Arash-Felloren

by Roger Taylor

  There was a note in Heirn’s voice that sharpened Atlon’s attention. ‘What do you mean?’

  Heirn looked uncomfortable. ‘This Power of yours – and Pinnatte’s. I’ve seen you use it – experienced it myself. But I don’t think you realize how disturbing it is. Even now I have to make an effort to accept it.’ His voice fell, and he glanced significantly at the late evening traffic. ‘But there’s a lot here likely to be considerably less understanding.’ He produced a key and locked the door then motioned Atlon to accompany him along the street. ‘It’s only just dawned on me, but what you call the Power, is called “Kyroscreft” here. And it’s greatly feared. In fact, even a hint of it is likely to start a riot.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Atlon said.

  Heirn turned a corner into a steeply sloping street. ‘You know already that the Kyrosdyn are intensely disliked by most of the people.’ Atlon nodded. ‘Well, it’s more than just their political meddling. It’s something that’s come down through the ages. A fear. Fear that they can do strange things – forbidden things. That they can move objects without touching them, control people, see through walls, hear people’s thoughts… all sorts of things.’

  ‘How can any kind of knowledge be forbidden?’ Atlon interrupted scornfully. ‘That’s like forbidding the wind.’ He became both passionate and withering. ‘The Power’s no more a “forbidden” thing than the opening of a flower. It’s true nature isn’t understood, granted, but that’s the case with most things if you think deeply enough – not least ourselves. And you wouldn’t deny that it’s in our nature to inquire into such things endlessly, would you? Forbidden indeed!’

  Heirn made to speak but Atlon pressed on earnestly. ‘The effects of the normal use of the Power are understood perfectly. They’re calculable and consistent. They obey rules of logic and reason. Seeing through walls and hearing people’s thoughts with it is just plain foolishness – wild ignorance.’

  Heirn adopted a schoolmasterly manner which left Atlon looking at him self-consciously when he had finished.

  ‘Logic and reason aren’t common commodities in Arash-Felloren, outlander,’ Heirn continued, as if he had never been interrupted. ‘Ignorance is. Very common. And, as I’m sure you know, ignorance breeds fear. And, right or wrong, like it or not, fear of what the Kyrosdyn are believed to be able to do has caused serious trouble in the past. Trouble that’s resulted in people being killed – hundreds of people. Take it from me, Pinnatte’s Power – if he uses it – is a greater danger to him than it is to anyone else.’

  ‘How?’ Atlon asked, incredulous.

  Heirn became wilfully patient again. ‘If he uses it conspicuously – perhaps to attack someone like he did you, or to stick someone to a wall like that Kyrosdyn did to me, or even to move a horseshoe, he’ll bring the City – the mob – down on him like a rockfall. He’ll be lynched.’

  Atlon stopped and looked at him. The smith’s manner was assured and straightforward.

  ‘The mob?’

  Heirn gave him a quizzical look then indicated the people passing by. ‘Them – me, I suppose. I’ve followed the Cry after some thief before now, when I was young.’ There was a defensive note in his last remark. He did not seem to be proud of the memory. ‘You behave differently in a crowd.’

  ‘Yes,’ Atlon said thoughtfully. ‘That I understand. But they’d kill him for using the Power – even innocuously? Just like that?’

  ‘Just like that,’ Heirn continued. ‘It’s happened times beyond counting when the Cry goes up.’

  Atlon stood for some time assimilating this before starting up the hill again.

  ‘All the more reason we find him and do something about him,’ he said after they had gone a little way.

  Heirn maintained his patient tone, but the effort showed. ‘Atlon, you said yourself that he has no control over what he can do. Believe me, if he uses the Power and the word “Kyroscreft” goes up, he’ll almost certainly be killed.’

  ‘I might be able to protect him.’

  ‘No. If you’re with him, you’ll be killed with him.’

  Heirn’s voice was as matter-of-fact as his conclusion was harsh. It allowed no further appeal.

  They walked on in silence for a while. As they were approaching what Atlon took to be another bridge passing over the street, a brilliant array of glittering lights emerged from one end and began moving slowly across it. Its progress was hypnotically smooth.

  He stopped to gaze at it.

  ‘It’s only a drinking barge,’ Heirn said.

  ‘An aqueduct,’ Atlon said, smiling. ‘I thought it was just another road.’

  ‘The city’s full of aqueducts, canals, culverts, streams, rivers,’ Heirn said. ‘Don’t you have them where you come from?’

  ‘Not aqueducts like that – not in the middle of our cities, anyway,’ Atlon replied. ‘They’re very flat compared with here.’

  ‘Flat,’ Heirn mused. ‘I find it difficult to imagine a city without hills.’

  Atlon made no comment, he was entranced by the barge. Decorated with flickering lights which were brighter by far than the subdued street lighting, it looked like a dazzling constellation of stars drifting through the night sky. As he watched it however, the noise of the passengers reached him. Though full of laughter, it was violent and raucous, a sobering contrast to the almost serene impression that the lights gave. The contrast seemed to typify this confusing and frightening city for him. Nevertheless, he watched the barge until it was out of sight.

  Heirn shook his head. ‘You’re making me look at things I’ve been seeing all my life,’ he said.

  ‘We all wear blinkers,’ Atlon replied as they set off again. ‘I don’t think I could have imagined a city with so many hills a week ago, but I’m getting used to it already. And it never occurred to me that a city without hills would present anyone with a problem.’

  Atlon found himself looking upwards at each bridge they passed under before they eventually emerged into a broad well-lit street. Following so soon after their conversation, Atlon appreciated the irony that, for Arash-Felloren, it was unusually straight and level. Typical of Arash-Felloren however, it was busy. Carts and carriages of all kinds were lumbering and trotting by, as were a great many riders, and the whole was set in a matrix of bustling pedestrians. Somehow, everyone seemed to be making progress, but, as Atlon had noted before, there was little order in the traffic and the general clamour was punctuated constantly by shouts and curses. He pursed his lips disapprovingly, but kept his peace.

  Brightly lit arcades and open basements lined the street while stalls and carts spilled out on to it confusingly. Even at a casual glance, Atlon could see all manner of places offering opportunities to eat, drink, gamble, watch this, watch that, even pray. And there were many others which he could not immediately identify save that they were obviously offering opportunities to part with money. There were also more than a few establishments advertising entertainments which left him blushing. Almost every place had people standing outside, vying noisily with one another for the attention of passers-by, most of whom were walking past without paying the slightest heed. Street traders were everywhere. Atlon found it at once exciting and disturbing. Dvolci, sitting on his shoulder, confined himself to muttering darkly under his breath.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Atlon asked, glad for the moment to be free of the topic of Pinnatte. A group of children dashed past them at great speed, looking backwards and laughing unpleasantly. To Atlon, it was not a sound that children should have been making. It was followed by angry cursing and a heavy, flustered individual waving a large stick menacingly. Neither Heirn nor anyone else paid any attention to him other than to step aside.

  ‘Nowhere special,’ Heirn replied. ‘It’s a warm evening and I didn’t want to sit inside brooding about everything that’s happened over the past two days.’

  ‘It won’t go away,’ Atlon replied, regretting it immediately.

  ‘It might have already gone,’ H
eirn retorted, fending off a street trader. ‘Gone from anything we can do about it anyway. If I’m any judge, Pinnatte’ll be at the Jyolan by now, looking to see Barran. And if Barran takes him on – and he could well do so – he’ll be moving with people that you don’t want to have any dealings with. Besides, let’s be honest, whatever’s happened to him, he reacts very badly to you. If you find him he might attack you again, and who can say where that’ll lead?’ He became conciliatory. ‘Maybe if he’s left to his own devices, this… trouble… he’s having will fade away, as his hand heals. Perhaps Ellyn’s ointment might do what you couldn’t.’

  There was a robust commonsense in Heirn’s remarks which tempted Atlon. He was at a loss to know what to do. What had happened to Pinnatte was something quite beyond him. Yet Heirn was right. If they met again, Pinnatte, or whatever was infecting him, would probably react badly to him. It was unlikely he would be able to question him without risking some serious consequence. And there was no chance of taking him from the city back to his Elders. But he was clear about one thing.

  ‘It’s not a temporary effect, Heirn,’ he said. ‘The Kyrosdyn have done something profound to him, and even though it’s been affected by his injury, or Ellyn’s ointment, for him to be able to use the Power the way he does, something’s spread deep into him.’

  Heirn shrugged regretfully but dismissively. ‘It makes no difference, does it? I think you’ve learned all you’re going to learn. Meeting Pinnatte again is too risky, as is going to the Jyolan, so you tell me. It could be you’re at your journey’s end, Atlon. Maybe home is your next destination.’ He placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. ‘Come on. You are hungry, aren’t you?’

  Heirn’s invitation took Atlon under a gaudy red canopy, through a small iron gate, and down a flight of steps. At the bottom, a glass door led them into a low-ceilinged room filled with tables at which people were eating. The din from the street stopped abruptly as the door closed softly behind them. On a counter to their right, perched on a branch, a raven spread its wings and croaked, ‘Welcome,’ in a rich, deep voice. Both Atlon and Dvolci started at the sound and then peered at it intently, as if recognizing it.

  ‘Clever, isn’t it?’ Heirn said. ‘Elda made it.’

  ‘Made it?’ Atlon and Dvolci said together.

  ‘Yes, watch.’ Heirn opened and closed the door again. The raven repeated its performance. ‘See, it’s a toy.’ He prodded it. The bird swayed slightly but made no other response.

  ‘I’ll give you toy, smith. That’s a life-size representation, accurate in every detail. And don’t poke it.’

  The speaker was a red-haired woman who had appeared through a door behind the counter. She was about Atlon’s height, with a full figure and a round face which, though it was smiling, struck Atlon as being capable of expressing considerable determination. She was jabbing a finger into Heirn by way of retaliation for his assault on the raven.

  ‘This is my friend, Elda,’ Heirn said, rather gauchely. He introduced both Atlon and Dvolci. Atlon received a firm handshake and a pleasant smile, but Dvolci brought Elda around the counter in unstoppable delight. ‘Isn’t he lovely. May I?’

  The question was as cursory as it was unnecessary, as Dvolci slithered down off Atlon’s shoulder and into Elda’s voluminous embrace. Atlon caught Heirn’s eye and raised a cynical eyebrow. Dvolci closed his eyes rapturously.

  ‘Atlon’s an outlander,’ Heirn said gruffly. ‘He’s finding the city a bit difficult, so he’s helping me at the forge while he gets used to the place. I thought he’d enjoy your cooking.’ He leaned forward. Elda, still attending to Dvolci, kissed him casually on the cheek and pointed to an empty table at the far end of the room.

  ‘I’ll take him off you, if you like,’ Atlon said, holding out his hand to receive Dvolci. ‘He can be quite a burden.’ The felci opened one eye and gave him a baleful look as, with a final stroke, Elda parted with him.

  ‘I’ve not much money,’ Atlon said.

  Heirn looked at him and shook his head. ‘You’re a strange one, Atlon,’ he said. ‘Scarcely two days in the city and you’ve killed one man – or made him kill himself,’ he added hastily, ‘threatened another with the same fate simply for meddling with your horse, got yourself involved with a demented street thief and a third-rate trainer for the Fighting Pits, not to mention meeting that murderous bastard Fiarn, and Barran’s wife, no less. Anyone would think you’d lived here all your life! Yet you’ve got the way of a teacher about you – a quiet student – and a naivety that’s positively staggering.’ He leaned forward. ‘I know you’ve not much money – I’ll make no mention of the wealth beyond imagining that you’ve got casually bouncing around in your pockets. But you’ve not much money because you didn’t even discuss payment with me when I offered you a job. Nor have you demanded any wages since.’ He tapped the table vigorously. ‘I’m going to pay for this meal. I invited you, didn’t I? Then, when we get back home, I’ll pay you for what you’ve done today and we’ll discuss what I should pay you tomorrow.’

  Atlon sat wide-eyed and motionless as he listened, then said blandly, ‘I am a teacher, and a student. And I knew you’d pay me what you could afford when you’d had a chance to look at my work.’

  Heirn put his hand to his head. Atlon looked concerned. ‘I’m not that naive, Heirn,’ he said. ‘It’s just that I don’t confront things in the way that everyone seems to do around here. You neglected to mention, for example, that I also got involved with you, who’s been a fund of guidance and support, and without whom I’d have been in serious trouble.’

  Heirn coloured and made to reply, but could not.

  ‘I think that’s a draw,’ Dvolci said.

  Elda came to the table and ended any further discussion. She placed a hand on Heirn’s shoulder and sat down beside him. ‘Your food will be here shortly.’ She looked squarely at Atlon. ‘Heirn said you’re a stranger to the city. I’ve never met an outlander before. Where do you come from?’

  Atlon however, did not answer the question. Instead, he pointed to the raven by the door and asked his own. ‘You made that yourself?’

  ‘I made all these,’ Elda replied, gesturing around the room. There were alcoves and shelves along every wall, each filled with models of birds and animals and small figurines.

  ‘She’s the best toymaker in Arash-Felloren,’ Heirn announced.

  ‘Most of these are life-size representations,’ Atlon said, using Elda’s own words, to her obvious delight. ‘How did you manage to make the raven speak?’ he continued.

  Elda smiled then reached across and tapped his nose with a delicate finger. ‘With great difficulty,’ she said. Heirn laughed.

  ‘I’m being naive again, am I?’ Atlon asked.

  ‘A little, if you think that any craftsman round here is going to give away their hard-won secrets,’ Heirn replied.

  Atlon made an apologetic gesture. ‘It’s just that I’m intrigued by it. It’s a splendid piece of work. Would it be foolish of me to ask where you got the idea from?’

  ‘Who knows where ideas come from?’ Elda replied. ‘But this one, as it happens, was given to me by a man in a dream.’

  Atlon cocked his head on one side. ‘You’re teasing me,’ he said. ‘I’m asking something I shouldn’t again, aren’t I?’

  ‘No and no,’ Elda said. ‘I’m not teasing you, and the idea did come from a man in a dream.’ Her face became thoughtful. ‘He played a flute and told me a story about a raven that talked, and a marvellous castle. It was the strangest dream I’ve ever had – very vivid, as if I was really there. Never had one like it before or since, but sometimes, when I’m neither properly asleep nor properly awake, I’m sure I hear a flute playing in the distance.’ She pulled a wry face that dismissed the idea as foolishness, then turned to Dvolci. ‘I’ll make a model of you, next; you’re gorgeous.’ Dvolci sat up very straight and preened himself.

  ‘I might be naive, but I’m not vain,’ Atlon said when Elda had left.


  ‘That’s because you’ve nothing to be vain about, dear boy,’ Dvolci said, mimicking the raven’s rich voice.

  Atlon’s mind had been far from food when they entered but the pleasant atmosphere gradually relaxed him and the food, when it arrived, won him over completely.

  After they had eaten, Heirn, replete, sat back and rested his hands across his stomach. ‘I thought coming here would do you good,’ he said. ‘I know you perhaps don’t think so, but there are more civilized places than uncivilized ones in the city – and more decent people than scoundrels. It’s just that they’re quieter – less conspicuous.’

  ‘I understand,’ Atlon said, mirroring his actions and stretching in his chair. ‘I’d no real doubts about it. So large a city couldn’t survive if it were otherwise. But it’s still a difficult place for me to come to terms with.’

  His eyes drifted idly around the many models decorating the room. Then they narrowed. He gestured towards the model of a small brown bird. ‘May I look at that?’

  ‘You can look at anything you like,’ Heirn replied without looking. ‘So long as it doesn’t involve me moving.’

  However, when Atlon returned with the model, Heirn’s manner changed. ‘Oh, that thing’s still here, is it?’

  ‘Not your favourite piece?’

  Heirn took the bird from him and examined it distastefully. He shook his head. ‘No, it’s not. It’s accurate though – very accurate. I wasn’t just being biased when I said she was the best toymaker in the city, she really is very good.’ He put the model down with a grimace. ‘Look at its eyes. They’re awful.’

  Atlon grunted, noncommittally. ‘Have you ever seen any birds like that around here?’ His casualness sounded forced, but Heirn was too sated to notice it.

  ‘Ten, fifteen years ago – I can’t remember – they were quite common, round the Vaskyros mainly. Then they suddenly disappeared. Never seen any since, I’m glad to say. Nasty little things – I never liked them. They used to fly like arrows – dead straight, very fast, almost as if they had some purpose in mind. And those bright yellow eyes seemed to look right through you. I’m not surprised no one wants to buy this.’ He pushed the model away. Atlon returned it to the shelf, turning its face to the wall as he did so. He looked relieved.