His plump hands caressed the Prince's zildar that he had brought ashore from the boat.
Kerish nodded. "Someone should play it now that I can't. It wasn't made for silence."
Nevertheless, he didn't listen to the rippling notes for long.
"Gidjabolgo," he asked softly "why didn't you become a shipwright like your father?"
"He early recognized my rare qualities and had me taught to sing and play and caper," answered the Forgite. "The life of a hired grotesque is more profitable than that of a shipwright and he had other sons."
"But surely you can't have wanted such a life?"
"Why not, my Prince? A master pleased with a cruel jest at someone else's expense will toss his Fool more than a craftsman earns in half a year."
"But you hate servitude," persisted Kerish. "You've never tried to hide it."
Gidjabolgo fingered the gilded head that crowned the Prince's zildar. "Perhaps I preferred to dwell among the books and music and treasures of a merchant's mansion instead of the ugliness of a shipwright's hut. Not only the Godborn have eyes and ears to satisfy."
Kerish sat up. "And I who have so many treasures, have never given you anything. I still have some jewels left..."
He plucked awkwardly at the crimson beads at his wrist but the Forgite laughed. "On my wrist it would lose its charm. Leave your bracelet where it is and I'll look at it; but when this quest is over, I shall claim my servant's wages."
"Kerish," called Gwerath, from a little way down the slope, "Forollkin has been telling me about temple actors and their plays. Will you sing us a song from one of them?"
The firelight enriched the gold of Gwerath's skin and glittered on the crystal embroidery of the scarf binding back her hair.
Kerish smiled. "Gladly. I'll sing you 'The Wise Prince'. The words are in High Galkian but I'll translate afterwards."
Kerish sang a long, unaccompanied account of the life of Jezreen-lo-Kaash, younger son of the Twelfth Emperor. When it was over, he explained to Gwerath how Prince Jezreen had left his father's court and wandered through Galkis teaching the people.
"The High Priest was angry and declared that the words of Jezreen were against the way of Zeldin and Imarko, but the Prince insisted that Zeldin himself had ordered him to teach new thoughts to Galkis. When the Twelfth Emperor died, the High Priest urged his successor to banish his brother but Jezreen entered the palace and challenged the new Emperor to a game of Zel. The Thirteenth Emperor was a famous player and proud of his skill, so he accepted the challenge and the high stakes. If the Emperor won, Jezreen would leave Galkis for ever. If Jezreen was victor, he might stay. They played for twelve hours and Jezreen spoke aloud his meditations between every move. The Emperor marvelled at the wisdom they revealed. He forgot to guard the invisible piece at the centre of the board and lost the game.
From that day, Jezreen lived in a cave in the foothills of the mountains above Galkis. Many came up from the city to hear him teach, even the Emperor's three sons, and they wrote down their uncle's words. One day, when the Prince was very old, as he sat at a solitary game of Zel, a zeloka was seen to fly to the mouth of his cave. When Jezreen's followers saw the marvellous bird they knew that Zeldin had summoned their master. He took his staff and followed the zeloka up into the mountains. It was the last zeloka to be seen in Galkis and the last glimpse of Jezreen-lo-Kaash."
Forollkin tossed more wood on the fire. "You make me feel like a pupil again; all that sitting straight-backed on cold marble benches while priests intoned the Book of Chronicles."
"I would have loved to hear such stories every day," protested Gwerath.
"Not the same ones every day, surely, and besides, Kerish tells them better than a priest."
Forollkin smiled at his brother but Kerish said gravely, "There are still many who do not accept the teachings of Jezreen. Even Izeldon sometimes . . . "
"Oh, spare us the priestly wrangling." Forollkin yawned, "I'm sure Gwerath would rather hear about some of the Court Festivals."
He began to tell her about the roof-top processions during the Star-counting Festival.
Gidjabolgo played again for the Prince and whispered above the music, "Your eyes are dark tonight. Does something displease you? Is it your brother's sudden change of heart? Or perhaps you have other sorrows. Are you affronted by the sight of happiness?"
"Are you?" asked Kerish sharply.
Gidjabolgo's face was in shadow as he bent over the zildar. "Why yes. I will allow no-one happiness unless it diminishes my sorrows, and not even then if it pleases another more.
"I won't think like that!"
At the misery in Kerish's voice even Gidjabolgo looked up.
"I won't." Kerish was already stumbling down the grassy slope. He ran across the pebbled beach and stood on the edge of the sea, struggling with the hatred that flowed through him. Forollkin left Gwerath by the fire and strode down on to the beach. His heavy boots crunched on sand and pebbles.
Kerish heard and turned to face his brother, thinking of a dozen greetings that would strike as sharply as a lash. In the moonlight, he saw the old scar on Forollkin's cheek. He looked into his brother's anxious grey eyes and the venomous words in his mind came out as a sob. Then Forollkin was holding him tightly and saying ridiculously, "If you stand in the water, you'll catch cold. Kerish, what's the matter?"
"Forollkin, whatever I might say in future, I don't want to mean it. Please believe me!"
"Kerish, I'm sorry, I don't understand, you'll have to tell me. Is it something about Gwerath? I know I've been stupid, but I'm doing my best now to put things right. Isn't that what you wanted? I promise to try and make her happy."
Too shocked to answer, Kerish stared at his brother's earnest face as Gwerath called down to them, "Are we going back to the boat now? Shall I damp down the fire?"
Forollkin shouted back, "Yes," and gave his brother a shake. "Kerish, you're shivering. I knew you'd catch cold."
*****
Two mornings later, Forollkin was the first to sight the cliffs of Silnarnin as they rounded a headland and sailed into the Straits of Chire. All that day, Gidjabolgo tried to keep the Starflower to the calm water midway between Chiraz and the island. Inspite of his skill, the boat was eventually caught in a fierce current and swept towards the maze of rocks that surrounded the gaunt cliffs of Silnarnin.
Trying to keep some control, Gidjabolgo bellowed out orders. Forollkin and Gwerath hurried to obey, while Kerish hung over the rail watching the approaching rocks.
"That one looks almost like the parapet of a tower," he said dreamily as Forollkin rushed past him to the prow.
"Kerish, help me!" Gwerath was clinging doggedly to a rope that was burning the palms of her hands. He added the strength of his good hand to hers, but shouted above the noise of the sea, "Don't worry. I think we should let the current take us. Shubeyash drew us to Tir-Roac, perhaps Vethnar is drawing us to Tir-Melidon."
"And do we know that he wants to see us?" Forollkin had overheard. "Or anything about him?"
"Not much," admitted Kerish. “Saroc said that there was nothing he could do to prepare me for Vethnar.”
“That doesn't sound encouraging,” said Forollkin.
For a moment everyone lost their balance as the current swerved towards a jagged line of rocks, pulling the Starflower with it. Gidjabolgo swore at the tiller and Forollkin stepped forward to steady Gwerath. She leaned against him for a few seconds, her silver hair catching in the buckle of his cloak. Giddy and drenched, they flinched as the rocks seemed to leap at their frail craft, but within moments the Starflower had been swept into a deep channel.To either side the waters seethed, tormented by the rocks beneath, but for the moment their danger was forgotten in the excitement of a discovery.
"It is a tower!" insisted Kerish.
The others crowded round him to stare at the dark, shell-encrusted stone.
"Look, every time the water falls, it uncovers a window, with faces carved on the lintel."
/> "They're too grotesque for anything but the sea to have shaped them," protested Forollkin.
"And that must be the top of a stair. " Kerish pointed with his good hand. "Watch how the foam pours through the balustrade."
Forollkin shaded his eyes against the spray. "If it's a staircase, where did it lead to?"
"Look at that rock," Gwerath grabbed Forollkin's arm, "it's got some sort of writing on it."
"I can see a pattern," said Forollkin grudgingly, "but it might be natural."
"If that was made by wind and wave, I fear this sea!"
They all turned to look where the Forgite was pointing and Forollkin was silenced.
A circle of rock formed a natural pool and above its dark waters rose a long head, tilted towards the sky. The crystal inlay of its three eyes was reddened by the setting sun and the ridges that broke the surface on either side of the head might have been the tips of vast, furled wings.
As dusk fell, Gidjabolgo lit the lanterns hanging in the rigging. Nobody felt like going below to sleep. Instead they huddled together on deck as the current swept them through the drowned buildings, past gables, pinnacles and battlements. Each of the travellers imagined the city stretching below them and the inhabitants that might still tread its watery streets.
“I feel as if we were a phantom ship, sailing in the sky,” murmured Gwerath.
Kerish continued the thought. “...and the people of the city will climb their towers and glimpse us as ghosts from another world.”
“Stop it, both of you!” snapped Forollkin.
After that they were silent, until everyone but Gidjabolgo fell asleep where they sat.
*****
Kerish was woken by the Forgite's curses as he stretched his cramped limbs. Leaning over the rail, the Prince saw that they had entered a stretch of clear water between the drowned city and Silnarnin. Gwerath was still fast asleep, with her head resting on Forollkin's knees. Kerish stared at her peaceful face for a moment and then went below to fetch some food.
When he returned with a basket of dried fruit, Forollkin and Gwerath were both awake. The Starflower was approaching the easternmost point of Silnarnin but nothing could be seen of the island - no beaches, no grassy slopes, no trees against the skyline, only sheer walls of iron-grey rock.
“This sorcerer must have wings to reach his citadel,” said Gidjabolgo as he grabbed his favourite fruit from the basket.
“Wings!” exclaimed Gwerath. “Gidjabolgo, you've made me remember my dream. I was in the streets of the city below the sea.”
“What, walking through water?” asked Forollkin, with an indulgent smile.
“I suppose so. Everything was a deep turquoise and the streets were full of people. I couldn't see their faces because they had wrapped their wings around them but I could hear them whispering how ugly I was. `Monster' they called me.”
“Then it was just a stupid nightmare.”
“Oh, Forollkin, it was because I only had two eyes. I bound my scarf across my forehead so that they shouldn't see I was different.”
“What do you make of that, Kerish?” asked his brother.
“Only that your gift of prophetic dreaming may be coming back, cousin, now that you're...happier.”
Gwerath started to say something but Gidjabolgo interrupted. “Could one of you dreamers look ahead and tell me if you see anything strange? On Hemcoth's charts, there's no harbour marked, no break in the cliffs at all, yet sometimes the stone seems to ripple as if the surface isn't solid."
Kerish came forward with Gidjabolgo and closed his eyes.
"The cliffs are real enough," he said after a moment, "but . . ."
In his mind's eye, faint lines appeared on the rock and the lines darkened into arched windows with panes of crystal. A hand opened one of the casements and a figure leaned out to gaze at the sea far below him. Kerish had a brief impression of a pale face and a shock of red hair. Then he knew that the figure had become aware of him. The window slammed shut. Kerish opened his eyes and the cliff-face was as blank as before.
"We're looking at Tir-Melidon," he said, "at Vethnar's citadel. "
As he spoke, the Starflower shuddered, dipped to one side and lurched forward. The wind was slight and the sails hung slack but the Starflower was moving eastwards faster than before. Forollkin pounded along the deck towards them, followed by Gwerath, a half-eaten fruit forgotten in her hand.
"What's happening?"
"The current is quickening," growled Gidjabolgo.
Forollkin strained to hear above the immediate noise of waves on rock. "It sounds like the rumble of a landslide. Kerish, you've got the best eyes, can you see anything?"
The boat was rocking violently and their speed whipped up a cloud of spray but after a few moments Kerish made out two pillars of black rock and beyond them the restless agony of a whirlpool.
"Rope yourselves to the rail," he shouted, "there's a whirlpool ahead!"
Gwerath sprang to fasten the hatches while Forollkin got out the ropes to loop about their waists. He left himself till last. As his hands struggled to knot his rope securely, the boat plunged into a deep trough. Water poured across the deck, slamming Gwerath against the mast. Gidjabolgo also lost his balance but he scrambled up from the slippery boards as the Starflower jutted towards the sky on the crest of a wave. He grabbed at Kerish while Forollkin clung to Gwerath and the mast.
The timbers screamed in protest as the Starflower was dragged towards the whirlpool. The spray was blinding and the noise deafening. Greedily the white waters seized the boat and it span in narrowing circles towards the sucking darkness.
Suddenly the prow was twisted round and the Starflower plunged northwards. Another wave struck the deck. Only Gidjabolgo's painful grip kept Kerish upright, but the Prince's eyes were still open and he saw the cliff-face looming above them.
Chapter 10
Book of the Emperors: Chronicles
Great was his learning and all praised him save the Empress, his mother. One day, as he read to her from his history of the first Battle of Viroc she began to weep. He was amazed and questioned her saying, “Mother, why are you sad? Is it for the many who died in defence of their city?” She answered,“I weep because for you they have never lived. The dead are frail as figures cut from paper by your thoughts, like dolls for a beggar's child.” The Emperor smiled at his mother's fancy but the Empress said, “My son, promise that you will never write of me. The patterns you make with your paper figures may please those who are afraid to weep but I will not be part of them.”
Kerish waited for the impact and there was sudden darkness. `How quickly it's over,' he thought. `Death doesn't hurt at all.'
Then Gidjabolgo's shaking fingers tugged at his hair.
"Ouch, let go."
Forollkin was calling to him. "Kerish, is that you? Are you all right."
"Yes, both of us. What's happening? We're still moving."
"We must have entered some kind of tunnel."
Each word echoed.
Unfastening the rope around his waist, Forollkin felt his way along the rail to the hatchway, and went below to get a light. After much fumbling in the pitch black cabin he managed to get two lamps alight.
Back on the deck he held one lantern high. Gwerath knelt beside the mast looking very small and young with her long hair sleeked with spray. Gidjabolgo was wringing the water from his cloak. Kerish stood motionless in his sodden robe, his left hand gleaming as if he still held the Jewel of Zeldin in his crippled fingers.
"You look like a half-drowned kitten, Gwerath," said Forollkin, remembering Lilahnee when Kerish had first found her in the marshes. "I've lit another lamp below. Go down and change your clothes."
"Let me see where we are first."
But though Forollkin swung the lantern round, its flame was too weak to pierce the outer darkness.
He called out and listened to the booming echoes. "The roof must be high. We're in a large cave rather than a tunnel."
They could no longer hear the noise of the sea, only the rushing of the subterranean waters that bore them northwwards. Gwerath started towards the hatch, her boots squelching with each step, but suddenly darted to the rail. "Look, look there!"
The others were quickly beside her, but saw nothing.
"It's gone," sighed Gwerath, "a silvery light, moving just below the water."
She had begun to shiver violently and Forollkin looked at her anxiously. "Hurry up and change."
Gwerath came back in a grey Seldian dress with a blanket draped round her shoulders and sat down on a coil of rope to rub the salt from her wet hair. When the others had changed into their spare clothes, Forollkin handed round cups of wine to help warm them.
"Well, Kerish, perhaps we are under this sorcerer's protection." Forollkin raised his cup in a vague salute. "Though when I saw that whirlpool, I thought our quest would end there."
"I thought for a moment it had," admitted Kerish. "I thought I was dead."
"So did I," murmured Gwerath.
"And was my Mistress pleased to find that death was not oblivion?" asked Gidjabolgo.
"I was angry," said Gwerath unexpectedly. "The Hunter promised us rest when the hunt is ended."
"Well, I was just grateful." Forollkin poured himself more wine. "Besides, your finger nails were digging into my arm all the time. There's nothing like pain to reassure you that you're alive."
The cup suddenly slipped from Gwerath's hand as she started up. "Look, there is the light again, but more gold than silver."
"That's too high to be in the water. . . " began Forollkin.
"It's daylight surely," broke in Gidjabolgo.
Kerish was the last to turn towards it. With each second the bright hole extended but it still seemed too small for the Starflower to pass through and Kerish sat with hunched shoulders while the others stood in the prow.
A fresh breeze rippled her sails and the Starflower glided out on to the crystalline waters that filled a huge crater, ripped by some great explosion from the centre of Silnarnin. Around the placid lake the ravaged hills rose up more gently than the outer cliffs and their slopes were covered with tall grasses and shapely trees. In the rock-face, high above an arc of white sand, glittered the many windows of Vethnar's citadel, but at first the travellers noticed none of this. Their bodies vibrated to the deep, sweet cries that swept across the crater.
The Dead Kingdom (Seven Citadels) Page 14