The Flight from Kar (The Emperor's Library

by Frederick Kirchhoff

  “But it’s so beautifully cut into the rock,” Alf objected.

  “Still, Klei is right about its being narrow,” Jon countered.

  “I agree,” Alice said. “I was terrified coming up those stairs—and I’m not usually scared of heights.”

  “As David said, we’ll have to explore the mountain,” Zoë replied. “If there’s another way, we’ll find it.”

  Talis shook his head.

  “There is no other way,” he said. “At least no other way like the one the young man describes—an entrance comparable to the gates of Kar.”

  “Well, they couldn’t have flown here,” Zoë, said.

  “Why not?” Klei asked, looking at Jon.

  “Are you trying to say they were birdmen?” Alf asked, laughing.

  Klei shrugged his shoulders, as if to suggest he wasn’t sure what he’d been trying to say. But his question had clearly been aimed at Jon. Why not indeed? Hadn’t he read of ancient men who possessed the power of flying and could move stones through the air with their minds? If he ever returned to the Mountain House, he’d reread the appendix that contained those legends. Perhaps he’d missed something the first time.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Falco’s kitchen and farm had been self-sufficient; his staff possessed a range of skills. Acquiring materials “to repair weak places in the fortress,” they patched the exterior wall sufficiently to make that effort appear the Emperor’s primary intention. But their main work took place on the mountain spur, where they had to create a home for the library dry enough to protect it from rain and strong enough to last for decades, yet also as inconspicuous as possible.

  Alf offered some ideas as to how this might be done. Jon wasn’t surprised—Alf had always had a mind for solving technical problems. Together, he and Falco developed a proposal, which the Emperor accepted gratefully. They’d build a false wall in one of the more substantial buildings, behind which they’d construct compartments to hold the books, not placing them against either the new or the old wall, since dampness could enter there, but on a platform between the two partitions. When the time came, they’d seal the entrance and restore the external appearance of the structure. The only drawback was the large amount of space the plan required. A curious mind might question the thickness of the wall, but it was unlikely that anyone with a curious mind would come here. According to Talis, the local folk deemed ruins unlucky. A hunter stumbling on them would be unlikely to linger, and only a hunter might wander so far. During the summer, the villagers drove their herds to the lower slopes of the mountain, but there was no way to bring them here, since a sheer cliff separated the plateau from the valley below. It was, Jon decided, as safe a place for the library as he could have expected—under the circumstances. Further south, dampness would have posed a problem, but these mountains received little rainfall—the sparse vegetation made that clear. Something would have to be done to close the stairway; however, Alf and Falco would doubtless solve that problem as well.

  Once the hiding place was prepared, they began carrying up the library. Lawrence supervised, assigning each volume to its new space, and slowly, day-by-day, the books made their way to safety. While this labor was taking place, the Emperor made a point of visiting the villagers, bringing Jon and Zoë with him to give the impression that, beyond a few repairs, nothing of importance was taking place at the fortress. This was the first opportunity he’d had to speak one-on–one to ordinary subjects, and he clearly relished the occasion. He’d kept them in the dark about the library and even the true number of his attendants, but those deceptions made him eager to be frank on other counts. An enemy had killed his father and brother in battle and seized the Imperial City, he explained to them, and soon that enemy would be among them, for the Chosen were intent on controlling every acre of the Empire, however remote. He didn’t ask the villagers to defend him against this foe—he wanted no one to risk a life on his behalf; when the time came, they’d be wise to accommodate themselves to the Chosen. As for himself, he intended to remain in the valley for a short while only. His army was regrouping in the North. Just where, was a military secret. At the right moment he’d join them, and together they’d defeat his adversaries—and reward all who’d remained loyal “during these difficult times.” If he was still here when the Chosen arrived, he’d defend himself in the fortress, but he had a plan for giving them the slip, which, naturally enough, he also could not reveal at this time.

  What he did not tell the villagers was that he intended to wait for the Chosen to arrive in order to put that plan in operation. “If they question the locals,” the Emperor explained on their return to the plateau, “the Chosen will hear that I intend to escape and do their best to prevent me. Then, when they discover I’ve managed to get away, they’ll have no choice but to acknowledge my resourcefulness—and that will force them to credit the rumor of an Imperial army in the North. So they’ll waste their time looking for me there while we escape in another direction altogether. It won’t be difficult to get the better of them. People stupid enough to fall for religion will believe other unlikelihoods as well—and an emperor is expected to bring off the extraordinary. They may imagine me an inconsequential younger son, but they’ll be forced to respect me. And, once the people learn how easily I’ve escaped the Chosen, they’ll have second thoughts about their power.”

  Jon found this a lot to take in one gulp. Had the Emperor forgotten what he’d once said about his father’s underestimating the Chosen? And now he expected his followers to risk their lives not to save him or the library but in order to make a show of his competence. They’d already risked their lives for him, of course. That demand wasn’t extraordinary. But, as for what “the people” might think—didn’t he realize that his enemies would be their principal source of information? No way would the Chosen proclaim that the Emperor had slipped from their clutches.

  If they wanted to preserve the library, they should seal it up tomorrow and steal away as quietly as possible. But it now appeared they’d dawdle here as long as it took for the Emperor to perform his disappearing act. And, stupid as the plan was, the man repeatedly boasted about it. Jon had expected at least a few polite objections, but none came. Was he the only one to think it a crazy idea? Even Zoë assured him that “the Emperor must have a good reason for his decision,” and, without her support, he’d never persuade the Emperor to change his mind. The man could be influenced, Jon saw, but not after he’d committed himself to a course of action. He’d preferred the Emperor when he’d been awash in doubt. Now that he’d become more confident, he was becoming dangerous.

  As the weather grew colder, the villagers moved their herds from the mountains to the valley floor, where occasional rains had turned the grass back to green. Meanwhile, visitors from the outside world continued to bring snatches of news. There was more demand for the local cheese than the Emperor had imagined, and this was the time of year when the aged wheels from last summer’s milk were ready to sell. Through these traders, they learned that the Chosen now controlled the territory surrounding Kar and were systematically converting its inhabitants. Hints of atrocities were reported, but nothing confirmed the wholesale butchery that had been predicted; more important, it became evident that an overarching plan lay behind the invasion, for the Great Teacher had invited tribes to move from the drought-stricken East to the central valley, where his followers were seizing land from the unbelievers. But, even with this incentive, many Easterners refused to relocate, preferring to remain where they’d always made their homes. They also learned that a troop of the Chosen had been seen on the road only a day’s journey from West House, but they had been heading east, not west, so they were unlikely to appear in the valley anytime soon.

  The Emperor and his followers now led a double life, pretending to reside in the fortress, but spending most of their time on the plateau, careful to ensure that they were unseen from below. Cooking was a problem, since a wisp of smoke would have been visible for miles
, and so, despite the inconvenience, this was done in the fortress. Thus much time was spent going up and down the spiral stairway. But no one complained. Falco’s staff had been used to carrying food upstairs. They had strong legs and thighs.

  Joined by Alf, Jon used his free time to discover as much as he could about the ruins. Alf suggested they draw a plan of the complex, including the array of stone cylinders, but seeing it on paper only increased the mystery. Nor was David, who’d explored the length of the plateau, able to discover evidence of quarrying or a formal entry to the complex other than the spiral stair.

  However, Jon did notice something remarkable. One afternoon, standing in the midst of the cylinders, he found himself overwhelmed by a profound sense of dislocation—as if he were at once there but somewhere else at the same time. He tested the sensation, leaving the area and then returning to it. Each time he re-entered the sensation returned, but what was it?

  He decided to use Alf as a test. Without explaining his purpose, he led him to the spot and watched to see if he registered a reaction, asking apparently idle questions that would have encouraged Alf to reveal any unusual sensations. But Alf revealed nothing—not even when Jon divulged his intentions.

  “And you feel something here?” Alf asked. “What’s it like? A kind of tingling?”

  “No, nothing like that. It’s hard to explain. You might say it was like being at two places simultaneously—or more than two places. But that can only mean you aren’t anywhere, really, if you know what I mean.”

  “I guess . . . but you’re sure you felt it?”

  Jon saw that Alf was having trouble with this one.

  “Don’t you believe me?”

  “Of course I believe you, Jon. I just wanted to make sure, that’s all. So you felt it here and nowhere else and you felt it more than once.”

  “Yes, nowhere else, and, yes, I’ve felt it more than one.”

  “Do you feel it now?”

  “No”

  That was a lie, but he was sure he’d already told Alf more than he wanted to.

  Alf shook his head.

  “Whatever happens must come and go. We can return another day and see if we feel it.”

  “Yeah, we can do that,” Jon replied noncommittally. “I guess it’s just a weird place.”

  He’d long suspected that the broken arrowhead had something to do with his heightened awareness of human feelings. Did it also explain his response to the cylinders? Later that afternoon, Jon returned to the site alone. Removing the arrowhead and placing it on the ground outside the array, he approached the spot where the sensation had been strongest. Sure enough, without the greenstone, he experienced nothing out of the ordinary.

  He wished he’d thought to ask John more about the arrowhead, but the subject had never come up, and now he knew no one with whom he could discuss it. He may have made a mistake in bringing Alf here, for Alf wouldn’t rest content with the weird-place explanation. Fortunately, Alf seemed no longer intent in spending every waking moment in Jon’s company. He had other friends now—notably Falco; and Klei, too, had developed new friendships. He and Marekko were always up to something. Zoë now spent most of her time in the company of the Emperor, and David and Alice were usually off together. Like David, Alice had lost a loved one at Bridgetown—and, once she’d learned of the defeat of the Emperor’s army, she must have resigned herself to the loss of her father and brothers as well. Brought together by a common sorrow, the two had become friends, and Alice seemed much older now than when Jon first met her in Bridgetown. She was beginning to act more and more like an old woman.

  Then one day David asked the Emperor’s permission to lead Alice and several of the guard on a scouting expedition. Unlike the northern edge of the plateau, its southern slope was merely steep. Deer appeared from time to time on the plateau; they must have come from below. And, where deer could climb, men should be able to climb as well. David had been able to identify several potential avenues of descent. Now he proposed to attempt the most promising and see what he could learn about the valley itself.

  Alf volunteered to join the party and Jon had been about to second him when he discovered that Klei and Marekko had already agreed to take part.

  “You have more than enough to go with you,” he told David. “But I’ll look forward to hearing what you learn.”

  “Come on, Jon,” Alf said. “You should come with us.”

  But Jon politely refused his request and instead spent the day among the columns, trying to discover if the sensations he picked up there varied with different locations. There were snakes here, too—more than anywhere else on the plateau—but, as always, the snakes disappeared among the rubble as soon as he approached them.

  Yet today, once he’d sat motionless for a length of time, the snakes began to return—seven he could count without moving his head, but there could have been others behind him. And they seemed attracted to one another, first two, then three, then all of them coiling into a single, writhing mass so close that Jon could have reached out and touched them. As long as he remained dead still, the snakes appeared oblivious to his presence, but when he finally shifted his position they slipped apart and moved away in various directions.

  ▲

  David eventually found the route he sought, and, reconnoitering the valley, he also caught sight of what looked like a pass over the mountains to their west. From the valley floor, it appeared an easy climb and there was even something resembling a trail, although perhaps one made by deer or other animals. However, it was too late in the day to go further, and so, as dusk fell, the explorers slogged their way back up to the plateau.

  Most headed for bed as soon as the evening meal was over, but Alf asked the Emperor for a sheet of paper.

  “Tomorrow, David will report our findings,” he explained, “But there are things I want to write down.”

  “You have a pen and ink?”

  “A pen and ink? Yes, those, too. I need both.”

  “Are you sure it won’t wait?”

  “While it’s fresh in my mind, you see . . . I hope it’s not an imposition.”

  “I only wish all of my subjects’ requests were as easy to accommodate.”

  Finding a lamp and a place where he wouldn’t be disturbed, Alf carefully laid out a sketch of the southern valley, indicating where they’d made their descent and the possible route over the western mountains. He meant it for the Emperor and he knew that the Emperor expected to see it, but first he wanted to consult the one person who might critique his work. And so, early the next morning, he showed the map to Talis.

  “Why didn’t David ask me?” Talis asked. “I could have told him the way into the next valley. I found it years ago. Once you get to the bottom of the cliff there’s nothing but trees. It’s easy to lose your sense of direction. I’d never have found my way back to the plateau if I hadn’t remembered exactly where I’d come down. That’s about all I did the first time—climbed down, walked around for half an hour, and then climbed back up again. But a few weeks later I decided to make a second descent and search for a way out of the valley. It stood to reason that if you kept going east, you’d reach the road that crosses the West Road near the entrance to this valley.”

  “I know the road you’re talking about,” Alf said. “It appears to follow the edge of the mountain range.”

  “Exactly. Although road may be too grand a term for it, since it’s not fit for carts or wagons. And I was right about the next valley. Traces of an old path follow the water course that runs down its center and eventually reach the north-south byway, which I took as far as the West Road and returned to West House that way.”

  “Making a loop.”

  “Exactly so. And I made the loop twice again, just to be sure I had the route in my memory—but that was a long time ago—before your father’s father was born, I suspect.”

  “I never knew my father,” Alf said quietly.

  “Never knew your father? There is a sense in which t
hat’s true for me, too. My father was the Warden of this fortress—that much I can tell you. And I remember him distinctly. If I were an artist, I could draw his picture, but did I know him? That’s a hard question.”

  Talis sighed.

  “I could tell you how he dressed and what he said to me first thing in the morning, but what went on inside his head is a mystery I’ll never solve. It was just the two of us, you understand. My mother died giving birth to my only sister, and she herself died a few months later. Under the circumstances, you’d think Father and I would have been close, but he never opened up to me. Not that he wasn’t a good parent. He saw to it that I had an education—sent me to the Academy in Kar where they train men for the Imperial service, and that’s an opportunity few boys have. But he never showed me a sign of his feelings. Never a sign.”

  Why was Talis talking about his father? For some reason, this strange, formal man, had chosen him as a confidant, and Alf was at a loss to respond. People opened up this way with Klei, but never with him.

  Yet, even as these thoughts passed through Alf’s mind, Talis drew back.

  “But I’m boring you with my old man’s talk.”

  “No, sir. Not at all. I enjoy hearing stories about the past.”

  “The past? Well, I guess that’s what it is, although to me it seems like the day before yesterday. In any case, it’s better to listen to others than to ramble on about yourself. And I do listen. It’s my duty to learn anything that might affect the fortress. And also to reveal nothing that might compromise its security. And so I pay attention to what my neighbors say. From time to time I catch stories about hunters who’ve chased deer or boar into the lower reaches of the valley you’re asking me about, but I’ve never heard of anyone going further.

  “We saw deer,” Alf said.

  “But probably not a boar. Or a twist-horn. Boars and twist-horns are harder to find, although both are good eating. You’d think more of the villagers would make the trek into the next valley to hunt them, but few of them do. You probably heard me tell the Emperor that the south rim has a bad name in the village, where they whisper about evil spirits who make their home here. At first, I thought it was pure invention, but then it occurred to me that someone must have stumbled on the ruins and invented the evil spirits to explain them. And, because the plateau is haunted, the valley to its south is considered dangerous as well. I didn’t know the Emperor was interested in the place. If he’d asked me, I’d have told him exactly what I just told you. Except for the part about my father, of course. I wouldn’t feel comfortable telling the Emperor anything like that.”