“But why was the man let go and the woman put to death?” Alf asked.
Jon wished he’d kept silent. Hadn’t he realized that the less said here the better? But you couldn’t stop Alf from asking questions.
“You noticed that, did you?” the woman continued. “And I’m glad you did, since it gives me the opportunity to explain our thinking, and there’s nothing I like better.
“You see, it’s according to his nature for a man to be wayward. All have the tendency, and the weak easily succumb to it. But it’s a tendency that can be corrected, once a man recognizes the error of his ways. But with women it’s different. A woman is born to be faithful to her husband, so deceiving him is not only a crime, it violates a law of nature; and that makes her an unnatural creature—a kind of monster, you see. Such a woman can only be put away to prevent her perversion from spreading—the way you’d kill a chicken that’s taken to eating her own eggs. That’s why those women in the South who live without men concern us. They’re far away, so you might think we’d give them little thought, but the teachers say they set an example that must be rooted out. Doesn’t that make sense?”
“Yes,” Jon said, forestalling Alf’s response. “What you’ve said gives us a very good idea of how the Chosen think.”
The woman studied his face suspiciously. She’d picked up his irony, but she couldn’t tell what it meant. In the end, she decided to take his words at face value.
“I’m so glad to hear you say that,” she told him. “There are so many unbelievers. I pray every day for their souls.
“But look at me. I’m standing here talking when I should have offered you eat and drink. You’ll think I have no manners.”
“You’ve been too kind, but we must be on our way,” Zoë told her. “Travelers can’t linger. We’re passing through and didn’t plan to watch your ceremony—what did you say you called it?”
“The Judgment of Evil Doers.”
“Yes, I remember. And we found it very illuminating, but now we’re behind schedule. We’ll have to make up for lost time.”
The woman was annoyed, but tried to hide it. She wanted to keep them there; Jon was sure of that. But why?
“Sometimes what men and women call lost time isn’t lost at all. It can be in those moments that the spirit enters the heart—right when you’d least expect it.”
“No doubt you’re right,” Zoë said. “But we really must be on our way.”
The woman forced a smile.
“But surely you’ll let me give you something to take with you,” she said. “Some of the cookies I baked this morning for my daughter. Where is she, anyway?
“Lucy,” she called and a small girl shuffled into the room.
“Lucy, you talk to the strangers while I go pack them something to eat.”
Lucy looked at them curiously, but didn’t say anything.
“How old are you?” Klei asked her.
“Seven. Seven years and one month and two days.”
“Ah, let me calculate that . . . Just as I suspected. You were born on a lucky day.”
“A lucky day?”
“Oh, yes.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that all kinds of good things will happen to you. You are a very fortunate young lady.”
Lucy giggled.
“Very fortunate indeed,” Klei assured her, poking her in the chin with his forefinger.
“What are you saying?” the woman asked, coming back with a small parcel wrapped in white paper and tied with red twine.
“He said I was born on a lucky day.”
The woman forced another smile, but then looked seriously at Klei.
“I know you meant no harm, young man, but we don’t speak of things like lucky days here. We believe a man’s life is determined by the Lord,. To have luck is a sure sign of damnation.”
For a moment her voice had turned threatening, but then she reverted to her former manner.
“Don’t you worry. The girl will forget what you said. No harm done. If anyone asks, I’ll tell them it was just a misunderstanding.”
She laughed in a self-satisfied way, trying to keep Klei from worrying—but Jon sensed she was hiding something. Beneath her feigned kindness lay hatred. He couldn’t explain it, but he could read her feelings much as he’d picked up David’s and Zoë’s at the Mountain House.
“Here,” she said, handing a parcel to David. “They’re for you and your brothers and sisters. I never want a guest to leave empty handed. And I’m sorry to see you’ve hurt your arm.”
“It was nothing. An accident. I’ll have this bandage off in a day or two,” David assured her.
“Well, be careful with yourself. Promise me you’ll be careful.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“I only wish you’d have stayed a while. We never got to the subject of Great Barton. It’s a special city, you know. Even before we learned the faith, Great Barton was special. I don’t mean to brag, but the people here have always been a higher type than others in the Empire—they say we speak the purest language—and once, long ago, Great Barton was going to be made the capital city. Few know that, but it’s a fact. However there was some kind of treachery and Kar was named instead. Yet I think we’ve always been the real capital, not because the Emperor built his palace here—who wants a monstrosity like that!—but because we’re the best people. So it was only natural that we were the first city to join the ranks of the Chosen. The first of importance, that is.”
“We’ll remember that,” Zoë said.
“Now cover your heads, young ladies, and let me show you the way to the road. Were you going north or south?”
“North.”
“So north must be the way to your father. But promise me you’ll be careful. The world is a dangerous place. That’s why it’s so comforting to have faith. I can tell you that faith has made a difference in my life. I’m not good at explaining things, but if you’ve got a minute, I could take you to a man who can explain our beliefs better than I ever could. It would do you a world of good. Such opportunities don’t come every day. It would be a shame to pass one up.”
“I wish we could accept your offer,” Zoë told her, “You’ve been very kind . . . but we have a ways yet to go today.”
“I understand. As you said, travelers have to be about their traveling.” She kissed Zoë and then Alice on the cheek; then she unlatched and opened the door and led them out of the house.
“It’s not a great distance to the North Gate,” she said. “But the streets can be confusing. I’ve lived in Great Barton all my life, of course, so I know every shortcut—and I’ve been outside the city, too. When I was a girl, we used to picnic a good hour’s journey beyond the South Gate. There’s a hill with a lovely view of the city where we’d sit and watch the sunset and then walk home in the dusk. Once the guard at the gate said he wasn’t going to admit us because it was past the hour for admitting strangers. He called us vagabonds—can you imagine that? But he was only kidding, of course. He knew who we were all along. I was a frivolous thing back then, I have to admit. But now that I know the will of the Lord, those days are behind me.”
In a few minutes they found themselves at the gate.
“If you’re ever back this way, be sure to come see me. Just ask for Malayuka—that’s my saved name. I used to be Miriam, but when I took the vow of salvation and kissed the holy book, they gave me a new name, and I think it’s a lot better than Miriam. Don’t you agree?”
“It’s a very nice name,” Klei told her. “I’ve never heard it before.”
“It means ‘Handmaiden of the Lord’—not in our language, of course, but in the old language that only the Great Teacher and a few of his chief followers can read. If you were to submit to our faith you two young ladies could have new names so beautiful that just the sound of them would bring tears to your eyes.”
“What kind of names do you give men?” Alf asked.
“Men don’t ge
t new names—only women. They say that’s a sign that the weaker sex is more blessed than the stronger. Someday Lucy will have a new name, too. Her choice of salvation is the one thing I look forward to. And it has to be her choice, you understand; religion isn’t a thing you can force on another person. But I know in my heart that one day Lucy will hear an inner voice calling her to confess her belief in the true faith.”
Zoë couldn’t help remembering the Brotherhood making their confession of faith, and Alf must have remembered it, too
“It’s wonderful to have a goal in life,” he said. “I admire people who plan for the future.”
With that, they made their final goodbyes and left the town. Turning back a short way down the road, Jon could see Malayuka standing at the gate, talking earnestly to one of the guards and pointing them out to him. Jon tried to imagine what she was communicating, but nothing came. He was able to intuit feelings, but not words. When she saw that Jon had paused to look at her, she smiled and waved, but he turned away and hurried to catch up with his friends.
“I wonder what her cookies look like,” Klei said, when they’d stopped to rest after a few hours on the road.
“Open the package and see for yourself.”
David handed him the parcel.
Klei laughed when he saw what Malayuka had given them—cookies baked with coloring that made one side red and the other, not white, but something close to it.
“I’m not going to eat one,” Alf said. “It would be like sitting down with the enemy.”
“They’re only cookies, Alf. And a cookie never hurt anyone. Still, these don’t look all that good,” Jon observed.
Alice asked to see one and snapped it in two.
“Hard as a rock,” she said. “At least a week old—and she claimed she’d baked them this morning.”
“Does that mean you’re not going to eat one?” Klei asked.
“Yes,” Alice replied, tossing the two pieces of cookie to the roadside. “Remember that the red on the flags and banners of the Chosen stands for blood, and I think I’ve seen enough of that today.”
“But you and Zoë are still wearing red in your hair,” Klei pointed out.
The two girls pulled the pieces of cloth off their heads and Alice threw hers to the ground.
“No,” Zoë said, carefully folding her own headpiece. “Save it. These may be of some use in the future. We’ll probably find ourselves in other places where the Chosen have the upper hand, and we’ll need to pass without notice.”
▲
From that day on, they went the long way round to avoid towns where the red and white banners flew—and they saw more and more of those colors. At the same time, the overall confusion surrounding them increased. The road was now crowded, and many people seemed to be distancing themselves from the Imperial City.
The rumors remained contradictory. Some spoke of the overthrow of the Emperor, while others expressed confidence in his ability to overcome any adversary—if there was a delay in the outcome it could be explained by the grand strategy of the Emperor’s forces, who would soon surprise the naysayers by reasserting their authority. But the closer they came to Kar, the more openly doubt was expressed about that authority. One morning a man galloped by on horseback, calling out to all as he passed, “The Emperor has lost the war. The Emperor is dead.” Was it yet another rumor, or was this in fact reliable news? The man who had spoken those words believed them to be true—Jon was sure of that—but being certain didn’t mean being right.
Once they’d entered the heartland of the Empire, each day had been much like the last—a steady journey through farmland, villages, and occasional towns and cities. Here, the River Road was only one of many highways stretching in all directions, and the Great River itself was deep and yellow with silt.
“And we once drank water from it,” Alf exclaimed in disgust.
“That was a long way from here,” Klei reminded him.
“You can still drink water from it,” David pointed out. “We eat a lot of things with dirt on them.”
At the same time, the high mountains had receded to the West, now beyond sight except when the road climbed a higher than usual hill; and in the East the gently undulating terrain seemed to continue forever. This land of rich farms and prosperous towns was what Jon had come to see, yet, despite the tidings of war, he found an unaccountable complacency in the people. Life in the Valley of Women had been narrow, but it had been driven by a sense of purpose. Here, amid fields of ripening grain, men and women seemed content to accept the world as they found it, treating the great events around them as less important than a bountiful harvest or a good dinner.
By now, the warmest time of the year should have passed, yet the days remained hot. Their woolen clothing, made for a cooler climate, was uncomfortable and set them apart from the lightly clad people they passed. In the South, where they’d been known by their Forester dress, they’d been welcomed. Here, they were oddly garbed strangers, obliged to pay for everything they ate, with a store of copper and silver coins that grew smaller by the day.
They’d learned that it was unwise to say they were going to see the Emperor. Some had merely laughed when they’d announced their purpose, but others had looked at them with suspicion. So they decided to give questioners the story Zoë had invented in Great Barton: They were traveling north to meet their father, who’d inherited land and had sent for his children to join him. Their mother had died three years ago; otherwise, she’d be with them. Not a very good story—Malayuka was right about their not looking like brothers and sisters—but prosaic enough to stop most of the questions.
Still, they had almost reached their goal. In another day, they’d catch their first sight of Kar. A friendly farmer had allowed them to sleep in the upper floor of his barn—in exchange for helping him clean the stalls. The work was dirty and onerous, but he gave them overalls to wear so that they wouldn’t soil their own clothing and afterwards he’d invited them to wash with water drawn from his well, and his wife had set up a table under a blue oak and served them a meal from her kitchen—lemony pigeon stew with chunks of barley bread and a blackberry pie for dessert. It was their best night for a long time, and, when they bedded down in the hayloft, they fell asleep without difficulty.
However, they were awakened in the night by the sound of voices and the trample of hooves. Coming down, they found the farmer and his wife standing in the yard.
“What’s going on?” Alf asked.
“We don’t know. Many people are passing by on the road, but we don’t know why.”
“I’ll go and find out,” Alf said.
“I’d better come with you,” David told him.
A short lane from the farm led directly to the road. Here, Alf and David found a long line of people moving hurriedly south in the darkness. A few carried torches to light their way; otherwise it was difficult to make out what was happening. Those on horseback must have already passed, because they saw only men and women on foot or in carts or wagons drawn by draft animals.
“What is happening?” Alf asked a woman, hurrying along beside her as he spoke.
“The Chosen are coming. Haven’t you heard? The Emperor’s army was defeated. Nothing now stands between the city and those murderers.”
“But what’s happened to the Emperor?”
“No one knows.”
David asked the same question of a man driving a wagon and received much the same answer.
“There’s no telling where he might be. Some say he’s holed up in that palace of his, hidden behind a hundred locked doors. If that’s the case, it’ll take the Chosen a while to find him—the palace is a regular warren—but find him they will, for time is on their side now.”
Did they know where they were going? No. Their only goal was getting as far from Kar as possible. They had no clear notion of how the Chosen had defeated the Imperial Army; all they knew was that the army no longer defended Kar and that the Chosen had promised to slay every unbel
iever they found in the city.
“They’ll slit your throat—that’s for sure,” the man on the wagon had assured David. “That’s what they’ve done in the other towns that opposed them. Broken down the gates and slaughtered every man, woman and child they could lay their hands on.”
When Alf and David returned to the farm, Jon listened to their report with excitement.
“We must go now,” he told them. “Before it’s too late.”
“It may already be too late,” David pointed out.
“And no one knows where the Emperor is,” Alf added.
“That’s why we need to find him. If the Emperor is still alive, this is his hour of need.”
“Jon is right,” Zoë told them. “We must get to the city as quickly as we can.”
“You don’t mean that,” the farmer said.
“Yes, we mean it.”
He shook his head.
“Why put yourself in the way of danger? Stay here with us for a few days. The Chosen want Kar; they’re not going to bother themselves with a farm like ours. You’ll be safe with us. If anyone asks, I’ll them you’re my wife’s brother’s children. His second wife had red hair.”
Zoë thanked him, but explained they had no choice but to leave immediately. And so, getting their things together, she and her five companions bid farewell to the farmer and his wife, who gave them a loaf of barley bread and a wedge of cheese to eat on the road, and set out into the morning dusk.
Chapter Sixteen
The highway had ascended an acclivity so gentle that Jon hadn’t realized they’d been climbing until, reaching its crest, they caught sight of the Imperial City.
“Kar!” Alf exclaimed.
“We’re here at last,” Zoë said.
“Here at long last,” David repeated. “It’s hard to believe. Alice, just look. It’s Kar. The real thing.”
Jon knew that Klei was watching him, curious to see how he’d react to the occasion, and so he made a point of maintaining a blank expression. Yet it was difficult not to be moved by what he saw, for the size of Kar exceeded his imagination. If only John had been here to see it with him.
The Flight from Kar (The Emperor's Library Page 27
