The Hammer of the Sun (70 page)

As to what brought this about, the chronicles offer no better explanations than Elof s and they seem to be right. Recent research suggests that the forces he saw at work would indeed have produced the results he feared; and ironically, it is from the icesheets that the evidence comes. The Antarctic icecap preserves a remarkable record of many atmospheric events and changes, and among these any particularly great volcanic eruptions. These hurl vast amounts of dust and gases, in particular sulphur dioxide, high into the atmosphere, and it is this gas, converted to fine droplets of sulphuric acid, that the ice preserves. Comparing concentrations of this in ice of known age with records of climactic changes over the same period have produced remarkable correlations between, for example, the enormous eruption of Tambora in Indonesia and the extraordinarily severe weather in the Northern Hemisphere in the first years of the nineteenth century - known, significantly, as the "Little Ice Age". Studies of later eruptions when more accurate records exist, such as Krakatoa in 1883 or more recently Mount St. Helen's, establish that the temperature not only of the particular region, but of the Earth as a whole, falls by several tenths of a degree in the years following a major eruption, chiefly because of the filtration effect of the dust in the upper atmosphere upon received solar radiation; most of that dust falls to earth in only a few days, but enough remains to make a significant difference. The effect of a number of such active volcanoes over a period of many years, capped at the climax by a period of extra-violent eruptions, and in a restricted area where the Ice could at least strongly influence wind patterns to gather and sustain more dust than usual is difficult wholly to imagine; it would certainly be savage, turning the sky to a permanent lowering grey, chilling the air and stifling photosynthesis in plants. The sudden glaciation of the River might well increase the vulcanism still further, but even without that it would have been quite conclusive enough for Louhi's needs.

THE PEOPLES

THE PEOPLE OF KERYS

It is accurate to say "people", for the division between Svarhath and Penruthya, northerner and Sothran, that so bedevilled the Westlands had always mattered less in Kerys, and by the time of Elof s coming was almost extinct. Nevertheless, it had its roots there, and they help to understand its history. Originally it may have reflected the merging of two distinct peoples, relics perhaps of the forgotten racial strands in the little kingdoms of the North before the Ice came, and that now were less than legendary. "Kingdom", indeed, may have been too grand a word; more probably most were mere tribal leagues as loose as the Ekwesh, and at best small and fluid monarchies of various kinds like Northumberland or Mercia in Dark Age England, or the Burgundian and Frankish realms that grew up around the Roman Empire. Almost certainly the dominant kingdom among the Penruthya was a city-state, because it was a cultural mould they never escaped, but simply expanded to fit the land; even in so vast a realm as Kerys, which had perforce to have several great cities, one immense community dominated all the rest. The Svarhath never showed quite the same tendency; their preference was always for towns of moderate size among a loose federation of villages. Probably it was the threat of the Ice that first drove these related but disparate peoples to unite; but nothing certain is known of that. It is well established, however, that in even the earliest records of Kerys they thought of themselves as one nation, owing allegiance to one lord, intermarrying freely and speaking one another's tongues. It was chiefly a preference for different climes and manners of life that kept them separate at all, and perhaps also kept them friendly; for they seldom if ever competed for the same land.

The character of both peoples was much the same as in the realms of Brasayhal. The Penruthya of Kerys were always the more numerous race, probably because their way of life allowed it. They were a lowland folk, fond of warm climes and the rich flat farmland of riverine plains; they grew much grain and many orchards and vineyards, but raised little meat or dairy produce, and almost no fish. Their lands tended to be divided into large estates whose farms were held in tenancy from the great lords; but this tenancy was not a burdensome thing, and until the last years the land was worked at all levels by free men. Some of the estates on the southern shore, settled later, were of astonishing size, their labourers numbered by the thousand, and their lords, men of great consequence. Their cities showed the same tendency towards size, but in a well-ordered form; they were masters of buildings as of all the other arts, and had a surprising command of the basic requirements in water supply and sanitation that alone make such large communities practicable. Their laws regarding public health were strict and carried severe penalties, and they were supported by all levels of the community, even the lowest; almost certainly this was a result of the state's provision of basic instruction for all its citizens. What was provided varied widely, but in Kerys the City at its height there was almost no citizen of sound mind who could not read and write, and recite the basic table of laws. The Penruthya had a strong tradition of hierarchy and the rule of law from above, but set against this an equally strong tradition of freedom, if not of equality, for all men; this often took the form of opposition to their kings, commonly by powerful lords in pursuit of their own independence.

The Svarhath, on the other hand, had no particular tradition of order, and few if any great lords; they reserved their respect for wise elders and rich men, and regarded the king much as a clan might its chieftain - their ruler, but by right of kinship more than law. They chose to dwell chiefly among the cooler uplands above the northern walls of Kerys Vale, a land that seemed far too coarse and wild to the Penruthya, but could in fact yield a rich living to men who knew how to cultivate it. They grew some grain, wine grapes and other fruit in the sheltered valleys, but meat and dairying were their main products; upon hill and mountain pastures they raised their huge cattle, and upon higher slopes of coarser vegetation sheep or goats. Wise in all matters relating to ships and seafaring, they fished not only the rivers but also the rich seas around the coast. They also thrived upon forestry and hunting, for they took better care of their wooden lands than did the sothrans. Landholdings. were mostly no larger than an individual could manage; even the richest men might own no more than a single manorial farm, albeit a very large one, and some woods and hunting preserves. Tenancy was almost unknown, and treated with deep suspicion. Some villages, however, owned and worked large holdings in common, and so also some families, for a particular reason. Land was inherited not by the eldest male heir, as with the Penruthya, but by all sons jointly; only if it could not support them all would some have to seek their support elsewhere. Since large families were rare among the Svarhath, this usually worked well enough. There were plenty of opportunities for such sons; shipping and the crafts were honourable and prosperous occupations that supported many, and also matters financial and scholarly. The Penruthya appeared to dominate trade, but never to the exclusion of an energetic northerner; indeed, since it was Svarhath-owned ships that handled the cream of the swift river traffic, they had considerable influence in it, and many a Southern lord owed his fortune to the acumen and industry of his Svarhath stewards. And in scholarship and statecraft - which they tended to associate - both strains mingled readily, the Penruthya excelling only by their numbers.

In general this union of peoples was a strong one, each fulfilling somewhat different roles, each benefitting from what the other lacked and respecting the other for it; it was a strong foundation upon which to build such a realm. Such friction as there was appears to have been mild, easily contained by the Ysmerien kings who mingled the blood of both races; and it is noticeable that when serious factional problems did break out in Kerys the division was more social than racial. The plebeian and patrician factions that appeared among the Penruthya were reflected among the Northerners, though less aggressively; but then the distinctions between lord and commoner were never so important there. The factions plagued the land, but never seriously divided it. The real difficulties began when the might and wealth of Kerys were at their peak, and the land seemed a strength unassailable. It was then the menace of the Ice first began to make itself felt among the Svarhath lands, and the remotest northerners had to flee southwards, even into the Vale. Then, a generation later, a serious conflict of kinship and succession broke out for the first time among the Ysmerien.

The Sundering of the Peoples

The details are simple enough; a king, Gherannen, died leaving a son and a daughter by different wives. The laws of succession were strict. Daughters could inherit at need, but the son, Barech, was the elder, and there was never any doubt that he would be the rightful successor; but he died suddenly within days of his father. And though he was of mature years and his wife had recently borne him a son, there was grave doubt as to whether the child, though named for him, was in fact his; and what followed fed that doubt. His widow Amer immediately installed as regent not Barech's younger sister, Authe, as was customary, but their cousin Dormaidh, one of the most able and powerful southern lords. By a coincidence of ancestry he was a pure-blooded Ysmerien, a well-made man of great charm and vigour; and he was also a former suitor of Amer. The resultant furore threatened to split the country, for, if the child was not Barech's, then Authe was the rightful heir, and after her her son Keryn; but Dormaidh enjoyed great support among powerful men of both Penruthya and Svarhath, and of both ancestral factions. Fewer supported Authe, young widow of an Ysmerien landholder, and of no great distinction; but she showed great firmness in claiming the throne on behalf of her son. For many years the whole land simmered, without ever quite bursting into the flame of civil war. Even the ancestral factions were split down the middle, although the older aristocracy tended to support Authe and the newer Dormaidh. Dormaidh was the effective ruler, but his power was never absolute enough to put down his enemies; and to do him justice, he had no particular wish to, restraining the most hot-headed of his followers. It was charged he had murdered Barech, but his later behaviour made this less likely. Authe was less retrained, but could never whip up enough sure support; however, her supporters' minor insurrections seriously disrupted the trade of the land, and deepened divisions. When the garrison of the High Gate declared for her she occupied it and set up her own court there, and over a period of yeas intrigued to little effect against Dormaidh.

Meanwhile the two children were growing up, the younger Barech as a powerless shadow under Dormaidh's overwhelming personality, and Keryn as an independent and intelligent young prince; as he grew up it became obvious that he was the most attractive character in the whole tangle. When he reached his first manhood, in his sixteenth year as the custom then was, his mother was persuaded to hand over her claim to him, and swiftly he gained greater support than she ever had. Dormaidh himself, eager to end the disruption, offered him joint succession with Barech; but Barech, for the first time in his life, objected violently. He threatened Keryn's life, and swore bloody retribution against the least man who supported him. Civil war now began to seem inevitable when Dormaidh died, if not sooner, and men on either side began to arm and prepare, and break off what slight contact they had kept with their opponents; towns on one side or the other hounded out minorities lest they launch a surprise attack, and murders and brawls began to multiply. This prospect, on top of the years of squabbling he had known, saddened and disgusted Keryn; and the news of the advancing Ice brought by northern refugees, remote as it seemed to most, filled this far-sighted prince with alarm for the future. He was in the mood to find some new alternative, when one presented itself.

Mariners had long suspected the existence of another land across the oceans; wide-ranging fishermen claimed to have fished off its shores, though none had dared to land. Now some bold Svarhath shipowners, desperate for new profits after some fourteen years of decaying trade, set out to find it in earnest. One party succeeded, after great privations, and returned to tell of a vast new land of forests and high mountains, wild and uninhabitated as far they could tell, but fertile and full of promise. Most significantly of all, it was relatively untroubled by the Ice. For Keryn that was enough, and he resolved to seek out a new home in this land. To Dormaidh and Barech he sent a defiant challenge, saying that though he asserted his birthright still, he preferred to extend his realm rather than lay it waste with war; since the folk must be divided, let those who favoured his cause come with him to settle this new land. If Dormaidh would not hinder any who wished to go, but would assist them with ships and resources, then, rightfully or not, he might rule those who remained. Dormaidh accepted this with relief, for he too hated the prospect of war; he ignored the wrath of Barech, who foresaw, rightly, that many would desert the land rather than face his rule, shrinking his inheritance and injuring his pride. In fact, many even among his own supporters were piqued by the idea, and the taste of adventure; and the number who responded surprised even Keryn. Men and women of every quality, of every allegiance and faction joined with him, until the size of the expedition began to alarm Dormaidh; but by then events had gathered momentum, and there was little he could do. Barech's attempt to deter recruits by threatening the kin they were leaving behind simply swelled their numbers further, as he might have expected, and led to open conflict between Dormaidh and himself. In the end, some five years later, it is said that more than a fifth of the entire Penruthya population of Kerys chose to follow Keryn, and close to half the Svarhath; and the majority of these were able-bodied folk in their prime years, so that the loss to the land was far greater. Many more would have come, if they could have hoped to survive the voyage. More ships were needed than the land could possibly dispose of; and it may well be that the great clearing of forests began at this time, and that the timber taken was never fully replanted. There is no reason to doubt the chronicles' picture of the fleet at last assembled on the shores below the Gate, darkening the ocean and stilling its waves by the very number of its hulls; the number of people who sailed in them is harder to be sure of. But since at that time Kerys was mightier and better peopled than when Elof and Roc came there, it is possible that a hundred thousand at least set sail with Keryn that day, and like him looked their last upon the beacon of the Gate until even its last wisp of smoke had vanished utterly beneath the remorseless horizon.