by Anne Perry
A shudder passed through her at the sight of it, its strength and its breath-stopping beauty—and because it was another living thing in this mouth of hell.
It turned and stared at them for a moment, then swung its sleek head north into the wind and began to move forward.
Ishrafeli plunged after it, calling to them to follow.
Salymbrion and Tathea were the first to move, more from instinct than thought. Tathea had no idea where Ishrafeli was going or why he followed the bear, but she would follow him. Salymbrion went to protect her, and because he too would go where Ishrafeli led.
The great beast moved up the incline like a ghost, no more than a deeper whiteness in the gloom, and they moved after it as rapidly as they could, exerting all their strength to keep it in sight. Now and again Ishrafeli stopped to make sure they were not falling behind. Once he came back to help Tathea, then plowed on again, half pulling, half carrying her until at last they breasted the pass and began the descent. Suddenly the wind ceased, the snow settled, and before them was a wide valley. And in the valley, black against the snow, lay Tascarebus’s camp.
They stood together, arms about each other, and stared in the moonlight. They had no idea where they were, but the air was calm, and the goal of their quest was ahead of them. They each stood a little straighter heads high, smiling in spite of bodies that cried with pain.
The great beast ambled away across the ice, its huge, dark muzzle turning one way then the other, its feet silent on the ground as if it had no weight. With a shock of disbelief Tathea saw that it left no footprints behind it.
Then as she stared across the ice towards Tascarebus’s camp, the round moon dazzling the snow filling the air with radiance so intense she could have read from a page, she saw a figure set out towards them. It was slender, not very tall, pale furs reflecting the luminescence of the night.
Tascarebus? Surely not! One of his soldiers? Why? Not for mercy, not for alliance. Treason? Gain? Murder even? Ishrafeli put his hand to his sword and Tathea saw his fingers almost unconsciously touch the empty socket where the jewel had been.
She watched while the figure came closer, but not until it was only a few yards away did she realize it was not a man but a woman. The woman put up her hands and pushed back the great hood of her cloak. The night was so still that not a breath of wind stirred the thick fur.
Ishrafeli drew in his breath sharply, his face filled with recognition, wide-eyed, amazed. He stepped back.
Tathea felt her heart lurch.
But it was Salymbrion who went forward to her, as if compelled, his feet crunching over the snow.
The woman’s hair was streaked with white, knotted behind her neck. Her features were perfectly balanced, her eyes purple-dark as the night, and she was old. Her face held passion and pain, strength, and immeasurable gentleness. In the line of her mouth was the knowledge of all human endurance. She spoke to Salymbrion, as if he alone had sought her.
“My name is Sophia. You have come very far to find me.”
“You are ...” His voice died away, confused and bewildered.
“Old,” she finished for him, smiling as if there were secret laughter inside her. “You thought I was innocence ... purity ... that you had come to rescue me? I know. She is at home, tending a good hearth and serving her neighbors.”
“But Tascarebus ... took you ...” Salymbrion floundered, still staring incredulously at her, searching her eyes, her lips.
“No,” she answered softly. “I came here of my own will so that you would seek me.”
He stared at her in the moonlight, his face transfigured with wonder.
But she put her hand out to his and clasped it. “You came to seek the upward path, to learn of life and death and the journey of the soul,” she said very gently. “You have begun well. The rest still lies far ahead of you, but what you have learned here you will never entirely forget, and it will serve you when you need it most and perhaps expect to find it least—in your second estate, when you will have forgotten this.”
“I shall never forget you.” He said it with absolute conviction. “I will stay here and serve you in whatever way I can.”
“Here? In this land?” There was laughter in her voice again, and surprise.
“If this is where you are, then in this land—or any other,” he replied.
She looked at him steadily and he returned her gaze.
“Good,” she said at last. “Then abide with me.” She withdrew her hand and walked over to Ishrafeli where he stood a yard in front of Tathea. Tathea saw the depth of beauty in Sophia’s face and caught a glimpse of the reason why Salymbrion knew so swiftly and without question that he would stay with her, even in this terrible place.
“You came to teach them the way to the stars,” she said softly to Ishrafeli, her voice little more than a whisper. “To understand the heart of God and His inheritance for His children. But it is harder than even you could know, and there are few who climb all the way.” She touched his face with awe. “You will be one of them. Never again will you taste the full bitterness of soul that you have known here. I will take the men back to their valley in the south, every one of them except Salymbrion, who has loved me above all else. I will guide you and the woman back to the shore, from where you will voyage to Sardonaris. There joy and sorrow await you, and victory and death. Come.”
Salymbrion swung round. “But what of Tascarebus?”
“He will always steal what does not belong to him,” she answered. “And he will always lose it, sooner or later.”
“Always?”
“Always. The Land of the Great White Bear will never be free of him—until the end.”
Tathea stared at her. The moon was very bright, every detail of her face was clear, and beauty flowed from her and settled in the soul like a great light.
“My name is ‘Wisdom,’” she said gently. “To follow the word of God even when you cannot imagine an end and there is no light to your path, that is courage, and the beginning of understanding.”
Chapter VI
TATHEA AND ISHRAFELI LEFT the Land of the Great White Bear in the skiff in which they had arrived. She had learned enough about handling it now to be of considerable help, and they worked together to maneuver the boat down the narrow channel between the ice floes. The water was shallow and green with reflected light. There was little wind, and they made way only slowly at first, until the current caught them and took them out into the dark blue water of the ocean beyond.
The sail filled and the bow cut through the water, spilling foam on either side. Ishrafeli lashed the helm and came to sit beside her near the stern. They had not spoken of Shaki or the bear or Salymbrion’s decision to remain. These were experiences too big to be encompassed by words, nor was it necessary. The defeats shared were a deeper bond than the victories. The failure and the grief told more of love than the beauty understood, or the parting.
They journeyed sometimes in silence, sometimes speaking lightly of things that did not matter. He would tease her and spin tall tales which she nearly believed, and they would laugh.
They approached Sardonaris as the sun was descending in the western heaven and the air was filled with a radiance of gold. The city was built round a vast lagoon, the wind barely rippling its blue-green water. Tathea held her breath in wonder. The city seemed to float on the sea’s face, its pale marble and amber stone glowing in the evening light. It was an old city, weathered by sun and salt, mellowing as its summer decayed into autumn. The heat was gone but the softness still hung in the air, the warm colors, the balm in the wind.
Fishing boats plied their trade across the lagoon. Others carried passengers. Some, like long-legged beetles, dipped their oars swiftly in and out of the water, weaving between the great galleons moored to the west.
As they came closer, Tathea realized that the city really was set on the water. Most of its thoroughfares were actually canals, and it was possible to penetrate into the heart without stepping fr
om the skiff. Quickly she helped Ishrafeli reef the great purple sail and unlash the top half of the mast so that they might pass beneath the numerous bridges crossing the canals. Ishrafeli produced a long single oar, which he turned expertly, balancing in the stern as he worked. From the look on his face and the ease with which he handled the oar, Tathea realized with a rush of surprise that he knew this place. It was the first time she had had such a feeling, and it pierced her with a sense of excitement, but also of loss. Was this to be the end of her journey? Would she find here the revelation she sought? And would he then leave her?
She remembered the sage’s words that there would be a terrible price. How blindly she had agreed to it! She knew now that leaving Ishrafeli was a payment she was not willing to make. She would rather be with him, even in the Land of the Great White Bear with its horror and grief, than in the aching beauty of this city.
She looked up at him where he stood with his face towards the sun. It was low now. The buildings around them cast dark shadows across the water. His eyes and mouth bore the marks of his suffering, the pain of the ice was there, and the knowledge of his failure and what it had cost.
With a vividness that jolted her as though the silence still echoed it, she heard again his voice as he had sung in Malgard. If only she could have understood it all, the truth had been there then, eternal, terrible, sweet—and familiar as a voice whispering her name, beautiful as the light.
They were moving slowly, almost drifting. She stared at the white palaces where the limpid water lapped into their steps. In the shadows it was full of browns and golds, dark stains of weed on the sunken stones beneath. Sometimes bridges arched over from one building to another, a few were covered with secret fretted windows through which the light fell in patterns like lace.
They passed many flights of stairs with their lowest steps disappearing into the water, visible in wavering, dappled outlines beneath. Sudden vistas opened up of half-hidden gardens arbored in rose and crimson blossom and burning yellows.
And always the shifting, whispering water reflected light in ever moving patterns, giving the illusion that the whole city was floating.
Here and there in niches in the walls Tathea saw statues, many of them quite small and intimate. They did not idealize the nobility of man, like those in Parfyrion. They were not dreams in stone, but portraits of individuals. Each had its human imperfections, but of such passion and grace that time and again she all but cried out to stop and look more closely at the courage or hope in a marble face, the tenderness of a hand, or the anguish in a bent head.
When at last she did speak it was because she could bear the burden of silence no longer.
“Ishrafeli ...”
Just as he turned to look at her, the sound of a voice on the near bank distracted him. A man in an embroidered doublet spoke to another whose sleeves flashed scarlet in the sun. Then they embraced and parted. The man in the doublet ran along the path at the water’s edge and up a shallow flight of steps worn low in the middle by centuries of use. He glanced around, his face closed and malicious, then slipped a folded piece of paper into the cross-shaped slit in the top of a gleaming, jeweled reliquary. He ran back down the steps, pulling his velvet hat forward over his brow, and darted into an alleyway towards another canal, narrower and darker, beyond the sun’s reach.
Tathea turned to Ishrafeli, questioning.
“The Stair of Sorrows,” he answered, his face shadowed. “He has just put the name of his friend into the Traitors’ Box.”
“What will happen to him?” she asked, although with a breath of coldness she knew. She had lived through twenty years of Shinabari civil politics. She had seen betrayal too often—and yet not clearly enough! It had still taken her by surprise when it was her turn.
“He will be arrested,” Ishrafeli answered. “Tonight or tomorrow.
“And tried?” There was a flicker of hope.
He looked at her with sorrow, and his voice was strained. “Not that anyone else will see. The verdict is always the same. The sentence depends upon what bargain the accused makes with the Oligarchs who rule Sardonaris. If he agrees to become an agent for them, he will live. If not ...” He did not bother to finish.
“That is vile,” she said bitterly. “He could be innocent, his accuser could be envious or in debt to him, or any of a score of things!”
“It will make no difference.” He leaned on the pole and pushed hard. “The Oligarchs rule in secret and by fear.”
“Why do the people bear it? Why do they not rebel?”
“They do.” He looked down at her with a gentleness in his face which frightened her. “Some with courage and sacrifice, others only with violence.”
“Then there is great evil here!” Disappointment burned inside her, dissolving into the same bitter disillusion she had felt when the loveliness and hope of Parfyrion had disintegrated into war. Perhaps after all there was no truth to find except courage and human wisdom and endurance. Maybe the only glory was to live. There was nothing more necessary to it all than to stumble through with as much honor as possible. The thought was desolate. There was no plan, no purpose, human or divine. They were alone in the universe ...
“Yes,” Ishrafeli agreed quietly. “There is great evil here.” He worked at the oar again and moved the boat smoothly over the water.
Tathea shivered and sat further down in the boat.
On a bridge two lovers stood, their hands barely touching, their faces radiant in the last light. He wore a green cloak, and the marks of time and suffering were deeply printed on his face. She wore blue, caught under the bosom with silk and beads. Her throat was still slender, her cheekbones high and pure, but she had waited long for this moment and there was gray in her hair.
Tathea was overtaken by the longing to share that same closeness with Ishrafeli. Who else could understand the hope and the destruction they had known, the passion and the dreams lost? Who else could grasp the knowledge of their journey of the soul, with its hunger and its pain and the glory they had glimpsed in Malgard? It was impossible to think of loving anyone else, except in the bonds of friendship and the love for all living things.
Suddenly looking at him, the curve of his shoulder, the way he was balanced in the stern, his hands on the bar, she understood something that filled her with fear. He was as vulnerable as a candle in the winds of the night.
She swallowed, unable to speak.
Ishrafeli brought the skiff to rest beside a flight of steps and tied it to a stone bollard. The tops of the walls were still warm in the sunset, but the water was dark, and in the east the sky was indigo.
Quickly she climbed ashore and together they set out through the narrow, torchlit streets towards the main square, where they could hear singing and loud laughter. It struck her ears jarringly. It was vulgar, bawdy, the words blurred with drunkenness and the harsh, high sound of unreason.
Ahead of them a blind man with a begging bowl felt his way along the wall. An old man in a worn cloak and thin shoes drew level with him. He opened his purse and emptied the last gold coin out of it into the bowl. Then he hurried away, without seeking thanks. Just as Tathea and Ishrafeli reached the end of the street and turned to cross into the square, a youth with a narrow, secret face knocked the blind man down and took the bowl and everything in it.
“Thief!” Tathea cried out in anger.
Swift as a cat, Ishrafeli turned and ran back after the youth, who scrambled up a vine-covered wall and over the top, Ishrafeli behind him.
Tathea bent to help the blind man to his feet.
“Are you hurt?” she asked gently, supporting him as he struggled to find his balance. He was thin and lame, as well as sightless.
“No, thank you,” he answered patiently. “Do not concern your-self.”
“But he took your money!” she said with a catch in her throat, hating having to tell him. “I have none, or I would share it with you.” She held him more tightly, feeling his wasted arms. “Ishrafeli will c
atch him if anyone can.”
The blind man smiled. “Perhaps ...”
She eased her hold, in case she bruised him. “The last coin was gold. Did you know that?” She thought of the thin shoes and the worn cloak of the man who had given it, and suddenly she could have killed the thief with her own hands.
“There is much goodness here,” the blind man said quietly. “And much evil. Thank you for your help.”
“I’ll stay with you until Ishrafeli returns,” she promised.
But fate did not permit her to. A group of revelers came staggering and laughing round the corner, men with loose-lipped mouths and flasks of wine in their hands, women with skirts awry and naked bosoms. They saw Tathea and the blind man and hooted with derision.
“Hey, what’s this?” one of the men called out. “An old fool and his daughter. Hey, old man, is she a virgin? What’s she worth, eh? I’ll give you a groat—that’ll get you a bottle of wine to warm your belly!”
“I’ll give you two!” another yelled and then howled with laughter.
“Why give him anything?” a third jeered, his raddled face hideous in the torchlight. “The old fool’s blind. He’ll not report me. Get her!” He made a lunge towards Tathea.
She must defend the old man. He was helpless against them. She struck back, hard, with a clenched fist. The man staggered, his breath let out in a belch.
“Run!” Tathea shouted. “Anywhere!” She swung to hit again, but caught a blow in her side which sent her reeling. She glimpsed the person who had hit her—a large fat woman with a painted face and bulbous breasts. Tathea could smell the sweat on her body. She kicked her as hard as she could and heard her scream. Another man, his skin white, cheeks rouged, was weaving drunkenly towards her, a bloodstained knife in his hand.