Leth-Kar sighed. “Ah, how does she know? Marliann told me that you would understand. Zelnis, it is impossible. When I turn to Zeldin, I find nothing but my own image. Many people have told me that they felt the presence of the Gentle God for the first time because of me. I can only curse their happiness. I have tried the patience that Marliann counsels and now my death is near. No doubt I will play the scene well and my last audience will be as much deceived as all the rest.”
Kerish leaned forward and fumbled for the old priest's hand. It was cool and light and he could feel every bone.
“Forgive me, child,” said Leth-Kar, “I should not try to shift the burdens of my age on to your youth. You have suffered enough. It rings through your voice.”
A dozen passages from The Book of the Emperors came to mind but Kerish knew that as he spoke them, they would seem stale and hopeless. `Zeldin show me the way to help him!' No words came to answer his prayer. All he could do was cling to the old man's hand.
*****
Every day the mountains loomed larger. The convoy's next major halt would be the town of Ferlic, in the foothills of Mount Kir. Then the Joze road would curve north to avoid the mountains and the jungle that lay behind them.
For the first three days after the convoy left Dhil, Kerish spent most of his time with Leth-Kar, listening to the old man's reminiscences and singing the songs that he requested. On the third night the woman in the cart behind was safely delivered of a daughter and the next morning Marliann returned to walk beside her husband, talking quietly of the problems and hopes of their fellow travelers.
Kerish rejoined Gidjabolgo and Viarki. The Forgite was busy explaining to Viarki the defects of Galkian culture, the uselessness of his calling, and the futility of his mild ambitions. The young player took it all with good humor but was probably relieved when Gidjabolgo was distracted by the sight of a tall copper mirror set up in the main square of the village they were passing through.
“What's this? A monument to the villagers' vanity?”
“No. It is a lure for banebirds. In the old days they used to come out of the jungle, even to places this far from the edge. I think they still do, but it's such ill luck to see one that nobody mentions it. Anyway, in the bad times the birds came often but if they saw their own reflections they'd attack them and the Net Master could sometimes creep up and entangle them. See, there's a net hanging over the door of that house.”
“Would a shot from a bow be too simple a solution to appeal to a Galkian?” enquired Gidjabolgo.
“It was tried but the arrows never struck home.”
“And the jungle?” persisted the Forgite. “Is it really never entered?”
“I've never heard of anyone who did,” said Viarki, “except Prince Il-Keno.”
“And why is it forbidden?” asked Gidjabolgo.
Viarki shifted uncomfortably. “I don't know. It's dangerous and it isn't part of Galkis. There's nothing to stop anyone going in, but nobody does.”
“That mirror looks freshly polished,” commented Gidjabolgo.
“Oh, they're always kept in readiness,” said Viarki. “Some people believe that the Mistress of the Birds is still alive in the heart of the Forbidden Jungle. I suppose that's why they need the play to comfort them. If we're asked to perform at Ferlic it's bound to be `The Prince and the Enchantress'. Did you ever see . . . attend a performance of it at court, Zelnis?”
“Only once,” answered Kerish.
*****
The next day was punishingly hot and Viarki invested half of a theeg in a bundle of paper sunshades, haggled for with a wayside trader. He described their colors to Kerish who chose one dyed a cool blue and patterned with mauve feathers. Viarki handed out the rest at random. Gidjabolgo eyed his gaudy rose and yellow shade with acute dislike.
“There are some combinations which make blindness a blessing,” he muttered.
“Like you and anything else,” said Desha with a giggle.
“Or a poor wit and a plain face,” responded the Forgite.
Feg attempted to fix his shade between the bronze-capped horns of the ox. He clearly felt more affinity with the surly, plodding beast than with his human companions.
For most of the day Viarki rode in the cart with Leth-Kar, learning the part of Prince Il-Keno. It was customary for the great temples to keep copies of most of the plays in their archives but the players never learned their lines by reading such manuscripts. To Kerish the words were familiar and stirred dark memories.
He let the players' cart roll on and walked instead beside the vehicle of the young wife and her new baby. She was accompanied by several older women and to these Kerish talked about the great festivals celebrated in Viroc. Many were the same as those he remembered in the Golden City: the Star-counting in Autumn, when people gathered on the rooftops to sing away the mists; the dark days of the Mourning for Imarko, and the quiet rejoicing that followed. Others were strange to him, like the building of a Gateway each spring through which the names of the newly dead were tossed. Then there were the anniversaries of great battles that reminded Kerish that Viroc alone had not known peace under the Emperors. Now the white-walled city suffered again to save for others the peace and safety it had always lacked. Kerish thought of Forollkin and Kelinda trapped there. His mouth twisted with pain and the women respected his sudden silence.
By the middle of the afternoon the road was transformed into a causeway to cross one of the great reservoirs built by Vir-Tairkon, the Silent Emperor. No fish swam in the crystal waters and no plants grew. It was forbidden to bathe in the stone-walled lake or even to scoop out a handful of water. Boats, fashioned in the form of fabulous monsters, glided over the unruffled surface. They were not manned but they seemed to move without the wind, and one hovered close to the convoy as if to warn the travelers not to touch.
Three miles along the causeway, a pond was walled off from the main part of the lake. It was surrounded by benches in worn coral stone and under each one stood a bronze ewer and four cups. The convoy halted to rest and drink. Kerish sat down on one of the benches waiting for Gidjabolgo to help him but it was Marliann who came to his side with a cup of cool water.
“Drink,” she said, “the blessing of the Silent Emperor still rests on this water.”
She put the cup into his good hand and he thanked her.
“It is I who should thank you for giving your time so generously to my husband.”
“That was no hardship,” protested Kerish.
“I know he told you of the shadow that darkens his life,” continued Marliann. “His death I have long been prepared for, but not death without hope.”
“I wish I could help him,” said Kerish.
“You are the only one who can, “ answered Marliann. “I knew that when I saw you standing in the square and my heart leapt. Imarko could not have greeted her Lord more gladly than I welcomed you.”
“Marliann, I don't know what to say to him.”
The priestess lightly stroked his silvered hair. “You have both the will and the strength; the way must show itself. Ah, here is Gidjabolgo to refill your cup.”
The convoy did not reach the end of the causeway until after dusk. They camped on the further shore of the reservoir, tired but peaceful. In the moonlight the grotesque shapes of the guardian boats could still be seen, drifting silently across the silvered waters. No fires were lit and the evening meal consisted simply of bread, fruit and cheese, brought from the last village.
When they had eaten Leth-Kar asked Kerish to sing. He chose the story of the Silent Emperor and sang of the bargain the Emperor had made, giving up his power of speech for the sake of his people. Only three times in his reign was he allowed to speak, but each time his words brought a great blessing or averted a great danger.
Afterwards the talk drifted round to the performance in Ferlic and Gidjabolgo announced that he and Zelnis were too tired to join in. They left the circle of players and spread out their cloaks beside a clump of arom
atic bushes some distance away.
“So, this Ferlic is on the edge of the mountains,” whispered Gidjabolgo as they lay down, “and these mountains border the Forbidden Jungle?”
“Yes. There are passes through the mountains,” murmured Kerish, “but we'd need a guide for that. The easiest way to reach the jungle is to go due south from Ferlic, skirting the foothills.”
“We'll leave at Ferlic then,” said Gidjabolgo. “I'll pretend an interest in the town and wander off by myself to buy food. I presume they'll speak some kind of Zindaric . . . what's the matter?”
“Nothing. It can't be helped. I think we should stay for the performance.”
“What, to see Viarki make a fool of himself as a Prince of the Godborn?” Gidjabolgo grinned. “You're right, it would be easiest to slip away into the crowd after the performance. They may not notice we've gone for an hour or so and they'll hardly chase after us at night.”
“I shall write a letter for Marliann, asking her to prevent any pursuit,” said Kerish, “and to forgive us.”
Gradually the road began to climb. Each day the ox was worse-tempered and moved at a slower pace till only Feg could coax him on at all. The foothills of the Jen mountains were thickly wooded with red-barked trees that struggled upwards to enormous heights. Many were entwined with the lovely flowering creepers which would eventually be their death. In the warm darkness beneath, all kinds of fungi and moss flourished. Many of the former were good to eat and were eagerly picked by the travelers to roast over the evening camp-fires. The mosses too were gratefully gathered for they were renowned for their healing properties.
The only hazards were the swarms of stinging insects that gathered round the forest at night and Kerish was reminded of their uncomfortable voyage through the marshes of Lan-Pin-Fria. His thoughts turned more and more often to Forollkin. Every evening he sensed exhaustion and grimness in his brother's brief presence. Sitting comfortably beside the fire after a placid day's travel, he guiltily remembered the starving city and its weary defenders. Sometimes, he thought of O-grak and the image of the Khan's soul borne helplessly out to sea haunted him.
*****
They entered Ferlic early one morning. A messenger had been sent ahead to warn the Headman and he and the temple priests came out to welcome them. To Kerish, the sudden clamour of people moving and talking all around him almost brought back his first fear of blindness. He kept close to Gidjabolgo until they reached the temple guest-house and then spent the day lying on the narrow bed allotted to him while Gidjabolgo explored the town. Full of gentle concern Marliann brought him an infusion of herbs which he meekly drank and Viarki came to sit with him. The young player chattered on about Joze, which he had visited several times with his friend Sharvin.
“But I suppose Joze won't seem so splendid to you, since you're used to Galkis itself. Travelling with us must be very strange for you, or is it just dull?”
“Never that,” murmured Kerish. “You are not like anyone that I knew at court.”
“Well, that's obvious enough. You'll find no grace or learning among us to match the court.”
“Viarki, my words were meant as a compliment.” Kerish smiled at the young actor. “I am glad to have known you all.”
“Don't put it in the past,” protested Viarki. “You're welcome to live with us for as long as you like. Surely you know how fond Marliann and Leth-Kar have become of you? I'm an orphan like you. My parents died of a fever when I was seven. When I joined the troop they made a new family for me . . . What I mean is, you're welcome among us. Gidjabolgo too, of course.”
Kerish's voice was very subdued. “Thank you, Viarki. We'll always remember that.”
As they had anticipated, the players were asked to perform “The Prince and the Enchantress” and to stay in Ferlic for at least a week. A chorus was assembled from among the daughters of the town's most prominent citizens and trained by Feg. His comments on the girls' charms and abilities kept the players entertained, but would scarcely have amused the parents.
Kerish and Gidjabolgo spent a few hours each day rehearsing the music but the rest of their time was free. Kerish employed the sultry afternoons talking to Leth-Kar, while Gidjabolgo made more expeditions into the town, adding each time to their stock of provisions and their knowledge of the surrounding countryside. On the third occasion he returned with a flask of wine and a piece of news.
Pleading a headache, Kerish was alone in the room they shared with Viarki and Feg, so Gidjabolgo could speak freely. “They are saying in the town that the Empress is dead.”
“Rimoka? No! How could they know?”
“The Headman heard it from his cousin who has just visited Joze,” said Gidjabolgo, sitting down on the bed. “He reports that a group of courtiers have arrived in the city. At the news of the Empress's death and a defeat for the Emperor's forces, they fled the court and sailed down the Gal in one of the state barges. They seem to have feared an attack on the capital by Zyrindella and Yxin.”
“But the Emperor . . .”
Gidjabolgo shrugged. “Oh, they left him behind.”
“Without an Imperial Guard to protect him, or the city . . . no, I can't believe it.”
Gidjabolgo stared at him curiously. “Well, they may have fled from a false rumor. I thought you hated the Empress. She certainly hated you enough to order your murder.”
“No, she merely paid me the compliment of judging me a threat to her sons.” Kerish spoke as if he were thinking aloud. “I hated Rimoka as a child but now . . . My father can never have made it easy for her and I think she may have loved him once. Besides, whatever her sins, she was punished by sons unworthy of her. I can't believe she's really dead.”
The next day a makeshift stage was set up in the temple courtyard and screens were borrowed from the Headman. Kerish and Gidjabolgo had only one brief opportunity to be alone together, while the evening meal was prepared. By dint of loitering around the temple stores, Gidjabolgo had managed to steal a scrap of parchment and a piece of charcoal. He kept watch while, for the first time in weeks, Kerish removed the bandage about his eyes, and wrote a hasty note for Marliann. When he had finished Gidjabolgo knotted the bandage again.
“I sold one of your bracelets, so we've money enough to buy provisions and mounts.”
He stopped at the sound of footsteps. Viarki was coming to call them to supper. As they sat together in the Guest Hall, the players talked about the coming performance but Viarki was much quieter than usual and Leth-Kar seemed almost too exhausted to speak.
After supper the masks were taken from their box and Gidjabolgo and Kerish were again present at the ceremony that lay at the heart of the actor's craft. When Viarki received the Prince's mask, Gidjabolgo noticed a grimness in the young player's face, as if he knew that the task he undertook was hopeless.
The following day was stormy and oppressive. Kerish again pleaded a headache and lay in his private darkness, saying little, even to Gidjabolgo.
The performance began in the late afternoon. A large crowd gathered in the temple courtyard and settled down with fans and cushions and flasks of iced sherbet.
In the robing-rooms, leading off the temple portico, watchful mothers supervised their daughters as they hid their bright costumes under ragged cloaks, and the temple acolytes put on the gaudy feathers and grotesque masks of the banebirds. It was not the first time for any of them. On four days of the year it was the acolytes' duty to wear the bird costumes and dance in the main square till they were beaten and chased from the town by priests and citizens. Then the good fortune of Ferlic was assured for the following months.
The maidens' chorus was soon grouped to the right of the stage, with Feg to conduct them and Desha hidden among them. The Hero Prince was to make his entrance from the left and Viarki had been ready an hour before the performance. In the center of the stage stood a green and gold screen which hid Kerish and Gidjabolgo with their zildar, drum and cymbals. From behind it, Leth-Kar would make his entrance
as Zeldin, to save Il-Keno from the perils of the Forbidden Jungle.
The prologue, which should have been spoken by the fifth player, was left out and the play began with a chorus lamenting the fears and misfortunes of those who lived close to the jungle of Jenze. Marliann's voice rose above them, first in lamentation and then in an appeal to the Godborn, “Mighty Emperor send us help! Send us justice! Send us your son!”
Kerish remembered a day when a child with his name had sat in the High Priest's quarters and had heard Izeldon say, “Now my search is one of desperate haste and there is no one to send but you.”
Ragged with despair, Marliann's voice rang out, “Prince of the Godborn, Prince born to be our protector, hasten to our need!”
The golden keys lay cold and heavy against his thigh. Six keys. Only one remained to be won, but was it already too late? He had set out on his quest, dazzled by its importance, never questioning what kind of help the people of Galkis needed. `They do not know how deeply we have failed them', thought Kerish. In plays the call for justice and mercy was always answered, but not in life. Was it right to try to restore the Empire to its ancient strength and for its people to be forever dependent on the Godborn? Was it right that the Godborn themselves should be forced to deny their humanity and try to live as gods among men? `We are only shadows,' thought Kerish, `who exist to teach men to love the figure that casts them' He smiled grimly to himself. `Perhaps all our faults were preordained to turn the people from the shadow to the reality. Perhaps my quest must fail to save Galkis from a servitude worse than any the Five Kingdoms could impose.'
Silence fell at the sudden entry of Prince Il-Keno. Kerish tried to imagine Viarki wearing his royal mask.
“Lament no more.” The first words were firmly spoken. “For I will seek out the Enchantress, the Mistress of the Banebirds.”
Then it was Kerish's turn to lead the chorus in a sinister chant evoking the shifting terrors of the Forbidden Jungle. His voice swooped through the frightened murmurs of the maidens' chorus, warning of unnamed dangers, but the scene ended with the Prince's promise. “People of Galkis, cease your weeping. I will not return until I have freed you from fear.”
The Seventh Gate (The Seven Citadels ) Page 18
