Crown of Silence

by Constantine, Storm

  Shan had thought Nip’s staff was for effect, to make her look more like a magus, but he soon appreciated its practical use. She used it efficiently to attack the thick undergrowth that in many places completely blocked the path. It didn’t seem as if many people passed this way. The further they went into the forest, the denser it became. In the glades Shan now knew as home, the trees were tall and majestic, but here they were gnarled and hunched and spreading, stooping low to the ground like a gathering of malevolent hags. It didn’t take much of an imagination to see faces in the flaking creases of bark. Spiny twigs reached out like pinching fingers. The leaves were a strange colour too, being dark as if with blight. The early gold of autumn did not show here, and the air smelled of rotten hay. ‘This is a hinterland,’ Nip whispered, drawing close to Shan’s side. ‘It is a place where spirits walk.’

  ‘Winter already seems to rule here,’ Shan murmured back.

  Nip nodded. ‘Yes,’ she hissed. ‘In a way, it does.’

  Beneath their feet, the ground was littered with shavings of bark - a dry, spongy mass – similar to that found in a pine forest, but the trees around them were not pines. It was difficult to judge exactly what kind of trees they were.

  As they walked, Nip pointed out rare fungi and plants to Shan, listing their properties. Shan only half listened to her words. It was clear their journey was nearly over, and he hadn’t yet broached the subject of what he’d seen in Taropat’s scry-mede. He was afraid Nip might think he was making it up. In retrospect, it seemed unlikely the face he’d seen had been Tayven’s. At best, Nip would scoff at him, tell him he’d been too influenced by Taropat’s story. That was the most likely explanation anyway. It could have been anyone’s face in the mede. Perhaps he’d wanted it to be Tayven’s, for the same egotistic reasons he was afraid of being accused of.

  The sinister trees dwindled out and were replaced by an almost impenetrable wall of rhododendron. It looked hundreds of years old, full of spidery, dusty tunnels and foliate caves. Shan could not discern a proper path, but Nip seemed to know the way. She wove confidently between the ancient trunks and tangled branches, knocking bloated spiders aside with a fearless hand. After only fifteen minutes or so, they emerged from this jungle onto the lip of a large valley clearing. Below, the valley was ringed by yellowing oaks. Within their circle of protection was a large house wreathed in ivy, surrounded by an immense garden. Some of it appeared functional, where vegetables and herbs were grown, but the majority of it was decorative, with walkways, arbours and grottoes. Yet other corners were wild and overgrown. ‘Here we are,’ said Nip. ‘Lady Sinaclara’s domain.’

  There were no roads in or out of the clearing. The Lady must be self-sufficient. Shan imagined that few could find their way here.

  Nip ran down the grassy bank and through the circle of oaks. Shan followed her. As they burst out of the trees onto a lawn hemmed by high hedges, a flock of black doves rose up in alarm. Their flight was strangely blurred. Beyond their clattering wings, Shan could see the turrets of the house, its watchful windows. He and Nip crossed the lawn and walked along a grassy avenue of trimmed hedges. The light was odd, like twilight, yet the sun had not yet sunk below the trees. The house was visible at the end of the walk, framed by ordered foliage. A terrace could be seen; behind it, open window-doors led into the house. Shan saw a peculiar evanescent shape float out of them, swathed in transparent blue veils. ‘What’s that?’ he asked.

  ‘The Lady,’ Nip replied. ‘She knew we were coming.’

  Shan could see now that the shimmering form was indeed the figure of a woman, dressed in blue. He’d expected an elderly lady, a female version of Thremius, but Sinaclara was young, or at least appeared so. As she drew nearer – and Shan could tell now that she was walking rather than gliding – he saw that her gown was embroidered with the eyes of a peacock tail and the bodice was adorned with feathers of the same bird.

  ‘She is the pavoniata,’ Nip said softly, ‘priestess of the peacock angel.’

  The lady came to a halt in front of them and held out her arms. ‘Nip,’ she said. ‘How good to see you. It’s been too long. I forget myself sometimes, hidden away here in my domain.’ Her hair was the red of autumn, her eyes the blue of summer sea, her skin pallid as snow.

  Nip hugged her briefly and then turned to introduce Shan. ‘This is the friend Thremius asked me to bring to you.’

  The women exchanged a glance, from which Shan could not help but feel excluded. ‘A new face is always welcome,’ said the Lady.

  ‘His name is Shan,’ Nip said. ‘He is apprenticed to Taropat.’

  Sinaclara inclined her head. ‘Here is my home,’ she said. ‘Enter.’

  She led them through the open windows into a large, dark drawing room, where a fire burned hungrily in the hearth. The room was stuffed with antique furniture and artefacts and the air smelled of spicy incense. Huge statues of foreign gods pondered in niches, some of them grotesque and fearsome.

  Lady Sinaclara pulled on a rope by the hearth and a servant appeared almost at once, an ochre-skinned woman with slanting eyes and exotic dress. ‘Nana, our visitors have arrived,’ Sinaclara said.

  ‘I will have tea brought in,’ said the woman, bowing her head, whilst delivering Shan a scorching glance.

  ‘I hope you are hungry,’ said the Lady to Shan. ‘We rarely have guests, so when we do, we tend to smother them.’

  Shan smiled uneasily.

  Until the refreshments arrived, the Lady talked about her garden. Nip responded with apparent interest, but Shan could not relax. He felt oppressed in that room, light-headed, as if a great unseen force pressed down upon him. He did not want to stay there without Nip.

  The servant, Nana, reappeared, supervising a couple of younger girls, who bore heavy trays. The tea consisted of an array of fiery foreign dishes, accompanied by an unidentifiable hot beverage that tasted of stale smoke. Shan could barely eat. The spices burned his mouth, the drink made him feel nauseous.

  The Lady must have noticed his discomfort. ‘The flavours take some getting used to, I know,’ she said, ‘but persistence repays the palate. The food is Jessapurian. It is all we eat here, because every one of my staff comes from Jessapur. I guarantee that within a few days, you will learn to relish it.’

  Shan managed a weak smile, swallowing with difficulty. How long was he supposed to stay here? He would starve. He’d read of Jessapur in Taropat’s books: a distant and frightening land of sorcerers and demons. ‘How many days will I be here?’ he said awkwardly, aware of giving offence.

  Nip squeezed his arm. ‘I’ll come back for you the day after the winter solstice,’ she said.

  ‘That’s months away!’ Shan exclaimed.

  Both Sinaclara and Nip laughed.

  ‘He doesn’t want to be left alone with me,’ said the Lady. ‘Am I so frightening, Shan?’

  ‘He is afraid of your kitchen,’ Nip said quickly, perhaps knowing Shan was incapable of a polite reply.

  The Lady frowned in concern. ‘Oh, is it that bad? I can ask Nana to bring you some white bread, if you like.’

  Shan shook his head. ‘No, I’m fine. I just didn’t know I was to stay here that long. It was a surprise.’

  ‘Shock, more like!’ said the Lady, smiling. ‘I won’t eat you, I promise.’

  Shan felt as if he was the butt of a private joke between the women. ‘I’m pleased to be here,’ he said stiffly. ‘I’m concerned only for Taropat being alone for so long.’

  ‘He was alone for a good while before you came to him,’ said the Lady. ‘Do you think you’re that indispensable?’

  Shan flushed. Why did she twist things around, make him feel stupid? ‘He has beenc out of sorts recently, that’s all.’

  The Lady snorted. ‘Taropat out of sorts? I’d like to see that!’ She narrowed her eyes at Shan. ‘You mustn’t miss him that much. It isn’t good for you.’

  Shan’s flush deepened. ‘I won’t. Ic’

  She reached out to pat his
knee. ‘Female company will inspire you.’

  Nip put down her plate, which was empty. ‘Well, I’d better head back.’

  ‘You don’t have to leave, Nip,’ the Lady said. ‘Stay here the night.’

  ‘Thank you, but I’d rather get home. I can travel swiftly by myself. It won’t take that long.’

  ‘Well, if you’re surec’

  Nip stood up and turned to Shan. ‘I’ll see you soon,’ she said. ‘Good luck.’

  Shan wanted to throw down his plate, still full, and say that he was leaving with her, but he was afraid to. The feeling shamed him. He knew about fear, what it could do to him, yet he could not banish it. It reminded him, yet again, that knowledge without experience is not enough.

  Nip picked up her staff and sauntered out through the windows onto the terrace. Shan watched her until he could no longer see her. Why wouldn’t she stay just for one night? Was she afraid of this house? Sinaclara sat silently nearby. He knew that she was watching him. Eventually, he had no excuse to stare at the garden and had to turn back. He found that the Lady was paying full attention to her food. She didn’t say anything, but continued to eat precisely and slowly. The silence was unbearable. Was she annoyed with him? Shan cleared his throat selfconsciously. ‘Could I have some water, please?’

  The Lady looked up. ‘If you want to. There’s a vase of flowers over there. Drink from that.’

  Shan stared at her, horrified.

  Sinaclara laughed. ‘Joking,’ she said. ‘We’ll get you some water from the kitchens. I want to give you a tour of the house. This is going to be your home for a while. You must begin familiarising yourself with it.’

  It seemed that in every room, around every corner, a sinuous snaky Jessapurian lurked in the shadows. Sinaclara greeted them all cheerfully. To Shan, they looked like a society of necromancers, their fingernails stained with blood. They gazed at him with suspicion and what he thought was malice. It was as if they could see right into him, and what they saw there they despised.

  Sinaclara took him to a gallery on the second floor of the house that was full of terrifying statues of Jessapurian deities, sprouting multiple limbs clutching weapons, and multiple heads armed with fangs and horns. ‘I lived for a long while in Jessapur,’ Sinaclara said, patting the flank of a snarling black demon. ‘I’ve a great affection for the place. I learned so much there.’ She folded her arms. ‘I’ve lived in many places. Mewt was fascinating too.’

  ‘I’ve never been anywhere,’ Shan said inadequately, trying to avoid the gaze of a particularly fearsome idol.

  Sinaclara nodded. ‘Not yet, no, but I envy you, Shan. I envy the fact that soon you will have your first sight of Mewt, of Jesspaur and other countries. That first experience cannot be repeated – the foreign scent of a place, the newness of its sunsets, dawns and twilights, the ambience of its nights, the perfume of its days, the secret knowledge that hangs in the very air waiting to be discovered or reveal itself.’

  ‘Will you take me to these places?’ Shan said, wondering if this was why his visit was to be so protracted.

  The Lady shook her head wistfully. ‘No.’ She made a clear effort to brighten. ‘Come, I’ve shown you the kitchens, the bedrooms, the parlours and the bestiaries. Now, I’ll take you to the heart of this house.’

  The temple was on the ground floor. Arched windows were set into every wall, but high up, so you couldn’t see out. Even though it seemed that natural light came through these high windows, Shan couldn’t work out how, since the temple appeared to be situated in the centre of the building, far from the outer walls. The walls here were lined by columns, between which were bowls of fire on tall pedestals. At the far end was a plain cube altar and in front of this a shallow fire pit. On a stool beside it, sat a veiled woman, who occasionally replenished the flames with chips of sandalwood. The air was heady with the woody scent. Shan looked around himself, awed by the atmosphere of sacred power. There were no statues in the temple. But for the columns and the bowls of fire, the only decoration was the polished mosaic floor; a complicated design of stylised serpents and birds.

  ‘Is this a Jessapurian temple?’ Shan asked.

  ‘No,’ Sinaclara said. ‘Come with me. I’ll show you.’

  Beyond the altar, long curtains of indigo velvet screened off a hidden area. Sinaclara slipped between the drapes and Shan followed her. He uttered an involuntary gasp, his whole vision filled with what lay before him. There was another simple altar, but behind it, in a tall cavity in the wall was a statue of an immense winged man. The stone was painted to make the effigy more life-like. He was naked but for the sweeping feathers of his peacock wings that curled around him like a cloak.

  ‘Who is it?’ Shan murmured.

  ‘Azcaranoth, the peacock angel,’ Sinaclara said. ‘I am his priestess.’

  ‘He is so beautiful.’

  Sinclara nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Am I to learn his worship?’ Shan asked.

  Sinaclara smiled to herself. ‘No. I will teach you about the life force of the universe, and you will learn about yourself. You may see in this god before you the darkest aspects of mankind, the darkest aspects of you. He is merciless compassion and compassionless mercy. He is neither a force for good or evil, but beyond both.’

  ‘That sounds worse than evil,’ Shan said, without thinking.

  ‘Many have thought so,’ Sinaclara said. ‘Azcaranoth was born into an ancient race, the Elderahan, who were once the rulers of this world. In those days, humanity were little more than beasts of burden, who were used as slaves by the Elderahan. Azcaranoth was cast out from his people for giving humanity self-awareness and knowledge, so that they could evolve into something greater than what they were. Even though our race would not exist but for him, many stupid people still believe him to be the corruptor, the devil, if you like. But the Elderahan were too proud, and like many great races, they fell from power. Now, their diminished descendants hide from human eyes, mere shadows in the forest. You will know them as elden.’

  Shan shivered as he gazed up at the angel. ‘I don’t feel he’s left this world at all. Maybe the elden are stronger than they seem.’

  ‘Perhaps. I have paid a high price for knowing Azcaranoth, but the scars are not visible. Once, I lived in a great city and knew fame and riches. Now, I am here, in this wilderness paradise.’

  Shan wasn’t quite sure what to say. ‘Some people might prefer it here. I would. I don’t fancy cities.’

  Sinaclara smiled sadly. ‘It is certainly a beautiful place, but I am surrounded by the hinterland. I have looked through the pylons of the underworld of all religions and carry its essence with me always.’ She went to the statue and leaned over the altar to kiss its feet. Her hands caressed the tips of the wings. Shan had a feeling the statue could come to life, step down from its niche. Sinaclara could will it to be so. She was in love with the angel.

  Shan’s room in Sinaclara’s house was far grander than the one he lived in at Taropat’s. He had his own servant, a handsome Jessapurian boy, who woke him politely every morning with breakfast, and tidied his room when he wasn’t there. Shan never learned his name. The boy might be called a servant, but Shan had the impression that in the great scheme of things he was far below this silent, dignified youth. Shan could not rid himself of the tendency to be grovellingly deferential in the other’s presence, which he was sure must be annoying. He fantasised about being able to converse with the youth, perhaps spend happy hours with him in the garden discussing all that Sinaclara taught. The Jessapurian would admire Shan’s incisive mind. Shan would be invited to spend evenings with all the other Jessapurians, and the adults would be astounded at his penetrating insights. It was a satisfying fantasy, but Shan knew it would never become reality.

  As the days passed, Shan got used to the unusual tastes and textures of the Jessapurian food, and eventually came to like it. Perhaps, when he returned to the mill house, Taropat’s cooking would seem bland in comparison.

  Ev
ery day, the Lady met Shan in her sitting room and instructed him in the wisdom of the great thinkers of the world. They took their meals in there, and sometimes their conversations continued till dawn, when Shan would drag himself to bed, dazed by the things Sinaclara had said to him. His mind wrestled to assimilate all he learned, for sometimes the philosophers’ pronouncements were contradictory.

  ‘Is there any one truth?’ Shan asked, more than once.

  Sinaclara would always laugh. ‘If there is, we have yet to discover it, but real learning comes from the act of trying.’

  ‘I don’t know which ones I agree with, though,’ Shan said. ‘I’ll read one and think, “yes, he’s right”, then read another and think, “no, she is.” It’s all so confusing.’

  ‘When I first began, I chose the one I liked the most and agreed with them,’ Sinaclara said. ‘You can always change your mind later. The best part is when you understand enough to start picking apart the arguments of your favourite thinkers. Because, of course, every argument can be picked apart. It’s the gift of language.’

  The old scholars were often colourful characters, who appeared to have stepped from the pages of myth. ‘Consider Hotekh the Mewt,’ said Sinaclara. ‘He has been dead three thousand years. It is said he would go to the plaza in the centre of Akahana, and stand there immobile for days at a time, neither eating nor sleeping, but entering a kind of trance. The youth of the city would gather round him – at first probably to taunt and jeer - but when old Hotekh came out of his trance, he would preach to them. He told wondrous tales of a magnificent and beautiful realm that existed beyond human senses, yet was around us all the time. Pure truth could be found there. Hotekh called this place the Kingdom of Intelligence, because it could only be experienced through the human mind’s ability to reason and contemplate. He said that our visible, real world was but a sad reflection of this sublime kingdom, a shadow cast by the divine light that shines there. This light, he called the true sun. He said it was brighter than any other sun imaginable, but it did not hurt to look upon it.’