Paul O Williams - [Pelbar Cycle 04]

by The Fall of the Shell (v0. 9) (epub)

  Gamwyn turned east toward the ruins, hoping to find the hermit there. He was astonished to see the sand all washed away, and the ruined streets and buildings gleaming in the sun. He walked through the ancient streets calling. Some cellar holes were scooped out, and Gamwyn looked down into the rusty remains of clotted and shattered ancient artifacts.

  He began to pick up whole bottles, many clear, with milky rainbows in the glass. Eventually he took off his tunic and filled it with bottles, carrying them back to the beach and on to Sagol.

  He set them out for Aylor’s inspection and they were immediately taken for use by any who saw them. Soon a small party set out for the ruin to gather more.

  Aylor frowned at Gamwyn’s claim that Darew’s whole camp had been carried away, but the old man was too busy to see into it at the time. In fact, three days passed and all the remaining houses were moved back to the beach with the boats before Aylor set out to see for himself. Gamwyn and Artess accompanied him. All was as Gamwyn had said, and Aylor stood sadly among the tom shrubs of the camp area regarding the one tree the Pelbar boy had identified. Looking up into it, he said, “What’s that?”

  Gamwyn shaded his eyes. “Looks like a bag up there.” He ran up the trunk, caught a branch, and swung up into the tree, climbing to the old bag, which was fastened to a branch with cord wrapping Untying it, he dropped the sack to Aylor, who opened it and pulled out a shell. Gamwyn’s jaw fell, for Aylor was holding the very shell he had wanted, unscathed, packed in rags. He silently held it up. Gamwyn dropped into the sand by him and looked at it Aylor fplt around deeper in the bag, finding a large shaving. Scratched in its surface, in a crude hand, was the sentence, “The shell is for Gamwyn. May it bless you. And for Aylor this: Jeez I cry is the name of the Lost One. Darew.”

  Aylor looked puzzled. “He always said, ‘Jeez I cry.’ He just said it. What has that to do with the Lost One?” Gamwyn shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  At that point, Artess, who had wandered off, shrieked and came running. “A hand! A hand!” she gasped.

  Aylor said, “Stay here, both of you,” and, following her tracks, pushed through the bushes. He was gone several sunwidths before returning. When he did he simply announced, “We’ll go home now,” then walked grimly toward the shore.

  They returned along the shore in silence, Aylor walking so fast that the other two had to trot at times to keep up. When they reached Sagol, Aylor’s son, Weel, greeted him. The old man said, “We found Darew—his hand, sticking out of the sand. I covered it up.”

  “You covered it? Why didn’t you bring him back to bury him right?”

  “His hand. It was black.”

  “So is yours.”

  Aylor flashed a look of anger at him, but saw his son’s earnest look and simply said, “Mine is supposed to be. And Darew thinks the name of the Lost One is Jeez I cry. Darew left a note on a stick. It said, ‘And for Aylor this: Jeez I cry is the name of the Lost One.’ ” He looked up at his son again and found him open-mouthed. “What?” Aylor asked.

  “Yesterday Gelis found a sign in stone in the ancient ruin. It said, ‘Jesus Saves.’ He told me. They used it with a lot of other rock to fill a low place in the road.”

  All those who heard fell silent. Finally somebody said, “I never thought of the Lost One as a person. I don’t know. Is this right? Is it a person?”

  “Who knows? What if it is? What does it mean?”

  “It can’t be a person. No person can do much saving.” “Maybe the Lost One is some other being called Jesus by the ancients.”

  “I still wish I could see how something that saves could get lost.”

  “Maybe,” Aylor said, “he was really lost to the considerations of the ancients. Before the great burning. Maybe they just forgot him and that caused the great burning.” “Maybe this is wrong. Maybe Jeez I cry isn’t the Lost One at all.”

  “Well, we don’t know, do we. We know something was lost. There has to have been. We see the threads still unwinding from ancient times.”

  A young boy joined the group. “Ansy wants to know if you’ll help him move his boat,” he said. They all stood and followed him down the beach.

  That evening, Aylor found Gamwyn and said, “It’s been decided. You have your shell. You’ll be going back. We’re going to send twenty people with you. If they know anything about the Lost One at Pelbarigan, we want to know it. Besides, you may not make it by yourself. You had trouble enough getting here.”

  “I’m going, too,” Artess said. “Back to where I was bom.”

  Gamwyn looked at her, slim and earnest, a spattering of freckles on her face, her hair over her shoulder in a single braid. He was startled to find she was beautiful in the firelight He looked again. She smiled at him, her smile radiating implications.

  “You?” he asked. “What about Reo?”

  “He’s staying right here,” Daun said. “Right, Ree?” She turned to him.

  Gamwyn could see Reo struggling within himself. Finally he said, “I’ve never been happy before this, Daun. I don’t want any more than this. Artess, are you really going?” She embraced him tightly and held him a long time. “I guess that means yes,” he finally said. “Maybe someday I’ll come.”

  Two mornings later, five of the slim boats launched through the surf and unfurled their sails, with the whole town on the shore. Artess bit her lip hard as she waved one last time to Reo, but then she spun her head away and wouldn’t look back. Eventually, when she did, she could see only water.

  Again they portaged across the maze of swampy land to the river, visiting Samme and his small village on stilts. They all had to see Gamwyn’s shell, laughing, tossing it to one another across the water. Gamwyn was uneasy, but they never dropped it.

  As they talked about the storm, and Darew, Gamwyn said, “I’ve been thinking about him. I may be wrong, but I think he was sent there by the eastern cities to keep track of you.”

  Samme laughed. “That old crazy? Why do you say that?” “He asked me too much. He wanted to know about you here. He wanted to know about us.”

  “He was just curious.”

  “Maybe, but we’ve always been careful about what we’ve told other people, and we know right away when somebody’s probing us for information.”

  Doon, Aylor’s eldest son, said, “Father always thought that What difference? We ain’t doing nothing they’d be interested in. He always liked the old pelican.”

  “Even so, I don’t like it,” Samme said.

  As it turned out, Samme was footloose enough to join the group, and two others joined with him.

  To avoid the current, they began the long ascent of the river by sticking to the shore. They stroked all day, and when the wind was favorable, set their sails.

  As they drew closer to Murkal, Gamwyn grew more and more apprehensive. The city had looked so ominous when they had slipped by it in the dark. They discussed the passage, thinking they might run by at night, but the Atherers were confident that a determined front and ready bows might convince the Alats that it would be wise to let them alone.

  It was midmorning when Murkal came in sight. Gamwyn shaded his eyes and stared at the city as they drew abreast of it. They could see men running down to the river bank, armed with bows and spears.

  “Those are the military,” said Artess. “We have to worry if they get in those long boats. But I don’t think they will. They only act on orders, and we’ll probably be gone before they get any.”

  GamWyn could see a strange building on top of the threetiered pyramid. “Is that where they keep . .. what did you call it?”

  “The Godswagon.”

  “What’s that on top of it? A row of letters? P-A-C-K-A-R-D? What does that mean?”

  “That’s the name of the Godswagon. Nobody knows. They don’t even know. They don’t write the way you and the Atherers do.”

  “Stop talking and paddle,” said one of the Atherers. They did, but Gamwyn couldn’t resist a few more glances over his shoulder.
The city still seemed mysterious.

  “Don’t worry,” said Artess. “You wouldn’t like it, Gam. You really wouldn’t.”

  They paddled hard the rest of the day, then camped on an island, leaving almost all their gear in the boats and setting a double watch. As the night waned, they heard voices downstream, and the thump of paddles on thwarts. Instantly the Atherers were armed and ready, the fires quenched. From downstream, a voice called, “Hal-loooooooo. Halloooooo. Travelers.”

  “We’ll wait and see what it’s all about,” said Samme.

  The boats approached, and they heard a voice say, “Yah sure yah saw fires?”

  “Yeah. I’m sure. Two of ’em.”

  “Yah think we missed ’em?”

  “Don’ know.”

  “What’ll we do? Can’ go back now. Tusco up ahead. Damn it all, yah fried snakeskin. Why’d I ever let yah talk me into this?”

  “Better’n shoveling chicken pens all y’r life.”

  “Not Tusco slavery isn’t.’ ^

  “Over here,” Samme called, then, turning, said, “Light a torch.”

  Both sides struck torches, and Gamwyn’s party saw two boats much like the rowboat Reo and Artess had stolen. They counted seven people. As they neared, Gamwyn could distinguish five young men and two women. In the boat were some crates with birds in them. The boats grounded and the Atherers pulled them up into the weeds.

  “We wan’ ta come,” said one man. “We’re chicken workers. Brought some chickens. Wherever y’r goin’, we wan’ ta come. Some people told us the Tusco have lef High Tower. There’s nothin’ but thankless work at Murkal for the res’ of our lives. The investors own it all.” “Chickens?” said Samme.

  “Yeah. That’s one thing we got. Give eggs and meat. Raise ’em.”

  “I don’t know,” said Samme.

  “Let them come, Samme,” said Gamwyn. “Isn’t that all right, Artess?”

  “Artess? Is that you? Where ya been?”

  “Hello, Ture. Yeah. It’s me. I been all over. Now I’m goin’ with Gamwyn all the way to Threerivers to be a Pelbar.”

  “Can we come?” asked a freckled, thin man. “We’re really sick of things at home.”

  “We’ll have to search you,” said Samme. “Come on, then.” He sighed. “We’d better start out now in case your people follow.”

  “We fixed it. They won’ even know til tomorrow. Probably toward evening. We’re supposed to be on fertilizer duty tomorrow. But we think it’s been changed.”

  Artess laughed. “Same old trick. Still workin’.”

  The chicken workers were searched and fed fish soup.

  Then, after a rest, they started out again upriver, the curious fowl clucking and prodding their heads out through the bars of their cages. The Atherers were amused at them, but some were layers, and soon enough they were also enjoying eggs and getting seriously interested in chickens themselves.

  It was over a week after leaving Murkal that they stroked by the site of High Tower. It was deserted, strewn with wreckage, and weed-grown. Gamwyn felt a sinking fatigue and realized that he’d been dreading it. But as they began the long voyage toward U Bend, he seemed slowly constricted by a growing fear of that place as well. Artess noticed it. So did some others. But Gamwyn set his jaw and stroked in time with the rest, as the Atherers chanted their slow, melodious boat songs.

  One morning while Gamwyn’s party paddled against the current in Tusco country, far upriver, at Threerivers the guardsman’s horn blew to announce the arrival of a visitor. An adolescent girl, by her dress a Sentani, stood on the message stone. She was hailed by megaphone from the wall and a rope ladder was rolled down to her.

  She was greeted by the guardcaptain when she finished the long upward climb and rolled over the terrace wall. She sat a moment, catching her breath, as a ring of guardsmen scrutinized her.

  “My name is Misque,” she finally said. “Sentani from the Tall Grass. I’m looking for a refuge. Can you take me in? We were wiped out by those cursed Peshtak. I was bathing and hid in the reeds.”

  “How many?”

  “I don’t know. I saw quite a few. I heard many voices. They killed a band of forty-nine. Except me.”

  “Forty-nine. Aven help us. Why didn’t you go to Koorb. Or north?”

  “I thought they were going that way. South. I don’t know. I’m so frightened. May I stay?”

  “The Protector will decide that Meanwhile, come and eat. We’ll tell you.”

  Gind brought the problem to Udge in the Broad Tower. She pushed out her lower lip in thought. “A Sentani girl? How old?”

  “About fourteen. We didn’t ask, Protector.”

  “I see no harm in a girl. Do you?”

  “We know nothing of her, Protector. She could be a spy.”

  “We can surely use workers, especially young women. Keep the usual watch on her, Gind. Accept her. See how she works. Put her to routine things. That will test her.” “Yes, Protector.”

  Across the river, Steelet’s scouting party watched all day. Misque didn’t reappear. They slapped each other in elation. The main band was about eighteen ayas to the west, resting, awaiting word. This time they would succeed. Steelet was sure of it.

  17

  Bival sat hunched over her lamp, reading the manuscript Brudoer had copied in a careful hand. Again Craydor expressed unsureness:

  I tremble when I think of the tightness, the exclusiveness of the organization of this society. Is it all a mistake? Should I have ever initiated it? Knowing as well as I do the human tendency to freeze institutions, to glorify mere procedures into ultimate truths, have I, in my attempt to create a wholly defended society capable of growth, simply walled one in with irremovable barriers? I have suggested modes of change and growth, but they have not been taken up. My words about mundane matters have been regarded as final truths, while I have not felt these words to be revealed by Aven, or even to deal with ultimates— only with social organization in this time of hostility. I am in agony now in my last days. I only hope that future generations will include the independent as well as the faithful, and that Threerivers will evolve and change, preserving our ideal devotion to Aven. But what if that does not happen? I have reached the ends of reason and design. I now can only pray.

  Bival sighed and looked up. Warret was fast asleep after a day of heavy work, but even now enough sand had run into the red bowl to tip the beam and ring the small alarm bell. It was time he stood his guard duty. She shook him gently. He didn’t awaken. She shook a little harder. He groaned but didn’t move. She then took his short-sword, buckled it on, and left the room to stand his watch. Warret continued to sleep.

  As she walked the terraces, she never noticed Misque in the shadows. When Bival had finished Warret’s tour and reentered the upper hall door, Misque dropped a note attached to a bit of white cloth, beyond the water tower. She heard a low click from below, so stole away, down the curving stairs to the room assigned her. Her hands were blistered from water-lifting and garden work. She rubbed them with bean oil and crawled back into bed.

  By midmorning, Annon had her note, which he unrolled and read:

  In two weeks at the dark of the moon, I will roll two rope ladders off the front terrace just after high night. They are getting used to me slowly, but they watch me. This place is mostly women because many of the men have left. Many who stayed are old. Remember your promise not to kill them. They are quite gentle. I think you can capture the city easily. Then you can turn them out of it. Please remember. Please take care of Jaiyan and Jamin. Remember, you promised.

  Misque.

  Annon snorted. “A pig-snouted bleeding heart. Well, at least she got in. At least she will get us in. We’ll have to make some ladders. At least twenty, and those at least twenty-five arms long. I think we will get in this time.” He rubbed his face mask to get at the itching below it. He then held out his palm, and Steelet slapped it with his. Both men laughed.

  When Gamwyn’s party at last came in
sight of the U Bend settlement, the Pelbar boy couldn’t believe so much change was possible. The whole river had established its course through the gap he and his friends had started. The former slave quarters was an island, and the former course of the river a silt-barred backwater, still and weedy.

  Before they came within a half-ayas of it, the party slowed, and one of the Atherers said, “Smoke. I smell smoke. A lot of it.” Then Gamwyn smelled it. Soon they could see a black stain on the hillside behind the former place of the circles, on the high ground east of the river. Some smoke drifted up from it yet. Figures moved in the area, and as Gamwyn’s expedition drew closer, staying close to the west bank, people came down to the bank and hailed them. Gamwyn’s party slowed their boats. Soon three people in what Gamwyn recognized as craftsmen’s clothing pushed a boat off and paddled toward them.

  “I’m not sure we should wait,” Gamwyn said. “I don’t trust these people.”

  “Just three people in a boat? We can handle them for sure,” Doon said.

  As they drew closer, Gamwyn recognized Ahks, in whose home he had stayed while recovering from the cold of the well. The Tusco boat drew alongside. “Have you anything to eat?” one man called. “We have nothing now. They took it all.”

  “Who?”

  “The Siveri. Two nights ago. They burned us out, killed all Nicfad. We have nothing.”

  “Why don’t you fish?”

  “We don’t know how. We have no slaves, no Nicfad, almost no Committee. Rest of us builders and craftsmen.”

  “Where is Daw?” Gamwyn called.

  “Who? Committee girl? Fat one? I don’t know. Never came back from High Tower. Now. Can you feed us? We begging you.”

  Gamwyn’s party conferred, then set up a camp on the west bank, fished, made dough cakes from rice flour. As Gamwyn learned, the U Bend Tusco had decided to make a new start. When enough Nicfad had gathered from the two settlements, they had set out on a slave raid into Siveri country. For the first time, they met organized resistance. Still, they managed to return with twenty-six slaves, but in less than two weeks the Siveri visited in force and burned the Tusco out, killing all the Nicfad and most of the Committee, sparing the artisans and some of the bureaucrats. The Tusco were having a poor time of it and only forty-two remained. That evening they begged Gamwyn’s party to let them join it. After some reluctance, the travelers accepted.