Riding the Serpent's Back (57 page)

~

The road dropped to follow the river, so that the last part of Monahl’s journey was under the shade of the ancient pine trees growing there. She had a better view of the people working the fields now: a squat race, with straight black hair and tan skin. The hair, and the square faces, reminded her strongly of Herold, and in her head she tried to rehearse what she must say to him.

The wall towered above her, a vast, seamless curtain of rock threaded with glittering veins of quartz. She could sense its bulk and power at some deep level of her subconscious, sense the magical Charm that preserved it.

It made her feel very small.

The river emerged from the base of the wall through a low arch, washed smooth over the ages. The hole was dark, giving a sense of the great thickness of the wall, yet sounds came drifting through: the voices of children, laughing and shouting.

She looked more closely, trying to see how they might have got inside, but there was no path leading into the hole, no handholds in the polished sides of the opening.

Then suddenly a figure appeared, a small boy riding the rapids, kneeling on a wooden board. He hung on with white-knuckled determination, shifting his weight repeatedly to counter the turbulence of the white water, his eyes bugging wide with exhilaration.

Behind him, three more children came swooping and whooping through the opening. They were past her in an instant, steering their little boards through the rapids with shrill cries and screams. Monahl felt sick just to watch them. She was thinking of Freya: seven year-old Freya swinging from a long rope right out over a lava-pool, three year-old Freya climbing around the outside of a high balcony in pursuit of a dragonfly, ten year-old Freya nearly drowning after a disastrous dare with her friends to climb under an arch of Preservers’ Bridge. She wondered if Freya had sat a vigil on one of Zigané’s spurs yet and suddenly she was overcome with fear for her.

She sat on a boulder to gather herself. She couldn’t face Herold in this frame of mind: although capable of astonishing tenderness, he could be brutal when he sensed a weakness, even in one he loved.

~

Guards stood by the road where it passed through the Divine Wall. Suspended above them was a heavy stone gate, ready to be lowered if ever danger presented itself. The gate looked almost as old as the wall itself.

The guards showed little interest in Monahl – so many people must pass through this gateway every day – but she approached one of them anyway. “I need to see Principal Echillestan Entrest,” she said. “It is a matter of the utmost urgency.”

He looked at her somewhat oddly. “And who is it who wishes to see the Principal?” he asked.

She removed one of the silver discs from her necklet and showed the family engraving to the guard. “I am the Blessed Sister Monahl of Camptore, devotee-priest of the Church of the Preserving Hand from the island city of Zigané. Daughter of Camptore, granddaughter of Felicia, great granddaughter of Jobahl who was the wife of Herold Entrest of this city. I am Principal Echillestan Entrest’s cousin.”

The guard saluted. “I will consult immediately,” he said. “Please excuse me for a moment.”

When he returned to where Monahl stood, she saw that a soldier had set off at a run through the gates. “Please come with me,” the guard said. “I will take you to the palace.”

She smiled and nodded. The man she had seen running ahead had no doubt been instructed to verify her claim and if it proved to be a lie then by the time she reached the palace a cell would be waiting.

They passed beneath the great wall and Monahl sensed anew its enormous power. It was more a tunnel than a gateway – Monahl lengthened her stride and counted thirty paces from outside to inside. She trailed a hand along one wall and saw, by the light of the torches suspended at regular intervals, that a series of smoothed-out grooves had been cut into its surface. People must touch the rock for luck as they pass through, she intuited; so many beseeching fingers they had cut their own channels along the tunnel.

She had to pause when they emerged at the inner end of the passageway. The guard glanced at her expression, a knowing look on his face. He had clearly been prepared for her reaction.

The city had been constructed – if that was the word: it looked more as if it had grown, or simply been created – in two converging blocks. The rising walls of each flank of the valley had been cut into a series of great, sloping shelves that zigzagged up the cliff; built onto these shelves, and no doubt carved back into the rock itself, were tiers of houses. Their walls glistened and glittered with the veins of quartz that permeated the rock here and in many places gaudy mosaics of coloured stones had been set into their surface. The city, quite literally, rose up around her.

The central strip of the narrowing valley had been kept free of all buildings, other than a series of temples and shrines which were set in a wide swathe of parkland. The river had backed up behind the wall to form a long lake here, and all around were majestic stands of pine trees and exotic, towering ferns. Wide beds of moss and low, creeping flowers were punctuated by gardens made of nothing other than polished rocks, chosen for their beautiful colours and shapes.

“My father is chief gardener,” said the guard. “He says it is worth it just for the expression on the faces of anyone seeing the city for the first time.”

Monahl nodded. It was the most beautiful city she had ever seen.

She looked up and was momentarily blinded by the glare. The wall shielded all but the upper tiers of the city from direct sunlight, yet this was not a shady place: as her eyes adjusted, Monahl saw that the mountain walls were cloaked in sheets of ice which reflected the sun down into this otherwise dark pit. By accident or by magical design, she did not know, but the effect of the sun splitting into rainbow patterns and shining brightly down from the ice was almost as breathtaking as the city itself.

“To the palace?”

The guard indicated the far end of the city and Monahl saw the building he must mean. Where the two built-into walls of the valley converged they were joined by a transverse wall, a smaller scale echo of the Divine Wall itself. Water, thawing from the ice high above, plunged down before this wall in a great cascade that ended in the waters of the city’s lake. Behind this screen of water, Monahl could see windows and terraces cut into the wall, and she realised that this must be the palace of the city’s two Principals, built in the most commanding position of the valley.

She nodded, and went with the guard, passing through the fringes of his father’s parkland.

~

She was shown to a balcony with views back through the screen of falling water, over the spreading parkland to the inner surface of the Divine Wall itself.

After a short time, someone came for her and led her through to a larger room filled with pots of ferns and dwarf pine trees, all stacked up on shelves or placed in niches, the taller specimens standing free on the floor. Songbirds trilled and piped from cages suspended around the room.

The place appeared to be empty, then a voice said, “Through here.”

Monahl followed the sound and came to an open space where a group of chairs had been arranged. A small group of people was gathered here, drinking and talking in a quiet murmur.

Herold was standing by one of the bird cages. He looked well for a man who had lived nearly a century and a half: the same small, lean frame, the hair still a lustrous black, a neat little beard clipped severely about his mouth. He saw her, then looked away as if not interested that his great granddaughter had appeared unexpectedly in this remote place.

“You asked to see Principal Echillestan.” It was a woman who spoke. She was seated lengthways on a low-backed sofa, a drink in one hand. She had tightly cropped black hair and a face made-up to look far younger than it really was.

Monahl nodded uncertainly. Was this Echillestan, then? She was sure Herold had always referred to the Principal as his nephew, not his niece. “I am a distant cousin of the Principal’s,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “I have come to petition for the support of this city on behalf of my half-brother, Chichéne Pas of Tule.”

The woman nodded sharply. “Herold confirmed your family connection,” she said. “I am the Principal of this city. It is to me you must make your petition.”

“You are Echillestan?”

Now Herold left his group and came across to join them. “No, Monahl,” he said, in his most patronising tone. “My nephew is dead. I have remained in this city to consider his affairs. This is Principal Marna Vene. The City of the Divine Wall has only one Principal at present, until the selection process for Echillestan’s successor is complete.”

Monahl nodded. She knew a little of Principal Marna – she had been Echillestan’s lover, although they had no children – but she knew nothing of her allegiances. Monahl had hoped to appeal to her cousin’s family ties, but that option was lost now.

“I am sorry,” said Monahl. “I didn’t know.”

“Clearly,” said Herold, making the most of her discomfort.

“What was the subject of your petition?” asked Marna. “Echillestan was sometimes considered something of a soft touch by many. You will find that I strike a much harder bargain.”

Monahl took her cue from Marna’s directness. Somewhat bluntly, she said, “My half-brother, Chichéne Pas, is gathering an army to the north of the Zochi jungle. He intends to remove Lachlan Pas from the positions of authority he has assumed and replace his brutal and cruel regime with one that pays true respect to the ancient and traditional rights of the people to the land on which they live and work.”

“Your brother sounds something of a revolutionary,” said Herold, smiling and pulling at his beard. “Why should my good friend support such a man?”

Monahl glared at him, which merely served to broaden his smile. “Better a revolutionary than an evil and sadistic dictator,” she said. Pointedly, she turned away. To Principal Marna, she added, “My brother chooses to stand up for his values, rather than hide away as some might do.”

“Ah, but I believe he hid away for twenty years or more before suddenly discovering these ‘values’ you mention.”

Monahl looked at Herold sharply. He was more aware of the situation than she had expected. “I did not come here only to make this petition,” she said to him. “I came also to ask for your help, Herold. Your powers would be of great value to our cause.”

“You don’t ask for much, do you?” said Marna. “But as Herold says, why should we help you? We trade freely with the cities of the northern Rift – we pay a small tributary tax on this trade, but other than that this ‘brutal’ and ‘cruel’ regime makes no demands on us. Why should we turn against our trading partners, merely at the word of a travelling priest who bears some distant relation to my departed co-Principal?”

“In terms of self-interest,” said Monahl, “perhaps you are right. For now. Lachlan’s short-term concerns lie elsewhere. But can you be so sure that mere neglect and remoteness will protect you in five years, or ten?”

“A powerful Tule has always meant stability in the past,” said Marna. “Its wealth and abundance spills over so that all might benefit. You presume to deny the lessons of history?”

“Lachlan Pas is no ordinarily strong leader,” said Monahl. “He is unbalanced by his own ambition. The reason that he has little interest in the periphery of the Rift at present is that he has turned his efforts inwards to its heart.” It was time to play her key card, to shock them into support. “Lachlan Pas has learned the ancient site of the city of Samhab. He is having the city rebuilt, precisely as it once was, so that he might harness the ancient power of its Charmed Pact. He is insane. When this power is unleashed the results will be devastating. Even if he keeps this power under his control, the consequences are frightening. He has to be stopped.”

She watched their faces, realising her words did not have the impact she had anticipated.

She saw the familiar, patronising smile on Herold’s face.

“But my dear great-granddaughter,” he said. “We knew that already. Why do you think I came to Samhab? I came here to ensure the city’s pact remains strong, to ensure my city’s protection against the coming cataclysm. When I return to Zigané I will do exactly the same. We cannot fight a power like that which Lachlan Pas intends to unleash. All we can do is hope to survive.”

~

A servant showed Monahl to a room where Principal Marna had assured her she could stay for as long as she liked. When the door closed, Monahl heaved a great shuddering sigh of release. She had done all that she could. She had always expected Herold to refuse her plea.

She kicked her boots off and curled her toes in the carpet.

She looked around, made uncomfortable by the luxury of the room’s soft furnishings. She would stay tonight, then leave.

She had to get back and warn Chi that he was in danger.

She was asleep almost as soon as she lay down on the enormous bed.

~

When Monahl woke, she could hear the sound of rushing water more clearly than she remembered from the night before. She lay for a long time, enjoying its soft music, exploring the sensations of being in this exotic room. The way the mattress shifted whenever she moved still felt strange to her.

She did not know how long she had slept, or what time of day it was now.

When eventually she opened her eyes and looked around, she saw that the balcony doors were wide open, and that was why the music of the falling water was so loud. She stared out over the balcony from where she lay, deciphering strange, shifting patterns in the screen of water: gaps and slots in the water that pulsed and throbbed, falling columns that twisted and curled.

Herold was out there, she realised, playing games with the water.

“You don’t do that very often,” she said. For all his great reputation, Herold rarely used his powers unless absolutely necessary. It hurt too much, he always said; it caused too many complications. She had never known him to indulge in what he would normally regard as juvenile Charm-games before.