Kavin's World

by David Mason

  The brown-clad men bent over the letters, gabbling excitedly and pointing. However, they seemed to be unable to read, although it was clear they recognized the letter shapes. One of them straightened up, and took my arm, nodding toward the gate.

  “We may as well chance it,” I said. “They seem to want us to go in with them, and they don’t seem unfriendly. Come, let’s see if there are any more inside who may be able to speak with us.”

  I stared around, as we passed into the place. It was evidently very ancient, and had the look of a structure not too well kept up by its present inhabitants. Moss grew here and there, and there were fallen parts of wall and column.

  But it had been built as a fortress for defense, and built well. The arched gate through which we passed was turned at a right angle, and I saw embrasures for weapons overhead; and the wall it pierced must have been six manlengths thick. Within, there were two further gates, each admitting to a wide court surrounded by blank walls, and each gate as stout as the first But there were no warriors visible. Instead, we passed between farm carts, and piles of forage, while the courts were filled with a small crowd of brown-clad people who stared and chattered at us.

  They were all small in size, dark-haired, and snub-nosed, looking very like our own peasants in their dress and manner. But much poorer than any peasant of mine, I thought; they were hungry looking, and their naked children were very thin as they ran about under our feet.

  Some of those huge horses were there in the courtyards too, and I looked at them admiringly. They were truly great beasts, half again as tall and broad as my best war-horses, with deep chests and large, intelligent-looking heads. I thought, looking at them, of what magnificent war horses they might make, if I could manage to obtain a few.

  But these were not warlike folk, from the look of them. There was not a sword or a bow in sight as we went by them, and into a great arched hall, lit by small windows, dusty and nearly empty of any furnishing.

  Here our guides left us, backing out with much gesturing and chattering. Evidently we were to wait for another.

  We grouped together, a little nervously, staring about us as our eyes became accustomed to the dimness. One or two of the archers muttered a spell to drive away demons, and old Kakk Marag, clutching his bow, barked a short, expressive sounding word in his odd tongue.

  “Look,” he said, pointing. “Many devils.”

  The walls were painted with tall, pale-featured figures wearing odd crowns and odder garments; each was surrounded by masses of detailed ornament mingled with queer angular script that ran up and down between each figure. Every face wore a stern, disapproving expression; some seemed almost in pain. They did not seem a pleasant group of portraits, if portraits they were. The style of the art was strange, and the colors were faded to near-grayness by time. Thick dust and grime overlaid them all.

  At one end of the hall was a tall stone block on a dais, like an altar, but no god’s image was on it. Instead, it seemed as if a fire had once been built there, for there were marks of blackening and stains. Also, there were great cracks in the block, as though it had been hammered in some fashion; designs, faintly visible on the stonework, were chipped and pitted as if by blows of an axe.

  It was this block that seemed to draw Kakk Marag’s look; he stared at it, muttering in his own language, and pulling his beard.

  “What is it you see there, Kakk Marag?” I asked.

  “I remember old story,” he said. “Not mean anything. About bad folk. Folk call God-eaters.”

  Thuramon pricked up his ears. “God-eaters?” He turned to look once more at the dim wall paintings.

  “Prince, have you heard of the Christian cults?” Thuramon asked, turning his gaze toward the burned stone.

  “I’ve seen a few of them, in Meryon ports,” I said. “I have even read one or two writings by one of their philosophers, though much of it escapes me now.”

  “There must be a dozen or more varieties of them,” Thuramon said. “I myself do not wholly understand their religious beliefs, except that no two of their churches seem to agree on anything except their common name. They are secretive, since there are so few of them in the west; for instance, I do not know where their common name, Christian, comes from. But I have seen some of their symbols and drawings, and these seem strangely like. Yet, unlike… older. Much older.”

  He moved toward the dais, and bent low to look at the battered stone.

  “Yes,” he said, his voice echoing in the vaulted hall. “This may have been an altar of a Christian cult. Though why it should be so defaced… strange. Now, those letters on the walls… those are not of any language of our world.”

  “God-eaters,” Kakk Marag muttered.

  “Curiously enough, our grizzled friends here may have a point,” Thuramon said. “A ritual in which their God was ceremonially shared, as if in a kind of cannibal feast, was a part of some of the cults in Meryon.”

  “It sounds a grim feast,” I said. “Did they eat human flesh, then?”

  “Oh, no… it was symbolized,” Thuramon said. “I wonder…”

  But a door opened, and we fell silent, watching as our hosts came into the hall, toward us.

  There were half a dozen of them; tall men, robed in black garments that covered them from head to foot, with hoods shading their faces. Under each hood, their faces were chalk-white, black-bearded; harsh, lined faces, not like the faces of the peasant folk we had seen so far. I thought they seemed of a different race from the others. They seemed like the wall paintings in a curious family resemblance.

  They advanced silently toward us, and stopped; one moved forward a pace, like a leader.

  Thuramon rubbed his chin, staring at them.

  “I’ll try them in such tongues as I know,” he said to me, and stepped forward. But the leader of the others raised a hand.

  “There is no need,” he said, in a strangely accented, but understandable form of our own speech.

  “You can speak our tongue,” I said. “Good.”

  “Not well,” he said. “But you understand. My name is Theodron. I am… Abbot… is our word. Lord of this place, you would say. This is the monastery of Koremon, where we of the Brothers of the Wisdom live.”

  “My name is Kavin, Prince of Dorada,” I said. “My ships lie at anchor on your coasts. We are wanderers, driven from our homes, and we do not seek any trouble with anyone. If we are not welcome in your land, we will sail on.”

  The Abbot stared at me oddly for a long minute. His gleaming black eyes, set deep in his pale face, were cold. But his words were friendly enough.

  “This land of Koremon is large, and there are few enough dwelling here,” he said. “If you seek land of your own to settle…” He stopped, but I made no reply. I was thinking hard. Moreover, Thuramon’s expression sent me a message of caution.

  “We shall speak of these things,” the Abbot said. Then, to one of the other black robes, he spoke in another language a quick flow of words, sharp-sounding syllables that seemed to clatter metallically. I noticed Thuramon’s brows knit, as he listened. But if he understood he said nothing.

  “Prince Kavin, you have walked far,” the Abbot went on. “Would you take food… with us?”

  “Gladly,” I said.

  He beckoned, and we followed out of the great hall, into one only slightly smaller and equally dusty, where long wooden trestles were placed. Here a row of black-robes sat already, eating and drinking silently, while brown-clad servitors went to and from a kitchen beyond. As we entered, faces turned toward us, and I saw that some were the same race as the Abbot and his group, while others were of the smaller folk type.

  But what struck me as strangest was the silence. None spoke, even at our entrance, and we must have been a strange sight, something to bring forth a comment or two. Nor had there been any sound of conversation before; even the servants were silent as they went back and forth.

  A folk who ate as silently as if they were lying in ambush for an enemy? Who
munched food and drank ale with neither song nor jest… very strange, and not pleasing.

  There were half a hundred of them there, all told, though the tables were long enough for ten times as many, and the hall large enough. Here too, were those ungainly painted figures on every wall, as dusty and as ancient as the others.

  We moved to what would, in a lord’s castle, be called a high table, above the others, and seated ourselves, keeping our weapons close by. The Abbot sat with us, while the others scattered to other tables; evidently he did not seem to fear us. He stared thoughtfully at one of the matchlocks.

  “A curious thing,” he said, touching it. “To slay with a flash and smoke…”

  It suddenly occurred to me that he had never seen it fired. How come this close knowledge of the matter? I glanced at Thuramon, whose expression showed that the same thought had reached him.

  “Are there… many of your folk?” the Abbot asked.

  “Not many,” I said. A servitor laid plates of hot meat and set down cups of a bitter brew, like ale, and we set to work on the food. The Abbot did not eat, but watched us.

  “And they are as you are… strong, tall…” he said, thoughtfully.

  “May I be permitted to ask,” I said to the Abbot, “how came you to learn our speech? We did not know any folk of ours had ever come so far before, except for an ancient ship.”

  “An ancient ship,” the Abbot said, staring at me. “That would have been a century or two ago…”

  “Yes.”

  “Certain men of that ship… came here. Cast away,” the Abbot said. “We… of the Brotherhood… we devote ourselves to knowledge. Preserving knowledge, searching for deeper wisdom, under our Lord’s will. We try to learn all languages… so that if we are called to go forth into the world again, we may bring our wisdom to all.”

  “Are you what are called Christians?” Thuramon spoke, at my elbow. The Abbot’s face changed, oddly; it seemed to grow paler, while his eyes gleamed brighter. After a moment, he shook his head.

  “Not… exactly,” he said. “When we came to this land… a long time ago… we were simple monks, searching for a home. As you are, I might say. We had fled from a great city of sin… yet we were not wise. Not then. But here, after a long time, we… became different We were… taught.” He stopped, and stared out across the silent hall.

  “Then what gods do you have here?” Thuramon asked, with the expression of a simple seeker of information on his crafty face. “Who is the Lord you spoke of?”

  “The Lord of Wisdom,” the Abbot said, his eyes now lit as if they were lamps. “He who made all…” He paused. “No, let us not enter into such deep matters, not at once. Later, perhaps, we will speak of such things. Now…” He leaned forward, his eyes on my face. “I would speak of nearer matters.”

  “I hear,” I said.

  “You seek a land for your people,” the Abbot said. “Here, there is much land; good land, for farms. Our peasants, few as they are, need but little of it. Rivers, and a forest… you’ve seen.”

  “I was told, in an old book, that there were beasts, too,” I said. “We saw one such, a most dangerous-seeming creature.”

  The Abbot’s face moved in a grimace which might have been a strained smile.

  “You… need not fear… beasts,” he said slowly. “There are… very few of them. And they are not… no, let us not prattle on this. You are bold men; you should have no fear. But the dragons…”

  I smiled at him. “I believe they eat only virgins. And they seem less dangerous than the white beasts.”

  The Abbot’s voice became edged with intensity. “They are the beasts of which your book warned you. The dragons. You must slay them. Slay them all. If you do this, you will be permitted to live here. You may have all this land, all you wish. You have weapons… iron. And ships, you say. You can follow them to their lair, on that island, and slay them all.”

  I leaned back in my seat, wiping my mouth after a sup of the bitter ale.

  “Lord Abbot,” I said, slowly. “You wish to make this as a bargain with us: to slay these dragons, for which you seem to hold an enmity, and we may then live in this land?”

  “That is my word,” he said.

  I nodded. “Well, this will take thought,” I told him. “I’ll return to my ships, and there take counsel.”

  “I understand,” he said, the gleaming eyes fixed on me.

  “In a day, I’ll send word,” I said. “Now… I think we’d best return before dark. You say there are few of the white beasts… but one might be enough, in the dark.”

  “You need not fear them,” the Abbot said. “None will approach you.”

  I studied him thoughtfully, then nodded.

  “All the same, we shall return now.”

  We rose, and gathered our weapons; monks led us out, and through the crumbling halls and courts, until we were on the grassy slope again. There, Kakk Marag was first to speak, and his tone was positive.

  “All devils,” he said, grinding his remaining teeth, and staring back over his shoulder. “Eat God. Change skin.”

  “And so they do, so they do,” Thuramon said cheerily. “Therefore, my lord, let’s make haste out of sight, till we are within the trees’ shade again.”

  We entered the ancient road, and went a few hundred yards, until the monastery was hidden from view. Here, Thuramon paused.

  “Fortunately, I too am a great student of languages, like the great… Abbot… yonder,” he said, his face now grim. “He spoke in a tongue of which I know a few words. I guessed much, and saw more. Lord Kavin, these folk are a great problem.”

  I looked at him, then back at the way we had come.

  “I see no problem,” I said. “They seem strange. A haunted folk… but few, monks and peasants, with no arms to speak of. They fear the dragons, it seems; yet, if we wished to land and live here, bargain or no, they have no way to hurt us.”

  “You saw so little, then,” Thuramon said, shaking his head. “And, speaking of bargains… I hold your oath. We do not seek only a place to settle, to plant corn again… you and I seek an enemy. And the shortest way to that enemy lies through this land. Yet these folk will prevent our passage.”

  “How?” I asked impatiently. “And why not slay dragons for them, if need be? I’ve no special love for the breed.”

  Thuramon shook his head. “It is neither easy nor wise to slay dragons. The smaller dragon is a creature of beauty, and of great service, when trained. And the larger is man’s equal in many ways; and more than equal in others. Dragons are lovers of gold and music, as man is. Also, the gods hold a special love for them, and it is not wise to slay them without need.”

  “According to the Abbot, they are the beasts of the book, keeping us out of this land,” I said.

  “No. He lied. These dragons are not fond of man’s flesh. They prefer a stronger meat.” Thuramon paused. “The… beasts, who endanger us… those beasts, who will not attack us now, so says the Abbot… the white wolf-creatures, and maybe yet other white night beasts of worse kind… you have seen them. And spoken with them. They are the men of the black robes.”

  I stared at him. He was not joking. A number of odd things came back to me: how the Abbot had known of the handguns, how he had seemed so strangely eager in the matter of the dragons.

  “Skin-changers.” Kakk Marag grunted. “We had such, sometimes. We killed them.”

  “He speaks truth,” Thuramon said. “These black-robed monks are devotees of a mad cult, whose basis is a change into a shape like that of a beast. Changed, they slay and gain magical power thus. Power, and long life. I suspect these monks are very old, some of them. Maybe they are the same who came here, ages ago, to build their house… for another purpose.”

  “Are these Christians, then?” I asked. “I’d never heard of such customs among the other Christians.”

  “They may have been, once,” Thuramon said. “I think what may have happened was that they found a new wisdom, as they put it. I t
hink I know that Lord of Wisdom of whom the Abbot spoke. He is not the god of the Christians, but another, far older. And of him, the less said the better.” He shuddered and glanced into the dark depths of the forest around us.

  “I think I see, then,” I said. “We’re to kill off their enemies, the dragons. Though if they’re as wise as they say, surely they could have done that themselves. Still, we’re to clear away this dragon danger for them, and then… why, then, I suppose we would be hunted, as they hunt the peasants no doubt.”

  “I think so,” Thuramon said. “Also, they may hope we would be killed, most of us, in the fight with the dragons. Remember, the Dragon Keepers would not take the death of their pets lightly.”

  “Pawns on the Abbot’s chessboard,” I said angrily. “Well, now, wizard, advise me. Shall we burn his roof, or sail away?”

  He looked thoughtful. “Neither, yet. We must speak with the Dragon Keepers, and quickly. With their aid, we may win through this cursed land; but against the beasts, massed, we would fail. Even with silver.”

  At least one good had come of our exploration: the word of the Abbot proved true. As we hastened back along the old roadway, we saw no sign of any white, ravening beast, nor of anything else, for that matter. We hurried, for all that, holding our weapons ready, all the way.

  The sky was red with sunset as we reached the shore and our boat. We were seen from the ships, and a cheer went up from the Luck. We pulled away with a will, despite our weariness, and within a few minutes, we were aboard again.

  Both Isa and Samala were there, standing together to greet me; but I took time for no more than a smile. There was more work to be done, before we dared rest.

  “The Dragon Keepers live there, on the farther side of that cragged island,” Thuramon said. “What may happen when we approach, I do not know; they are a testy breed. They may set a brace of wardragons at us without stopping to inquire what we’re at.”

  “We’ll try a signal lamp,” I said. The rattle of the anchor chain came from the forward deck, and the mainsail rose along the mast, “There’s barely enough breeze. We’ll tack up this channel and run down on the island’s tip end.” In the twilit sky, a triangle-winged shape wheeled watchfully, and I heard again that distant organpipe note of a dragon’s cry. We were watched.