Supreme Council. They were to leave at once, he told them.

  The citadel that contains the chamber of the Supreme Council is forty leagues hence in the direction of the Mountains of the Moon. It is a ride of several hours,’ Onka told Taita. The weather was fine and sunny, the air crisp and exhilarating. Fenn’s cheeks were glowing and her eyes sparkling. At Taita’s bidding she fell back with him to the rear of the party, where he spoke quietly to her in the Tenmass.

  ‘This will be a crucial test,’ he warned. ‘I believe we are heading for the stronghold of the witch. You must suppress your aura now and keep it so until we return to Mutangi.’

  ‘I understand, Magus, and I will do as you bid me,’ she answered.

  Almost immediately, her expression became neutral and her eyes dulled.

  He saw her aura fade and its colours diminish until they were little different from those emitted by Imbali.

  ‘No matter what stimulation or provocation you encounter, you must not allow it to flare up again. You will not know from which direction you are observed. You dare not relax for a moment.’

  It was well past noon when they entered a steep-sided valley that cut into the central massif of the mountain range. No more than a league further on they reached the outer wall of the citadel. It was built of large rectangular blocks of volcanic rock that had been fitted together by skilled masons of another age. The passage of time had weathered the stone. The gates stood open: it seemed probable that they had not been closed against an enemy for many years. When they rode into the citadel they found that the buildings were grander and more substantial than anything they had seen since leaving Egypt. Indeed, the largest was strongly reminiscent of the temple of Hathor at Karnak.

  Grooms were waiting to take the horses, and red-robed functionaries led them through pillared halls until they reached a small door in a loggia and went through it into an antechamber. Refreshments had been set out on the long table, bowls of fruit, cakes and jugs of red wine, but first they went into the adjoining rooms to freshen themselves after their journey. Everything had been arranged with consideration for their comfort.

  When they had eaten a light meal, the council usher came to lead them into the audience chamber. It was warmed by charcoal braziers and padded mats lay on the stone floor. He asked them to seat themselves and pointed out the positions they should occupy. He placed Taita at the head of the group, with Meren and Hilto behind him. He sent Fenn to the rear rank with the others, and Taita was relieved that he had shown no special interest in her. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye as she sat demurely beside Imbali and saw that she was restraining her aura to match that of the tall woman.

  Taita returned his attention to the layout and furnishings of the chamber. It was a large room of agreeable proportions. In front of where he sat, there was a raised stone platform on which stood three stools.

  They were of a design he had seen in the palaces of Babylon, but they were not inlaid with ivory and semi-precious stones. The wall behind them was covered with a painted leather screen, which hung from the high ceiling to the stone paving and was adorned with patterns in earthy colours. When Taita studied them he saw that they were not esoteric or arcane symbols but merely decorative.

  There was the sound of hobnailed sandals on the stone floor. A file of armed guards entered from a side door and arranged themselves at the base of the platform, grounding the butts of their spears. The robed usher returned and addressed the company in sonorous tones: ‘Pray show respect for the noble lords of the Supreme Council.’ All followed Taita’s example and leant forward to touch the ground with their foreheads.

  Three men came from behind the leather screen. There could be no doubt that they were the oligarchs. They wore tunics of yellow, scarlet and pale blue, and plain silver crowns on their heads. Their manner
was stately and dignified. Taita scried their auras and found them diverse and complex. They were men of force and character, but the most impressive was the man in the blue robe who took the central stool. There were depths and nuances to his character, some of which Taita found puzzling and disturbing.

  The man made a gesture for them to relax, and Taita straightened.

  ‘Greetings, Magus Taita of Gallala. We welcome you to Jarri, the land of the Mountains of the Moon,’ said the blue-robed leader.

  ‘Greetings, Oligarch Lord Aquer of the Supreme Council,’ Taita replied.

  Aquer blinked and inclined his head. ‘You know me?’

  ‘I knew your grandfather well,’ Taita explained. ‘He was younger than you are now when last I saw him, but your features are cast in his exact mould.’

  ‘Then much that I hear about you is true. You are a Long Liver and a sage,’ Aquer acknowledged. ‘You will make a shining contribution to our community. Would you be kind enough to introduce to us your companions, whom we know less well?’

  Taita called them forward by name. Meren was the first and went to stand before the platform. ‘This is Colonel Meren Cambyses, bearer of the Gold of Valour and Companion of the Red Road.’ The council studied him in silence. Suddenly Taita became aware that something unusual was afoot. He diverted his attention from the three oligarchs to the leather screen behind them. He scried for some hidden presence but there was none. It was as though the area behind the screen was a void.

  This alone was enough to alert him. Some psychic force was cloaking that part of the chamber.

  Eos is here! he thought. She throws no aura, and has concealed herself behind a screen more impenetrable than leather. She is watching us. The shock was so intense that he had to fight to keep himself under control: she was the ultimate predator, and would smell blood or weakness.