The Cellar Beneath the Cellar (Bell Mountain) (15 page)

Lintum Forest wasn’t the only place where there were refugees. There were plenty of them in Obann, too, and the rulers of the city had their hands full with them.

People in the east fled before the approach of the Heathen, but there were refugees coming from the north, all the way down from the River Winter. Nor was it any Heathen army that had chased them from their homes.

They brought wild stories with them—so wild, indeed, that Judge Tombo’s city patrol arrested a few of the loudest of them, and Tombo had one, as a spokesman, haled before a session of the High Council of the Oligarchy. This convened in the judge’s private meeting room inside the Justice Building, away from the public eye. Most people preferred to avoid going anywhere near the Justice Building.

The prisoner, if prisoner he truly was, was a trapper, grey-haired, grey-bearded, born and bred in the Northern Wilds. This was his first-ever visit to Obann. Dressed in worn, stained buckskins, he stared nervously at the six lords in their velvet robes and golden chains of office. A guard made him sit on a stool and stood behind him. Not really necessary, Tombo would have admitted: but useful in impressing upon the man the gravity of his situation.

Lord Reesh sat beside the judge, feigning a detached serenity, but keenly listening.

Tombo spoke first. “Your name, sir? Speak up, don’t be afraid. We aren’t going to hurt you.”

The trapper tried to bow while seated on the stool. “Guddorm, m’lord, son of Gan,” he muttered.

“Guddorm, son of Gan, do you know who we are?”

“No, m’lord. I don’t rightly know.”

Tombo gestured to his colleagues. “We are the men responsible for the peace and good order not only of this great city, but of all the land of Obann,” he said. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but there’s a war about to start—a mass invasion of Heathen from the East. People here are fearful. And then you come scurrying down from the northlands with a lot of alarming stories, and we have disorder in our city.”

Guddorm looked back at him like a bear cub in a trap.

“But be at ease,” Judge Tombo said. “We wish to know what frightened you out of your country. After all, we may have to send an army north. So all we want from you is the truth. We need to know the state of things up north. You’re here to tell us, and that’s all we ask of you. Do you understand?”

Guddorm nodded. Tombo told the guard to go out and find him a cup of watered wine. “It’ll calm you down,” he explained. “In the meantime, let’s hear your tale. Take your time, and tell the truth.”

Guddorm stammered a bit, but when he finally got going, this is the tale he told.

“The river froze this year, m’lord, froze real hard. But you never saw such furs as we were getting on the north bank. Otters as big as sheepdogs, with fur as soft as down. Tremendous beavers. A trapper could get rich. So we paid no mind to the cold, nor the deep snow, and a lot of us went up there.

“It’s all deep woods, m’lord. No one’s ever seen the other side of it. And there’ve always been stories about this or that. You know: funny creatures that lived in the wild lands. You’d meet a man who said he saw something, but couldn’t prove it. Once or twice I thought I saw something, too. But I couldn’t tell what it was.

“Come midwinter, we had a very nasty cold snap, and snow like you’ve never seen before. Some men packed up and went home. When the weather didn’t let up, after a week we all decided to call it quits. And that’s when we saw them.”

The guard returned with the wine, and Guddorm was allowed a drink. The cup shook in his hands, Reesh noticed. It took some prodding to get him to continue.

“Trappers like to tell stories, m’lord: the taller, the better. Only this ain’t no story. God never love me more if I’m not telling the truth.

“They came out of the woods to cross the river on the ice. The weather must’ve been too much for them. I can’t tell you what they are, because no man ever saw the like before. There’s not even a story about animals like these—if they are animals, and not some kind of devil.

“Just imagine a black bear, or a wild boar, as big as one of the big houses in this city, and all covered with black hair. Just imagine a thing like that
moving
, coming at you on four legs, and now and then letting out a scream that’d freeze the blood in your veins. That’s what they were like.

“Only they weren’t giant bears. Wild boars have tusks, but not like these: a pair of great white tusks, curvy-like, each of ’em bigger than a grown man. And boars have snouts, but not like these things have. Like a giant hairy snake, squirmin’ and a-coilin’ and lookin’ for a man to choke.

“That’s what came out of the woods, m’lord. I swear I’m telling the truth. And I don’t know how many of ’em there were, because nobody stayed to count. But there were sure a lot of ’em. They crossed the river and just kept heading south, like they wanted to get clear of the woods.

“There’s a town up there, what has a trading post where we can sell our furs and ship them to the southlands. Market City, it was called. Only it ain’t there anymore.

“Those things passed through Market City, and they wrecked it. There’s nothing left of it. I was there, though I got away as fast as I could. But I saw a couple of those monsters flatten the emporium.

“After that, I just snatched up whatever I could carry and took off. There were a lot of us together. People along the way said, ‘Go to Obann, you’ve got to go to Obann,’ so that’s what we did. That’s why we’re here. We just wanted to get away from those things. We didn’t mean no harm.”

Lord Reesh sensed the man was telling the truth, was too scared to do otherwise. He spoke then, along the line he and Tombo had worked out beforehand.

“My lords,” he said, “the Temple recommends clemency. Judge Tombo’s men have detained a number of these people, and I think we should let them go. They’re honest pioneers who’ve lost their homes: the Temple will provide relief for them until they can either return to their own country or find another place to live. I’m sure they will understand that they mustn’t spread panic throughout the city. What say you, Lord Governor-general?”

“I’m sure you’re right, my lord First Prester,” Lord Ruffin said. “After all, these are our own people. We want to protect them. But I think the time has come to appoint a special commissioner for the northlands and give him a seat among the oligarchs—especially since it may become necessary to build forts, organize a militia, etc., up there. Someone will have to be in charge.”

“I’m not sure we have the funds in the treasury for that,” said Lord Chutt, Taxes and Revenue.

“My lord Chutt now agrees that strange creatures have appeared among us?” Reesh said. Chutt sighed, and conceded that, on the face of it, it now appeared to be so.

“I haven’t got an army to spare for the north,” Lord Gwyll rumbled through his beard. “All the troops have been sent east to hold cities against the Heathen.”

“Even so, we can’t just write off the northern provinces. It would cripple the economy,” said Lord Davensay, Commerce. “But by all means let’s appoint a commissioner, send him up to investigate, and see what he recommends. A chain of stone forts might do the trick.”

“In the meantime,” Lord Ruffin said, “Judge Tombo, you may release the refugees into the care of the Temple.” He looked down his long, sharp nose at Guddorm. “You may go, my good man. Only have a care not to stir up the people of this city with your stories. You’re perfectly safe here. There are no beasts that can break through Obann’s city wall.”

There were such beasts in Scripture, Reesh thought; but those were only stories.

There was no hiding such a big army, not even in the mountains; so when the Heathen host reached Silvertown, they found the gates shut and armed men on the walls. The defenders shook spears at them and dared them to try it.

“Well, that’s that,” said Uduqu; for the Heathen had no equipment for breaking down the city walls, and no time for a siege. They would have starved before the city did. What they all wanted to do was to get down to the plain and look for easier prey; and that was what the chiefs decided.

By now it was well into spring and everything was green, but Obst hardly noticed. Ryons kept him busy all day with questions as the army marched. He wanted to know all about the Western lands and peoples, and all about God. And at night the Abnak chiefs and warriors demanded that Obst tell them stories from the Scriptures. Coming from a people who liked to collect the heads of enemies, couldn’t read or write, and never built houses that lasted more than a year or two, their interest in the Scripture surprised Obst. Men from other nations represented in the host sometimes came to listen, but the fierce Abnaks had a passion for it.

“The others have bigger gods than ours, and they’re afraid to offend them,” Uduqu explained. “Our gods are all back home on the other side of the mountains, and they don’t care what we do out here.”

Obst had spent most of his long life reading the Old Books over and over again, never dreaming he’d someday be called on to be a living book for savages who couldn’t read at all. They were especially fond of stories that featured giants, wars, and miracles. Among their favorites was the tale of Bron, grandson of Geb, who was as tall as a tree and twice as strong.

“He is known as Bron the Blessed,” Obst would say, “because God was pleased with him, and he lived five hundred years and kept his strength right up to the end. People did live longer in those days, but very few lived as long as Bron.

“In Bron’s time, people had spread out all over the earth, and many of them had grown very wicked. Bron and his people, who still proudly bore the name of Geb, lived simply; but some of the wicked people had by then built mighty cities and cared for nothing but power over others. They carved idols out of wood and stone and called them gods; but they were really only worshipping themselves. But Bron’s people still worshipped the true God who is the only God. So there was constant war between his people and the people of the cities.

“Now in one of those cities there lived a witch, full of evil wisdom taught to her by devils. Maysah, her name was. Instructed by these devils, she wove a giant robe that the rulers of her city would offer to Bron as a gift, along with false promises of peace. It was a beautiful robe of softest wool, dyed with many colors and woven in cunning patterns to delight the eye. But it was made in such a way so that whoever put it on would be instantly poisoned through his skin; and so they thought to murder Bron.

“Maysah’s servants built a great hall just outside the city, big enough to hold Bron. They built a giant chair for him, whom no ordinary chair would fit. They lured him in with vows of friendship and the offer of a feast; but secretly they planned, after they’d poisoned him, to burn down the hall with all his chieftains in it. With their best men slain, Bron’s people would be easy to destroy.

“Suspecting nothing, Bron and his warriors came to the feast. The witch had carved a huge cup from a tree trunk, big enough for an ordinary man to bathe in, and filled it with wine for Bron; and there was wine for all Bron’s men, and whole bulls roasted over fire, and fresh fruit from the city’s fields. And music.

“Now the witch was proud because the rulers of the city had promised to pay her all the gold they had, once Bron was dead. Before she presented him with the poisoned robe, Maysah performed a dance for him.

“Bron drank from his gigantic cup and watched the dance. Some of his men were ravished by the witch’s beauty, but Bron only pretended to be. For God sent a snake into the hall, a little brown serpent that only Bron noticed because everyone else was watching Maysah’s dance. But Bron watched the snake, and saw it slither up to the gorgeous robe that lay spread out on a giant table, on display. And he saw the serpent brush up against the hem of it that hung down to the floor: and the serpent writhed and spat blood, and died.

“When the dance was over, the witch said, ‘Now, Bron, claim your gift!’ But Bron said, ‘Such a pretty robe becomes you more than me,’ and before the witch could escape, he seized her and dropped her onto the middle of the table. The poison in the robe killed her at once; and while the city men outside the hall awaited her signal to set fire to it, Bron rose up, stretched out his arms, and with a great cry, pushed the roof clean off the building. And his men snatched up their weapons and ran outside, and Bron broke off a leg of the great chair for a club, and they slew all the men of that treacherous city and burned it to the ground. Then Bron and all his people thanked God for protecting them.”

The Heathen host, finding none to give it battle, marched downhill toward the plains, carrying Obst along as prisoner and prophet. He answered their questions and told them stories from the Scriptures every night.

There was really nothing else he could do.

By the time Jack and his companions reached the northwest fringe of Lintum Forest, Martis’ beard had grown over his cheeks. He’d stopped shaving and trimming it. Having no mirror, he had to ask the children how it looked.