The Dead Kingdom (Seven Citadels)

by Geraldine Harris

  With shaking hands, Gwerath accepted a cup from the paws of a whiskered creature, draped in seaweed. It bowed and turned back into a page.

  "No," said Gwerath boldly, "it is a pretty game."

  "A game? Yes, I suppose your Highness is right to call it a game." Hemcoth's lips were as pale as his eyes and hair; only his restless hands seemed imbued with energy. "These transformations were devised some centuries ago for the amusement of one of my ancestors. Now it is my duty to continue them."

  Gwerath refused a helping of fish from a creature with shells for eyes and asked, "Is it your power that makes them change?"

  "My slight power, yes. I haven't the strength to deceive your eyes for long. My sister could do better but she does not care for the grotesque."

  He smiled affectionately at Mekotta who, in between talking to Forollkin about the crossing from Seld, watched her brother anxiously.

  "No, I do not care for your ugly marvels. Nor I'm sure do our guests. The Galkians are famous for their love of beauty."

  "I am glad we still have such a reputation," answered Kerish, "but remember, Your Highnesses, that Forollkin and I have Gannothan blood."

  "The Princess Zillela is well remembered in Gannoth," said Hemcoth, "her powers were very strong. Yet like all our line, she was only mistress of illusion. She could alter nothing."

  "Men's minds can be influenced by illusion," answered Kerish. “Surely that is more important than any power over physical thing?”

  "We long for power over the sea," murmured Hemcoth, staring down at the silvery fish curled on his plate, "but we are helpless on our barren rock and must bow before the wind."

  "On the eve of a coronation the wind always drops away," said Mekotta. "You cannot imagine how strange it is for us not to hear the wind howling at our gates."

  The Prince and Princess fell silent as if someone had spoken their dead father's name. Kerish shelled a purple egg; Gwerath sipped thin wine from the mountainous vineyards of Gultim. Forollkin stared down the smoky hall and Gidjabolgo attacked his plate of fish with relish.

  "Forgive me," said Hemcoth after a few minutes, "this is a cruel season for us. I know you will understand, having celebrated the death of your honoured father so recently."

  Hemcoth was too polite to enquire the reason for Kerish's journey but he did ask him to describe his travels. "And Galkis too. I am bound to my island kingdom and can never visit the Golden City but I have often read about it. I have a copy of the Book of the Emperors, presented by your grandfather to mine."

  For a short while Kerish talked about Galkis but even as he described the great cities, temples and palaces, they seemed as distant and insubstantial as inventions of his own fancy. The best wine was brought round with dishes of sweet berries and the grave nobility of Gannoth became a little more animated. Acrobats performed in the middle of the hall, their leaping bodies transformed into grotesque and fanciful shapes by the watching Masters of Illusion. The guests looked on with pleasure but Hemcoth seemed bored with the acrobats and irritated by the monotonous drumbeats that accompanied their performance.

  He turned to Gwerath and asked her to describe Erandachu. At first she spoke very hesitantly but Hemcoth's eager questions and the absurdity of some of the legends he had heard about the Children of the Wind, persuaded her to describe the Sheyasa and their customs. Kerish noticed that she mentioned the Hunter of Souls but said nothing about the Mountain Goddess.

  "Please forgive my ignorance, Princess," begged Hemcoth. "I will write all you say in my book."

  "My brother loves listening to travellers," said Mekotta, "and writes down all their descriptions of Zindar, however fanciful they may be."

  "Some are no more than legends, it's true, but it is fascinating to discover how other men imagine distant places."

  "To us, Gannoth is a place of legend," began Kerish. "In Galkis it is said that Gultim is the most ancient city in Zindar. "

  "Indeed it is, and only here can the riddle of how men came into Zindar be answered." Hemcoth waved excited hands at the dull tapestries. "Once those hangings were woven with the images of eleven men and one woman, each with a ship in their hands. There are twelve ships in the courtyard. I am sure they represent the ships that brought the first men into Zindar, from across the Great Ocean."

  "But where did they come from?" demanded Forollkin.

  "Ah, once the courtyard could have told us. The paving stones are patterned like the sea and there are still faint lines that mark the land. It's a map, a chart, but so much is worn away.”

  Kerish frowned. "So the knowledge they meant to leave us is lost."

  "Not quite, your Highness," said Hemcoth, "they left something else to be guarded by my ancestors. After the coronation, I will take you to the Cave of Pictures."

  "Hemcoth, you will be too tired!"

  The Prince brushed aside his sister's objection. "Please come. Then you can tell me whether you think my guesses about the past of Zindar are right or wrong. "

  "We should be honoured," said Kerish. "We have heard some legends about the coming of men that might interest you."

  "Yes, if we join our knowledge . . ."

  The bronze bell rang again and a soft whisper from Mekotta reminded Hemcoth of his duties. He rose and offered his hand to Gwerath while Mekotta walked beside Kerish. Forollkin and Gidjabolgo followed among the foreign guests, who were led up a crumbling flight of steps to the palace ramparts.

  As they took their places on stone benches, the Envoy of Forgin approached them.

  "My Lord of Galkis, may a humble merchant greet you?"

  Forollkin bowed stiffly. The merchant tugged absently at the longest of his pearl necklaces.

  "I merely wished to inquire how your Lordship enjoys the humour of my Fool. I must congratulate your Lordship on dressing him so richly, a most amusing idea, though of course the cost . . ."

  "The humble merchant refers to a period when I was in his service," said Gidjabolgo.

  "Be quiet, Fool, when I am talking to your Master," snapped the Envoy. "He was always insufferably insolent, my Lord. I was not sorry to have him leave my household on some mad errand, but as a grotesque he is a fine specimen. I have never seen better, even in the market of Losh. Yet I never had a servant who invited beatings more often. I trust your Lordship beats him harder than my tender hand could ever do . . ."

  Forollkin was too startled by the merchant's rapid speech to reply but Kerish had overheard and he turned round angrily. "We do not beat our friends, Merchant."

  The Envoy of Forgin knelt and began to express his joy at the Prince's condescension in addressing him.

  "I address you," said Kerish, "only to have you understand that Master Gidjabolgo is our faithful and valiant companion."

  "Companion?" The merchant was obviously bewildered but at the look on the Prince's face he stammered out a lengthy apology and withdrew.

  "Faithful and valiant?" repeated Gidjabolgo. "My Master lies as prettily as a courtesan of Losh."

  Kerish smiled at him."The Godborn never lie, so you had better make my words true."

  When the Gannothans and their guests were settled on the rows of stone benches, the single bronze bell sounded again. The night was unnaturally still. There was no breath of wind and at the foot of the hill the sea lay tamely, glossed by moonlight.

  From among the Gannothans, six Masters of Illusion stepped forward, each one cloaked and hooded in white. Hemcoth bound their eyes with strips of white silk and stopped their ears with balls of wax. Then he lifted his arms and cried out a few words in an ancient form of Zindaric.

  The bronze bell in the highest tower of the palace began to toll; a second bell answered it from one of the mansions below the walls; and then a third and a fourth. Soon, every bell in the city was ringing and the people of Gultim came out on to their stepped streets or crowded at open windows.

  As the bells rang louder and louder, a shadow seemed to creep across the moon. Hemcoth whispered to Gwerath that she
needn't be afraid. She almost answered him sharply but then the moon was engulfed and the shadow spread across the stars. It became entirely dark, and one by one the bells ceased.

  The Gannothans looked up expectantly at the sky but the travellers could see nothing. Then the Masters of Illusion raised their arms, linked hands, and spread the ancient pageant of the Kings of Gannoth across the night skies.

  At first there was only a white centre to the darkness. Then the whiteness coalesced into the shape of a bird, a huge creature whose wings spanned the heavens. The bird seemed to swoop over the palace and vanished with a haunting cry. Next came the vast figure of a man. His clothes were stained and ragged but he carried a blue staff and wore a crystal crown. For a moment the man towered above Gultim. Then he turned to his right and faded into the darkness. Already a second figure was approaching. His clothes were richer, but he carried the same staff and wore the same crown. For an instant every grim detail of his face was visible. Then he too vanished and a third crowned figure appeared.

  Forollkin soon lost count of the pale-haired kings who overawed the night. Then he and Gwerath both heard Kerish gasp. The Prince of the Godborn clutched his throat and stared at the sky as if he were seeing something far more terrible than the ghostly kings. As Forollkin leaned towards him, Kerish sighed and then gently shook his head.

  The great pageant continued. At last, one figure appeared who wore no crown and carried no staff. His face seemed racked with pain and he stretched out his hands in a silent gesture of despair before fading into darkness. Then the great bell rang again and the bells of the city answered.

  Moonlight filtered through the darkness, destroying the illusion and glinting on the tears streaming down Mekotta's cheeks. The ceremony over, the Prince took his sister's hand and quietly bade their guests goodnight.

  As the Great Steward led the travellers back to their apartments, Gwerath whispered to Kerish, "Are you ill? You looked as if something was hurting you."

  "No, not ill. I felt the High Priest of Zeldin leaving. "

  "Leaving?"

  "Dying," murmured Kerish. “It was Izeldon's face I saw in the sky, and I know that he wasn't afraid."

  "Was he someone close to you?"

  "Close? Yes," said Kerish, "then and now."

  Chapter 6

  Book of the Emperors: Chronicles

  And when Mikeld-lo-Taan questioned the Gentle God, Zeldin answered him saying, “My child, there is much which I have left unsaid, even in the Book of Secrets. There are many questions for which you must struggle to find the answers. Let this struggle never be neglected for if humankind ceases to question, it will surely die.”

  At dawn the Prince and his companions were summoned again to the Great Hall of the palace. Engis went with them, adding whispered comments to the instructions of the Great Steward as they took their place in front of the faded tapestries.

  "You Highness will see that they are marvellously skilled at preserving their dead. Many's the time I've walked along the cliffs among their tombs and thought. . ."

  What Engis thought was cut off by the entry of a strange procession. First came a young man carrying a hooded bird at his wrist.

  "The King's hunting-gethon," murmured Engis but Kerish was not looking at the white bird. The Prince and Princess of Gannoth came next and between them, in a chair carried by two sea-captains, was their father.

  The body of the King was swathed in rich brocades. The arms were stretched out in front of him and the stiff hands were held open, as if, even in death, there was something he longed to grasp.

  The King's skin was so tightly stretched over the bones that there seemed to be no flesh between. The shrunken eye sockets were filled with pieces of crystal. Gwerath couldn't bear the glitter of that unnatural gaze for more than a moment. She was not the only visitor to turn away, or clutch a scented handkerchief.

  Behind the King's chair came two more grey-cloaked captains, one carrying the crystal crown, the other, the blue staff. Last of all came a child of six or seven years, dressed in white and looking very shy and solemn.

  The King's chair was set down and Hemcoth and Mekotta knelt before it. A page brought forward a bowl of sea-water. After a little prompting, the child dipped his hands in the bowl and anointed the Prince and his sister. Then, hesitantly, the child approached the chair and its grimly smiling occupant. Hemcoth gently lifted him up so that he could anoint the dead King's forehead.

  A long chant was sung in a form of Zindaric so archaic that Kerish could hardly understand it. Then the captains offered the crown and the staff to the child. He put the staff in the King's hands and Hemcoth closed the dead fingers around it. The crown was almost too heavy for the child to lift but with Hemcoth's help he placed it on the King's head. All the Gannothans present crowded round to kiss the stiff brocade of the royal robe. The child was taken away and the first part of the ceremony was over.

  Hemcoth was very pale and his hands clutched nervously at his pleated robes. It was Mekotta who gave the order to proceed. The chair was lifted again and a slow procession left the hall. Kerish and his companions walked behind the Great Steward. The other guests followed, their faces marked with boredom or distaste.

  They left the palace and the city and walked in silence along the western cliffs till they reached a headland overlooking the Great Ocean. Below, the cliffs were white with sea-birds. The air should have been full of their raucous screaming. Instead, they were still and quiet. So were the Gannothans of the nearby villages who had crowded onto the green slopes above the headland and stood waiting with impassive faces.

  Near to the edge of the cliff was a line of white tombs shaped like thrones. Through slits in the stone the dead kings still looked out into the world. Before every tomb was an altar piled with decaying offerings. Kerish found the still crowd, the silent birds, and the muted roar of the sea, horribly oppressive.

  The King's chair was set down in front of a tomb that seemed only half complete. Hemcoth and Mekotta placed offerings on every altar. When they reached their father's tomb, each stooped to kiss his withered cheeks. The first captain took back the crystal crown and the second wrenched the blue staff from the fierce grip of the dead hands. In return, the new King was given a crudely painted staff and a crown of glass. The hunting gethon was fastened to the King's wrist and the chair was lifted up and placed inside the tomb. Masons came forward and began to fit the last blocks of white stone. Disturbed by the noise, the bird ruffled its pale feathers and dug its talons into the fleshless hand.

  When only one gap remained in the white wall, Hemcoth reached into the tomb, released the bird and pulled off its hood. The gethon fluttered out into the daylight, spread its wings and soared upwards. The Gannothans watched intently and murmured with pleasure when the bird flew westwards across the Great Ocean. The last block was lifted into position, so that only a slit remained open, and the tomb was sealed.

  With an unearthly shriek, a wind sprang up and all along the cliffs the sea birds began to scream and chatter. Heavy fleece cloaks were brought forward and gratefully accepted by the visitors, for the ceremonies were not yet over.

  Prince Hemcoth knelt in front of his father's tomb, facing the sea. The Gannothans began a chant. At first it was almost lost beneath the keening wind but gradually the slow insistent humming became more audible, as if it was absorbing all other sounds. The same tune, the same senseless words, were repeated over and over again as Mekotta poured wine on the altar of her father, splashing her white robes with crimson. Kerish watched as the remaining colour faded from Hemcoth's skin and his breathing became unnaturally fast.

  "Now the King will possess his son," whispered Engis, "and give oracles through him."

  Hemcoth's frail body became rigid, the muscles of his face twitched uncontrollably and his lips twisted into an incongruous grin. His eyes bulged and sweat poured down his brow as he gasped out a name, "Kerish-lo-Taan."

  Kerish didn't know how to respond. As he hesitated,
the Prince of Gannoth screamed.

  "Please take his hands and accept the oracle!” cried Mekotta. “My brother isn't strong enough to bear the pressure of the dead for long."

  Kerish knelt between the cliff edge and the tomb and gripped Hemcoth's hands.

  "Roac, Roac. " The words seemed to be pushed through an unseen barrier. "Take light to enfold the dark. Koandor, Koandor. The dead waters are death to the ships of Zindar. Your ship must have its roots in a different earth, blue against black. Roac, Roac. Prince," Hemcoth's voice was suddenly clear and loud. "Turn back, the dark will take more than you can give."

  Kerish shook his head. "I can't. What . . . where is Koandor?"

  Hemcoth's head lolled forward and his eyes closed. Then his body jerked, his face contorted and he whispered another name.

  The gentle pressure of Mekotta's hand on his shoulder roused Kerish. He walked away from the edge of the cliff as a Gannothan shepherd hurried forward to kneel before his Prince.

  "What did he say to you?" whispered Forollkin. "You look awful."

  "Roac," murmured Kerish. "Later, I'll tell you later, just let me think."

  The travellers watched as five more Gannothans were called forward to receive oracles and Hemcoth visibly grew more and more exhausted. When Forollkin's name was called out, the young Galkian had to bow his head close to Hemcoth's lips to hear the frantic whisper, “Forget the shadow, seek your reality in Galkis.”

  As a Gannothan woman was summoned, Gidjabolgo hissed, “So, what was your oracle? Some string of nonsense, the Gannothans will claim is big with mystery?”

  Forollkin repeated Hemcoth's words readily enough. “They're not so mysterious either. It's only what I've always felt about our quest.”

  “Perhaps you should look for more than one meaning,” said Kerish.

  At last, the violent shuddering of his body stopped and the Prince slumped into a merciful faint. Mekotta tenderly wrapped a fleece cloak around her brother and he was carried back to the palace on a litter. His guests followed, talking in groups about the strange and barbarous customs of Gannoth. Only the Prince of Galkis and his companions were silent.