by Maurice Gee
Slowly she went up, trying to duplicate a lizard’s motion. She moved right hand, left foot, then left and right, with everything slowed down so she should make no mistake in ordering the silk to release its grip. She kept her movements short to lessen the strain on her body, but even so the muscles of her arms and legs began to ache and a pressure grew on her spine, as if a cord had tightened there and was on the point of snapping. She tried resting on the upper slope of a bulge in the cliff. That was no good, the pull against her hands and feet was too great, so she laboured on, and after what seemed hours found a ledge no wider than her body and rested there. It seemed as comfortable as a bed and she closed her eyes and dozed a while: ‘You are where you are, no other place exists.’ Then she prepared herself, cleared her mind of every thought so nothing would get in the way of the order. She would not let herself wonder how far she had climbed. But a cluster of lights showed far below, and without thinking about it, without allowing herself any emotion, she knew they came from the workmen’s camp beside the arena.
Later in the night the sky grew lighter. Over the mountains, far beyond her sight, the moon was up. It would shine on the west face of the Temple before dawn, but by that time she hoped to be hidden somewhere. She found another resting place, a dusty little crevice, and dozed again, hearing the feathery stirring of birds. Then she ate the last of her berries, working them to a paste in her mouth and swallowing it like drink. She climbed again – left and right, right and left – with the rock scraping her forehead. Then she sensed something over her and seemed to be caught in a glow. She looked up and saw the base of the Temple angling out. Its white marble seemed to generate light. She hugged the cliff, panting. She did not want to leave it for cold stone. It would be too smooth, she would fall. And if she did not, she would be plain as a beetle crawling on it. Frantically she looked for somewhere to hide, some hole to crawl into. She saw the black swamp far below, and the sea, huge and distant, shining white in the moonlight, and realized where she was.
Her panic lasted moment after moment. She hung on the cliff and cried and whimpered and moaned. But all that time there was something in her untouched – a hard resolve, a recognition of something she must do, that was necessary, or else she would never be Susan Ferris again. Someone was using her name, for evil, and had to be stopped. The knowledge of that was indestructible. So she hung on the cliff-face and let panic beat on her like a storm, and in the end, like a storm, it passed. Then she gathered up her strength and climbed again.
She climbed out on the slope of the Temple’s base, clinging like a fly, and up another twenty metres of weather-pitted marble, and came to a narrow walkway. It had been made for sentries, she thought, but none walked it now. The ledge was caked with bird droppings. What need was there for sentries on the wall over Sheercliff?
Susan rested a while, trying to decide which way to go. If she went along the walkway she would find herself still outside the Temple. And almost certainly she would meet guards. It seemed best to keep on climbing, find a window. She remembered seeing windows. But she knew she was getting weaker and wondered how long she could go on. As long as I need to, she told herself. And saying that, she stood up and began climbing again. But she did not like the marble. She had a feeling the stone-silk gloves were less sure in their knowledge of it. Once or twice she felt them slip, and she started to command them: ‘Grip, hold.’ She felt it was her own strength keeping her on the wall.
The moon appeared over the top of the Temple and she seemed to be held in light as bright as day. And day was close. Already the sky was lightening over the sea. She knew there must be sentries on the wall. But they would have no reason to look over. A greater danger was that a patrol down in the forest would see her. She climbed as fast as she dared, climbed on black marble, smoother than white, and almost laughed. Here she was in the centre of the emblem of her religion, climbing on the wings. What a pity it was she could not use them to fly.
Higher up, she passed a window, and heard men snoring inside. It was a barracks or dormitory. Quickly she went higher. Then she began to hear another sound. It came and went, rose and fell, almost beyond her hearing. It was faint and furry, soft as breathing, then it was sharp as a skylark singing. It played and danced, and it was old, old, it seemed to go deep back into time. She strained to hear. She thought of breath, and moving fingers, holes in wood, and then she knew, the sound was familiar, though more skilled than anything she had heard. Someone, high in the Temple, was playing a flute.
Susan knew who it was. Limpy had said she played to them at night, by the fire. Eagerly she climbed towards the sound. The music kept on as though leading her. It seemed to hang down for her like a rope, and while it played she had no fear of falling.
She passed two more windows and realized she was climbing one of the towers over the main block of the Temple. She went sideways and looked around the corner and saw dark courtyards and roof gardens and lamps glowing in corners. Close by, no more than ten metres away, a sentry stood dozing against a wall – or perhaps he too was listening to the music and its beauty made him dream of other places – hillsides, waterfalls, beaches, sea. He sighed and scratched his back on an angle of the wall. She heard his leather suit scraping on stone. Quietly she slid away, crossing the wall to the other side. There she saw more courtyards, and the wall running along the top of Sheercliff to Deven’s Leap. The huge stone bulged over the drop. A platform was built on it, and seats stood all about in tiers, draped with cloths starting to glow red and green and yellow in the dawnlight. The cruelty of it made her tremble. But the music kept on and drew her higher up the wall towards the single window at the top of the tower.
She came to it, an opening in the stone, and wriggled in and crouched there getting her breath. The window was a slit, widening as it cut through the wall. The music, slow and sad, wound its way up from a room she could not see. She crept into the slit and peered down. It was deep and dark and she had an impression of rich hangings, of crimson and purple and blue, and a bed full of shadows, under a velvet canopy. A lamp was burning in the middle of the room, making a pool of light, and a girl dressed in white and silver sat by it on a low carved stool and played her flute – a wooden flute. Susan saw black hair tumbling down her back.
She waited until the tune was finished. She heard the girl sigh and saw her lay her flute on the table and turn down the wick in the lamp so the flame went out. Then she sat in the gloom with her head lowered and her hair tenting her face. Susan wondered if she was crying. But no. Suddenly she stood up. She laughed. She spread her arms and her white and silver robes took the shape of wings. She walked about the room, seeming to fly. It was more than a game. This was Soona’s way of being unafraid.
Susan watched until she had finished and was standing by the stool with her arms lowered. Then she said softly, ‘Soona. Don’t be frightened.’
The girl looked up. She was startled but her look was unafraid. She came two steps towards the window. ‘Who are you?’
Susan climbed quickly down the wall. She stood facing Soona. They were the same height, she saw – and probably the same age. She felt a great affection and pity for the girl, and she reached out and touched her.
Soona did not flinch. ‘Are you Susan Ferris?’
‘Yes.’
Soona smiled. Tears started in her eyes. ‘I’ve been waiting for you. I knew you would come.’
Chapter Nine
The High Priest
Breakfast, a bath, a sleep in a bed with silken sheets: all these Susan had enjoyed, while guards stood unsuspecting in the corridor outside. Now, in clean robes, she sat on the bed with Soona, talking quietly of what they must do. In a little while, Soona said, the guards would come with lunch. Then she would be taken for a walk in one of the gardens. And in the evening she would visit the High Priest, who liked to listen while she played her flute. A strange man, Soona said. Sometimes she forgot how evil he was, he seemed so lonely.
‘Is tomorrow the day?’ Su
san asked.
‘Yes. At midday. Out on Deven’s Leap. I try not to think about it. Tell me how you came here.’
Susan told the story, and Soona smiled at Limpy’s part in it. She wept to hear of her mother’s grief, but the knowledge that her father and brother were close, somewhere in Wildwood north of the Leap, comforted her. She did not think Jimmy’s plan of seizing the High Priest would work. He was too well guarded. Even if Nick arrived with Birdfolk it would not work.
‘What we must do is use the gloves to climb to the roof of the tower. Then if the Birdfolk come they will see us. They can rescue us from there and when we are in Wildwood we can all escape.’
‘No,’ Susan said.
‘It’s the only way.’
‘I came to rescue you. But I came to finish this religion too.’
‘It was in my dream you would try,’ Soona said sadly.
‘Then trust your dream.’
‘It had no end. I did not see the Temple fall. And now I have been a prisoner here. I’ve met the High Priest. He is too strong.’
Susan shook her head. ‘Your dream is all that’s kept me going. I must keep trusting it. Help me, Soona.’
‘What will you do?’
‘I’ll talk with the High Priest. I’ll tell him who I am. I’ll make him understand how wrong he is.’ She saw Soona looking at her with disbelief. ‘I can do it. I know I can.’
‘Oh no, no,’ Soona said. ‘You don’t know what he’s like. He won’t listen. He has power. He’s not worried about whether something’s true or not.’ Earnestness and fear shone in her eyes. And yet Susan had to believe she might be wrong. Otherwise her coming back to O was all for nothing. And she could not think of any other way that she might try. She could not creep silently away.
‘Tonight,’ she said, ‘I want to take your place. I’ll wear a hood so they won’t know it isn’t you. Then, when I’m with the High Priest I’ll tell him who I am.’
‘No –’
‘Listen. As soon as I’m gone, put on the stone-silk gloves and climb down the wall. I’ll show you how. Hide in the bush. Or in the swamp. When it’s all over we’ll come and get you.’
‘And if you fail?’
‘Go to Shady Home. You’ll be safe there.’
‘No.’
‘Are you brave enough to climb the wall?’
‘I can climb it. But I’m not going.’
‘Soona, listen. This fight is between me and the High Priest. They used me to make their religion. So I’m the only one who can end it. Anyone else will be in the way.’
Somewhere in the Temple a gong was booming. Soona sat cross-legged on the bed listening to it. Her face was pale. She shook her head sadly. ‘You don’t understand. It really has nothing to do with you. This isn’t a religion, it’s a government. The High Priest is a king. He’s not interested in Ferris bones and religious rites. He’s interested in staying on his throne, staying in power. He does it through the Temple, that’s all, through superstition and cruelty. Susan, that was the midday gong. I didn’t want to show you, but I’ll have to. Come with me.’
She climbed off the bed and went to a window of yellow glass in the north wall of the tower. She opened it and looked towards Deven’s Leap. Susan went to her side, keeping back a little so no one would see her. The sun was burning in the bright blue sky, shining on Wildwood and the swamp. The marble wall snaked away from the Temple along the top of Sheercliff to the Leap. It was a road, and a party of priests was drawing a cart along it with a dozen people locked inside.
‘Heretics,’ Soona said.
‘What’s happening?’
‘Every day at midday they bring them here.’
‘But they’re not going to – they won’t throw them off?’
‘I told you Susan, they are heretics. That’s another name for people who ask questions and break rules.’
‘But they won’t … ’
Soona put her arm round Susan’s shoulder. ‘Come back from the window. There is no way we can help.’
‘No. No. I want to watch. I’m to blame for this.’
‘You’re not to blame. If they hadn’t used you they would have used someone else. People would still be thrown off the cliff, or burned or drowned or hung. It makes no difference. A king or priest, whatever his name, would be on the throne.’ She pressed Susan away from the window. ‘Come back. Now you know how they rule.’
‘No.’
But Susan did not watch it all. She saw the cart arrive at the Leap, and the prisoners, men and women, stumble down. The priests arranged them in a row, and led the first to the edge of a scalloped platform built over the drop. He was a big man, with bushy hair and ragged clothes. He pushed his captors away and stood alone on the platform, shaking his fist at the Temple, shouting something. Then he jumped, and fell, turning over slowly in the air, falling down and down, shrinking to a tiny ragged doll. He went from sight behind the bulge of the cliff. There were fifty or so priests on the seats, and twice that many people from the town beyond the Temple. She heard their distant cheering; and their shouting as the second prisoner fought. She did not watch. She turned away and Soona closed the window.
‘That is how they rule,’ Soona said. ‘I have seen it every day. I think of it as I play my flute for the High Priest.’
‘Was he there?’ Susan whispered.
‘No. They were only farmers and fishermen. Perhaps they did not kneel quickly enough. Or pay their taxes. He will watch tomorrow.’ She took Susan to the bed and made her sit down. ‘Now do you understand? You cannot change things by talking. It is not an argument about what is true or false.’
‘I will talk to him. I am here. I won’t run away.’
‘Then you will die. They will throw you off the cliff.’
‘Jimmy and Ben are there. And Nick. And the Birdfolk.’
‘They won’t be enough. We must escape and fight another way.’ The sound of a key turning in the door made her leap to her feet. ‘Quickly. Under the bed. They are bringing lunch.’
Susan wriggled under the bed and lay breathing softly. She saw the hem of a skirt, old woman’s ankles bulging over shoes, and heard a tray being put on the table.
‘Have you been watching, dearie?’ came a voice that oozed delight and a false concern.
‘Yes,’ Soona said. ‘I watched.’
‘It does my old heart good to see them heretics tumble. But just think little fishergirl, tomorrow it will be your turn. What an honour for you, eh lovey?’
‘Out, woman,’ said a voice from the door. ‘Leave the Chosen One to her lunch.’
The feet shuffled out. ‘I’ll be watching to see you fly, little one. You won’t disappoint an old woman, will you?’
When the door was closed, Susan came out from under the bed. She found Soona shivering. ‘It is an evil place. I cannot eat the food she brings.’
Susan could not eat either. She could not forget the tumbling man. Later the woman took the tray away, and priests came to escort Soona on her walk. Susan lay on the bed and tried to sleep. Her arms and legs still ached from her climb. But she could not make her mind be still. She turned over arguments she would make to the High Priest; and protests, denunciations. None of them seemed any more than noise, they seemed unreal alongside the image of the man falling from the cliff. She understood the lesson Soona had tried to teach her. But she could not climb down the wall and run away. She could not do it.
Soona spoke loudly at the door when she came back, giving Susan time to hide. The woman brought an evening meal, and goaded Soona again, but they managed to eat something when she had gone.
‘They keep me well,’ Soona said. ‘Food and clothes and perfumes. This bed is like a queen’s bed. I would like to sleep on ferns in Wildwood and drink water from a stream.’
‘Go tonight,’ Susan said. ‘While I’m with the High Priest. Climb down the wall. If I fail, and Jimmy fails, we’ll need you free to fight against the Temple.’
She would not listen to So
ona’s arguments, but when she had eaten took clothes from the wardrobe and dressed herself. She tied back her hair and pulled a hood forward about her face. ‘Nobody can tell I’m not you.’ She gave the stone-silk gloves to Soona and showed her how to use them. ‘Promise me you’ll start as soon as I’m gone.’
‘Yes, I promise. They’ll use you in my place, Susan. That is how it will be.’
‘Please, don’t argue any more. Play me a tune on your flute.’
Soona played while the room grew dark. She played tunes from Stonehaven, jigs and dances, work songs, market songs, and lullabies and love songs and sad airs she had composed herself. She played the melody Susan had heard as she climbed the wall. Then they heard footsteps in the corridor. They embraced quickly, and Soona hid. Susan pulled her hood well forward and faced the door. It opened and two priests stood there, in black leather, with Ferris bones on their chests.
‘Come,’ said one. ‘The High Priest is waiting.’
Susan stepped forward, with her face lowered.
‘Bring your flute,’ the other said.
Susan went back and took it from the table, apologizing silently to Soona. The old woman shuffled in and took the tray. ‘You’ve eaten well, dearie. I hope you sleep well too.’
‘Get back to your kitchen,’ said a priest. He pushed her out of the room, waited for Susan, and closed the door. Susan fell in between the priests and they went along the corridor and started down stairs. They went down three floors and down a ramp into a garden. She concentrated on moving as though she knew her way. They passed fountains and statues – one of herself with the silly saintly expression she had grown to hate, one of Nick looking pleased with himself – and crossed a wide courtyard and went in another door. Then they walked for a long time in marble corridors so white, so uncluttered, they made her think of skeletons, and came at last to huge black doors with the wing emblem lacquered on them. A priest sentry stood on either side – different priests, somehow deadlier. Her escort moved away as though eager to be gone. The doors opened slowly from inside. A room widened out – a long room, barely furnished, simpler than Susan had expected. A throne stood on a dais at the far end, with black and silver curtains folded behind it. No one sat there, although a priest with a naked sword stood guard on either side. At the foot of the dais were two wooden stools on a Varg-skin mat.