“It is supposed to be guarded by a wizard of terrible powers, who can summon armies of evil spirits, the foul emanations of the earth. And the gods of the heathen will gather to defend it, the thousand false gods.
“So the armies of Asudar were sent to take the country and city of Ansul by force and find the Night Mouth. When it is found, King Dorid will send the Thousand True Men into it with banners of fire, a burning army. Light will banish darkness, and good will vanquish evil.”
He drew a harsh breath. He bit his lips and looked away from the candle, hiding his face in shadow.
“I never heard that tale,” Caspro said. His own voice was shaken. He spoke, I think, to give the Waylord time to recover himself. “Tales of how earth is the battlefield of Atth and Obatth, yes. An unending war. And people in the desert knew there was a mountain called Sul far in the west, an uncanny place, but only because it’s surrounded by the sea. Salt water they call the curse of Obatth… This tale of the Night Mouth must be a secret knowledge. Priestly lore.”
“Useful to justify an invasion,” said Gry.
“If so, it would be more widely known, wouldn’t it? Do the common soldiers know the story, Waylord?”
“I don’t know. I know they were told to search for certain things. Certain houses. Caves, wizards, idols, books… There are many caves in the hills above the city. And idols and books—there was no end of them in Ansul. The soldiers were diligent.”
We were all silent for a while.
“How are you governed?” Gry asked.
There was something in her voice; it wasn’t as beautiful as her husband’s voice, but there was something in it that relieved me, quieted me, the way touching the lion’s fur did. When the Waylord answered her he sounded a little less strained.
“We’re enslaved, not governed. The Gand Ioratth and his officers are all the law. For the most part, we of Ansul hold the city together by doing things as we used to do them, as best we can, while the Alds exact tribute, and punish blasphemy, and hold aloof. They’ve lived here as soldiers in a garrison ever since they took the city. They sent no colonists. They brought no women. They don’t want to live here. They hate it, land and city and sea. The earth itself is a place of exile to them, and this is the worst of it.”
In the silence that followed, Shetar raised her head from her paws, said, “Rrrawow!” in a deep, throaty voice, and yawned mightily.
“You’re right,” Gry said to her. She and Caspro rose to say good night, thanking the Waylord for his hospitality, and thanking me too.
I gave her an oil lamp with a mica shade to light their way to their room. I saw that both she and her husband touched the god-niche by the door as they left the room. I watched them go down the corridor side by side, his hand on her shoulder, the lion pacing softly after them and the glimmer of the lamp running along the bare stone walls.
I turned back to see the Waylord gazing at the candle, his face very weary. I thought how alone he was. His friends came and went again, and here he must stay. I had thought of his solitude as his choice, his nature, maybe because it came so natural to me. But he had no choice.
He looked up at me. “What have you brought to Galvamand?” he said.
I was frightened by his tone. I said at last, “Friends, I think”
“Oh yes. Powerful friends, Memer,”
“Waylord—”
“Well?”
“This Night Mouth, this Obatth. Did they come here to the house, to Galvamand—the redhats, the soldiers—did they take you to prison, because they thought—?”
He didn’t answer for a while. He sat stiffly, his shoulders hunched, as he did when in pain. “Yes,” he said.
“But is it—is there anything here—?”
I didn’t know what I was asking, but he did. He looked up at me, a fierce look “What they seek is theirs. It’s in their hearts, not ours. This house hides no evil. They bring their darkness with them. They will never know what is in the heart of this house. They will not look, they will not see. That door will never open to them. You needn’t fear, Memer, You can’t betray it. I tried. I tried to betray it. Over and over. But the gods of my house and the shadows of my dead forgave me before I could do it. They wouldn’t let me do it. All the hands of all the givers of dreams were on my mouth.”
I was very frightened now. He had never spoken of the torture. He was clenched and hunched and trembling. I wanted to go to him but did not dare.
He made a slight gesture and whispered, “Go on. Go to bed, child.”
I went forward and put my hand on his.
“I’m all right,” he said. “Listen. You did right to bring them here. You brought blessing. Always, Memer. Now go on.”
I had to leave him sitting there, shaking, alone.
I was tired, it had been a long day, an immense day, but I could not go to bed. I went to the wall under the hill and opened the door in it with the words written in air and went into the secret room.
As I went into it, all at once I was afraid. My heart went cold, my hair stirred on my neck.
That horrible image of a black sun that sucked out warmth and light from the world—it was like a hole in my mind, now, sucking meaning out, leaving nothing but cold and emptiness.
I had always been afraid of the far end of this long, strange room stretching off into darkness. I had kept away from the shadow end, turned my back on it, not thought about it, told myself, “That’s something I’ll understand later.” Now it was later. Now I had to understand what my house was built on.
But all I had to make understanding out of was that tale of a Night Mouth, that hateful image from the people I hated.
And Orrec Caspros tale. A library, he had said. A great library. The greatest in the world. A place of learning, of the light of the mind.
I could not even look at the shadow end of the room. I wasn’t ready yet for that, I had to gather my strength. I went to the table, the one I used to build houses under and pretend to be a bear cub in its den. I set down the lamp and laid my hands palm down on the table, pressing them hard on the smooth wood, to feel its smoothness, its solidity. It was there.
There was a book on it.
The two of us always returned books to the shelves before we left the room, an old habit of order the Waylord had from his mother, who had been his teacher as he was mine. I didn’t recognise this book. It didn’t look old. It must be one of those that people had brought him secretly to be hidden away, to be saved from the destruction of Atth. Occupied with learning all I could of the great makers of the past and the knowledge they had gathered, I had scarcely looked yet at the shelves that held those random, rescued, newer books. The Waylord must have set this one out for me while I went back to the market with Gry.
I opened it and saw it was printed, with the metal letters they use now in Bendraman and Urdile, which make it easy to make a thousand copies of a book. I read the title: Chaos and Spirit: The Cosmogonies, and under that the name Orrec Caspro, and under that the name of the printers, Berre and Holaven of Derris Water in Bendraman. On the next page were only the words, “Made in honor and dear remembrance of Melle Aulitta of Caspromant,”
I sat down, facing the dark end of the room, for if I couldn’t look at it neither could I turn myback on it. I drew the lamp closer to the book and began to read.
I woke there in the grey of early morning, the lamp dead, myhead on the open book. I was chilled to the bone. My hands were so stiff I could barely write the letters on the air to leave the room.
I ran to the kitchen and all but crawled into the fireplace trying to get warm. Ista scolded and Sosta chattered but I didn’t listen. The great words of the poem were running in my head like waves, like flights of pelicans over the waves. I couldn’t hear or see or feel anything but them.
Ista was really worried about me. She gave me a cup of hot milk and said, “Drink this, you fool girl, what are you taking sick for now? With guests in the house? Drink it up!” I drank it and thanked he
r and went to my room, where I fell on the bed and slept like a stone till late in the morning.
I found Gryand her husband in the stableyard, with the lion and the horses and Gudit and Sosta. Sosta was neglecting her sewing to swoon around Caspro, Gudit was saddling the tall red horse, and Gryand Caspro were arguing. They weren’t angry with each other, but they weren’t in agreement. Lero was not in their hearts, as we say. “You can’t possibly go there byyourself,” Grywas saying, and he was saying, “You can’t possibly go there with me,” and it was not the first time either had said it.
He turned to me. For a moment I felt almost as swoony as Sosta, thinking that this was the man who had made the poem that I had read all night and that had remade my soul. That confusion went away at once. This was Orrec Caspro all right, only not the poet Caspro but the man Orrec, a worried man arguing with his wife, a man who took everything terribly seriously, our guest, whom I liked. “You can tell us, Memer,” he said. “People saw Gry in the marketplace yesterday, saw her with Shetar—hundreds of people—isn’t that true?”
“Of course it is,” Gry said before I could speak. “But nobody saw inside the wagon! Did they, Memer?”
“Yes,” I said to him, and “I don’t think so,” to her.
“So,” she said, “your wife hid in the wagon in the marketplace, and now stays indoors in the house, like a virtuous woman. And your servant the lion trainer emerges from the wagon and comes with you to the Palace.”
He was obstinately shaking his head.
“Orrec, I travelled as a man with you for two months all over Asudar! What on earth makes it impossible now?”
“You’ll be recognised. They saw you, Gry, They saw you as a woman.”
“All unbelievers look alike. And the Alds don’t see women, anyhow.
“They see women with lions who frighten their horses!”
“Orrec, I am coming with you.”
He was so distressed that she went to him and held him, pleading and reassuring. “You know nobody in Asudar ever saw I was a woman except that old witch at the oasis, and she laughed about it. Remember? They won’t know, they won’t see, they can’t see. I will not let you go alone. I can’t. You can’t. You need Shetar, And Shetar needs me. Let me go dress now—there’s plenty of time. I won’t ride, you ride and we’ll walk with you, there’ll be plenty of time. Won’t there, Memer? How far is it to the Palace?”
“Four street crossings and three bridges.”
“See? I’ll be back in no time. Don’t let him go without me!” she said to me and Gudit and Sosta and perhaps to the horse, and she ran off to the back of the house, Shetar loping along with her.
Orrec walked to the gateway of the court and stood there straight and stiff, his back turned to us all. I felt sorry for him.
“Stands to reason,” Gudit said. “Murderous snakes they are in that Palace what they call it. Our Council House it was. Get over there, you!” The tall red horse looked at him with mild reproach and moved politely to the left.
“What a beauty you are,” I said to the horse, for he was. I patted his neck. “Brandy?”
“Branty,” Orrec said, coming back to us with an air of dignified defeat that you could see went right to Sosta’s heart.
“Ohhh,” she said to Orrec, and then trying to cover it up, “oh, can I, can I get you a…” but she couldn’t think of anything to get him.
“He’s a good old fellow,” Orrec said, taking up Branty’s reins. He made as if to mount, but Gudit said, “Hold on, wait a minute, have to look to the cinch here,” getting between him and the horse and throwing the stirrup up over the saddle.
Orrec gave up, and stood as patiently as the horse. “Have you had him a long time?” I asked, trying to make conversation and feeling as foolish as Sosta.
“He’s well over twenty. Time he had a rest from travelling. And Star as well,” He smiled a little sadly. “We left the Uplands together—Branty and me, Star and Gry, And Coaly. Our dog. A good dog. Gry trained her.”
That got Gudit started off on the followhounds that used to live at Galvamand and he was still talking about them when Gry reappeared. She wore breeches and a rough tunic. Men in Ansul wear their hair long, tied back, so she had merely combed out her braid and put on a worn black velvet cap. She had somehow darkened or roughened her chin. She had become a fellow of twenty-five or so, quick-eyed, shy, and sullen. “So, are we ready?” she said, and her soft, burry voice had changed, too, becoming hoarse.
Sosta was staring at her, rapt. “Who are your” she asked.
Gry rolled her eyes and said, “Chy the lion tamer. So, Orrec?”
He gazed at her, shrugged, laughed a little, and swung up onto the horse. “Come on, then!” he said and set right off not looking back. She and the lion followed behind him. She looked back at me as they passed through the gate, and winked.
“But where did he come from?” Sosta asked.
“Merciful Ennu go with them, that nest of murderous rats and snakes they’re going to,” Gudit said hollowly, shuffling into the stable.
I went in to look after the gods and the ancestors and find out what Ista needed from the market.
♦ 6 ♦
Gudit told me that a messenger had come that morning from the Council House, which the Alds called the Palace of the Gand, to say Orrec Caspro was to wait upon the Gand before midday. Not saying please or why or anything, of course. So they went, and so we waited. It was late enough when they came back that I’d had plenty of time to worry. I was out sitting on the edge of the dry basin of the Oracle Fountain in front of the house when I saw them coming along our street from the south, Orrec afoot leading the horse, Chy the lion tamer beside him, and the lion padding along behind with a bored expression. I ran to meet them. “It went well, it went well,” Orrec said, and Chysaid, “Well enough.”
Gudit was at the stableyard gate to take Branty—having horses in the stable was such joyto him he wouldn’t let anybody else look after them for a moment—and Chysaid to me, “Come up with us.” In the Master’s room, though she hadn’t yetchanged her clothes or washed her face, she became Gryagain. I asked if they were hungry, but they said no, the Gand had given them food and drink. “Did they let youunder the roof?” I asked. “Did they let Shetar in?” I didn’t want to be curious about anything the Alds did, but I was. Nobody I knew had ever been inside the Council House or the barracks or seen how the Gand and the Alds lived there, for all of Council Hill was always guarded and swarming with soldiers.
“Tell Memer about it while I get out of these clothes,” Grysaid, and Orrec told me, making a tale of it; he couldn’t help it.
The Alds had set up tents as well as barracks, tents of the fashion they use travelling in their deserts. The tent in Council Square was high and very large, as large as a big house, all of red cloth with golden trimming and banners. It appeared, said Orrec, that the Gand actually governed from this tent rather than from the Council House, at least now that the rains had ceased. The tent would be sumptuously furnished, and would have movable, carved screens making rooms of a kind within it—Orrec had been made welcome in such great tents in his travels in Asudar. But here he was not brought under even that cloth roof. He was invited to sit on a light folding stool on a carpet not far from the open doorway of the tent.
Branty had been taken to the stables by a groom who handled him as if he were made of glass. The lion tamer and the lion stood some yards behind Orrec, with Ald officers guarding them. They, like Orrec, were offered paper parasols to protect them from the sun. “I got one on account of Shetar,” Gry called to us from the dressing room. “They respect lions. But they’ll throw away the parasols, because we used them and were unclean.”
They were offered refreshments at once, and a bowl of water was brought for Shetar. After they had waited about half an hour, the Gand emerged from the tent with a retinue of courtiers and officers. He greeted Orrec most graciously, calling him prince of poets and welcoming him to Asudar,
&
nbsp; “Asudar!” I burst out. “This is Ansul!” Then I apologised for interrupting.
“Where the Ald is is the desert,” Orrec said mildly; I don’t know whether they were his own words or an Ald saying.
The Gand Ioratth, he said, was a man of sixty or more, splendidly dressed in robes of linen inwoven with gold thread in the fashion of Asudar, with the wide, peaked hat that only Ald noblemen can wear. His manners were affable and his talk was shrewd and lively. He sat with Orrec and conversed about poetry: at first they spoke of the great epics of Asudar, but he also wanted to know about what he called the western makers. His interest was real, his questions intelligent. He invited Orrec to come regularly to the Palace to recite from his own work and that of other makers. It would, he said, give him and his court much pleasure and instruction. He spoke as one prince to another, inviting, not ordering.
Some of the courtiers and officers joined in the conversation after a while, and like the Gand showed a thorough knowledge of their own epics and a curiosity, even a hunger, to hear poetry and story. They complimented Orrec, saying he was a fountain in the desert to them.
Others were less friendly. The Gands son, Iddor, kept noticeably apart, paying no attention to the talk about poetry, standing inside the open tent with a group of priests and officers and chatting with them, until they grew so noisy that the Gand silenced them with a reproof After that Iddor scowled and said nothing.
The Gand asked that the lion be brought to him, so Chy obliged, and Shetar did her useful trick, as Orrec called it: facing the Gand, she stretched out her front paws and bowed her head down between them, as cats do when they stretch—“doing obeisance.” This pleased everybody very much, and Shetar had to do it several times, which was fine with her, since she got a small treat each time, even though it was her fasting day. Iddor came forward and wanted to play with her, dangling his feathered cap, which she ignored, and asking how strong she was, did she kill live prey, had she bitten people, had she killed a man, and so on. Chy the lion tamer answered all his questions respectfully, and had Shetar do obeisance to him. But Shetar yawned at him after doing a rather perfunctory bow.
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