Kallista

by David Bell

  The other skippers, less Potyr, seeing the Telchina ship make good going, now urged Koreta to give the word for all to leave. The pumice was no longer a barrier, crews were rested and fed, the sea was gentle and there was a wind, full of dust, yes, but a wind fair for Keftiu. Koreta demurred. He was sure some of the prisoners, given the chance, would seize a ship and escape, taking hostages and precious supplies with them. He decided his only course of action, apart from throwing them all into the sea, was to divide them between two ships which would mean there could be more men to keep watch over them. Their strength was needed at the oars and tied to them they should be safe enough. He gave orders for it to be done and for the ships to be unlashed and made ready for sea.

  The bow of the New Dolphin was turning away from the cliffs when the great noise came again; not the same as before but more as if the Mountain itself had split apart under the blow of a mighty hammer and its fragments swept up in a rushing gale and hurled into the sea. Jagged grey clouds streaked with black spurted out from the direction of the Lagoon, reaching high into the sky and lunging outwards towards the ocean, black veils falling from them as they spread. Out of the clouds came hurtling huge black stones, trailing white smoke as they curved through the air, smashing against the mountainside and plunging into the sea, sending up fountains of foam.

  The first cloud swelled up from Korus when the waters of the Lagoon found their way into its gaping fiery mouth. It sprang out in every direction faster than thought can fly, enveloping Mitoia, Lemaka, Palaka and leaping up against and over the walls of the Lagoon, one lobe striking what remained of Lagoon House standing above the pumice pile. Tiles, timbers, mortar, stone, plaster, pictures, chairs, beds, vases, goblets, pitchers all, all were ground to fragments in an instant, mixed with the shreds of flesh and bone that had been the Lady Tuwea and her faithful Siruta and blended into the floods of muddy gravel from the clouds that surged away from the rim of the Lagoon, down through the town and harbour, across the beaches and beyond. As the torrents raced along the watercourses outside the town and through the streets, collapsing walls and pillars as they went, boulders kept raining down, crashing through what was left of the roofs of the Lady’s House, Little Labyrinth and the Residence. After one flood surged past, the black boulders continued to plunge into the ashy morass left behind, there to be buried under the next. Three times the floods swept through and, when the last had subsided, except for a few roofs and upper walls there was no more town to see, nor harbour, farmstead, garden, vineyard; nothing but thick overlapping layers of steaming sand and pumice-streaked mud and a new shoreline, pushing much farther out to sea.

  The wise woman in her cave on the Mountain watched as the faint light that filtered through the grey wall blocking the entrance faded away to blackness as the spattering sounds came, quickened, and fell silent. She welcomed her entombment in the dark chamber of the Lord Potheidan. She heard the blows of his trident as he struck the walls of the Mountain, demanding entry, making it tremble with his strength. She stood motionless before the wall with her arms outstretched ready to greet him when he came to tear it down.

  With ears still ringing from the blasts of sound and feelings numbed by tiredness and the horrors they had already seen, the weary people on the ships watched the dark clouds roll over the surface of the sea, slowly settling as they went. It seemed to Potyr that each time a cloud spread out, the sea rose ahead of it as if pressed forward by its advance. The third cloud was the last. Fine dust still settled on the ships but the sky began to clear slowly and gradually everyone realised that the Mountain had protected them once more. It had all happened so quickly. Kanesh caught a fleeting glimpse of the sun and was astonished. It was not yet noon.

  While the crews of the Davina and Koreta’s ship stayed quiet, waiting for orders, the arguments broke out again in the other vessels.

  “It’s over. Set sail now, while we have a chance, while there’s still light. The Telchina ship got clear away. Why do we have to stay here? Cut the lines and let us go. We don’t want to die here.”

  “You hear that?” said Kanesh. “Listen to the voices. The ones shouting loudest are not from Kallista men.”

  “Prisoners making trouble,” hissed Kerma to Sharesh. “Should have got rid of them before we set out.” He felt for his axe. “Still could, and if somebody doesn’t do something soon they’ll get everybody going.”

  Before Kerma or anyone else could act, Korus burst apart again. The waters of the Lagoon had been flowing faster into the gaping mouth torn wider apart by the escaping clouds, slaking the fiery cauldron until it could hold no more. It boiled over, vomiting out a great brown wave of thick slurry that dragged up and mixed into itself banks of rubble, pumice and ash and carried along vast slabs and boulders of stone prised out of the cauldron walls and ripped up from the island’s slopes and shores. The wave washed high up the sunset-side slopes of the Mountain and all around the basin of the Lagoon, spilling over to reach the sea along valleys on both sides of the town. It came as close to the ships as the point they had rounded the day before, but again left them untouched while the sea surged and swirled as it swallowed the rivers of ash and rubble and turned them into mud. Unknown to the watching fugitives, shuddering in their frail ships, the throat of Korus was now emptied, dry, deep and burning hot, protected from the sea by a barrier of breccia left behind by the waves that had burst from the cauldron.

  With all eyes on the now settling clouds, or closed tight against the terrifying memory of them, no one at first noticed how the ships had begun to drift apart. Suddenly, the one farthest out pulled away from the little fleet and headed out to sea. Whether the skipper lost his nerve or was overpowered by frantic passengers or prisoners, no one ever knew but when one ship was seen to break away, discipline broke down and others followed, some assuming the order had been given, others not caring whether it had or not. Seeing the darkest clouds lay toward the rising sun, Potyr had said earlier that the safer plan would be to follow clearer skies. Which meant the course to Kapera taken by the Telchina-bound ship; from Kapera the fleet could work its way along the shores of Keftiu, as far as the Palace port if necessary. All had agreed but it was clear now that the plan had been forgotten and like sheep the skippers were following the first to run. The instant Koreta realised that they were heading for Tholos, the landfall most captains sought before changing course for Keftiu, he gave orders for his ship to give chase, cut them off and turn them back to the Mountain and onto the course agreed. The crews of the New Dolphin and the Davina watched his ship go, oars pulling hard and riggers already at the lines preparing to raise sail. Koreta waved confidently at them from the bow with Apigoron and Alaron as always at his side, but gave no sign for them to follow. Potyr and Kanesh stared at each other. The same thought was in both their minds: Gaiduros, he was like that, first in the pursuit at Gaiduros. Potyr saw Kallia at an oar, raising one arm to wave, laughing excitedly and then she was gone. Last to be seen was Dareka, strong arms on the steering oar, so that he could not wave to Akusha, though his gaze, Sharesh could tell, was on her, and only her.

  “Jump to it, there,” boomed Typhis. “Captain’s taking us out.”

  “Where are you heading, for Kapera?” asked Kanesh.

  Potyr shook his head. “Far enough out for a sight past the point. If he catches them this side of Tholos, he will need our help. If not they will get away in the night.”

  “Have we enough light?”

  “Enough to see what happens. As the sun goes down the light there will at least be brighter than here. We should stand clear of the point before long.”

  “Namun’s ship cannot match our speed.”

  “Once we have a sight, we will lean on oars and wait until he comes up.” Kanesh went forward to the bow where Luzar and Sharesh stood lookout.

  “If the sky clears, look for where the sun stands. We must know how much light we have left if we are to reach the safety of the mountain again before night falls.”

&nbs
p; “Sun stands half down sky,” said Luzar, without looking up. “And fire still burns.”

  “Where is Merida? said Kanesh. He called out loud, “Anyone onboard seen Merida?”

  “Climbed aboard the Governor’s ship just before she sailed,” shouted a rigger. “Said there were things in his house he’d forgotten. Must be mad to think the Governor would take him back there.”

  Helped by an offshore breeze, which also seemed to be clearing away some of the dust, the Davina soon reached a position where she could hold the other ships in sight. Potyr, as always, had been right: they were picked out against the brighter glow. Sharesh was sent to scale the mast. He counted six ships in all, three in line and close together, two others on a diverging course to starboard and the sixth, Koreta’s ship, in pursuit and closing on this last pair. Sharesh judged that all six were now where they had the town on their starboard beam. He called down what he had seen.

  Kanesh’s face was grim. “Prisoners have taken over two of the ships. I blame myself for this. Kerma was right; we should have disposed of them before we boarded ship.”

  “That is your anger speaking,” said Potyr. “You know yourself many of them absolved their crimes with good service and wished to stay.”

  “It is true, Kanesh,” said Akusha. “There were good men among them who risked their own lives for our people when the storm came.”

  “I am angry not so much because they have escaped us but because of where they are now bound and taking our people hostage with them. They are heading back to their own land, knowing much that their chieftains need to know for planning their next raids.”

  “What would be the point of raiding Kallista again? There is nothing left to steal,” said Sharesh.

  “Not Kallista: Keftiu.” Heads turned in surprise. It was Luzar who spoke.

  “Indeed. Luzar who knows where the sun stands without having to see it knows this too.”

  “And does he know if Lord Koreta will catch the pirates before nightfall?” said Sharesh. Do you, Luzar?”

  Luzar was looking inland. When he spoke his voice was very low, sad, Akusha thought. “Lord Koreta has no time,” he said.

  Sharesh thought then that Luzar meant night would come before Koreta could overtake the captured ships but afterwards he knew Luzar had meant something else.

  “Look there!” barked Kanesh, pointing shorewards.

  “Full larboard rudder, helmsman! Hard about! Stand by to trim sail! Smartly now, your best rate!”

  Sharesh had never heard such urgency in Potyr’s voice. Under full rudder and with all starboard oars pulling their hardest the Davina swung like a hound doubling back after a hare, listing until the rail almost touched the waves as she came about, righted herself and made all speed back in the direction of the Mountain’s sea cliffs. On the New Dolphin, still many ship lengths away, an astonished Namun saw the Davina bearing down on him with a big white bone in her teeth, did not wait to be signalled and ordered his ship to follow Potyr. Everyone on board the two ships could now see what had made Potyr suddenly reverse course.

  A new grey fountain glowing dull red inside was thrusting up from Kallista. Soon it was higher than the Mountain’s summit, twice as high, still glowing in parts and with its edges shredding and falling away to gather in huge piles of rubble that sent up billowing clouds of dust as they raced away from the base of the fountain. Still the fountain climbed, but more slowly, heaving itself up and narrowing near its top, now many times higher than the mountain, but not as high as that first tree-like stem, until it faltered, steadied, thrust up once more and then almost gracefully began to topple, gathered speed as it fell and with a sound of thunder collapsed completely and spread its fiery mass across Kallista and down its slopes towards the coasts. The Mountain stood out from the torrents of pumice and rubble that flowed past its walls spouting up roiling grey clouds of dust as they found the sea. The high land towards the strait leading into the Lagoon also stood free but between the two the cloud-topped glowing flows stormed, slashing away the last roof tops and walls, swallowing up gravel and mud left by the morning’s floods and racing into the sea and across it, towards the fleeing ships.

  The oars in the Davina and the New Dolphin stopped moving as the rowers held their stroke and stared back past the stern. Some released their grip and stood up for a clearer sight. Passengers crept towards the stern or stood at the rails to see. The distant ships rolled and pitched as they saw the advancing clouds and turned away in hopeless attempts at flight. One by one, they suddenly listed heavily to larboard, struck by a gale driven ahead by the boiling clouds that reached them an instant later, engulfed them and set them ablaze, sails, rigging, masts, decks, cabins, cargo, clothing, hair, flesh and bone. All were gone in the time it takes to draw breath and the clouds rolled on relentless, buoyed up by steam from the seething waves, heading out to sea, towards Tholos and beyond.

  No one, not even Typhis, not even Potyr could have moved, stunned as they were at the sight, had not Kanesh spoken. In the near silence, against the lapping of the waves along the ship’s sides, he did not raise his voice. There was no need. All he said was:

  “Row, my friends, row for your lives.”

  And the helmsmen looked to their helms and the oarsmen seized their oars once more and the ships turned hard to starboard and began to move, faster and faster, leaving the smothered burnt island of Kallista astern of them, and the Sailor’s Star, too, when it rose. Far ahead of them the big waves, forced up by the flows of fiery rubble that sank away from the burning clouds and plunged down into the depths of the sea, were already swelling higher and higher as they closed on the coasts of Keftiu, and Telchina, and Kapera and Kestera and the Pelos cape, and later lapped even onto the scorched sands of the Libun shore.

  SINGER OF SONGS

  I love this time of year, all the new flowers and the birdsong. The bird was singing again last night. I still haven’t seen him even after all these years, though, of course, Luzar has. It’s warm today. The midges are flying high. They say that means we should have a good summer. I remember it wasn’t like that when we first came back here. The skies never seemed to clear and it never got really warm. We had two years without a summer and miserable harvests. We nearly starved. They made the offerings, danced the dances. Whether any of that worked, I don’t know but I have to admit in time it did get better and it’s been like this ever since. You want me to tell you what happened? I forget a lot these days but some of it I do remember. Some things I’d like to forget but I can’t. Namun, I’ve told you about him, Namun said once if you want to forget something but it won’t let go, tell it to someone else. Maybe it will work with you.

  I remember the clouds, grey boiling clouds, scudding over the sea, reaching out for us. How we got away, I don’t know. It might have been the wave that lifted us up and carried us faster than we could row, or the wind that was rushing ahead of the clouds—the sail was up—I don’t know. Whatever it was, we got away and the others didn’t. I can’t tell you any more about them, not yet.

  There was no proper daylight. The sky was dull and grey all the way, not grey as it gets with rain clouds or drizzle but because it was thick with dust. We nearly ran aground on Kapera, it was so hard to see ahead, even for me: the one with the sharpest eyes, Potyr used to say. For days we worked the coast of Keftiu towards the setting sun. That’s a bad joke: there was no sun to see. We had to land our people somewhere soon. They were near the end of their tether but we could find nowhere to go ashore: storm damage everywhere, everything ruined or washed away by the waves. Potyr said he knew where to go: the bay where the Davina was built.

  We kept well clear of the Palace harbour and the town as well. We found out later we could not have got in because of all the wrecked ships. When we reached the bay I could hardly recognise it: dunes all flattened, that beautiful sandy beach nothing but piles of shingle stinking of rotting fish. I can still smell it. No jetty, no busy workshops, no launching pathway: all gone, shipwrights,
carpenters, labourers, everybody gone. Leilia, I thought, where is she? What was that Namun said about Leilia and me? I forget. Naudok, where was he?

  The ship was there, Naudok’s last ship. Upright, graceful as a swan, two masts—think of that with spars set as if she was waiting for her rigging and sails to be hung and she had her bow pointing towards the sea. High and dry and two hundred paces inland! We all stared at her in wonder. Kanesh said he’d heard of birds that couldn’t fly but he’d never seen one until now. My mother said in this desolate place there could be a home and shelter for our people until better could be built or found. I can’t forget the sight of that ship: half as long again as the Davina and with all those oars and two sails, how she would have flown! Think of the navy Keftiu could have had with more like her. Everything might have been different.