Slow Turns The World (31 page)

“What does that sign mean?” Torrin whispered to Cannis as they passed.

“It means much and is seen now in many places.”  

He would say no more. After a long journey on nearly forgotten paths they reached a forest glade.

“You will wait here,” said Cannis, “while I go to he that awaits us.  When I return it will be to lead you to him.”

He trotted away, leaving Torrin alone and bemused.  He tethered his horse and slumbered on the soft grass, until he was woken by the sound of hooves approaching.  Cannis summoned him without dismounting and soon they were picking their way along a steep and rocky track.  They came to clearing and he saw another paved road crossing the way, and beyond the distant city of Etoradom caught in the loops of the sun-red river.  It was the same place where he had first seen the great city, where the convoy of troops and wagons had halted.   A carriage was parked there, horses damp with sweat, the driver hunched and cowled.  The windows were veiled, the occupants invisible.

“Dismount,” said Cannis, “and he will come.”

They stepped down, and Cannis took the reins of his mount from him.  The carriage door opened and a hooded figure stepped out, but did not walk towards them.  It seemed instead that the eyes of the unseen face were drawn to gaze at distant Etoradom.   It was only as Torrin approached that the man turned and revealed his face.

“Vasagi.”

“Lordship.”

“You did your task well, Vasagi.”

“I made it easy for the mercenaries to slaughter your enemies, if that is what you mean.”

“Have it as you will, Vasagi.  But the task is done and the bargain is complete.  Your freedom is granted.  You may return to your tribe.”

“And what of Valhad?”

His Lordship sighed and shook his head slowly.

“He will not make the journey with you.”

“You will not release Valhad?”

“He is free to do what he will, Vasagi.  But don’t you know in your heart that he will never go back?  That you cannot make him go?  He is free; free to choose.  That was our bargain and I can do no more.”

“He isn’t safe with freedom,” said Torrin bitterly, shaking his head, “not in this place.”

“He must make his own choice,” said His Lordship, “and you must let him.  Go home, Vasagi, go home; you are free.”

He reached inside his cloak and pulled out a bulging purse.  Then he took Torrin’s hand and laid the heavy pouch in his palm.

“Cannis will take you back to the havens,” he said, “and this will buy you a passage home.”

The money in his palm felt like something foul and decaying that was contaminating his skin.  He looked His Lordship up and down, and then reached out and grasped the hem of the cloak where it crossed his master’s chest.   He heard the click of crossbow latches and glanced up to see the coachman pointing a weapon towards him.  He sensed that, behind him, Cannis too, aimed a bolt between his shoulder blades.  Torrin stared back, eye to eye with His Lordship but did not take his hand from the cloak; he pulled it gently open.  He wanted to see if the old emblem still hung there and it did not.  Instead there was another token of different design, like two spiral horns, and, also concealed beneath the cloak, a white robe.

“Well,” said Torrin, “it seems much has changed in my absence.”

“Indeed it has, Vasagi, but our bargain remains and I intend that it should be honoured; for you have served me well.  Cannis will escort you to the havens, and he will ensure that you find the ship to take you home.  Goodbye, Vasagi.  May God protect you.”

He stepped back up into the coach and it clattered away in a storm of hooves.  Torrin watched as it vanished and the forest grew silent again.  He turned to look at Cannis, mounted, still holding a crossbow, and then, with a shake of his head and a sigh, he walked to his horse.

They set off, following the same path back towards the coast.  Cannis followed a few horse lengths behind; sufficient distance to raise the crossbow if it were needed.  To his obvious irritation, Torrin let his mount proceed at a plodding walk, and would not urge it faster.  He turned in the saddle, to look back at his escort, and posed many questions.

“When did you last see Valhad?”

“We are not to speak of this.”

“So says His Lordship; but come, there is no harm to it.  Valhad is my friend and I want to know how it has been with him.”

Cannis pursed his lips and seemed discomforted.  Torrin watched him and guessed correctly the nature of his dilemma.

“Come now,” said Torrin, “I know what you have been told; to beware of spies and impostors, to trust no one and say nothing.  But you know now that I am Torrin of the Vasagi and I am sworn by oath to protect Valhad.”

“He has spoken of you,” said Cannis, and then added, “many times.”

“His Lordship told me,” said Torrin, “that Valhad would be sent to the family of Graselle.  Their village lies to the west of the city.  Does he remain there?”

“He is no longer of that household,” said Cannis, “but that road will lead to him.  I break no secret in telling you this, for all of Etoradom knows it.”

Torrin let the conversation change its course and they talked of the forest, of the hunting and the herbs that grew.  Cannis gradually relaxed and drew his horse closer.  They pressed on, talking of many things, riding side by side.  Torrin thought that he seemed a good enough sort, this Cannis, but he still had much to learn.  He waited until they were passing grassy tussocks and then, with one swift jab, he pushed Cannis from his horse.  He caught the beast by the reins, cantered a few paces clear and called to the figure sprawling on the ground.

“It is not yet time for me to go.”

Then he cantered away, only releasing Cannis’s horse when he had passed from sight.

He trusted that Cannis had told him truthfully, but to further ensure that his path was the right one he returned to the meeting place with His Lordship, and then followed the hoof marks and wheel ruts.  The tracks led him to one of the greater, metalled, roads that radiated from the hub of Etoradom.  He could see the city distantly, and the tower of the citadel etched against the sky in traceries of blood-red sunlight.  There were people on the road, small groups scattered along its length, all moving away from the city.   He took the same direction and walked his horse slowly past a family group who were making slow progress, burdened as they were by the bundles that they carried.

“Greetings to you,” Torrin called to them as he drew alongside, “I see there are many travellers on our road.”

They looked up at him with suspicion and some uncertainty.  They eyed the leather, mail and the curved sword in its scabbard that beat a plodding rhythm against the horse’s flank.

“You need not fear me,” said Torrin, “I am not a priest.  Will you tell me why so many travel this way?”

Reluctantly, and with one eye still on the bobbing sword, the man replied.

“There was terror in the city and many were taken to the Cloisters, many whose only crime was to gather and listen.   Then the hidden swords were drawn at last and vengeance taken on the priests.  They dare not walk the streets now, but it is still the Synod that watches us from the tower and they will punish us all in time.  That is why the people leave.”

“And is there another reason,” asked Torrin, “why this road is chosen?  Does it lead to something that people seek?”

The man looked silently up at him, chewing his lip nervously.  Torrin sensed that not all the story had been told and now some nagging suspicion prompted his next act.  He traced a shape in the air, of two spiral horns.   The man, less fearful now, nodded slowly, and imitated the gesture.

“Yes,” he said, “this is the road that leads to him.”

Torrin rode on, passing many more pilgrims on the road.  As their numbers grew, and the distance from the city increased they seemed less fearful.  If the sign of the horns was made to them they made it boldly back in response and shouted out: “God bless the healer!”  There were so many on the road now that Torrin’s progress was slowed, even though the crowd seemed urgent and hurried, as if some event ahead was already due to begin.   He threaded his horse between the milling walkers up a gently rising hill until he reached the crest and saw before him a great basin in the hillside that made a huge natural amphitheatre.   A multitude of people filled the hollow, an uncountable number with every head turned toward a rocky prominence that rose like a great dais above the crowd.  The sun peeped through a cleft in the surrounding slopes and shone a single beam upon the outcrop.   As the newcomers joined the assembled mass they were hushed to silence.  Standing upon the stony platform, almost glowing in the beam of pink sunlight, was a distant tiny figure clad in white, and drifting through the air, faintly, but spoken with a strength and passion that carried it to every listening ear, came the voice of Valhad.

“Before I came to Etoradom I lived far in the south of the world, under the setting sun, with my tribe, who are the Vasagi.   I was taught that the Maker of All Things made us free; that he is not our king or our judge…”

Torrin turned his horse carefully amongst the crowd and then picked his way around the outer edge of the rapt listeners, in an arc that would lead him closer to Valhad.

“Then, when I journeyed across the world, I met those of other tribes, and saw the great temples that were built, not just in honour, but also in fear, of that which they called God.  And I saw that men, in trying to know that which was unknowable had taken what is bigger, greater and vaster than they could ever understand, and diminished that which they craved to understand; beating it and shaping it like a hot iron under the blows of a hammer until it formed a shape that was simple and familiar…”

Torrin could see, gathered on the rocky podium behind Valhad, a small group of devotees, each wearing the same robes that His Lordship had tried to conceal beneath his cloak.   

“And so God becomes king, father, benefactor, judge; becomes tyrant, torturer, executioner.  Do not make God a reflection of yourselves, do not break that which is vast to make fragments that fit the palm of your hand, do not paint the rainbow with only black ink upon a white canvas.”

Torrin grew gradually closer and recognised some of the gathered figures.  Alasam, Marasil, Draigar, the priest of high rank that had defended Valhad against the patrol of soldiers.  And His Lordship, stood amongst them, Lord of the church and empire no more, but now one of the inner circle of the cult of Valhad.

“But, people, you crave to know of God; to know what is unknowable, and how are you to do this when to seek to know is to diminish that you would know?  People, I walked alone in the mountains and sought long for an answer and then I saw a vision in my mind…”

Torrin kicked his horse and urged it up a steep bank to a terrace above the crowd.  He was close enough now to see Valhad’s face quite clearly and the distant look in his eyes, as he hesitated and drew breath, summoning words and images from deep within himself.

“I saw a sea, an ocean, vaster and deeper than any which churns or glitters upon our world.  And that sea was not of water but of an essence that had the power to think and feel and know of itself.  That ocean is the mind of God; that ocean is the source of all things that live and know of themselves.  And I saw the sea fall over a great edge and make a waterfall, and as it poured over the lip it broke and divided into a million, million tiny drops, each one separate, but each still part of the whole.  And every drop fell back into the same ocean and became one with the greater whole, and then the sea swept round again, and tumbled over the waterfall, again and again.  And then I understood, that there is no mind, no living thing in all of creation, that is not part of the mind of God, that does not make this journey from ocean, to single drop, and back again to ocean.”

Torrin had deliberately placed himself where he could be seen, and now the eyes of Marasil found him; she gasped, then smiled, and tugged urgently at her father’s sleeve.  Alasam looked and saw him too, smiled his own warm smile and placed a hand upon His Lordship’s shoulder.  His Lordship managed a convincing display of happiness at the wanderer’s return, but his eye was cold when he met Torrin’s gaze.  Valhad, at the end of his sermon, seemed to awaken like a man from a dream, and became aware of the mounted figure.  He looked across at Torrin, and nodded his head slowly, as if he had never doubted that this moment would come.  He called out to the crowd.

“Here is one returned to us, who is as dear to me as father and brother.  There is none more worthy of our love. Torrin, come forward, be one again with those who hold you most dearly.”

The crowd separated in two places as Torrin walked his horse towards the dais, and as Valhad stepped down from the platform and came through the masses to meet him.  The people moved aside and knelt as he passed, some reaching tentatively to touch the hem of his robe.   In the midst of the crowd Torrin dismounted and embraced with Valhad.   They hugged and laughed joyously.

“Here is a man wiser than me!” Valhad called out.  “Heed his words well, for he shall be at my side always.”

Torrin was led by Valhad back towards the robed disciples and soon he felt the embrace of Marasil.

“Protector, my protector,” she exclaimed, her cheek pressed against his, “I missed you so much and none would say where you were bound.   Valhad knew you would return, he never let me lose my hope.”

He hugged and rocked her like a child and breathed deep the sweet aroma of her hair.

“Much has changed since we were last together,” Torrin whispered to her ear, “but not your beauty, nor the joy of holding you.”  

He kissed her gently on the cheek before releasing her and clasping the hand of Alasam.

“So, are you servant no longer?” he asked with a glad smile.

“I am still a servant but I have chosen a new master,” said the old man, laughing.  “But,” he continued,  “here is he that was our master and is now our friend.”

His Lordship forced a smile and took Torrin’s hand limply.

“This is a surprise indeed, Vasagi,” said His Lordship.