Helliconia: Helliconia Spring, Helliconia Summer, Helliconia Winter

by Brian Aldiss

  Dathka rested the heel of his hand on his brow. ‘Wutra a phagor? It can’t be. You go too far. This damned learning – it can make white black. All such nonsense stems from the academy. I’d kill it. If I had the power I’d kill it.’

  ‘If you want power, I’ll side with you,’ said Raynil Layan.

  ‘I don’t want you on my side.’

  ‘Well, of course …’ He gestured frustratedly, tugged the twin points of his beard. ‘You see, we have a riddle to resolve. Because it seems that the phagors are returning. Perhaps they will reclaim their old city. That’s my guess.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘It’s simple. You must have heard the rumours. Oldorando’s alive with the rumours. There’s a great force of phagors approaching. Go and talk to the people passing outside the city. The trouble is, Tanth Ein and Faralin Ferd will not protect the city, being too involved with their private interests. They’re your enemies – not I. If a strong man killed the lieutenants and took over the city, he could save it. That’s just my suggestion.’

  He watched Dathka scrupulously, seeing the play of emotions on his face. He smiled encouragingly, knowing he had talked his way out of being killed.

  ‘I’d help,’ he said. ‘I’m on your side.’

  Vry said, ‘I’m on your side, too, Dathka.’

  He shot her one of his darkly glittering looks. ‘You’d never be on my side. Not if I won all of Embruddock for you.’

  Faralin Ferd and Tanth Ein were drinking together in the Two-Sided Tankard. Women, friends, and toadies were with them, enjoying the evening.

  The Two-Sided Tankard was one of the few places where laughter could be heard nowadays. The tavern was part of a new administrative building which also housed the new mint. The building had been paid for mainly by rich merchants, some of whom were present with their wives. In the room were furnishings that until recently were unknown in Oldorando – oval tables, sofas, sideboards, rich woven rugs hanging on the walls.

  Imported drink flowed, and a fair foreign youth played the hand harp.

  The windows were being closed to keep out the chill night air and to shut out an odour of smoke from the alleyways. On the central table, an oil lamp burned. Food lay about, uneaten. One of the merchants was relating a long tale of murder, betrayal, and travel.

  Faralin Ferd wore a jacket of suede, untied to reveal a woollen shirt underneath. He rested his elbows on the table, half-listening to the story while his gaze roved about the chamber.

  Tanth Ein’s woman, Farayl Musk, padded quietly about, ostensibly to see that a slave was securing the shutters correctly. Farayl Musk was distant kinswoman of both Tanth Ein and Faralin Ferd, being descended from the family of Lord Wall Ein Den. Although not exactly beautiful, Farayl Musk had wit and character, which commended her to some people and not to others. She bore a candle in a holder, which she shielded against the draft of her progress with one hand.

  The light made her face glow, throwing unexpected shadows on its contours, lending her mystery. She felt Faralin Ferd’s eyes on her, but forbore to return his gaze, knowing the value of feigned indifference.

  He reflected as he often had done before that he deserved Farayl Musk, rather than his own woman, who bored him. Despite the dangers involved, he had several times made love to her. Now time was short. They might all be dead in a few days; drink did not drown that knowledge. He lusted after her again.

  Rising, he stalked abruptly out of the room, casting a significant glance in her direction. The long story was reaching one of its periodic excitements, involving the smothering of a prominent man with the carcass of one of his own sheep. Laughter rose from round the table. Nevertheless, watchful eyes saw the lieutenant disappear – and his fellow lieutenant’s woman made her exit after a discreet interval.

  ‘I thought you wouldn’t dare follow.’

  ‘Curiosity is stronger than cowardice. We’ve only got a moment.’

  ‘Do it with me here, under the stairs. In this corner, look.’

  ‘Standing, Faralin Ferd?’

  ‘Feel this, woman – is it standing or is it not?’

  She sighed and leaned against him, clutching what he offered with both hands. He recalled from previous occasions how sweet this woman’s breath was.

  ‘Under the stairs, then.’

  She put the candle down on the floor. Ripping open her bodice, she revealed her majestic breasts to him. He set an arm about her and dragged her into the corner, kissing her excitedly.

  There they were caught when a party of twelve men under Dathka came in from the street with torches burning and swords naked.

  Despite their protests, Farayl Musk and Faralin Ferd were brought forth. They barely had time to draw their clothes together before they were thrust back into the meeting room, where tbe rest of the lieutenants were already confronted by sword blades.

  ‘This is all lawful,’ Dathka said, eyeing them much as a wolf regards kid arang. ‘I am taking the rule of Embruddock into my own hands until such time as the rightful Lord of Embruddock, Aoz Roon, returns. I am his deposed but oldest-serving lieutenant. I mean to see that the city is properly guarded against invaders.’

  Behind him stood Raynil Layan, his sword sheathed. He said loudly, ‘And I support Dathka Den. Hail, Lord Dathka Den.’

  Dathka’s eye had found Tanth Ein, lost in the shadows. The older of the two lieutenants had not risen with the rest. He sat still at his place at the head of the table, arms resting on the chair arm.

  ‘You dare defy me!’ Dathka cried, leaping forward with his sword raised, to confront the seated man. ‘Get to your feet, scumb!’

  Tanth Ein never moved, except that a rictus of pain traversed his face as his head jerked back. His eyeballs started to roll. As Dathka kicked at the chair, he slid stiffly to the floor with no attempt at breaking his fall.

  ‘It’s the bone fever!’ someone shouted. ‘It’s among us!’

  Farayl Musk began to scream.

  By morning, two more lives had gone, and the smell of burning once more tainted the air of Oldorando. Tanth Ein lay in the hospice under Ma Scantiom’s courageous care.

  Despite the dread of contagion, a large crowd gathered in Bank Street to hear Dathka’s public proclamation of his rule. Once on a time, such meetings would have been held outside the big tower. Those days had passed away. Bank Street was more spacious and more elegant. On one side of it, a few stalls dotted the bank of the river. Geese still strutted there, aware of their ancient rights. On the other side was a line of new buildings, with the old stone towers rising behind them. Here, a public platform stood.

  On the platform stood Raynil Layan, shifting his weight from foot to foot, Faralin Ferd with his arms bound behind him, and six young warriors of Dathka’s guard, armed with sheathed swords and spears, grimly regarding the crowd. Bouquet sellers roved through the people, selling protective nosegays. The pilgrim Takers were there too, dressed in their distinctive black-and-white garb, holding banners urging repentance. Children played on the edge of the crowd, sniggering at the behaviour of their elders.

  As the Hour-Whistler blew, Dathka climbed onto the platform and began immediately to address the crowd.

  ‘I am taking up the burden of authority for the sake of the city,’ Dathka said. It seemed his old silence had dropped from him. He spoke with eloquence. Yet he stood almost motionless, not gesturing, not using his body to help carry his words, as if the habit of silence had quit nowhere but his tongue. ‘I have no wish to supplant the true ruler of Embruddock, Aoz Roon. When he returns – if he returns – then what is rightfully his will be rightfully handed back to him. I am his lawful deputy. Those he left in command have abused his power, have cast it in tbe gutter. I could not stand by and see it. We will have honesty in these bad times.’

  ‘Why’s Raynil Layan beside you then, Dathka?’ called a voice from the crowd, and there were other remarks, which Dathka tried to override.

  ‘I know you have complaints
. I’ll hear them after – you hear me now. Judge Aoz Roon’s usurping lieutenants. Eline Tal had the courage to go into the wilderness with his lord. The other two creatures stayed at home. Tanth Ein has the fever as his reward. Here stands the third of them, the worst, Faralin Ferd. Look at the way he trembles. When did he ever address you? He was too busy about his sly lascivious ways indoors.

  ‘I’m a hunter, as you know. Laintal Ay and I tamed the Western Veldt. Faralin Ferd will die of the pest like his crony, Tanth Ein. Will you be ruled by corpses? I won’t catch the plague. Intercourse passes on the plague, and I’m free of it.

  ‘My first deed will be to restore guards all round Embruddock, and to train a proper army. As we are at present, we are ripe to fall to any enemy – human or inhuman. Better die in battle than in bed.’

  This last remark caused a groundswell of unease. Dathka paused, glaring down at them. Oyre and Dol stood among the people, Dol clutching Rastil Roon in her arms. Oyre cried out loudly as Dathka paused, ‘You are a usurper. How are you any better than Tanth Ein or Raynil Layan?’

  Dathka went to the edge of the platform.

  ‘I steal nothing. I picked up what was dropped.’ He pointed at Oyre. ‘You of all people, Oyre, as the natural daughter of Aoz Roon himself, should know that I will return to your father what is his when he returns. He would wish me to do this.’

  ‘You cannot speak for him while he’s away.’

  ‘I can and do.’

  ‘Then you speak wrongly.’

  Others to whom this wrangle meant little, and who cared little about Aoz Roon, also started to shout, calling out complaints. Someone threw an overripe fruit. The guard jostled the crowd, without effect.

  Dathka’s face grew pale. He raised his fist above his head in passion.

  ‘Very well, you scumble, then I will tell you publicly what has always been kept silent. I’m not afraid. You think so greatly of Aoz Roon, you think he was so admirable, I’ll tell you the kind of man he was. He was a murderer. Worse, he was a double murderer.’

  They fell quiet, their faces upturned to him in a cloud of flesh.

  He was shaking now, conscious of what he had started. ‘How do you think Aoz Roon gained power? By murder, bloody murder, murder by night. There are those of you who will remember Nahkri and Klils, sons of ancient Dresyl, in the days bygone. Nahkri and Klils ruled when Embruddock was just a farmyard. One dark night, Aoz Roon – young then – threw the two brothers off the top of the big tower when they were in their cups. A foul double deed. And who was there as witness, who saw it all? I was there – and so was she – his natural daughter.’ He pointed accusingly down at the thin figure of Oyre, now clinging in horror to Dol.

  ‘He’s mad,’ a boy shouted on the edge of the crowd. ‘Dathka’s mad!’ People were leaving at a run, or running up. General confusion was breaking out, and a struggle developing in one corner of the mob.

  Raynil Layan tried to rally the crowd, bringing up his powerful pale presence to shout in a large voice, ‘Support us and we will support you. We will guard Oldorando.’

  All this while, Faralin Ferd had been standing silent at the rear of the platform, arms bound, in the grip of a guard. He saw his moment.

  ‘Throw Dathka out!’ he shouted. ‘He never had Aoz Roon’s approval and he shall not have ours!’

  Dathka turned about with a hunter’s rapid movement, drawing his curved dagger as he did so. He flung himself on the lieutenant. A high scream came from Farayl Musk, somewhere in the crowd, at the same time as several voices took up the cry, ‘Throw Dathka out!’

  They fell silent almost immediately, stilled by Dathka’s sudden action. In the hush, smoke drifted across the scene. Nobody moved. Dathka stood rigid, back to his audience. For a moment, Faralin Ferd was also still. Then he threw up his head and gave a choking groan. Blood gushed from his mouth. He sagged, and the guard let him fall at Dathka’s feet.

  Then there was uproar. Blood gave the whole crowd voice.

  ‘You fool, they’ll slaughter us,’ Raynil Layan shouted. He ran to the back of the platform and jumped down. Before anyone could stop him, he was disappearing down a side street.

  The guard ran about, ignoring Dathka’s commands, as the mob closed on the platform. Farayl Musk was screaming for Dathka’s arrest. Seeing that it was all over, he also jumped from the platform and ran.

  At the rear of the crowd, by the stalls, the small boys jumped up and down, clapping their hands in excitement. The crowd began to riot, finding rioting more lively than death.

  For Dathka, there was nothing but to make an ignominious escape. He ran panting, gasping, muttering incoherently, through the deserted streets, his three shadows – penumbral, umbral, penumbral – changing their topology at his feet. His scuttling thoughts similarly dilated and shrank, as he tried to evade the knowledge of his failure, to retch up his disaster from inside him.

  Strangers passed him, their belongings loaded on an archaic sledge. An old man, helping a child along, called to him, ‘The fuggies are coming.’

  He heard the sound of people running behind him – the mob, avenging. There was one place he could go to for refuge, one person, one hope. Cursing her, he ran to Vry.

  She was back in her old tower. She sat in a kind of dream, aware – and frightened of her awareness – that Embruddock was moving to a crisis. When he hammered on her door, she let him in almost with relief. She stood there with neither sympathy nor derision as Dathka collapsed weeping on her bed.

  ‘It’s a mess,’ she said. ‘Where’s Raynil Layan?’ He went on weeping, striking the bedding with his fist.

  ‘Stop it,’ she said mildly. She walked about the room, gazing up at the stained ceiling. ‘We live in such a mess. I wish I were free of emotion. Human beings are such messes. We were better when the snow contained us, frozen, when we had no … hope! I wish there were only knowledge, pure knowledge, no emotion.’

  He sat up. ‘Vry—’

  ‘Don’t speak to me. You have nothing for me, and never had, you must accept that. I don’t want to hear what you have to say. I don’t want to know what you’ve done.’

  Geese set up a great honking outside.

  He sat on the bed, yawned. ‘You’re only half a woman. You’re cold. I’ve always known it, yet I couldn’t stop feeling as I did about you …’

  ‘Cold? … You fool, I steam like a rajabaral.’

  The noise in the street was louder, loud enough for them to catch the note of individual voices. Dathka ran to the window.

  Where were his men now? The people who poured out of nearby alleys were all strangers to him. He could not see one familiar face – none of his men, no Raynil Layan – not that that surprised him – not even one citizen he could identify. Once on a time, every face had been known to him. Strangers were calling for his blood. Real fear entered his heart, as if his only ambition had been to die at the hand of a friend. To be hated by strangers … it was intolerable. He leaned from the window and shook his fist in defiance, cursing them.

  The faces tipped upwards, opening in the middle almost in unison, like a shoal of fish. They roared and jibbered.

  Before that noise, he dropped his fist and shrank back, not meaning to be quelled but quelled nevertheless. He leaned against the wall and examined his rough hands, with blood still moist in the nails.

  Only when he heard Vry’s voice below did he realise she had left the room. She had flung open the door of the tower and was standing on the platform, addressing the people. The mob surged forward as those at the rear pressed in to hear what she said. Some called out mockingly, but were silenced by others. Her voice, clear and sharp, flew above their tousled heads.

  ‘Why don’t you stop and think what you’re doing? You’re not animals. Try to be human. If we are to die, let us die with human dignity, and not with our hands round one another’s throats.

  ‘You are aware of suffering. Both the suffering and the awareness are your badges of humanity. Be proud, rot you – die wi
th that knowledge. Remember the waiting world of the gossies below, where there is only gnashing of teeth because the dead feel disgust for their own lives. Isn’t that a terrible thing? Doesn’t it seem to you a terrible thing, to feel disgust – disgust and contempt – for your own lives? Transform your own life from within. Never mind external weather, if it snows or rains or shines, never mind that, accept it, but work to transform your inner self. Create calm in your soul. Take thought. Would Dathka or his murder have the power to cure your personal predicament? Only you have that.

  ‘You think things are going badly. I must warn you that more challenges are to come. I tell you this with the full weight of the academy behind me. Tomorrow, tomorrow at noon, the third and worst of the Twenty Blindnesses is due. Nothing can stop it. Mankind has no power over the skies. What will you do then? Will you run madly through the streets, cutting throats, smashing things, firing what your betters built – as if you were worse than phagors? Decide now how filthy, how low, you will be tomorrow!’

  They looked at one another and murmured. No one shouted. She waited, instinctively seizing on the right moment at which to launch in again on a new tack.

  ‘Years ago, the sorceress Shay Tal addressed the inhabitants of Oldorando. I remember her words clearly, for I revered everything she said. She offered us the treasure of knowledge. That treasure can be yours if only you will be humble and dare to reach out your hands for it.

  ‘Understand what I tell you. Tomorrow’s blindness is no supernatural event. What is it? It is merely the two sentinels passing one another, those two suns you have known since birth. This world of ours is round as they are round. Imagine how large a ball our world must be for us not to fall off it – yet it is small compared with the sentinels. They look small merely because they are so far away.

  ‘Shay Tal, when she spoke, said that there was a disaster in the past. I believe that is not the case. We have added to her knowledge. Wutra has disposed of his world so that everything works through continuous action in all the parts. Your hair grows on your head and body as the suns rise and set. These are not separate actions but one in Wutra’s eyes. Our world travels in a circle round Batalix, and there are other worlds like ours which behave likewise. At the same time, Batalix travels in a greater circle round about Freyr. You have to accept that our farmyard is not at the centre of the universe.’