by David Bell
For those unused to it, a cold misty dawn at sea is a dispiriting time. The light comes slowly, grudgingly, and the waters are grey. Limbs are stiff and throats are dry after the sleepless hours. Tempers are short, voices sharp or gruff. Only a woman with a child, and not all of them, has thought for anyone else’s needs. It was such a dawn. As the darkness faded a little, bleary eyes began to make out the vague line of the shore and the ships close to, low in the water with their listless cargo, waiting for the leader’s ship to move. Even the great noise, when it came again, did not rouse the tired people as it had before and being where they were, at sea, they did not feel the earth-shaking that came with it. But the noise was enough of a warning for Koreta, who never slept, and giving the signal to sail he began to lead the little fleet towards the place where he hoped they would find safety from the storm.
Those who had left their homes on Kallista may not have felt that last earth-shaking but those who remained there did. The wise woman who lived in near starvation in her cave high on the Mountain felt it and welcomed it because once more the earth was speaking to her and to her alone. The naked man who stalked the streets of the empty town, touching each door with a branch of green leaves felt it and turned to offer his wand to the Lord Diwonis, who always walked at his side. The Lady Tuwea and the cup-bearer felt it as they were looking up at the wall with the painting of the swallows. The house shuddered so that it seemed to them as if the swallows’ wings moved in flight. The cup-bearer looked at his mistress and made a bold decision.
“My name is Siruta, my lady,” he said.
She smiled at him even though she could hear nothing, neither his voice nor the sound of the jagged lumps of white and rose-coloured stone that were falling from the sky, striking the roof over their heads and spattering over terraces, gardens and pathways, swiftly smothering everything under pale, frozen froth.
Standing on the ledge outside her cave high on the side of the Mountain that faced the setting sun, the wise woman listened with eyes closed as the sacred sound echoed and died away. She raised her arms in ecstasy and opened her eyes to look down on the Lagoon from where the voice of the earth had spoken. The foaming brown fountain that had leaped and fallen back and leaped again and again, spreading the dust and stones far and wide was no more. Out of the black and red hills of Korus a slender dark grey column like the trunk of a sun-bleached pine was thrusting upwards so swiftly that, in no more time than it took her to put her hands to her mouth in wonder, it had risen higher than the Mountain itself and as she raised her eyes to follow its flight the head passed out of her sight above the thin clouds that seemed to part and let it through. As it soared majestically and silently upwards, the trunk widened, growing tattered at the edges as dark fragments fell from it. It began to twist slowly and flash in a lacy sheath of light like a bejewelled dancer turning round and round before the Lord of the Dance and high, high above, as high as the stars, the wise woman thought, it began to bulge and spread, like the plume of the pine’s branches, darkening the sky. The wise woman felt a stirring she had not known since her youth, since the time when the earth first spoke to her. Before her rose the Lord Potheidan’s phallus thrusting proudly upwards and spilling his seed across the land and into the Lagoon whose waters foamed and leaped up in twisting spouts where it fell. The wise woman let her ragged brown shift fall to the ground and began to twist her body in the ancient dance of sacrifice and submission as the seed of the Lord Potheidan began to shower over and all around her.
A child on Namun’s ship, the New Dolphin, was the first to see the pulsing grey shaft rising above the skyline and began to scream. Her terror soon spread through the ship and then to the others as all eyes turned upwards towards the churning column towering above the island and starting to widen and spread outwards towards the sea. Wailing turned to cries of pain when clouds of sharp-edged stones fell on the ships, many breaking apart where they struck deck timbers or cabin roof. Sharesh, on the bow of the Davina, picked up part of a piece the size of sheep’s head that had shattered on hitting the stem post. The inside was tamarisk pink in colour and so hot that it burnt his fingers before he threw it overboard. It was then he noticed that stones landing in the sea stayed afloat. He scooped up a double handful of white ones from the deck. They were cold and powdery with glistening specks and some with twisted black streaks. Pumice: the stone the carpenters used to smooth their wood! The fall grew denser, hiding the ships from one another and covering people and decks alike in a grey cloak. The clumps of stone were getting larger. He heard Typhis bellowing through the din of shrieks and clattering stone fall, telling the crew to shovel the stuff into the sea but the sea itself was clogged, fouling the oars and bringing the ship almost to a stop. Potyr was on the point of ordering her to be beached if she could be and save as many as could be packed into the hold, when suddenly the air cleared.
Kanesh rubbed the dust and muck from his eyes and looked about. The other ships were all in sight again, floundering in the thick grey rubble that covered the sea. The writhing twisting column still stood, piercing the sky away to larboard but something, a change of wind, he thought, had turned its uppermost parts away from the sea and towards the sunset slopes of the Mountain. A light powdery dust began to settle over everything, causing everyone to cough until cloths could be put over nose and mouth. Kanesh forced his way through the huddle of passengers and crew, dragging a man here, two there, to their feet and shoving them to the oars.
“Two men to every oar,” he roared. “Three where you can and pull for your lives. You’ll all die buried here if you don’t pull us out of this trap.”
Kanesh staggered up and down the ship, not caring whom he trampled on, pulling more of them to the thwarts. Sharesh came down from the bow deck: oarsmen were more important than lookouts now. He grasped the end of an oar, listened for Typhis’s call and turned to pass it on to the dust-covered figure at his side. Teptria’s sweat-daubed face stared back at him. Women at the oars! All hands are welcome. Pull! Again. Pull! Panting hard with the effort he asked where was Kallia. Teptria jerked her head to one side, towards Koreta’s ship, he thought. He peered through the dust and saw Dareka and Dorejo pulling on the same oar and Alaron and his brother on the one behind but Kallia he could not see. It was harder work than hauling a floundering bull out of a swamp but gradually they forced the Davina through the floating barrier and crept to the head of the line of ships. Others saw how it had been done and more hands seized their oars. Kanesh thought he saw Koreta himself seated with a girl on one side of him and a stout woman on the other on the bow thwart of his ship. The Davina took the lead and her passage, though slow, pushed aside enough of the pumice layer to let her through and other ships found it easier to follow in her wake. Kanesh left his oar and went to the bow. The pumice had gathered into a long floating island but not a complete barrier along the coast, and with one last effort the ships should get through. He raised two fists towards the stern deck and Potyr gave the order to Typhis to force the stroke. Even Merida strained his muscles to their limit. With a shudder that ran along the whole ship the Davina broke clear of the heaving grey mass and surged into open water.
Potyr caught sight of the sun, a vague pale disc in the grey fog before it faded away again. Midday: half the morning struggling to get no more than halfway to the Mountain’s sheltering bulk. Ahead, the sea was clear but the rowers were slumped over their oars, exhausted, some even dead asleep. Kanesh came up to the stern deck.
“It will strike us again, the storm, if the wind turns. We must row on.”
“Is this truly the storm or merely a warning of the storm?” said Potyr.
“No matter: Sharesh, Kerma take water round. Make them drink, rowers first, then force them to row. Use a lash if you must.”
Despite his dragging tiredness Kanesh managed a grim smile. “That is something I never thought to hear from you.”
“This is something I never believed could happen. Come now, you and I together; let us s
how them how to row.”
Akusha took the pitcher and mug from Kerma’s hands.
“Arms like yours are needed at the oars, my friend,” she said. “And I will spare the lash.” Speechless, Kerma watched her put the cup to the lips of a haggard woman whose trembling hands were slipping from her oar. One thought filled his mind. Friend, she called me friend.
The cape was turned at last; the coastline ahead was straight. The rowers found strength from somewhere and the ragged line of overloaded ships moved painfully on. The cliffs came into view, shadowy and indistinct in the dust-choked air. Helmsmen and lookouts shouted themselves hoarse, urging, cajoling, begging their bone-weary crews to pull once more, and again; pass this point and you’re almost there. Potyr called out for Typhis to slow the stroke, hang back. Koreta saw his intention and took the lead. The Davina would drive the others on like a dog driving sheep. Typhis bellowed threats and curses across to any ship that slowed or any crew that seemed to be flagging. He brought the Davina close enough to ramming one to force her on. The sky grew suddenly darker again and the sea began to froth as the pumice rained down once more. But only the Davina felt the fall and even she had no more than a handful striking the stern cabin roof as she passed into the protection of the Mountain, like a child finding the arms of its mother. It was a long time before Kanesh or Potyr or Koreta felt able to speak. They found they had nothing to say.
From the window the man and woman watched terrace, steps, paths, garden, trees, all disappeared as the layer of white and pink stones grew steadily deeper: knee-high, waist-high, chest-high. It began to slough through the window and spread across the alabaster floor. More and more slid in until there was no room to stand, so they went up the staircase to watch from the bedroom window. Sometimes the fall wafted away and they could see out to the Lagoon where the grey fountain was spurting, slowly, almost lazily it seemed, up from the island, once black, now white as a summer cloud. Then the feathery white plume swayed back towards the mansion and the layer outside mounted again towards where they stood, and the first flakes began to slide inside and drop to the floor.
“So silent, so beautiful,” Tuwea said. “Blossom falling from the trees.”
He saw her lips move and smiled at her because she was smiling at him. He knew they should have left when the girl ran away. The stranger with hair the colour of copper and eyes the colour of wine had watched the girl go and then turned to look up at the window of this same bedroom. Siruta the cup-bearer knew the man was telling them to leave, but the lady was sleeping. He had looked down at her. Why disturb her? When he looked up again, the man had gone. A glistening white cone sloped away from the window into the room. More glistening fragments flowed in, slipping and tumbling down past his feet. Many of the stones were pink, bigger and heavier than the white ones. One rolled across the floor to rest shimmering with heat against the painted wall. Soon this window too would be covered and they would both live their last moments in a dim, white world.
The column faltered and began to cascade down upon itself. Great clouds of grimy dust rose from the floods of fallen debris that swept away in all directions from its lower slopes and rode across the waters of the Lagoon to strike the cliffs and leap high upwards, some overlapping the rim and swirling down the slope towards the town. A blast of hot and dusty wind blew through the window and made them shrink back and seek shelter from it on the floor. After a while they got up cautiously and, finding the air cooler again, stood on tiptoe to see above the top of a white wall that now almost covered the window. The Lagoon was a huge steaming cauldron covered with foam and set in a gleaming landscape as white as the snows they both had seen clothing the highest peaks of Keftiu.
After they had gazed in wonder until their eyes were dazzled by this new world so swiftly created in front of them, he took her hand and drew her away from the window and towards the door that opened onto a covered terrace facing towards the sea. He moved his hands to tell her that he would find water or wine for them to drink, then they would make their way towards the town to find other people who would know where there was a ship to take them away. She smiled at him again and sat down on the chair he brought for her to wait until he came back.
The streets and alleys and squares had all but vanished. Only the roofs of the town, sagging under their grey burden, stood out like islands in a lake whose level reached as high as upper-storey windows. The harbour was choked with the flood of rubble, the beaches were buried and the sea heaved sluggishly under its floating load. Creaking as its fragments settled and slipped and crackling as the delicate filaments within them splintered and snapped, the pale breccia filled every space open to it, entombing everything within: bowls and cups, storage jars hastily scooped clean of beans and lentils save for the few left in the bottom, a bed in one house, a prized table too awkward to carry away, in another, rough flagons, delicate painted vases and pitchers, a white-veined marble bowl the painter forgot to grab as he fled, long lost tablets listing baskets of barley and jars of oil, scales and weights in the miller’s store, bronze fire dogs holding a half-burnt log and in the Crocus House the thumb-sized ibex, cast in gold, that Akusha once held in her palm. Boxing boys, fishermen, heavy-breasted lady, crocus-gatherers, ships’ captains, blue monkeys, swooping swallows, drowning men, helmeted warriors and nimble antelopes, all now stared into the darkness clamped on them by the close-packed pumice.
“Now, Dissias, I am listening. What is this strange cloud you were talking about?”
“Perhaps you should see it for yourself, my lady, from the upper terrace.”
“It is hot out there at this time of day, Dissias. Bring my sunshade. Are you sure I should see it?”
“Yes, my lady. Everyone is looking at it. The Captain of Archers rode here with a report from Lord Sekara for the Commander.”
“A wasted journey, of course. My husband is with his, that is, my husband is performing his duties elsewhere. You informed the Captain of that, I hope. Did he have anything to say?”
“He said Kallista is burning, my lady. If you will come to the terrace, you will see the column of smoke.”
“Oh dear. What will become of my poor Luzar who deserted me for Kallista? And that handsome boy, Sharesh?”
The ships were lashed together, rail against rail, and the nearest inshore and the farthest out held steady by lines looped over rocks that jutted out from the cliffs. Those who had followed the fleet in boats now tied their painters to the nearest vessel and climbed onboard.
Koreta came to the rail. Akusha spoke first.
“Amaia is doing all she can to tend the injured. Many here have no strength left. Without food, they may die tonight.”
“The cliffs fall sheer into the sea. No one could get ashore,” said Koreta.
“Past that point,” said Potyr, indicating with his hand. “Barely ten ship lengths from here is a rock where the seabirds gather. The top is near enough flat and ten paces long. With the sea low like this fires could be made there.”
“Break up some of the crates, Kerma, and one of those boats if you have to, said Kanesh. They will burn. Find Alaron and his brother, if he still lives, and bring Namun here. No one handles boats better than those three. Where are Leptos and Leptos? They must cast their lines. Rouse some of the young women and bring out the pans and grain and oil and beans. Set to! I want to smell fish roasting and bread baking on hot stones and beans stewing with lentils. The boats can carry dinner for all back to the ships, well, at least a couple of mouthfuls, before it gets too dark.”
Sekara was back in his quarters, thinking over his first meeting with the new High Priestess. It was not going to be as easy as he had expected. The old woman was no fool. Ektan appeared in the doorway.
“Cloud’s gone down, sir. Thought you’d like to know.”
“Has it, indeed? Who said it came from Kallista?”
“Port Controller and ships’ captains, sir. They know their directions right enough.”
“Gone, you say? I’ll
go up and have a look.”
All across the horizon was a thick dark haze of a sort he had never seen before. The tall slender cloud that had seemed to join sea and sky was gone, true enough, but a much greater, darker one was slowly spreading far and wide and looked sure to be overhead by nightfall.
Namun stood last watch of the night, not knowing whether to welcome or fear the coming of dawn. Sharesh had told him of the rumbling noises he had heard coming from beyond the Mountain during his watch but he had heard none so far himself. From the way Sharesh had talked it sounded as if something was giving way and falling down, making him wonder if the sounds were coming from falls of rock like the one they had seen on Korus when they went to see what had killed all those fish in the Lagoon. His mind then wandered to thinking of when Lord Koreta might give the word for the sorting out of ships and passengers and destinations to begin, and hoped it would be soon. He felt a little more cheerful at the thought of Keftiu. He knew of more than one girl who would be glad to see him back. Was the sky out there getting a bit brighter? Not much; another miserable grey morning coming. Cloudless skies, sun-drenched fields, calm blue seas were a distant memory. He strained his eyes out to sea. Nothing but desolation: rafts and islands of that stinking grey pumice twisting and rolling in a flat grey sea with a grey sky looking down on it all. As he watched, something curved and livid red hoisted itself slowly up in the fog. Dawn at last. Why trouble to wake up the next watch? He couldn’t sleep. See if there was a scrape of cold stew in one of the bowls and a drop of water in that pitcher and wait to see if the fog cleared and the sun got a bit warmer.
It was mid-morning before all the wrangling and threatening and clambering from one ship to another and back again, to look for this sack or that child that had been forgotten, and all the unloading and reloading of stores and all the tears and farewells were over and the ships, still lashed together, were as ready to sail as they ever would be. Those who had opted for Telchina were few enough to need only one ship. The rest, as Koreta had expected, preferred to take their chances on Keftiu. The skipper of the Telchina ship himself hailed from the place and announced that he would sail without any further delay to be sure of open seas for the night passage to Kapera where he would rest and water before sailing on to Telchina. He was given leave to cast off. There were few farewells made as the ship untied and pulled away from the others and the shelter of the cliffs: those remaining behind were too anxious about their own fate to think much about others’. The floating pumice had broken up into smaller rafts during the night hours and the ship quite quickly found leads through to open water. There she paused to hoist sail and, before long, she was lost in the dusty haze that hung over the sea.