Slow Turns The World (13 page)

Trabbir laughed.  

“That is a fine tale Vasagi.  What a strange God you have!  To make the world spin and then leave you to yourselves.”

“But we also believe,” said Torrin, “that he left a little part of himself in each of us.  A quiet voice that speaks to those who listen.”

They cleared a final headland and before them lay a sight like none that Torrin had gazed upon.  Spires, towers, domes rising above a chaos of roofs and alleys.  Ships great and small moored in lines against many stone piers, wooden jibs and derricks sprouting in a forest above them.  Carts, pack animals, and, everywhere, people busy moving here and there, loading, unloading, carrying, hammering, and sawing.  There was a smell too, emphasised by the long period at sea, of open drains, animal dung, of fresh cut timber, of herbs, spices and cooking food.    

Already a small boat sailed alongside carrying dark skinned youths who waved fresh fruits above their heads.   Some of the crew threw small coins into their boat and then eagerly caught the fruits that were thrown back in return.  Driven by the paddle wheel the ship slowly slid into a berth and bumped gently against the harbour side.  They were overwhelmed at once by sellers of sweet juices, pastries, and smiling women dowsed in scent.  The crew welcomed all aboard and set at once about satisfying their most urgent cravings, gulping down the delicious juices, devouring the edible delicacies or leading the women eagerly to the sleeping litters below deck.

They stayed several turns at Hityil while the mast was replaced and the ship re-provisioned.  Not all the crew were allowed to go ashore; those who were recently bought from slavery were held below.  But even they were rewarded, with ale, fruit and the visitations of the scented smiling women.   It unsettled Torrin to hear the whores at work, the rhythmic thrusts of bodies joined, the gasping of breath escaping through clenched teeth and the false endearments whispered to spur some wretched drunken sailor to his conclusion.   To Torrin, a woman’s touch was a precious gift that life bestowed, like the sweet milk still warm from the barak, or delicious honey freshly stolen from the angry bees.  Sensations, memories, from across an ocean; simple pleasures lost.   Milk turned to brackish water, honey to stale biscuit, and the joy that was Varna to a lying smile and a sickly perfume that could not hide the smells of sweat and sex.  He missed a woman’s touch, but not so badly or so desperately yet, not enough to pay his coin and take his turn.  He hurried instead onto the deck and found Valhad working.

“Come on,” he said.

“To where?” said the younger man rising from his deck scrubbing.

“To ask our beloved master if we can get off this hulk for a while.”

His Lordship reluctantly accepted their entreaties and pledges that they would not abscond.  So, accompanied by Trabbir, they stepped onto the stone jetty and found themselves in a new world beyond all imagining.   They passed many ships being loaded with personal possessions while carts stood alongside bearing tables, chairs, sacks of clothes and bedding.  One ship was set to leave; there were emotional partings, sad faces looking back to the spires and domes that they would not see again, that would pass now into cold darkness, until the sun rose once more and their children's children returned.  The ships were of many kinds, crewed by many tribes, who had come here to carry these people over the sea in return for payment.

They left the quay and followed winding alleys between tall buildings.  Many windows and doors were already boarded and sealed while others were having the last items loaded onto carts.  Trabbir led them through the maze of narrow canyons that were the city streets.  He was silent and distracted as if weighted under some burden that grew heavier with every step.  He was like a man remembering a dream, looking here and there, every gaze filled with haunting memories.  Upon the quay, and through the city streets, he studied each passing face, trying to peer through the mask of passing time, seeking those that he had once known.   But the ghosts of his earlier life were elusive, and though many stared back, discomforted by his attention, none showed any sign that he was recognised or remembered.  He stopped before a narrow dwelling that rose above them in three floors, each overhanging the other and set upon its own angle, like an untidy pile of books.   The doors and windows were shuttered, the occupants departed.   Trabbir scanned it silently and sighed deeply.

“This is the house that my family has owned since it was built three turns of the world ago.  It is where I was born and lived as a child.  Then the sun shone always through the upper windows and that room was full of warmth and golden light.  But as I grew taller so did the sun rise in the sky until it became cruelly hot.  We had to go, with all the people of the city to Iranthrir, and there we stayed until I was a man full grown, until the time came when we could return here to Hityil.”

He drew silent and his lip trembled slightly.  They waited for him to continue.

“It was an officer of the King who stole the house.   I can see him now standing before this door in the black and silver of Nejital.  He had been a brave soldier, done some valiant act and been rewarded, told to choose any house that he liked to be his dwelling.   It was my brother who fought him. My foolish younger brother who hardly knew one end of a sword from another.   He was laying here in the street, already bleeding, I saw the officer raise his blade for the final blow, and then I threw the knife that pierced his heart.   This fine officer of the King had his soldier friends around him and I could not flee in time.  They had me and took me to away, first for their own sport, and then before the King’s judge who condemned me to death.  But why kill a man when you can sell him?   I was soon laying in chains and filth in the hold of a ship while my jailers counted the money they had been paid.  I guess they gave a share to the executioner too, to say that he had done his work with me.”

“Then,” asked Torrin, “did your family never know that you lived?”

Trabbir shook his head.

“Much time passed before I had earned enough freedom to send a message.  Too much time, Torrin.  I was married just before they took me, and my wife believed herself widowed.  I had told her often that if ever I should perish, that she should find another good man, and this I hope that she did.  The dead should remain dead, and not return to haunt the living.  Yet I cannot help but seek her face amongst the crowds here, or any of those that were my family, or my friends.  But, enough now, let me show more of the city.”

He shook away the sadness and led them onwards.   They soon emerged into a square set before a huge building bristling with towers. Valhad gazed in wonder at the carved marble edifice.

“It is the temple,” said Trabbir.

“Who do they worship?” asked Valhad.

“Many Gods,” answered Trabbir. “A God for everything; God's of anger, of love, of land, sea, trees, war, peace…”

“They are a religious people then,” said Valhad, “like the others on our ship…”

Trabbir laughed.  “In my experience,” he said, “the more gods a tribe worship the less religious they are.”

Valhad laughed.

“What does that say then for the Vasagi?” he asked,  “the tribe who do not worship?”

They looked about and saw pathetic, haggard people begging miserably, and in the far corner of the plaza several bodies hanging from a gibbet.  A company of soldiers dressed in black leather with silver clasps and buckles watched over the square.

“Many of the poor cannot afford passage,” said Trabbir.  “They will be left in the city as the light dies and the cold begins.  And those that steal to pay their way… “  He nodded towards the dangling corpses.

Valhad looked at the ragged figures and walked towards them.

“Hey!” shouted Trabbir, “don't you want to see the temple?”

Valhad stood amongst the huddled figures.  There were several families, gaunt exhausted men and pale-faced women holding sickly infants to their bosom.  They looked up at the young man who stood amongst them dressed in sailor’s rags little better than their own.  

“Why do you have no passage across the sea?” he asked them.

For a moment no answer came; it was a strange question, for the reason was well known.

“We are poor.  We cannot pay.”

“Are you good people?”  It was another strange question but they gave an answer.

“We worked hard to feed our children.  Much of what we had was taken in tribute to the king, as is his right.  We saved a few coins but not enough.   Do you have a ship?  Take the coins we have, take just the children and their mothers.”

One of the women began to cry and sob.

“What will happen then?  We will be alone and with nothing.  Better to stay here and let the darkness come.”

Valhad turned to Torrin.

“You still have that which we found upon the mountain?”

Torrin nodded and then opened the hidden pouch.  The three glittering coins lay in his palm.  Valhad took one and gave it to the beggar.

“How many persons will this buy passage for?”

The beggar stared, astonished, at the gift.

“Twenty, perhaps thirty.”

“Then this you will do,” said Valhad. “Share the passage with those who are most needy, and with this…” He gave the man a second coin, “prosper and be fruitful in the new land.  If you are good people, and I believe you are, you will know in your hearts what is right, and you will do truly what I ask of you.”

The beggar held the coins in his open hands and looked up into Valhad's blue eyes, which were both stern and kind, then with tears beginning to wet his cheeks he reached down and kissed the feet of this strange benefactor.

“May the god's bless you,” he sobbed.

“We can be good men without the need of gods,” said Valhad as he knelt and laid his hand upon the man's head.   Torrin saw the soldiers looking towards them, watching them curiously.   Trabbir noticed their attentions too.  They both took Valhad firmly by the arm and led him briskly back to the ship.

The shipwrights finished their work, the new mast stood proudly, and the hold was stacked high with provisions.  All was ready to sail on, but they stayed moored at the quayside.  What they were waiting for only His Lordship knew and he stayed within his cabin, did not go ashore, or even show his face upon the deck.  Rain came from the southwest, constantly drumming on the decks under a gloomy sunless sky.  Then there was a call for Torrin to come aloft.  On the rain drenched quay stood a solitary figure, cloaked and hooded.  One of the crew spoke quietly to Torrin.

“He has asked to see His Lordship.  He gave me this...” He opened his hand to reveal the emblem of the triangle and circle.  Torrin reported this at once to His Lordship, who showed no surprise and ordered the stranger to be brought to him.  Shortly after, Torrin led the cowled figure into his master’s cabin.  

“My Lord,” the stranger said, “I thank God for your safe and timely passage here.”  He pulled back the hood to reveal a face, lined but not yet old, half concealed by the long black locks of curled hair that that intertwined with a thick beard.  Dark eyes burned purposefully.

“I thank God also for your arrival here,” said His Lordship.  “I began to fear that you had met with some misfortune.”

“Many eyes watch, my Lord.  But since the rain began most of those in the city walk hooded, so I judged that now was the time to come.”

“What news do you have?”

“You are instructed to continue according to the plan, Lord.  The tribe you seek, the Qualzes, should be found here...” He touched a point on the globe. “At the Straits of Nencuz, where they are engaged in some profitable activity.  My sources suggest that within five moons they will voyage south again to their native waters.  You will need God's speed to sail there within the time.”

Soon after, the stranger left the ship and was lost amongst the other cloaked figures that moved on the quayside.  The order to sail came almost at once and within half a turn the city of Hityil became distant, and then, obscured by the curtain of rain, it vanished from their sight.  There was an argument between the Captain and His Lordship.  Charts were laid out before them in His Lordship's cabin and the Captain was prodding at one with great concern.  Torrin stood by impassively, summoned by His Lordship to be a silent presence in the room, a pillar of muscle, mail and steel that would somehow give his arguments a greater strength.

“We cannot sail by the north passage,” stated the Captain. “The sun is too high, it would take us through the rim of storms and then the burning lands.”

“We cannot reach Nencuz by the southern passage in five moons.  That is what you said Captain? Is it not?”

“It would take more than seven moons, and even then with good winds.”

“So, Captain, we have no choice.  We will go first to Iranthrir, and then by the northern route to Nencuz.  And your payment for this voyage will be doubled.”

“The crew won't like it.  There will be trouble.”

“Every man will be rewarded when the mission is complete.”

“Every man still alive you mean.”

For two moons they sailed west.  The rains were left behind as the sun rose higher in the sky, changing from crimson to blinding white.   Torrin and Valhad were unused to such brilliant light; they squinted and shielded their eyes, and found their exposed flesh becoming red and sore with burning.  The air was warm and the lower decks became shadowy cool sanctuaries.  They saw other ships from time to time, some crossing their path, but most shuttling between Hityil and Iranthrir.  Islands and distant coastlines appeared and then shrank away; shoals of silver blue fishes shimmered in the glass-clear waters.  They came to Iranthrir, the largest in a cluster of islands that rose in mountainous pinnacles from the sea.  The city was a huge pyramid of natural rock that had been carved and sculpted into new forms.  Great blocks were hewn from ever-growing caverns and then fashioned wonderfully into halls, towers and battlements that rose in bristling, castellated splendour.  They did not stay long, just enough to refill the water barrels which was the Captain’s most urgent requirement.