Kallista

by David Bell

  “Not much except shiny black rocks all broken as if a mason had been there with a big hammer. You can see some red hills further up and above them that big hump all streaky black and grey that you see from anywhere around the Lagoon. Some places smelt like this only worse. The sea was brown near the shore on one side. Kanesh?”

  “What is it?”

  “My friend, well, he said his father told him it is the roof of a temple built by a god who is never seen because he lives deep down in a great cave where he has to keep a fire going all the time to warm the earth.”

  “He is not the only one who thinks like that. If you ask him, Kakelus will tell you that fire is a forge where the god makes marvellous things, and sometimes you can hear the pounding of his hammer and see the smoke rising from his furnace. Did you see him pour some beer on his own fire? That was a sacrifice to this smith god he believes in.”

  “The Lady Mother rules everywhere, my mother says. But smiths are always men. The Lady could never be a smith, could she?

  “If she rules everywhere she could be if she chooses. But rulers have others to do the day’s work. Your mother rules her kitchen and sometimes she is there and sometimes not. It is Seta who cooks your food, but it is your mother who decides what is to be cooked and how. The cook has the skill but the lady has the power, and Seta knows your mother may be there at any time.”

  “The smiths let us come here because you showed them you knew their mystery but you did not make any sacrifice.”

  “It was not my work. Sharesh, have you ever thought why people make sacrifice? Some believe the god or the lady will smile on what they do and some are frightened of the god or the lady because they have done some wrong and wish to be forgiven. I do not know, but I see good things sometimes happen when no sacrifice is done and bad things when it is. I know you will say, because your lady mother will say, the Lady chooses her time, and we do not know when that will be. Perhaps. As for what Kakelus did, I like to think he felt like he does when he is in the tavern, sitting with his sons and his mates, the other smiths, sharing the drink between them, so everyone gets a drop.”

  Sharesh was puzzled. What a funny thing to say! Did Kanesh believe there was a god under Korus, told to stay there by the Lady Mother; or something else? Kanesh sensed his quandary and decided it was time to change the subject.

  “We can talk again about all that another time, on the ship, perhaps, or in Keftiu. Now, look at these stones.”

  “Kakelus told me there was metal inside them and they know how to get it out, copper out of that green one and something for making bronze out of the garlic-smelling one. And these little black shiny blade things, he didn’t say what was in these. How do they get the metals out?”

  “It is a very ancient mystery which they keep to themselves and make everyone else think it is a magic only they know. They say their strange words and make their strange signs when they work because they always have. It is the same with the miners, the men who burrow in the earth for these stones that the smiths need. They too have a secret craft and they have their gods.”

  “Miners? Where is the land of miners?

  “There are many lands. Some dig in the mountains and some in the beds of rivers that come out of the mountains. Always they are looking for new places where the metal-stones lie buried. I have seen such places and one day, if your father and lady mother permit, and Merida builds his ship, I will take you to see them and learn something of the mystery. Now listen, fire frees the metal from a stone as the latch of the door of a dungeon is lifted to let the prisoner escape, but as the latch must fit the sneck, so the fire must suit the metal.”

  “Fire is fire.”

  “I said listen. Have you not seen the flames grow fiercer when the wind blows stronger, and turn things to ash that they merely blacken when the wind is still? You saw the smith make the furnace glow brighter with his bellows. For some stones the fire must be hotter than for others if the prisoner is to be set free. But first they must be crushed with that stone hammer and ground in a mortar before they are loaded into a crucible, bigger than the one you saw, and put into the furnace. If the smiths want copper, they can use this green stone or the blue one, or the silvery grey ones in that basket. You can see others with colours all mixed together, blue and grey and some gold. With the blue and green stones they put in some charcoal and close the crucible. They know how long to keep it in the furnace and how hot to keep the fire by its colour. And they know that the green stone will give them more copper than the blue. As the fire works, what holds the metal in the stone is made to leave; I have seen it look like the steam rising from hot water. When they open the crucible sometimes there is a scum on top that they throw away. The metal is heavier and lies below. Sometimes they leave it in the crucible to cool down, and sometimes they pour it while liquid into a mould to give the shape they want. Then they do other things which you will see soon.”

  Kakelus called them over to where the two young smiths were tapping carefully at the pots half buried in the sand with stone hammers. Suddenly one fell into pieces and there, in the faintly smoking interior, was a ring of dark metal about a hand’s breadth across with a round bar three times that length extending from it. The smith picked it up with his tongs and placed it in a deep stone bowl filled with water. Others soon followed it as more pots were broken open and left to cool long enough to be handled. Kakelus picked them out in turn and tapped them with his bronze hammer, listening carefully to the ringing sound each one made. He handed them over to one of his sons who set to work with a file to remove roughness and tiny spikes, following that with polishing using a damp cloth and fine sand. The man handed Sharesh a file and let him work on one of the rings. It was like magic to see the rough dull metal begin to gleam with the rich colour of bronze.

  “Good lot,” croaked Kakelus. “No cracks. You can always tell by the noise made when you tap them. Here, you have a try. Good, that’s it. They have to give that sweet sound, good enough to sing to.”

  “A bit rough, though,” muttered the carpenter to Kanesh. “Need a lot of filing to get them smooth enough so the lines don’t fray when they run through. I have to fit them to the mast tomorrow.” He wanted to make his point without running the risk of Kakelus hearing him.

  “They have had to work more quickly than usual for this order. Let us see how they fashion the straps.”

  Thin flat bars of still hot metal were prised out of their moulds and put on the stone table for Kakelus and the carpenter to inspect. Sharesh wondered how these solid bars could be turned into rings.

  “Watch carefully, now,” said Kanesh to him quietly. “The master smith is going to work the metal.”

  Kakelus gestured to one of his sons who picked up a bar with his tongs and thrust it onto the furnace fire. His brother worked the bellows rapidly making the charcoal turn from bright red to yellowish white with the draught. The smith turned the bar over and over, spreading the heat through it. At a grunt from Kakelus he lifted the bar across to the table where the master smith grabbed it with his tongs and began striking it along its length with a broad-headed hammer, thinning the metal as he went. The bar was returned to the furnace several times between hammerings to be heated up and softened again. From time to time it was quenched in the water-filled bowl before being put back in the fire. When it started to curl up slightly from the table, Kakelus was satisfied with the thickness, put it to one side, and started on the next. It took a long time to finish the straps, hammering the edges straight, cutting to length with chisels that had to be sharpened more than once, checking this with the measuring rod, and piercing several holes, including one near each end, with a pointed spike when the metal had been heated once more. For the last stage of the work, forming the rings, the straps were heated again and hammered into shape round the curve of the anvil by Kakelus , making sure that at one side the band was slightly wider than at the other because of the taper of the oar, until the ends just overlapped with the two holes in line. A
short bronze rivet was thrust snugly through these two holes and its ends hammered flat after the ring had been heated to white heat. The straps were now ready to fit.

  The labourers who had dragged the carpenter’s cart were now made to squeeze into the pit, set the oar upright, and hold it steady. The bronze straps were put on the furnace to heat up once more by one of the young smiths, while the other climbed onto the table carrying his tongs. Kakelus waited until the metal became just dull red and nodded to his son, who seized the biggest ring with his tongs and passed it up to his brother. He dropped it deftly, wider side down, over the top of the oar from where it slid smoothly almost to the bottom marked line and was then tapped down exactly into place by Kakelus and the carpenter with their hammers. The labourers looked relieved because their hands were just below that line and the wood gave off a scorched smell. Water was then splashed on, making the quickly quenched metal bind tightly to the wood. The other two rings were quickly fitted in the same way, the middle one not quite reaching its mark but reckoned good enough by the carpenter. The labourers struggled out of the pit and, after a brief rest, they hauled the oar out and lifted it onto the table where bronze nails were hammered into the wood through the remaining holes, some of them, to his delight, by Sharesh.

  “Done. All right by you?” gasped Kakelus to the carpenter. “Time for a drink.” One of the young smiths had already brought the jars from the shelter. Everyone seemed pleased with the job, so even Sharesh was given some of the beer. When the jars were empty, the oar and a box containing the lifting gear rings were loaded onto the cart and tied down, and the labourers hauled it away with the carpenter following them, a little unsteadily, his bag of tools slung over his shoulder. The oar would be in place on the ship before nightfall, ready for use after she was hauled off in the morning. The rest of the work on her was to be done in the harbour.

  The sun was now on course towards the horizon and the first blue shadows of evening were beginning to gather. Sharesh was almost worn out after such a long and exciting day and one thought chased another through his mind, questions half-formed, so much seen, so much he didn’t understand. He heard Kanesh and the smiths talking, about tin or something, but could not keep track of what they were saying. His eyelids drooped. It was like a dream, distant voices like whispers in the gathering dusk.

  “It’s getting worse. If we can’t find it somewhere else we’ll have to go back to using the old stuff and that’s getting scarce as well. We’ve got used to tin bronze. It’s best for most things; not plate, maybe, because it doesn’t doesn’t hammer well emough for that, but for nearly everything else these days. Fine things we can still do, one of my lads is good at that, then we use the other, well, I don’t have to tell you.”

  “I know this. Sharesh has questions about what he calls the shiny black blades stone. I wonder if he knows that the ladies mix the powder with wool fat to paint round their eyes.”

  “Makes good hard bronze, that does. You know how it swells up as it sets. Not like the others. Fills up all the tiny little spaces in the mould, very smooth, needs a lot less polish and finishing. Now, that boy can come again. He’s been watching and we’ve all been telling him things, I heard you at him, and he’s sharp, he’ll remember. But he needs to do some of the work if he’s to begin seeing into the mystery. You know how it is.”

  “Master Kakelus, you are right and I thank you. He will come again. But now he must go home. He is almost asleep.”

  “One of my lads will go with you. Carry him if he drops off. You can’t do that, what with that crutch.”

  “Master Kakelus, again I thank you. You know I will do as I must.”

  The three smiths watched Kanesh and Sharesh disappear in the direction of the town. “That beard, and his hands, did you see them?” said one of the young men.

  “And he limps, uses a crutch, speaks in the high tongue.”

  “He carries the brand. He is skilled in the mystery. He spoke of Korus,” said their father. “Brought here by the storm. Not a man of Keftiu, maybe not a man…”

  They turned towards the furnace, hesitated, then as one man walked slowly over to look down into the fire. Kakelus picked up the discarded beer jar and poured the last drops onto the few dull red fragments of charcoal that remained. In the fading light wraiths of white ash floated upwards and slowly drifted away in the gentle, evening breeze.

  KORETA

  The sun was still below the horizon when Sharesh was shaken awake by the maid and told that he was to join master Dareka and the other lord at the harbour. They had to go to the beach where the ship was being readied for re-launching. He was to attend his lady mother before leaving. And expect a scolding for being such a lie-abed, she added. He flung his cup of water at her as she left the room laughing, and jumped out of bed, splashed his face with water from a bowl on the floor, put on the short kilt he always wore when he was with his mother, and went upstairs. He knew where she would be: at the window, waiting for the sunrise.

  He stood beside her at the open window, looking across the town, with its heaped-up houses and halls, their roofs stepping up and down, their terraces shaded with trellised vines and canopies of reeds, across the gardens, fields and grassland dotted with cottages and farmsteads and clustered flocks and herds, towards the great pale cliff-girt Mountain behind which the first streaks of rose washed the sky, heralding the rise of the sun. Her eyes were closed but she was aware of him and placed her hand, light as the touch of a butterfly, on his head. As the rim of the gold disc tipped the horizon she stretched both arms out towards it, palms upwards, in the gesture of propitiation and then hands together in supplication, and her lips moved in silent prayer. He let thoughts of the Lady Mother run through his mind as he thanked her for the new day in words he had been taught to say. The sun always rose. Was that because he prayed to the Lady Mother for it to rise? Once, when his mother was away on one of her occasions at the Temple on the Hill, and his father was seeing to the unloading of a ship that had arrived at night, he had overslept, and when he went up to the roof to offer the prayer of morning the sun was already above the horizon. Had the Lady Mother understood and forgiven him his forgetfulness, or had she not noticed? But then, his mother always offered the prayer, so perhaps he was part of that. Now she had lowered her arms and was clasping her small figurine of the Lady to her breast and whispering other words he knew but could not understand. He waited. Soon she would open her eyes, smile at him, and take him downstairs to drink goat’s milk and eat some barley bread and honey.

  She watched him eat, loving the way he moistened the tip of his finger by licking it, then pressing it on the crumbs to pick them up. She listened as he told her all he had seen and done the day before, especially about himself hammering in the nails to fix the straps to the steering oar. As he chattered on about the green and blue stones and the smell from the furnace that made you catch your breath, the picture in her mind was of Kanesh in the dusk, walking slowly along the street towards the house with the sleeping boy held safely over his shoulder. He was going to leave her soon, for a while only, but then he would go again, so she must gather her memories, as all women must, and keep them against times yet to come.

  “Sharesh, you know the time of the Festival is near and I have much to do for the Lady Mother, but you and I will be together at dawn or sunset for our devotions. You are now learning many new ways and much new knowledge and soon you will be in Keftiu where so much is different from our life here. The Lady Mother sees all and will guide those who take her hand. Remember this and you will know what you should do when other paths are shown to you.”

  “Kanesh said that you believe the Lady Mother chooses her time and we cannot know when that will be.”

  For a brief moment she looked grave, but soon smiled again. “And did he not say what he believed?”

  “I think he did, but I couldn’t understand him. The master smith poured some drops of beer on the fire for a sacrifice and Kanesh said maybe they liked the
idea of everybody getting a drop, like in a tavern. He asked me if I ever thought why people made sacrifice.”

  “And what do you think, my son?”

  “Everyone says you have to, well, not Kanesh. He didn’t say that.”

  “He is a man with many answers but more questions. Think carefully about both and remember the guide. Now, you must go quickly, to the harbour. Kanesh is waiting for you.”

  Sharesh trotted down the street wondering, and not for the first time, why grown-ups didn’t just say what they meant, so that everyone could understand. Strange, his mother had said Kanesh was waiting, not his father. However, when he got to the harbour, Dareka was there, standing on the jetty talking to Kanesh. He ran across and bowed to both men. Dareka smiled at him, ruffled his hair and said he was to be their boatman and take them to the ship. He pointed along the jetty to where a small rowing boat lay rocking gently at the bottom of a flight of steps. At one of the oars sat Namun. When he saw Sharesh he cocked his thumb at the other oar behind him and grinned his wide grin. The two men took their seats on a rough board athwart the stern and Dareka untied the painter. Sharesh in the bow pushed off and the two boys thrust in their oars and pulled as hard as they could, each determined to outdo the other and impress their passengers with their power and pace. The result was more splashing than speed as the boat rocked from side to side and instead of heading towards the exit, lurched along a jagged course towards a ship anchored in the middle of the harbour. Dareka roared at them to halt and stop showing off or he would throw them both overboard. Crestfallen, they paddled the boat back on line for the harbour exit and Dareka then boomed out the stroke until they were both pulling easily together and running smoothly seawards. Outside, the sea was almost calm and Namun at stroke set a fast rate that Sharesh had to work hard to keep, but he managed it and before long Dareka called out that he had the ship in sight. Some time later, with one final hard pull, the boys ran the boat ashore and slumped, heads down, panting but exultant. Their reward was a derisory cheer of welcome from some of the crewmen, and a remark from Dareka, dipping his head, that, thank Posedeia, the Mistress of the Seas, they had booked passage on a ship for the return journey; but they caught him smiling as he said it.