The Flight from Kar (The Emperor's Library

by Frederick Kirchhoff

  The following morning, before taking their departure, Zoë inquired about the mother and daughter John had spoken to. After prompting, the innkeeper admitted he’d heard something about the women, but he believed they’d left weeks ago for Bridgetown.

  “And the older woman they were staying with?” she asked.

  “She left with them.”

  ▲

  Beyond Krapàn, they passed more crossroads and more towns—towns growing in size as they traveled further north; and they were disturbed to observe proliferating signs of the Chosen—houses marked with red-and-white bars on a door or shutter or a red-and-white banner fixed to a balcony or window.

  “They sure like their flags,” Alf said.

  “Indeed they do,” Zoë replied. “But what’s different between flags and the way we dress? Whoever sees us can tell we’re Foresters and know that we’re loyal to the Emperor. Besides, I’m not going to let myself be afraid of a flag.”

  “It’s not the flags; it’s the flag-wavers I fear,” Klei said. “They’re convinced the symbol gives them a right of create trouble.”

  ▲

  With Klei’s words in mind, they avoided places where flags were flown, stopping only where they saw no profusion of red and white. But even here, the men and women they encountered were reluctant to speak of the Chosen. And when they overcame that reluctance, little sense could be made of their words.

  “There are only a few of them here, but the town is safe because of them,” one person told Jon. “They’re proof we have no bias against people of religion. Yet we worry that their numbers will grow. They make a point of being good citizens, but if more profess their faith will they force the rest of us to adopt it?”

  “We tolerate them because the majority ought not to oppress the few, but I’m not sure they share our values.”

  “I’ve never met anyone so certain they were right and everyone else wrong. And they try to get their hands on children. They want to shape their minds before they’re old enough to reason. Religious education they call it. I’d call it child abuse.”

  “I’m waiting to see the outcome of the war,” one man explained. “If they defeat the Emperor, I’ll accept their religion. It’ll show they were in the right, won’t it? And it’s always smart to be on the winning side. No one can say you aren’t doing the will of God.”

  “Yes, what harm is it to believe in a life hereafter? That’s what they promise—a place better than this when we die. Flowers and pretty girls and everything you can imagine. Who could object to that?”

  “It scares me. They promise rewards in a never-never land in return for obedience here. And people are dumb enough to buy that stuff. Stupidity is what I fear. It’s more dangerous than the Chosen. A lot more dangerous.”

  “It’s all rumor about something happening somewhere else. Not anything I’d give a second thought to if I were you. My Dad always said a man should stick to his own business and let the world take care of itself, and that’s proved a good philosophy.”

  And so it went—a thousand opinions, but few that comforted them.

  The further they traveled, the more news they heard of a battle taking shape east of the Imperial City—or one that had already occurred and been won or lost by one side or the other. From what Jon could piece together, the Emperor’s army had set out to seize the desert stronghold of the Chosen only to find itself cut off, although how this reversal had taken place no one could say. Some assured them that the Emperor himself was leading the army and that the rout proved his incompetence; others insisted he was still in Kar while his generals put off the inevitable confrontation, either because they were afraid to act or because they had no clear instructions or because they were hoping their adversaries would grow weary and retreat into the wilderness. Different as these speculations were, they had one thread in common: the Emperor was no match for his enemies.

  “Too many years of peace,” one man speculated. “Without war, you get weak. That’s what’s happened to the Emperor and his so-called generals. They’ve forgotten what war is about.”

  The road, empty in the South, was busy here. The companions passed merchants with strings of pack animals, farmers traveling to market, and private travelers hurrying on one errand or another. But they also encountered individuals and whole families on the move, sometimes to the West, across the river, but more often heading south. It was easy to distinguish these refugees from the ordinary traffic. They were less willing to identify themselves, but when they could be persuaded to speak, they told of stolen property, of laws they feared to resist, and of beatings and murders in the name of religion.

  Thanks to the woman who had spoken in favor of Jon’s mission, David had brought money from the Foresters’ treasury, but they spent as little as possible, sleeping in attics or outbuildings and buying food from farmers rather than innkeepers, and, if possible, paying for it with labor. Most often, they met with hospitality and their Forester clothing was a positive sign to those who recognized it—although the further they traveled the fewer those became, and some farmers ordered them off, one even threatening to set dogs on them.

  “I fear Kar will be expensive,” David said.

  “But we won’t need to stay long,” Jon pointed out. “We have only to take our message to the Emperor and then we can leave.”

  “Do you really think it will be that easy?” Alice asked.

  “Hard to say.”

  Which was true, he thought, for the closer they came to Kar the more difficult it all seemed to him. For what did he know about Emperors?

  ▲

  Day by day, they trudged north. By this time of year in the South the hot weather was over, but not here in the central valley, where the heat drained their energy. At David’s urging, they adopted the local custom of taking a rest after midday. But Jon was impatient, and pressed them to resume the journey as soon as the sun had declined. If it wasn’t too late to find the Emperor, then it may have been almost too late. A few hours, he reminded them, could make a difference.

  One morning, they found themselves at the entrance to a city where the flag of the Chosen flew from every building. Should they enter? The road itself passed through the town, probably exiting at another gate like this one, so it would clearly be the shortest way forward. But this was the kind of place they’d determined to avoid. Still, whatever was happening inside didn’t seem to be affecting traffic—travelers were passing in both directions, some wearing red-and-white badges, but many not, and the guards at the gate appeared to be paying little attention to either.

  “It doesn’t look like anyone’s going to stop us,” Klei observed.

  “Then what’s the point of having guards?” Alf asked.

  “Well, they could stop someone if they wanted to,” Jon pointed out. “And the guards are a reminder that whoever enters the city is in the power of its rulers.”

  “The Chosen?”

  “We don’t know that. We only know that the rulers have given their allegiance to the Chosen.”

  “That’s a fine point,” Alf said.

  “But you wouldn’t disagree, would you?”

  “No, I wouldn’t disagree.”

  “So?”

  “Would you two stop it,” Zoë told them. “The guards are here to keep traffic moving. You saw them order that man with the donkey not to block the road. What strikes me is that people who aren’t wearing the Chosen’s colors come and go as they please, and none look worried. That means we’ll be safe, so long as we keep within the crowd.”

  Jon wasn’t sure what he thought. He sensed a welter of confused feelings from those who passed them. Some were afraid, despite Zoë’s assurances to the contrary. But it didn’t seem to be fear of anything immediate. Also, while it was true that men and women were leaving the city, far more were entering. Something was happening there today—he was sure of that. Still, what Zoë had said about keeping with the crowd made sense.

  “Zoë is right?” he said. “Let’s g
o.”

  ▲

  Inside, the city resembled Bridgetown, with three and four-story buildings framing a winding avenue and smaller streets branching off in various directions. But it was laid out on a larger scale than Bridgetown, and as they advanced they saw more stone structures, at least in their lower stories, along with other signs of wealth. This was clearly a place of importance, and it was undeniably a stronghold of the Chosen, for red-and-white banners hung from many windows, and most of the women they passed had covered their heads with white-and-red scarves, while the men wore similar tokens, usually a red sash or headband, but sometimes a patch of red sewn onto a shirt or tunic.

  Approaching the center, it was impossible to ignore the excitement. The street was filled with hurrying people, and they found themselves borne along with the crowd.

  “What’s happening?” Alf asked Jon.

  “I don’t know—but we’ll find out soon enough. Look there.”

  Just as at Bridgetown, the street opened into a wide square—vast, it seemed to Jon. At one side, six men in white sat on a platform, watching the crowd below them.

  Most, Jon saw, were working their way towards the platform. Resisting this current, the Southlanders tried to keep at a distance, but soon found themselves wedged against a wall. Whatever happened, they’d be spectators, since it was now impossible to escape.

  “For once I wish I was as tall as you,” Klei said to Jon. “I can’t see a thing.”

  “Climb up here,” Jon told him. “You can lean against me.”

  A narrow ledge ran along the wall behind them, and Klei was able to balance himself on it by putting his hands on Jon’s shoulders and resting his knees against his back. It had been his own suggestion, but once Jon felt his head between Klei’s thighs, he wanted to move away. There was something wrong about it. But he was being pushed into Klei by the man standing in front of him, and there was no place for either of them to move. The problem was, he sensed both Klei’s excitement and his own as well. Was he getting a hard on? That was all they needed. But then one of the men on the platform stood up and began declaiming in a loud voice. The crowd fell silent and Jon forgot Klei. So far away, it was difficult to make out the speaker’s words—especially because he spoke with an accent. Not the drawl Jon had noticed at Krapàn, but a clipped, twanging speech that would have been difficult to follow even if he had been closer.

  Then a man and woman were led in, both shackled about the wrists.

  “Who are they?” Alf asked.

  Jon had forgotten that Alf was on his right. Standing on his toes, Alf was just able to catch a glimpse of the heads on platform.

  The man standing on the other side of Alf whispered that they were adulterers “caught in the act.”

  The speaker on the platform pointed his finger at the man standing before him, who then knelt and kissed the hem of his garment. The speaker, who showed no surprise at this response, then laid his hands on the head of the supplicant. Murmurs of approval arose from the crowd, including a grunt of pleasure from the man beside Alf. Then the adulterer rose and another man walked over to untie the cord around his wrists. Once more he knelt before the speaker, but this time the speaker pulled him to his feet, kissing him on both cheeks. This gesture brought cries of approval. Then, the man bowed low and left the platform.

  Now the speaker pointed to the woman. She too tried to kneel, but he shoved her away, pushing her onto her side, and a chant arose from the crowd. “Death, death, death.” The man next to Alf took up the call with a hoarse voice.

  Allowing the call to reverberate, the speaker raised his hands, as if imploring guidance from above. The crowd was silent. Then he, too, spoke the word “Death”—the first clear word Jon had heard from the platform. Klei must have heard it as well, because his body trembled, and without thinking Jon raised his hand and grasped Klei’s leg.

  “Thank you,” Klei whispered. “This is horrible.”

  A heavyset man in black with a leather apron appeared, carrying a massive curved sword. The woman was dragged to her feet and led to where he was standing. She began screaming, but a man stopped her mouth with a gag. Then they forced her to kneel before the executioner, who slowly raised his blade, then brought it down with a quick stroke. It was then that Jon saw the purpose of the apron. When the executioner raised the severed head by its hair the crowd burst into cheers. He then tossed it into a cart waiting beside the platform and stepped back to allow his helpers to push the body into the cart as well.

  Jon struggled to keep from throwing up and Klei’s hands on his shoulders were shaking. The two turned their faces to one another. Both understood exactly what the other was feeling. But then Jon looked away, frightened by the experience they’d shared.

  Next two bound men were shoved onto the platform.

  “Queers,” the neighbor explained to Alf, as if that word explained everything.

  They, too, were led before the executioner to the great delight of the crowd.

  And then an old woman was led up. Unlike the other victims, she surveyed the crowd with contempt.

  “A witch and a blasphemer” was the explanation. “You see how shameless she is. Old women become like that. The Devil tempts them and they tangle themselves into a knot of evil-doing. It happens again and again.”

  This time the executioner played a trick on his victim. He raised his sword and pretended to be bringing it down, but instead paused a hair’s breadth from her neck. The crowd went wild with laughter. Then he raised the sword again, smirked at his audience, and completed his task. A group of women bearing jars of water ascended the platform and poured it over the area where the executions had taken place. After this ceremonial cleansing, the six men knelt in prayer, which most of the crowd took as a sign to lower their heads. But the prayer was brief, and when it was over a shout of joy arouse from the onlookers. Then the men filed off the platform and the square began to empty.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Zoë said.

  Jon looked up at Klei for a moment. He wanted to say something, but no words came. Then Klei jumped down from his perch against the wall.

  But it wasn’t as easy to leave the town as it had been to enter it. Flowing with the crowd had confused their sense of directions. Several streets led from the square, but which was the right one? Taking the closest to hand, they found themselves in a labyrinth of passageways, some circling back on themselves, others ending in closed doorways. Here, the men and women they passed were all dressed in the colors of the Chosen and scrutinized them suspiciously—particularly Zoë and Alice, who were now the only women with uncovered hair.

  They stopped to decide the next course of action. Should they go further or retrace their steps? Zoë was determined to go forward, insisting that “there must be a way.” David argued they’d probably save time by going back and taking another street from the square. Meanwhile they were attracting attention. The people seemed more curious than hostile, but they frightened Alice.

  “Don’t worry,” David reassured her. “My sister will find a way to the gate.”

  But Zoë herself was worried.

  Then they saw an open door and a heavy-set woman motioning them inside. Alice entered immediately. Zoë hesitated, then followed, along with the men. Directing them forward, the woman placed herself between her guests and the door, which she closed and latched.

  “My dears, you shouldn’t be out on the street like that without something on your head,” she told Zoë and Alice. “What would people think? We are God-fearing folk. You don’t want to look like an unbeliever.”

  “We are merely passing through the town,” Zoë told her.

  “But travelers keep to the main road, where we ignore lax behavior—for the sake of commerce, you understand. Our teacher says it’s right to accept merchants and others who come from where the word is not preached, so long as they go about their business. But you don’t look like merchants, and so it’s difficult to see why you’ve entered this quarter.”
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  She eyed them one by one as she spoke. Jon was sure this woman was an enemy.

  “We are travelers, not merchants,” Zoë told her.

  “I should think so,” the woman said. “Merchants bring young men with them, but never women. But as for being travelers—four men and two young women with no adult to guard them . . . it’s the sort of thing that raises questions. Travel is dangerous to begin with, but there’s no reason to make a bad thing worse.”

  “These are my brothers,” Zoë explained.

  “They’re all your brothers?” the woman asked. “Two don’t favor you in the least. Are you sure all four are your brothers?”

  Zoë gave her a haughty look.

  “Yes, all four. And this young woman is my sister. We’re all on the way to join our father.”

  The woman ran her eyes over Alice; then she turned back to Zoë.

  “Yes, she could be your sister. Her hair is different, but she’s tallish like you.”

  Jon wondered why this woman had opened her door to them. It couldn’t have been for the purpose of these questions.

  “Here,” she said to Zoë, pulling something out of a drawer. “Wear this. And here’s one for you, too.” She handed a second square of red and white fabric to Alice.

  “You don’t have to be followers to wear our colors, and that way you’ll attract less attention. That’s the important thing. No decent woman wants to call attention to herself.

  “I suppose you came for the Judgment. It’s inspiring, isn’t it? Many travel to see it. If anyone doubts the Chosen are just, they have only to observe the ceremony. It proves that our goal is purification. We expect people to behave in a natural way—the way we were designed to behave when we were given this planet.”