by Brian Aldiss
“You’re going to report us, Father?” From the olden days, the days of his adolescence, he had kept one possession, the bone knife which his mother had carved in her well days. His hand crept beneath his cassock and grasped the knife as he asked his question.
Sifans sniffed. “Like you, I shall do something unwise. I am going to advise you on the best route to take to leave our country. I am also going to advise you not to take this man with you. Leave him here, I’ll see to him. He’s close to death.”
“No, he’s tough, Father. He’ll recover quickly when the idea of freedom really sinks in. He’s been through much, haven’t you, Usilk?”
The prisoner stared up at them, across a blackened cheek which had already swollen enough to close one eye.
“Also, he is your enemy, Yuli, and will remain so. Beware of him. Leave him to me.”
“It’s my fault he is my enemy. I will make amends and he will forgive me when we are safe.”
The father said, “Some men do not forgive.”
As they stood regarding each other, Usilk made clumsy movements to rise to his feet, and stood gasping, resting his forehead against the wall.
“Father, I hardly can ask you this,” Yuli said. “For all I know, you are a Keeper. Will you come with us to the outer world?”
The eyes blinked rapidly. “Before my initiation, I felt I could not serve Akha, and I attempted once to leave Pannoval. But I was caught, because I was always one of the docile kind, and not savage like you.”
“You never forget my origins.”
“Oh, I envied savagery. I still do. But I was defeated; my wish was subverted by my nature. I was caught and treated—well, as to how I was treated, let me merely say that I also am a man who cannot forgive. That was long ago. Since then I have gained promotion.”
“Come with us.”
“I will remain here and nurse my injured leg. I always have my excuses, Yuli.”
Taking a stone from the floor, the father drew a sketch on the wall for Yuli, explaining an escape route to him. “It is a long journey. You must travel beneath the Quzint Mountains. You will find yourself at last not in the north but the more clement south. Stay well, and prosper.” Spitting on his hand, he erased the marks on his wall and tossed the stone into a corner.
Finding nothing to say, Yuli put his arms round the old man, so that his frail arms were pinned to his side, and hugged him. “We’ll go at once. Farewell.”
Usilk said, speaking with difficulty, “You must kill this fellow, kill him now. Or, as soon as we leave, he will give the alarm.”
“I know him and I trust him.”
“It’s a trick.”
“You and your damned tricks, Usilk. I won’t let you touch Father Sifans.” This was said in some agitation, as Usilk came forward and Yuli put out a detaining arm to keep him from the old priest. Usilk struck at his arm, and for a moment the two wrestled together, until Yuli pushed him off as gently as possible.
“Come on, Usilk, if you’re fit enough to struggle. Let’s go.”
“Wait. I see I’ll have to trust you, monk. Prove yourself true by freeing a comrade of mine. His name’s Scoraw and he worked with me at the fish pool. He’ll be in Cell 65. Also fetch a friend of mine from Vakk.”
Stroking his chin, Yuli said, “You’re in no position to dictate anything.” Every delay meant danger. Yet he saw that it was necessary to make some gesture to placate Usilk, if they were to agree at all. Sifans’ plan made it clear that they had a dangerous journey ahead.
“All right, Scoraw. I remember the man. He was your revolutionary contact?”
“Are you still trying to interrogate me?”
“Very well. Father, may Usilk stay here with you while I collect this Scoraw? Good. And who is the man in Vakk?”
A kind of smile moved briefly over Usilk’s broken face. “Not a man, a woman. My woman, monk. Name of Iskador, queen of archery. Lives at the Bow, Bottom Alley.”
“Iskador … yes, yes, I know her—I knew her once by sight.”
“Get her. She and Scoraw are tough. We’ll see how tough you are later, monk…”
The father tweaked at Yuli’s sleeve, and said softly to him almost inserting his nose into Yuli’s ear. “My apologies, I have chanigged my mind. I do not dare to be left alone with this surly and stupid person. Please take him with you—you have my assurances I shall not leave my room.” He clutched fiercely at Yuli’s arm.
Yuli clapped his hands together. “Very well. Usilk, we go together. I’ll show you where you can steal a habit. Put it on, go and collect Scoraw. I will go down into Vakk and collect your girl, Iskador. We will meet at the inner corner of Twink, where there are two passages leading off, so that we can escape if necessary. If you and Scoraw do not come, I shall have to leave without you, knowing you have been captured. Is that clear?”
Usilk grunted.
“Is that clear?”
“Yes, let’s move.”
They moved. They left the shelter of Sifans’ small room and launched themselves into the thick night of the corridor. Fingers to wall-scroll, Yuli led on, forgetting in his excitement even to bid farewell to his old mentor.
The people of Pannoval at this time were hardheaded. They had no great thoughts, except to keep their stomachs fed. Yet they had a kind of small change in stories, which were bartered about by storytellers from time to time.
At the great entrance, by the guardhouses, before a visitor to Pannoval came among the terraces of Market, trees grew—small in number and stunted, but definitely green trees.
They were properly prized for their rarity, and for their habit of yielding an occasional harvest of wrinkled nuts called roofers. No tree managed to crop every year, but every year one tree or other had a few lime-coloured roofers dangling from its outer twigs. Most of the roofers had maggots in them; but the dames and children of Vakk and Groyrie and Prayn ate the maggots along with the flesh of the nut.
Sometimes the maggots died when the nut was cracked. The poor little story had it that the maggots died of shock. They believed that the interior of their nut was their whole world, and the wrinkled case that contained it the sky. Then, one day, their world was cracked open. They saw with horror that there was a gigantic world beyond their world, more important and brighter in every way. It was too much for the maggots and they expired at the revelation.
Yuli thought of the maggots in the roofer nuts as he left the gaunt shadows of the Holies for the first time in more than a year, and returned, dazzled, to the busy world of ordinary life. At first, the noise and the light and the bustle of so many people reduced him to a state of shock.
All the challenge and temptation of that world was epitomised by Iskador, Iskador the beautiful. The image of her face was fresh in his mind, as if he had seen her only yesterday. Confronting her, he found her even more beautiful, and could only stutter before her.
Her father’s living had several compartments and was part of a small factory for making bows; he was the grand bowmaster of his guild.
Rather haughtily, she allowed the priest in. He sat on the floor and drank a cup of water, and slowly managed to tell her his tale.
Iskador was a sturdy girl of no-nonsense appearance. Her flesh was milky white, contrasting with her flowing black curly hair and her hazel eyes. Her face was broad, with high cheekbones, and her mouth wide and pale. All her movements were energetic, and she folded her arms over her bosom in a businesslike way as she listened to what Yuli had to say.
“Why doesn’t Usilk come here and tell me all this rigmarole?” she asked.
“He is collecting another friend for the journey. He could not come into Vakk—his face is a bit bruised at present, and would excite unwelcome attention.”
The dark hair hung down on either side of the face, framing it with two wings. Now the wings were flicked impatiently aside with a toss of the head, as Iskador said, “Anyhow, I have an archery contest in six days, which I want to win. I don’t want to leave Pannoval�
��I’m happy enough here. It was Usilk who was always complaining. Besides, I haven’t seen him for ages. I’ve got another boyfriend now.”
Yuh stood up, flushing slightly.
“Fine, if that’s how you feel. Just keep quiet about what I’ve told you. I’ll be off and take your message to Usilk.” His nervousness before her made him more brusque than he intended.
“Wait,” she said, coming forward with extended arm, a well-shaped hand reaching out towards him. “I didn’t say you could go, monk. What you tell me is pretty exciting. You’re meant to plead on Usilk’s behalf, begging me to come along with you.”
“Just two things, Miss Iskador. My name is Yuli, not ‘monk.’ And why should I plead on Usilk’s behalf? He’s no friend of mine, and besides …”
His voice tailed off. He glared angrily at her, cheeks colouring.
“Besides what?” There was a hint of laughter in her question.
“Oh, Iskador, you’re beautiful, that’s what besides, and I admire you myself, that’s what besides.”
Her manner changed. She put her hand up so as to half-hide her pale lips. “Two ‘that’s what besides’ … both rather important. Well, Yuli, that does make a bit of difference. You’re not unpresentable yourself, now I come to look at you. How did you get to be a priest?”
Sensing the turn of the tide, he hesitated, then said boldly, “I killed two men.”
She seemed to spend a long while regarding him from under her thick eyelashes.
“Wait there while I pack a bag and a strong bow,” she said at last.
The collapse of the roof had sent an anxious excitement through Pannoval. The event most dreaded in popular fancy had occurred. Feelings were somewhat mixed; with dread went a relief that only prisoners and warders and a few phagors had been buried. They probably deserved everything that Great Akha sent them.
At the rear of Market, barriers were drawn up, and the militia were out in force to keep order. Rescue teams, men and women of the physician’s guild, and workers, were moving back and forth at the scene of the disaster. Throngs of onlookers pressed forward, some quiet and tense, others merry, where an acrobat and a group of musicians encouraged them to be cheerful. Yuli pushed through the melée with the girl behind him, and people gave way to a priest out of long custom.
Twink, where the disaster had occurred, had an unfamiliar look. No onlookers were allowed, and a line of brilliant emergency flares was set up to assist the rescuers. Prisoners fed powder into the flares to maintain their brightness.
The scene was one of grim action, with prisoners digging and other ranks behind waiting to take over when they rested. Phagors had been set to hauling away the rubble carts. Every so often, a shout went up; then digging became more feverish, and a body would emerge from the earth, to be passed to waiting physicians.
The scale of the disaster was impressive. With the collapse of a new boring, part of the roof of the main cave had fallen in. There had been more than one subsidence. Most of the floor was piled high with rock, and the fish and fungus farm had largely been obliterated. The source of the original weakness that led to the disaster was a subterranean stream, which now gushed from its course, adding a flood to the other difficulties.
The rock fall had almost buried the rear passages. Yuli and Iskador had to scramble over a pile of debris to get there. Fortunately, this action was concealed from enquiring eyes by a still larger pile of debris. They climbed through without being stopped. Usilk and his comrade Scoraw were waiting in the shadows.
“The black and white suits you, Usilk,” Yuli commented sarcastically, referring to the priestly disguise both prisoners wore. For Usilk had come eagerly forward to clutch Iskador. Perhaps displeased by his battered face, she kept her distance, appeasing him by holding his hands.
Even in his disguise, Scoraw still looked the prisoner. He was tall and thin, with the droop to his shoulders of a man who has spent too long in a cell too small. His hands were large and scarred. His glance—at least during this encounter—was indirect; flinching from meeting Yuli’s eyes, he took little sips of sight when Yuli’s attention was elsewhere. When Yuli asked him if he was prepared for a difficult journey, he merely nodded, grunted, and shrugged a bag of possessions further on to his shoulder.
It was an inauspicious start to their adventure, and for a moment Yuli regretted his impulse. He was throwing away too much to consort with two characters like Usilk and Scoraw. First, he perceived, he must assert his authority, or they would meet nothing but trouble.
Usilk evidently had the same thought in mind.
He pushed forward, adjusting his pack. “You’re late, monk. We thought you’d backed out. We thought it was another of your tricks.”
“Are you and your mate up to a hard journey? You look ill.”
“Best to get going and not stand about talking,” Usilk said, squaring his shoulders and pushing forward between Iskador and Yuli.
“I lead, you cooperate,” Yuli said. “Let’s get that clear, then we’ll all agree together.”
“What makes you think you’re going to lead, monk?” Usilk said jeeringly, nodding to his two friends for support. With his half-closed eye, he looked both sly and threatening. He was feeling pugnacious again, now that the prospect of escape was offered.
“Here’s the answer to that,” Yuli said, bringing his bunched right fist round in a hard curve and sinking it into Usilk’s stomach.
Usilk doubled up, grunting and cursing.
“Scumb you, you eddre …”
“Straighten up, Usilk, and let’s march before we’re missed.”
There was no more argument. They moved after him obediently. The faint lights of Twink died behind them. But at Yuli’s fingertips went a wall-scroll, serving as his sight, teasingly formed of beads and chains of tiny shells, spinning out like a melody played on a fluggel, leading them down into the enormous silences of the mountain.
The others did not share his priestly secret, and still relied on light to get about. They began to beg him to go more slowly, or to let them light a lamp, neither of which he would do. He seized on the opportunity to take Iskador’s hand, which she gave gladly, and he walked in a steady delight to feel her flesh against his. The other two contented themselves with clinging to her garment.
After some while, the passages branched, the walls became rougher, and the repeating pattern gave out. They had reached the limits of Pannoval, and were truly alone. They rested. While the others talked, Yuli kept clear in his mind the plan that Father Sifans had sketched for him. Already, he regretted that he had not embraced the old man and bidden him farewell.
Father, you underdood much about me, I believe, for all your odd ways. You know what a lump of clay I am. You know that I aspire to good but cannot rise above my own dull nature. Yet you did not betray me. Well, I did not knife you either, did I? You must keep trying to improve yourself, Yuli—you’re still a priest, after all. Or am I? Well, when we get out, if we get out … And there’s this wonderful girl … No, no, I’m not a priest, old father, bless you, never could be, but I did try and you helped. Fare you well, ever…
“Get up,” he called, jumping to his feet and assisting the girl to hers. Iskador rested a hand lightly on his shoulder in the dark before they set off again. She did not complain about being tired when Usilk and Scoraw began to do so.
They slept eventually, huddled together at the foot of a gravelly slope, with the girl between Usilk and Yuli. Night fears got to them; in the dark, they imagined that they heard Wutra’s worm slithering towards them, its jaws open and its slimy whiskers trailing.
“We’ll sleep with a light burning,” Yuli said. It was chill, and he held the girl tight, falling asleep with one cheek against her leather tunic.
When they woke, they nibbled frugally on the food they had brought. The way became much more difficult. There had been a cliff fall, and they crawled for hours on their bellies, nose to toe, each calling to the other unashamedly, in order to keep in
touch in the overmastering night of the earth. A freezing wind whistled through the slot they had to work their way through, icing their hair to their heads.
“Let’s go back,” Scoraw begged, when at last they could stand, bent-backed, and draw in breath. “I prefer imprisonment to this.” Nobody answered him, and he did not repeat the suggestion. They could not go back now. But the great presence of the mountain silenced them as they proceeded.
Yuli was hopelessly lost. The rock collapse had thrown him out of his reckoning. He could no longer remember the old priest’s map and was almost as helpless without the repeating pattern at his fingers as the others. A whispering noise grew and he strove to follow it. Bars of evil and unidentifiable colour drifted before his staring eyes; he felt that he was pressing through solid rock. His breath broke from his open mouth in sharp gasps. By mutual consent, they rested.
The way had been leading downhill for hours. They staggered on, Yuli with one hand to the side, one arm raised above his face, so that he did not strike his head against rock, as he had already done on several occasions. He felt Iskador clutching his habit; in his present state of fatigue, the touch was merely an annoyance.
With his mind rambling, he began to believe that the way he breathed controlled the diseased colours he saw. Yet that could not be entirely correct, for a kind of luminosity was creeping into view. He plunged on, ever down, squeezing his swollen lids tight together and then releasing them. Blindness was descending upon him—he was seeing a faint milky light. Looking round, he seemed to see Iskadoes face as in a dream—or a nightmare, rather, for her eyes were staring, her mouth gaping, in the ghostly disc of her face.
At his gaze, her awareness returned. She stopped, clutching at him for support, and Usilk and Scoraw barged into them.
“There’s light ahead,” Yuli said.
“Light! I can see again…” Usilk grasped Yuli’s shoulders. “You scumbing villain, you have brought us through. We’re safe, we’re free!”