by David Bell
“Need we stay longer? Koreta should know of this.”
“I must look closer.”
“You cannot land here. Even if you were not boiled like the fish that foul air would burn your lungs before you took two steps ashore.”
“Call the fisherman. He will know a safer landing place.”
Alaron guided the ship to a cove on the far side of Korus, hardly more than a wide crack in the shiny black rock, but enough for the two small boats to put in. Sharesh and Namun went first, holding the painters for Kerma and Kanesh to step ashore, followed by the two fishermen who dragged the boats onto the only flat surface of rock. After some awkward scrambling over piles of loose sharp-edged boulders they came to smoother ground where red, ashy soil covered the rocks. From there it was a steep climb to the top of a hill, with many stones like cinders from a fire, but all dark red, scattered on the slopes. They stood on the top of the hill, panting to regain their breath, with almost the whole of Korus spread out before them. A light breeze was blowing towards where the ship lay and the air was clean.
“I don’t remember seeing that hill when we were here last,” said Sharesh, pointing. “It’s so big I couldn’t have missed it.”
“All that yellow ground,” said Namun in astonishment. “It wasn’t there either.”
“Do the men from Lemaka know about this?” said Kanesh to the fishermen. “Have others gathered the yellow ground after that man died here?”
“They did,” replied Alaron. “Never mind what the Priestess said but they stopped coming after the air got too bad. They didn’t want to end up like Meriton.”
They stood in silence gazing at the wilderness of splintered black rock, splashed here and there with gaudy streaks of red and yellow, that was Korus.
“Giants have done this,” said Kerma in an awed voice. “Or gods. No man could ever throw rocks that size about. I ought to know. All that red and yellow, that’s their blood and pus that spouted out.”
He had no sooner spoken than with a tearing noise a steep part of the hillside in front of them gave way and a mass of boulders rumbled down the slope, coming to rest under a cloud of dust on the slabs of black rock below. Kerma looked in disbelief. He felt for the little god with his stick that hung from the cord round his massive neck.
“My feet are getting hot, standing here,” said Kanesh calmly. “We have seen what we came to see and now I think we should return to the ship.”
Sharesh had not wanted to say it, but his feet were hot too. Then there was that faint humming sound he kept hearing, or perhaps feeling, like bees swarming not far away. But Korus had no flowers to offer to bees. When they were back in the harbour he would ask Namun and maybe Kanesh if they had heard it as well, and whether they had noticed the foul air they had breathed in was different from the time before when the sea birds had died from it. Then it had smelled like bad eggs but now it burned the back of your throat, like the blast from the smith’s furnace.
When they had finished telling Koreta all that they had seen on Korus, he told them of the pitcher that had held the Halaba wine the night before. Some time early in the morning after they had sailed, he said, it had fallen from the table where they had eaten and smashed to pieces on the stone floor.
“I heard it fall,” he said. “I never sleep and in any case the town dogs kept barking all night.”
“I suggest,” said Kanesh, looking at Sharesh. “That we send our keenest eyes to keep watch on Korus and our fleetest legs to bring us news of anything we should know about it. Lagoon House has the clearest view. The Lady Tuwea can spare a little of her companion’s time and Merida will agree to having a lookout in his garden. Do you agree, Sharesh?”
The broad smile on Sharesh’s face was enough of an answer. “Then the sooner the lookout takes up his post, the better.”
“What are we to make of this?” said Koreta, looking enquiringly at the other two. Kanesh was first to reply:
“What some might say are warnings, I see as signs. Our quarryman turned helmsman talked of giants and gods in a rage on Korus and some among the people would not gainsay him. Working in the town I heard it repeated time and time again that we had fallen out of favour with the Mother. As to the Lord Potheidan, no one cared to predict his moods but nor did they seem to doubt that the earth-shaking was proof of his anger. Whether my friend here sees a divine hand in this, I do not know. He will speak for himself. As for me, I say that the earth-shakings and the fire in the sea you spoke of are signs that our land and perhaps our seas, are disturbed. Why, I do not know. Think of the itches, cramps and aches that unannounced afflict our own bodies and how without thinking we ease them by scratching, stretching and rubbing. Need the land be different except in its size and power? We do not know the cause; we cannot stop what may happen. We can, however, heed the signs and ready ourselves against another disaster like the last.”
“Do you think that will come?”
“That, or something worse. The signs are there.”
“Captain, how do you see it?” said Koreta.
“I see no difference in effect between a warning and a sign. Both permit us to take some action to safeguard what we value most. We must make ready, especially our ships.”
“Then we are all agreed. I may now inform you that I have already made provision to take possession of any and all vessels of whatever size that come within reach of Kallista, for the preservation of the people and their essential belongings should there come convincing signs of an imminent disaster such as the last. I apologise for speaking to you like a Governor’s decree, but I am repeating the words written on the tablets. There is much more to do: who must be told of the plans, what and how much may be taken, food supplies to be gathered and stored, places of refuge to be selected – I invite suggestions – “Convincing people that they should leave their homes and workplaces and animals and entrust their safety and that of their children to the crew of a ship they may not know will not come easily. It will amount to enforcement,” said Potyr.
“Exactly so,” said Koreta firmly. “I have a mind to enrol certain members of your own crew and a fisherman we know as temporary Men of the Watch. Who else should be taken into our confidence?”
A short list of names was agreed, most to be informed by either Kanesh or Potyr.
Kerma was sitting with his back against the ship’s rail, picking his teeth with a long fishbone. “I used to think this was a nice place,” he said. “And it is nice here, sitting jawing with your mates like this; but I don’t like that bloody black heap of rock out in the Lagoon, I can tell you. It stinks and it’s dangerous. Did I tell you about the cliff giving way, just about under our feet? I did? Well, about feet: mine nearly had blisters by the time we got back to the boat. Here, Namun, tell them about the devils and their fires under that island.” Namun mumbled something about Kanesh saying that was nonsense. Kerma cut him short. “All right, all right, but something’s up. Did you feel that shake last night? No? Well you were on the ship weren’t you? Where I was there was this loud crack woke me up and I went to see what it was, but couldn’t see anything. Then in the morning somebody said that stone staircase they’d just rebuilt in Little Labyrinth had fallen apart again, steps all broken and caved in. I hefted all those stones in for them. Now they’ll want me to do it all over again. Well, they can whistle.”
“You’re likely to get out of that. I heard we’re off back to Keftiu any day now,” said the rigger.
“Not before time, either; my lady in the Little Labyrinth is beginning to make awkward suggestions.”
“Skipper told me I won’t be going,” said Namun. “The Governor has a job for me and my ship here, he says.”
“Have to take your mate as lookout, then,” said Kerma. “Where is he?”
“Doing something up at Lagoon House. I was told not to say.”
“You can tell us; we’re all shipmates.”
“Well, I’m not sure; the lord sent him up there to look for something, he said, so
he won’t be going with you to Keftiu, either.”
“Must be Merida and one of his crafty ideas,” said the rigger.
“Well, I don’t know,” said Kerma. “We used to have a proper crew on the Davina; now you’re not with us and young Sharesh isn’t and the Kydona men I got on with have gone home; no archers, either, although they hardly ever put a hand to an oar. If anybody else goes missing we’ll have to put old Granddad to work again.”
“Don’t fret,” said Namun. “You’ll get there and you won’t be long coming back. I can tell you that.”
A BIRTH
All three men held mugs of cool beer that had been poured by the steward. “You sailed in ballast?” asked Sekara.
“Kallsta itself has little to offer at present and much to ask for, but I am carrying certain light cargo that the owner assures me is in demand in Keftiu,” said Potyr.
“Luxuries transhipped from Gubal, I’ll be bound. That rogue Merida has a nose for what takes the fancy of fine ladies.”
“We intend to go back heavier laden. His agent has timber, cloth, grain and animals, donkeys, all badly needed on Kallista. The owner wants a quick turn around.”
“I am aware of the state of affairs on Kallista from the Governor’s despatches that you brought. Koreta and I keep each other informed. The tablets you take back with you will tell him what I think he needs to know of matters here.”
Ignoring the touch of arrogance in Sekara’s last words, Kanesh said blandly,
“As interested parties might we also be told what little you think we need to know?”
Sekara looked at him levelly over his raised beer mug. His face creased into a calculating smile.
“I see no reason why not. I expect Koreta would divulge the news in any case. I am sure you will want to know of the new spring and the Palace water supply, and progress with Naudok’s new ship and reports from the naval patrols, but leaving those aside for the moment, the matter I find of most interest are mysterious comings and goings between the shrine of the Mother Eileitheiya and the Palace. I keep count of them.”
Kanesh and Potyr exchanged quick glances. Of course, the significance of such things would take some time to dawn on a man like Sekara. Looking intently into his beaker as if something intriguing lay at the bottom, Kanesh said disinterestedly:
“Perhaps connected with the sanctuary and the temple on Jaduktas. When was the last of these visits?”
“After moonrise last night, since you ask.”
“Temple business, no doubt,” said Kanesh, dismissing the subject. “You spoke of other matters: the Palace water. Now I have an interest in that, as you can understand. I should like to ride up to Setuja if you would provide me with a horse. Oh, and the captain here, I am sure, wishes to hear all you may tell him of Naudok and the ship.”
The talking continued long into the afternoon, each party seeking as casually as possible to induce the other into letting slip some scrap of detail that neither wished to give away, until at last Potyr stood up and announced that he must get back to his ship.
“Always the dutiful captain, eh? When do you plan to sail?”
“When she is ready for sea.”
Sekara gave one of his great laughs. “You give little away, Captain. You may be sure I have not forgotten that other time when you sailed at very short notice. You too, Lord Kanesh? Is spring water so much more interesting than the seas and oceans between Keftiu and the Tin Islands? Very well, enough for now: my steward will bring your horse for you.”
Potyr and Kanesh stood on a terrace on the shaded side of the house, waiting to hear when the horse would be ready. They looked down at the shore as one after another, little waves dashed up the beach, curved over and fell, hissing as they sank into the sand and drained back to meet the next. The sky was as blue as iris flowers, the sea darker, like a peacock’s feather. Behind them, past the fields and ridges and beyond the rising slopes loomed Jaduktas, sheltering her dead.
“Things are simpler at sea,” mused Kanesh. “At times: either you live or you die.”
“I think we learned more from him than he from us.”
“Certainly we ensured that he knows no more than before of how to pilot a ship to Pherethan.”
“He is moving slowly but surely to extend his power and control. I could not disapprove of his determination to strengthen Keftiu and sweep away the folly and corruption that fester in the Palace were I not certain that he regards us, and those close to us, as pieces on his board, however unwilling we may be to stand here on our squares.”
“He must have seen the anger blaze in your eyes when he let fall the name of the Lady Akusha almost in the same breath as he implied that the reign of the High Priestess would not last for ever.”
“My anger would not deter him for long. He knew the risk of holding her on Jaduktas. Yes, he released her, but he is a soldier. He knows the value of giving a little ground if it allows him to advance further the next time.”
“I can hear your horse stamping in the courtyard,” said Potyr. “You were not serious about riding to Setuja, were you?”
“Of course not. My business is at the Palace. I take it that the other ships’ captains know they are to sail for Kallista?”
“They know to sail at dawn and tell everyone of it. We, of course, will cast off at midnight. I will expect you.”
Deep underground below the Palace, Pasipha hastened along a dark passage, her way lit by beeswax lamps carried in the hands of white-robed acolytes. There had been so many twists and turns: if the lamps were to fail she feared she would never find her way out again. Above the pattering footsteps of the barefoot girls a distant sound could be heard, rising and falling like the sigh of the wind on a winter night. At last she came to the pillared doorway of a chamber filled with the light of many lamps glowing in bronze holders on the walls. The sound heard by Pasipha that had come from the lips of veiled priestesses standing in a circle faded into silence as she entered. In the centre of the chamber was a white alabaster altar and on the altar lay the form of the High Priestess, face upwards and eyes closed, covered up to the breast in a white cotton shift, her hair arranged about her head in long, curling black strands. A bright red stain, like a scattering of poppy petals, spread down the shift towards her feet. Pasipha put her hand to her mouth to stop the cry that rose from her breast and stared, horrified, at the stain and the ivory-pale face.
“Life is leaving her and flowing back to the Lady Mother,” said a sad beautiful voice. Pasipha started and turned to see the priestess of Eileitheiya regarding her.
“Youth is the time for childbirth. She was not young and carried the child far longer than is normal. When the birth came it was agonising. Almost two days passed. What blood she has left still drains from her, as you see. We could not staunch the flow. Her strength failed at last. The merciful Mother now lets her sleep.”
“Where, where is the child?” faltered Pasipha. She felt a great emptiness inside her.
The priestess hesitated, giving out a deep sigh. “The,” she hesitated again. “The child has been taken to a place set aside for it. It is being cared for.”
Pasipha bit her lip, trying to suppress its trembling and the fluttering of her heart. She had to know more but feared what she might be told.
“You say ‘it’, Mother, not ‘he’, ‘she’ or ‘her’.”
The priestess gave Pasipha a long troubled look. There was something like pleading in her eyes.
“Mother?”
The priestess sighed again, came close to Pasipha and spoke quietly and slowly to her.
“After two days it tore its way out of her with its misshapen lumpish head shaking and its great mouth already furnished with teeth and moaning like a beast. Its limbs were strong but twisted, tangled in the cord and flailing the air. I called the women to bind it but they shrank away. I cried to the Mother Eileitheiya for help but her voice was silent in my head. I took a phial of the poppy and gave it suck. It seemed to sleep.” She fel
l silent and her shoulders drooped in fatigue. The circle of silent priestesses looked on.
“And then?” whispered Pasipha.
The priestess raised her anguished face to look first at Pasipha, then at the still form on the altar. In a tired, far off voice she went on.
“I took it while it slept wrapped in my cloak down the staircases and along the dark passages, down to the very deepest chamber below the Palace, a great dark chamber that the builder had said must be left bare until there was need of it.”
“You went alone?”
“One faithful woman came with me, holding the phial. Together we placed our burden on a stone bench and left it wrapped in our cloaks. We put one beeswax lamp in the place. There is a great bar that makes the door fast. We drove it home and made our way up to the light.”
“Down there, in the gloom, it will die,” said Pasipha.
“We cannot let that be. It has life. It grew in the womb of our High Priestess, High Servant of the Lady Mother and was born of her. It is her child, no matter it has the form of a monster.”
“How can it live untended, unfed, alone?”
“There is a panel in the door through which food can be placed inside. I know of blind and voiceless men who may be trained to tend and feed and clean what they may neither see nor speak of. It will live out its life in that place and must never see the light we see. That is all we can do. The Lady Mother brought it life. She must decide how and for how long it may live.”
“Do you not question how the Lady Mother could give life to a creature such as you describe?”
“We may not question Her. Yet, yet, I do not understand Her reason. I am afraid.”
“Afraid: you the priestess of Eileitheiya, afraid?”
“Afraid that this is a punishment for a sin so abominable, so blasphemous that we all will feel its lash while the being in the dark chamber lives.”
“Lady sleeps,” said Luzar. “Very tired.”