The Earth Goddess

by Richard Herley

  It was considered best to begin the taug as early as possible: a boy of five was not too young. At that age a child’s body was held to be in a virtually natural state, uncorrupted by misuse or the influence of unsuitable adults. Paoul had begun his training aged seven, rather later than Kar Ander would have liked, but he had made such good progress that he had now overtaken some of the boys who were not only two or three years older, but who had started at the age of five or even sooner.

  There were four main classes of priests, or nominations, each corresponding to one of the quadrants of the cycle of knowledge: the ilvens, who specialized in the arts; the kars; the phedes, who were scientists and mathematicians; and the forzans, whose field was philosophy, ethics, theology and the law. Early in a boy’s training it was clear to his teachers where his talents would be likely to take him, and the approach to his taug would be individually adjusted. Buin, for example, who had a gift for poetry, was having special training in rhythm and the voice; Enco, who was himself destined to become a kar, was making a deep study of the fourth quadrant; while Starrad, one of the cleverest boys in the school and a potential astronomer, was receiving special training of the eyesight. Paoul’s taug was much concerned with the essence and with the first quadrant: he was being prepared for the duties of a forzan.

  To counteract some of the disadvantages of this early specialization, teaching groups in the higher school comprised one boy from each discipline. They shared the same dormitory, ate at the same table in the school refectory, and, whenever possible, took their lessons together.

  * * *

  The taug school was on the far side of the vansery grounds, adjoining the open mountain. The quickest way there from the novices’ quarters would have been to cut through the cloisters and straight across the temple square. The temple square, however, was overlooked by the rear chambers of the Prime. Even when the Prime was absent, as today, it was not allowed for novices to set foot in the temple square unless accompanied by a teacher. From their quarters, therefore, Paoul and Enco had to walk past the clothing stores and laundry and – keeping strictly to the permitted paths – follow an involved route through the animal sheds and paddocks, the fruit and vegetable farm, the physic gardens, and thence into a stand of yews. Some of the trees overhung the vansery palisade, on the other side of which, from the closely built streets of the township, rose the cries of children at play.

  “Do you think this is where he gets out?” Enco said.

  Paoul did not know. Speculation about Starrad’s nocturnal adventures was a favourite topic at the moment; Paoul preferred not to think about it. The consequences for Starrad, if he were caught, would be severe. Paoul fully shared the urges to which Starrad had given way, but it was part of his training to contain those urges and channel them into higher activities. “Come on,” he said. “We don’t want to be late.”

  This afternoon’s taug, a general session, was to be attended by all of Paoul’s group, together with four other groups of the same year. Most of the class had already assembled as Paoul and Enco, dressed in freshly laundered tunics and carrying their swimming gear, hurried across the sun-baked lawns and entered at the side door.

  The building was cool and spacious and smelled of beeswax. The walls of the main classroom, part panelled and part limewashed, reflected the glare of the day outside: all the storm-shutters and doors to the terrace had been thrown open.

  Beyond the wooden balustrade, the mountainside fell away into sheer space. There was nothing between the terrace and the next peak, Mount Sandle, twelve miles west of the river. Its tip still bore a remnant of snow; as far down as the treeline its flanks, even at this distance, looked mostly bare, the great slabs of weathered rock devoid of any but the sparsest vegetation. Then, scattered at first, the firs began, becoming densely bluish green before gradually yielding, far below, at the same level as the citadel, to the richer green of the deciduous forest which once had covered the entire Home Plain and which still covered the lower slopes of Mount Atar, up beyond Hohe and the citadel towards the fir-woods of the summit.

  This view of Mount Sandle, and of its companions stretching into the farthest distance, dominated the whole vansery and lent the taug school, jutting out over the lake and the canopy of trees, a feeling of airiness and light. But it was also a constant reminder for the pupils of the harshness and solidity of the mountains. In the best weather – on a day like today – and under strict supervision, Paoul and his fellows had once reached the top, a feat that had made them all the more aware of the mountains’ hostility, and conscious of the achievement of some of the senior priests, who had climbed Mount Sandle many times, and not just in summer, but in the depths of winter too.

  The most enthusiastic climber at Hohe was Kar Ander, head of the taug school, a quiet and entertaining man of forty-one with pale blond hair worn in a long pigtail, a neatly trimmed blond beard, and intensely blue eyes. More perhaps than any of his other teachers, Paoul admired, and, for a time, had even hero-worshipped, Kar Ander, trying to copy his mannerisms and appearance, even to the extent of wishing that his own hair could be blond and his eyes blue.

  That phase had long since passed, but Paoul retained a profound respect for him. Kar Ander, together with Erta, had been the main influence on Paoul’s upbringing. Erta was gentle, kind, and indulgent; Kar Ander was strong, resolute, and wise, the personification of the Gehan ideal. Kar Ander’s body was the living proof of the taug. At weapons practice – with the bow, spear, axe, hammer, flail, net, and shield – he made even the Vuchten, the crack shock-troops of Lord Heite’s garrison, look clumsy and inept.

  Far more impressive than any of this, though, was the intangible optimism, the positive energy made manifest in his every movement and gesture. According to the ancient doctrines that predated even the taug, Kar Ander had awoken the vital force from its deepest seat at the base of his spine. It had now infused his whole being. He could never be seriously ill. Unless injured or killed, he would grow old naturally, deteriorating at the slowest possible speed, and, at the end of the maximum term his body could sustain, he would peacefully die. Until then he would experience each moment to the full, completely and thoroughly alive; and it was this vitality that he radiated wherever he went.

  The atmosphere in the room changed: the class had come subtly to attention. Paoul looked round. Kar Ander had entered.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” he said, in his calm, even, and perfectly controlled voice. “To the terrace.”

  After an hour’s exercise in the sunshine, the class descended to the lake. The northern end was set aside for bathing, with a changing shed for visitors, a raft, and marker buoys for distance swimming. Normally the boys would have been brought here by another kar; Kar Ander’s time was too valuable to be spent on routine supervision, but this afternoon he wished to gauge their progress in person.

  The lake formed part of the vansery grounds. It was open only to the priesthood and to members of Lord Heite’s family and their guests. Overlooked on its north-east side by the citadel, the water was seventy or eighty acres in extent, with many wooded islands.

  The largest of these were in the southern end, and here nested the herons whose fate had become inextricable from Hohe’s – for enshrined in the legends was the belief that if ever the heronry failed so would the citadel and the whole empire.

  The lake had become the herons’ sanctuary. Much of the shore had been left wild; the northern end had been partly screened with a magnificent grove of beeches – planted, according to legend, by Atar himself. In front of this Founder’s Grove a close sward, kept specially short by the early morning grazings of the lakeman’s white goats, extended to the water’s edge and to a clump of ornamental cut-leafed alders.

  When everyone had undressed, Kar Ander started the class in relay. One by one the weaker swimmers reached their targets and dropped out, leaving the rest still churning through the cold, clean water of the lake. Paoul’s target for today was seventeen laps of the tw
o hundred yard course; he was one of the last to finish.

  Climbing out at the end of his swim, he felt again the familiar fatigue, as if his flesh had been softly but repeatedly clubbed, that meant he had exceeded his previous maximum by the required amount. The sensation was not unpleasant. Paoul liked swimming, especially at this season, even when the load was being steadily increased. Most of his classmates liked it too. Having been judged by Kar Ander and with his permission, they were now lazing on the sward or, laughing and fooling about, had plunged in again and swum out to the raft. There would be no more lessons today.

  Paoul picked up his chamois leather and dried his face and arms.

  “Your style is still too formal,” Kar Ander told him. “And you are still snatching a little at your breath. Let the air come naturally, in harmony with your stroke.”

  “Yes, Kar Ander.”

  “Otherwise, your progress is satisfactory.”

  “Thank you, Kar Ander.” Paoul rubbed at his hair, prolonging the moment before he was dismissed. All through his swim he had been unable to stop thinking about this morning and the waterfall. Could it be that Forzan Zett’s words had really been such a revelation to him? Or had he invented those feelings because he so much wanted to understand, to do well? Was he deceiving himself? But, even more than the lesson itself, what the Forzan had told him afterwards had thrown his mind into ferment. To bear a lamp at a consecration attended by Lord Heite and conducted by the Prime – surely there could be no greater honour in all the school! The honour was made greater still by the fact that Paoul was so young.

  He did not want to admit it to himself, but this was a source of pride, and pride was specifically disapproved of by his teachers. And so, even though he was bursting to tell Kar Ander what had happened, he did not know how to do so without seeming boastful. It had occurred to Paoul that he surely knew already: as one of Paoul’s teachers, he must have been consulted by Forzan Zett and the Prime.

  But if he knew, Kar Ander was not letting on. Paoul’s hopes that he would raise the matter were left unfulfilled. The next swimmer to finish was already wading ashore.

  Before he had left the water, however, Kar Ander’s attention was attracted by movement among the smooth grey boles of the beech trees. Paoul followed his gaze and saw a man and a woman on the path, being followed by two slaves carrying bags, and a squad of ten soldiers dressed in the green, red, and grey of Lord Heite’s personal guard. Although the man and woman were not actually touching, the way they were walking conveyed an unmistakable sense of intimacy. The man, tall, fair-haired, of middle age, and dressed casually in a pale tunic, was indeed none other than Lord Heite himself. The woman Paoul had never seen before. She was dark and young and, even from here, looked extremely pretty.

  Kar Ander clapped his hands. The two swimmers still on the circuit broke off their practice; those on the raft dived into the water, and they all made for the shore. By the time the newcomers had arrived, the whole class was standing in formation behind Kar Ander.

  Paoul understood little of the ensuing conversation between Kar Ander and Lord Heite. Despite the terrifying proximity of the Gehan of the Gehans, Paoul scarcely looked at him or heard a single word he said. From his position in the second rank, he could do nothing but fight the urge to stare without restraint at Lord Heite’s companion.

  She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

  3

  The three syllables of her name made the loveliest sound in the world. In his bed, silently, infusing his thoughts, Paoul repeated them over and over again. Atane, Atane, the Lady Atane. Lying awake long after midnight, a dog barking in the township, he could not keep his mind from her face and her voice and the shape of her body. He could not keep his mind from the wonderful events of the afternoon.

  Put logically, coldly, they were simple enough. She and Lord Heite had come down to the lake for a swim. They had arrived, inadvertently, at the end of the lesson. Kar Ander had immediately offered to leave; Lord Heite would not hear of it. Kar Ander was one of his personal friends. Lord Heite insisted that he and his class should remain just as long as they liked. Wasn’t this, Lord Heite had asked, the class that had just entered the higher school? And wasn’t this the class that was to provide the senior lamp-bearer for Bohod Thosk’s consecration? Whereupon Kar Ander had been persuaded to point out the chosen one and, for the first time in his life, Paoul had been addressed face to face by Lord Heite. “So this is the special young man from Brennis. The Prime has spoken to me of you, Paoul.” Lord Heite had said other things too, all equally intoxicating. Paoul still felt dizzy: he could not really remember them now. He had been intensely aware of the Lady Atane in her grey-green robe and sandals, her shining dark hair worn loose about her shoulders, her amused, intelligent eyes taking everything in, responding to every word spoken. Then, later – after she had emerged from the changing shed in an off-white garment which had contrasted with the smooth, slightly olive, southern perfection of her skin – Lord Heite had challenged Kar Ander to a race, out to a birch-covered island and back. Kar Ander, of course, had beaten him easily, but Lord Heite had been expecting this and had merely laughed. And then Lord Heite had suggested that Atane should race someone. With an enchanting smile she had tried, in vain, to refuse. “You must race, if only to restore honour to the military!” Laughter. “But not Kar Ander – he’s too good for anyone.” Then – who was a good swimmer in the class? No one? Surely not. What about the lad from Brennis? What about Paoul? Would Kar Ander permit it? “He’s just swum all but two miles, my lord.” “Then the competition will be slightly more equal!”

  There were two things Paoul remembered most about the race. The first was the fact of being in the water with her, of sharing the same sensuous, all-encompassing medium; the second was his appreciation of the need for delicacy in his tactics. For it had been instantly obvious that she had neither strength nor skill in swimming. Thus, rather than win by too great a margin – or, worse, shame her by deliberately losing – Paoul had contrived to finish only a few yards ahead.

  “Well swum,” she had said, once back on dry land. “I’d hate to race you when you’re fresh.” She had understood his stratagem and, in this exquisitely private and elegant way, had chosen to thank him. Trapped in her dark glance, Paoul had been tongue-tied, powerless, and she, sensing it, had lowered her eyes. Then she had looked up at him again, boldly, as if he were a man and not a boy. A moment later the slave had enclosed her in a wrap and she had moved away towards Lord Heite, ignoring Paoul, and in the few minutes left to him by the lake she had scarcely glanced at him again. But that look, that one look, had been more than enough.

  “Enco,” Paoul whispered. “Enco. Are you awake?”

  Paoul heard the neighbouring mattress creak as Enco turned over, growling disagreeably. “What is it?”

  “I’m thinking about the Lady Atane.”

  “What about her?”

  “How old do you think she is?”

  “Twenty. Twenty-two. I don’t know. What’s it got to do with us?”

  “Do you think she’s been at Hohe long?”

  “Go to sleep.”

  Starrad’s quietly jeering voice came from the corner. “Paoul’s in love.”

  “But not with a fishmonger’s daughter,” Enco said. “At least he doesn’t sneak over the palisade every second night.”

  “Who says I sneak over the palisade? And even if I do, who says I’m in love with her? If I go, it’s for one thing, and one thing only. The same thing Lord Heite gets from the Lady Atane. He’s probably between her legs right now.”

  Paoul sat upright. “No!”

  “If not her, then one of his others. Even Lady Heite. They’re all the same.”

  “You’d better shut your filthy mouth, Starrad.”

  “Or else? What? You’re young, Paoul. You don’t know a thing. Why do you think those two came down to the lake exactly when they did? They knew we’d be there, that’s why. It gave Lord Heite a t
hrill to see us all gaping at forbidden fruit. She even played along with it, the bitch. Look at that thing she was wearing. She’s just a courtesan, Paoul. Don’t make a statue of her.”

  “They’re all forbidden fruit to us,” Enco said. “You’d do well to bear that in mind, Starrad.”

  “What on earth do you mean? I’ve no idea, to be sure.”

  With that, the conversation came to an end. Paoul resisted the impulse to say anything more. He did not like to admit it, but he felt betrayed. He knew that Starrad, the worldly, perceptive Starrad, had almost certainly been right. What Paoul, in his innocence, had taken to be the spontaneous expression of mutual attraction was now revealed as nothing more than sordid coquetry. He had forgotten the teaching of the taug and allowed himself to be swayed by carnal desires. Such behaviour was appropriate outside the vansery palisade – it was worthy of the common people, the rabble, the unwashed pagans. But it was not worthy of a future forzan, of someone who had been noticed by the Prime. But then – had Lord Heite’s praise also been a part of his game? How much of it could be believed? Perhaps the whole episode had been staged by the kars; perhaps it had been a test which Paoul had miserably failed. He had let himself and Kar Ander down.

  For a long time he stared into the darkness, feeling cheated and confused. Most disturbing of all had been the conduct of Lord Heite. For the Gehan of the Gehans to behave in such a way was unthinkable. In the eyes of the world – including, Paoul had naively imagined, Starrad’s eyes too – he was almost a god, the secular representative of the Prime, the enactor of the holy decrees, the leader of the army and the ruler of the empire. He was nobility itself, above petty temptation. But now he had shown himself to be weak and depraved, just as other men were.

  No. It was simply not possible. Starrad was wrong. He had imputed his own values to a man beyond reproach. The Lady Atane, young and beautiful as she was, had acted naturally, in faith with her heart. In recent weeks and months Paoul had received certain glances in the street which had made him wonder whether he might be attractive to girls. Might the Lady Atane merely have shared their opinion? Yes: that was it. His first impression had been indisputably correct. Nonetheless, it had been wrong to forget himself like that. He would learn from the incident and take it as a warning. His admiration of Lord Heite remained undiminished.