“Yes. And you wouldn’t be the first to take that route. Only the oldest Mothers know about it, and we keep it a secret. But as soon as they discover you’re missing, they’ll send women to look for you there; and that means you have no time to lose. But I must leave you. If anyone comes looking, it wouldn’t do for me to be away from my room. And you don’t need me to show you the way.”
“To the big fissure at the west end of the wall?”
“Yes, that’s the place. I was sure you’d found it.”
“I found it, but I don’t think I can climb it,” Jon said.
Lyla seized his shoulder and shook him.
“Don’t talk nonsense, Jon. Of course you can climb it. The first part’s the hardest. The rest is easy.”
“Did you climb it?”
“Didn’t I tell you that? And if I could do it, you can.”
“Mother Lyla, why are you doing this for me?”
“Many years ago, I, too, explored the heights, and, like you, I came across someone who’d stumbled into the valley. How did I know about your experience? Let’s say that I saw it in your eyes.
“He had to flee. I gave him no choice. But I promised to follow him, and I did. But I’m talking too long. You must go, Jon. See—there’s already a glow in the East.”
“What will I find beyond the mountain?”
“You’ll find many things, most of which I know nothing of. On the far side of the Boundary Mountain, there’s another valley, wider than ours and filled with trees. People live there, but none you should fear, unless you behave like a fool. And then, beyond that, more valleys, some forested, some farmed. And farther still, the great cities—that’s all I can tell you.”
“And the City of Kar?”
“Yes, the City of Kar.”
“Have you been there?”
“Once.”
“That’s where I want to go.”
“It’s far from here, yet perhaps you will indeed reach the Imperial City. But you’ll reach nowhere if you don’t leave now.”
Jon started to walk away; then he turned back and impulsively put his arms around Lyla. At first, she trembled at his touch—the embrace broke a strict taboo—but then she reached her hands around his waist and held him to her.
“Go, Jon,” she whispered. “Go, and remember me.”
“I’ll never forget you.”
“Then think about me when you enter the gates of Kar.”
“I will, I promise.”
▲
By the time Jon reached the White Wall the sun was rising. Lyla had said that other Mothers knew the way to escape the valley. How long would it take for them to set off in search of him? But the clanging alarm bell soon answered his question.
Below, he could see figures running about the village. Some were hurrying eastward, along the shore of the lake toward the Gate of the Valley. Others were moving up the slope in his direction. He watched them in fascination. It wouldn’t take them long to reach him.
Jon slid his body into the crevice and began working his way upward, pulling with his arms, but mostly pushing with his feet. The first part is the hardest, he told himself over and over. But had Lyla been telling the truth? Or had she told a lie to overcome his fear? Slowly, he managed to make his way higher, but the effort took muscles he was unaccustomed to, and the sharp edges of the rock cut into his hands and arms. Yet, bit-by-bit, he worked his body upward, now well beyond where he had given up on his first attempt. At one point, the crevice narrowed; however, by twisting his upper body out from the cliff, he was able to keep moving. But then he came to a place where the fissure became no more than a few inches wide. It looked like a dead end. Had he chosen the wrong place after all?
Jon looked down; the women were drawing closer. Then someone saw him and called out to her companions, who ran to the ground below Jon.
Above him, the wall divided into layers, some eroded more deeply than others. They made a kind of stone ladder that he could reach if he found a few secure holds for his hands and feet. This must be the place he’d seen yesterday, where the rock appeared carved for a purpose. Yet surely anyone attempting the climb would fall from the face of the cliff. This couldn’t be the way John and Lyla had come.
Jon found himself shaking. His hands were slippery with sweat and it was becoming difficult to think clearly. He knew he had to calm himself. Wedging his body into the rock, he closed his eyes. If he breathed long and slow for a few seconds the fear would pass. He counted: “One . . . two . . . three . . .” And he remembered Lyla. She’d had no doubt about his ability to climb the wall, and this had to be the right place. What was the alternative? The worst would be a fall that would kill him, and he expected no less a fate at the hands of the women, so this was his choice, wasn’t it? With that thought, he swung his body around and resumed the climb.
Something grazed his left arm—they were shooting arrows at him—but he kept inching upward. Another arrow hit the rock just above his head. That, he thought, was yet another way to die.
But then, unexpectedly, he was able to pull himself onto a ledge. Deeper in the mountainside, the crevice worked its way forward, but wider and easier to climb. He turned to look down. They were still shooting, but no arrow could reach him now. He was safe, with but a little way to go.
The final stretch was difficult, if only because Jon was worn out, but at last he made it. Reaching the top of the cliff, he found himself standing on an expanse of grass dotted with yellow crocus at the foot of a long slope that led to the mountain’s crest. The challenging part of the climb was behind him—for neither John nor Lyla had suggested that the way down the north side of the Boundary Mountain would be difficult. He lay down on the grass to catch his breath, looking up into the pale morning sky. Suddenly he roused himself. What if they’d followed him? He crawled to the edge of the cliff and looked down. To his surprise, the women were going back to the village. A solitary figure stood in the shadows below him looking up—one of the younger boys, he thought, for many of them had yellow hair—but no one he could identify from this distance. Jon had succeeded in escaping the valley, but now he was alone in a new world.
▲
The sun was high when Jon reached the summit, which was further away than it first appeared. To the West, the Boundary Mountain rose steadily higher; to his right, it broke into a confusion of ridges that fanned eastward. Behind him in the valley, cherry trees bloomed in rows at the west end of the lake and the first spring crops were already green in the neat plots of farmland, but to the North he saw no signs of agriculture. Instead, the land plunged through a scattering of gnarly trees into a vast rolling forest, beyond which he caught glimpses of further highlands, all bordered on the West by a blue zigzag of mountains that melted into the distance. The farther north the range extended, the less snow its peaks held; and from one a column of cloud rose like steam from boiling water.
Jon stood looking out for a long time, absorbed in the vastness. He’d never been above so many things before. For the first time in his life he wasn’t inside a place. He was outside everything but the sky itself. What would it be like to remain free like this forever?
However, he wasn’t the only person to have stood on this vantage. The ground had been flattened by many feet, and someone had built a bench by laying a rectangle of stone atop two smaller blocks. The people of the valley may have thought themselves hidden, but unfamiliar eyes must have watched them many times. On the seat of the bench, Jon found a faint inscription, half-covered with lichen—a form resembling one of the symbols on his arrowhead. Not the S-shape, but a circle divided by a line piercing its center.
He also saw paths running east and west along the ridge, and another, more pronounced path descending the north side of the mountain in a series of switchbacks. Lower down, it disappeared among the trees, so it was impossible to determine the direction it ultimately took, but a jagged break in the forest probably marked a stream flowing eastward, and Jon saw a wisp of smoke rising close to it. Lyla h
ad said not to fear the inhabitants of this valley. That meant he should head for the smoke. But, unless the path took him in that direction, he’d have difficulty finding it once he’d gotten into the trees. Then he remembered what John had told him—that the way would be obvious—and what could be more obvious than a single path leading downhill?
Before setting forth, Jon opened his knapsack to see what Lyla had provided. Next to the blanket, he found oatcakes, a piece of hard cheese, a crumbling leather sheath holding a knife, and a flat metal bottle, which turned out to contain water. The blanket and bottle were plain, but the knife showed unusual workmanship—a steel blade of amazing sharpness with a horn handle carved like the tendrils of a vine and set with a single red stone. After using it to cut off a thin wedge of cheese, he wiped the blade carefully and returned it to its sheath. Lyla’s gift, he realized, was more precious than he’d imagined.
The descent wasn’t difficult, although Jon slipped twice on the rocks and once had to scramble down on all fours. Eventually, the path followed a trickle of water, crossing and recrossing it as it fell into the valley. Trees surrounded him now, but the forest floor was clear, with ferns among the fallen leaves. Other plants grew by the streamside—among them, canes of raspberries that were just beginning to ripen. Squirrels chased one another in the branches above his head; and now and then he heard the bell-like call of a bird he was never able to locate. Once he saw a group of deer, which fled when he approached, and another time he saw what resembled a human figure moving between the trees. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, so Jon concluded that it must have been another deer—or perhaps a trick of the sunlight. Yet, seeing the figure, he’d almost thought he was hearing a voice, not from outside, but from within his own head—soundless words on the verge of turning into a sentence but then dissipating.
The afternoon became early evening. The path was easier to follow now. Other, less well-defined paths joined it from time to time, and, where it crossed the water, rocks had been placed for a footway. By now, the direction was clear—northeast. But beyond the path itself and possibly the figure in the trees, he’d seen no sign of other humans.
Then, turning a bend, he came across a clearing where trails converged from several directions. Here, fires had been made within a circle of stones and a log had been rolled nearby to make a seat. The ashes were cold, but no rain had fallen since the last fire. Was this the source of the smoke he’d seen earlier? No. Many days had passed since anyone had used the site. Grass shoots were already thrusting up through the ashes. Sitting on the log, Jon ate a piece of oatcake and another sliver of cheese and drank the last of the water. He was still thirsty, but, despite its brown cast, the stream looked clean, so he went to it, filled his bottle, drank it, and filled it again. Only then did he realize that he was dead tired. For want of a better spot, he’d spend the night in this clearing. Others must have used it for the same purpose, and that thought comforted him. He made a bed of dry leaves close to a bush; then, wrapping himself in the blanket and using the knapsack for a pillow, he lay down and closed his eyes. Birds chattered in the distance from time to time, but he heard no other sound, beyond the movement of leaves in the treetops.
Well, he’d done it, he told himself. Where the path would take him tomorrow was a mystery, but he could never go back to the Valley of Women now. He was hungry and wanted to eat more oatcake, but that would be foolish. Except for an occasional raspberry, the cakes and cheese were all he had, and they wouldn’t last forever. If he remained alone too long, it would mean death as certain as the sentence of the Mothers. But there was also John. Now more than ever he wanted to see the stranger again. Jon pulled the broken arrowhead outside his shirt and held it tightly in his hand. John had come this way last fall. Perhaps he wasn’t far from here even now. Perhaps Jon would find him tomorrow.
The air remained warm, but it would grow chill during the night. He wrapped the blanket more closely around him. It smelled of home, he thought—the home he’d lost forever. But wouldn’t he have lost it anyway in a few weeks? And with that thought, he fell into dreamless sleep.
Chapter Four
“Zoë, just because your brother asked you to keep your eye out for someone doesn’t mean you have to spend every day of your life watching for him.”
Zoë rolled her eyes. She was the only member of the family without fixed responsibilities. That would change when she came of age later in the year, but, for the present, what right had anyone to complain about how she spent her time? Besides, she hated having to justify herself—especially to Helen. Reasons that seemed good when she was alone could sound foolish when she offered them to her mother.
“What else is there to do?” she asked.
“Do you want a list? Just get me a pen and paper. Two sheets for starters. With your brothers gone, there’s plenty for all of us. Your grandfather and aunt keep busy enough.”
“If you call watching the chickens keeping busy.”
“Your grandfather saw a spotted cat two days ago.”
The news took Zoë by surprise.
“But spotted cats never come this far down from the mountains.”
“Peter said he saw one.”
“Why didn’t anybody tell me?”
“Because you weren’t here. You can’t expect to know what’s going on at home when you spend your days looking for that boy John stumbled on in the Valley of Women.”
“But John asked me to watch for him.”
“Was he sure he’d be coming this way?”
“John had a hunch he would.”
It was Helen’s turn to roll her eyes.
“A hunch? You know your brother. He wants something to happen, so he decides it’s inevitable. He has more imagination than’s good for a man.”
Her mother was right—John could get carried away by his own ideas—but that only made Zoë determined to defend him.
“John says nothing without good reason. He asked me to look for a tall boy almost my age. ‘If it wasn’t for his clothes, you’d think he was a Forester,’ he told me. He’d be on the path from the south lookout, but he wouldn’t know which way to go when the path divided, and he’d probably be hungry.”
Helen searched her daughter’s eyes.
“You trust John completely, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
“And you’d never question anything he told you?”
“Never.”
“But you don’t feel the same way about your other brothers. You raised a fuss when Karl suggested you stitch a new leather cover for the family book. You said he had no right to order you around—even though he was only suggesting you do it. But when John called the new cover a good idea, you fell to work. Why is that?”
“Mother, you know the answer. I love Karl and David, but they’re not the same as John.”
“You don’t give my older sons enough credit—Karl especially. He has a strong sense of duty. At times John acts as if nothing in the world matters but his own whims.”
Zoë may have hated defending her own actions, but with John things were different.
“You know that’s just his way. He says people use grave faces to hide empty heads. But underneath, he’s the most serious one of us.”
“I wish I had your confidence.”
But Helen’s smile betrayed her agreement. Like everyone else, she found it hard to resist her youngest son. And Zoë was right about his seriousness. If any of her sons was vulnerable, it was the one who laughed at feelings. That was why this renegade from the Valley of Women puzzled her. When John had told them about the encounter, he’d mentioned nothing about the boy’s coming here; it wasn’t until three weeks ago, when John was preparing to leave for Bridgetown with his brothers, that he’d asked Zoë to watch for the boy. John had kept something back from her last fall, and he’d never done that before.
“Mother, if you want me to stay home to help you, I’ll do it,” Zoë said.
“No—there’s no rea
son for you to stay. We’re not that busy. Besides, you’re a Forester, Zoë, and so the forest is where you belong.”
“Aren’t we all Foresters?”
“Yes—but some of us have different responsibilities.”
“You sound like Karl.”
“Did it ever occur to you that he might take after his mother?”
“I thought I was the one who took after you.”
“You take after me? Not in the least. Oh, yes, there’s a superficial resemblance. Your nose looks like mine; and so does your hair—rather nice hair at that. When we were girls, Ethel used to tell me I had the best hair in the family. You should thank me for passing it on to you. But the similarity stops at appearances. Inside, you’re your own person.”
“But I must be like someone.”
Helen paused in thought.
“In a way you take after my sister—and that makes sense, since she had a lot to do with your upbringing. You and John were always her favorites. Ethel’s doted on both of you since you were toddlers.
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, except that she never gave Karl and David the same attention. And don’t think they didn’t notice. Especially David. He assumes it’s his fault that she slights him. David says less than his brothers, but he’s alive to what’s going on.”
Helen paused, surprised at how portentous she was sounding.
“That’s why I’ve always tried to treat my children equally. But my sister has done her best to spoil the two youngest.”
“We’re not spoiled, Mother.”
Helen looked at Zoë for a moment.
“No, I wouldn’t say you’re spoiled,” she said slowly. “But you and John think less of other people than you ought to.”
“How can you say that?” Zoë asked, putting on a long face.
“Look at yourself sometime. You’ll see what I mean.”
“I look at myself all the time. Not in the mirror—I know that’s not what you mean. I think about what I’m doing and what I’m going to become.”
Helen gazed at her daughter pensively.
The Flight from Kar (The Emperor's Library Page 5
