by Brian Aldiss
As man and phagor slept, neither realised that water would flow past their flimsy strip of island for an age to come. It was a temporary inundation: but that inundation would last for another two hundred Batalix-years.
XIII • VIEW FROM A HALF ROON
On the Earth Observation Station, the term “bone fever” was well understood. It was part of a complex disease-mechanism caused by the virus known to the learned families on the Avernus as the helico virus, and its workings were better understood by them than by those who suffered and died from it on the planet below.
Research into Helliconian microbiology was far enough advanced for the Earthmen to know that the virus manifested itself twice in every 1825 years of the Helliconian great year. However it might appear to the contrary to the Helliconians, these manifestations were not random. They occurred invariably during the period of the twenty eclipses which marked the beginning of true spring, and again during the period of the six or seven eclipses occurring later in the great year. Climatic changes coincident with the eclipses acted as triggers to the phases of viral hyperactivity, which formed, its it were, mirror images of each other, their effects being equally devastating though entirely different at the different periods.
To the inhabitants of the world below, the two scourges were separate phenomena. They raged more than five Helliconian small centuries (that is, slightly over seven Earth centuries) apart. So they went by separate names, the bone fever and the fat death.
The disease stream of the virus, like an irresistible flood, affected the history of all through whose lands it swept its ways. Yet an individual virus, like a single drop of water, was negligible.
A helico virus would have to be magnified ten thousand times before it became visible to the human eye. Its size was ninety-seven millimicrons. It consisted of a bag partly covered in icosahedrons, made up of lipids and proteins, and containing RNA; in many ways, it resembled the pleomorphic helical virus responsible for an extinct terrestrial disease called mumps.
Both the scholars on the Avernus and the Helliconia-watchers back on Earth had deduced the function of this devastating virus. Like the ancient Hindu god Shiva, it represented the ancipital principles of destruction and preservation. It killed, and existence followed in its deadly wake. Without the presence of the helico virus on the planet, neither human nor phagorian life would have been possible.
Because of its presence, no person from Earth could set foot on Helliconia and survive. On Helliconia, the helico virus ruled, and set a cordon sanitaire about the planet.
As yet, the bone fever had not entered Embruddock. It was approaching, as surely as was the crusade of the young kzahhn, Hrr-Brahl Yprt. The question in the minds of the scholars on the Avernus was, which would strike first.
Other questions occupied the minds of those who lived in Embruddock. The question uppermost in the minds of the men within sight of the top of the shaky hierarchy was, how could power be attained and, when attained, how could it be retained.
Fortunately for the run of mankind, no permanent answer to this question has ever been devised. But Tanth Ein and Faralin Ferd, venal and easygoing men, had no interest in the question in the abstract. As time passed, and another year—the fateful year of 26 in the new calendar—dawned, and Aoz Roon’s absence grew to over half a year, the two lieutenants ran affairs on a day-to-day basis.
This suited them. It suited Raynil Layan less. He had gained increasing say with both the two regents and the council. Raynil Layan saw that an entirely new system was overdue in Oldorando; by introducing it, he would secure power by the sort of nonviolent means which suited him best.
He would appear to yield to pressure from traders and bring in money to replace the age-old system of barter.
From now on, nothing would be free in Oldorando.
Bread would be paid for in his coin.
Satisfied that they would get their share, Tanth Ein and Faralin Ferd nodded agreement to Raynil Layan’s scheme. The city was expanding every day. Trade could no longer be confined to the outskirts; it was becoming the centre of life and so it appeared in the centre. And it could be taxed under Raynil Layan’s innovatory thinking.
“Buying food is not right. Food should be free, like the air.”
“But we’re going to be given money to buy it with.”
“I don’t like it. Raynil Layan’s going to get fat,” Dathka said.
He and his fellow Lord of the Western Veldt were strolling towards Oyre’s tower, inspecting some of their responsibilities on the way. Those responsibilities grew as Oldorando spread. Everywhere they saw new faces. Learned members of the council estimated—with some wringing of the hands—that little more than a quarter of the present population was born locally. The rest were foreigners, many of them in transit. Oldorando was situated at a continental crossroads which was just beginning to bear traffic.
What had been open land until a few months ago was now a site for huts and tents. Some changes went deeper. The old regime of the hunt, by turns harsh and sybaritic, vanished overnight. Laintal Ay and Dathka kept a slave to feed their hoxneys. Game had become scarce, stungebags had disappeared, and migrants were bringing in cattle which betokened a more settled way of life.
The blandishments of the bazaar had ruined the camaraderie of the hunt. Those who had gloried in riding like the wind over newly discovered grasslands in the days of Aoz Roon were now content to lounge about the streets, serving as stall holders, or ostlers, or strong-arm men, or pimps.
The Lords of the Western Veldt were now responsible for order in the growing quarter of the city that lay to the west of the Voral. They had marshals to assist them. Slaves from the south skilled in masonry were building them a tower in which to live. The quarry was in the brassimips. The new tower imitated the form of the old ones; it would command the tents of those the lords sought to control, and stand all of three stories high.
After inspecting the day’s work and exchanging a joke with the overseer, Laintal Ay and Dathka headed towards the old town, pushing through a crowd of pilgrims. Canvas stalls were set up, ready to cater to the needs of such travellers. Each stall was licenced with Laintal Ay’s office, and displayed its number on a disc.
The pilgrims surged forward. Laintal Ay stepped out of their way, putting his back against a new wall of canvas. His heel met with air, he slipped and found himself falling into a hole which the canvas had concealed. He drew his sword. Three pale young men, naked to the waist looked at him in horror as he turned to confront them.
The hole was waist deep, the size of a small room.
The foreheads of the men were painted with central eyes.
Dathka appeared around the corner of the canvas and looked down into the excavation, grinning at his friend’s mishap.
“What are you doing?” Laintal Ay demanded of the three men.
Recovering from their astonishment, the three stood firm. One said, “This will be a shrine dedicated to great Naba’s Akha, and is therefore sacred ground. We have to ask you to leave at once.”
“I own this ground,” Laintal Ay said. “Show me your licence to rent a patch here.”
While the young men were exchanging looks, more pilgrims gathered round the hole, looking down and muttering. All wore black and white robes.
“We haven’t got a licence. We aren’t selling anything.”
“Where are you from?”
A large man with a black cloth wound about his head stood on the edge of the hole, accompanied by two older women who carried a large object between them. He called down in a pompous voice, “We are followers of the great Naba’s Akha and we are proceeding southwards, spreading the word. We plan to erect a small chapel here and we demand you remove your unworthy self immediately.”
“I own this ground, every spadeful of it. Why are you digging down if you need to build a chapel up? Don’t you foreigners know air from earth?”
One of the young diggers said, apologetically, “Akha is the god of earth
and underground, and we live in his veins. We shall spread his good news through all lands. Are we not Takers from Pannoval?”
“You are not taking this hole without permission,” Laintal Ay roared. “Get out, all of you.”
The large pompous man began to shout, but Dathka drew his sword. He stabbed forward. The object the two older women carried was covered with a cloth. Pricking the cloth with his sword point, Dathka whisked the fabric away. An awkwardly crouching figure was revealed, semihuman, its frog eyes blind but staring. It was carved from a black stone.
“What a beauty!” Dathka exclainled, laughing. “An ugly mug like that needs to be covered up!”
The pilgrims became furious. Akha had been insulted; sunlight was never allowed to touch Akha. Several men flung themselves at Dathka. Laintal Ay jumped out of the hole shouting, and set about the pilgrims with the flat of his sword. The skirmish brought a marshal and two of his men armed with staves to the scene, and in a short while the pilgrims were battered enough to promise their future good conduct.
Laintal Ay and Dathka continued on to Oyre’s new rooms in Vry’s tower, which was being rebuilt. Oyre had moved because the square about the big tower had become so noisy, with its wooden stalls and drinking booths. With Oyre had gone Dol and her small son, Rastil Roon Den, together with Dol’s ancient mother, Rol Sakil. As Aoz Roon’s absence lengthened, Dol had become concerned for her safety in a building that also housed the two increasingly unruly lieutenants, Faralin Ferd and Tanth Ein.
At the entrance to the tower, still referred to as Shay Tal’s Tower, four burly young freed Borlienian slaves were on guard. That arrangement was Laintal Ay’s doing. He received their salutes as he and Dathka entered.
“How’s Oyre?” he asked, already beginning to tramp upstairs.
“Recovering.”
He found his beloved lying in a bed, with Vry, Dol, and Rol Sakil beside her. He went to her and she put her arms round him.
“Oh, Laintal Ay—it was so horrible. I felt such fear.” She stared into his eyes. He looked upon her face, seeing there weariness, caught in the faint lines under her eyes. All who went father-communing were aged by the experience. “I thought I’d never get back to you, my love,” she said. “The world below becomes worse every time you visit it.”
Age had bent Rol Sakil double. Her long white hair covered her face, so that all that could be seen was her nose. She squatted by the bed nursing her grandson, and said, “It’s only them who are old who fail to return, Oyre.”
Oyre sat up and clung more tightly to Laintal Ay. He could feel her shivering.
“It seemed doubly awful this time—a universe without suns. The world below is the opposite of ours, with the original boulder like a sun below everything, black, giving out black light. All the fessups hang there like stars—not in air but rock. All being sucked slowly down into the black hole of the boulder… They’re so malign, they hate the living.”
“It’s true,” agreed Dol, soothing her old mother. “They hate us and would eat us up if they could.”
“They snap at you as you go by.”
“Their eyes are full of evil dusts.”
“Their jaws too …”
“But your father?” Laintal Ay prompted, bringing her back to the reason for her entering pauk.
“I met my mother in the world below…” Oyre could say no more for a moment. Though she clung to Laintal Ay, the world of air to which he belonged as yet seemed less real to her than the one she had left. Not one kind word had her mother for her, only blame and recrimination, and an intensity of hatred that the living scarcely dared reveal.
“She said how I’d disgraced her name, brought her in shame to her grave. I’d killed her, I was responsible for her death, she had detested me since she first felt me stir in her womb… All the bad things I did as a child … my helplessness … my scumble… Oh, oh, I can’t tell you…”
She began to wail horribly to release her grief.
Vry came forward and helped Laintal Ay hold her. “It’s not true, Oyre, it’s all imagination.” But she was thrust away by her weeping friend.
All had been in pauk at some time. All looked on in gloomy sympathy, locked in their own thoughts.
“But your father,” Laintal Ay said again. “Did you meet him?”
She recovered sufficiently to hold him at arm’s length, regarding him with red eyes, her face glistening with snot and tears.
“He was not there, thanks be to Wutra, he was not there. The time has not yet arrived when he must fall to the world below.”
They gazed round at each other in puzzlement at this news. To cover a dread that Aoz Roon was, after all, with Shay Tal, Oyre went on talking.
“Surely he won’t become that kind of evil gossie, surely he has lived a life full enough not to turn into one of those little bundles of malevolence? At least he’s spared that fate a while longer. But where is he, all these long weeks?”
Dol began to weep by infection, snatching Rastil Roon from her mother, rocking him, and saying, “Is he still alive? Where is he? He wasn’t so bad, to be honest… Are you sure he wasn’t down below?”
“I tell you he wasn’t. Laintal Ay, Dathka, he’s still somewhere in this world, though Wutra knows where, that we can be sure of.”
Rol Sakil began to wail, now that her movements were not hampered by the infant.
“We must all go down to that terrible place, sooner or later. Dol, Dol, it will be your poor old mother’s turn next… Promise you’ll come and see me, promise, and I promise I’ll say no word against you. I will never blame you for the way you’ve become involved with that terrible man who has afflicted all our lives…”
As Dol comforted her mother, Laintal Ay tried to comfort Oyre, but she suddenly pushed him away and climbed from the bed, wiping her face and breathing deep. “Don’t touch me—I stink of the world below. Let me wash myself.”
During these lamentations, Dathka had stood at the back of the room, his stocky figure against the rough wall, his face wooden. Now he came forward.
“Be silent, all of you, and try to think. We are in danger and must turn this news to our advantage. If Aoz Roon is alive, then we need a plan of action till he gets back—if he can get back. Maybe fuggies have captured him.
“I warn you, Faralin Ferd and Tanth Ein plot to take over control of Oldorando. First, they mean to set up a mint, with that worm Raynil Layan in command of it.” His eyes slid to Vry and then away again. “Raynil Layan already has the metal makers at work, minting a coinage. When they control that and pay their men, they will be all-powerful. They will surely kill Aoz Roon when he returns.”
“How do you know this?” Vry asked. “Faralin Ferd and Tanth Ein are his friends of long-standing.”
“As for that …” Dathka said, and laughed. “Ice is solid till it melts.”
He stood alert, looking at each, finally letting his gaze rest on Laintal Ay.
“Now we must prove our real worth. We tell nobody that Aoz Roon is still alive. Nobody. Better that they should be uncertain. Leave everyone in doubt. Oyre’s news would prompt the lieutenants to usurp power at once. They would act to forestall him before he got back.”
“I don’t think—” Laintal Ay began, but Dathka, suddenly in command of his tongue, cut him short.
“Who has the best claim to rule if Aoz Roon is dead? You, Laintal Ay. And you, Oyre. Loilanun’s son and Aoz Roon’s daughter. This infant of Dors is a dangerous counterargument that the council could seize on. Laintal Ay, you and Oyre must become united at once. Enough shilly-shallying. We’ll command a dozen priests from Borlien for the ceremony, and you will make the announcement that the old Lord is dead, so the two of you will rule in his stead. You’ll be accepted.”
“And Faralin Ferd and Tanth Ein?”
“We can look after Faralin Ferd and Tanth Ein,” said Dathka, grimly. “And Raynil Layan. They have no general support, as you do.”
They all regarded each other soberly. Finall
y, Laintal Ay spoke.
“I am not going to usurp Aoz Roon’s title while he is still alive. I appreciate your cunning, Dathka, but I will not carry out your plan.”
Dathka put his hands on his hips and sneered. “I see. So you don’t care if the lieutenants do take over? They’ll kill you if they do—and me.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Believe what you wish, they’ll certainly kill you. And Oyre, and Dol and this kid. Probably Vry too. Come out of your dreams. They are tough men, and they have to act soon. The blindnesses, rumours of bone fever—they’ll act while you sit and mope.”
“It would be better to get my father back,” Oyre said, deliberately looking not at Laintal Ay but Dathka. “Things are in flux—we need a really strong ruler.”
Dathka laughed sourly at her remark and watched its effect on Laintal Ay without replying.
A heavy silence fell in the room. Laintal Ay broke it by saying awkwardly, “Whatever the lieutenants may or may not do, I am not going to bid for power. It would only be divisive.”
“Divisive?” Dathka said. “The place is divided, it’s sliding into chaos with all the foreigners here. You’re a fool if you ever believed Aoz Roon’s nonsense about unity.”
During this argument Vry had remained unobtrusively by the trapdoor, and was leaning with arms folded against the wall. She came forward now and said, “You make a mistake by thinking only of earthly things.
Pointing towards the baby, she said, “When Rastil Roon was born, his father had just disappeared. That is three quarters ago. The time of double sunset is past. So it is three quarters since the last eclipse, I will remind you. Or the last blindness, if you prefer the old term.
“I must warn you that another eclipse is approaching. Oyre and I have done our calculations—”
Dol’s aged mother set up a wail. “We never had these afflictions in the old days—what have we done to deserve them now? One more will finish everybody off.”