Slow Turns The World

by Andy Sparrow

  “Very well,” he said, “I swear on the lives of all the Vasagi two oaths; that I shall be your servant and protector until you release me, and, I swear also that I shall do no evil in your service.”

  His Lordship nodded slowly, seeming to accept the terms.

  “Then from this moment,” he said, “you are in my service. You will call me Lord. And you had better have these.”

  He laid upon the table Kalor's sword in its curved scabbard, a vest of mail and a pendant bearing the emblem of Etoradom; the triangle in the circle.

  “You will wear these.” His Lordship saw the pendant already hanging on Torrin’s breast. “What does the trinket around your neck signify?” he asked.

  “It marks another oath that I once took, that I pledged to my wife when we were married, and one I made again to her on our last meeting; that we would be together until death separates us.”

  “No other emblem is permitted to hang by that of Etoradom.” His Lordship seemed about to order its removal, but then a flicker crossed his face, the slightest tinge of sadness and regret.

  “Hide it next to your breast, Vasagi,” he said. “Hide it well, and perhaps you will fulfill that promise yet.”

  Torrin's first impression of his new role was of boredom and frustration. He moved from the crew's quarters to a dark cabin hardly bigger than a cupboard next to his masters. This had been Kalor's berth and what possessions he had were still within. There were many weapons, crossbows, daggers and swords of various designs, each lovingly oiled and sharpened. There was nothing that revealed the human side of the man, no old letters from family or friend, no lock of hair given by some loved one. There were only the weapons, a few helmets, shirts of cloth and mail. Only one curious thing revealed the inner thoughts of the dead man; there was a copy of the Text of God, thrown into one corner of the room, and when Torrin picked it from the floor he found the pages had been stabbed through angrily many times.

  Wearing Kalor’s mail shirt and bearing his sword, he wandered idly around the ship. Although Valhad now belonged to His Lordship, he was loaned back to the ship for the voyage, spending his time in labour, and they seldom had the opportunity to talk together. The crew regarded him even more strangely now and Torrin began to feel that he was caught in a trap of isolation, that it was the start of some process that had made Kalor the man he was. The ship ploughed on and the horizon eclipsed the sun. With every turn it became a smaller segment until only a thin sliver of fire remained. Then it was gone, and they sailed on into the world of dusk, where even the red-flecked clouds became dim and lost their lustre. All Torrin's life had been spent in pursuit of the setting sun, and in fear of the cold darkness that followed. Now, against all instinct, he was journeying in the wrong direction and he could not dispel the troubled feelings within.

  Land loomed to the north as a dark brooding mass. Its vague outline was divided from the sea by the beating waves, which were a ghostly silver line amongst the gloom. The sky became strange. The great moon Azex, riding high in the north, glowed brightly on a deep purple canvas, and eastwards, where the heavens were darkest, another tiny point of brightness had appeared. Torrin gazed in wonder at the first star he had ever seen.

  “What is that?” he asked Trabbir.

  “A jewel of heaven. Journey further into darkness and more can be seen; or so the tales tell. We of the sea take them as a warning that we have sailed too far from the light of the sun. It is bad luck to see this, and most ships turn quickly when they glitter in the sky.”

  Torrin and His Lordship joined the Captain on the upper deck where some time was spent in close examination of a map of the coastline. The Captain steadied a telescope, scanning the twilight shore, and then the instrument was passed to His Lordship who peered through the eyepiece seeking some landmark from the chart.

  “We are close enough now, Captain,” he said, “I suggest you light the beacon.”

  A metal cradle on the bows was filled with tinder and then, by some art that Torrin had never seen, was ignited into fire. A while later, another fire flared in answer on the dark shore. The sails were lowered, and, driven by the churning paddle wheel, the ship slid between the sentinel rocks of an enclosed bay. They dropped anchor. In the twilight they could see a jetty and a cluster of buildings. An open boat was approaching, driven by three pairs of oars. Soon the occupants had scrambled up a rope and wooden ladder to stand before them. It seemed to Torrin that they were much like the Asgal had been; a tribe of hunters that were given suits of mail and fine weapons. But it was much more than that with these people, there was another 'gift' bestowed them. They sank to their knees before His Lordship and their leader spoke.

  “Holy Lord, who has shown us truth and taught us the wisdom of God's Text, we thank God that you have come safely at last, delivered from the perils of the sea by the Grace of his Mercy.”

  “You may arise,” said His Lordship. “How has the work has progressed since I was last amongst you?”

  “Holy Lord, we have much cargo for you. We began a second working as you advised and came upon great bounty. Many of the heathen slaves were lost when a gallery collapsed, but enough remained to do the work. Then, two moons ago, another tribe came upon us with spears and arrows. Some of our number were slain. We fought them off but they wait still in the forest around the compound and have driven us from the workings. Soon they will make one last attack. Time is short.”

  “We shall go ashore at once. Vasagi?”

  “Lord?”

  “Your duty begins.”

  They climbed down to the open boat and rowed to the jetty. Scrambling ashore Torrin felt solid ground beneath his feet for the first time in two moons. They hurried to a stone building with the emblem of Etoradom carved above the door. Within, by the light of many candles, more men waited, some sank to their knees as His Lordship entered, but others stood impassively. His Lordship gave the kneelers blessings in the name of God, but with a flicker of impatience.

  “Where is the cargo?” he asked, with faintly concealed urgency.

  “Stored in the furnace room, Lord, and well guarded.”

  “Take us there.”

  They trudged along a muddy path to another building. Guards with crossbows stood at the doorway but moved aside to let them enter. Within, Torrin recognised the fumes and smells of that other building on the distant mountain. There were the same vats, stone hearth and bed of sand. Boxes, like those already stowed in the hold of the ship, were stacked high. His Lordship selected one and it was levered open. Within, tablets of golden metal glistened.

  “Have it taken onboard the ship. We will leave as soon as it is done. How many are you?”

  “Only fifteen, Lord. Not enough to guard both the compound and the slaves carrying the cargo.”

  “How many slaves remain? Where are they held?”

  “It was over fifty at the last count. They are held within the other storeroom. The doors are well bolted. They know the work has finished here and with the darkness upon us, and the other tribe waiting to attack, they are in a dangerous mood.”

  “Then let them stay there. You will carry the cargo.”

  Each box needed a pair of men to lift it, and even then with some effort. They struggled down the muddy road toward the jetty, only His Lordship walking unburdened. The boxes were so heavy that only two could be carried in the open boat, which began to shuttle back and forth to the waiting ship. Several journeys along the muddy path were made before all the cases stood stacked upon the jetty. Torrin stood beside the pile and scanned around the tree-covered slopes that encircled the bay. The darkness seemed to have drained all the colour from the world and now there were only shades of grey and shadow. His keen hunter's ear heard the faint sound of a twig breaking under a cautious footfall, he spun and stared into the gloom, and saw that there were shadows within the shadows, that moved and crept beneath the trees.

  “Lord,” he whispered. “Take the next boat to the ship.”

  “The cargo m
ust be loaded first, Vasagi.”

  Torrin turned to one of the others.

  “Are any men left guarding the compound?”

  “No. All have joined us here.”

  There was another faint sound of softly treading feet, but nearer now.

  “Move behind the cargo,” said Torrin to those around him, “Quickly.”

  A harsh cry sounded and the air was full of arrows. They fell in a jagged rain, flint tips burying into the timber and water around them. One man fell at Torrin's feet, a wooden shaft impaling his eye. Running feet thundered on wood as their attackers came upon the jetty and a wave of dark-bearded men bearing spears, closed upon them. Then the crossbows spat their bolts, a savage storm of retribution that brought the line of warriors tumbling like a breaking wave. A few token spears were thrown, and then the surviving attackers turned and were gone. Torrin and His Lordship rose from behind the boxes. It seemed suddenly unnaturally quiet. They walked cautiously to the nearest fallen enemy and looked down at the dark beard, pale skin and owl eyes.

  “Ummakil,” Torrin muttered.

  “I do not think so, Vasagi.” His Lordship mused for a moment as if mentally leafing through his great leather bound volume. “Ummakil are a tribe of the far south. I believe these are Jidsat. Very similar in culture and tradition.”

  “And in their choice of meat? Are we to leave the slaves for them to feast on?”

  “That is in the hands of God. We must complete the loading.”

  His Lordship went on the next boat, leaving them to complete the work. Only a few cases remained when fires appeared at several points around them. Torrin looked uneasily at the flames and tried to guess their purpose. The answer came quickly as the sky became streaked with fire. Burning arrows, cunningly contrived with fat and plaited sheaves of animal hair, fell all around them. Fire took hold upon the jetty, and upon the rigging of the ship.

  “Leave the cargo,” Torrin shouted, “get to the ship!” He looked to the compound where the arrows fell upon the timber roofs.

  “Are there weapons left ashore?” he demanded, “tell me! Are there weapons?”

  “Yes, some remain,” came the answer. “In the armoury; the stone building.”

  “If I do not return tell His Lord this, that the Vasagi do not leave what must be done in the hand of God.”

  Torrin drew the curved sword and ran along the burning jetty to the shore. He came quickly to the storeroom where the slaves were held. The roof was ablaze and from within came a chorus of shouts, some angry, some pleading. The doors were already straining under the weight of many shoulders. He pulled back one bolt and was struggling with the second when he sensed movement behind him. He spun round, ducking as he turned, and a spear point split the timber where his head had been. He had no special skill with the sword, only the desperation of a frightened man.

  He cut a wild slice through the air and felt the blade bite flesh. A warrior fell at his feet with a belly slashed open. There were gasps of pain and anguish from the mutilated dying man. Torrin blanked the sounds from his mind as he pulled the spear from the timber. Another Jidsat charged towards him, and fell, skewered through by the spear in Torrin's hands. He turned back to the bolt, pulled it free, and the doors burst open. Ragged figures came stumbling from the smoke filled room, blinded and retching. They stumbled to a halt, seeing before them a tall warrior bearing the symbol of their overseers with a bloodied blade in his hand.

  “Listen to me! You are free! Take weapons from the stone building yonder. You are enough to fight off those who attack. Find your way home again. Be free.” Then Torrin turned and was gone. The slaves stood bewildered for a moment, and then with an angry roar they rushed forward, and did all that he commanded.

  Torrin fought his way back to the jetty, which had become a bridge of flames. The boat was already moving toward the ship with the last of their band. He ran across the burning timbers, felt the waves of scorching heat, dodged between the tongues of flame to reach the end where the few remaining boxes stood piled. He looked at the heavy gleaming blade streaked with blood in his hand, glinting redder still in the flame-light, and cast it aside into the sea. Then he leapt from the burning timbers into the cold waters of the bay.

  Arrows fell around him as he swam to the boat and then strong arms pulled him aboard. New sounds came from the compound, shouts, screams and ringing steel as the slaves and Jidsat clashed. They rowed to the ship and struggled up the ladder. A few fire arrows still streaked the sky but the attacking slaves now distracted the archers. On the ship the crew were beating out fires in many places. The paddle wheel turned and the ship crept from the bay. At the narrow mouth some final burning arrows fell upon them. High in the rigging a stowed sail was ignited. The flames took hold and the mast became a fiery cross that burned brightly, and was slowly carried out to sea.

  They ploughed on slowly towards the band of brightness that defined the western horizon. The Captain walked the ship looking grimly at the fire damage and at a black skeletal mast with hanging fronds of charred rigging. He went below into private council with His Lordship and emerged after much bartering a slightly happier and richer man. Torrin was summoned next to His Lordship's cabin. On the table was an open wooden case filled with shiny, freshly minted coins. There were several small pouches too, all bulging, except for a final one that His Lordship was carefully filling, counting precisely the sum of money it was due. He spoke without looking up from his task.

  “That was an ingenious strategy, Vasagi, to release the slaves and let them fight on our behalf.”

  “Yes, Lord,” said Torrin, keeping his face a blank mask.

  His Lordship placed a final coin into the pouch and sat back looking at Torrin eye to eye. Neither blinked nor dropped their gaze. His Lordship spoke again.

  “It was unfortunate that we lost some of the cargo. But it will be salvaged. When the sun rises here again a ship will be sent. Other hands will continue our work.”

  He drew silent for a moment and then indicated the coins within the chest.

  “What do you know of this, Vasagi?”

  “Very little, Lord, until I came upon the ship, until I heard the crew talk of wealth and money. They had a look of lust, and of greed.”

  “You have never been offered coins, or precious metals in barter with other tribes?”

  “Why would we need such tokens? We have the barak; it feeds, it clothes.”

  “Vasagi, your people walk in darkness on the margin of the world. You worship no God, you have weak leaders, chosen by fools and women, and you have no notion of wealth or money. But we can thank God that your ignorance may soon be enlightened. The world is changing, Vasagi. It may not yet have reached to the southern-most corner of the sunset lands but it shall come.”

  “It is a great comfort to me, Lord, to know this,” said Torrin still returning the blank stare.

  “Vasagi, this is the great work to which God has called me, to bring His light to the dark corners of the world. And it is a task far beyond your knowing.”

  “Yes, Lordship, I am but an ignorant heathen,” said Torrin, cold anger finally brimming over into his quietly spoken words. “But what I do know, Lord, is that you are journeying to far corners of the world seeking the metal from which these coins are forged. I know that you buy the hearts of passing tribes with suits of mail, with shiny swords, and with crossbows. I know that you buy slaves to labour in dark places, to burrow like animals into the ground, I know that you cut down scores of trees to fire furnaces, and to purify the metal you use foul potions that poison the land and waters. And that all of this is done in the name of God.”

  “Yes, Vasagi, in His name.” His Lordship opened the Text that lay upon the table and flicked though the heavy, illuminated pages. He read aloud:

  “And God spoke to Salrose, who was king of all Etoradom. He said, ‘know that you are placed upon the summit of the world above all others, that you alone shall be warmed and lit by the sun which I have set to circle ab
out you. And know also, that you shall have dominion over all the lands and tribes and beasts of the lesser world, and that your sacred duty to your God is to bring all these within the kingdom which is yours and which is Mine.’” He closed the Text carefully and met Torrin's stare again.

  “God's work, Vasagi. God’s will that His dominion be united as it was when the world was new-made, and then there will be peace, and order. But we do not do this by sending armies or fleets of ships. I am just one man, one of a very few sent by the Emperor Priest on the most precious of missions. Yes, I am charged to do all the things that you have said and then deliver the cargo. Do you know, Vasagi, that this ship carries enough wealth to buy a score of armies, or a fleet of ships greater than any that sail the five seas? This world will be one nation as God commands, but it will not be us who wields the sword. We shall make it so with these....”

  He grasped a purse of coins and then slapped it hard back upon the table. “That will buy our armies, but here is something greater still. Here is the power that will conquer the world…”

  He lifted from the floor beside him another wooden chest and emptied its contents onto the table. Many books spilled out. Each was a small bound copy of the Text of God.

  The purses of money were for the overseers who had been brought on board. They were summoned one by one to His Lordship's cabin to receive their payment and those converted to the faith were also given a copy of the Text. Torrin stood impassively behind his master as the payment was made, his lip only twitching slightly as the converts, kneeling in spiritual subjugation, held the Text in their upturned hands as if it were a most delicate and precious thing. When this small duty was done His Lordship ordered Torrin to arm himself with a new sword. There were several stowed in Kalor's cabin. Torrin could imagine Kalor giving each a pet name and spending long hours lovingly sharpening and polishing. Grudgingly Torrin chose another curved blade, which filled the empty sheath at his side as if one was made for the other.