by David Bell
“Well, maybe the devils were roasting the stones down below. Have you thought of that?”
“There would have been a noise, and I didn’t hear anything. The smiths made plenty of noise all the time. And anyway, why would devils make metal? Do you know anyone who has any metal made by a devil? All the metal things I’ve seen have the smith’s mark on them, like pots have the potter’s mark. Have you thought of that?” But even as he spoke, Sharesh was wondering who did make the fire that roasted the stones on Korus.
The sun was still well above the horizon astern of them as the ship made steady progress across the broad bay named after the white rock that formed a cape on the side nearest the town. The wind was slackening and might begin to turn onshore as evening came on, but Potyr was confident they would make harbour with time to spare. He was soberly satisfied with the ship’s performance. He looked out to the darkening starboard horizon. The peak of Tholos was just visible but the two smaller islands were hidden in the blue haze. He had never landed there but had heard stories that anyone who did never came back.
“Red Beach,” said Sharesh to Namun, pointing ashore. “That’s where we found Kanesh.”
“Where does he come from? He’s not from Keftiu. Has he ever told you?”
Sharesh did not reply. He was thinking of what Kanesh had whispered to him that night about showing him many peoples, many places, many dangers. Had today been one of the dangers?
And the sword that was called a brand: he knew now that it was not made from the metal that the smiths on Kallista made. He wanted to know where Kanesh came from but somehow he knew he had to wait until it was the right time for Kanesh to tell him. He looked towards the bow. Kanesh turned and looked back at him. Sharesh thought he nodded very slightly but the light was fading and he could not be sure.
“Stand by to enter harbour,” boomed Typhis. “Boy, get forward to the bowline.”
Dareka was standing on the jetty as the ship edged in. Sharesh cast the line like an old hand and the ship was securely tied up. He hoped Dareka would be pleased by that cast. Dareka gave him a mock salute as if he were the master of the ship, then smiled with pleasure at seeing the boy safely home again. He had a message for Potyr that Merida would be at the harbour in the morning ready for his report on the ship, and then made sure that all the crates of fish and pots of Lemaka salt were accounted for and stowed away in the warehouse. The special order in its leather bags was handed to him personally by Kanesh for safekeeping in Merida’s house.
***
Sharesh was in the hold with Namun, showing him how to write down numbers and scratching them on a water pot with the point of Namun’s knife. He scratched a single line like a short stalk of grass and held up one finger to Namun; then a flat line and held up all his fingers and thumbs. He asked Namun how many oarsmen were on the ship and scratched the number, three flat lines followed by two stalks. Namun asked if he could write words and Sharesh said he knew some like wine and sesame and pomegranate and wool because they were things merchants dealt with, but there were so many more he had to learn he felt the list would never end. He said he knew how to write the name of the city on Keftiu where the ship was going; it was Kunisu, where the great Palace was. He scratched it on the pot. Namun looked at the scratches and repeated the word several times, eventually getting it right. He then announced that he could read. They heard Dareka’s voice above, calling for Sharesh and telling him it was time to go home. As Sharesh climbed up out of the hold, Namun said:
“You ever done any boxing? They have it in the games at the Festival. That’s the day after tomorrow. You teach me to write and I’ll show you how to box.”
Sharesh began to worry he might have gone too far. “Only if you keep it a secret. It is an ancient mystery and only the scribes may pass it on. I must go now.”
Kanesh watched Dareka and Sharesh walking across the harbour yard towards the gateway. The boy was chattering animatedly and waving his arms. Kanesh had got him to promise not to say anything about landing on Korus until he was there to explain to Dareka and Akusha why they had set foot on the forbidden island. First, however, Koreta must be informed and after a word with Potyr he set off for Governor’s House. As for the crew, Kanesh had no doubt that Namun and his shipmate and the man from Lemaka would soon be supplying enough gory detail to keep them convinced that the devils’ breath was as lethal as ever. Perhaps not Namun; these boys noticed things and could think for themselves. It might help, in the long run, if the crew could start being encouraged to dare to do the same. He was still thinking of this when he arrived at the entrance to the Residence and told the doorkeeper that he had urgent business with the Lord Koreta. The man obviously had instructions that this lord was to be admitted whenever he wished, and showed Kanesh into the entrance hall. A moment later Apigoron, the steward, appeared as if from nowhere with his wand, bowed, and conducted Kanesh along a series of corridors and up staircases to the Governor’s door. He knocked, paused, opened the door and stepped into the room to announce the visitor. It dawned on Kanesh that he had been taken a different way because the ceremonial halls below were being ritually cleansed and prepared by the women for the Festival ceremonies to be celebrated the day after next.
A scribe who had been writing at the Governor’s dictation was told to leave his tablets and table and wait outside. He scurried off, dropping his stylus on the way, paused to look for it, but seeing the expression on Kanesh’s face changed his mind and was ushered out by the impassive Apigoron.
“Letters, for you to carry to Keftiu,” said Koreta. “Perhaps you have something to add?” Kanesh told him of the events on Korus and placed a leather bag, opened, on the table at Koreta’s side. Koreta looked inside.
“So this is what you said physicians might use to treat me? A man risked, and lost, his life in gathering this in a place he was forbidden to go.”
“I gathered it. What he gathered is to go to Keftiu where it commands a high price. This may be of help.”
“You are a collector of stones that have power within them; first the tinstone and now this. I thank you and I am touched that you should take risks on my account but I know I am past the time when this, or any other preparation would have effect. So, let me turn your gift to the benefit of the enterprise. The price this will fetch on Keftiu will pay for a mast and rigging, or a set of oars; anything to do with a ship is close to my heart. You agree?”
Seeing Kanesh nod, Koreta went on. “Of the poisonous air we say nothing for the present. If we do, some will say it is a sign and I distrust signs. They are used for the benefit of those who purport to see them: the birds fly this way, the birds fly that way; three of them, ten of them; black or white. They may simply be going where the fish are. And, in any case, the danger seems to be confined to Korus.”
“I do not see signs but I do see there must be a reason, as yet unknown to us. We may never know, but we must watch.”
“I agree: the occasional visit, nothing very obvious, simply to see that the proper sacrifice is made. Meanwhile, the devils’ breath is a, shall we say, convenient, explanation, and with the benefit of being a long-held belief? So, nothing to be added to the despatch, I think. Will you be present at the Festival?”
Kanesh rose to go. “I always find these occasions worth observing,” he said, bowed slightly, and went to the door. It was opened from the other side by Apigoron before Kanesh reached it. Was he alert to the sound of footsteps, or could there be a well-concealed observation hole in the door, perhaps in the eye of that carving of a bull’s head? The scribe, who had been sitting on the floor, scrambled to his feet and watched the big, rather terrifying lord limping slightly, stride away along the corridor.
THE BLESSING OF THE SHIPS
The next day was busy with preparations for the Festival. Prisoners were up before dawn sweeping the streets, and cleaning them again after the braying donkeys loaded with bundles of flowers for decorating houses and fresh green reeds for scattering before the Process
ion had been led through the town, and yet again where the debris of spring cleaning had been flung out of windows and doors by every housewife determined that her house would be the brightest in the street. In the harbour ships were being hung with flags and bunting in readiness for the blessing which would precede the ceremonial sailing, and boats were coming in with their catches for the feasting. In fields and gardens the best spring flowers were being sought for gathering early the next morning, and small baskets were being filled with the seeds that would be sown after they had been placed as offerings in their traditional places. Eggs, the symbols of new life about to come forth, and honey, known to ward off evil because it was made by bees sacred to the Mother, were being placed by every altar and domestic shrine. Sheep and goats had been selected for the sacrifice and would neither eat nor mate that day. The bull chosen to be the principal sacrifice on the day lay pacified by the weed in the byre built for him by Merida. Rumour had it that the bull was white, the sacred colour. Musicians and dancers began to rehearse their parts and a gong was heard sounding from the Temple on the Hill; in the brief silence that followed, the faint sound of chanting could be heard. Clean clothes, green skirts and kilts, were taken from chests and off lines and looked over for holes or stains. Children were told repeatedly how they must behave and when they should sing and when they should bow. Those who had been chosen for the Palace this year would spend the night in the care of the Priestess, and when the time came would walk near the head of the Procession, behind the young girl and young man in their ritual robes who would symbolise the deepest mystery and purpose behind the Festival. The Town Guardian and his Men of the Watch stamped about the town all day, inspecting, checking, warning and threatening. By the end of the day, all should be ready for the dawn of Spring.
Four men sat in the quiet early evening shade on the terrace at the rear of Merida’s town house, away from the bustle and chatter in the street. After hearing Potyr’s report on the ship, and what Kanesh had to say of his meeting with Koreta, Merida was in a good mood. They had the Governor’s support, and the profit on the cargo they would be carrying to Keftiu would enable a start to be made on the new ship and this in turn, when she was seen for what she was, a new kind of vessel, should attract the interest of other investors. These would not be other merchants who always wanted some of their own people on board, and too big a share in the lucrative exchanges that went on apart from the main objective of a trading venture, in this case the tin. No: investors must be found among the commanders who had uncomplicated aims: a return on the investment, of course, but, more importantly for them, the maintenance of their own position through control of a vital material. It remained to be seen how tight that control would remain. As a manipulator, Merida had few equals, and once the tin was in the hold, who knows what other deals might become possible with some of it on the long voyage home? Then there was always the bargaining power lying in knowledge of the route, the suppliers, the safe ports of call, the dangers to be avoided; the list was long and knowledge had its price, and a high price too.
Kanesh and Potyr, who were both thinking that they would be on that ship when it set out for the Endless Ocean, and Merida would not, were sceptical.
“A ship different from any other ever built, a crew to find who will stay with it come what may, no knowledge of seas we will sail in; even the stars may be different,” said Potyr wryly.
“Listen to him, Merida,” said Kanesh. “Moreover, the Governor’s health is fragile. His name carries great weight, but we cannot be sure how long we will enjoy his help. We need someone in a position of power in Keftiu, someone whose support will last. This venture is a test of endurance.”
Merida would not be restrained. “Potyr, I know you. I saw the way you looked at the plans. I know you talked with Naudok in Gubal. You want to do this. And you, Kanesh, it’s for you to find that other backer in Keftiu. The deputy commander, his name is Sekara, served with Koreta; he’s a man after your own heart, knows about horses and weapons of war. The archers come under him. The Commander always leads the parades but it’s Sekara who really runs things in the military. He has influence.” Merida breathed the last word reverently as if it were something sacred or precious, which to him, it was. He turned to his Overseer.
“Now then, Dareka, you’re keeping very quiet. What’s going through your mind?”
Dareka was wrestling with the dilemma of whether he should be angry with Kanesh for putting Sharesh in danger on Korus, or proud of the boy for being brave enough to want to go there. Then there was the matter of what Akusha would do when she heard of it; what was more important to her, the safety of her son, or the sacrilege of disobeying the Priestess? What he replied was that everything was ready for Keftiu and they could start loading at dawn the day after the Festival.
“Well, that’s it, then,” said Merida. “Festival tomorrow, load ship the day after, and if the wind is right, Keftiu the day after that, and the start of everything. Let’s pledge it all with this wine; offer a little drop first to the Lady Mother, eh, Potyr? Did I tell you about my white bull? Only the Lord Potheidan could choose a better.”
***
On this day every year in his village in a high valley in the mountains of Puwenet, the people left their huts long before dawn to climb the peak from where they would watch the sun rise. Every year on this day it rose in exactly the same place, from within a bowl between two pointed hills, and it always set in exactly the same place where the river ran through its gorge, and the last light of the dying sun flashed from the surface of the water. And on this day every year, the day was exactly as long as the night. Namun remembered first being carried up the mountainside by his father and then, later, scrambling a little way up himself, and then, at last, one year, climbing the whole way up himself. It was a little bit frightening. He was glad his father and mother were there. The strange women with long hair who lived by themselves in the cave began their chanting while it was still dark; soft at first but getting louder as the horizon began to glow the colour of pink flowers in the meadow, the same word over and over, Ashatar, Ashatar, and then so loud he had to put his hands over his ears when the sun leapt into the sky. Don’t look at it, his father said, close your eyes. But he peeped secretly and saw that the strange women had taken off their green robes and were reaching up to the sky, beckoning with their hands and then cupping their breasts. He thought they must be cold and wanted the sun to warm their bodies. He closed his eyes and when he opened them again the women and their robes were gone, and it was time to go down to the village and join with everyone else in eating the cakes made with honey and drinking sweet goat’s milk, and watch the dancing, thinking how graceful and beautiful his mother looked among the other women as they turned and swayed in the dance.
That was before the raiders came one morning and burned the village and took away the women they wanted, and left the bodies of everyone else charring in the embers of the huts. He had been sent to get water and it was a long way to go, and that was what had saved his life. He picked up his father’s knife and walked away, following the river where it went through the gorge because that was where the sun went, and he knew little rivers always sought bigger rivers, and people lived where there was plenty of water.
Now he was here on Kallista, and it was time for the Festival again, and it was like it was in Puwenet, with the day as long as the night. Well, not exactly the same, but everything was made clean and new, and they also got up before dawn to greet the sun. Here they had a High Priestess and women of the Temple on the Hill in their special robes, but they chanted as the strange women in Puwenet had done, not saying Ashatar, Ashatar, but Potnya, Lady Mother, and that wasn’t very different. There was much more going on here with every house hung with flowers, and the ships in the harbour all bright with flags, and much more ceremonial than in his village. Animals were being sacrificed and food was being left as offerings in all sorts of places. His village had been too poor for that sort of display. In any
case the dogs and flies would get it if it wasn’t taken away for feasting after the Lady Mother had looked at it long enough and was pleased to let it go. This was a rich place. They could afford all these things. Not as rich as the Black Land, though, even now with soldiers everywhere and people not knowing who was in charge any more. They had Festivals there, too; he had seen some, and they had a goddess like the Lady Mother, but they had gods as well, important ones, and that was not like here. Except there was Lord Potheidan; the sailors called his name when things were going badly, like in that storm when they threw the pigs’ blood overboard; and when he was drinking Merida always spilled a few drops to Diwonis first. Still, it seemed as if the Lady Mother ruled over Kallista, and Keftiu as well, if Sharesh were telling the truth. Namun slipped away from the ship and headed for the Residence. The Dyer’s House overlooked the square and he thought he could climb onto the roof without being spotted and get a good view of everything that went on when the Procession arrived.
The High Priestess, surrounded by faithful servants, matron and virgin, of the Lady Mother, stood silently in an antechamber before the closed doors of the innermost sanctum of the Temple on the Hill, which only she would enter to perform the rite. No man ever entered the Temple except on the rare occasions when there were repairs to do which were beyond the strength of female acolytes, and no one but the High Priestess entered the inner sanctum except for the days set aside for cleaning and changing of the flowers and lamps. There was a faint rustle of skirts and a young novice entered and bowed to Akusha. It was the sign announcing that the rosy light of the horizon was deepening to red, heralding the rise of the sun. Akusha slowly and reverently stepped towards the doors and drew them open. All heads were bowed as the Priestess passed into the inner sanctum and the doors closed behind her. The women began a soft chant, their voices rising and falling in a sensual rhythm. The High Priestess paced slowly towards the altar, loosening her girdle and allowing skirts and bodice to fall to the floor behind her. In her trance she felt the Being of the Lady Mother enter and fill her naked body and become her as she became the Lady Mother. The Lady Mother Priestess stepped up to the altar as the sun’s rays stabbed through the window which was placed in exactly the right position for them to fall on the altar on this sacred day. The sun’s rays enveloped and entered Her, and she gave a cry of ecstasy, then another, and another. In the antechamber the faithful saw the glow of the sun pass beneath the closed door and reflect upwards from the alabaster floor. They felt its warmth and heard the cries of the High Priestess. As the ecstasy swept through them, their hymn rose to a climax of abandoned adoration. The rite was performed.