Slow Turns The World (36 page)

‘It was you who knew the moment to change sides
,’ thought Torrin.

“It was I who found our Saviour, Valhad, as he lay beaten and tortured, who held him as he lay dying…”

‘It was you who knew which cell to find him in.’

“It was I who heard his last council, it was to me that he passed two precious gifts.  For he baptized me in those moments; so that I could be re-born into the world even as he was preparing to leave it.  And the name he gave me, by which you shall know me, is Perrith.

‘He called for his father; at the end he called for Perrith, and you stole the name from him.’

  But there was another gift, much greater, bestowed to me.  For he passed to me the healing touch…”

‘Passed the healing touch?  Oh, Valhad, did you really?  To him?’

“He told me in those last few moments that we should carry his teachings throughout all the world, that our Holy mission was to tell the heathens of his truth and the wisdom of the Text…”

He pressed on with his speech, ignoring a few doubtful murmurs in the crowd.

“For did He not say, in his last words before he was taken, that we shall find much wisdom in the Text?  That we should read them well?  Did we not hear him say this?”

‘Yes, you heard it, and then you gave the order to take him.
’

“He never said to burn the Text as many of you did; but to read them anew, in the light of his wisdom.  There will be a new Text now; the ancient verses will be appended to the new scriptures that will tell of his life and teachings.  Scholars of the new church will interpret the words of the Saviour, and make his meaning clear, in ways that all men can understand…”

‘You will corrupt what he said and make it what you intend; to suit your own cravings for power and empire.’

 “That is for the future.  Now I will walk among you, and bring healing to any that are needy.”   

Torrin watched as Saloxe stepped down and walked amongst the sick; blessing and laying hands upon them.  He saw him dip his fingers into the deep pockets of his new robes to find the imbas powder.

‘Valhad, Valhad, you did as you promised to me.  You did not speak of the imbas until the time to leave had come.  How was it done?  Was he your torturer?  Was it the cutting and branding that made you speak
,
or was it a voice that seemed soft and kindly, that comforted you after the cell door burst open and your tormentors were slain?  And who else knows the secret of the healing power?  Only Torrin, and the distant Vasagi…’
 

Torrin looked around him and saw a priest-soldier that he recognized; one who was loyal to His Lordship and had fought beside him at the gate.  He felt inside his jerkin and grasped the pouch of imbas he had collected in the woods before they had entered the city.   The man was startled by the touch upon his shoulder, and surprised by the pouch that was pressed into his palm.

“Give this to His Lordship,” said Torrin, “and to no other.”

Torrin rode swiftly from the city.   What had His Lordship said?  Do not worry about Saloxe?  But Saloxe was stronger than His Lordship had guessed; the church might enjoy its first excommunication, but maybe not as His Lordship had envisaged.  Perhaps the small act he had done, the little pouch of imbas, would be enough…

He rode to the Havens, watching the road warily and sleeping concealed in the forests.   From the shelter of the forest’s edge he looked down from the hillside above the port and saw the ship standing ready.    He unloaded the horse of baggage, bridle and saddle, then left it grazing quietly while he emptied the saddlebags.  His Lordship had provided many useful things;  a bow with several arrows, clothes for all seasons, copies of maps and a telescope.   He chased the horse away, hid the saddle well, and then took dirt from the forest floor to muddy his face and rub into his hair.

It was a grimy and dishevelled man who presented himself to the Captain seeking passage to the south.  Hidden in his belt was money enough to pay his way five times over, but he offered less than half the fare in his dirty outstretched palm.  When the Captain refused, Torrin bargained to work his passage, for he said, and in truth, that he was skilled in the ways of the sea.   The strategy worked and, soon after, he was sent down to a dark compartment strewn with sleeping litters where a few resting men eyed him curiously.  He stowed his bundle in a chest hidden amongst the cargo and then, crouching there by candlelight, he ripped the tunic he was wearing and smeared himself all over with grime gathered from the floor.  

If any of the priests and soldiers on board did know him from his service in the city, from when he had walked as Valhad's companion, or led the siege of the citadel, they would not see him now.  He was often in their midst, hauling at ropes, scrubbing decks, scrambling high above on the rigging, but as just another dirty tattered sailor, so lowly as to be disregarded and invisible.   And it suited him better this way for other reasons; even labour on the treadmills helped the time to slip past, and kept his body strong and lean.

  But if the ship's passengers did not regard him, he studied them most carefully.  He assessed each one, overheard their conversations, came to know of their destination and purpose.  There was a delegation of clerics from the new church, carrying the ‘word’ of Valhad to the outposts of empire.  There was a troop of soldiers sent for their protection and then a few other travellers without robe or uniform.  These were mostly traders or merchants looking for new opportunities, but there were a few others, surly and coarse who seemed to Torrin much like the rats of humanity, scurrying off to grow fat at the expense of others.   One man, with a scarred and brooding face, paced the decks alone and moodily.  He watched the other passengers with hawk eyes, as if there was someone on the ship that he should recognise.  Then, as Torrin worked aloft gathering the sail he sensed he was being observed and snatched a glance downwards.  The scarred man was standing with the captain, and both were looking at Torrin.  

‘So
,’
thought Torrin,
‘
he had the sense, eventually, to ask if any new crew joined the ship and now he has found me - now he will watch me, and I shall watch him and try to guess the mission his master has set for him.’
 

They approached Dh’lass, or Palem as it was now to be known, for it had been given the name of that ancient city from the Text in an attempt to legitimise its seizure.  There was much traffic in the water; boats and ships passing them often as they followed the channel between the mountain walls.  The sun had risen a degree or two since Torrin's departure, enough to show its full disk to the city and flood light upon its walls.  There were many ships berthed, including most of the fleet of the Qualzes who remained in employment, ready to defend the city against any invasion by its former owners.   

They squeezed into a berth at the quayside and began unloading.  When the task was done Torrin left the ship and walked to the city.  He passed many refugees from Nejital, whose ships had carried them here only to find the city captured.  Now they waited in long wretched queues to present themselves to dignitaries of Etoradom, who sat before a table at the gate, with a troop of sneering Qualzes standing guard around.   They each had to swear allegiance to their new overlords and pay tribute in money or property before they could enter the city.  It was still very cold in Dh’lass, especially in the shadow of the high walls, but there was activity all around, with the sound of saws and hammers echoing in every street.   Torrin looked up at the high tower of the King's chamber, remembered his time there, and smiled with warm memory, and a heavy sadness.

He was passing back along the quay when one of the many voices all around seemed familiar.  He looked about him and saw a dark-skinned man overseeing the unloading of cargo from a sleek, triple masted, dagger-shaped ship.

“Trabbir!” he shouted out with delight.

Trabbir looked around, and then spotted the grimy sailor stood upon the quay, dressed in rags.

“Hunter? Is that really you?”

He bounded over to place his hands on Torrin's shoulders.

“Whatever did you do, for your master to sell you back to the ships?” he asked, laughing, before embracing Torrin with a bear-hug squeeze.

“I'm not as wretched as I seem,” said Torrin, when Trabbir released him,  “I am a free man again, sailing back to my tribe.  But what of you?  Is it Captain Trabbir now?”

“It is and this is my ship, the fastest on the sea. We had good fortune you see; found some treasure on the sea bed.”

He grinned and hugged Torrin again.

“Much is owed to you,” said Trabbir, “come aboard and eat well at the Captain's table.”

So Torrin joined him and they sat long swapping their stories.  Then they talked of Torrin's remaining voyage to the lands of the Vasagi.  

“So you must cross the Carthasan again,” said Trabbir, “but don't go on that old tar barrel of Etoradom.  Come with us, we are going east to Nejital.  There may be war now with Etoradom, but it does not stop trade.  We have some wealthy passengers to take back, who chose not to pay the tribute, or live under the yoke of Etoradom.”

They were disturbed at that moment by a member of Trabbir’s crew calling from the upper deck.

“Captain, come up and see this!”

They came aloft and looked up to a high tower of the city.  Several bodies were hanging from the balcony, necks twisted and distorted by nooses.

“They are the emissaries from Etoradom,” said the crewman, “the city governor did not much like their news.”

“He would not,” said Trabbir, “for he is most loyal to the Emperor who appointed him, and does not tolerate treachery or heresy.  Now there will be war fought three ways, between Dh’lass, Etoradom and Nejital.  A war for land and faith that will last for turns of the world to come.”

 They returned to Trabbir’s cabin and talked again of Torrin’s journey.

“After we have delivered our cargo,” said Trabbir, “we can sail further east and south, to the lands of your people.  Let me take you there. This is but a small thing for me to do, much more is owed you.”

Torrin thought deeply for a moment before replying.

“No, I will not ask you to do this.  It might be wiser to travel with you, for I sense there is still some threat that hangs over me on my ship.  But I need to know more of it, to discover what actions are intended, and who against.  I will not travel with you, but I will ask a greater favour.  Here is my request…”

He leaned forward over the table, and Trabbir listened, nodding as Torrin spoke.

Torrin's ship sailed again on the long voyage west.  Only a few passengers remained and amongst them, as Torrin anticipated, was the scar-faced man.  But he was not alone now for he had been joined by two other men, both hard-eyed and grim-faced.  They had a dog too, a snarling savage beast that seemed devoted to them despite the harsh and callous treatment it endured.  To pass the time these men would catch rats in the ship’s bilges, which they let their dog torment and tear apart.  Torrin watched them, and felt their eyes often upon him.  He never walked the dark passages of the ship alone, and slept with one eye open, but they did not make a move against him yet.  

Moons passed, the sun rode slowly to its zenith, and sank gradually towards the horizon, in deepening red.  Torrin went to see the Captain, and made a show of delving deep into his clothing to retrieve a single large golden coin, wrapped in folds of dirty cloth.

“Here is a payment for you to take the ship further south, and put me to shore here….” He pointed at the map that lay upon the Captain's table, to the coast of the southern continent dimpled with many bays.  The Captain snorted doubtfully.

“I thought you were going to the mines with the others, the landfall you have chosen is a desolate land; there is nothing there but savage heathen tribes…”

“It is my belief that I will find something of great value,” said Torrin.

“So, you think there are riches there, now I see what you are about.”

“Indeed, and there are others on the ship who might make a claim upon them, so I ask to be put to shore swiftly, without their knowing.”

The Captain shrugged.

“I can tell them you are going ashore to seek water, but they will soon see that the boat returns without you.  And I cannot make them stay onboard after that.”

The coastline came into view and Torrin gathered his possessions together.  They sailed into a sheltered bay and lowered a small boat.  The three men came on deck just in time to see Torrin slipping away, the slow sweeping of oars carrying him to the shore.  He stared back at them, meeting their gaze fully for the first time, and saw them scurry to find the Captain.

He waded the last few yards to shore, bid his shipmates goodbye, and watched as the boat bobbed back across the breaking waves to the ship.  The ship left the bay, driven by the churning paddle wheel, and turned westwards.  Torrin made his way at once up the steep hillside, running, stumbling and breathing hard.  He came to the cliff tops where he could see the ship ploughing onwards, kicking up a spume.  He ran on in pursuit, up and over a rolling hilltop, catching another glimpse of the vessel.  The paddle wheel had stopped, and he saw the small boat, putting to the shore.  He levelled his telescope and focused upon it, already knowing what he would see.   The three men waded to the beach, the dog bounding excitedly through the water.  They set off in Torrin's direction, seeking the bay where he had landed, and a scent for their tracking beast to follow.

The maps that Torrin carried, combined with his knowledge of the migratory route of the barak and the Vasagi, indicated that he would cross their path to the south west, but there was much distance to cover, a moon at least of travelling.   It was open country, like another sea, but of green fading to brown in the dying warmth of the setting sun.   He made his way across the plains, climbing over the low stony ridges that rose like backbones from the land, stopping on their crests to watch the path behind.  He saw the moving dots of the three figures following his trail, watched them draw cautiously nearer, and then hide themselves if they strayed too close.  There were a few deer and burrowing animals to make a meal from which he cooked upon an open fire, knowing that the rising smoke revealed him; making no sign that he was aware of his pursuers.