Beyond the Burning Lands

by John Christopher

  Snake scratched his neck with his two-pronged hand and I felt scarcely a twinge of nausea. I said:

  “It is not that.”

  “Then?”

  “My brother may have need of me.”

  “It is a good answer,” Cymru said. “The best you could give. But you will come back to us, will you not, Bayemot Slayer?”

  “Without doubt.”

  “Good!” He clapped my shoulder. “And we will trust our lands stay free of Bayemots till your return.”

  I smiled. “And after also, sire, I hope.”

  • • •

  Blodwen said: “Luke, there is no need for you to come back here.”

  I looked at her, unsure and uneasy and said, knowing the words stupid as I spoke them:

  “I have promised, Cousin.”

  Her expression was troubled, her fair brows frowning. I had seen little of her since the banquet. I thought she had been avoiding me and my feelings concerning this were mixed. There was disappointment, resentment, some relief, but much uncertainty in my mind. Now, walking down the stairs that led to the throne room, I had heard her call and stopped for her to catch up to me. We stood together halfway down, with no one in sight but three lads stripping the wall that faced the throne, and those too far away to hear our talk.

  “The promise does not matter,” she said.

  “To me it does.”

  “Listen,” she said. “You did a great thing, and my father likes you. He offered you something, and how could you refuse? Or not promise to return and claim the gift? But no one has to accept a thing he may not want, even though a king gives it. And no one is required to keep a promise that stems from such as this.”

  “I accepted the honor gladly, and promised freely. So I will keep my promise.”

  She gave a small sigh that had exasperation in it.

  “Luke, you do not help me! What I am trying to say . . . In your country, I know, things are different. Edmund has told me that your women commonly do as they are bid, and are married as their fathers command. We of the Wilsh have more freedom. The women share in men’s lives, and choose him they would take as husband. I am the King’s daughter, and bound by that, but I believe, as do all girls here, that people are people, not puppets to be dangled and twitched by those who hold the strings.”

  I was uneasy still and puzzled. It was not the first time I had failed to follow the shifting quickness of her mind, but this was more important because she was more earnest.

  I said: “Who is calling you a puppet?”

  She put her beautiful head on one side and stared at me.

  “I see I must speak more plainly. You said you gladly accepted an honor. But I am not an honor: I am Blodwen! And you will keep your promise to return? But I do not want you to return to claim your prize, because I am not a prize but a girl, with my own thoughts, my own feelings. I am not to be given away as a trophy even by my father. If I am not sought for myself I will not be sought at all.”

  I said: “Anyone who sees you must seek you for himself. It has nothing to do with Bayemots or prizes.”

  I spoke from the heart. She looked at me and, after a moment, nodded and slightly smiled.

  “That is something, Cousin! I am not sure yet how much but it makes a start.”

  She had lost me again, but I felt a softening and was grateful for it. I said:

  “You were going to show me your pavilion across the river. Will you let me row you there?”

  She smiled more fully. “Of course, Luke.”

  We went down the stairs together. As we reached the bottom a thought struck me.

  “We have talked of what I might seek, but what of you?” She raised her brows in question. “You also had no voice in what was said that night at the banquet. And you have said you would not be a puppet. Would you prefer it if I did not come back to Klan Gothlen?”

  She stopped and stood before me, her blue eyes an inch or two below the level of my own.

  “I have been wondering when you would come to that! It is better late than never.”

  “But the answer?”

  There was a space before she smiled, and said:

  “What girl would not want you to come back—Luke of Winchester, Conqueror of the Bayemot?” She pointed to the three who were working. “Do you see what they are doing?”

  “Stripping the wall.”

  “In preparation for the great painting that is to cover it. Half a dozen of our finest artists, under the guidance of the great Gwulum himself, will work on it. It is to be called ‘Luke and the Bayemot,’ and even with six of them it will take a full two years to complete.”

  She laughed and slipped her arm in mine, and I thought myself answered. As we went through the antechamber, she said:

  “But I will be my own woman. Always. Remember that, Luke of Winchester.”

  • • •

  Cymru had wanted to load us with magnificent gifts, far surpassing those we had brought him in my brother’s name. We had resisted this, pointing out that we were no trading caravan but a troop of warriors, and could not travel heavily burdened. So the things he gave us were small but costly. A dagger, pretty to look at and heavily jeweled but of no practical value; a chess set with elaborately decorated pieces in gold and silver; a book telling the story of the line of Cymru, its cover pearl and ivory and its pages full of finely detailed paintings in brilliant colors—these and many more.

  The royal guard which had received us provided escort for the first part of our journey. I noticed that the men wore ordinary boots, not the pointed ones with silver tips, and left their plumed helmets behind. They rode well, moreover, and with discipline. At a place where two roads crossed they halted, forming lines for us to ride between. As we did they cheered us, uttering a wild cry in the ancient language of theirs which they still kept in part. We cheered them in return, and rode on. It was wooded country and they were soon lost to view.

  I was sorry to be going away from Blodwen but I traveled with a light heart. I had learned to like the Wilsh better than I had thought I would, and been amazed by the beauty of their city, but Winchester was my home. Each mile brought nearer the moment when I would see the high walls with the pennants fluttering above them, and hear my horse’s hoofs clatter on the stones of the High Street as we rode up the hill toward the palace—not so splendid as King Cymru’s but more dear.

  During our stay in Klan Gothlen I had not seen much of Greene and his attitude toward me at first was strained and distant. I won him round by at once making it clear that, whatever the situation had been there, here I accepted him as commander of the troop with myself as his very junior lieutenant. He was amiable at heart and if there had been rancor it did not last.

  We rode and bivouacked and slept, and rode again. Four days passed with little of note. Once a party of blue-painted savages, like those we had encountered on the journey north, hurled insults at us from a distant ridge; but made no attempt to come to closer quarters. From villages we bought food to supplement our rations. In one there was a breed of polyhens bigger than turkeys, some so gross that they could not walk and had to have grain brought to them to peck. Their eggs were more than four inches in length. I was amused that Greene showed no scruple about buying them, and the fowls also, for roasting that night for supper.

  In the middle of the fourth day we made a halt at a village which had been deserted. There was no way of telling why because there was no sign of life or death, only rotting huts that steamed in sun following rain.

  A man called Deevers, who was known as a scavenger, wandered among the huts. From behind one he called: “Captain!” and Greene and I went to see what he had found. He pointed to something which at first sight looked like a part of the back of the hut. Then I thought it was the crude construction of a child. All sorts of things had been used in the building: twigs and small branches fallen from trees but also pieces of wood and metal culled from the ruins of the village. The structure they formed was weird and seemingl
y without plan, though I noticed at the front a ramp leading up from the ground to a hole that gave access to the interior: a narrow ramp and a hole only a few inches across.

  Deevers said: “Rats ran out, Captain.” His voice held loathing. “Big ones. More than a dozen.” He pointed again. “They ran into the grass there.”

  “The building rats,” Greene said. “I have heard of them. So this is what they build.”

  He wasted little time in looking. His boot crashed in savagely, shattering it and scattering the bits of which it had been made. I spoke involuntarily:

  “Why do that?”

  “Polybeasts,” Greene said. “And rats, which is worse. Even your Wilsh friends would kill them, I think.”

  I did not know what to say, or what I truly felt. My own horror of rats was deep, from a time when I was a child of three and a cat brought a dead rat to me as a gift and left it on my pillow while I slept. But along with this detestation was something else: a hatred of seeing any built thing, even one built by rats so wantonly destroyed.

  In the end I said nothing. Not all the rats had fled at Deevers’ approach. There was one that emerged now from the rubble of its home and launched itself at this enemy giant, trying to claw and scrabble its way up Greene’s boot. He knocked it aside easily and broke its back; and then ground under his heel the helpless hairless young which their mother had stayed to defend.

  • • •

  That night we camped near another village, this time inhabited. It clustered round a knoll that overlooked a few patchily cultivated fields and the river whose valley we were following, and we stayed on a similar small hill half a mile to the south. It had a thatch of trees on top, like our own St. Catherine’s, which afforded some shelter.

  I was restless and could not sleep. Maybe the incident with the building rats had disturbed me more than I had thought. Perhaps it brought to the surface of my mind the confusions which had grown during my stay in the land of the Wilsh, and the deeper confusion between my life as it was and as the Seers planned it. Things which had looked simple in the clear context of our life in the south now showed themselves to be difficult and complex. The Seers had taught me that there was more to the world than the clash of warriors and cities. But I had not realized how much more it could be.

  The restlessness increased and I got up. The others around me were sleeping. A three-quarter moon sailed clear in a space between clouds. One of the two guards saw me; I spoke quietly to him and walked on. My horse whinnied, and I patted her neck.

  The mounts had been tethered to outlying trees under the guard’s surveillance. In the moonlight I felt his eyes on my back also and, wanting to be alone, went down the hill and out of his range of vision. Elsewhere it was a sleeping world. From the village on the other hill came neither light nor sound, not even a dog’s barking.

  I came to the track along which we had traveled. To the north lay Klan Gothlen; to the south, beyond the Burning Lands, my native city. Both seemed very far away, and not in distance only. In this thin, silent realm of black and silver it was hard to think of them as real.

  Trees overhung the track. I heard a sound above me, very small, perhaps no more than a bird shifting on its perch. All the same I looked up. But the dark shape was already dropping onto my shoulders, and before I could cry out strong fingers clutched my throat. They pressed a point in my neck; and thought and memory ended.

  NINE

  THE EYRIE OF THE SKY PEOPLE

  I RECOVERED MY SENSES TO a rhythmic pounding sound that I thought at first was the beat of blood in my temples. My next realization was that I could not move—and yet was moving. It took me several moments to grasp that my limbs were bound and I was being carried along at a rapid pace. The pounding was the thud of the feet of those who carried me.

  My face was toward the ground and not far above it. Occasionally a tall weed whipped against me, sometimes painfully. In the moonlight I could see the dizzying rush of the earth under me and the steadily jogging feet: four pairs, naked but not flinching from the roughness of the ground. So four men had my roped figure slung between them. But there were more in the band; other feet thudded alongside these. I tried to estimate how many, but it was hopeless.

  They ran in silence apart from an occasional sharp word of command; and effortlessly and with apparent tirelessness. I had no idea how far we were from the place where I had been captured, but knew I was being carried farther at a pace not much less than that of a trotting horse. I debated calling out and decided it would do no good. A nettle slashed my cheek, and I bit my lip in silence.

  They ran for what seemed like hours before they rested. I was dropped to the ground, bruising my shoulder against a stone. At last I could see something other than the sickening sweep of the earth. There were perhaps twenty of them. They lay motionless, as though they too were bound, and still without talking. I heard the murmur of their breathing; that was all.

  Eventually there was another barked command and the trek began again. My four carriers, or perhaps another four, picked me up as casually as I had been dumped. The ropes which bound me had four loose ends, a few feet long, and they twisted them round their shoulders with the skill of long practice. My face was upward now; either by accident or because by this time we were far enough away from the camp for it to be unimportant what landmarks I might see.

  Not that I saw much more—only four straining backs and the sky above. But I was glad of the change when they forded a river. I was held scarcely above water level with the back of my head dipping in and out. As it was, I thought I would choke from the waves that splashed over me and filled my nostrils.

  There was a second rest break that followed the same routine as the first. When they started off again the paleness of dawn was challenging the moonlight in the east. I thought our progress was more upward but could not be sure. My limbs were stiff and sore from the ropes, my skin smarting from a hundred small abrasions. All I could think of was an end to this monstrous journey.

  It came in a way I could not have foreseen. We were in a forest, with huge trees blotting out the growing light of day. The runners pounded along a narrow track that wound between them. From the front came the cry which had previously signaled a break. I expected to be tossed to the ground and braced myself against the shock of landing. To my astonishment I found myself being pulled upward instead. The two men holding the ropes attached to my shoulders were shinning up the opposite sides of a broad-trunked tree. They traveled with a dexterity that reminded me of squirrels. Once or twice I bumped, but fortunately the tree’s surface was smooth, with no projecting branches. Above was complete blackness—I wondered how branches could be so dense or leaves so thick—with a few oddly regular holes. One grew in size and I saw we must pass through it. This happened, and there was light again. With a quick jerk my captors tossed me clear. I thought of falling the height of the tree—thirty feet at least—but I fell no more than a foot and landed softly.

  They left me there. I was on a level surface through which the trunks of trees projected, giving the impression of a bizarrely dwarfed forest. This surface seemed to join them together. Huts had been built on it to form a tree-village. The softness under me came from a sort of moss, deep and springy in texture.

  I could not see where the two who had carried me up the tree had gone: perhaps into a hut. I saw no one else and no one came. From the golden light breaking through the tree tops it was plain the sun had risen. I was sore and bruised and aching, the softness of the moss only making me more aware of my discomforts. All the same, and despite the growing evidence of day, at last I fell asleep.

  I was awakened by being prodded in the ribs; not roughly, more by way of appraisal. I tried to jerk away but the ropes held me. I opened my eyes and saw what was happening. An enormously fat woman, in a shapeless brown dress, was nudging me with the big toe of a large and very dirty foot. When I stared she looked down at me indifferently and, after one last prod, waddled away and disappeared into one o
f the nearer huts.

  In about ten minutes a figure appeared from the same hut. This was a man and could have been one of those who had taken me: he was sinewy and had an athlete’s walk. I saw with a shiver of fear that he carried a knife, and made an effort to free myself. A futile one; I had discovered already that their skill in roping equaled their running.

  He reached me, stooped, and with a quick flash of the knife cut my bonds. The ropes parted and fell away. I tried to move my arms but could not: cramp held them. The man began to rub my arms with his hands. His fingers were firm and sure, kneading the muscles into life. He said:

  “What is your name, stranger?”

  His accent was far more barbarous than that of the Wilsh but his tone was surprisingly friendly. I said warily:

  “My name is Luke.”

  “I am Jan.” His face cracked into a distinct smile. “Welcome, Luke, to the eyrie of the Sky People.”

  I asked: “Why did you bring me here?”

  He went on rubbing and smiling. “The stiffness will soon go. Then we will find food for you. I am sure you must be hungry.”

  • • •

  They were very strange, these who called themselves the Sky People. The men all showed the amiability of Jan, and were as talkative as they had been silent during the long run through the night. In the village it was the women who scarcely spoke and who ignored me, after that first prodding with the toe. They were immensely fat; even the girl children were balloon-bodied and moon-faced. They ate a great deal, being served with food before the men took any, and did no work of any kind. It was the men who swept the huts, brought fresh moss, made plates from big evergreen leaves which they stitched into the shape of dishes, and even cooked the food. This last was not done in the tree-village but somewhere on the forest floor, and brought up in wicker panniers.

  It would have been impossible, in any case, for the women to climb and I realized eventually that they never, from birth to death, left the village. The men were strong and lithe and skilled hunters, bringing back beasts of the chase, and grain and dairy products which they exacted as tribute from nearby earth-dwelling tribes. These they despised, but they cosseted and seemed almost to worship their gross womenfolk. All decisions were left to them, in particular to the one I had first seen and who was their Chief. The men vied with each other in offering tidbits to the gaping maw which was her mouth. Her appetite matched her size and weight. Once a pannier of cakes was brought up and I saw her munch a good three dozen, washing them down with gargantuan drafts of ale.