The Seventh Gate (The Seven Citadels ) (19 page)

Kerish wished that he could see Leth-Kar's
face. Uncertain whether to touch the old man, he said slowly, “Is it hard to
play Zeldin and show him to others, and still be able to find him in your own
need?”

Leth-Kar sighed. “Ah, how does she know?
Marliann told me that you would understand. Zelnis, it is impossible. When I
turn to Zeldin, I find nothing but my own image. Many people have told me that
they felt the presence of the Gentle God for the first time because of me. I
can only curse their happiness. I have tried the patience that Marliann
counsels and now my death is near. No doubt I will play the scene well and my
last audience will be as much deceived as all the rest.”

Kerish leaned forward and fumbled for the
old priest's hand. It was cool and light and he could feel every bone.

“Forgive me, child,” said Leth-Kar, “I
should not try to shift the burdens of my age on to your youth. You have
suffered enough. It rings through your voice.”

A dozen passages from
The Book of the
Emperors
came to mind but Kerish knew that as he spoke them, they would
seem stale and hopeless. `Zeldin show me the way to help him!' No words came to
answer his prayer. All he could do was cling to the old man's hand.

*****

Every day the mountains loomed larger. The
convoy's next major halt would be the town of Ferlic, in the foothills of Mount
Kir. Then the Joze road would curve north to avoid the mountains and the jungle
that lay behind them.

For the first three days after the convoy
left Dhil, Kerish spent most of his time with Leth-Kar, listening to the old
man's reminiscences and singing the songs that he requested. On the third night
the woman in the cart behind was safely delivered of a daughter and the next
morning Marliann returned to walk beside her husband, talking quietly of the
problems and hopes of their fellow travelers.

Kerish rejoined Gidjabolgo and Viarki. The
Forgite was busy explaining to Viarki the defects of Galkian culture, the
uselessness of his calling, and the futility of his mild ambitions. The young
player took it all with good humor but was probably relieved when Gidjabolgo
was distracted by the sight of a tall copper mirror set up in the main square
of the village they were passing through.

“What's this? A monument to the villagers'
vanity?”

“No. It is a lure for banebirds. In the old
days they used to come out of the jungle, even to places this far from the
edge. I think they still do, but it's such ill luck to see one that nobody
mentions it. Anyway, in the bad times the birds came often but if they saw
their own reflections they'd attack them and the Net Master could sometimes
creep up and entangle them. See, there's a net hanging over the door of that
house.”

“Would a shot from a bow be too simple a
solution to appeal to a Galkian?” enquired Gidjabolgo.

“It was tried but the arrows never struck
home.”

“And the jungle?” persisted the Forgite. “Is
it really never entered?”

“I've never heard of anyone who did,” said
Viarki, “except Prince Il-Keno.”

“And why is it forbidden?” asked
Gidjabolgo.

Viarki shifted uncomfortably. “I don't
know. It's dangerous and it isn't part of Galkis. There's nothing to stop
anyone going in, but nobody does.”

“That mirror looks freshly polished,”
commented Gidjabolgo.

“Oh, they're always kept in readiness,”
said Viarki.  “Some people believe that the Mistress of the Birds is still
alive in the heart of the Forbidden Jungle. I suppose that's why they need the
play to comfort them. If we're asked to perform at Ferlic it's bound to be `The
Prince and the Enchantress'. Did you ever see . . . attend a performance of it
at court, Zelnis?”

“Only once,” answered Kerish.

*****

The next day was punishingly hot and Viarki
invested half of a theeg in a bundle of paper sunshades, haggled for with a
wayside trader. He described their colors to Kerish who chose one dyed a cool
blue and patterned with mauve feathers. Viarki handed out the rest at random.
Gidjabolgo eyed his gaudy rose and yellow shade with acute dislike.

“There are some combinations which make
blindness a blessing,” he muttered.

“Like you and anything else,” said Desha
with a giggle.

“Or a poor wit and a plain face,” responded
the Forgite.

Feg attempted to fix his shade between the
bronze-capped horns of the ox. He clearly felt more affinity with the surly,
plodding beast than with his human companions.

For most of the day Viarki rode in the cart
with Leth-Kar, learning the part of Prince Il-Keno. It was customary for the
great temples to keep copies of most of the plays in their archives but the
players never learned their lines by reading such manuscripts. To Kerish the
words were familiar and stirred dark memories.

He let the players' cart roll on and walked
instead beside the vehicle of the young wife and her new baby. She was
accompanied by several older women and to these Kerish talked about the great
festivals celebrated in Viroc. Many were the same as those he remembered in the
Golden City: the Star-counting in Autumn, when people gathered on the rooftops
to sing away the mists; the dark days of the Mourning for Imarko, and the quiet
rejoicing that followed. Others were strange to him, like the building of a
Gateway each spring through which the names of the newly dead were tossed. Then
there were the anniversaries of great battles that reminded Kerish that Viroc
alone had not known peace under the Emperors. Now the white-walled city
suffered again to save for others the peace and safety it had always lacked.
Kerish thought of Forollkin and Kelinda trapped there. His mouth twisted with
pain and the women respected his sudden silence.

By the middle of the afternoon the road was
transformed into a causeway to cross one of the great reservoirs built by
Vir-Tairkon, the Silent Emperor. No fish swam in the crystal waters and no
plants grew. It was forbidden to bathe in the stone-walled lake or even to
scoop out a handful of water. Boats, fashioned in the form of fabulous
monsters, glided over the unruffled surface. They were not manned but they
seemed to move without the wind, and one hovered close to the convoy as if to
warn the travelers not to touch.

Three miles along the causeway, a pond was
walled off from the main part of the lake. It was surrounded by benches in worn
coral stone and under each one stood a bronze ewer and four cups. The convoy
halted to rest and drink. Kerish sat down on one of the benches waiting for
Gidjabolgo to help him but it was Marliann who came to his side with a cup of
cool water.

“Drink,” she said, “the blessing of the
Silent Emperor still rests on this water.”

She put the cup into his good hand and he
thanked her.

“It is I who should thank you for giving
your time so generously to my husband.”

“That was no hardship,” protested Kerish.

“I know he told you of the shadow that
darkens his life,” continued Marliann. “His death I have long been prepared
for, but not death without hope.”

“I wish I could help him,” said Kerish.

“You are the only one who can, “ answered
Marliann. “I knew that when I saw you standing in the square and my heart
leapt. Imarko could not have greeted her Lord more gladly than I welcomed you.”

“Marliann, I don't know what to say to him.”

The priestess lightly stroked his silvered
hair. “You have both the will and the strength; the way must show itself. Ah,
here is Gidjabolgo to refill your cup.”

The convoy did not reach the end of the
causeway until after dusk. They camped on the further shore of the reservoir,
tired but peaceful. In the moonlight the grotesque shapes of the guardian boats
could still be seen, drifting silently across the silvered waters. No fires
were lit and the evening meal consisted simply of bread, fruit and cheese,
brought from the last village.

When they had eaten Leth-Kar asked Kerish
to sing. He chose the story of the Silent Emperor and sang of the bargain the
Emperor had made, giving up his power of speech for the sake of his people.
Only three times in his reign was he allowed to speak, but each time his words
brought a great blessing or averted a great danger.

Afterwards the talk drifted round to the
performance in Ferlic and Gidjabolgo announced that he and Zelnis were too
tired to join in. They left the circle of players and spread out their cloaks
beside a clump of aromatic bushes some distance away.

“So, this Ferlic is on the edge of the
mountains,” whispered Gidjabolgo as they lay down, “and these mountains border
the Forbidden Jungle?”

“Yes. There are passes through the
mountains,” murmured Kerish, “but we'd need a guide for that. The easiest way
to reach the jungle is to go due south from Ferlic, skirting the foothills.”

“We'll leave at Ferlic then,” said
Gidjabolgo. “I'll pretend an interest in the town and wander off by myself to
buy food. I presume they'll speak some kind of Zindaric . . . what's the
matter?”

“Nothing. It can't be helped. I think we
should stay for the performance.”

“What, to see Viarki make a fool of himself
as a Prince of the Godborn?” Gidjabolgo grinned. “You're right, it would be
easiest to slip away into the crowd after the performance. They may not notice
we've gone for an hour or so and they'll hardly chase after us at night.”

“I shall write a letter for Marliann,
asking her to prevent any pursuit,” said Kerish, “and to forgive us.”

Gradually the road began to climb. Each day
the ox was worse-tempered and moved at a slower pace till only Feg could coax
him on at all. The foothills of the Jen mountains were thickly wooded with
red-barked trees that struggled upwards to enormous heights. Many were entwined
with the lovely flowering creepers which would eventually be their death. In
the warm darkness beneath, all kinds of fungi and moss flourished. Many of the
former were good to eat and were eagerly picked by the travelers to roast over
the evening camp-fires. The mosses too were gratefully gathered for they were
renowned for their healing properties.

The only hazards were the swarms of
stinging insects that gathered round the forest at night and Kerish was
reminded of their uncomfortable voyage through the marshes of Lan-Pin-Fria. His
thoughts turned more and more often to Forollkin. Every evening he sensed
exhaustion and grimness in his brother's brief presence. Sitting comfortably
beside the fire after a placid day's travel, he guiltily remembered the
starving city and its weary defenders. Sometimes, he thought of O-grak and the
image of the Khan's soul borne helplessly out to sea haunted him.

*****

They entered Ferlic early one morning. A
messenger had been sent ahead to warn the Headman and he and the temple priests
came out to welcome them. To Kerish, the sudden clamour of people moving and
talking all around him almost brought back his first fear of blindness. He kept
close to Gidjabolgo until they reached the temple guest-house and then spent
the day lying on the narrow bed allotted to him while Gidjabolgo explored the
town. Full of gentle concern Marliann brought him an infusion of herbs which he
meekly drank and Viarki came to sit with him. The young player chattered on
about Joze, which he had visited several times with his friend Sharvin.

“But I suppose Joze won't seem so splendid
to you, since you're used to Galkis itself. Travelling with us must be very
strange for you, or is it just dull?”

“Never that,” murmured Kerish. “You are not
like anyone that I knew at court.”

“Well, that's obvious enough. You'll find
no grace or learning among us to match the court.”

“Viarki, my words were meant as a compliment.”
Kerish smiled at the young actor. “I am glad to have known you all.”

“Don't put it in the past,” protested
Viarki. “You're welcome to live with us for as long as you like. Surely you
know how fond Marliann and Leth-Kar have become of you? I'm an orphan like you.
My parents died of a fever when I was seven. When I joined the troop they made
a new family for me . . . What I mean is, you're welcome among us. Gidjabolgo
too, of course.”

Kerish's voice was very subdued. “Thank
you, Viarki. We'll always remember that.”

As they had anticipated, the players were
asked to perform “The Prince and the Enchantress” and to stay in Ferlic for at
least a week. A chorus was assembled from among the daughters of the town's
most prominent citizens and trained by Feg. His comments on the girls' charms
and abilities kept the players entertained, but would scarcely have amused the
parents.

Kerish and Gidjabolgo spent a few hours
each day rehearsing the music but the rest of their time was free. Kerish
employed the sultry afternoons talking to Leth-Kar, while Gidjabolgo made more
expeditions into the town, adding each time to their stock of provisions and
their knowledge of the surrounding countryside. On the third occasion he
returned with a flask of wine and a piece of news.

Pleading a headache, Kerish was alone in
the room they shared with Viarki and Feg, so Gidjabolgo could speak freely. “They
are saying in the town that the Empress is dead.”

“Rimoka? No! How could they know?”

“The Headman heard it from his cousin who
has just visited Joze,” said Gidjabolgo, sitting down on the bed.  “He reports
that a group of courtiers have arrived in the city. At the news of the
Empress's death and a defeat for the Emperor's forces, they fled the court and
sailed down the Gal in one of the state barges. They seem to have feared an
attack on the capital by Zyrindella and Yxin.”

“But the Emperor . . .”

Gidjabolgo shrugged. “Oh, they left him
behind.”