Noticing Ethel in conversation with an older woman, he went over to her.
“There you are, Jon,” she said. “I need your help in arranging our quarters.”
“This is a big building.”
“Yes—it has to be. Four months of the year we share the Mountain House, so the space keeps us from getting in one another’s way. But every night isn’t like this. We’ll settle down. And there are fewer of us than when I was a girl. You saw the vacant places—half the tables were empty, and that’s true for the Mountain House itself. Sections have been closed off altogether. Rather sad, when you think about it. But I guess our home in the forest is much the same.”
Zoë and David joined them and they went off down a hallway.
“The others will find us in due time,” Ethel said.” I don’t know where Karl and my sister have gotten to, but Papa is palavering with his cousins, so there’s no telling when he’ll get to bed, and, as for John, he has more friends than anyone else I know. The girls cluster ‘round him like bees on a flower,” she laughed, taken, Jon saw, with her comparison. “If I weren’t his aunt—and were a few years younger—I’d probably be one of those bees myself.”
Each family’s quarters had a door to the corridor and an exit to the outside, but Jon’s didn’t appear to use the latter, since a heavy chair blocked it. Perhaps the door was only for emergencies, he thought.
The men and women who’d helped with their packs had left them outside the corridor door, and now Ethel handed items one by one to Jon or Zoë or David, instructing where they should go. Afterwards, she told Jon that he was to share a room with David and John—a chamber with a slot-like window and three beds built into the opposite wall, one above the other. Karl, for some reason, had a room to himself—perhaps a prerogative of being the oldest.
“Take your pick,” David told him, so Jon chose the highest bed. David himself took the lowest, but immediately left, saying he’d be back in a jiffy. Jon lay down and was soon asleep. Waking in the night, he heard the brothers breathing, so they must have entered without waking him. And when he opened his eyes the next morning, both were moving. Jon thrust his head out to show he was awake.
“Stay in bed as long as you like,” John told him. “The Mountain House is great for sleeping. But if you want to bathe before breakfast, you’ll need to join us. The men use the pools first, and then the women. It would be sensible to bathe together, but women are funny. So if you linger you’ll miss your turn. Karl and Peter have already gone. I’m surprised they’re not back by now.”
Below the north side of the house, a hot spring had been dammed to create a succession of pools. Steam rose from the highest, and men and boys were drying themselves beside another. Jon realized they must have been the last men down. David undressed and hurried down to the water.
All this was unexpected, and Jon found himself unexpectedly self-conscious. He sensed John watching him as he slipped off his shirt.
“You’re still wearing it,” John said, and Jon knew what he meant.
“I always wear it,” Jon told him. “You said it would bring me good luck.”
“And so it has,” John replied. “You got here safely didn’t you?”
Was that all that John had expected—for him to get there safely?
“But it wasn’t luck I wore it for,” Jon said, aware of John’s presence. Unloosening his belt, he removed his pants. John seemed frozen.
“What’s keeping the two of you?” David called from below. Suddenly John turned away and tore off his clothes.
As Jon climbed into the pool, he found the water hotter than he’d expected.
“It comes from inside the mountain,” John explained, appearing at his side, but keeping his eyes away—the same way Jon had kept his eyes off Alf’s body in the lake. Did John find him physically disturbing the way he’d found Alf?
“It’s hard to imagine so much heat inside a mountain, but it’s there. I think that’s why the ground here shakes once in a while—water must be boiling underground. A couple of years ago it shook so hard some of the shingles fell off the Mountain House, but that’s the worst and the House has been here for centuries.
“There are smaller springs on the lower slopes and a large one in the valley below,” John continued. Jon sensed he felt a need to keep talking. “And in the valley you can see the ruins of what must have been a facility for bathing. But who built it’s a mystery.”
“I’d like to see them,” Jon said.
“I’ll take you,” John replied eagerly, suddenly facing Jon. “We can go there next week.” Yet then he appeared to take back his offer. “But you’d have more fun with someone your own age. Maybe Zoë and Tomas will take you. I saw you with Tomas at dinner. He’d be a good companion. ”
Why was he talking this way? John was only four years older than Jon. And now he’d moved off. Was he trying to get away from him?
The man was gorgeous, Jon thought, watching him move through the water. No wonder he’d left. It was absurd to expect a man like John to care about a skinny kid. Jon could imagine nothing more wonderful than running his fingers along John’s body, tracing the outlines of his muscles. But John had left the pool without glancing back.
Even David noticed John’s strange behavior. “My brother must have something on his mind,” David explained. “He’s probably thinking about the Council. He hates the meetings. People talk in circles and never get to the point, he says. John isn’t exactly what you’d call Mr. Patience.”
John and David were similar in appearance, but David lacked something that John had in abundance. What was it? Jon wondered. Why did one person attract you and another one leave you cold? Not that he was cold to David. He’d grown fond of him, but David lacked the spark of life that made John irresistible.
“I suppose someone’s explained that you’re not allowed to attend the Council,” David explained as they climbed back to the Mountain House. “It’s stupid, but a few folks would make a fuss if you tried to come. However you should be able to find a more interesting way to spend your time. When I’m in a new place, I go exploring. You never know when what you learn will prove handy.
“But there’s John. He hasn’t forgotten us after all.”
John was standing at the door, the sunlight sparkling on his wet hair. Had he chosen the spot because it made him incredibly handsome? Certainly David would never have posed that way. He didn’t care about being desired, Jon realized, but John did.
“I was thinking,” he said to Jon. “You might like to spend the morning in the library—after we’ve eaten of course.”
“I’d like that very much.”
“Then let’s have breakfast, and afterwards I’ll take you there.”
Jon was relieved. John hadn’t been angry with him, and he was going to take him to see the books.
▲
The library was accessed by a staircase so narrow that it appeared to lead nowhere important, but the room itself belied that interpretation. With windows on three sides and shelves on the fourth, it held more books than Jon had ever imagined existing in one place. A brass lamp hung above the reading table—refilled and relit every morning, he learned, by the family that maintained the Mountain House—but today the daylight was sufficient to read and also to study the paintings on the cornice below the ceiling.
“What are those pictures?” Jon asked, bending his head back to get a better look.
“Scenes from our history. I’ll tell you about them when I have time.”
“This is a beautiful room.”
“I’m glad you think so. Anyway, you said you wanted to read, so I’ve brought you to our library.”
John pointed the shelves and then bounded down the stairs, muttering something about being expected at the meeting.
Left to himself, Jon walked over studied the titles, opening books that caught his eye and leafing through their pages. There were hundreds of them—books about plants and animals, about farming and metals, about histo
ry and astronomy. One section contained several dozen books by travelers. Here was where Jon decided to begin.
He pulled out the tallest volume—perhaps because of its size, perhaps because he liked the faded red of its binding. Turning a few pages, he discovered that it recounted a trek across the central desert to the countries along the Eastern Sea. Apparently this was another way to reach the region north of the city called Gort. At first Jon encountered words he didn’t know and lost himself in the author’s rambling sentences. But he persevered, and gradually he found it easier to follow the narrative. The unexpected part was his difficulty in knowing whether to put faith in what he was reading. The writer claimed to have seen a fish that was longer than five men lying head to toe. Surely there was no such creature. Besides, a fish that size would have been impossible to catch, so how could anyone measure it? And, if the fish was questionable, was anything else in the book true?
“Enjoying your reading?” John asked, appearing at the head of the stairs. “I brought you something to eat.” He was carrying a wooden plate with a green-skinned apple, a slice of bread, and a mug of beer.
“This meeting’s going to last a long time—at least through tomorrow afternoon. But we’ll break for dinner after sundown. I’ll look for you downstairs—unless you plan to sit with your new friends.”
“No, I want to eat with your family tonight.”
“Mother will like that,” he said. “She’s fond of you, you know. If she were a bit younger, I’d suspect she’s fallen in love with you.”
John smiled a big smile, then, once again, left abruptly. But he was back less than an hour later.
“I wanted to tell you that the Council has agreed to let you stay. A few twits objected, but Aunt Ethel made a speech in your favor. I haven’t heard her so passionate in a long time. When she wants to, she can be persuasive.
“So now you’re an official visitor to the Mountain House. You can’t attend Council—they’re convinced that’s a special privilege—but now no one will question your right to be here.”
And then he ducked down the stairs.
Jon wished he’d lingered, but enjoyed the news, for now he’d be able to read to his heart’s content. And he soon learned what the Council had discussed, for the Foresters spoke of little else. Did the Prefect’s absence break their obligation to the Emperor? Yet, if so, who were they—for wasn’t the title Forester the Emperor’s gift? Some believed they should assume plots of the vacant territory beside the river. Their numbers had fallen because Foresters had left for the central valley, so the renegades might return, along with their families. And by occupying strategic points they’d still be carrying out the Emperor’s commission.
But many opposed this idea. If the Emperor was in difficulty, altering their lives would be tantamount to treason. Karl took the second view, while David held the first, and, despite David’s efforts to avoid conflict, tension had risen. John, on the other hand, espoused neither alternative, thus annoying Karl and confusing David.
“We still don’t know enough,” he said.
“What do you mean you don’t know enough?” Karl asked. “Are you saying we may no longer owe allegiance to the Emperor? If that’s your position, at least admit you’re a traitor.”
“I meant what I said. We don’t know enough.”
Karl snarled.
But David looked away. How deeply this conflict tears into him, Jon thought.
▲
The winter wasn’t a time for talk only. It was here that the green wool was spun, woven and dyed; here, too, weapons were made and tools repaired. It was, in fact, a busier place than the Forest House. The young people may have had time on their hands, but their elders had much to do. Fittingly, the Foresters’ winter food centered on red meat, for sheep and cattle grazed nearby. Indeed, the largest family lived her permanently, charged with maintaining the herds and orchards, and members of other families often stayed to assist them.
Given the activity, Jon felt particularly useless. When Helen offered to teach him to feather arrows, he jumped at the opportunity, but after a long afternoon she suggested he put off learning the skill until he developed more patience.
“You’re like Jon, although he didn’t last nearly as long as you’ve managed. But why would either of you want to do something as boring as this? For an old woman, a dull task is understandable, but young people need active lives.”
“You’re not an old woman,” he told her.
Helen chuckled. “Well, not that old, I guess.”
“And I think you’re the most beautiful woman in the Foresters.”
“Gracious, you’re generous with your compliments,” she laughed.
Jon bowed his head. He was embarrassed. It wasn’t what he’d intended to say, only what he’d felt for a long time. Yet, despite her laughter, his words had pleased Helen. She wasn’t in love with him. She was too sensible for that. She now thought of him as one of her children. Of that Jon was certain.
▲
Still, Jon heeded Helen’s advice. With Zoë and Tomas, he explored the surroundings of the Mountain House, and Tomas proved a good companion—although without Alf’s intelligence. And Tomas introduced him to other Foresters his age. Jon was never fully at ease with them—he sensed an invisible barrier—but he grew used to their company and they gave every sign of enjoying his.
A short distance east of the Mountain House, you came to a lookout below which the land fell steeply into forest, eventually reaching the River Road. To the North lay a valley wider than those they’d passed on their way here. On its floor, patches of land had been cleared for farming; and a broad trail from the Mountain House wound down the slope through these farms to the town that lay in a curve of the Great River.
One afternoon, Jon and a few friends followed the trail to one of the nearest farms, where a woman gave them mugs of hot cider, pointing out that the rain that had just begun in the valley might well be snow on the mountain. And she was right, for halfway through their climb to the Mountain House, the rain turned to snow, and the further they ascended, the thicker it fell, making the final stage of their return difficult. But not impossible, Jon noted. Even in bad weather, the trail to Hexam was usually open. Yet, by some unwritten law, the town by the river was off bounds to the young people, for they were allowed to visit it only in the company of adults. Was it because Foresters who found wives or husbands there had left the five families and settled into village life? Or was it simply because it wasn’t their custom? Jon was curious about Hexam—and also about the ruined spa John had spoken of. Ignoring the suggestion that he visit it with Zoë or Tomas, Jon made a point of reminding John about his promise to take him there. John never gave him an outright refusal, but he always found reasons to put off the outing.
Still, Jon enjoyed life at the Mountain House. It rained and occasionally snowed, but the rain never lasted as long as it had in the Valley of Women and the heaviest snows melted in a few days. Besides, having to stay indoors gave Jon an excuse to use the library—or explore the building, which had come to fascinate him. The oldest quarters had been built more than three centuries ago and augmented over the years. As a result, its interior was a maze of corridors that made sudden turns and climbed or fell at unexpected places. It was like walking through time itself, he thought. And he delighted in the long, often raucous dinners, where food and drink were frequently followed by singing that lasted late into the night. Conviviality was a new experience; and John, he discovered, was usually at the center of it. Whenever it grew noisy, you could count on seeing him—or hearing him sing, for John had a strong voice and knew more songs than anyone else. Better yet, here, among the lively company, he would insist on Jon’s sitting beside him and joining in the laughter.
John was everyone’s friend, and the younger Foresters vied for his attention. He was always with one or two or three of them—and, as Ethel had suggested, with women in particular. Indeed, a woman named Cressa, who looked a few years older than
John, seemed a special friend. Twice, walking on the slope above the Mountain House, Jon saw them together, once holding hands. Both times, he slipped away to avoid being observed. He didn’t want John to think he was spying. Nevertheless, he’d spoken to Zoë about the relationship.
“Your brother spends a lot of time with Cressa, doesn’t he?” he’d asked, trying to sound disinterested.
But Zoë had only laughed. “Everybody likes John and John likes everybody. But it doesn’t mean anything. Especially Cressa. She’s engaged to be married, you know, so nothing can come of it. They’re just having a bit of fun together.”
Having a bit of fun? Growing up in the Valley of Women, Jon hadn’t known what to expect from normal people—or even if the Foresters could be considered normal. John was turning out to be more complicated than he’d imagined.
And so were the Foresters as a whole. Several of the women were pregnant, and one gave birth the very day Jon had the conversation about Cressa. He expected to see the new mother nursing her infant the way the women in the Valley of the Women did, carrying the child in a sling as they went about their work. But he saw no sign of this baby—although the mother soon reappeared. Curious, he asked Zoë about the Foresters’ provisions for small children. She looked at him oddly.
“Don’t you know what happened?” she asked.
No, he didn’t know.
“The baby was defective—I think it had to do with her face. The lip was wrong—or something like that. It’s a shame, but of course they couldn’t keep her. Just imagine the life she’d have lived. They had no choice.”
“No choice about keeping her? Did they give her away to someone?”
Zoë thought for a moment.
“This is new for you, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I mean, it must not be what happened in the Valley of Women. From what you’ve told me, they don’t have the respect for life we do. They were going to kill you, weren’t they? They would kill a well-formed, intelligent man for breaking a silly rule, but let a flawed creature suffer a life of unhappiness—and even risk the chance of passing on its imperfection. It’s perverse, but fortunately we’re not like that. When our babies are defective, we leave them to die on the mountainside. I suppose animals must eat them—wolves or spotted cats or eagles. They always disappear. It’s an embarrassment for the mother—even though everyone understands it’s not her fault. But what else could we do?”
The Flight from Kar (The Emperor's Library Page 12
