by Jaine Fenn
But the am-annwn was broken and the following day she was willing to speak to him, though only so far as it made their journey easier.
By noon they could clearly see the buildings of the City itself, like a multi-coloured fuzz infesting the lower part of the Tyr. Curls of smoke came from off to one side of the main settlement; with so many people living in one place, the pyres must burn constantly, Sais thought. As the view grew clearer, they caught sight of a large structure, one of the highest up the slope, built into the side of the Tyr itself: Einon told them that this was the Senneth building, where nobles and leaders of the City’s guilds met to decide matters of law and administration, overseen by the five Escorai of the Tyr or their representatives.
There was no wall delineating the start of the City, just a point where more land was given over to buildings than farming. As the sun set behind them, a silver line flashed into life overhead. It ran from the top of the Tyr up into the sky, like a ribbon of white light. Everyone stopped and looked at Einon, who pointed unnecessarily and said, ‘Behold, the Edefyn Arian, our link to the Heavenly realm.’
Sais saw Kerin circle her breast. Fychan did the same, his mouth open in awe.
Then memory engulfed him.
The reason everything here kept confounding his expectations was that he came from another world. That slender, impossible, silver thread was a beanstalk, a link between the surface of this world and an orbital platform. Everything he had seen, everything on Einon’s map, was a small part of one planet, and this planet was just one of hundreds in human-settled space.
The sky wasn’t where God - or the Skymothers - lived. It was where he came from. It was his home.
As he stood gawking at the beanstalk he felt the universe balloon out towards infinity, the boundaries of possibility expanding in a vertiginous wave. The certainties he’d built up over the weeks were blown away in a moment by the sight of something from his own world, his own life. Here was evidence of the truth - a truth it appeared that only he knew.
A truth that went against everything those around him believed.
Out of the corner of her eye, Kerin saw Sais take a step backwards, still staring at the Edefyn Arian. She went over to him and whispered, ‘What is it? Are you ill?’
He shook his head. ‘I’ll be all right, really. I’m just tired.’
Though she suspected he was lying, she nodded and moved away. She had to wean herself back into his presence slowly. If he was unwell she would help; if not, she would leave him be.
Smaller paths joined theirs as they continued, and the last fields gave way to houses. The ground began to slope upwards and soon they were close enough to the Tyr that Kerin had to crane her head back to see the top, where the Edefyn Arian emerged.
The houses had two or more storeys and were built of red brick, their steep roofs tiled in blue-grey slate. The only growing things here were flowers in carved wooden boxes under the windows of some of the larger houses. When the lanes between houses - Einon called them streets - began to close in Kerin felt like she was walking through dim, man-made chasms. Though most windows were shuttered for the night, some houses had wide front openings that reminded her of the stalls at the star-season fair. When she saw one whose shutters were still propped open, Kerin realised this was exactly what it was: a giant, permanent stall built into a house. This one was serving food. Her stomach grumbled at the scent of meat sizzling on a griddle. The smell was soon lost in a dozen others: ordure, incense, rotting vegetables and many she had no name for.
Even in the City, where there were so many people, they attracted plenty of attention. Though interest focused on Damaru, Kerin had changed into her skirt and it drew admiring glances from some of the women. Perhaps she did have something to trade. But a number of men and older women frowned at her uncovered head; she had considered buying a scarf at the fair before deciding that any problem people had with her appearance was down to them, not her.
She turned her attention to her surroundings, trying to work out the function of the new things they came across. The narrow ditches running at the side of the sloping streets carried away filth. Symbols painted on the walls of some houses indicated what went on within - loaves of bread, piles of coins, scissors and thread, a joint of meat. Other, more complex symbols were painted on the houses at the ends of streets.
At first she was perplexed by the poles made of a dark substance, neither wood nor metal, that stood along the sides of the streets at regular intervals. Then, as the daylight failed, small white globes at the top of the poles began to glow like tiny full moons.
‘How do they shine like that, Gwas?’ said Fychan, gawping up at one of the lights like the ignorant clansman Einon probably thought he was. Kerin had seen that cold glow before: these devices were cousins to Einon’s flameless lantern.
The priest indicated the light-dimpled mass of the Tyr looming over them. ‘Through the beneficence of the Beloved Daughter, Chilwar. This is why she named this place the City of Light, because her radiance permeates it.’
Fychan circled himself, though Einon hadn’t exactly answered his question.
Einon had told them he knew a place to stay, but from the way he kept stopping to peer at the street-corner symbols, Kerin wondered if he really knew where he was going. Now that darkness had fallen, the streets had emptied. A group of men came marching down the street towards them, moving so quickly and purposefully that Kerin half expected them to walk straight over her. Instead they halted, and the one in front said, ‘Badges please.’ Kerin had seen enough monitors on the road to recognise the uniform, but she had no idea what they were asking for.
Einon pulled off his broad-brimmed travelling hat. His shaved, tattooed head shone in the unearthly light from the poles. The monitors’ demeanour shifted from hostility to respect. Einon indicated Damaru, who stood behind Kerin, holding onto her arm. ‘I am accompanying this skyfool and his people to his presentation. We have only just arrived; I shall ensure they register as soon as we are settled.’
‘Of course, Gwas. Good evening to you.’ The men traced the circle and left.
She knew about registering with the authorities from Neithion: it was something drovers did to record their cattle and the money they made from selling them, making them accountable for taxes and tithes. Why people might need to do it she did not know. Sais, speaking for the first time since he had seen the silver thread, voiced her concern for her. ‘What did you mean about registering us?’
‘Nothing to worry about. You just need a visitor’s badge.’ Einon spoke with forced levity.
Soon after that they turned down a street whose corner displayed a shallow bowl painted in faded pink below a tall brown triangle. Kerin later found that what she had taken to be a bowl represented an open hand, and the triangle was the Tyr.
‘This is Stryd Dechreur, the Street of the Acolytes,’ said Einon. ‘Youths wishing to enter the priesthood stay here while undergoing their initial training and preparation for the acolytes’ examinations. Companions of priests who come to the City on official business may also stay here at a reduced cost.’ Einon spoke as though he was doing them a favour, though the house he stopped outside was the smallest and shabbiest on the street, next to a close-shuttered house whose blue-painted lintels spoke of the passage of the winnowing times.
Kerin asked innocently, ‘And is this the house where you stayed when you were an acolyte, Gwas?’
Einon said, ‘No,’ and for once, did not elaborate.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Einon had found his travelling companions did not vex him as much as he had feared on the journey to the City of Light. Fychan was growing into the responsibility laid on him, and the woman - Kerin - showed commendable solicitude towards her son. Einon had no idea what had caused her and Sais to fall out, nor to make up again; he might be a priest, but the depths of human emotion remained a closed book to him. He was aware Sais was not fully disclosing his recollections. Einon was concerned, for there was a
faint whiff of blasphemy about Sais - the odd oaths he used; his lack of piety towards the sacred blade . . . and yet he had risked his own life to save Einon’s. He did not want to believe the worst of him, nor embroil him further in priestly politics.
It hurt to sneak back to the City of Light like some miscreant. He longed to return to the sacred precincts of the Tyr and lose himself in the cold, safe beauty of numbers. But until he knew why Sefion had sent an assassin after him he would follow his Escori’s orders and remain in hiding. He chose the guest house with care: it was cheap - a necessity, given the dent paying for Sais had made in his funds - and it was anonymous. At least he reclaimed his privacy, for Sais was happy to share a room with Fychan.
He had four full days before Fychan was to present Damaru to the Cariad: four days to find out what was going on. Given the way power ebbed and flowed in the Tyr it might be that his death was no longer desirable, and he would be safe to throw his lot in with the skyfool and declare his presence. He prayed that this was so, but needed to rely on more than prayer to make his final judgment. He must gather rumours. There were so many Tyr priests throughout the City that one could be virtually anonymous, so he should not attract undue attention.
He must also get a coded message to Urien. After some thought, he hit upon an idea: he would hide his words in a poem about pastries. Urien patronised a particular baker in the upper City, and received a weekly bill for his costly delicacies - pastries that he had introduced Einon to. If the bill arrived with an innocuous note extolling the virtues of their favourite pastries, then Urien would, Einon devoutly hoped, be able to decode the hidden message within - his address.
Einon had to admit his plan was not entirely sound, but cast adrift without the resources of the Tyr and unsure what perils awaited him, it was the best he could do. Sais agreed to take the note for him after Einon admitted, ‘I may have enemies in the Tyr, but I also have friends.’
The lodging house was run by a spry old widow named Ebrilla, who shared her home with a cat called Palfau. Kerin thought the cat a good substitute for a husband: more useful around the house and unlikely to answer back. The only other guests were Gorran, a sallow lad with a harelip, and his father Meilyg, who had travelled to the City from the Eastern Marches so Gorran could take the acolytes’ examinations.
Ebrilla was delighted to have a skyfool grace her house, and insisted on moving Meilyg and Gorran to a back room so the priest and the skyfool could have the two larger rooms facing the street. The easterners complied without complaint. Though Gorran and Meilyg had already eaten, she cooked a fresh meal for her new guests, and when Damaru picked up a handful of rice grains and squashed them into Ebrilla’s well-scrubbed wooden table, she just smiled indulgently and made the circle. Kerin wondered if their hostess would be quite as happy if Damaru failed to find the latrine, as had happened a couple of times on the journey.
The next day they went out early to register as visitors, a process which, Kerin was unsurprised to find, cost money. Einon pointed out the imposing building, but stayed well away from the stern-faced monitors who stood guard on either side of the door. Sais gave his name as Sais am Dangwern, which caused raised eyebrows all round, but they had no problems getting their official badges.
Then, it being Sul, they went to the local capel, where Einon joined them, somewhat to Kerin’s surprise. She had assumed he would go up to the Tyr to worship with his fellow priests, but when she mentioned this, he said he didn’t wish to leave Damaru alone in a strange place. His reason seemed odd, and she wondered if Sais knew more of his true motivations, but she did not ask. Sais had been very quiet since arriving in the City, more distracted than ever.
After capel, Kerin offered to help Ebrilla, who was more than happy to talk about the City and the skyfools’ presentation and public testing. Kerin was dismayed to find that only the appointed guardians could accompany the boys at these events, but Ebrilla patted her hand solicitously and said, ‘Do not fear, your boy is bound to triumph. Tis a special year, for when she accompanies the Consorts on Sul Esgyniad, the Cariad will also petition Heaven to send the red rain - the end of the winnowing times are in sight, praise be the Five!’
Kerin spent all her free time with Damaru, who had started acting up - maybe because there were so many strangers, or perhaps because he sensed the impending separation. He rearranged objects in the house, much to everyone’s annoyance, and refused to eat at mealtimes, instead demanding food at odd hours. In a bid to distract him, Kerin encouraged him to wander the City with her. She tried to fix the memory of him in the places they went together, so that when he was gone and she remained, she would be able to look back on this time.
But City life would take some getting used to: the very air was different - hotter, drier, smellier. Neither of them was used to the huge crowds of strangers, and Kerin wondered how she would ever understand the complex divisions between guildsmen and nobles, craftsmen and priestly servants.
Damaru led her along wide bustling thoroughfares and into pokey back streets where rats scrabbled through piles of refuse. In the great square in front of the Tyr’s main entrance they watched acolytes chanting the Traditions from memory. They saw the painted women of the Stryd Putain, and Kerin shuddered at the maimed and deformed men sitting listlessly before wooden begging bowls in the lower City. The wind often brought the stench of smoke and they frequently passed carts taking bodies to the pyres that burned night and day.
Yet as well as poverty and suffering, they also saw great affluence: markets and shops with wares that put the star-season fair to shame, and individuals flaunting their wealth, bedecked in finery and travelling in miniature carriages pulled by burly bondsmen. Even the moderately wealthy displayed extravagant fashions: many men’s shirts had far more buttons than were needed just to keep them fastened, and women often wore several layered skirts, each in contrasting colours, with the outer ones pinned up to show off those below. If the panelled jackets of the young people were anything to go by, then embroidery was prized. She discussed with Ebrilla the possibility of setting herself up as a needlewoman once Damaru had gone to his fate; it would not be such a bad life.
They saw little of their travelling companions. Einon and Sais were either closeted in their rooms, or off on unknown errands in the City, and Fychan was spending much of his time in the local hostelries, returning late every night stinking of ale and cheap scent. He did offer to take a turn looking after Damaru, but Kerin declined, suspecting it had nothing to do with consideration and everything to do with having it known he was a skyfool’s guardian.
When Fychan first wore the shirt Kerin had made, Sais went deathly white. Kerin would have been pleased to see him so upset a few weeks ago, but no more. His reaction had nothing of envy and everything of shock, as though the shirt were a thing of the Abyss. But he remained quiet and withdrawn, and as the time for Damaru’s presentation approached, Kerin’s mind was filled with the upcoming sorrow of bidding goodbye to her son forever.
His name was Jarek Reen. It came to him that first morning in Dinas Emrys. He woke up and he knew who he was - or rather, he knew who he had been before he came to this world. He had already adjusted his worldview in the face of his new knowledge. He was taller and weaker than the people here because he came from a world with lower gravity. The night sky was probably so bright because this world was near the galactic core, and the falling stars of star-season weren’t divine semen, they were meteors burning up in the atmosphere as the planet moved through a patch of space debris. The miraculous lights that gave the City its name, and Einon’s lantern, were rare examples of technology on an otherwise lo-tech world.
Rediscovering his name should have been the final piece of the puzzle, but despite his initial excitement, the memories still felt patchy and distant, as though they belonged to someone else. Though he knew he was Jarek, he still thought of himself as Sais.
When he saw Fychan wearing the shirt Kerin had made, it triggered another revelation: it
was made of smartchute fabric - and that meant he had come down in some sort of emergency escape vehicle; the ’chute had somehow failed and he’d crash-landed in the mere above Dangwern.
But why had he abandoned his ship?
He had no idea . . . There was still so much missing. He knew what he had been before he came to this planet - a freetrader, transporting specialist items between star-systems - but he had no idea how he ended up in this particular system. That memory didn’t exist, almost as though it had been excised.
He worked alone, so it was unlikely anyone knew he was here. He might have managed to send off a distress call, so perhaps someone was on their way. Or, he thought wryly, perhaps they’d already turned up at Dangwern - that would give the villagers something to talk about! But he’d seen no sign of offworld influence at all. People here thought they were alone in the cosmos. This place was a real backwater.
Sais wondered if he had abandoned his ship in orbit - if so, it might still be up there. Certainly there must be something up there, given the Consorts apparently ascended the ‘silver thread’. Not many planets still had beanstalks; advances in grav-tech had made them pretty much obsolete, but that didn’t mean they didn’t work: he could use this one to get up to orbit and off this planet himself. Well, in theory - two obvious problems sprang to mind: he had no idea what he’d find at the top, and there was a rock fortress full of hostile priests at the bottom.
Sais was desperate for someone to talk to, but even if Kerin had managed to forgive him for breaking her heart, he couldn’t begin to imagine her reaction to discovering her world wasn’t what she thought it was.