

Nothing Darker Than The Light

volume two

# The Land Of Fire

Philip Matthews

copyright Philip Matthews 2014

Smashwords edition

ISBN 9781311947697

Chapter One.

Evenings here are longer: cooler, the air like clear sweet water. The sun sets towards the northwest, hanging in a soft golden sky. The silence is strange, for with it there is a sense of distance which is not of the world. The sea beyond the cape appears to stretch to infinity, flat, shining like silver plate, but marbled towards the shore with hues of green and blue. The coastline of the north is incised in the sea in exact detail, a dark tracery the eye can follow away into the hazy gold of the horizon.

The contrast with the homeland is total. There the sea is always swollen and deep blue, bulging up from the horizon, warm and sensual. The sun burns all day and then is suddenly gone. Always a moment of shock, I now realise, having seen other sunsets.

But I think the main difference is this: the homeland is full; this land is empty. Again, it is only now that I realise the nature of that fulness: a crest; we are always carried on a crest of heat, of movement; a ritual of life always at its peak. Here I feel expanded, stretched out like the sea, flat, silent and passive. This land is empty and in itself at peace. But even though I expand to fill all the space between sea and sky, land and sky, I continue to move inside myself. In the homeland all things seem to move in unison, but here I am learning that men have their own movement. And that movement outstrips the world; it is restless, not at peace. It is at times frightening, because sometimes I think it has no limits.

Beyond the stockade, the soldiers returning from the forest can be heard singing. Ingrained habit formed them into ranks of two, marching in step, leaping and double-stepping at times over the rough ground of the track to maintain the rhythm. They wear no uniforms and carry no weapons. Some are naked, but most wear breech clothes to protect themselves. They carry saws, axes, hammers, rasps, bars and a lot of rope. They march, fumble, tumble, hop, skip, all the time singing at full throat, all the time balancing and rebalancing the tools they carry. There are over a hundred soldiers in all. They return along three different paths to the stockade. One leads up from the beach opposite the cape, where an area has been cleared of scrub and grasses for carpentry work, where the benches, bunks, doors, windows, shutters and frames are being fabricated. The second comes from a clearing in the forest, a meadow beside the river. Here the planking is being cut, for which water is needed, water to cool the tools and the men. The last path comes from the heart of the forest itself, where the trees are felled and stripped. Along these paths during the day there is a constant traffic of men and materials. Trunks dragged from the forest come to be sorted, some going to the meadow, others going to the beach. From the meadow comes planking, carried or dragged by teams of men, again being sorted, some for the carpenters at the beach, some for the construction going on within the stockade. Finally, along the track from the beach comes fabricated sections and finished artefacts, all going straight into the fort. The smell of new timber is pervasive, and the noise can be appalling.

Marching in groups, in ranks of two, the soldiers keep a good pace, even at the end of the day. But once they clear the trees and the high stockade of barked trunks comes into view on the other side of the river, on the shoulder of the low height of the cape, they instinctively increase their pace. By the time it comes to ford the river, their songs have usually degenerated into cries and whoops, or a pensive, determined silence. Most of the soldiers run the last section from the bank of the river up to the fort.

The official routine at the end of a working day is for the soldiers to return to the fort and check in their tools. Troop leaders meanwhile give the Engineer details of the work done, number of trees felled, stripped and subsequent destination. Again, there are the details of the planking operations, number and size of planks, and their destination. The carpenters usually present themselves as a group when their report is made. Their reports are exhaustive, so accounts are taken with direct reference to the Engineer's plans and the visible additions to the structures surrounding them in the fort.

While these reports are being made, the soldiers, once their tools have been checked in, return to the river to wash themselves and their clothing. An area on the river below the stockade, but in sight of it, has been cleared, the river partially dammed and dredged, so that a large clear pool with a slow current has been formed. Here up to thirty soldiers at a time could wash without crowding one another. The water is groin deep, shallow enough to allow freedom of movement, but deep enough to allow complete submersion with ease and without danger. Coarse sand has been brought up from the mouth of the river and strewn over the bed of the pool. This gives a sure footing and is also useful for scrubbing.

The coolness of the evening seemed at first to present a problem. It was hoped that rapid acclimatisation would solve this problem – the Brigan hostage shows no discomfort at all while bathing. Meanwhile it was thought that a number of large fires at points along the bank of the pool would encourage the soldiers to use the pool regularly. But only a small proportion of the soldiers use the pool on any one evening. Most are content to splash and wash as they cross the river on their return from the forest. In the event, no fires were lit: those who use the pools usually run back to the fort and dry and warm themselves in that way.

The evening meal is then prepared, served and eaten within the stockade. This had not been the original intention. The fires, for one thing, are a real hazard within the fort. But the decision to cook within the stockade was unanimous. In the mornings and evenings, then, there is the inconvenience of smoke, for the days are calm, and often grease irritates the eyes and nose. Yet no one complains. Perhaps it is the newness of the settlement, the strangeness of the terrain, but every communal activity is carried out within the high walls of the stockade, within which nothing can be seen but the sky. The soldiers eat, sleep and play within the fort. It is a good thing that it is designed to hold five times their number.

In change,

The old and the new dwell together.

The constant must measure the novel.

The sun, sea, land, and man. Difference, when it appears, always comes from the same. How could it be otherwise? There is nothing entirely new. With that knowledge a man can accept anything. I am restless because there has been a break in rhythm. Soon the rhythm will reassert itself.

Yet the paradox of this place. There is a cool peace here, stretching out into such distances. Everything mirrors the utter stillness. The sea mirrors the sky, but it has the silver sheen of the moon. The sky is like the sea, but with a fixed placidity that belies the waves and the tides. And the land, even there the sun is seen: the bronze glow of this northern sunset.

These mirrors show an infinity.

Yet the paradox. A man can be active without pause. No deadening heat in the day, no sultriness at night. There is no lassitude in this stillness.

But how can an infinity be filled by the action of men?

We start here with this little square of wood. One hundred men labour tirelessly for three months. Within this place there is no infinity, only noise, heat and smells. We are here together.

Yet – why is the land empty? Why do no men live here?

The Brigan guide says there are savages; wild harmless nomads. He believes it to be a middle land, between the Land of Men and the Land of Fire.

A land that marks the end of the world.

The Astronomer laughs at him and says that there can be no end to the world. For my part, I have never heard of such a tale from any other part of the world. And how can a world have only one end? An island is bounded on all sides. Everything is bounded.

Yet the superstition must have some basis in fact. But I have never heard of a Land of Fire, ever. Not even where the sun is hottest. So how is it possible in this place, where the sun is cool?

The old man says that it is a place where land is made again. I don't understand that at all, and the old man only laughs when he is asked for more detail. Yet the Astronomer remains silent on this point, so there may be sense in it.

But a young land should be active and unfinished, like a child. This land is still and distant, like an old man.

A place of paradoxes. But the priest says that there is no such thing as a paradox, that paradox is a peculiarity of language. Here, he says, it is only a question of novelty. The novelty is simply that of place, which in itself betrays no strangeness. Men can act here, and materials are no different here. In time we will grow used to the place.

He is right. As always.

But there is a difference. I feel it.

While it is usual at a time of construction or temporary settlement for us to sleep on the ground with only rudimentary shelter, here the coolness of the climate has made it necessary to construct proper dormitories. It was fortuitous' that such buildings were intended in the first place as part of the plan of settlement. Otherwise, their construction would have seriously upset our schedule. It is arguable that they need not have been constructed first. But as there were no hostile tribes or enemies in the vicinity, construction of dormitories for the soldiers was undertaken alongside the establishment of the foundations of the stockade. Again, it was a unanimous decision. We could not do without proper rest at a time of great industry while awaiting adequate acclimatisation.

The evening meal is usually finished, the fires banked for the night, and the night sentries in their huts by the time twilight has come on. Even now, it is a strange moment. Out here at the limit of the Empire there are no settlements to provide diversion and entertainment for the soldiers. There are no lighted dwellings of homes or taverns or show-houses. And there are no women, except the Brigan's concubine. It is a moment when everyone seems non-plussed. In the beginning, groups of soldiers would walk aimlessly about the compound, talking, singing, or laughing. It was pleasant because it filled up the silence of the night. Now most go into the dormitories once they have eaten or finished their tasks. Before it is dark, the compound is deserted, a few lights to be seen in the dormitory buildings only. But then the shutters are fastened and all is black.

We are like chastened men, worse even than slaves. But in our great Empire, which spans much of the world, it is rare that its limits are crossed. Especially in the exploration of a new land. We should remember that and be proud of our task. The new should always make men cautious. Care, restraint, and a balance of work and rest are required until there is establishment and the new tamed.

And there is this I would like the priest to answer: why are we afraid? It is not the fact of the new star which concerns me. His explanation is plausible. But it is the matter of fear that concerns me. That and the rumours of a prophecy.

It is not man's reason that is vulnerable, but his heart.

Chapter Two

Pol-Chi was called in from the platform.

His two aides awaited him by the door. Neither being armed, each had stuck the thumb of his left hand into his belt.

'The Engineer's report?'

'Yes, Commander.'

Pol-Chi searched about and found his cloak lying across a trunk near the window. He swung it around his shoulders, and then realised how chilly he was. Immediately, he began to rub his hands together briskly.

'Everything up to date?'

'Yes, Commander. Though he says he will have to search out some tall hardwood very soon.'

'Well, he'll be best able to organise that. Tell him that when next you see him.'

His body was warming. But his face remained cool, the skin tingling. The air was peculiarly refreshing in the evenings here. His mood, expanded and light, seemed to hover above everything, poised at some edge of reality.

It would be pleasant to sit on in the dark here and continue his thoughts. However, the affairs of the expedition must be attended to.

'The reconnaissance patrol has returned.'

'Yes, Commander. It will report at the meeting''

'Good. That report could help to decide matters. We can see from here that the forest is not too extensive, and that the Grasslands continue north.'

'And the coastline is unindented for at least three days' journey north,' the other aide put in helpfully.

'As I suspected,' Pol-Chi said warmly. But it was good to confer with one's companions, to attend to practical matters.

There was a low knock on the door and the sound of many feet on the wooden floor outside.

'Quick, lights,' Pol-Chi urged, turning his small, thick body nimbly and retreating towards the window.

The sun was down, and the sky was the most beautiful clear indigo.

His Captains filed into the cabin, followed by the Temple Astronomer and the Brigan guide. Pol-Chi saw how, as usual, they sorted themselves out on the forms along the walls. His Captains chose their seating companions on the basis of kinship, not military specialism. The two outsiders were left, again as usual, isolated together near the door, facing him. Even the priest of the expedition avoided them, coming to sit as expected at his Commander's right hand.

The aides brought oil lamps from the hall and hung them from hooks in the low ceiling. Then they sat on a form facing Pol-Chi, on the other side of the door from the outsiders.

The balance in terms of kinship among the Captains, Pol-Chi noted, was subtle and a remarkable exercise in diplomacy. The three who sat to his right were related to him through his father and his kin; the three on his left were related to him through his mother and her kin. And the priest, who sat closest to him, was also his closest relation there, his nephew. Again, his young aides, who sat facing him, were related to him also through his own generation, being sons of his sisters.

The bonds here were unbreakable. Such tight and subtly interwoven blood relationships were the strength of the Empire.

As the gathering grew accustomed to the light and settled into the cabin, Pol-Chi continued his meditation. Even the strangers were in balance with the network of relations. The Temple Astronomer was of the Merura, the red-skinned aristocracy of the Empire, whose weave of kinship straddled the whole Empire and maintained cohesion at the very highest levels. Naturally, there was no kinship between the black skinned military of the central provinces of the Empire and the Merura aristocracy, whose origins were specific but whose homeland was now the entire Imperium. Here the obligation of caste obtained in the awareness of the well-being of the Empire.

On the other hand, the Brigan was a complete outsider, having no formal relations whatsoever with the Empire. His people were not tributaries nor were they subordinated. He precisely balanced the Merura priest in an axis that related the Empire to the remainder of the world, except of course in the matter of the enemies of the Empire, with whom no relationship was possible.

Even the various postures expressed the complex of relations. He himself, as Commander, was most at ease, yet most alert to the whole group. His priest mimicked his alertness, but not his ease. His Captains were at ease but not particularly alert; his aides were attentive to him and not particularly at ease. The Astronomer was most erect and restrained, neither at ease nor alert to the group. The Brigan, on the other hand, was most indolent, resting his arms on his knees, staring at the floor, totally indifferent to the group.

Pol-Chi saw that everyone was prepared. He coughed and threw open his cloak and leaned forward slightly. Everyone became alert and leaned forward expectantly. Except, of course, the strangers.

About to speak, Pol-Chi suddenly saw a new set of correspondence. All the military were black. The Merura was red-skinned and black-haired; and the Brigan was red-haired and white-skinned. The military and the Merura corresponded through blackness, but differed where the Merura and the Brigan corresponded, through redness. And as should be, there was no correspondence between the military and the Brigan; in fact opposition existed, between black and white.

He realised that his thoughts ran on too long. He coughed again and spoke into the attentive group;

'Tan-Sha, how much remains to be done in the settlement?'

The Engineer answered immediately, but easily:

'With the material to hand all the buildings will be completed within three days. Then there remains the matter of the watch-towers. The timber for the stockade towers is to be cut and trimmed tomorrow. As there will be at least fifty men available for this task, the towers should be built in five days. However, we have not yet found trees appropriate for the main tower. As more men are freed from other work, I will put them to help the search. Once found, the tower can be built in about six days.'

Pol-Chi digested this information deliberately.

'Is there a quicker way of building this tower?'

Seeing Tan-Sha sit back, Pol-Chi realised that what the Engineer was about to propose was not agreeable to his training.

'We could place the tower on top of the administrative building.'

'But...?'

'Militarily, as you know, it is best if the central watch-tower and the command communicated by sight. So they should occupy the diagonal corners of an inner square clear of all other buildings. In any case, the actual superimposition of the tower could take over eight days. The administrative building would have to be reinforced before the tower could be constructed...'

'I see.' Pol-Chi looked around to all his Captains. 'As you know, the main fleet will arrive here in about four days' time. I had hoped that by then we would be ready to continue up the coast. There will be a lot of confusion with the landing of the Land Reconnaissance Army. We could not avoid becoming involved with it. That would keep us here for a further six or seven days.'

He looked at the floor. His Captains did likewise. In the silence, Pol-Chi felt the reluctance of his men at the prospect of moving on. Here the fear showed its irrationality. It threatened to make all action subject to its influence. Any pause in forward momentum would lead to inertia and a desire to return to the homeland, to hide from the fear.

A voice from his left spoke:

'Could the main fleet not complete the tower, especially if we prepare the materials?'

The female practicality was required. But it jarred with routine.

'We are to complete the fort,' Pol-Chi said softly. 'That is our task.'

'But we are to continue north once the main fleet arrives.' This voice came from his right. Pol-Chi smiled at the floor. 'Yes. We are.'

Only one person laughed. But it was too sharp and Pol-Chi could feel the tension in the cabin immediately.

My men are tired. I must give them purpose.

'We will do this. We will complete the work on hand as quickly as possible. Meanwhile the search for the trees for the main tower will continue. Once they are found, everyone will concentrate on that final task.'

There were nods and murmurs of assent.

'Now, in about four days' time we will provision the ships and prepare them for sea. We will have to move them from their present anchorage, because the fleet will require that road. I think we should move them across the river mouth to the beach. Where exactly they should be anchored I will leave to the Captain of the Ships, Set-Wun.'

Pol-Chi nodded to the Captain closest to him on his left, who acknowledged him with an almost imperceptible sign of relief.

Pol-Chi now looked intently at all his Captains and finally at the priest at his elbow. 'What we should do as the main fleet arrives is to move ourselves over to the beach. We could occupy the area cleared for the carpenters.' He suddenly pitched his voice firmly. 'In that way we avoid the confusion of the landing of the Army.'

Pol-Chi knew that he wanted this done. It would be difficult to force his men to do it. One of the drawbacks of such a closely knit military structure was the impossibility of forcing soldiers to obey unpopular orders.

The Captain of the Archers spoke from his left:

'We could move into the ships themselves.'

Pol-Chi cut the air with his hand with more force than he had intended. 'No!'

He quietened himself immediately. 'No. The ships must be kept prepared for sea. You can see that.'

The sag in the group's morale made him realise how habituated his men were to the fear now. Yet how long had this fear been with them? Only about three months and a half. From the time of their stop-over at the Ka-Bil. Those riots there had infected his men. The curious rumours of the inhabitants about the end of the world had seemed appalling at first, like witnessing the delirium of a madman. But the star was there, that was incontestable. But it is not the star that my men fear, it is the rumour. The prophecy that the star will destroy the world. That is intangible: even the priest cannot prevail against it, mostly because he refuses to acknowledge its existence.

What did happen in the Ka-Bil to precipitate the panic there?

'We will leave the last proposal aside for now,' he said more softly. 'The winds are light, perhaps the fleet will be late. There are, I admit, so many contingencies involved that it would be better to plan some things from day to day.

'For the present, we will concentrate on completing the fort. But we will move the ships to a new anchorage. Set-Wun will see to that.'

He sat back and crossed his legs. It was a gesture he knew would break the tension engendered by his proposal for moving out of the fort.

Once the group had resettled itself, he turned to his right and addressed the figure furthest from him on that side.

'Lat-Pi, will you report on the reconnaissance you made.'

The slim Captain leaned forward and raised his hands, palms facing one another, before him:

'We marched for seven days north along the coast. Then we went inland for half a day, then spent nine days returning to the fort.' He turned his left palm upwards. 'The coast remains unbroken, except for a small river, running north-south. For the most part the shore is sandy; there is an outcrop of bare rock just south of the small river. The sea currents seem regular; there are no rocks or islands.' Now he brought the tips of his fingers together, his palms again facing one another. 'From the northern-most point of our journey, we could see no change in the coastline or the sea. But at the very edge of the horizon we saw banks of cloud. They remained in sight as we travelled inland on the next day. I suspect that these clouds are high and stable. This suggests a range of hills about ten days' journey north.' He now let his left hand drop and he stared at his right hand, which remained bent. 'Inland, we found no tracks or signs of habitation. The only animals we saw were herds of deer and a kind of dog. There are also rabbits and hares. Surprisingly, there are few birds. We sighted no large beasts of prey. There is little surface water, but I suspect the presence of many wells and waterholes, though we did not search for them. The earth, you see, has a moistness that comes upwards, not from the heavens. The grass is tall now, but brown, which suggests the end of the growing season. In the Ka-Bil I was told that this happens. All growth ceases for the length of about four months.'

Pol-Chi involuntarily looked down. As he should have known, his Captains read this as a sign of disappointment. They would, he knew, be asking themselves what it was their Commander sought.

He raised his head, trying to appear equable. 'It is good that the sea offers no obstacle,' he said; lamely, he thought.

Lat-Pi, his report made, suddenly brought his hands together and shook them: 'But it is a weirdly silent land, Commander. There is a vastness to it which...which... we... I...'

Pol-Chi held up his right hand:

'It is a new land.'

But this sounded wrong. It echoed his earlier thoughts and prompted him to look at the strangers.

'It is a novel place. It is new to us. No doubt in time we would become accustomed to it,' he said, trying to take the discordance from his first remark. He heard the assumption in his words – "we would become". We are poised to retreat. There is fear in this place, too. The fear is everywhere, working like a poison.

But the strongest feeling in the group was one of anticlimax. They all visibly sagged. Except the strangers.

He had to arouse them again before the meeting finished.

'Brigan,' he said formally, head up. 'What do the clouds indicate?'

The Brigan did not raise his head:

'I don't know. I told you before that my knowledge of this place is scanty.'

Pol-Chi was angered by the barbarian's indifference. Yet one thing, at least, stopped him from showing his anger. The Brigan carried the insignia of a Captain. How he had obtained it and what it signified, he did not know. But it must be respected.

The Merura Astronomer interjected here suddenly, his head turned slightly to stare at the Brigan's bent back:

'Perhaps, Korkungal, it is smoke from the Land of Fire.'

The sarcasm was cutting, but Pol-Chi saw that it served as much to exclude the Captains and himself, and to obtain a particular kind of contact with the Brigan, as it did to hurt the red-haired barbarian.

The Brigan, in any case, was unmoved. He nodded slowly at the floor:

'Perhaps. It could be the smoke from the Land of Fire, though I never heard of such a thing.'

The voices and postures of the two strangers said so much. Pol-Chi suddenly had an insight that shocked him into unreasoning terror. He used all his powers of self-discipline to control it. Out of the mask of control he spoke.

'There is nothing in this report that requires us to change our plans. In that case, we will continue as we agreed tonight. We must work to complete the fort as soon as possible and Set-Wun will move the ships and prepare them for sea. **'**

He brought his hands together at his breast in a sign that they all knew. Immediately the priest beside him began to speak in a persuasive practiced way about the requirements of religion and of the Empire. They were all familiar with the rhetoric. It made them conscious of higher causes and purposes, and lessened their experience of individuality. Thus it released them from the tension created during the meeting.

For once, at least, Pol-Chi did not listen, was not elevated and purged. Slowly, behind the mask of pious attention, he re-approached his terrible insight. Coldly, he surveyed the two elements of it.

One, the Brigan did not seem to be possessed by the fear which pervaded the camp.

Two, the Astronomer seemed almost the source of the fear itself. And he was fighting it in the name of an even greater terror.

Pol-Chi composed himself in the face of the tension involved here.

The Brigan knew something which released him from the fear. While the Astronomer knew exactly what the source of the fear was.

Pol-Chi shivered: it was the star. The Astronomer knew something about the star. _The Priesthood is lying._

The truth must indeed be terrible. That the military had not been told implied that military power offered no solution.

The world is doomed.

Pol-Chi sank down inside himself, trying to think, trying to pray – fighting not to scream there and then. The emptiness and silence inside him were terrifying.

The priest concluded his sermon and the Captains rose, stretched, and rubbed themselves sleepily. With a warm, homely intimacy, they wished each other and their Commander good night and left.

Pol-Chi stepped quickly across to the Astronomer. The fear had to be naked in his face, but that could not be helped:

'Will you wait behind, Hepteidon.'

Chapter Three

Hepteidon remained seated by the door.

The Brigan rose and left without lifting his head. But Pol-Chi saw a light of anticipation enter his face as he passed through the door.

He has real companionship, Pol-Chi thought without rancour.

Moving in the cabin, Pol-Chi felt the growing chill now that all except the Merura had left. He went to the window and groped about outside for the shutters. From this vantage point in the gate tower he could look out into the dark land. There was no moon yet and no other light, except the faint glow of the stars. The land was dark and silent: but now, in the dark, it was strangely close. This land breaths, Pol-Chi realised: it is alive. It was a heartening thought.

In time, we could grow accustomed to this place.

Down to his left he saw the glow of the brazier of the guard on the other side of the gate. The guard, deep in his hut, could not be seen.

One light in all this land. Ours.

He broke his concentration with gladness in his heart. The shutters he closed and fastened with a curious tenderness amounting to regret.

'It is cold at night here, Hepteidon,' Pol-Chi remarked as he crossed to the door and drew the felt screen across. 'But I suppose Ka-Bil was very similar.'

Hepteidon remained silent, body erect, his hands lying tense and awkward on his thighs. The austerity of the pose moved Pol-Chi. The military tunic he wore instead of the priestly robe reinforced the impression of hard asceticism.

I have never tried to ease this man's isolation. He is always a 'stranger' to us. Yet he is not.

Pol-Chi returned to his seat in front of the window. He sat and drew his cloak about him.

'We will be moving on from here soon, Hepteidon. Have you completed the charting of the stars yet?'

Hepteidon unbent slightly, and in this movement Pol-Chi saw, as though through a chink in a screen, a living quality in him, a warmth that was denied expression.

When did this man love? he thought. And what happened to it?

'It is completed. It is a matter of noting which stars can no longer be seen in the southern sky and what is new in the north.'

'It is no doubt a hidden science.'

'Not entirely. The evidence of the science is available to everyone. One need only look up at night. It is the computation of the courses of the stars which requires knowledge, time and patience.'

'But it is a great skill, in any case.'

Hepteidon used his hands to demur.

'As with any science, one becomes aware of the limits.'

'But the constancy of the heavens, even in its irregularities, must allow for great exactitude.'

'Only if all the details are available. There are things we do not know. And we cannot be sure that new knowledge will not contradict the principles of the science.'

Pol-Chi arose suddenly and went to a bench in a corner of the cabin.

'What new thing, for instance?' he asked over his shoulder.

'We know nothing of the stars to the far north, or to the far south. Consequently, we cannot be sure of the nature of our world, or its relation to the stars.'

Pol-Chi returned with a stoppered jar and two wooden bowls.

'Will you take some beer, Hepteidon? It is a useful protection against the chill of the air.'

Hepteidon nodded and accepted the brimming bowl that Pol-Chi brought to him. Then seating himself, Pol-Chi drank, wiped his mouth, and asked:

'Is our world not a star?'

Hepteidon paused to drink, then replied:

'The stars shine at all times. This world is dark in the absence of the sun. No, it is not a star. It is the world, a receiver of light and heat, a receptacle of life.'

'There is a poignancy in your voice, Hepteidon.' Pol-Chi felt the space between them weaken. The beer was having its effect.

'Man can create light and heat, it is true. But compared with the sun and stars, life must be a puny thing if light and heat are a standard of comparison.'

'But life is free and active.'

'But as motion human action is irregular and short-lived.'

Pol-Chi heard pity in Hepteidon's voice now. I must force him on to regret.

'But, Hepteidon, we do great things in our sphere. We make good lives for ourselves.'

Hepteidon drained his bowl. Then he went forward, hunkered, to the jar and refilled his bowl. He paused, and offered the jar to Pol-Chi.

It is good. He begins to move in the circle.

'It is not certain or constant, Commander. Nothing ever displaces the stars or the sun or moon.'

Pol-Chi was surprised to hear, not a pious regret, but bitterness, in Hepteidon's voice.

Now, while I do not dwell too much on fear, let me ask the question:

'But what will displace man?'

Hepteidon stared into his bowl with the moroseness of youth and loneliness. When he looked up, Pol-Chi was unaccountably shaken by the realisation that the Merura's eyes were green. Now they were livid, set off by the red rimming his eyes.

'Himself. His own doubts and fears. His rancour and spite.'

The reply was so off the point, and yet so conventional and predictable in other circumstances, that Pol-Chi felt both stunned and deflated.

Hepteidon, he realised, was using the occasion to escape the cause of his fear.

'That is the nature of man,' Pol-Chi replied lamely. 'We cannot escape it.'

Hepteidon shrugged his shoulders and drained the bowl. The way he put the bowl down on the bench beside him showed that he was ready to leave.

Pol-Chi knew that doubt was rising in him but he fought it. Later he could reflect on the possibility that their fear had no basis in reality. Now, however, he wanted to make one last desperate test. If their conversation ended on this note, Pol-Chi knew that the subject could never again be broached.

'Tell me, Hepteidon, what do you think of this place? No.' He raised his hand to signal that he had more to say. 'For my part, I find this place strangely unsettling. It is cool, silent, and remote. I feel an infinity here which mocks man and his actions. An emptiness which cannot be filled.'

Even as he spoke, Pol-Chi knew that this was no longer entirely true. This evening he had glimpsed the possibility of acceptance, even love, of the place.

Hepteidon shrugged his shoulders again and looked around him.

'The world belongs to man. There is no strangeness here. It is in the heavens that strangeness is found, which man cannot control.'

Pol-Chi pressed all his attention on Hepteidon's reply. The reply was conventional, priestly stuff. Except for one word – "control". Pol-Chi felt excitement. There it was, in that word. Neither part of the context of our conversation nor part of priestly logic. Only a god could control. Lesser beings directed or submitted.

The fear is real!

When Pol-Chi spoke again, he did so delicately, so as not to arouse the other's suspicions and defences.

'Why should man think to control the stars, Hepteidon?'

Hepteidon looked up sharply, remembering. It blazed in his face.

Again Pol-Chi spoke, this time to relieve Hepteidon: to give him the conventional answer. But he spoke with having reflected:

'Only a god can control the heavens, surely.'

Hepteidon lay back against the wall behind him. He threw up his hands and laughed boyishly.

Such relief I give him. Pol-Chi felt a warmth for Hepteidon, for being able to help him.

'Oh, Pol-Chi. That's the secret! One that no one knows yet. The Gods do not control the stars!'

Hepteidon now leaned forward and buried his face in his hands. The shudders of his body were, Pol-Chi saw, shudders of an immense relief.

He was glad of this, to have purged Hepteidon. But what burden was he himself taking on?

Hepteidon had said so much. How had he come to know so much?

Yes –

There has been a revelation. A prophecy.

The soldiers are right, then. Something did happen in the Ka-Bil.

'Hepteidon.' Pol-Chi waited until the Merura raised his face. 'What happened at Ka-Bil? Why is there so much rumour and fear?'

Pol-Chi was surprised at his own humility. He betrayed the depth of his own fear.

Hepteidon looked closely at him. There was a human warmth in his gaze.

'I cannot tell you. It would do no good.'

'But there was a revelation, wasn't there? The gods spoke to an old priest in that city, isn't that so?'

'That is not the point, Commander. It is not a question of what was said. There are other matters. Such as that of truth. And also the assuaging of regret.'

'Regret?' Pol-Chi said involuntarily. How well he had suspected that!

'A personal matter, Commander. It shames only me.'

'Can no one help you there, Hepteidon? If it is a matter of debt or duty...'

'There are no longer the conditions under which recompense can be made, Commander. This is why regret is involved.'

'You are noble, Hepteidon.'

Hepteidon turned his capacity for sarcasm against himself:

'Much better if I had been noble then, Commander, instead of cowardly.

'But in matters of honour recompense can be made in principle.'

Hepteidon flared. 'It is a matter of love and loyalty. Where my life should have been given, another was taken instead. There is no recompense possible there!'

Pol-Chi finally lowered his head. 'That is true. You have my sympathy.'

Hepteidon arose and moved stiffly.

Feeling the moment for departure come, Pol-Chi rose also. But before Hepteidon could bow, he asked:

'Tell me about the new star. You surely are studying it.'

Hepteidon was almost a head taller than Pol-Chi and seemed even taller within the proportions of a cabin designed for the more compact soldiers.

'There is little I can tell you about the star. It requires more study in order to discover its track and periodicity.'

'Does it threaten us?' There! The kernel.

'Does the moon or sun threaten us? They are larger.'

'But the prophecy?'

'The prophecy is a matter of words, not of truth. The star does not threaten us this night.'

Pol-Chi could see Hepteidon's reasoning. What he said was strictly argued and logical. The fear is real but has no correlative reality. A good argument.

Is this the Brigan's view? But a barbarian warrior is hardly that sophisticated in his thinking.

'Your point is a good and wise one, Hepteidon.'

Hepteidon smiled down at Pol-Chi.

'Whatever else, man has the power of reason, Commander.'

He bowed, and Pol-Chi was constrained to bow in reply.

Hepteidon turned and went to the door immediately. There, he paused and said:

'Thank you for the beer, Commander. It was thoughtful of you.

'You are welcome, Hepteidon. Please believe that.'

Hepteidon bowed in acknowledgement, hesitated, and said:

'And thank you for your consideration.'

He was gone before Pol-Chi could reply.

The cabin became totally silent. Pol-Chi became aware of the smell of new wood.

I have much to think about.

He paused.

Or nothing to think about!

He poured more beer into his bowl.

He felt relieved. The conversation had been a help to both of them. He drank. Then he knew that one question had not been answered:

What was the source of the terror that enabled Hepteidon to control his fear?

But Pol-Chi felt he knew. Certain of Hepteidon's statements were derived from the prophecy. The knowledge of the powerlessness of the gods, for one thing. But before this Hepteidon had talked about the infinity of the heavens which men could not control.

Pol-Chi sat down, and drank some more beer.

Hepteidon wants a new god.

Therein lies his terror. What would happen if all men came to desire that? Chaos. Utter chaos and destruction.

It is a greater fear indeed. May it never infect me.

Pol-Chi drained the bowl. He lay back against the shutters of the window and closed his eyes.

Help me, he prayed.

## Chapter Four

Uöos was doubled up with laughter again. It echoed through the bare dormitory building.

'But,' he spluttered, 'these tales you tell them! What else can you expect? You are their guide into fabulous lands. Middle lands! Lands of Fire! What questions do you expect them to ask you?'

Korkungal looked properly aggrieved and also chastened. Wrapped in his cloak, sitting on a skin with his back to the wall, he allowed his eyes to bulge slightly, while his mouth pursed into what appeared to be both a pout and a smirk.

'I tell them the stories of the priests and the old men of the Briga. That is all. I know nothing else of these lands.'

Korkungal's command of the fluting tongue of the Empire had developed rapidly during the voyage. But many subtle sounds and inflections still escaped him. Uöos had still to speak to him in a mixture of the tongue of the Empire and the tongue of the Briga.

The storyteller bent forward and poured more beer into his bowl. He sat cross-legged facing Korkungal, nothing but an old tunic covering his thin body. At his right knee stood a jug of beer and at his left knee an oil lamp in need of trimming guttered, throwing Korkungal's huddled shape on to the wall in a series of erratic shadows.

'Korkungal, old warrior of the Briga,' Uöos said, gazing at the beer in his bowl. 'Try to understand this. You are their guide in this unknown quarter. Never before have these soldiers of the Empire ventured so far north outside the borders of their Empire. You are different. The Briga are conscious of only filling the corner of a vast land. They live in a world which is not theirs. But this Empire believes itself to be master of the world. For these soldiers to leave their dominion means that they have in a way left the world. Now, can you see that?'

He gulped beer from his bowl.

Korkungal watched him, his own empty bowl hanging between the fingers of his right hand. When Uöos had finished drinking, Korkungal said:

'But I tell you again, old man, that all this does not interest me. If that priest had not used the axemen to overpower me, I would have gone my own way into the Grasslands.'

Uöos hawked and spat to his right, into the darkness of his shadow. He felt the argument following its usual course. So be it. Soon it will find a new route.

'Then why don't you leave now, Warrior? It would not be difficult for a man of your skills to creep out of this fort. By morning you would be far away out on the Grasslands. **'**

'I told you before, I have no food. The necessary provisions are on the ships. Here there is only fresh meat and corn.

'Pah. You could make a kill this day and dry the meat. You have your weapons here.' He indicated the corner of the building, in the darkness to his left.

'But you will not come. I cannot go without you. It is because of me that you are here.'

'I am too old to wander in the wilds.' Uöos made his replies in a flat voice, indicating that he was repeating what he had said before.

'There, old man, how can I leave you?'

'Never mind me, Korkungal. I will survive among the military. I am valued as a storyteller, though, the Goddess knows, they take little time to listen to me now. You go with Sora, she is young, and she is glad to be in your company.'

Korkungal's voice rose to a wail, though whether it was feigned or not was not clear: 'I cannot take her. I told you this. I believe she is pregnant. though she herself will not admit it.'

This was the point at which Uöos looked Korkungal in the eye and brought the exchange to an end;

'Well. then. Warrior. it seems as though you will not leave here and go into the Grasslands as you want to.' He paused, drank, and then said: 'So. What will you do? Sulk in corners or listen to me?'

Korkungal's answer was to reach for the jug and fill his bowl. Uöos realised that another round of argument was to begin. And he knew the course of this one. too.

'There is nothing I can do here, old man, **'** Korkungal started after he had drunk. 'All I can do is to try to answer their silly questions.'

'But why, Korkungal, did they bring you?'

'To guide them to the Land of the North.'

Uöos exploded, betraying impatience for once. 'You are to mediate between them and the Briga. Don't you understand why this force sails north? They intend to subdue the Brigans and open the flank of the Empire of the Dawn. Is that not obvious to you, old warrior?'

Even Korkungal's response betrayed real bewilderment. He shook his head violently and shouted: 'I don't understand this!' Now he glared angrily at Uöos: 'And I don't care! I want no part in all this scheming.'

Uöos felt the real emotion in Korkungal and sat back, shocked but also relieved.

'Why?' he asked softly and simply.

Korkungal drank more beer, feeling something open in him, something dark and awful. To speak now required him to place himself, as he saw it, to one side of that darkness. He spoke directly, seeing the strange thing here: for once there must be no banter. Uöos must listen, and in listening, he, who pretended to know everything, must understand.

'Uöos, I tell you this from my heart, I am not what I seem to be. I am no longer a Warrior of the Briga. I do not know how this came about, perhaps it is the result of the strangeness of the Ka. But, also, I do not know who I am. I do not know how I am alive, here, talking with you in this strange place. Nor do I know how it will end: I no longer believe I will die. I feel that I am nowhere, and that I will always be there.'

Korkungal was surprised to see Uöos bow his head low before him. He did not understand the gesture. Instead he felt his heart swell. Such love and anger he felt for that thin, mocking old man.

Uöos raised his head slowly and looked at Korkungal with an unusual expression. Korkungal read a weary contempt in that expression, but did not believe it. In not believing it, he ignored it.

'The trouble with you, no-man from no-where,' Uöos began sarcastically, 'is that you do not understand how you understand. No doubt you are frightened of your new understanding, that is to be expected. But it is unforgivable that you fight to ignore it.

'However, I will tell you two things which may help you.

'In the first place. I will tell you why it is that I know all things that man can know. It is because I know the forms of all the stories that men tell and listen to. Every action of men finds an echo in these stories. When I trace that echo and discover the story, then I know what has happened and what will happen. My understanding is that simple.

'Now, the second thing is this. I could tell you a story, and it is a great story about this world, which would show you what it is you and Hepteidon, the priest, are about. But I will not. If this story is told this night, then all endeavours would cease, for all endeavours would have no useful purpose. This story must be enacted in this world, to the bitter end.

'But I can tell you this, Korkungal, and you can use your new understanding to unravel it. The Warrior of the Briga is, as you have said, dead. He died in confusion in the Ka-Bil. You know this. But his shadow lives on. It inhabits you, keeping you from knowing the truth about yourself. There. You cannot die, Korkungal, the warrior of the Briga, because you are already dead.'

Korkungal listened to this with two feelings competing in him for dominance. One was of utter horror. The other was of a distant, cold, mocking confidence. Caught between the two, drunken, muddled Korkungal was frightened of his horror, but terrified of the mocking confidence. In one lay fear for himself; in the other lay an awful weariness that had no relief.

When Uöos had finished speaking, all the fear and terror in Korkungal gathered and emerged as a raging blood lust. Korkungal recognised the rage, knowing he had experienced it before. In knowing this, he saw his purpose.

Uöos saw the heat come into Korkungal's face; saw his hands ball into fists, the half-filled bowl falling on to his knees and splashing him with beer.

Korkungal pushed himself up, hiking his back up the wall, his cloak falling to the ground, his Captain's medallion swinging. He glared at Uöos. He was shaking, crying in his heart. On his feet, he staggered once, and then leaned against the wall to steady himself. At last, the tears came into his eyes. The assuaging was sweet and filled him with love.

And he knew from the way Uöos looked at him, now with pity, that he must reply.

'I tell you this, storyteller, for you are still the storyteller. I see the bloody, fiery destruction of the whole world, as I once saw the bloody, fiery destruction of the Ka. I see confusion already in the world. And I see the end to it in many deaths. Such dying is a weariness, for it has no end. **'**

Uöos was about to speak, but Korkungal, beginning to feel stronger, put his hand up.

'I see a great futility, a great weariness without end. I see no hope, and I see no desire for hope. Only a desire for death, death, and more death. I see a lust after fire; I see men screaming for fire and death, for great convulsions and wrecking. For pandemonium and murder, for the pain of others and the death and destruction of others.

'And I will reveal two other things, for your storytelling. In the first place, I see these things even though all men deny that they are true. And the second thing is this, the reason for man's desire is this: they believe that the universe has gone awry, that it is falling to pieces. But why do men deny this? Because they cannot believe it possible. The very foundation of their living cannot break while yet they go on living.'

Korkungal felt wonderfully calm now. He tested his footing away from the support of the wall and found that he was steady. He went and helped Uöos to his feet. The contact with the bony, cold arms and back of the storyteller was a comfort to him. Feeling how Uöos clung to his own forearm made Korkungal aware that he also gave comfort.

'Korkungal, I must admit this, the movement of your understanding is unexpected. Perhaps I have been at fault in judging you.' Uöos' eyes expressed a sincerity which Korkungal had never seen before.

Korkungal laughed down at Uöos. 'Though there is less restraint and logic in you, storyteller, you are in some ways like a priest. Many times old Kandrigi, the priest of my kin, and I argued in the same way as we two have. He could never accept that I have my own understanding and that it was not like his.'

He stepped across and bent and picked up his cloak, about to swing it over his shoulders, he stopped, and threw it instead around Uöos, muttering as though to himself, 'You must ask the soldiers for a cloak, old man. The cold here will kill you.'

Uöos settled the cloak around him without any remark. Instead, he said: 'Kandrigi was the old priest who died in the Ka-Bil, was he not?'

'Yes. He went too far with his meddling curiosity. I warned him of that, but of course, like all priests, he would not listen.'

Uöos grinned, beginning to look impish again. 'Hah, old vision-man, that's what you say. Why do you believe you understand the thought of priests? If they do not understand you, how is it that you understand them?'

'Because I have always been right in my arguments. The world of men does not obey priestly logic. It obeys the laws of power and force, not reasonings.'

'That's what you think, dead-warrior. Take away reason and men would destroy each other.'

Korkungal thought about that, because it struck a chord in him. It was a complicated thought, for though the answer was plain, the argument that supported it was strange.

'You cannot prove that, old man. But when the foundation of reason is gone, and this can happen, then the sword and force of men are the only things left.'

'And you do not believe that, new-man in no-where. I can see plainly that you do not. For you know that the time of the sword is the time of death.'

'Oh, but no, storyteller, that is not what I mean. It is the force of man which in the end confronts that which threatens man. Logic cannot do that, because logic cannot act.'

'And that is not what you mean, either, new-man from the dead. Let me tell you what you have already said. You believe that force is used in the end, but only after men have lost hope.'

'And so? Hope can be lost. There are times for despair.'

Korkungal's understanding suddenly faded. But he saw that Uöos was, for once, also lost for words. He seemed to struggle for a while, then he said:

'That isn't what I mean.'

'I know,' Korkungal said with a light-hearted warmth.

Uöos turned on him suddenly: 'What I mean, dead-warrior, is that you have not gained your new understanding yet.'

Korkungal went utterly blank. The darkness moved in him again.

'But at least you no longer ignore it, though you are still afraid of it.'

The darkness waited. But Korkungal felt, obscurely only, that it was a good thing to admit to being dead. It was a barrier crossed. Beyond, all was dark.

Yet I am in the dark too, he suddenly realised.

'Uöos, you believe a new thing is possible, don't you?'

'Ah,' Uöos vented a long sigh which crumpled the cloak around him. Then he smiled wizenedly. 'A new thing, Korkungal, and an old thing. A complete end to things can bring relief. But there may not be such an end here.'

He raised the lamp above his head and peered towards the corner to his left.

'Come, Korkungal, let us go to Sora. I am cold now.'

He led Korkungal across the earthen floor. Soon the corner came within the aura of the lamp. Sora slept, wrapped up in Kandrigi's old cloak, along the wall.

Uöos chuckled softly.

'Korkungal, did Kandrigi ever tell you that simple-minded warriors are the most difficult of all to teach?'

## Chapter Five

A hundred disciplined men working together with dedication can accomplish great things. Working with true will and effort from dawn to dusk and resting deeply from dusk to dawn, these soldiers in the time of two months constructed and completed the new northern-most settlement of the Empire, the Ka-La-Tlu. This new city, built behind strong walls made of the trunks of thick trees, has habitation for over five hundred men. Within the walls there are dormitories, eating places, a hospital, granaries and curing cabins; a temple, command and administrative buildings. There are squares for drilling, practice and games; areas for rest and amusement, already laid out as gardens, and there are corrals for over one hundred horses and as many cattle. Furthermore, the site of the city provides for the construction of warehouses for trade and industry, and housing for merchants, tradesmen and labourers, and their families. Close to the city there is ample water, wood and grazing. The sea is rich in fish of all kinds. The port is deep, the main road sheltered by the cape and little affected by the tide. A nearby beach will provide a convenient landing for trade, materials and men. Behind this beach, a meadow has been cleared, which in time can be the site of warehouses and houses for maritime trading.

Thus, Great and Holy Emperor, Your new city of Ka-La-Tlu will become a great Imperial centre, the Imperial Jewel of the North, extending Your Peace into the northern lands of this continent. But even now it can serve as an example of the great energy and worth of Your Empire. Here, one hundred of Your soldiers, industrious and obedient, have given an example of what such devotion can accomplish. A city for five hundred built in two months! Such is the great energy of Your subjects. Think what is accomplished daily by the millions of Your subjects throughout the vast range of the Empire! It is no exaggeration to say that Your Holy Majesty's Imperium daily makes and maintains this world! Without Your Wise Guidance, the affairs of men would be as chaos! With Your Care, Attention, and Direction the world, instead, is a Place of Peace, Order, and Contentment!

I pray that Your enemies, and those still ignorant of Your Blessing, soon come under Your Holy Guidance and Wise Direction! Then the World and Your Rule will be One!

The matter of the naming of the city must be broached, for there are numerous difficulties involved. In the first place, it is at least six generations since it was last necessary to name a new settlement. While some account of the procedures followed then, and in earlier cases, may be contained in the Imperial archives at Ka-Ra, or in the archives of our Priesthood on Il-La, these procedures are unknown to me or the other priests I have consulted since the undertaking of the Northern Expedition. The naming of the Ka-Bil, the most recently established of the cities of the North-Eastern Provinces, was a straight forward matter of adopting the traditional name of the earlier settlement there. This procedure, according to the priests of Ka-Bil, encountered neither opposition nor censure from either the Imperial authorities or the Hierarchy of the Priesthood.

However, in the case of the naming of Ka-La-Tlu, this procedure could not be followed. There is no sign of previous habitation, and more, the land itself is empty of inhabitants. In this way, the city is a new place, void of traditions or history, a very rare occurrence, I know, which has obliged us to seek elsewhere for inspiration. We first sought inspiration in the land, but except for the forest, the land is flat, broad and featureless. The name, City of the Forest, is not apt, for the settlement is a coastal one and is intended to serve as a port and place of entry into the northern lands. The coast is also largely monotonous, except for the cape on which the city has been built. However, the indentation here is to the north of the cape, so that from the south, which will be the main approach to the city, the cape appears as an uninteresting hill in an otherwise flat coastline. Again, the sea is without character, wide, regular, without exceptional features, either as to colour or effect.

The initial proposal was to call the settlement the City of the Ships. This was an obvious choice in the circumstances, as for long the only attractive feature of our surroundings here was the two ships anchored out in the bay. While most of the Captains were in favour of this name, I and the Commander were of the opinion that it contained a resonance of homesickness and, perhaps at the time justified, dislike of the strangeness of the place. It was the Commander, with my approbation, who suggested the name Ka-La-Tlu, and it was easy to persuade the Captains to accept it.

The name is obviously taken from the nature of the light of the sun here in the north. It has a remarkable clarity and, according to the Commander, Pol-Chi, who is a noted poet, stillness. In this regard it is an apt name for the settlement, for the light of the sun here, especially at sunset, which is long and lingering, is the most notable feature of the place. However, as you will readily appreciate, the name Ka-La-Tlu is open to a number of interpretations, and I think that it is important that certain meanings are emphasised and others are disregarded. It was our intention that Ka-La-Tlu should indicate simply the City of the Light of the Sun of the North. The secondary meaning we intend here, which should became the rhetorical designation of the city, is of the city as the Jewel of the North. I have already implied such a metaphor in my report to the Emperor. The sense is obvious. The city, which is northernmost in the Empire and which will become an important centre for trade, exploration, and pacification, is to be seen as the Jewel which sits atop the Empire as the Ruby of Kar surmounts the Imperial Crown. You may think that in detail, such as the poets seek, the yellow light of the sun here has not an exact resemblance to the red fire of the ruby, but Pol-Chi assures me that the lingering glow of the sunsets will serve as a complete correspondence. As an aside, I will mention the legend of the existence of a Land of Fire in these parts. While it is but a legend, and as such an impossibility, nevertheless it will provide a supplementary, whimsical image for those poets who have a taste for the phantastical.

There are two literal meanings of the name Ka-La-Tlu which we emphatically do not intend. In the first place, no sense of the mysterious or the paradoxical is intended. In other words, we do not intend the meaning 'The City of the Light of the Dark'. Such paradoxes are perhaps unavoidable when using words, but here there is light when there is sun and dark when there is no sun, as it is elsewhere in the world. I know that in our usage 'North' is used sometimes as a metaphor for the dark, but our undertaking will have, among other purposes, the effect of opening the dark north to the light of the Empire.

The second literal meaning implied in the name Ka-La-Tlu which we do not intend is the use of 'Tlu' to indicate the 'Profound'. We mean no religious appellation here. We do not wish to imply that the new city is the focus of religious belief or devotion, as some might see in the image of 'The City of the Profound Light'. Once again I emphasise that there is no mystery here, only the expression of the natural order in novel, attenuated conditions. Admittedly, the stillness of the place is striking at first, but one soon grows accustomed to it. The broad land and flat sea can at times bring to mind a feeling of the infinite, but practical affairs and purposes soon make such tenuous experiences irrelevant. And so it will be in the time to come, when this city, The Jewel of the North, has grown and found its appropriate place among the cities of the Empire. In time I can see farms and pastures extending to the horizon on the land, a bay full of ships from all parts of the Empire, a large city straddling the river, ample docks where the beach now is, and the steady sound of the industry of many men, a busy tumult of affairs, a happy contentment of human purpose, and the Peace of the Empire giving order to the generations of men.

'My brothers, we have now come to the end here. Tomorrow we depart our new city and head once again into the unknown lands of the North. But our achievement here will serve as an example to us in the future, We know the strength of our combined power now; we know what we hundred can do working together like brothers under the direction of our Holy Emperor. See about you the fruits of your labours! See the new city which you have constructed in so short a time! This is the fruit of our labour! This new city, Ka-La-Tlu, the Jewel of the North, the Jewel in the Crown of the Emperor, will in time be great and famous and all will tell of the Hundred who built it in the period of two months.

'Yes! We built this city!

'But I want to tell you another thing. It is less self-evident, perhaps, but it is nonetheless true. Have you ever considered the true power of the Empire? I do not mean the evident power of the labour of its subjects, such as we have witnessed to here. No. There is a deeper power. It is the correspondence which exists between the Holy Purpose of the Empire and the Sympathy of the World. It is not for nothing that it is said that the Will of the Emperor maintains the world, for there is a deep relation between His Will and the disposition of things of this world. For consider this. In the last days of our work here we sought certain trees in order to construct the Central Tower. Is that not so? All other tasks were completed and the time of the arrival of the Main Fleet drew close. And what happened? At the moment we actually required these trees, they were found! Not only this. They were found precisely where we most wished to find them – beside the river and above the settlement. Because of this, it was possible to cut out the trees, prepare them, bring them down the river, and build the Tower in only five days!

'Such is one example of the blessed relations between our Empire and this our world. But that is not all, though in itself it is sufficient. Today, as we completed the Tower, as we withdrew to rest after our great labours, what happened? At precisely that moment the masts of the Main Fleet were sighted to the south! Is that not further evidence of a Blessed Plan overseeing the affairs of the Empire? I ask you, is not our expedition a Holy Cause? I tell you, as your priest, that it is! Your great adventure is guided by the most profound and holy powers. Take confidence in that! Under this protection we are safe, free to press on with our task to our glory and the glory of the Empire!

'Now, this is out last day in Ka-La-Tlu. Tomorrow we sail north. Today we will feast and rest. Our work here is complete! Today is a day of rest, of enjoyment. A day well earned and well deserved. On the morrow, further adventure. Remember, our task is Holy, and guided by a Sacred Plan. Remember that! Remember that before resting for the morrow. Tell yourself that your mission is sanctified by the True Light of the Holy Plan, the True Light which is exemplified in this city, the Ka-La-Tlu, the City of the Light of the North.

'Peace, my brothers.'

Chapter Six

He will come immediately, Pol-Chi thought, smiling. Bustling in, trying to deal with everything at once.

He could see the masts of the Fleet above the trees, crowding into the bay. They were being formed into two lines along the road under the cape.

Oh, he could feel the warmth of anticipation. It is so strangely like a home-coming. Bursting with tales to tell.

The sun was warm on the platform of the Gate Tower, bright on the new wood of the structures of the settlement. Deserted except for the guard of honour, it was like a new home awaiting the young couple. Yes, there is potential here. A happy beginning.

He looked down at the guard of honour. Ten men in full battle dress. No doubt glad to be back in arms. Their black uniforms merged with their skin. Dark, powerful-looking fighters, the red tropical sun insignia of the Army of the Central Provinces on their shields brazen with force and power in the noon sun. Their spears glint like tongues of fire.

It is good to remember that we are above all soldiers.

Behind all the talk and reasoning and rhetoric, we are the force that sustains the Imperial power.

Everything is ready for Tan-Set. There is even food and drawn water for four days, grass for the horses, and beer for his men. A homecoming.

Is that why I feel sadness? Did we make a home here, after all?

The canoes came up the river on the tide, skimming along. There was Tan-Set, standing in the bows of the first craft, searching the stockade with his eyes. If I move, he will see me.

There. He waves.

Pol-Chi waved in return, watched the canoes for a small while, and then looked about him one last time. Satisfied, he ducked into his cabin, calling his aides. He had beer, meat and bread brought, and arranged for the feeding of Tan-Set's staff. That done, he sat with his back to the window and waited.

Out of the sun, in the stillness of the cabin, the dark thoughts began to stir. Pol-Chi sighed.

They cannot be avoided. But let them be framed in context. On their own, they are senseless and paradoxical. Our journey into fear seems remorseless and inevitable. Everywhere there is talk of light and all I can feel is a growing darkness. The priest babbles about jewels and a True Light and drunken soldiers cry at the setting of the sun. Ten broken men must be returned south. Stupid, unnecessary waste.

The priest will not admit to his fear. Yet every word of his speaks it. A destructive pride. The Priesthood know, but they will not admit the implications even to themselves. They are no longer to be trusted.

When Tan-Set bustled into the cabin, Pol-Chi jumped to his feet, blinking away his brooding mood. Tan-Set came straight up to him, embraced him, kissing his cheeks. Pol-Chi found himself smiling bravely, clutching the stiff curves of his Chief-Commander's moulded battle armour. Then Tan-Set held him at arms length and regarded him with crinkled happy eyes,

'Pol-Chi, I am proud of you! You have worked wonders here.'

Pol-Chi bowed his head slightly.

'They are good soldiers, father.'

'Aye, they are.'

He took Pol-Chi by the arm and directed him out onto the platform. Sweeping his free hand around him, he spoke with force:

'This is perfection, son. It is so...just exactly as it should be. It is hidden from the sea, yet commands it, and it is easily defended.'

'But, father, it is to be a settlement of trade, not a fortress.'

'Yes, yes, of course. But from our point of view, which for now is the important one, it is a centre of military power. You have done well. It is to your credit, and I am very happy.'

Tan-Set left Pol-Chi and walked around the platform, looking out at the fort and the surrounding countryside from all sides.

Pol-Chi stared down towards the river. Now his father's soldiers were marching up on both sides of the river from the bay. They looked fresh and vigorous, their pennants unfurled, glad to be on solid ground again. A troop of cavalry came galloping along the edge of the river, whooping exultantly with relief, the horses' hooves throwing up sprays of glistening water.

He could understand his father's attitude. The stillness of the day was broken by the bustle of human activity. His father's soldiers attending to their proper affairs. It was a fortress; a place of power. It did hearten him, pulling him from his new habit of brooding.

His father reappeared, coming around behind him. Pol-Chi faced him more openly this time.

'You look well, father, though the journey from the island must have been long.'

Tan-Set smiled hugely and fondly, lifting out his great cape. Pol-Chi guessed he had worn full armour especially for the occasion. Moulded ox leather, dyed a blood ruby, silver buckles, brass plates on his shoulders. Heavy sword and plumed helmet, leather calf armour, arm bands, everything.

'This is a secret, Pol-Chi,' Tan-Set confided in jest. 'but the sea trip was a luxury. Never have I rested so well!'

Pol-Chi laughed, enjoying his father's humour.

'And your soldiers obviously enjoyed the holiday as well. I have never seen them look so alert and fit.'

Now he took his father's arm: 'Come and eat. And let us talk. I must sail this evening.'

Tan-Set went ahead and in the cabin removed his armour.

'Why must you go so soon, Pol-Chi? Your men deserve a rest, too, after this labour.'

'Oh, it is better if we sail on today. We have been here long enough.'

He sat his father in the chair by the window and pulled out the end of a form for himself. He filled two plates with meat, bread and fruit. As he poured beer, he heard the rising bustle below in the confines of the fort, the dull thud of marching feet, the shouts of command, cries, horses neighing.

His father cried once, 'Fresh meat!' and then ate with relish, eyes bright as he revelled in the food and noise. When he had eaten, he pushed his plate aside and filled the two bowls again. A long drink, then he sat back and sighed.

'That was good, Pol-Chi. You do me proud in every way. I am so happy for you.' In the pause, his eyes widened slightly. 'You have a poem for me now. Yes?'

He could not avoid the feeling of awe when he considered his son's gift. But he was thankful not to feel fear.

Pol-Chi smiled, suddenly in command. 'Yes, father. There are two. I will give you one now, it is short, then we must talk.'

He closed his eyes, his body stiffening:

'Clear water here,

Long day, still sky;

The earth is new,

The sea silent;

The sun is slow,

Dying as a cold light:

Infinity is night.'

Pol-Chi could see immediately that his father was surprised. He was surprised himself by the final line.

'You were lonely here, Pol-Chi?'

'Not lonely, father. At first the place seems empty. It is strange. But you will get used to it.'

'Is that why you sail so soon?'

'No, no. We have nothing else to do here, you know that. It's as well that we continue north.'

As though he had suddenly become aware of it, Tan-Set said:

'But there is still an emptiness in you, a remoteness. Why is this?'

Pol-Chi was dismayed that this matter had arisen before the ordinary affairs had been reported and discussed.

'I will tell you truthfully, father. There is a fear like a sickness in my men. I fear I am infected too.'

'What fear, tell me? I will do what I can.'

'You have heard the rumours in the Ka-Bil, down the coast?'

'Yes, yes. They are spreading like fire throughout the Empire. A prophecy about the end of the world, is that it?'

'Yes, father. It is not the prophecy itself that concerns me. There are always prophecies and rumours. This time the connection between the prophecy and this new star has engendered a real fear, as though some mood which has festered for a long time in the Empire has come to a head. I should not speak of a sickness in the Empire, I know. Properly, such a thing is not possible. But there are real limits to the Empire and men's thoughts and wills are not going beyond those limits.'

'While what you say might be true, son, there is still no reason for panic. These rumours will lose themselves in the ordinary affairs of men in time.'

'But there was a remarkable prophecy, father. The Astronomer on my ship knows the details of it, I am sure. His speech has revealed this to me.'

'What could be remarkable about it, Pol-Chi?'

His father was becoming agitated: he would divert that unease into action at the first opportunity. Yet it must be said. The truth must be known, no matter how painful it was.

'The prophecy says that the gods have lost control of the universe. It falls apart and nothing can stop this happening.'

Tan-Set leaped to his feet and instinctively clutched for the hilt of his sword. As he was no longer wearing it, he hooked his thumb into the waistband of his shirt instead. He looked about him and then turned to the window.

'That is absurd.' He stared intently at the sky, realising that it was still and remote, just as his son had said, 'How is it that we are still alive? The sun is there in the sky. The earth and sea are as they should be.'

Pol-Chi followed his father to the window.

'I don't know. I am simply telling you what the Astronomer has said in his talk.'

Tan-Set was thinking now.

There is something new, Pol-Chi saw. His father was about to tell him something new; something which had a connection with what he had just said.

'Pol-Chi, there is a barbarian warrior and a woman here with you, is there not?'

'Yes, father. He is from a tribe of the north, and our guide.'

'Where are they now?'

'On my ship.'

Tan-Set continued to stare intently at the sky.

'Bring them and the Astronomer here. I will get to the end of these rumours today.'

'But what have the Brigan and his concubine to do with the rumours?'

Tan-Set finally turned and looked at his son:

'This Brigan, Korkungal, or whatever his name is, is said to be the Chosen of the Goddess. He is said to be the new Incarnation of Her Son. And his concubine is said to be the personification of either Chorsa the Mother or Agnanna the Virgin.'

Hepteidon's new god!

Pol-Chi's thought took him over even as he stepped back in shock. A surge of hope accompanied the series of realisations. Hepteidon was right. There will be a new God and a new Order. There is no End after all. We are Saved!

He wanted to kneel. Instead, his father said:

'Pol-Chi, what's wrong with you? I have told you to bring them to me. They must be questioned carefully and this madness ended here and now. You don't know the effect the rumours are having throughout the Empire. People are leaving the cities, marching blindly through the countryside. There is chaos everywhere. Even the Priesthood is infected. We, the Army, must put an end to it or the Empire will fall apart and be overrun by its enemies.'

'But, father, how can you stop a prophecy fulfilling itself?'

Tan-Set clenched his two hands between their faces:

'I will kill it!'

Pol-Chi tripped back from the force of his father's sudden hysteria. He fell on to a form, slamming his back against the wall. His father stood over him, hands locked together, suddenly without an object for his passion.

Pol-Chi waited until he got control of his breathing before he spoke:

'You must think about this carefully, father. Can you trust our soldiers if you set about torturing the barbarian. Think! You play with powerful forces here.'

'Do you believe all this superstition, Pol-Chi?' his father shouted. 'Are you a mad poet, after all?'

Pol-Chi smiled, knowing his ground now.

'It is not the content of the prophecies or beliefs that concern me, father, I assure you of that. But it is the passion they arouse in men, and what they will do in the heat of these passions. Let me tell you. Can you imagine our soldiers crying like babies because the sun sets? No? Well, last night the priest ranted about True Lights in his sermon, and half my soldiers, the men who built this fort, cried on their knees and begged the sun to stop sinking. That is what I mean. Men who do that must be treated with care, otherwise they would tear you from limb to limb. That is why I take them from here today. I fear they may infect the main body of the Army which you have brought in.'

Tan-Set had relaxed as he listened to his son. Now he sat beside him and took his hand in both of his.

'And I must tell you the truth, too, son. You are right in saying that the Empire is already infected by fear. The new star caused that. And the Priesthood made matters worse by trying to ignore the popular response to the star. The soldiers, even some of the Captains, would not stay on deck at night. The silence at night in the ships was strange, riding at anchor in line, no laughter, no lights, no movement at all but the sound of the sea. No, I was not particularly brave. You know that to be responsible for frightened men in a time of fear can give the appearance of great courage. But it is only the sense of duty that has made us Commanders that sustains us. Without that sense of duty we would be just as frightened.

'But the rumour about the barbarian, which we heard in Ka-Bil, has given hope to my men. They still will not look at the star, but at least they now have patience. But despite this, there have been outbreaks of hysteria. Four nights ago we had the worst outbreak. The whole crew of one ship went completely mad. They cried, screamed and wept all night below decks. I went across, no one else would come with me, and it was impossible to force them, but I could do nothing to reassure them. I must admit that I cried too, but that was for their sufferings.'

Both were now silent, heads bowed. Pol-Chi could feel the warm reassurance of his father's hands about his own. Then he felt compelled to speak:

'Father, what you have told me about the Brigan has given me hope too. But I must say this to you. It might be just another aspect of the whole illusion. We must wait. In any case, even if there is cause for hope, there will yet be greater chaos and pain. We may be living in a time of great change.'

Tan-Set squeezed his son's hand: 'Yes, yes. You are wise, Pol-Chi. You can see into the illusions of men. You are a true poet, I see now. But what shall we do now?'

'Continue to do our duty, of course, father. First I will make my report to you. Then we will discuss the next step.'

'There is no need for reports, Pol-Chi. The fort and the arrangements speak for themselves. I will report on this to the Emperor.'

'Thank you, father. Then the next stage of the Exploration. We have explored a distance of seven days' march up the coast. There is no change in the terrain or coastline, but Lat-Pi, who led the exploration, said he saw banks of cloud about a further three days' march north. I think this may indicate mountains. If so, the coast could well turn there. We will sail there, placing markers every two days on prominences. What do you say to that?'

'Yes, that is a good strategy. For my part, we will follow in seven days. We must clean the ships and restock. The Land Exploration Force will leave in two days' time, From what you say, they should head inland and north to arrive on the northern coastline in about fourteen days time. And I will leave fifty soldiers here. We have also brought two merchant ships with us, with settlers and their tools. This is the beginning of the city you spoke of.'

'It could be a great city, father.'

'Yes. Have you named it?'

'Ka-La-Tlu.'

Tan-Set bowed his head, Pol-Chi knew that the various meanings of the words were playing through his mind.

'Is it prophetic?'

'It is not meant to be. You will see that it describes the place well.'

'But which meaning do you intend?'

'Two, father. It was the Astronomer who suggested it first. He said that the North Star, Le-Tlu, can be seen clearly here. He is a man of the night sky, but I am a man of the day, so I chose La-Tlu, the Light of the Sun of the North. The priest calls it the Jewel of the North.'

Tan-Set slapped his knee. 'There is light everywhere here, Pol-Chi. It is a good omen. Perhaps the new future is here.'

'Oh, there is a future here, that is for certain, father. But no omens are intended. There is no other appropriate name.

'Oh, but there is, Pol-Chi. I will have the bright star as the insignia of this fort.'

'But which star will be understood. father? You must be careful.'

'I will show you which star.' He went to his armour lying on the bench by the door. Returning with a small silk bag, he said:

'Your wife, Sora, sends you her love and her thoughts, and also this gift.'

Pol-Chi remembered his wife, his two sons and his daughter, their home on their island, and reached forward eagerly.

It was a ring of silver. In the centre, backed by blue enamel, was set a yellow sapphire from the east.

Pol-Chi's hands shook. Omens did gather here. Some new thing entered him.

'You see,' Tan-Set said joyously. 'There is an omen. You did not know of the ring, yet you speak of it in the name of your city!'

The ring fitted the forefinger of his right hand. Its sparkle did draw his mind away from its obsession with, as he was now aware, redness, with blood and setting suns. They had been his defence against his fear. He wondered at his wife's insight. How could she know of the secret meaning of the name of the city? Not even the clumsy priest had guessed it.

The City of the Bright Star of the North. The fear of the new star must be fought by night, not by day as the Priesthood and the Army wish.

'Now, Pol-Chi, tell me your second poem. I think I know the subject now.'

Pol-Chi smiled at his father. Yes. There was a new confidence.

'Perhaps you have, father.'

He composed himself again:

'Beyond the fire,

Beyond the coming blood,

One star will stand.

Beyond the fire there is always the dark,

Beyond the blood there is always the death,

Beyond the star there is nothing.

Beyond the dark there is light

Beyond the death there is life

And beyond the nothing

There is hope.'

'That is a more heartening poem, Pol-Chi,' Tan-Set said, his relief visible.

'But, father, remember that there is only hope.'

'And you place no faith in it?'

'The alternative is unthinkable.'

'But the omen?'

'Omens and prophecies, what are they? They are either illusion or inevitabilities. Men must live somewhere in between.'

'Oh, well said, my son. I will have your words written down, as I always do. But now, I have a favour to ask of you.'

Pol-Chi stood up, looking quickly at the bright stone on his finger. An omen is an omen, after all.

'What is it?'

'Before you leave today, may I speak to the barbarian and the Astronomer?'

'They are not clowns, father.'

'No, I am sincere. I want to know for myself what sort of men they are.'

'Just you alone, father. Unarmed?'

'Yes, yes. We will go down to your ship by canoe. The tide will have turned by now. I will come aboard alone with you, cheer the soldiers, then speak to the stranger.'

'Come as you are, father, no cloak or armour. And no arms on the canoe.'

'Pol-Chi, why this insistence on conditions? I mean no harm, and I am your father.'

Pol-Chi isolated himself near the dark things within him.

'I trust no man now, father, not even myself, for no man trusts himself now.'

Chapter Seven

The tide had turned. They swept down the river, past the trees and columns of soldiers, pressed onward by the strength of the four paddlers. The current carried them out into the bay, beyond the broken water of the beach shelf. Pol-Chi was satisfied to see the ships of the Fleet anchored in two lines under the cape: it was as he planned it. The canoe turned then and began to surge through the wavelengths, heading parallel to the beach toward the two anchored ships of Pol-Chi's command. They were ready for sea, canoes stowed, oars jutting above the water, locked but ready, and sails untied.

The beach was deserted. Pol-Chi realised that he had left Ka-La-Tlu, now hidden from sight by trees. He also realised that he had not looked back when leaving the fort. More, that he had never seen it from the outside.

I had always been inside the stockade, part of the fort and separated from the countryside.

They were seen approaching Pol-Chi's ship and soldiers gathered to help them aboard. When it was known that Tan-Set, Chief-Commander of the Expeditionary Force, was coming aboard, the complements of both ships came on deck to cheer their leader. Tan-Set waved in acknowledgement, slapped backs, spoke to men near him as he followed Pol-Chi forward.

The soldiers quickly realised that the Chief-Commander had come aboard for a particular purpose, so once they had welcomed him and received his acknowledgement and salute, they fell back, some going below again to the oars, others withdrawing amidships.

The low, narrow passage was dark after the bright light outside. Groping in the gloom, they heard sudden loud laughter of several voices. When Pol-Chi tapped upon the door at the end of the passage, the laughter continued, dying to snickers and guffaws. Then a laughing voice told them to enter.

When the three soldiers saw Pol-Chi and Tan-Set, they jumped up, gathering their dice, looking from the other occupants in the cabin to the Commander and back again.

But Tan-Set had eyes only for these other occupants. He saw the skinny old man speak, as though concluding a conversation: '...tell Peli that the next time he is not to cry out until the Beast actually has his hands on his throat', and laugh too loudly, nudging the powerful red-haired man beside him.

The soldiers nodded quickly and sidled away through the door. Then a space opened in the small dimly-lit cabin. Tan-Set pressed into this space but found he could not fill it. He was asking himself with uncontrolled urgency, 'Which is it? Which?' looking from the old man to the red-haired man and then to the young woman beside him.

Pol-Chi caught his father's arm discreetly to restrain him. He was faced with an unexpected problem: he didn't know who the two companions of the Brigan were. Yet he must fill the gap before his father decided to become active.

'Father, this is the Brigan Guide, Korkungal,' he pointed to the red-haired man. Now Tan-Set knew and was for the moment placated. But Pol-Chi was moved by obscure ceremony. For the sake of some future, a balance must be maintained. 'Korkunga1, this is my father, Tan-Set, who is the Chief-Commander of our expedition. He wishes to ask you some questions about our next destination.'

He hoped his father would take this hint. There were some things that could not be spoken of openly. But there was one more tactic available to him.

'Also, Korkungal, perhaps you will introduce us to your companions.'

Korkungal remained unmoved, private and distant, in the company of the old man and the girl. And it was the old man, not Korkungal, who answered.

'I am called Uöos, the storyteller. And this is the lovely Sora the Silent, beloved of Korkungal, a Captain of the Ka-Bil, as you can see from the medallion on his chest.'

There was an unpleasant mocking quality in the old man's voice, the tone of one freed by age from all convention. But more than this, his introduction created greater distraction. Pol-Chi felt his hackles rise. His wife's name on this anonymous girl, who, furthermore, was given the holy epitaph 'the Silent'. He glanced at the bright stone on his finger, then at Sora, feeling that what had been regarded as merely an omen was in reality part of a Holy Operation. The ring is meant for someone else here as a Holy Sign. The ring burned his forefinger. But the time for presenting it has not yet come. He was sure of that.

For his part Tan-Set was initially moved to regard Korkungal as the Chosen, even though he immediately had reservations: a Stranger as the Chosen? What would happen to the Empire? But upon being told that he was a Captain of the Ka-Bil and seeing the medallion of rank for himself, he switched his attention to that aspect: it was the least ambiguous. On this level he spoke:

'Captain, what is your knowledge of the Northern regions? My Fleet will follow in seven days and it is as well that we have prior knowledge of the terrain.'

Tan-Set was surprised to see Korkungal close his eyes as though in weariness, Uöos interjected at once:

'Will you sit, Commanders, and drink with us? We can offer you beer or water.'

Pol-Chi pulled his father's elbow down, and Tan-Set automatically crumpled into a cross-legged posture, his son following suit.

'Thank you, Uöos,' Tan-Set said formally, bowing his head slightly. 'For my part I will have water.'

Pol-Chi asked for water, too, all the time studying the girl. She seemed to be asleep, propped up against the partition wall, her long black gown caught between her legs. She was well formed, but yet nondescript, obviously without rank or lineage.

When they had taken a token sip of water, Korkungal sat up, wrapped his arms about his knees and said simply:

'Commander, it may be that I am the only one here who possesses some knowledge of the Northern lands, but that knowledge is scanty and has often been mocked as superstitious legend.'

'Perhaps,' Tan-Set replied, feeling secure on this ground of practical talk. 'But if you are willing, I wish to hear this knowledge for myself. My own instructions are vague, perhaps purposely so as a matter of Imperial policy. Nevertheless, I am to explore the northern coast of this continent or island, establish Imperial outposts in the empty lands, and make friendly treaties with such inhabitants as I encounter.'

'Well, Commander, we appear now to be on the coast of what my people call the Dark Lands. But they are not dark, so perhaps we have not yet reached the Dark Lands.'

'What do your people say about the Dark Lands?'

'Our knowledge comes from the Savages, who live in the lands to the west of our territories. They say that monsters and giants inhabit those Dark Lands. But we, the Briga, have no direct experience of this, so I do not know whether this is true or not.'

'That is reasonable, Korkungal. What you report should nevertheless be borne in mind. Part of my Army will march overland to the northern coast. They shall be informed of these legends, and also made aware of the existence of these Savages. Are they many or strong?'

'They are mostly nomads, and peaceful.'

'Good. You see, Korkungal, thanks to your information, the Land Army will be disposed to peaceful relations with the Savages. Without that knowledge there might have been a sad misunderstanding.'

It was now obvious to Tan-Set that for the first time Korkungal's knowledge was being taken seriously. Korkungal showed this in the straightness of his back and the glint of interest in his eyes.

'Commander,' he said, leaning forward earnestly, 'it is your ships which face danger, not your soldiers.'

Tan-Set also leaned forward, eyes crinkling. 'How so?'

'Our main enemies are the Bir Karsh, who are a sea people, raiders and pillagers.'

'Ah,' Tan-Set rubbed his nose, sensing with pleasure the concreteness of the threat. 'Where is their homeland?'

'It is not known. They approach our coast sometimes from the north, sometimes from the west. So their homeland is either on an island further north or far down the coast to the west, perhaps in the Dark Lands.'

'So you do not know if they sail this west coast?'

'I do not.'

Tan-Set laid his hands, palms up, on his knees. 'You give useful information, Korkungal of the Briga. The Empire is grateful for that.'

In the pause that ensued Tan-Set looked askance at Pol-Chi and whispered, 'The Astronomer?' Pol-Chi nodded, got up and quietly left.

Tan-Set looked at his hands, steeling himself. Now, he thought, I must approach the other level. But while he prepared himself, Uöos suddenly spoke:

'Commander, your army is from the Il-Tan, the Island of the Home, isn't it?'

Completely thrown, Tan-Set could only stare at the old man and nod. At the same time he realised that this little group showed no especial awareness of their holy status.

'Yes, Uöos, we are.' But, he asked himself with some surprise, how should the Chosen act? He didn't know.

'Then you are of famous lineage, Tan-Set. Your ancestor, the Great Tan, led the army which brought the Merura to power in the Empire so long ago.'

'That is true. My whole army claims descent from Tan and his kinsmen.'

'Then you have a long past and a long memory. When you look back down your ancestors you see all the aspirations and achievements of men as represented by the Empire, do you not?'

Tan-Set felt an involuntary start of pride. It is true. Our past and memory are illustrious. Our loyalty to the Imperial line is unquestionable.

Now Uöos said:

'Korkungal, here, was of warrior lineage among the Briga. Korkungal, tell us of your lineage.'

Korkungal's tone in reply was mild: 'My original human ancestor is the Hero, Galla. His father was the God, Kor or Kar, the Brigan God of War.'

Under other circumstances, Tan-Set would have laughed at this barbarian habit of claiming descent from gods. It showed the depth of their superstition. But if the Brigan was the Chosen, then it was appropriate that he should have divine blood in his veins. And again, Kar was venerated by the Merura as a Son of the Goddess.

Uöos was watching him closely, Tan-Set knew, a look of trickery in his eyes. This old fool should not be here, he decided. A clown and a mocker.

'And what of your lineage, storyteller?' he asked.

'Ah Commander. I have none.'

Tan-Set smiled with satisfaction. On his own admission he was a nobody. Yet, given the circumstances and his mood, Tan-Set felt the edge of another interpretation, but he dismissed it with annoyance, realising that too many ambiguities were about him.

Act now!

'Korkungal.' He waited until he had his full attention. 'Tell me truthfully. Are you the Chosen?'

Korkungal's mouth fell open. Even the girl at his side stirred, drawing her legs in.

But it was Uöos who answered:

'Tell me, Commander, who are you to ask such questions?'

Losing his temper, he saw Korkungal throw back his head and laugh. Tan-Set clenched his hands at his knees, realising his son's wisdom. It was an absurd question. He lowered his head, feeling the tears prick his eyes with shame.

Inside his shame he saw that his action had been ambiguous: he did not know whether he had come to worship or kill!

Hands touched his shoulder and arm, soothing him. The girl knelt beside him, consoling him. Her eyes held a depth of compassion. So bright and steady was the gaze that he felt himself soften and the tears flow. He had done a stupid wrong!

Then the name of the girl came back to him. Sora! The name of his son's wife. Instantly, he saw the bright star in her eyes. Yet Korkungal and the old man continued to jeer with their laughter!

He began to scramble to his feet. The Chosen is here. Religious awe overwhelmed him. The girl helped him rise, her touch a balm. On his feet, he stared into her eyes, his very being melting.

The Chosen is within her.

He bent down and kissed her hands.

'Forgive me, Mother.'

He spoke the word without thought. But he knew instantly that he had spoken the True Words.

Now he was calm. He saw that the Brigan and the storyteller had quietened, looking at one another. Korkungal said triumphantly.

'You see, old man. I told you so!'

When this calm left him, Tan-Set knew, he would fall into a dark bottomless pit within himself.

He glanced a last time into those bright eyes, then turned and left the cabin.

Chapter Eight

The passage-way was darkened by the presence of two figures, one of them bent in the low passage. Tan-Set was startled. Trying to remember where he was, he heard his son say:

'Why have you left, father? I have brought the Astronomer. He is the Merura priest, Hepteidon.'

Pol-Chi had turned to the stooped figure.

'This is my father, Tan-Set, Hepteidon, about whom I have told you.'

Both Tan-Set and Hepteidon muttered greetings in the gloom, both feeling awkward, trying to see one another.

'We must go back into the cabin, father. There is a commotion on deck. You really should not have come. I knew this would happen.'

He squeezed past Tan-Set and knocked and entered the cabin. Korkungal had his arm around the girl, a fond expression on his face as he gazed at her. The old man followed his gaze, clutching the Brigan's arm and shaking it. All three were evidently united in a deep happiness.

Pol-Chi coughed, fighting embarrassment. This was no position for a Commander of an Army.

'You must excuse us for coming back here.'

He stepped aside and allowed his father and Hepteidon enter. Tan-Set immediately went to the nearest corner, as though to hide in the semi-darkness there. Hepteidon stopped on the threshold, looking from Pol-Chi to Tan-Set, then to the group on the floor. Pol-Chi acted to overcome the complex tensions growing in the cabin.

'Come, Hepteidon, let us sit here, Father, will you join us? We should continue our talk. That is the purpose of this gathering, which has been arranged at your command.'

Tan-Set hesitated and then came over and sat down beside Hepteidon. Once again his son had managed to find the official level of intercourse. It was an impressive feat.

Pol-Chi waited until their presence in the cabin had turned the attention of the Brigan and his companions outwards towards them before speaking.

'Now, father, Korkungal has imparted his knowledge to you. Here then is the Astronomer of the Expedition, with whom you also wish to speak. It is as well if this conversation is witnessed by the Brigan, for he may have further information of use to the Expedition.'

By now Tan-Set was ready to speak. He addressed Hepteidon with the formality due to the Merura, the nobility which commanded him. But as he spoke he noted his son's more familiar treatment of the Astronomer. It implied a friendship which both made him feel proud and uneasy.

'Sir, for the purposes of travelling north both by land and sea, are there any new stars of use to us in this quarter of the sky?'

Hepteidon bowed his head towards Tan-Set. Protocol required this. A Chief-Commander of an Army had his own peculiar authority.

'Except that the Le-Tlu, the North Star, and the stars indicating its position are higher in the sky, and consequently more clearly seen, there is nothing new, exceptional or useful that I have yet seen in the northern sky, Chief Commander.

'You say "yet seen", Astronomer,' Tan-Set adjusted his mode of address because his military rank had been acknowledged. 'Do you imply that there may be stars of especial use in the north?'

Hepteidon shrugged. Suddenly, Korkungal, who had begun to lean forward during the conversation, interjected:

'Tell me, priest, if we were to follow the new star, where would it take us?'

The glare in his face showed that he intended to shock and insult Hepteidon. In the stunned silence, Hepteidon sat upright and returned Korkungal's glare. Tan-Set struggled as though to rise. Even the old storyteller was taken aback; he pulled at Korkungal's shirt. Only the girl was unaffected. Obviously she approved of anything the Brigan did.

Pol-Chi was initially mortified, but he knew that this was for his father's sake. He had known that the Brigan and the Astronomer would set to provoking each another. In bringing them together like this in his father's presence, he had had obscure motives which were still not clear to him.

When Hepteidon replied, Pol-Chi knew he spoke from the great height of his reason. Yes, that was important: this reason had to be challenged:

'Your question is frivolous, old warrior. The sad thing is that you seem not to know this. But then, why should a barbarian butcher know anything of the stars? Destruction and death are the only things you understand.'

But Pol-Chi was dismayed by the turn here. Hepteidon was touching on the Brigan's pride. That was dangerous, even here. But before he could intervene, Tan-Set suddenly rounded in support of Hepteidon:

'You are impertinent, barbarian. I will have you thrashed for this.'

Pol-Chi leaped to prevent his father from leaving the cabin. He caught his head and hissed: 'No, father, there are personal matters here. They must be settled privately.'

Tan-Set indicated Korkungal with a violent gesture:

'But he insulted a noble of the Empire!'

Pol-Chi replied with desperation. The soldiers could not be brought in here: 'Father, we are no longer in the Empire! The formalities are different now.'

Tan-Set pulled back. Behind him, Korkungal showed satisfaction, and said evenly to Hepteidon: 'Destruction and death are the only things which will concern us from now on, priest. Believe that.'

Tan-Set shouted at the same time to Pol-Chi: 'That may be so. But I have the power and authority here! I will call my soldiers if necessary.'

Uöos pulled Korkungal and said above the other voices, 'You are in no position any longer to talk of death, newman from no-where. You believe that!'

Hepteidon spat out his reply to Korkungal, 'You speak only of your own death here, barbarian.'

Pol-Chi pushed his father sideways off balance and bundled him towards the corner.

Uöos turned on Hepteidon now: 'The priest talks of nothing but death! What are you afraid of, priest of the stars?'

Hepteidon jumped to his feet, fumbling with his hand in the front of his jerkin. He pulled out a short knife.

Pol-Chi felt real fear now: 'Hepteidon! Don't!'

Korkungal rolled back and came to his feet with his back to the wall. Uöos scurried across the floor, away from the stanced Hepteidon, shouting: 'Speak your fear, priest! Speak your fear before it is too late!'

But Hepteidon balanced the knife in his hand and began to approach Korkungal warily.

Pol-Chi slammed his father once into the wall, then hissed in his ear: 'You stop this, father! You know why. If anything happens to the Brigan, we are all dead.'

Tan-Set stopped struggling. He knew what had happened; he had planned that it would. His canoeists had spoken to the soldiers on the ship.

Hepteidon lunged forward, sweeping the knife without much skill. Korkungal leaped sideways easily and Pol-Chi had to shout:

'You kill your god, Hepteidon!'

And Tan-Set shouted immediately:

'Mother, stop them!'

It was Hepteidon who was most surprised by the shouts. He faltered and Korkungal kicked low and hard, propelling himself away from the wall at Hepteidon. The priest folded and screamed in agony. Korkungal collided with him and threw himself down on the exposed back. Uöos ran suddenly and grabbed at the knife in Hepteidon's dangling hand. The three fell in a bundle, Korkungal and Uöos grappling and struggling over the bent body of Hepteidon. The knife clattered and skidded across the floor towards the empty corner near the window.

Pol-Chi ran, but Korkungal had found Hepteidon's neck. Both Uöos and Pol-Chi fell on Korkungal at the same time. Their combined force toppled him off Hepteidon. Then both contrived to sit on him, Uöos shouting, 'Enough, enough!'

Korkungal slumped and then there was silence except for their breathing and Hepteidon's groans.

Tan-Set approached the figures lying on the floor, a blank look on his face. Sora began to pull at Uöos, who immediately slid off Korkungal. Still astride the Brigan's legs, Pol-Chi looked up at his father:

'Help Hepteidon, father. He may be badly hurt.'

Then he leaned over Korkungal, bringing his face close to his: 'It is over now, Brigan. Will you be quiet?'

Korkungal looked at him, abstracted, and nodded.

When Pol-Chi got up, Sora immediately went to Korkungal, taking his head in her hands.

'Pol-Chi,' Tan-Set said grimly behind him. 'Come here.'

Hepteidon lay on his side, legs drawn up, unconscious yet still groaning.

'Look.'

There was blood all over Hepteidon's thighs and on the floor where the end of his jerkin rested.

Pol-Chi said to Korkungal: 'Where did you kick Hepteidon?'

Korkungal was sitting up on the floor, Sora caressing his face and hair. He looked, Pol-Chi was surprised to see, sick and empty.

'It is how I was trained to kick,' he said, looking dumbly before him.

'It is bad,' Pol-Chi said to his father. To Korkungal he said: 'You defended yourself unarmed against a knife, You could not do otherwise, perhaps.'

Uöos spoke from near the window: 'The priest was a fool. But what has he done?'

'He must be treated now, Pol-Chi,' Tan-Set said. 'Who will do that?'

'Not our priest anyway, father.'

Uöos spoke again: 'There is less blood than there seems. He will have to endure great pain. The healing will be slow and tedious.'

Pol-Chi spoke with open surprise: 'You are a priest, old man?'

'I have the training, if that is what you mean,' Uöos said sharply.

'Will you treat him here then? Korkungal, will you allow that?'

Korkungal came across the floor on his hands and knees to Hepteidon. He touched his shoulder. To Uöos, he said:

'He is young. And he is like Harmesh.'

Korkungal thought of Harmesh. A warrior can have no remorse, he knew, but the foolishness of both Harmesh and Hepteidon overcame him. He cried. Being soldiers, Tan-Set

and Pol-Chi saw what moved in Korkungal. The latent horror arose in them too. Here, they saw, duty gave no support.

Uöos moved suddenly, as though from sudden decision. He knelt at Hepteidon's waist and lifted the skirt of the jerkin. Then he looked up at Korkungal.

'Why do you cry? The deed is done, whether justified or not.'

Korkungal shouted in reply: 'It was his foolishness that caused his injury.'

'And it was your foolishness and fatalism which did it,' Uöos sneered.

His throat tight, Pol-Chi snapped with sudden impatience:

'Never mind that now, Uöos. What must be done now?'

'We must lay him out before his muscles begin to lock. Sora, unroll the bedding skins.'

Tan-Set spoke now, his voice sombre: 'I will take him to the fort, Pol-Chi. Conditions will be better there.'

The prospect of losing Hepteidon appalled Pol-Chi:

'No, father. I do not want the soldiers to know what has happened here.'

'But they will have heard the shouting and the screaming.'

'Nevertheless, I do not want him to leave. '

'But I can send you a navigator, Pol-Chi, if that is what worries you.'

Uöos called them to lift Hepteidon. They also helped to undress him before he was laid out on the skins.

Pol-Chi said to Uöos: 'Go to Set-Wun for whatever you need to treat him.'

Then he spoke to Korkungal: 'This is a command, Korkungal. You are not to go on deck. I will explain later why I give you this order. Please do as I ask you.'

Korkungal nodded. Pol-Chi wondered if he had absorbed the order, so he said to Sora:

'Make sure he stops below. His life, and yours, may be in danger.

Finally, he said to his father:

'You must leave now. I will go with you.'

At the door he said: 'I will come back once we are under way, Uöos. Make sure you ask the Captain of the Ships for what you need.'

In the corridor, he stopped his father and said:

'I love you as my father, Tan-Set, and I obey you as my Commander, but what you have caused here is unforgivable. You knew your canoeists would talk to my soldiers and tell them this new rumour about Korkungal. Why did you do that?'

'There is no need for you to sail, Pol-Chi. Return all of you to the fort and rest for a few days.'

'You didn't do it just to keep me here for a while longer. In any case, what has happened in that cabin is only between us. It does not affect the general disposition of my soldiers.'

'But the news about Korkungal will. It will give your men hope. Let them rest and think about their new hope.'

'But, father, you don't believe that rumour. Why did you call the Brigan's concubine "mother"? What did you learn while you were with them on your own?'

'Pol-Chi, let me take all the strangers and Hepteidon to the fort. They are a burden to you.'

'What do you want with them? What new thing do you know?'

'I think of your welfare, son.'

Reaching to grasp his father's shoulder, the faint gleam of the bright stone on his finger caught his attention. His thoughts suddenly leaped.

'Is there really a Chosen, father?'

Tan-Set relented. 'The girl, Sora, she carries the Chosen.'

Some things now made sense to Pol-Chi, but others looked much worse. He realised now that Korkungal could have killed and it would have made no difference. Instead, the noble priest, whom he saw as a friend, had been ruined as a man.

Pol-Chi was suddenly disgusted with the whole affair of rumours, prophecies and omens. He was tired of the burden of fear. Have the Brigan executed; send the girl and the old man back to Ka-Bil. These are the things he should do. But when he thought of Hepteidon, all the complexities returned.

What part has Hepteidon in all this?

He was tied in friendship to Hepteidon through the fear that wearied him. Uöos was now treating him. He could not have the Brigan executed. Everything returned to being the same as before.

'Do you understand me, Pol-Chi?' Tan-Set said with an edge of religious fervour: 'The girl is Holy. She must be treated as befits her dignity.'

Now Pol-Chi clearly saw into Hepteidon's part in the affair. Everything must be treated with circumspection and scepticism. Hepteidon had shown him inadvertently that the fear was real while showing him how to avoid being overwhelmed by the fear. Suddenly he remembered Uöos' words as they had first entered the cabin: do not fear a demon until it actually threatens you physically. Uöos understands too.

He is to Korkungal what I am to Hepteidon.

Now, I know that Hepteidon learned something of the prophecy in Ka-Bil, and perhaps witnessed it. But what did Korkungal experience or learn in that Ka? There was some complementary principle involved...

I am witnessing a Sacred Operation to do with the very existence of man.

'You are not listening to me, Pol-Chi. Do not be blasphemous.'

Pol-Chi stared deep into his father's eyes: is he just an old fool or has he a part here too? In that case, how should I behave? Should I obey him or not?

Do as you will, he realised:

'Leave my ship, father. Do it immediately. I will leave markers as I have already told you. We will meet again up on the northern coast.'

He pushed his father before him. Out on the deck both blinked in the sunlight. There was a huge cheer, followed by an equally loud cheer from the second ship.

'Remember your dignity, father,' Pol-Chi whispered.

Both were surprised to hear another cheer from the shore. The beach was crowded with soldiers, and many canoes bobbed on the waves near the shore.

'Father, this is chaos! You had better attend to practical affairs or else there will be no army.'

Tan-Set blustered: 'You know what they want, Pol-Chi.'

Signalling to nearby soldiers, Pol-Chi gripped his father's arm and drew him forward:

'Get off my ship, Tan-Set.'

When they reached the ladder, Tan-Set struggled free and shouted: 'They want Korkungal, the Chosen. Let him free!'

Those on the ship who heard this began to chant, 'The Chosen, The Chosen', until Pol-Chi silenced them with an abrupt sweep of his arm. He called to his Captain on the stern deck:

'Prepare to get under way immediately''

To the soldiers he had signalled to earlier, he said:

'Help the Chief-Commander descend to his canoe.'

They obeyed him, and Pol-Chi was relieved to discover that he still had authority. The presence of the Brigan on board no doubt helped.

His Captains began to shout orders and the soldiers, slowly at first, filed below to the oars. The order was relayed across to the other ship, but it was unnecessary: the movements on the command ship clearly indicated what was happening.

From the canoe Tan-Set shouted at Pol-Chi:

'You blaspheme, son. You endanger the life of the Chosen.'

Pol-Chi ignored this. Instead he called to the canoeists to back off in order to clear the way for the oars.

When the sail was dropped, the massed soldiers on the beach began to shout. Their anger was palpable. Again, Pol-Chi ignored this. He gave the order to begin the rowing beat and headed towards the stern deck. Taking charge of the rudder, he ordered the anchor raised. The chant of the capstan crew, as always, matched the beat of the drum below. Before the anchor had been raised, the ship itself began to surge, again in time with the drum beat. With the rudder hard over, the ship immediately began to swing out towards the open sea.

Behind him, Pol-Chi saw his second ship begin to move, swinging out in train.

Pol-Chi could not suppress a cry of relief now that they were under way. The ship, and then the second ship, picked it up. It was an answer to the roars of rage on the beach.

His father was standing up in his canoe, gesticulating with both arms. He shouted, but Pol-Chi could not hear.

Chapter Nine

Now that Hepteidon cannot do it, I keep the vigil of the stars.

Pol-Chi was wry in his tiredness, leaning on the rudder-shaft. Under the setting moon the ship glowed dully, deep shadows in unlikely places. Away to the right, the waves on the shore were phosphorescent.

The light of the moon had encouraged enough soldiers to stay on deck to watch the sail, The ship moved steadily but surely under the wind.

Most of the time Pol-Chi watched the North Star, the Le-Tlu, dip and rise in front of the ship. The Ka-La-Tlu, which he and his men had constructed, the City of the Light of the North, he knew, had been a fearful limit placed on fear. The star was the real Light of the North: it guides us on.

Now and again he looked straight up at the new star, the brightest star in the sky. He braced his fear when he did that, separating the source of his fear, the rumours of destruction and death, and the new star itself, fixed and bright above him. Then he could see the space Hepteidon had made for himself, a middle ground between the growing fear of men and the severe geometry of the sky, between man's fear of what he dreaded happening and what he saw and did not fully understand.

But Pol-Chi knew the space he was making for himself was different to Hepteidon's. The terror in the heavens must be fought in the heavens. For now, this was to be done with symbols. Later, it may have to be fought in some other way. Perhaps fighting would not be possible. In any case, it would become a battle in men's hearts. For now, the constant assurance of Le-Tlu, the Bright Star of the North, would be opposed to the threat of the new Star.

You turn the heavens, Le-Tlu,

Bright Geometer,

Doing what the gods cannot do.

Such blasphemy I keep to myself. Pol-Chi smiled at the night. The priests would not permit that in the poet. But what of this:

Defend us men, Bright North Star,

Great Spindle of Night,

_Against the Beast from afar_.

When the poet prays, the priests become watchful. Then the poet should become careful.

But what is faith when...The Beast?

Where did I get that word? Uöos? Is that what the soldiers call it? Ah! How real their fear is then! And Uöos said wait until the threat is real. Yes. And in the meantime what is faith when it is shored up by a desperate hope only? When there is no power to act?

Oh, there is nothing to pray to!

The Dark moved in Pol-Chi. It was a giddy deep hole in him. He thought against it:

In nothing there is only nothing.

The Dark is dark, that is all. Then Pol-Chi saw the pain that lay beyond the fear. To endure the Dark, the nothing, was the real agony. The Beast? The fear produced the Beast. Men called up the Beast to block up the gate to the Dark. That is how it is in men's hearts now. Thus their fear becomes merely the fear of death. The Beast will kill them, but it will stop the agony.

Is that where their hope resides?

Yet, consider the actions of men. They seek the Chosen, the Son that will deliver them. There are two things here. Men have two hopes: the Chosen and the Beast. Wait. Men need these two hopes. Both can deliver them from their fear. One will give life; the other will give death. One is possible; the other is certain. But man wishes for life. That is why they have their Chosen now.

In their hearts, men act all the times There, hope and prayer is possible. It is within men, in their hearts, that this battle is being fought! In that case, then –

who is the Beast?

Out of the shadows a figure moved, creeping up the ladder to the stern deck.

Pol-Chi gripped the rudder-shaft with all his strength, sudden nausea washing him. He pulled his cloak more tightly about him.

Coming closer, Korkungal whispered:

'May I speak with you, Commander?'

Pol-Chi thought the concatenation of symbols and images in his mind would kill him. It took him all his will to fight through to the reality about him. All he could do to find coherence was to ask himself over and over:

Are the Chosen and the Beast the one being?

He held up his hand to Korkungal, as much to acknowledge him as to bid him to be still. He struggled inwardly for the official level, the level of duty. When he finally spoke his mouth was dry. He did not try to conceal the tremor in his voice:

'I ordered you to remain below, Brigan, did I not?'

Korkungal bent slightly, moonlight playing across his body. He waved his hand in a playful manner, an irresponsible and perhaps dangerous gesture.

'You cannot call your soldiers, Commander. You know that.'

Pol-Chi stared at the powerful man, remembering the skill he had used on the day before.

'Why are you here then?'

'Uöos says I should talk with you. He said you would understand this.'

So Uöos had recognised his tactic! More, despite its failure, the old storyteller had found another tactic. There was a nice balance in it. While Hepteidon was with Uöos, Korkungal was sent to him.

'Do you have something to say, Korkungal?'

'Uöos has told me what I should say to you, Commander. But he also said I was to tell you that the words are mine, not his. I am to say this: "I am the no-man from no-where. I am the darkness in the Dark."' Korkungal raised his hand to indicate that he had more to say. 'But I tell you this. These words are not mine, but those of Uöos. He has the command of words that I do not. Perhaps he means me to say that I am what he says I am.'

Is this a different formulation or a different reality? Pol-Chi wondered, feeling his own perfect understanding of what he was being told.

'What do you say you are, Brigan?' He remembered Uöos calling him the 'no-man from no-where'. But what else had the storyteller said at that moment?

'I came to the Ka a warrior of the Briga,' Korkungal said flatly, remembering words and a past only, not reliving them. 'And the warrior died, and I left the Ka with fear and death in me.'

That's what Uöos said: who was Korkungal to talk about death? Uöos was speaking to the Chosen then!

'Are the fear and death in you now?'

Korkungal's face glowed for a moment: an intense feeling of some kind, Pol-Chi saw.

'No.'

Pol-Chi was suddenly urgent: there is an answer here!

'What is in you then, Korkungal?'

The Brigan smiled and looked at Pol-Chi with what appeared to be pity.

'Nothing, Commander. I live in the nothing. I am, as Uöos says, the darkness in the Dark.'

No! No! Pol-Chi felt the full depth of his disappointment. It has passed from the Brigan already. He is not the Chosen. But yet...

'Will you answer two questions, Korkungal?'

'I will, Pol-Chi.'

'What happened in Ka-Bil?'

'The priest of my kin, Kandrigi, and I came to the Ka. Kandrigi went to the priests and he died there. The Goddess offered me a virgin and I took her, though there is a great joke there, one that I now appreciate.'

'The Goddess, Korkungal?'

'These names were used by the women: Chorsa and Agnanna. They are familiar to you.'

'Yes, the Mother and the Virgin. Is Sora the Virgin?'

'That is the joke, Pol-Chi. First she is Agnanna the Virgin, then she was Sora the Whore. Now she is my wife.'

'She carries your child?'

'Yes, though for long she refused to admit it.'

'Is the child the Chosen?'

'Yes.'

'Will he save us?'

Korkungal's face again glowed. Now he seemed infinitely gentle: 'There is no need for salvation, Pol-Chi.'

Pol-Chi fell into the Dark. He realised that there was one thing, at least, lacking in men. That was patience. From his darkness he screamed, though it issued through his mouth as a firm question:

'Surely there is need, Korkungal. At least, men desire salvation.'

Korkungal smiled blithely: 'There is a difference there which even you can see.'

'But men's desire for salvation is very great. They seek salvation in the Chosen.'

'Men have many strong desires.'

'What of the star, then? What connection is there between the Chosen and the star that threatens us?'

'There is no essential connection, Pol-Chi. The star heralds a new age, and it may be the instrument of change.'

'I do not understand you. The star will destroy the earth, will it not?'

'It might and it might not.'

'Great Goddess, don't you know, Korkungal?'

'I don't know, Pol-Chi. Nor, to answer your next question, does anyone else. It is a material thing, an accident of an infinite material universe.'

'What is the role of the Chosen, then?'

'He is the man, the God, the Hero, the Teacher, and other things, of the new age.'

Pol-Chi finally lowered his head and pressed his brow against his arm. He felt a great confusion, but also a great joy. When he raised his head, he asked:

'The great change originates in the hearts of men, is that so?'

'In part, Pol-Chi, But the fear of men will drive them towards the change.'

Pol-Chi let his breath out in a long satisfying sigh.

'I begin to understand, Korkungal, I give thanks for your knowledge and wisdom.'

'It is yours now, poet.

Pol-Chi nodded, telling himself: this is Korkungal's and perhaps Uöos', interpretation. But is it true? Where is scepticism to be applied here?

'You have a second question, Pol-Chi?'

'Yes.' He could see the line of it. He remembered his confusion when Korkungal appeared. 'You say there is no death in you. Yet you tried to kill Hepteidon. Why did you do that?'

'Hepteidon sought to kill me, I defended myself.'

'But you say the warrior in you is dead.'

'I acted in the way a man remembering a childhood trick or game would.'

'Then you regretted it?'

'No. The foolishness of it dismayed me.'

'But you were intent on killing the Astronomer!'

'He wanted to kill me.'

Pol-Chi looked about him, thinking. He did not want to ask the question that must now be asked. Outside of him, the night was now sweet. The moon was big and yellow, setting into the sea in the northwest, to the left of the sail. Its light waned. Soon, Pol-Chi knew, he must turn towards the shore and anchor until the sun came. There would be rest then.

'Korkungal, why did Hepteidon want to kill you?'

'He wishes to murder regret.'

Pol-Chi was very surprised: 'What do you mean?'

'Ask Hepteidon.'

And now the real question:

'Did he not believe you to be the Chosen?'

'I do not think so. He had not heard the rumour the canoeists brought.'

Then Pol-Chi remembered Hepteidon's surprise when he had warned him that he was about to kill his new God. Then he realised he had made a serious mistake. The one question he had overlooked, or avoided, in his analysis:

Where did Hepteidon get his belief in the coming of the new God from?

Ah! Even Hepteidon was not safe from the fear after all!

This realisation made Pol-Chi aware of two things, one which caused an unwarranted disappointment, and another which gave him relief: Hepteidon was only a fallible man, his science was not a sure defence against fear. At the same time, it was clear that Hepteidon was not the Beast.

This immediately brought him back to Korkungal. He was not the Chosen; he may never have been. Could he be the Beast then? But how could the Beast be the father of the Chosen?

The question must be asked in any case. Pol-Chi returned himself to his Dark: Korkungal was very powerful and skilled. If need be, I will die in darkness:

'Korkungal, who is the Beast?'

This time Pol-Chi passed through his surprise to a sudden anger. Korkungal merely laughed with indulgent good humour, looking at Pol-Chi with tolerant warm eyes.

'Answer me, Brigan, if you know!'

Korkungal waved his hands in order to mollify Pol-Chi, but continued laughing, his shoulders shaking.

Pol-Chi passed from anger to puzzlement. What have I said? The Beast is real. The soldiers show this to be so. They seek a guard for the gate to the Dark. And they will find one.

No!

Men will make their own Beast!

That is it!

Men will make their own God!

And that is why the Brigan laughs.

'You laugh because men will make the Beast, is that not so, Korkungal?'

The laugh died to a chuckle. Korkungal turned away.

'But, Brigan, do you know who will be the Beast?'

Korkungal paused, then spoke without looking back:

'It could be me, poet. Or it could be you. It could be anybody.'

Pol-Chi tried to raise his voice. He was suddenly afraid that some of his men might be listening.

'You know that is not true, Korkungal. It will be one particular person. Events are already moulding him.'

Korkungal chuckled again. He waved farewell and descended into the shadows of midships.

Pol-Chi felt the night close in about him. He was confused and lonely, as vulnerable as a child. He was helpless, without a role. He was bitter then.

All I have done is to bring a shameful wound to Hepteidon.

Once again he was sick and weary of the fear. I merely think about the fear while other men act. And it was better to act, because nothing else can he done. Any action is better than bearing the sickness and weariness of abiding, overwhelming fear.

Yet I do act. I am acting now, heading north on a mission of exploration. And I will continue to do my duty until the earth splits and the sea buries all.

Are they not the thoughts of the Beast? Am I the Beast? But I cannot be. I do not have the purpose. No, I am the servant of the Beast, as all the millions on earth are the servants of the Beast.

But I will not serve the Beast! I will not serve fear. Better the Dark, the emptiness. Abruptly, he remembered the fort, the Ka-La-Tlu, and the emptiness of the place. In there, he realised, in my experience of the stillness there, lies knowledge of what I must do.

He heard a shout and looked back at his second ship. It was turning away, heading in towards the coast. Pol-Chi realised that the light from the moon had weakened greatly. It was difficult to make out the shore now. He acknowledged the shout by pulling the rudder-shaft over. The sail shivered and flapped. Soldiers scrambled from the shadows and grabbed at the lines. When they looked back at him, he pointed in towards the coast.

They would not need the oars. The sea was calm, and the dull, now murky, glow of the wavelengths on the shore were regular right up to the beach.

I will rest soon, he thought with pleasure. There is that.

To the west, the setting moon grew in size and deepened in colour. Above it lay the new star, still bright.

It turns with the stars, Pol-Chi thought with surprise. It was of little significance, but it gave him back his poetry:

Turn on, Great Light,

Sweep up your net;

Trawl in our fright,

Wipe away our death.

Chapter Ten

'Brothers, I thank you for meeting so quickly at my request. My purpose in calling you together is to discuss certain rumours I have heard among the soldiers, which I have investigated in depth, and to seek clarification in areas of policy pertaining to the circumstances that are the sources of the rumours.

'First, however, I must make certain observations. I hesitate to do this, for I am in the company of experienced men, who have proven their loyalty to the Empire many times in the past. My first observation concerns the respective spheres of jurisdiction on the exploratory mission. Now, I know that you are all well aware of your duties, there is no question of that, but there are certain areas, which concern my own sphere of jurisdiction and responsibility, which perhaps are not entirely clear to you.

'On this mission a number of levels of the ordinary Imperial civil administration are unavoidably lacking. You, the military Captains, fulfil some of these, most notably those of policing, justice and correction. To the Commander, Pol-Chi, has also devolved certain of the functions normally reserved to the Merura aristocracy, to do with matters of overall policy and the legislation of new laws.

'Now, in my own case, as well as fulfilling the duties proper to a priest, I have responsibility for other matters, some of which are difficult to describe, but which are easily recognised when particular examples of them arise. In normal circumstances, that is, within the full civil administration of the Empire, the Priesthood has responsibility for the spiritual welfare, morale, health, and education of the people. But it has other, perhaps more important responsibilities within the administration, civil and military, itself. Here the Priesthood acts as historians, scientists, lawyers, moralists, advisors and teachers at the most advanced levels. It is our duty to monitor the activities of the administration, to advise, report, and correct by admonishment as necessary. To complete this scheme, I will refer to the Priesthood's responsibility at the very highest level. Here we teach and advise the Emperor himself, exercising at this level what can best be called Wisdom. Thus, the Priesthood has three levels of spiritual competence: in descending order, the divine, the Imperial, and the social.

'The relevance of this scheme to our present situation is this: in terms of the holy power conferred on us, of the Imperial power granted to us, and in terms of our social function, it is an accepted principle that every priest possesses all three competences, even though he may pass his life exercising only one of them, or, in the case of specialist priests, none of them. The point to be borne in mind here is that each and every priest, regardless of his actual duties at any time, possesses this universal competence.

'Now, such a competence is of the highest relevance in a situation such as ours. Our two ships at present comprise, as it were, the Empire in microcosm. Cut off from the guidance and power of certain kinds of authorities, those who possess authority within the Empire as a whole here have this authority extended analogically to areas where normal authority is lacking. Thus Set-Wun, for instance, as Captain of the Ships, becomes a kind of territorial Lord, having jurisdiction as magistrate, and overseeing, as such a Lord normally would, the supply of provisions and the maintenance of the material fabric of our lives. And it is by means of a delegation of powers by Set-Wun, which in this case reflects the usual policy of the Empire, the other Captains on the ships, who have purely military powers, receive authorities which augment these and so fulfil offices otherwise absent here. Thus Lat-Pi, the Captain of the Spear, is also Officer of Supply, and Tel-Chan, the Captain of the Axe, serves also as Officer of the Police. Again, the Commander, Pol-Chi, as I have said before, as well as being the military leader of this missions is also our provincial Duke, as it were, fulfilling the duties normally undertaken by such a Duke.

'For my part, within the Empire I am a priest who exercises what I have called the Imperial competence as adviser to a section of the Commanders of the Army of the Central Provinces. Thus my duties have been connected with the affairs of the third highest echelon of that Army. Here, however, as the only priest officially attached to this mission, it is necessary for me to exercise authority at other levels. I fulfil a social duty, in exhorting and guiding the soldiers. On another level, I advise you, the Captains, in areas of policy, precedent, and ethics. Finally, I fulfil my usual office in relation to the Commander.

'It is obvious from this general comparison that one crucial level of authority is lacking on this mission, one which by its very nature could not be fulfilled. In the area of civil and military authority there is no analogue for the Emperor himself. In this way, when viewed in terms of the Imperial administration, our two ships are not in fact a microcosm of the Empire. They are instead more analogous to an Imperial province taken in isolation: where the offices from Duke downwards are exercised.

'Now, it is not necessary for me to point out to you that such an entity as an autonomous Imperial province is an impossibility. Such a structure of authority is not possible in Imperial law. But, more important, and this I emphasis, it is utterly inconceivable from an even more superior point of view. I will return to this. In legal terms, as you know, all authority comes from the Emperor himself. But, and this must be made clear, it is a principle of Imperial law that Imperial authority does not operate at a distance, incarnated, as it were, in the person of a duly empowered official. Imperial authority emanates continuously from the Will of the Emperor, an emanation which is at once always in force throughout the Empire and at the same time dependent upon the very existence of the Emperor. That is why the Intended automatically becomes Emperor at the death of the existing Emperor. For sixty-six generations the Ta-Shan dynasty has continuously and without cease been the Imperial Will within the Empire. And to the extend, and this is a secondary matter at present, though it can be of crucial importance, as it was at the time of the annexation of the Land of Sep in the east fifteen generations ago, to the extent that the first Ta-Shan Emperor, Pon the First, assumed the Imperial function upon the death of Rash the Forty-fifth, the last of the Ker-Al Emperors, the Imperial Will has been effective continuously and without cease for three hundred and thirty-three generations. In other words, the Imperial Will has been present in the world since the creation of man.

'Thus, as you appreciate, the Imperial Will must be effective here continuously and without cease, in other words, the Will of our Emperor, Van the Twenty-third, must be present here now, continuously and without cease. But how, you might ask, is that possible? The administrative chain of office, military or civil, is broken at the provincial level. Thus, as a result of this, it can be said that strictly speaking you Captains, and you, Commander, do not hold your offices and authorities directly from the Emperor, as you had done within the Empire.

'How, then, does the Imperial Will emanate here? I see that some of you already know the answer. That is good. It is better policy always to be in the act of reminding people of what they already know, rather than in. the act of telling them what they do not know. Now, I will outline the matter for those who have not yet remembered: put in simple terms, in a situation such as ours, the Imperial Will emanates through the priestly function. It is a fact! But for the sake of those who appear forgetful and thus surprised, I will outline both the theory of how, and the actual means whereby, this emanation is possible.

'In theory, because of the universal competence of the individual members of the Priesthood, any priest can, if necessary, fill any gap which might occur in the administrative chain of office. Examples of this abound, and I am certain you have had direct experience of this. For instance, at the local level, priests often assume the office of village or town Head between the death of one civilian or military Head and the appointment of another. And as you know, two generations ago a priest functioned as territorial Lord of the northern part of our homeland for six months until the new Lord was appointed. The most famous case is that of the priest, Pil-Tisi, who functioned as Prince of the Western Provinces during the Great Rebellion and who directed the Imperial Armies to victory over the rebels.

'Again, and at another level altogether, many cities and regions, especially in remote and outlying areas of the Empire, are normally ruled by priests. The most obvious example of this is Ka-Bil, which has been ruled by the High Priest of the Temple there since its foundation. Most of you met the ruling Priest, Lamla, during our visit there. By extension of this practice, a priest could be appointed to fill any office in the Imperial administration, civil or military, though as you know, it is rarely done, and then usually because that priest possesses exceptional abilities in time of exceptional needs. Thus, Se-Kon, the great Navigator priest, took the rank of Lord of the Fleet when he led the expedition into the Great Eastern Ocean, a rank he continued to hold upon his return until his death. Moreover, this theory extends to the highest level, for it is possible for a priest to become Emperor in the event, Goddess forbid it should ever happen, of the existing Emperor dying without there being an Intended to follow him. This has never happened and I pray it never will.

'However, this theory applies here in this way. I, as priest, fill the break in the administrative chain of office between the Commander's analogous rank as Provincial Duke and the Imperial Office. But as these particular high offices are not necessary for the maintenance of the mission, I can therefore be seen to hold an unspecified Office which in effect bridges the gap between Pol-Chi and the Emperor. But again, this Office of itself carries no specific duties, for none is required. It merely acts to transmit, in theory, the Imperial Will to the Commander. Thus, at the level of legal theory, but also in actual law, should the question ever arise, and in my Imperial competence, I am the direct agent of the Emperor here. Thus I am the final authority in matters to do with the Imperial Will. My interpretations, advice, guidance, and instructions at this level are final and without appeal for the duration of our voyage...

'Yes. What you say is true, That is why I will now outline the actual means whereby I exercise this power. It is true, as you say, that all delegated Imperial authority emanates from the Emperor personal1y and so all Imperial authority requires his presence. Admittedly, in theory his presence here is lacking, so that in theory, but not, as I will show, in actual law, the chain of authority I have outlined is incomplete and therefore lacking in power. This is true. So how is the presence of the Emperor made effective here?

'You will see that in presenting, in theory, the chain of office as it exists for us, I was referring only to my Imperial competence. Now, the actual means whereby I exercise my power here is derived from my divine competence. In other words, my overarching power here is derived from the fact that I am a priest. The actual means to this are clear. They can be conceived in two different, though complementary, ways. In the first place, at the time of the creation of man, in the Age of Fire, the Goddess created three ranks of men – the priestly, the Imperial, and the social. They exist as a necessary hierarchy. The priest extends the divine power to the world through the Emperor. The Emperor in turn extends sovereign power to the social man by means of the establishment of a hierarchy of administration. For their part, the social rank, which comprises all men except the priests and the Emperor, has the function of the maintenance of the material world of all men, the priestly or divine, the Imperial or sovereign, and the social or human. But the divinely instituted religious and Imperial powers require from the social man unquestioned obedience as the prerequisite for the guidance and control of their affairs to their proper ends, which is the piety, peace, and prudence of men as an eternal precondition for their happiness.

'You will notice that in this hierarchy of men, the priestly rank is highest. For this reason, it is truly said that the Priesthood maintains the Imperial power. Of course, the Imperial Will is not derived from the priestly power. It is in itself divinely instituted. But the Priesthood have the duty, implied in the divine nature of its origins, rank and function, to guide and maintain the Imperial Will at its source' which is, again obviously, the Goddess of Whom the Priesthood is the particular and direct agent. By this means, the divine duty of the Priesthood can guide and maintain the Imperial Will in all its manifestations throughout the Empire. In doing so, it exercises a power prior to the Imperial power, a divine power which, in special circumstances, includes the Imperial Will and so capable, again in special circumstances, of actually exercising the Imperial Will.

'So, Brothers, by means of the power invested by the Goddess in the Priesthood at the time of the creation of man, and also by means of the divine duty of the Priesthood which it fulfils at present, I sit before you as the Imperial Will, insofar as it is included in my divine office of priest. On this mission, therefore, I am your Emperor...

'Despite the surprise which some of you express, I believe I have succeeded in reminding all of you of what you already know, of what was an elementary part of the education of all of you...

'It is on the basis of my divine authority that I now intend making certain observations concerning the rumours I have heard and the facts I have learned. I will then issue instructions which, when implemented, will rid this mission of a number of anomalies...

'Brothers, Brothers, it is in the interest of all of us in authority here that you continue to listen to me...

'Commander, please curb your Captains...That is an order!

'This is chaos, Commander, I order you to control your captains...

'Very well, Commander. It might be as you say. I will give your Captains, and you, two days in which to come to an understanding of what I have told you. In two days time, Commander, I expect...

'THIS IS CHAOS! CHAOS! CHAOS!'

Chapter Eleven

Uöos applied the healing ointment to the burst flesh. Hepteidon hissed lightly, but not as much as he had done before. It was unavoidable. The seeping had ceased, so the healing of the wound could begin.

It was good that the wound was small, though deep.

Uöos drew the cloak up over the red body.

'May I have water now, Uöos?'

'Not yet, Hepteidon. You must drink nothing until the internal wounds have knit. We will bathe you again soon, when Sora returns, before the sun sets and your body closes in the chill. You may feel thirsty, but the bathing provides your body with the water it needs.'

It is good that there is no fever. When he tries to piss, and that will have to be soon, I will know what damage has been done to his organ. But it is in any case clear that Hepteidon is no longer a man...

As though reading Uöos' mind, Hepteidon said frankly:

'You should have cut away all the damaged flesh, Uöos. You know that is the safest procedure.'

Uöos looked at Hepteidon's face. There was resignation and acceptance there.

'It may not be necessary, Hepteidon.'

'But I am no longer a man. I have seen the wound. So what difference would it make?'

Uöos saw that Hepteidon accepted a fact. But full realisation had not yet entered him. A priest is celibate, yet he is also a man. Even a priest will suffer such a loss.

'The body can heal itself, Hepteidon.'

Hepteidon grimaced a smile: he could not laugh. 'You are a considerate old man. Not a butcher.'

Uöos pushed himself over to Hepteidon's head, how approachable some men are in sickness. A living thing in Hepteidon could be approached now.

'The motion of the ship causes you no great discomfort?'

Hepteidon's eyes glittered greenly: 'Not now, old man. It is restful in its regularity.'

'That is good.'

Uöos saw that there was a peace in Hepteidon. Is this calamity in some way welcomed?

The door opened behind him and the Commander stepped quietly across the cabin. After greetings, he asked about Hepteidon.

'The wounds are healing,' Uöos replied simply, deliberately preventing Hepteidon from replying.

Pol-Chi sat down beside Uöos.

'Can Hepteidon speak? There is a matter that must be discussed out of the hearing of the Brigan.'

Hepteidon spoke this time. 'I can, Pol-Chi, though Uöos might not wish it.'

Uöos nodded, sitting back: 'Korkungal and Sora are on deck.

'I know,' Pol-Chi rubbed his nose. The ring on his forefinger sparkled once, brilliantly. All three stared at it, as though surprised. Pol-Chi paused, momentarily distracted, then continued: 'I saw them. The soldiers gather round them. Once they played dice with him and laughed and joked. But now they are silent and in awe. Korkungal is at a loss, I know. All he can do is tell them stories about his life and his people. But they listen to everything he says.'

Pol-Chi stopped speaking abruptly. He knew he was evading the point. And he must hurry:

'Hepteidon, what are your feelings towards Korkungal?'

Looking at the ceiling, eyes narrowed, Hepteidon obviously composed an answer. Pol-Chi would rather the Astronomer did not have to answer this question, but it had to be done: he was implicated in the affair.

'Pol-Chi, I do not hate Korkungal. What he has done here is clearly the result of my own foolishness. But I must also admit to a desire to kill him. I have seen his capacity for death and destruction. He is dangerous. I say this in your presence, Uöos, knowing your love for him. But I cannot say otherwise.'

Pol-Chi nodded, looking once at Uöos and seeing a mask there. In some way, Pol-Chi felt, Hepteidon was lying. He had prevented the axe-soldiers from killing him in the Ka-Bil. Hepteidon did wish to kill Korkungal. That much could be plausible. But he did not wish anyone else to kill him. Why was that?

Korkungal is a rival!

But in what game? The answer leaped into Pol-Chi's mind, before he could reject its absurdity:

Hepteidon thinks Korkungal is the Beast.

The absurdity and insanity of the notion sickened Pol-Chi. There had to be another reason. Something more mundane. Perhaps connected with the prophecy of the Brigan priest.

No! Connected with the death of the Brigan priest. Hepteidon killed the old priest. He fears Korkungal's revenge!

Hepteidon broke through Pol-Chi's distraction:

'Why do you ask me this, Pol-Chi?'

'The priest moves against Korkungal. He is disturbed by his effect upon the soldiers, and perhaps upon the Captains. All those connected with the Brigan are therefore in danger. This obviously puts Uöos and the girl in danger, but because you are here, Hepteidon, and accept Uöos' treatment, you may also be in danger.'

Hepteidon the Merura aristocrat retorted with what strength he had: 'Not I, Pol-Chi.'

Pol-Chi rubbed his nose again.

'He claims to speak on behalf of the Emperor. This might seem madness, Hepteidon, but you, and perhaps you, Uöos, know the reasoning involved. He claims it in his office as priest.'

Hepteidon slackened. Pol-Chi saw that the point was made.

'We face him in council again tomorrow. Perhaps we can forestall him on the level of argument. However, if he is intent upon having his own way, he will go over our heads to the soldiers. Today he is on the other ship, preaching to the soldiers, I cannot stop him doing this, for that is his duty.

'But the possibility of turning the soldiers against their Captains is not what concerns me. Whatever else, he will not turn the soldiers against Korkungal. But he will break the unity of command on the ships. The men will be divided between Korkungal, the priest, and their Captains. The priest, for his part, may gather enough soldiers to attack you here. If that were to happen, then there would be chaos.

'Now, I asked you about your feelings for Korkungal, Hepteidon, in order to help me to decide what should be done with you. Here you have been receiving good treatment and attention,' Pol-Chi nodded at Uöos, 'but while here you are in danger. If I move you astern, you will be safe from the priest, but I do not know what kind of treatment you will receive.'

'I will stay here, Pol-Chi. I can also help defend the place.'

Both Pol-Chi and Uöos immediately rejected the latter proposal. Pol-Chi went on:

'No, I don't want you to stay here in order to defend the cabin. While I wish you to receive careful treatment, I also want to keep you all as a group together in one place. I would move you all astern, where you could be more easily protected, but then the priest would move here and there would be a dangerous polarity on the ship. No. Korkungal will have to do the defending. He is well able for it. His arms are here. If he wants any other weapons, I will get them for him.'

Pol-Chi paused. He stared down at the ring on his forefinger. But it caused his mind to wander.

I must keep to practical matters.

'Hepteidon, I have one other thing to ask of you. Answer this freely, because it involves matters which I, as a soldier, cannot command. If it becomes necessary, will you act as our priest? No, let me finish. The priest's madness and blindness may lead to his destruction. This could happen in a number of ways, which I will not detail now. In that case, I think it is imperative that the soldiers, no, the mission as a whole, should have a spiritual focus. You see, regardless of the beliefs of the soldiers, I do not think Korkungal should become the sole focus of their religious feelings. It could be dangerous both for the soldiers and the Brigan, and for the whole mission.

'Hepteidon, Uöos, can you see this? Everything here could collapse in chaos. We must maintain the traditional orders of authority, even if they become hollow. Do you understand this?'

Hepteidon suddenly became abstracted, his eyes wide and sightless. But Uöos reached and touched Pol-Chi's arm:

'What you say is wise, Commander, I am a clown, I know, but a clown needs order. Perhaps he needs order more than most.'

The door opened. Korkungal came in ducking his head at the lintel, followed closely by Sora. Seeing the huddled group, he lowered his head and went to the opposite wall and sat down, his head still low. Sora looked over at the group, watched for Korkungal's reaction, and immediately followed him and sat down beside him.

Uöos leaned over to Pol-Chi:

'You should speak to Korkungal, Commander. He should know something of the danger he is in.'

Pol-Chi braced to raise himself to his feet, then stopped. He looked again at Korkungal, then at Hepteidon, who was still abstracted. Korkungal may have gained an enviable calm, but it left him a child in the company of men. He felt sympathy for him: he did not seek the dubious glory of being called the Chosen.

Pol-Chi pushed himself to his feet and went across the cabin. He waited in front of Korkungal until the Brigan finally looked up.

'Korkungal, will you come and join us. I have a serious matter to discuss. You come, too, Sora. It involves you as well.'

Korkungal did not move until Pol-Chi had seated himself beside Uöos again. But this time he arranged himself in such a way that a circle would be made when Korkungal and Sora joined them.

It was Sora who rose first. She came and sat by Hepteidon's legs. This left a space between her and Pol-Chi. Soon after, Korkungal slipped down into this space.

Pol-Chi spoke immediately:

'Korkungal, and you, Sora, I wish to speak with you on a practical level. The priest is trying to rouse up the soldiers against you. He seeks to act in the name of the Emperor and so command us all. Whether he is successful or not is not a problem yet. But there may be contention, and you and your companions, and I include Hepteidon in this because he does not wish to leave here, may be in danger. In particular, the priest may succeed in gathering some of the soldiers about him and attacking you here.

'The question is this, Korkungal, can you defend this cabin against such an attack? It need be only for a short time, for many other soldiers, including myself and my Captains, will hurry to protect you.'

Korkungal smirked in what Pol-Chi thought was an unpleasant way. There was a defensive arrogance in the Brigan. Repelled by the unpleasant smirk, Pol-Chi nonetheless felt renewed sympathy for the Brigan's situation. To be an outsider and an object of misplaced veneration must threaten a man's sanity.

'Of course, Commander,' Korkungal said in too-easy a tone, 'I will protect the cabin.'

Hepteidon suddenly interrupted:

'Why not tell the soldiers the truth!'

Pol-Chi swung around, thinking: No! Not now! Don't let this bickering start again.

Hepteidon's eyes were brilliant. He was staring at Pol-Chi.

'You don't believe he is the Chosen, Pol-Chi, do you? Why not tell the soldiers that he is not the Chosen they seek?'

Pol-Chi felt the rivalry suddenly return to the plane of absurdity. This nonsense must be broken open now.

'Who is the Chosen, then, Hepteidon?'

Uöos interjected sharply, pitching his voice above Pol-Chi's. 'It is not a question of who we believe the Chosen is. It is a matter of what the soldiers believe. And they will not believe us if we told them otherwise.' He lowered his voice, now that he had their attention. 'Don't you see, Commander? You plan on the basis that the soldiers believe strongly in the existence of the Chosen. It is not a question of realities, of a real Chosen, but of the beliefs of a frightened band of men. As far as the soldiers are concerned, Korkungal is the Chosen. Whether he is or not is immaterial.'

Pol-Chi acknowledged Uöos' words.

'You are right, of course, Uöos. But here that is not the point. Hepteidon, you introduce division into the group here. That is dangerous. Now tell us, so that we will, know what is in your mind: who do you think is the Chosen? '

It was strange, Pol-Chi realised, but neither Korkungal nor Sora showed any interest in this dispute.

Why is that?

'I think the rumours about the Chosen are superstition, Pol-Chi,' Hepteidon said flatly. He cut the air with the edge of his palm. The pain it caused him was evident. 'Korkungal,' he suddenly shouted, ignoring the further pained he caused: 'tell us all now, did you speak to the Goddess in the Ka, as the rumour says you did?'

Korkungal's amusement and slow response acted like a taunt, though perhaps they were not intended as such.

Hepteidon is jealous.

Does he want to be the Chosen, the new God?

'Answer when you are spoken to, barbarian!' Hepteidon tried to be the Merura noble; instead, in his physical weakness, he screamed.

In the silence that followed, Uöos spoke gently:

'It is best to tell him what happened, Korkungal. Let him make his own sense of it.'

Korkungal looked quickly at Sora, then spoke with his eyes lowered.

'In the Ka a woman spoke to me by the pond beside the Temple. She knew me though I have never seen her before. She said her name was Chorsa. She promised me a virgin. One night a girl came to my cabin in the watch-tower. She knew me, though again I had never seen her before. She said she was called Agnanna.' Korkungal faltered, as though there was more to say, then he raised his eyes to Sora. He looked at Hepteidon and pointed to Sora, 'It was she who called herself Agnanna that night, though she will not admit it.'

Hepteidon immediately shouted:

'See, a trick of disguises played on a simple barbarian!' But he suddenly quietened and stared at Sora. Then he said softly to Korkungal: 'You mean to imply that this whore is to be the Mother of the Chosen?'

Korkungal leaned forward in sudden rage, clenching his fists in the air between himself and Hepteidon:

'Be careful, priest! Or I will kill you now!'

Pol-Chi raised his hand with the intention of rebuking Korkungal, but on an impulse he turned instead and spoke to Hepteidon:

'Tell us what happened to you in the Ka-Bil, Hepteidon. There is a secret there too.'

Hepteidon was obviously taken by surprise. He lay back and stared at the ceiling.

Uöos spoke, again gently:

'Korkungal, I have said this before: Have patience with your own lack of understanding and with the misunderstanding of others.'

Korkungal slumped down and Sora leaned over and touched his arm. The Brigan slumped more and his shoulders trembled. Sora caressed his arm soothingly.

'Won't you speak, Hepteidon? We are all waiting.' Pol-Chi saw that here the tangle of rivalry could he broken open.

'I cannot,' The resignation in Hepteidon went deep, Pol-Chi saw.

He must be prompted: 'Hepteidon, there is no great mystery. You witnessed the prophecy of the Brigan priest. What was his name? But what had you to do with his death?'

The sudden tears in Hepteidon's eyes were a surprise. They trickled across his temples into his hair. The tremors in his body would cause him great pain.

Uöos interjected: 'He is still weak, Commander. You might open his wounds again.'

Pol-Chi saw this. But he must be remorseless. What wounds had been opened in Korkungal by Hepteidon's question?

'Answer, Hepteidon. I demand an answer now. You attack and mock the Brigan and endanger your life, and perhaps all our lives. What is it that you are hiding?'

Hepteidon abandoned himself to his pains:

'Lamla said I loved Kandrigi. But I hid it from myself because I was afraid of what I must do. Because of my fear I caused the death of Kandrigi. But I could not do what Lamla told me must be done. I was afraid.'

The confession eased him and he quietened. His face was taut now with physical pain.

Pol-Chi loosened his tongue in his dry mouth. He turned deliberately to Korkungal:

'Do you blame Hepteidon for the death of Kandrigi, your priest?'

Korkungal's gaze was distant:

'That was Kandrigi's affair. I told him many times that his curiosity would be the death of him.'

'What curiosity, Korkungal? What brought you to the Ka-Bil?'

'Kandrigi wanted to know the significance of the new star, as he called it.'

Pol-Chi now turned to Hepteidon:

'Kandrigi was given a prophecy about the new star. Is that right, Hepteidon?'

The Astronomer nodded reluctantly.

'And the prophecy warns of the destruction of the earth. That is also right, is it not?'

Again Hepteidon nodded. 'What was it that Kandrigi was to do?'

'He was to tell men of the impending destruction,' Hepteidon spoke in a flat expressionless tone.

Some barriers had been broken down in him, Pol-Chi saw.

'Is that all? Was he told about the Chosen?'

'There was no superstition in the prophecy.'

Pol-Chi slipped forward in surprise. The Dark embraced him, lit in one corner by a gleam.

There are two threads here. The thread Korkungal follows is separated from the thread that draws Hepteidon. The rivalry between the two returned to the level of absurdity and insanity. Even so, Pol-Chi saw that Korkungal had conquered the fear he had of his particular role, while Hepteidon had not. The Merura's confession had not touched the core of his fear: it had not released him.

It is Hepteidon who is the dangerous one! He has not begun to act yet. What circumstances does he require?

Control! What has it to do with controlling?

Hepteidon prepares himself for chaos. That is how he controls his fear. He wants chaos.

But why?

He wants to control. There is no new God. Hepteidon knows this. So he will control instead. No, No. Though he does not know it yet.

Hepteidon will be the Beast!

That is it! The insane logic of our priest betrayed the madness of the Priesthood!

The Priesthood is the Chosen of the Goddess. They will brook no rival.

Jealousy, jealousy.

A divine jealousy! It is madness, but it is real.

A lamp was lit and the darkness was gone. Pol-Chi discovered he was looking at the ring on his forefinger. He shook his head violently:

The polarity has already been created.

He jumped to his feet.

'Quick, all of you! The danger is here now!'

Only Uöos moved, but he was already on his feet, holding the lamp.

'Understand me! The priest has been on the other ship since the council yesterday. He has not returned and there has been no reaction.'

There was no Captain on the other ship! They had all stayed here in order to discuss the claims of the priest.

Running to the door, he shouted back:

'Korkungal, arm yourself! Uöos, see to it!'

Chapter Twelve

Once on deck, Pol-Chi knew immediately what it was that had alerted him. The rowing had stopped for the night on his own ship, but the beat had continued on the ship behind. Running under the sail, he saw the mast of the other ship. It was closing rapidly.

One of his Captains stood on the stern, looking at the approaching ship. Pol-Chi peered through the twilight gloom.

'Set-Wun!' He leaped up the steps on to the stern deck.

The Captain of the Ships turned, puzzlement in his face.

'They are throwing things overboard. What can they be, Commander?'

Pol-Chi grabbed his Captain's arm: 'Quick, Set-Wun, recommence the rowing. Tell the beater that I want battle speed. Quick, Captain! Do not question me. There is great danger.'

Set-Wun suddenly understood. 'They are throwing soldiers overboard! But why, Commander?'

Pol-Chi pushed Set-Wun in the back. 'Later, Captain. Get the rowing started at once. Hurry.'

At last Set-Wun raced off, leaping down to amidships, and running, shouting, to the nearest entry to the rowing deck.

The alarm cries brought soldiers onto the deck. Pol-Chi called them to him. His Captains appeared in a group and Pol-Chi shouted to them to arm their men. The Engineer, not having the command of men, and who captained the other ship, came up to the stern deck.

'Tan-Sha, the priest has control of your ship. He means to attack us. Look. He is throwing those who will not side with him overboard. Get some men and lower half of our canoes into the water. Put one man in charge of them. It might he possible to save some of the soldiers. Please hurry!'

Tan-Sha moved nimbly, shouting for men, running towards the stacked canoes amidships.

The beat began below, fast and relentless. The ship surged, paused, and surged again. Pol-Chi went to the rail and shouted down at Set-Wun as soon as he appeared on deck:

'Have the sail tied up. Quickly.'

Shouts came from the ship behind. They have realised that they no longer have the advantage of surprise. Pol-Chi peered back. For an instant he saw the priest on the stern deck, arms raised, his long priest's robe billowing. There was confusion on the midships deck. Fighting. They had stopped throwing men overboard.

Even so, he saw that the rhythm of rowing on the other ship had also speeded up.

One after the other, his Captains climbed back on to the stern deck.

'How many men have we in arms?' Pol-Chi asked.

The Captains looked at one another. It was Set-Wun who spoke.

'Nineteen. Eleven spear and eight axes.'

How many had the priest?

'How do you compare our speeds, Captains?' Pol-Chi asked.

They waited, each estimating relative speeds by individual sightings and reckoning.

Tan-Sha spoke, 'We draw away from them.

'They are using less oars, then?'

'Yes. But remember they have thrown some of their complement overboard.

The first arrows began to come over, guttering in the gloom. Pol-Chi suddenly realised that he and his Captains were still unarmed. He told them to get arms and armour, then ran to the rail and ordered the nearest soldiers to bring protection for the steersman.

Set-Wun brought him leather body armour, his sword and helmet. Donning them, he asked:

'Should we reverse and hoard? Think carefully.'

With the sail tied up, it was easy to deal with the flying brands. The soldiers had spread out amidships to deal with them.

'If they turned quickly while we manoeuvred, they might ram us.'

Pol-Chi thought of the men thrown into the sea. At least eight men wasted. We cannot row away like this!

There was a cheer below him. Korkungal was on the bow deck, helmeted, sword and shield at the ready. The chant of his men was taken up in the ship behind.

This is madness, Pol-Chi reflected bitterly. Both groups will fight for the same object.

But here there is still order: over there chaos reigns now.

'There was fighting on the deck, Captains. They did not have time to throw all the dissenters overboard.'

'In that case, they are dead by now,' Tel-Chan said glumly.

Who would Korkungal fight? Pol-Chi suddenly asked himself. Would he fight at all?

'Well, do we keep rowing or do we turn and fight?'

What do we want? We might regain control, but it would cost more lives. If we keep rowing, we might wear down the allegiance to the priest. Or, at least, lose them in the dark.

'That is for you to decide, Commander.' It was Set-Wun who spoke.

And so it is.

'Very well. We will row through the night. Perhaps they will tire and come to their senses. Do you all agree? If not, voice your opinions.'

Lat-Pi spoke: 'We agree. But bear this in mind, Pol-Chi. They may not tire. A fanatic leads them.'

'I do, Lat-Pi. But it is the wisest tactic for now.'

The last rays of the sun tinted the sea red and white. There was a mounting sense of isolation. It seemed to affect both ships. Korkungal now sat on the edge of the bow deck, surrounded by soldiers. He had put his weapons down and he was, as ever, telling them one of his stories. The soldiers pressed eagerly about him.

Pol-Chi suddenly saw that the Brigan was a hero, like the Heroes of legends. His men were like children in his company. What kind of assurance does he give them, who are just common soldiers far away from their homes and families? And the chanting had stopped on the other ship.

Pol-Chi spoke softly to Tan-Sha, who was nearest him:

'They are keeping pace, are they not?'

Tan-Sha nodded.

So they are all rowing. The dissenters must be dead. How many?

How many more lives wasted? How many more will be wasted tomorrow?

'We must rest tonight. We will all take our turn at the oars tonight. Set-Wun, arrange the rotation. Partial changes, one oar in three at the appropriate periods for this rate of rowing. We will all be tired in the morning, but I want no man exhausted.'

He paused and saw the moon rising above the land to his right.

'Put one man on watch. Ask Uöos, the old storyteller. Tell him the circumstances. There will be light tonight for surprise manoeuvres. We must be on our guard.'

The moon rose rapidly, swollen and yellow. On the other side of the sky the last of the sunlight glowed redly up from the northwest.

Like fire. Is that the explanation of the Brigan legend of the Land of Fire? The place where the sun sets. It is plausible, Pol-Chi judged, but it is too naive. They might be barbarians, but they are not fools. Korkungal and his priest, Kandrigi, showed that much.

He looked forward at Korkungal. Now he lay sidelong on the bow deck, his head resting in the palm of his hand. The soldiers were resting about him, some up on the bow deck, other down on the amidships deck. They kept their weapons close by.

There is battle tension there. They are free of all cares now, united in a common danger. He saw that his soldiers were talking more freely now. Good. They will forget their awe for this night.

It is strange to think that those spearmen and axemen once faced Korkungal in battle.

Set-Wun approached the group and spoke to them. They began to rise up, some looking down the ship at their Commander. Korkungal slid over and dropped onto the midships deck.

He would row. That is good. If I can unite this ship in one purpose, then perhaps we might deal with the priest without too much loss of life. I need Korkungal on my side.

Pol-Chi looked back. The other ship kept pace, ploughing through the sea, cresting waves regularly, sending flying sprays that were lit redly on one side and milkily on the other. The decks were deserted, one man in view, leaning on the rudder shaft.

The priest must keep talking to the soldiers to keep their resolve. He is not sure of his command.

Set-Wun reappeared on the stern deck, accompanied by Uöos.

Pol-Chi went forward.

'Thank you, Uöos. We need the help of everyone.'

'It is nothing, Commander. I willingly do it.'

A short stabbing sword hung loosely in the storyteller's hand.

'There is no need for you to take arms, Uöos. You eyes will be sufficient service.'

Uöos hefted the sword: 'It is for my reassurance. Do not worry, Pol-Chi, I have used a sword before, many years ago.'

Pol-Chi smiled, 'I believe it.'

Set-Wun stepped around Uöos: 'The rotations have been arranged, Commander. I, Tel-Chan and Shu-Ken will go below now. Later, you and the remaining Captains will form part of the first relief.'

'Good. Set-Wun, thank you for your diligence. I see the Brigan has taken an oar.'

'He has, Pol-Chi. And he did it voluntarily. It heartened the men to see him.'

'I will express my gratitude to him in the morning.'

Set-Wun called the two Captains he had named and together they went below. One by one the relieved soldiers came on deck. Some looked back at the other ship with curiosity. They seemed puzzled rather than angry.

'Lat-Pi,' Pol-Chi called softly. 'Arm the soldiers and tell them to keep their arms close by them at all times. There may be surprises in the night.'

As he went off, Pol-Chi called after him: 'Then rest yourself in some quiet corner until the time comes to row.'

He nodded at the remaining Captains, 'Tan-Sha, Tel-Sin, you, too, find a place to rest.'

Tan-Sha hesitated. 'You will rest, too, Pol-Chi?'

'Yes, yes, Tan-Sha. I will settle here on deck. But I will rest.'

He went across to Uöos: 'May I keep watch with you, old man?'

Uöos glanced back, flickered a smile of welcome, and returned his gaze to the ship behind.

The sunlight was almost gone. As though it leaves reluctantly. He understood the feelings of his men on that last night in Ka-La-Tlu. A lingering painful death.

But the moon was rising high, beginning to light the sea with its cold calm light.

'It is the eve of battle, Uöos. Tell me of your battles.'

Uöos laughed at the pursuing ship : 'I will tell you of one battle, Pol-Chi. When the armies of the Empire of the Dawn invaded our land, which is to the south of the Inland Sea, I helped defend our city. For one year we held them off, expecting relief every day. We did not know that our whole country had been devastated, our armies broken. But each day we faced them on the walls and we kept them at bay. Even the best men grew sick of blood and death. In the end we broke out towards the south. Our women and children got seven days' start. Then when the enemy discovered this, we broke out too and fought them off for days, until we reached the great forest of the south.'

'The details of such a story would take a year to tell, Uöos.'

'A lifetime, Commander.'

'Yet you reached safety?'

'Sickness, hunger, attacks by the tribes of the forest reduced our numbers further. Only fifty of us reached the Imperial city of Ka-Vind, in the uplands to the west of the

forest.'

'How many had been in your city.'

'Over five thousand men and women.'

'A sad story, Uöos. I grieve for you.'

'It is a long time ago. I was young and much has happened since then.'

Pol-Chi heard something in the tone. 'You were a priest there, were you not?'

'I was the High Priest. The office was hereditary among my people.

Beside the moon, Pol-Chi saw the new star, big and brilliant. In reaction he looked forward for the Le-Tlu, the North Star. It was there, directly in front of the ship. He turned to the steersman:

'Keep the ship in line with the North Star. There. Do you see?'

The steersman sighted, then nodded, dropping back into his reverie.

Pol-Chi turned hack to Uöos. The moonlight showed that his face was kindly now, moved by memories.

'Tell me, Uöos, you have experienced great devastation. How does a man keep his senses?'

Uöos' face sharpened. He looked over his shoulder at the new star.

'As you have said yourself, Pol-Chi, you attend to the practical affairs on hand. If the world were to come to an end, there is nothing you could do about it, except carry out your duty.'

'Yes, I have thought that. But what if that duty itself entailed destruction?'

'I see what you are trying to say. I had somewhere to go. At the end there would be no place to go.' He shrugged his shoulders. 'That will be a new kind of story, Pol-Chi. I do not know what will happen.'

'What about the Beast, Uöos? What purpose will he have in the end?'

Uöos stared keenly at Pol-Chi.

'You do not fear the Beast, too?'

'No. But I think of the part he has to play. Perhaps there is some way of stopping him.'

'It is strange, the people of your Empire are taught nothing concerning the Beast, yet your common soldiers know of his approach.'

Pol-Chi felt his hackles rise – the soldiers know of his approach? He felt a sudden urgency:

'What do you know of the Beast, Uöos?'

'Our religions differ, Pol-Chi, though both worship the Goddess. Our religion is a matter of initiation and enlightenment. Each person receives his own truth. But, do you know, these truths are limited, though each one seeks his own individual truth. In your Empire, religion is indoctrination. Each one is directed towards one truth, but a truth which exists only because it can be formulated in words.

'In our religion, there are truths concerning the End, as there are truths concerning the Beginning, and, of course, concerning the Middle. The truths concerning the End differ, some in important ways. However, one common thread concerns the Beast of the Last Days. It is said that the Beast has a million heads and carries a million swords. It is said that he will devour the world. But at the last moment, a shining God of Light will come and vanquish him.'

Pol-Chi felt the images glow in his mind. The two threads!

But Uöos continued:

'But I must tell you two things. In my enlightenment I saw only a child with white skin. He was naked, but I felt he was watched over. I was told that he takes another path, the hardest path.'

Pol-Chi ejaculated: 'Sora!'

Uöos laughed: 'Poet, you are making legends before their time.'

Pol-Chi controlled himself, thinking "the hardest path" – what is that?

'However,' Uöos resumed, suddenly serious again, 'the second thing I wish to tell you is this. You will have realised by now, and if you have not then I am telling you now, that the Imperial religion teaches nothing about the End. The Empire is conceived to be eternal, Divine. If you want to know what the Beast will be like, consider that fact, Pol-Chi.'

Pol-Chi sat down on the deck. The Empire! The Empire itself is the Beast? But he immediately dismissed the thought. The Empire had as its main policy its expansion throughout the world. Was this mission not part of that policy?

Then the burgeoning insight failed. He could not use Uöos' words. He must find his own way. But this much was clear: The Beast was within the Empire now. He will soon appear.

Pol-Chi realised he was looking at the ring on his finger again. It glowed in the moonlight. The sight of the ring suddenly filled him with an intolerable tension.

Am I imagining everything? Have I gone mad with omens and rumours and questions about Beasts and Gods?

At the same time he wished he could he rid of the ring. It was a great, senseless burden. He heard Uöos murmur, 'But it is a fine night', and suddenly there was blankness.

Chapter Thirteen

When he was awakened, the first thing Pol-Chi was aware of was the beat of the rowing drum, then the splash and suck of the oars in unison. Like an echo, he heard the oars of the pursuing ship.

Set-Wun was bent over him, shaking his shoulder, Pol-Chi shook himself and stood up.

'Do you know, Set-Wun, that they row in unison with us?'

Set-Wun looked and listened. He laughed.

'They are used to doing that, Pol-Chi.'

'Are they chasing us, I wonder, or are we really racing to the North?'

Set-Wun laughed again, loudly enough to distract Uöos, who was on the other side of the stern.

Pol-Chi picked up his sword and went across to the old storyteller.

'Why are you over here, Uöos?'

'They go from side to side. They do it irregularly. I don't understand the tactic.'

'Perhaps they wish to keep you awake.'

Uöos grinned wizenedly; his eyes were deep in their sockets:

'Or perhaps the priest needs new action all the time.'

Pol-Chi mused: 'There is that.' Constant action. Can the priest not control the fear any longer by means of ritual and rhythm?

Then he noticed something. The sail of the other ship had become untied on the port side. A large area of it dangled and flapped. That weight and movement would soon pull the whole sail loose. It would make their rowing more difficult and tiring. Good.

They could not afford the men to tie it up!

'Set-Wun,' Pol-Chi called softly. When the Captain came over, he asked him: 'Could our more skilled archers strike that sail with ease?'

Set-Wun estimated, 'Shu-Ken would he a better judge than I. But I think so...You intend to set it alight, Pol-Chi?'

'Yes. When the moon has almost set,' the moon was at zenith now, 'get three or four of our best archers to put as many brands as possible into the sail. It will confuse them, but we will also know their location in the dark.'

Sat-Wun nodded, grinning tightly.

'And once beyond their range, we could raise our own sail?'

'Perhaps, Set-Wun, But do we want to lose our second ship? Is it my time to row?'

'Yes, your partner waits below.'

'I will come now. But first: gather our archers now. Consult with Shu-Ken if necessary. Have a brazier prepared out of sight below. Uöos, if they send up men to retie the sail, call the archers at once. They should try to fire the sail then.'

'As you will, Commander.'

Pol-Chi then followed Set-Wun across the stern deck, down to amidships. There Pol-Chi's rowing partner, a spearman named Pi-Set, awaited them.

The change of rowing crew was executed smoothly. The oar was locked above the water, the relieved pair slid off the bench and were gone, and the spearman and Pol-Chi slid into their places, Pol-Chi on the outside in case he was called out in an emergency. From there on, Pol-Chi followed the spearman's motions, for he had rarely rowed, and then only when young, so that he would have knowledge of it. With the spearman he oiled his hands, gripped the oar and lifted it out of its lock. Then they counted the drumbeats, at the same time integrating the rhythm of the rowers in front of them. Boom, boom, boom-drop, pull, lift, rest; boom-drop, pull, lift, rest; boom-drop, pull, lift, rest. Then they dropped the oar on the next beat, let it trail in the sea, lifted, rested. Then drop, _pull_ , lift, rest. Drop, _pull_ , lift, rest. At first they concentrated on what they did. They tensed for the drumbeat, but soon they gave their attention to the stroke, exerting their whole body for the duration. In time, all the movements became automatic. They exerted themselves less in the stroke as they meshed with the combined exertion of the other oarsmen. Then, suddenly, they were in the rhythm, their bodies working freely, no longer requiring attention.

For a while Pol-Chi felt elated, his mind floating above his body's toil. In the gloom, lit only by the lamp above the drummer, he saw some of the fourteen crews, manning the seven long oars which worked on either side of the ship. They bent, pulled, rested, in unison, their skin gleaming. Of necessity, each man wore only a loincloth, his armour and weapons pushed under the bench beneath him. Then, they pulled, the oars strained, a curious complaint of wood on metal. But, Pol-Chi heard with surprise, the whole ship also strained, timbers driven against timbers, or else timbers driven apart from timbers. The ship was like a living thing, exerting itself, groaning and relaxing by turns, struggling with great opposing forces of the driving labour of men and the sullen resistance of the sea.

The rowing deck was clammy rather than hot. The sea kept the hull cold, so that the radiated heat of the labouring men was converted to a chilly condensation, which fell back upon their hot skins. They sweated and yet they shivered also. There was no effective relief available for this unpleasant condition. The best remedy was to insulate the skin with oil. But the skin could not he fully sealed, for the heat and sweat must be released. The oars-master, then, went along the central gangway and rubbed oil diluted with fresh water on the oarsmen, sometimes on their faces, sometimes on their shoulders and hacks. This gave momentary relief, which prevented the spirits from sinking too far, for it engendered an anticipation of relief which greatly exaggerated the actual relief, and also served to keep the oarsmen's minds off the discomfort.

Once Pol-Chi had taken in the sights available to him and he had exhausted their novelty, he became aware of the dense, restricted quality of the atmosphere of the deck. At first it appalled him. He and the men about him seemed in this density to be no more than a great blind machine. Consciousness was superfluous. Ultimately, once the beat and the rhythm of effort had taken over, there was nothing to know. For a while, Pol-Chi cringed, pulling, lifting, resting, dropping and pulling, while his eyes darted about him seeking one thing he could concentrate on, to still the rising panic. _Pull_ , lift, rest, drop, _pull_ , lift, rest, drop – there was nothing that he could see that could counteract the awful, inert and blind seduction of these mechanical actions. But, he told himself, these men do it all the time. Why are they not mad?

There was a space here for him. He _pulled_ , lifted, rested, dropped, pulled, lifted, rested, dropped. Above him, around him, in him, the drum sounded remorselessly. BOOM... BOOM...BOOM... signalling each time the coming exertion, preparing his body for it. Dropping the oar when the BOOM sounded created a hole in him. Into this hole flowed energy. It filled the hole, expanded, overflowed at the lift. Then it ebbed at the rest. The instant of rest became an instant of teetering on a brink. Then, BOOM and the hole appeared. It was strange. Such a teetering should be frightening. But it was not. It was a surging thing, like the instant before sexual climax. There, too, an instant existed when the body knows not what is to come. It teeters at the edge of an abyss. Then the first muscular contraction – BOOM – then the glorious surge.

Pol-Chi was agitated again, pulling back from the sexual image in the realisation of the difference. With the surge, there is the pumping that lifts one up and up to the light, to the long sigh of satiation and silence. Here, the surge is limited, circumscribed, measured. It is applied – there! – then shut off, the total emission of energy restricted, measured out in exact amounts at exact intervals. The drum totally controlled the men. It spoke the deepest rhythm in them, that of sexual desire and gratification. But it controlled it. It dealt it out in exact amounts at exact intervals – and refused the gratification.

Where there is control there is the deepest slavery!

There was a slick of oily water across his back. His spine jerked, and shivers of relief passed pleasurably along his arms. But the muscles in his neck knotted, acting as a fulcrum that allowed his body as a whole to continue its machine-like rhythm of _pull_ , lift, rest, drop, _pull_ , lift, rest, drop. The relief as pleasure passed over the surface of him only and dissipated rapidly. In the aftermath, it is true, his consciousness leaped up, free for a moment. Then forgetfulness returned, forgetfulness of the body, forgetfulness of the momentary relief.

But – the mind is not a machine! It could not run on cycles of rhythm. It could not be bent over on itself in the way the body could, totally controlled and dominated by the periodicity of the drum, BOOM...BOOM...BOOM...BOOM-drop-energy-pull-swell-lift-drain-rest; BOOM(hole)drop-energy-pull-swell-lift-drain-rest; hole, energy, swell-drain; hole, _drop_ , run-out; BOOM! agh! ugh! ahh...

But the mind cannot get free of the body here. It tosses, at best blindly and passively; at worst, in panic and fear. Sometimes, as Pol-Chi now saw and felt, there is rage. But the rage, he soon realised, only ties the mind more firmly to the body.

What is this rage? It is like struggling in a marsh. Rage merely reinforces its cause. But his men do not rage! Priests rage, all the time. His father rages.

Does the Emperor rage? Is his rage the mightiest? No. The priest's rage is the greatest. They have the greatest pretensions.

Why do his men not rage? They seem to have the greatest cause. They are trapped here day after day...

The Beast!

My men rages A mighty, destructive rage. They want to destroy this world that enslaves them. They want to do it now. This instant as they sit and – _pull_ , lift, rest, drop(BOOM), _pull_ , lift, rest, drop-BOOM...

But there is one sound here that is continuous, Pol-Chi listened, reaching for it behind the straining, the groaning and tearing, the slap and suck...one sound. The hiss of the sea under the ship. A sibilant, rushing, bright murmur.

Listen! Go down to it! Shiiiiih... A white, dissolving, slipping murmur. Do my men hear it?

The eyes of the spearman beside him were open and unfocussed. His body bent, strained, pushed, paused, bent, _strained_ , pushed, paused...But his head remained up, his eyes straight before him, open, unfocussed, sightless.

Anywhere else, such an expression would betoken madness! Was my poor spearman now mad? Just so this ship can race through the night into an unknown space?

Are my men mad? Is there a madness at the bottom of the Empire? A mighty rage and resentment?

_Pull_ with your arms, your hands grasping and knotting; brace your legs and push; take it on your back, feel your stomach clench, your chest collapse; breath quickly, push down with your tired arms, let your stomach lift, your back arch, your legs lighten and spasm; feet all go slack, your chest quivers, your hands clench involuntarily, your feet shift; BOOM – up come your arms, bracing in anticipation, a shiver across your groin, your scrotum tightening – the oar bites – QUICK – PULL...

Your mind loses that grasp, unable to transcend the awful drive of the body, unable to stop the body, unable to think the action to extinction...

The mind in its rage thinks death. What it cannot know it seeks to destroy!

But what does the mind desire? To think everything but its own thinking to oblivion. It wants to think its own divinity.

It wants to he God!

Hepteidon! There! Yes, it is there! Hepteidon wants to think the world to extinction!

Hepteidon wants to be God.

There is a cheer. Feet pound across the deck above him.

What?

A voice shouts: 'The Sail! We got their sail!'

But there is no reply. Some heads lift, but most don't move at all – the beat goes on remorselessly.

At the end of the world all the beats will go on and on until they are overwhelmed from outside.

BOOM, pull...BOOM, pull...BOOM, _pull..._ BOOM, pull...

Pol-Chi suddenly imagined fire. Burning with a great continuous roar. The susurration of the sea had re-entered him, below all the chaos of the order of straining, groaning, tearing, pulling, pushing, dropping, BOOMing...

My men hear that too. They hear the light. They must do. Their minds must seek the continuous, the...

Infinite. The threads intermingle again.

Light and dark. Lightness in darkness; darkness in lightness. They are together.

Somewhere, they are one.

Somehow, all contradictions must be reconciled.

The Beast and the God are one.

Yes.

Hepteidon.

It is Hepteidon! Somehow, he has the motive. He can have the power, if he seeks it.

My men seek in the wrong place for the Chosen.

Pol-Chi laughed.

He pulled mightily; great pulls, great lifts, great rests, great drops – great energy.

I KNOW!

I know the secret of men!

Figures approached along the gangway.

I know my own madness!

Abruptly, there was no pull on the oar. The spearman was staring up, refocusing, naive.

The hand on his shoulder stopped him. When he stood up, the hand steadied him. Someone slipped around behind him and took his place. The spearman, Pi-Set, was still there. Pol-Chi hesitated, pointing to his rowing partner.

It was Tan-Sha who steadied him. The oars-master was close by. Above the BOON...BOOM...BOOM...Tan-Sha said: 'The ship has caught fire', and pointed up. Pol-Chi nodded and put one foot out. His leg wanted to brace itself, but Pol-Chi's consciousness was rising, longing to get away. Tan-Sha helped him make the first few steps. Still the oars-master hovered nearby. Pol-Chi looked up at him, then at the sweating oarsmen. The master understood immediately and returned to his cloth and bucket of oily water.

Tan-Sha left him for a moment. He continued walking, touching the wooden supports as he went. Before him the drum BOOMed. On and on. With the lamp as focus, Pol-Chi realised that it was an altar.

The drum was a kind of God.

Up the ladder. The air lightened. It was good on deck. Pol-Chi breathed deeply, washed by relief. His body still jerked in rhythm.

Behind the ship there was flickering light.

Chapter Fourteen

Tan-Sha was regarding him, watchful.

Pol-Chi took the leather body armour from him. Strapping it on, he said:

'It is a long time since I rowed, Tan-Sha. But never before at that speed and at night.'

'It is hard work, Commander.'

'It is. I hope it is worth it.'

Tan-Sha handed him his helmet.

'The men are used to it.'

Finally, Pol-Chi buckled on his sword.

'What has happened?'

'We set their sail alight when the moonlight began to fail, as you ordered. But they were slow in reacting. They must have been confused. Part of the sail fell on to the deck. I think their canoes took light. The spar is alight now. They have begun to fight the fires. I think they will have to throw the spar and sail overboard.'

Pol-Chi clucked in annoyance and set off back along the deck.

The other ship was falling behind. It was stark in the firelight: the sea red and black about it. The flickering light accentuated the surrounding darkness.

'Uöos, what is happening now?'

'They are trying to get up the mast to cut away the spar. But the heat seems to be too great.'

'Are they still rowing?'

'Yes, four oars. Two others ceased just now.'

'They are taking men off the oars. Tan-Sha, stop the rowing, except for four. We must keep under way, so we can steer. But slow the pace. Steersman! Keep the ship towards the North Star.'

The drum beat slowed by degrees. Pol-Chi realised then that there had been the tension of urgency on the ship all through the night.

When Tan-Sha returned, Pol-Chi asked him:

'Is there a tactic available to us now?'

'What do you want to do, Commander?'

'Save the ship. And save the men on it.'

Pol-Chi remembered that it was Tan-Sha's ship.

'It depends on what has happened to the priest's control of the men there.'

'Yes. That's it,' Pol-Chi snapped. 'Uöos, do you think they can see us now?'

'The fire does not reflect on the ship.'

'Good. Tan-Sha, will the men row without the drum?'

'Yes, but not so well.'

'Tell the oars-master he is to call out a good pace. All oars. We will go around them. Do it now. I will steer.'

Cross-checking constantly between the light of the fire and the North Star, Pol-Chi steered the ship out to sea and around in a great arc. The oars splashed softly. The men must know what is afoot. There was no beat. They glided over the water, with only the creak of their spar as an accompaniment.

By the time the manoeuvre was complete the first streaks of dawn had appeared over the land to the east.

Just then, there was a flare of light on the other boat and a shower of sparks.

Uöos shouted reedily from his position in the bow:

'Their spar has come down. It's on the deck.'

Pol-Chi gave the order for the ship to go ahead at a moderate pace. He kept to seaward.

'Tan-Sha, what soldiers have we under arms now?'

The Engineer checked and shouted from amidships: 'Six axe, thirteen spear, and the Brigan.'

'I want two more axes. Quick.'

When Tan-Sha returned to the stern, Pol-Chi said:

'This is what we will do. I want to put the axemen on their stern. Then I will speak to the priest. We must have him surrender. The men will not disobey him. The only other way is to fight it out.

'This is important, Tan-Sha, and you must explain it to the oarsmen. When I call, I want the best speed, but without the drum. When I call again, I want the ship _stopped_. The oars-master will best know how. But he must stop the ship when I call, otherwise there will be a collision and the ships will be damaged.'

Tan-Sha nodded once and disappeared into the dark.

'Steersman, I am going to the bow. I will give you instructions from there. Listen carefully!'

Amidships, he called the axemen to follow him on to the bow deck. There, he asked Uöos to report.

'They cannot move the spar. The deck is catching alight. See! I think they are trying to cut it up. There is no one rowing. But some of the oars are trailing. I think there is panic.'

Pol-Chi nodded and shouted for fast rowing. At once, the ship surged forward, gathering speed. Pol-Chi now turned to the soldiers around him.

'We are going to come up alongside their stern. You are to get aboard and take control of the stern deck. Now, you are to prevent them from getting up there. Do not strike them. Your armour and shields will protect you. But watch out for your legs. Remember, they are your kin, swayed by the priest's rhetoric. Prepare yourselves.'

Pol-Chi noticed the white skin behind the axemen. 'Korkungal! You are to remain on board. None of your tricks now.'

The Brigan slipped away, a smirk on his face, looking dangerously tensed.

But Pol-Chi had no time for that. They were approaching the ship with speed, again gliding smoothly, almost silently except for regular low splashing.

'Uöos,' he hissed. 'If they see us, shout.'

To the steersman he called, 'To starboard!'

He checked the new heading, calling adjustments to the steersman.

'They see us!' Uöos suddenly cried.

The ship surged, and surged again, all the time shooting forward. Pol-Chi concentrated, calculating by eye. Then, without turning his head, he told Uöos to back off the bow and the axemen to come forward. Excitedly, he clutched the arm of the soldier to come closest to him.

'Ready, men. You must leap when I tell you. Trust me!'

The ship was headed as though to race under the stern of

the other ship. Then, squeezing his eyes and judging, Pol-Chi suddenly screamed:

' _Stop the ship!_ '

The order was relayed and immediately the surging ceased, to be replaced by a tumult of crashing water and complaining wood. The ship slowed rapidly, bucking as momentum was broken violently. Some of the oars cut the surface of the sea, slicing sprays of water into the air; others moved in reverse, pulling against the motion of the ship.

Pol-Chi crouched forward to judge again. Closer, closer the other ship seemed to come. Then he leaped back and called:

'Hard to port.'

The rudder went over, the ship's stern wallowed. Slowly at first, the front of the ship moved left, beginning to slither sideways. The stern of the other ship now loomed forward and left. Then they were in its shadow. Then the bow lifted, still slowing, and Pol-Chi suddenly cried at the backs of his axemen:

'Now! Jump! Jump!'

They clustered forward on the rail, four leaping then one, then another, then the last two.

Then Korkungal leaped, shouting and laughing.

Pol-Chi screamed after him, but there was more to do. The ship was turning on its length almost. The bow grazed the stern, then slipped past and began to slip along parallel to the starboard side of the stern. The bow was still skewing, bucking threateningly at times. Pol-Chi now called for ropes. Spearmen came up, went to the rail, watching Pol-Chi. Judging it again, he suddenly cut the air with his hand, calling to the steersman.

'Hard to starboard.'

The ships slammed together.

Now there was a confusion of men and ropes around him. On the other ship, his axemen lined the rail of the stern deck, two men to each of the ladders leading up from amidships. But none of the soldiers on the other ship had come forward. Amid the smoke and heat and confusion they gawked at Korkungal, standing on the rail of the stern deck, sword and shield over his head, laughing.

Then the priest came out of the smoke, pointing at the Brigan, obviously trying to rally the soldiers.

With sudden fear in his heart, Pol-Chi ran forward, calling the spearmen. He leaped up on to the stern, steadied himself, and ran towards Korkungal. But the Brigan gave a huge shout and dropped over on to the amidships deck. Pol-Chi was in time to see him buffet the priest with his shield and then swing his sword down.

'Korkungal'

Nobody moved, even now. Korkungal straightened and looked back, eyes gleaming, the same smirk on his face. Slowly, he raised his bloodstained sword, glinting in the firelight. The smoke swirled around him. The light danced across his face, lit his red hair. He screamed, a blood-sated primitive howl of death and destruction, turning his body round and round, sword over his head, gleaming red.

When the soldiers began to echo his cheer, Pol-Chi knew:

They are Korkungal's men!

Pol-Chi leaped over the rail, landing solidly on the amidships deck.

'Korkungal!'

He is like a child now.

Pol-Chi walked forward, hand away from his sword. Is he capricious? The smoke stung his eyes. Wood crackled in the fire and light danced over the deck. The ship is burning!

Korkungal still danced, humming to himself. Remember, he is a warrior, not a soldier. But he had lowered his sword. What do I do now?

Pol-Chi walked up to the Brigan, looking up at him as steadily as the smoke would allow.

Korkungal stopped turning, sighed, glanced down at the body of the priest, and said with light reasonableness:

'No one else could do it, Commander.'

I did not want death. Not even the priest's.

Pol-Chi nodded. He looked at the priest. The stroke had been powerful. And skilful. Pol-Chi shuddered as always at the sight of death.

But Korkungal was not the danger.

'Go back to the ship, Korkungal. Your work is done here.' The Brigan sagged, suddenly without purpose.

It is an awkward, dangerous moment.

Pol-Chi spoke so only Korkungal could hear:

'Go to Sora. She has been alone all night.'

He raised his right arm high and immediately all the soldiers cheered. Korkungal perked up, smirked again, and swaggered, brandishing his bloody sword.

But he moved to leave the ship.

Pol-Chi raised his arm twice more, and each time the soldiers cheered loudly.

He is their Hero!

He unites them, even while they have forgotten about their salvation.

Everyone stopped to watch him leave the ship, leaping onto the united rails, sword raised one last time. A crowd of soldiers waited for him on the other ship.

Then Pol-Chi beckoned to the Engineer.

'You have your command again, Tan-Sha. I will send over soldiers to help clear the deck. At the same time, Tan-Sha, I want to intermingle the soldiers from both ships. I will send you twenty soldiers from the rowing teams. They will not have seen what happened here. You send over to me the injured and exhausted from your complement.'

Day was coming. In the early light of the sun, the smoke and blackened timbers looked worse. But the fires seemed less threatening.

'When you are ready, we will row to the shore. The men need to rest today. We must study our situation and decide what to do next.'

It was not until he stepped on to his own ship that Pol-Chi felt, or let himself feel, his own weariness. It came to him like an agony. His response was like a prayer. It rose in him, passing up and out into the lightening air. There was a grievous ache, but there was also the serene beauty of relief.

Korkungal sat slumped, his head hanging in dejection. He had thrown his sword and shield across the bow deck.

Pol-Chi could not restrain the euphoria he projected at the Brigan:

'Korkungal'

The light skin of his face was streaked with dust and blood where Korkungal had obviously rubbed his eyes.

Has he cried? Why?

'Korkungal, I cannot say this publicly, so I say it personally between us. You were right. None of us could have stopped the priest as you did. We must observe the order of the Empire. But if the priest had had his way, there would have been slaughter today. It is not much consolation, but perhaps you saved the lives of many of my soldiers.'

Korkungal nodded blindly. Pol-Chi knew that the Brigan's heart screamed. But with what pain, he did not know.

'Rest now, Brigan. Later we will go ashore.'

Pol-Chi turned to leave, his feeling of helplessness finding an echo in his weariness. His euphoria was attenuated and poignant.

Even one death is too much!

But Korkungal suddenly spoke. He spoke from the depths of his apathy.

'Once, Commander, when I killed in battle, I felt that I had given my life back to myself. This is hard to explain otherwise, but as a soldier you must have experienced this feeling yourself.'

Pol-Chi had not: he had done his duty.

'But now that there is no death, or no life, I am not sure which it is – but that is not important – I feel there is no place to go when I have killed. This is hard to explain, and I am reluctant to speak. But you have shown concern and I do not want you to feel pain on my behalf.

'I will explain it this way. it is said that when the soul comes in contact with the material of the body that it dies a kind of death and thereafter it awaits with a motionless hope for its time of release. Now, this motionless hope is hope without the feeling of anticipation, and it is the same state as that despair which also lacks feeling. I am like this, Pol-Chi. The state I am in has no motion. But unlike the soul, I do not foresee release. Unlike the soul, Pol-Chi, I have no other place to go to.

'Do you understand me now?'

Pol-Chi suddenly remembered the white murmur of the water under the hull.

'Korkungal, is this state always painful?' Pol-Chi did not think it was, but he wanted to hear what the other had to say.

'No, Pol-Chi. Only when I act out of will and decision does it ache. In repose, it is a sweet and blissful nothing. This, too, is hard to explain, but they are the best words I have.'

Perhaps my weariness helps me understand, Pol-Chi thought.

The first sunlight suddenly struck the deck, bathing Korkungal's face.

'Korkungal, I rowed last night. I had not done it for a long time, since my youth. I thought it was...I will speak candidly...down there I saw madness and rage and a lust for destruction. But all the time, beyond this turmoil there was the murmur of the sea passing under the hull. The murmur was continuous and without cease. I thought of it, strangely, as light. White, unchanging light. I think my men, who row all the time, listen only to that murmur. It makes the wretchedness bearable. Is your nothingness like that?'

Korkungal peered up in the sunlight.

'Ah, Pol-Chi, how well you describe it! Except for this one thing. That murmur, which I heard too in the night while rowing, is a thing in itself. The wretchedness and the murmur are separate things. You experienced the wretchedness only, that is clear. Your soldiers listen only to the murmur. Unlike you, Commander, your soldiers have no place to go. They have learned to listen only to the murmur, to ignore their bodies.'

'Then there is a wretchedness in you also?'

The blithe smile had returned to Korkungal.

'There was only wretchedness before Uöos taught me to accept the dark.'

'Dark, Korkungal?' Pol-Chi prickled as he felt himself move into the area of fear.

'Oh, Pol-Chi, dark or light, it is either or both.'

Pol-Chi experienced the crest again. But it frightened him this time: he saw the utter remoteness of it.

The Dark is two things: it is here and it is also there.

'Do not be afraid for me, Commander,' Korkungal's tone was gentle. 'I accept.'

Pol-Chi was suddenly bitter at Korkungal's naivety. He does not think that I can be afraid for myself.

Yet the Brigan has surmounted the fear.

'And for your part, Korkungal, do not feel obliged to act on our behalf. It causes you too much pain.' Pol-Chi began to walk away. An insight which had approached him before now arose again. Behind him, Korkungal said:

'I am still a man, Commander. I will still act to help my comrades.'

The word 'act' cut across Pol-Chi's thoughts, but even when he turned his attention to that word and what it implied, he felt his whole concentration sag. His weariness returned.

Set-Wun approached him amidships.

'We have untied the ships, Commander.'

'There is no tension among the soldiers?'

'No. They are too tired and too shocked.'

'When Tan-Sha has cleared his ship, take us in to the shore. Choose your own landing. Call me when we have anchored.

The day was already settled. Light streamed across the placid sea. To his tired eyes it seemed unduly harsh. There was a brittleness somewhere, either in the world or in himself.

Then Uöos came to show him a new sight.

They had reached the land of cloud.

'Lat-Pi was right then, Uöos. There are mountains here.'

The foothills rose almost from the coast. Beyond them were the purple heights of the mountains. Great folds of cloud hung about the peaks, brilliantly white where the sun shone on them.

'Are we in the North?' It was a rhetorical question, spoken in a new dejection.

Uöos looked tired and dried up after the night. He pointed up along the coast. His weariness weighed him too.

'There is always the north, Pol-Chi. We are simply here, as we always are.'

Chapter Fifteen

'You chose a good landing, Set-Wun.'

'It might he possible to go into the river mouth. Tan-Sha has gone to examine the channel. His ship needs to be repaired and cleaned. Also, we have few canoes now. All except one of Tan-Sha's were destroyed, and we left half of ours for the... survivors.'

The day was bright, now that Pol-Chi had rested. The foothills were close, covered with brown grass and low bushes. The mountains had become blue, glittering in places with cascading water.

'We should put a hunting party ashore now. Fresh meat would be a b1essing''

'I had thought to send about twenty men ashore to prepare an encampment and fires.

'Yes, do that. But we...'

There was a rush of feet behind them. Shouts and dull thuds came then. Turning and running, knowing it had come at last, Pol-Chi saw Tel-Chan charge across the amidships deck and literally collide with the swirling struggling group. Like all axemen, he was broad and heavy. He pulled soldiers away, cuffing and barking commands. Behind him, soldiers he had separated recommenced fighting. It was the Captain of the Slings, Tel-Sir, who broke up this group by simply interposing himself between them.

Pol-Chi allowed his Captains time to stop the fighting. Judging it, he arrived on the amidships deck at the right moment. In front of the panting, watchful men, he said simply,

'Tel-Chan?'

The Captain of the Axe came over, all the time running his eyes back and forth over the soldiers.

'Yes.' He nodded as he spoke.

Nothing else needed to be said.

'Send those men there,' he eyed the group to his left, who had been brought over from Tan-Sha's ship, 'To Set-Wun. He has work ashore for them.'

When his own men saw what was happening, they began to shout, 'Murderers!' Tel-Sir moved quickly towards them and Pol-Chi followed, trying to remain sedate. We must keep order.

Tel-Sir quietened them without much trouble. Then Pol-Chi walked to the biggest soldier, an axeman.

'What happened, soldier?'

Habit worked on the axeman. It showed in his slight stammer.

'They threw our comrades overboard. They just threw them into the sea to drown, Commander'

Is there identification with the victims? Are the other men now marked as the priest's men?

Pol-Chi pointed across at the soldiers from the other ship, who were filing up on to the stern deck, followed by Tel-Shan. He indicated the last one. A gash down his arm made him distinctive.

'Who did he murder, soldier?'

The axeman stared and swallowed as the point was made. But he blustered:

'But they all did it!'

Pol-Chi eyed him to quietness. Then he pointed to the soldier beside him.

'If the _priest_ had told you to throw that soldier overboard, soldier, would you have disobeyed him?'

The axeman made as though to answer immediately, glancing from Pol-Chi to the soldier beside him and back again, Pol-Chi interjected more sharply:

'Remember, soldier, the priest. _Your_ priest.'

The gap between hypothesis and reality produced confusion in the axeman. Pol-Chi knew what he was thinking. "If I had been there, I would not have refused. But I was not there!"

Pol-Chi waited. The axeman could not answer. But Pol-Chi knew he could not.

'Remember the priest's part in all this, soldier. Now, get about your duties, all of you. And no more fighting. I will not be lenient in future.'

Pol-Chi waited until the soldiers had dispersed, then he turned to Tel-Sir, drawing him with him towards the ladder to the stern deck.

'What have you heard among the men?'

'There are rumours and exaggerations, as expected. They say that up to twenty men were thrown overboard. And that they were beaten and blinded, and other things like that. But most of the men that were brought over from the other ship had spent the night at the oars. They know hardly anything of what happened. They simply obeyed the order to row. Some of them believe that they were obeying your orders, that we were on the final stage of our journey.'

'I don't want them separated, Tel-Sir. That would lead to serious trouble. We must find out exactly what happened.'

'Lat-Pi is on the other ship. He will talk to his own men and find out.'

'Good. Keep among the men, Tel-Sir. Be discreet. Let them argue. Intervene if it seems sensible. Do not defend the priest. But no fighting. If there is a death, we will have an end to our journey.'

On the stern, Set-Wun said:

'Tan-Sha is waving us in. He wants his own ship to go first.'

Pol-Chi nodded. Set-Wun called across.

There was a series of rumbles and creaks followed by splashes below as the oars were unlocked. Set-Wun gave a hand signal.

To Pol-Chi, the drumbeat seemed to come from inside his head. Could he ever hear it again without that dread of enslavement? Perhaps never, but there was deep knowledge there.

'I sent those men ashore to prepare camp,' Set-Wun said. 'They are still too tired to do much else. The priest never changed the rowing crews.' This fact scandalised the Captain of the Ships. 'He could have broken the men in a few days.'

'The hunting party?'

'Not yet, Pol-Chi. I want all the soldiers together ashore. Let them bathe in the river. I want to see how they group and interact.' His face was suddenly bleak. 'We may have to separate them and decide which way to sail, north or south.'

Pol-Chi saw the practicality of Set-Wun's decision. But the Captain of the Ships was prepared to let the soldiers decide for him.

'We are not in the north yet, Set-Wun. There is still our mission.'

He left the stern deck without looking at his Captain and went forward.

I am afraid to stop going forward.

It was action that kept things together now. We are coming to the end of the time of thought and dreams. Even Korkungal could not avoid acting. What of men who wanted to avoid thought? There is nothing any longer to prevent them acting.

This is the way of the Beast.

We will go on! I will cut out the troublemakers and send them back to the Main Fleet. We must have order! We will go on into the north, even if there are lands of fire and monsters.

Then the sour thought struck him:

And when there is no longer any place to go?

Pol-Chi saw the simple answer there:

Why then, it will be the Time of the Beast.

The Last Days.

He paused at the entrance to the dark passage. He looked up at the bright blue sky and let his thoughts complete themselves:

The Beast is the body turned back on itself, trying to turn thought back on itself. When that has failed the Beast will consume itself.

It is fear that will kill man!

Pol-Chi regarded his thoughts as bravely as he could, knowing he could not get beyond them.

He ducked into the dark passage.

The door was open and the first thing he saw was Hepteidon limping across the cabin, supported by Korkungal. He looked at Uöos, who stood by the window watching Hepteidon.

'So soon?'

Uöos shrugged: 'He insists. If the wound does not open, then there is no harm.

Sora was a bundle in the darkest corner. She seemed to be sleeping.

Hepteidon and Korkungal turned at the wall. This time the Astronomer pushed away from Korkungal and walked alone. He limped on his left leg, his face tense with concentration and pain.

'The bone is badly bruised,' Uöos explained to every one, 'It is not the leg. In time the limp will disappear.'

'Even so, Hepteidon, you should rest. There is no need to force yourself like this.'

Pol-Chi asked himself mockingly where his sternness had gone to.

Hepteidon turned at the other side of the cabin and paused.

'There is every need, Pol-Chi. For instance, who will map the mountains?' He walked again, now concentrating on removing the limp.

'Korkungal, what do your legends say of these mountains?'

The Brigan moved away from the wall, but continued to watch Hepteidon. 'Nothing, Commander. It may be that we are far from the homeland of the Briga.'

'Well, we will sail on,' Pol-Chi said more loudly. He was establishing his intention here, too.

Uöos suddenly looked impish. 'Tell me, Commander,' he asked with mock seriousness, 'how will you know the North when we reach it.'

It was Korkungal, who was used to the storyteller's banter, who answered, ducking his head and looking idiotic:

'The Astronomer will see it written in the stars!'

The tension lasted as long as it took Hepteidon to find his response. Meanwhile, he continued walking towards Korkungal. In that time, Pol-Chi saw that he had no authority here. Nor, he saw, was there any order here either. It was true, in their company he was outside the Empire.

Hepteidon stopped in front of Korkungal and stared levelly at him. His mood was still uncertain.

'I'll tell you, Barbarian, how I'll know when we are in the North.' His pause was deliberate. Korkungal's curiosity grew with that of Uöos and Pol-Chi. 'There will be no stars.'

Pol-Chi knew he gaped as credulously as Uöos did. But Korkungal slapped Hepteidon's arm and laughed with cunning:

'Then we are there, red man. Look out the windows!'

Hepteidon's stare broke. Uöos released himself in loud laughter. Korkungal rumpled Hepteidon's hair and pummelled him, laughing and guffawing. To Uöos he said between gasps and bellows: 'Look, he walked into it. He walked right into it!'

Now Pol-Chi laughed, also releasing himself. With so much to release, he laughed loudly, without restraint, slapping his hands, pointing when Hepteidon looked over at him.

In a while, Pol-Chi realised that it was for him to release the Merura, because there was that link between them. He said simply, between sobs of laughter:

'You had better laugh, Astronomer. What he says is true!'

He could see that Hepteidon was engaged in analysing a puzzle: how could anything he said be funny? But then he saw back to his original intention, his intended cruelty. In there had lain some kind of ambiguous gesture, a drive for contact. There!

Hepteidon swung his hand through Korkungal's hair and a kind of joy leaped in him. Korkungal ducked away as his hair splayed up before the hand, guffawing more loudly in reaction. Hepteidon went after him, lit by a joy that contained release, yet was still cruel, hitting the Brigan's back and flank with his open hands, flaying with them, head up and back, the gleam of pleasure lighting his green eyes.

Then Korkungal suddenly turned, ducked, caught Hepteidon about the waist and lifted him on to his shoulder. He spun him around, still laughing, pointing at Hepteidon's upturned rump as he passed Uöos and then Pol-Chi.

Uöos looked dubious, beginning to worry about the effect the horseplay would have on Hepteidon's wounds. But Pol-Chi, for his part, could do nothing. More, he realised he wanted this disorder and boisterousness. There was a deep release in it.

Suddenly, Korkungal stopped spinning, and, holding Hepteidon firmly pressed across his shoulder with one arm, he put his other arm akimbo and said,

'It's hard sometimes to remember that this red man is still a spoiled youth.'

Abruptly, he slapped the rump beside his head. Hepteidon responded by kicking and shouting to be let down. Uöos came forward, gesturing to Korkungal that he should let him down.

'Very well,' Korkungal said, and bowed forward. Hepteidon slid back, struck the ground and staggered. Straightening up, his face suffused with simple good humour, Korkungal then said, 'He may be a spoiled brat now but we'll make a man of him yet.'

Simultaneously, Korkungal saw that Hepteidon was in agony and fighting to keep on his feet, and realised what he had said. He rushed forward and grabbed his shoulders, pulling him up and into him. Wrapping his arms around Hepteidon's body, he hugged him, bending his face into his neck.

The moment lay open in the cabin like a great angry wound. Helplessly, Uöos and Pol-Chi watched Korkungal. Now, Pol-Chi knew, something had to be folded back on itself without justice, as a thing between men. It was a matter purely of feeling, having no justice or guarantee.

Korkungal pushed Hepteidon away from him and sought his eyes. When he found them, he saw tears, and pain, and a youth's enormous regret, in them.

'I am sorry, Hepteidon. I am sorry for what has happened to you. Believe me, comrade.'

Hepteidon cried openly, the realisation now running through him. It had had to be mirrored for him in another man's admission.

Korkungal shook him gently and then drew him in again to comfort him, caressing his hair, crooning to him. There were tears in his own eyes, tears of deep naive sympathy.

Korkungal was learning what it was like to be unmanned. And it hurt deeply. The regret was terrible.

Pol-Chi watched and wondered who Korkungal would turn to now. Uöos perhaps, for some kind of dim hope. Me? But for what?

He looked and saw that Sora was sitting up, watching Korkungal and Hepteidon. There?

But Korkungal actually turned to Hepteidon. He pushed him away again and looked closely at him. He shook his head as though he had confirmed a suspicion. Taking Hepteidon by the shoulder, he helped him over to the sleeping skins near Sora. When he had lowered him into a sitting position, Hepteidon refused to lie down. Korkungal hunkered down in front of him and said with a menacing edge:

'You are just like the other red man, Harmesh, spiteful to the very end.'

Hepteidon lashed out with his leg, but Korkungal was up and away with a bound.

'See!' Korkungal said to Uöos, 'Harmesh was like this too! He would learn nothing, just went on wilfully until he got a spear in his heart,'

He swung in sudden fury and kicked Hepteidon's heel. 'Unforgiving brat! I warn you, Aristocrat, either you learn to be a man or I will stop your heart too! Remember, broken balls or not, you will still have to be a man. As you are, even the puniest, stupidest weakling on this ship is a better man than you are. Balls or not! Aristocratic or not!'

He gave Hepteidon's heel a final swat and walked away. Raging, he said down to Pol-Chi:

'Put him on the other ship, Commander. Or I swear that I will break his back next!'

He slammed the door after him.

Pol-Chi looked at Uöos. There was shame between them. Uöos shrugged dismissively and beckoned to Sora.

The girl pointedly walked around Hepteidon. Her eyes were wide and bright.

At the door, Uöos said:

'You had better do as Korkungal says, Commander. Or he will murder him. You saw what it cost him to take on Hepteidon's pain. He will never do it again.'

Pol-Chi found himself left alone with Hepteidon. The Astronomer lay slumped with bowed head, hands tightly fisted, knuckles white, his whole body quivering.

Duty came before shame. The ambiguity in the shame surprised him. The Merura noble had failed him, and so failed the Empire. Yet Pol-Chi felt he had failed his friend. Yet Korkungal was right.

Why did he feel friendship for this spoiled youth?

Chapter Sixteen

It is possible to sit under the sun at zenith here without danger. The heat was enough to invigorate, to ease his stiff joints, to take the pain out of his feet and blistered hands. The breeze from the sea tingled his warm skin.

Set-Wun and Lat-Pi approached in a long curve up from the mouth of the river. They picked their way over the thick grass, looking about, sometimes pointing, up-river or across to the more level land beyond the river, which stretched away, brown and bright, to the horizon. They, too, were enjoying a moment of ease.

Pol-Chi turned and took a few paces up the slope away from his other Captains. Where there had been an immense open stillness at Ka-La-Tlu, here on the north side of the river the coastal strip seemed squeezed between the flat sea and the first slopes of the mountain range. The effect was not entirely pleasant, but he guessed that any settlement in this area would be established on this side of the river. The southern bank was too exposed. The land ran level from the river, with the exception of one or two mounds on the bank a little inland, to the distant horizon. Here, however, there was a terrace just above the beach and river mouth, then a slope, and then a wider terrace. This second terrace could accommodate a good sized settlement while offering convenient tillage and grazing to the inhabitants. Behind this terrace the land began to climb, steeply and then shallowly, and steeply again, up to form the outriders of the mountain chain. The only approach was along the river, easily guarded and defended.

Yet the bare, blue mountains, with their great crown of clouds, were oppressive, gaunt and remote, offering no welcome to man. Pol-Chi once again stiffened in response to their challenge. They dared to be conquered. But all that was to be found there was a woolly mist, rain, bare rock and the sound of clattering water.

No. He stopped himself. There is no omen here. The world still remains open to man. The North is the place to go to –

The North is that Place under the North Star.

Hepteidon was a spiteful fool to have said what he said. The question had been a serious one, not to be bantered with so dangerously.

But why had he called it the place with no stars? That had not been said out of mere spite. It had been a deep retort to something in Korkungal.

The Place with No Stars, that was Korkungal's Darkness. The Brigan is, who said it, Uöos or Korkungal himself? The Darkness in the Dark.

Who is Hepteidon in the Place with No Stars? The Astronomer's depths are a product of his secretiveness. They can be understood by means of analogy and correspondence. Korkungal is the being who makes...no, who constitutes the Dark. Identity. There are two things in Hepteidon's description, and they are different. There is the Place and there is the No Stars. But there is something in the Place. What is it?

Perhaps. Yes. Perhaps the one thing is a star. Perhaps Hepteidon conceives of a Place with only one star – and he is that star. But which star?

No. No. This is too attenuated...

The call was fainter than he expected. He must have wandered further than he intended. He raised his arms in acknowledgment and looked up. Two spearmen stood close by, on guard, regarding him idly. When he looked, they turned away, turning their attention to the north, as they were supposed to.

Look the way you go, not the way you've come, behind you there is nothing now...

What a time to find a poem. I grow melancholy in my weariness. We all do. The fear in our hearts grinds us down slowly and surely.

Pol-Chi turned away, his eyes surveying the north, the coast and the sea.

But we are far from the North. The inclination of the Le-Tlu shows that. But we go on! We will go on until there is no more going on!

The guards down on the beach were seated. That is no way to keep watch. He looked south. The soldiers seemed to work with a will on the damaged ship. Doing work helps. And in the river, the soldiers bathing seemed boisterous, splashing, diving and pushing. And the fires were lighting, smoke bending over in the breeze. They awaited fresh meat now. He could not see the guard up-river.

Do they know how far it is to the North?

Above the plain of crystal glass

Stands the fortress Northern Light;

Beyond the sun, the moon and stars,

It guards the everlasting night.

Suddenly released, Pol-Chi walked down the hill, spreading his toes in the grass. He hooded his eyes against the sun.

And we the men of trembling fear,

Pursue ends that cannot come near,

Seek to penetrate beyond the veils

Of light, of night, of all that fails

_To give.._.

'Commander, there is still much to be done if we are to sail this evening.'

'No, Set-Wun, we will remain ashore one night. The soldiers need rest. Their spirits as well as their bodies were racked last night.'

Pol-Chi sat into the circle. He laid out his hands in greeting.

'What is the situation among the men?'

Set-Wun looked at Lat-Pi, then said:

'They are surprisingly chastened. There is a shame among them, among the two groups for different reasons. But there is one problem. A group of axemen has developed a grudge. Of the eight men thrown overboard, six were axe. These axemen have now fixed on a group of spearmen as their executors. Tel-Chan has spoken to them. They will, of course, obey him, but a chance encounter could lead to trouble, because the spearmen remain unrepentant. They say they obeyed the legitimate orders of the priest.' Set-Wun looked into his lap. 'And so they did.'

Lat-Pi spoke then with urgency. 'Commander, the danger may be greater than this. The traditional rivalry between spear and axe has sharpened here. The spear will protect their comrades.'

Pol-Chi nodded, looking over at Tel-Chan. 'And the axe likewise?'

Tel-Chan nodded grimly.

'Tell me, were these particular axemen part of the boarding group?'

Tel-Chan's eyes widened as he suddenly understood Pol-Chi's question.

'Of course! Yes, they were, Commander. They witnessed the barbarian's murder of the priest. So. Their blood is up. They want to imitate the barbarian. Do you think that is the root cause?'

Pol-Chi pursed his lips in order to restrain his Captains. The word 'murder' was ominous.

'But the spearmen, as Set-Wun observed, were, strictly speaking, only doing their duty as soldiers. We must consider the justice involved. The priest ordered them to do certain things in order to maintain his authority on the ship.'

'But, Commander,' Tel-Chan interjected, 'six axemen were drowned!'

'No, Captain,' Pol-Chi looked at his Captain of the Axe steadily, 'eight soldiers were thrown overboard. We launched canoes and put a soldier in charge of them. Those soldiers wore no arms or armour, only loincloths, if anything. They are not necessarily dead. They could survive on the shore until the Main Fleet arrived.' Pol-Chi leaned forward, suddenly intent, drawing the attention of his Captains: 'There will be no fighting and killing here in the name of unwarranted assumptions. Keep your heads clear when you deal with your men.'

As expected, the unspoken rebuke was recognised. His Captains sat back, smarting in silence. I must be ruthless here. If I lose control of my Captains, then everything will fall apart.

It was Tel-Chan who spoke first, softly, as though from a distance.

'There is still the matter of the barbarian, Commander.'

'What matter is that, Captain? Our appointed guide has fulfilled his duties as required.'

'It is the matter of the disruption he causes among the soldiers.' Tel-Chan was making his stand with firmness, but also with delicacy. 'It was on his account, from what I have been told, that the priest acted as he did.' He paused. Before he spoke, everyone knew what he would say: 'And the barbarian was quick to murder our priest, before he could explain himself.'

'Very well, Tel-Chart, and you too, Lat-Pi, tell us what the priest said to the soldiers.'

Adroitly, Tel-Chan appeared to shrink back and so transfer attention on to the Captain of the Spear.

Lat-Pi coughed, leaned forward and extended his two hands, resting his arms on his knees. Turning up his right hand, he began diffidently:

'In general, it is not clear what the priest's objective was. The rowing teams, in the first place, were told by the priest that under the Commander's orders they were to work through the night, that it was the last stage of the journey. Believing this, they worked with a will. This is why the teams were not changed. And they seemed to have known nothing about what happened on deck.'

Lat-Pi now turned up his left hand: 'Now, he told the remaining soldiers that the Commander was plotting with the strangers to take over the ships, leave the Empire and ally with the Brigan tribes and lead an invasion of the Empire. His proof for this claim was the imprisonment of the Astronomer, who was to be forced to act as navigator for the journey north and then for the invasion.

'But he also claimed that the barbarian was acting under duress. That the Commander, and the Captains, were using him to rally the soldiers to their cause. What he called for then was an attack on the ship to release the Astronomer and the barbarian and to imprison the Commander and the Captains. Once this was done, he promised that the ships would return south and join the Main Fleet.'

Pol-Chi wrinkled his face and rubbed his nose: 'What do you say, Tel-Chan?'

Now Tel-Chan leaned forward.

'They say that the soldiers were thrown overboard because they insisted on claiming that the barbarian was the Chosen, as the rumours say he is.'

Lat-Pi interjected: 'But the spearmen and the archers say that they were thrown overboard because they refused to acknowledge that the barbarian was the Chosen!'

Pol-Chi held up his hand to check Tel-Chan, who had leaned towards Lat-Pi.

'Wait, Captains. For us now, the motives of the priest are not of direct importance. There is obvious contradiction in what you have heard. But there is also intentional misdirection, to the rowers especially. It is plausible that the priest told different groups among those on the deck different things.

'But what would be of importance to us now, if we could discover it, is the larger strategy of the priest. I need not remind you of his claims at our last meeting. There he claimed authority over all of us in the name of the Emperor himself. Now, he may have realised that we could plausibly counter his claims by limiting him to the instructions concerning the mission. In that case, if he was intent upon asserting his claims in fact, what else would he have done but take control of a ship temporarily without a direct command?

'The question is this, if he had succeeded in taking control of the second ship, what would he have done the ? He had two options. Continue to sail north, or return to the Main Fleet. But why should he continue north? He had no interest in the mission or its objective, that was always clear. Even so, why should he return to the Chief-Commander of the Main Fleet and say, "I have returned with these two ships in the name of the Emperor"? What reason could he give for this? An absurd claim about a plot by us to invade the Empire with the help of the Northern tribes?'

Pol-Chi paused, beginning to see the path his argument traced. Perhaps it is well. We have not been candid about certain things.

'Now, Captains, the question is this: what was the priest's real motive behind this farrago of claims? Remember his address to us. There he said he wished to tell us about rumours among the soldiers. What rumours, Captains? Plots to invade the Empire? But it is he who revealed that plot to the soldiers. But look where we find the most direct contradictions in the claims he made – about the Brigan as the Chosen! And that is the rumour the priest wished to advise and command us on.

'But, Captains, what did the priest want us to do with the Brigan? As I see it, when he spoke to us he was preparing to tell us, in the name of the Emperor, to deal with him in such a way as to quash the rumours. But, and I stress this, once aboard the other ship, with command and authority, he was not quite so sure of what he should do. Either he continued to want to destroy the Brigan and so end the rumours of the Chosen, which he saw as a threat to the Emperor,' (I am not being entirely truthful here. But it is too complicated.) 'or else he wanted to join forces with the Brigan and exploit his influence over the soldiers. This second alternative echoes what Lat-Pi heard from the soldiers. Captains, the priest was a traitor!

'I need not tell you that from this point of view, the Brigan's action expressed a kind of natural justice. The Priest wished the Brigan guide to do what he has otherwise showed no indication of doing: of acting against us in any way!

Pol-Chi paused and gathered his wits. How much of that is true? The priest was obviously mad. The fear had eaten into his innermost part.

Tel-Chan looked at the ground.

'If what you say is true, Commander, and to the extent that we can know anything of the priest's mind now, what you say is plausible, it is also as you have already said, the priest's motives are no longer important. Therefore, permit me to say this with disinterest: the barbarian remains the living cause of what has happened and, more to the point, what is happening now. His presence endangers us all.'

Tel-Chan's eyes remained downcast, so Pol-Chi could not easily engage him. Instead, he looked around the circle of faces and asked:

'Does anyone else have anything to say?'

Pol-Chi saw that Tan-Sha wanted to speak, but his isolation from the soldiers seemed to restrain him. As the silence lengthened, however, he looked about him. When no one else seemed prepared to speak, the Engineer said in a dry voice:

'Commander, let us discuss the rumour.'

Pol-Chi rubbed his nose in order to cover his mouth and so hide his relief. He said to the circle:

'What that precisely is the rumour?'

Who will answer? Someone from the peripheral commands?

Of the two Captains who rarely spoke, Shu-Ken and Tel-Sir, it was the Captain of the Slings who replied:

'It is said, Commander, that while in Ka-Bil the barbarian warrior, Korkungal, was visited twice by the Goddess, once in her aspect as Mother, and once in her aspect as Virgin. It is said that he was promised a special role in the great events in the world. As a sign to the Imperial Army of his role as the Chosen, he undertook a series of feats of arms, in one day, in which he successively fought and killed a Tendu giant of the Old People, a Merura noble, and fifty spear and axe...'

'No axe were killed that day, Sling,' Tel-Chan suddenly shouted. 'It is we who have the keeping of him!'

Pol-Chi thought: I know nothing of this business of the Brigan as a sign to the Army. But Tel-Chan's assertion reveals much, in any case.

Tel-Sir hesitated and looked at Pol-Chi, who nodded to him, to continue.

'Tel-Chan, I merely repeat the rumour. The truth or falsity of it can be discussed later.'

When Tel-Chart nodded grudgingly and sat back, the Captain of the Sling continued:

'These feats of arms, which do seem extraordinary, have been taken as a sign of the Brigan's special relationship to the Empire and especially to the Army – our Army of the Central Provinces. But there are two versions of what is to come. On the one hand, it is said that the Brigan will lead all the Imperial Armies in a great victory, a victory which will herald a New Age. On the other hand, it is said that the Brigan will be made the next Emperor, and that under him the Empire will conquer the world.'

Pol-Chi looked at his hands, clasped in his lap. The ring was bright in the sun. Has Tel-Sit censored his version of the rumour? He raised his head to all of them:

'Is this the whole rumour?'

No one spoke, so Tel-Sir was forced to reply:

'There are some wild exaggerations and superstitions, but I have given you the essence of the rumour.'

'What exaggerations and superstitions are there?'

When no one answered, Pol-Chi suddenly spoke with a mock-annoyance:

'I am your Commanders I need to know what our soldiers think and believe!'

Every face was set and blank; all eyes avoided his.

'Then let me guess. Tell me, Tel-Chart, what do the soldiers say about the Beast?'

Everyone jerked, some looked up quickly, then looked away.

I have spoken the unspeakable!

'It is nothing but a superstition, Commander. The common soldier always has his superstitions''

This 'common soldier' Tel-Chan speaks about is our kinsman! What new elitism is here among the axemen?

But I was right to ask Tel-Chan!

'Tell me the superstition.'

'They speak of a Beast. However, the accounts are garbled. Some see him as a monstrous enemy of man, which the Imperial Armies will defeat. Others fear him as the demonic Chief, who will lead the Army into destruction.'

Contradiction! Contradictions everywhere! Have my thoughts been too tidy? How could all these rumours and beliefs be focused on a small group who happen to be on this mission?

'Very well. Tell me, Lat-Pi, what is told of the relationship between the Brigan and the Beast?'

What will his reply reveal?

'It differs from man to man, Commander. Some identify them, others say the barbarian will vanquish the Beast in combat.'

Perhaps there are rumours like this in every one of the Imperial Armies. Perhaps each has its Chosen and its Beast.

If I only knew! It would explain much about what is happening here.

But there is a focal point for the whole world!

'Tell me, Tel-Chan, what do the men say of the so-called New Star?'

He could see that his Captains were beginning to resent his mode of interrogation. But they will not answer otherwise.

Tel-Chan did not look up. He plucked grass beside his knee, a diffuse gesture surprising in the Captain of the Axe.

This is the core!

Tel-Chart answered levelly, and Pol-Chi could hear the control in his voice:

'They no longer speak about the star. They have become used to it.'

Pol-Chi could not stop himself saying in exasperation:

'But, Captain, you know they will not stay out of doors once the sun has set!'

Tel-Chan gripped a sod tightly, but did not speak.

Should I push him?

No! I push his fear

He looked around at his Captains. Each was afraid. Each was dumb with fear!

Am I not afraid?

He remembered his earlier scepticism, learned from Hepteidon. But that was gone: destroyed in the recognition of the depth of the Merura's own fear.

The Place of No Stars.

He looked instinctively to the north. There the sky was bright and blue. Have I, too, already entered the Dark?

He suddenly had to trust himself. He closed his eyes and let prayer rise up through him.

Come, bright sole starry light,

Lead me through endless night.

'Captains, it is important that I break through this silence. You need not acknowledge my words now.

'Captains, there is a fear each knows, but about which no one will speak. Very well, I will speak. There is a prophecy that the New Star will destroy us and the world. It is said that men are helpless against this threat. It is further said that the Goddess cannot control the Star, that it has its own will.

'Now, I see the rumours concerning the Chosen and the Beast as rationalisations of the fear of this Star, where the Beast is the Star and the Chosen is a divinely appointed human challenger who will defeat the Beast, that is, the Star.

'If all men have this fear, then all men will have their Beast and their Chosen protector. In this case, every group and every region will have its rumours and perhaps its representation of the Chosen. Everywhere in the Empire and beyond, then, the tension and disputes such as we are experiencing will also take place. In this way, the Imperial, and human, order will be eaten away from the inside by our fear.

'All I can say to you now is this: it is our fear, not any actual physical threat, which weakens us. Remember that. Our enemy is not a Star or a Beast, but our own human fear. You must strive to conquer your fear. Yes, your fear. I am not talking any longer about the fear of the soldiers, as though they were a different order of being. You, too, are afraid. I do not ask you to admit it. For I, too, find it hard to admit the depths of my fear.

'As a means to controlling our fear, then, Captains. I suggest we attend to our duty as soldiers of the Empire.

'Captains, we attend to our mission and maintain order to that end. We will attend to our fear in the way any soldier would: when we see the enemy that attacks us, we will defend ourselves as best we can. No more than that can we do.'

He pushed himself up onto his feet. The sun seemed distant and cold, its light tenuous and brittle. The world about him seemed remote. It was beyond his reach.

Oh, let not the fear claim me now, for having spoken its name.

He walked down through the grass: remote hard spikes beat his toes. A hard light poured clown on him, crushing him, turning him to stone.

Walk! Walk! Focus on something.

The vertigo was appalling. But he found a tiny distant ship, with a tiny mast and a tiny spar. He saw in his imagination the oars tied up along the hull, overlapped in careful order. He saw the cabins and decks. The rowing deck where he had slaved – here anger moved in him. The cabin where Hepteidon had lain – there a pain of sympathy ran out for his friend's mutilation. He suddenly saw that Hepteidon could never turn back.

How is that? he asked. Then he saw a turning back. Korkungal turned back, and turned back again. And Uöos turned back in his own way.

Do I turn back? he asked himself, vacating himself in his temerity, fearing the answer but finding the need for it. Yes, I have turned back! But long. long ago.

Then... he saw he had tried to turn back last night. But he was not let turn.

Then there was the hole.

Pol-Chi hurried himself. Quick, think back! Think back!

It was dark in the hole. No, it was dark in the whole. There was one light. Within the glow of this light, a seated figure said:

'Turn back, turn back.'

And then he saw the turning back. Oh, he saw Korkungal turn back, and felt deep jealousy. Korkungal turns back all the time. Around and around! The figure in the glow in the dark was pleased by this.

Pol-Chi murmured towards the bright sea, stumbling over the grass:

'Goddess, teach me to turn back!'

Then he saw it all.

SORA!

Then he knew the _great word_!

'GODDESS, GIVE ME LOVE!'

Chapter Seventeen

Uöos crouched lower, pulling the cloak about him. He had been put to sit facing the wind, so that the heat of the fire blew towards him. It was bad to sit out at night in this cold. But it was good to be on land.

'Korkungal, if only for little Sora's sake, will you make a shelter. You could cut bushes with your sword.'

Uöos leaned and touched Sora's shoulder.

'Sora, you ask your man to do this. He will let an old man perish here, but not you, my silent lovely child. Tell him.'

Hearing this, Korkungal hissed on the other side of Sora. The only gesture he would make, however, was to put more wood on the fire. Sparks flew. They flew at Uöos, who ducked and brushed, clucking irritably.

'Sit closer, old man. I tell you again, I know this climate. This is a land breeze, which rises at sunset. If you came out from behind the fire, you would notice that it is warm. Also, you would notice that it carries the scents of the land. And they are sweet, old man.' Korkungal bent towards Uöos, trying to catch his eye. 'They remind me of the body of a young woman, old man.'

Uöos fought against his amusement.

'Huh, now you take to poetry, late-warrior. But that will not warm my old blood.'

'A jar of beer, perhaps, old storymonger?'

'If only there was! They keep it for themselves on the ships. Crouching in dark smelly holds, guzzling themselves into oblivion.' He paused, changing the pitch of his voice, knowing beforehand that Korkungal would not be fooled by the affectation of cracked old age: 'But this shelter now, great man of the North. It would be a small mercy for you, who is strong and virile.'

Korkungal hit the ground with his palm. The dry earth resonated solidly. 'Look, old man! This wind will die soon. Have patience.'

Uöos now appeared to sulk. He turned again to Sora. This time, he let his mouth drop, dribbling slightly.

'Sora, my child, as you love old Uöos will you _beg_ this great lummox of a husband to construct a little shelter for us.

His expression and wheedling tone made her laugh. She tossed her long dark hair, her brown eyes wide and glistening. Her laugh was silent, but it expressed a spontaneous delight.

She turned to Korkungal, who in fact had been waiting for her to do this, and made an appealing face, partly the entreaty of a helpless waif, partly a glance of seductive promise. Korkungal looked closely at her, delight in his face, his hands coming up before her. Laughing, he said to her and to Uöos.

'If only you would give the old man such a look! It would warm him for the night.'

Thinking his latest ploy had failed, Uöos shook his head in mock-annoyance again, and put his hands out towards the fire.

Korkungal bent forward and kissed Sora's brow, then said briskly, leaping up with exaggerated ease:

'I will take a walk to stir my blood, Will you come, old man? Then we will wrap you up in your warm cloak and let you sleep in peace.'

Uöos waved him away with mock-horror.

'The night is dark, big man.'

But he watched to see if Korkungal would take his sword. When he did, Uöos grinned, triumphant and relieved.

'Hurry back, swordsman. The night grows colder.' Korkungal waved the sword at him with amusement, delighting in Uöos' watchfulness.

It was no longer dark, for the moon had come over the mountains by now. Its pale light revealed the flats and edges of the land, but the slopes and hollows were in deep shadow.

Korkungal picked his way up the dark slope, swinging the sword before him. He hummed and did not try to avoid making noise. Once on the second terrace, he paused to find the clump of bushes he remembered seeing during the day. He searched about carefully. He stopped the motion of his head when he saw the bushes, paused, then let his eyes continue searching away to the right, towards the shadows above the river.

He had not told Uöos or Sora about the faint trace of smoke carried on the land breeze. There was no point in alarming them. The Savages were shy and cautious. But too hasty a reaction or too great a watchfulness could upset them. Then they could be unpredictable.

With the same studied carelessness, Korkungal now began to walk towards the bushes. He continued to swing his sword easily, this time by his side. He kept his eyes on the bushes, to keep his intention plain to possible observers.

The bushes were not high, but they spread out and reached back into the shadow of the slope above. As any man easy in himself would do, Korkungal began hacking at the stems closest to him. The noise was great and he increased it by heaving the cut bushes away behind him.

Then his watchfulness was rewarded. Two deeper shadows within the dark of the slope moved, flitting along his left flank. They would not approach him out here on the terrace. They would follow him, knowing already where he was going.

Their curiosity about the two ships must be very great.

Then he had finished cutting, Korkungal pushed the sword into his belt. Then he said in a normal voice, speaking directly ahead over the bushes into the dark of the slope. He used his native tongue:

'The Guests spend but one night in the homeland of the Men. We are Guests of Peace, travelling to the homeland in the North.'

Then he turned and set to gathering the bushes up into a tangled pile. He grasped the stems of the bottom-most bushes and turned his back on the slope. He made himself amble away, but pretended that the load he dragged was heavier than it really was.

The language of the Savages was related to that of the Brigans, so Korkungal had little trouble understanding the reply, which was spoken in a normal voice also, coming from a point in the dark behind him:

'Guests of Peace are hospitable.'

Korkungal walked on without pause, not acknowledging in any way that he had heard the voice. But at the edge of the terrace, he pulled his sword out and dropped it on the ground. The pile of bushes dragged over it, then into the darkness of the slope. On the slope, while pretending to check the balance of the pile of bushes, he managed to see at least one form flit, over to the left near the river. A Savage pacing him down.

Before he reached the bottom of the slope, Korkungal made one precautionary check, though he guessed the outcome. The river ran like milk in the moonlight. The two ships were dark islands out in the channel. Only one light showed, in the stern of the Commander's ship. But as he expected, there was no canoe at the river bank.

We made a choice. We knew. Uöos clapped and tipped Sora's shoulder. 'There, Did I not tell you, dear daughter, that he would go straight up and cut a few bushes for his aged friend and his young wife? You see! The barbarian has a kind heart.' He looked up at the grinning Korkungal, saw the effort in the grin and saw that his sword was missing. He forced a cackle, 'But I thank you, great magnanimous man. You have saved the life of the world's storybook.'

Korkungal dragged the pile of bushes to one side and came and sat beside Uöos. The storyteller looked at the pile, then at Korkungal.

'Must I sit over there, in the dark?'

Korkungal leaned over.

'Do we have food?'

'Yes.'

'Prepare some.'

Uöos felt behind him, saying suddenly in the Brigan tongue:

'Great Brigan warrior, must we continue to sit in this cold. Spread the bushes around the fire so that there will be shelter for all.'

While Korkungal went to spread the bushes, he dragged a heavy earthenware pot around him and pressed it in against the embers at the edge of the fire.

Korkungal said in the tongue of the Empire, glancing casually at Sora, who was beginning to suspect that something was wrong:

'Such a place as this is peaceful. It is lovely and without danger.'

To Uöos he said in the tongue of the Briga:

'I dropped my sword. Soon I must go and search for it.'

The figure paused at the edge of the light of the fire and did not come forward until Korkungal had seated himself, this time beside Sora. He came trailing a heavy cloak, Korkungal's sword held below the hilt in his other hand. He stopped across the fire from Korkungal, Sora and Uöos, a contrived expression of ease on his face, looking into the fire.

'I have found a weapon out in the grass. I have come thinking perhaps it belongs to one of the Guests of Peace.'

Both Korkungal and Uöos made as though to search for their weapons. Uöos produced the short stabbing sword, and Korkungal brought out one by one, laying them carefully between himself and the fire, a shield, a stone axe, and a spear. After a moment of apparent study, Korkungal looked up at the fire.

'Ah, Man of the Grasslands, this Guest of Peace is lacking his sword.' He shook his head. 'It was a good sword, Man, well tempered and useful in defence. I will miss it, having now only a useless shaft of wood and a lump of stone... I mourn the loss.'

'Do not grieve, Guest of Peace. Here! See, I have brought such a weapon as you describe. It is a strange weapon, of hard metal and fine edge.'

For the first time Korkungal looked up at the Savage. He was relieved to find that the Savage returned his look. Even so, Korkungal weighed him up. He was not too young, but that was usual. The Savage who made the first contact with strangers was usually one of the less useful fighters, often an older man who had judgment. His face was lined and sunken from exposure, wind-burned and tanned, blue eyes quick and bright.

'I wish a long life with that weapon, Man of the Grasslands. I assure you that it is a Life Saver.'

The Savage looked down at the sword, appearing to be undecided. But unexpectedly he said.

'It is a strange weapon, Guest of Peace. Tell me, as you would a friend, how you wield it. For instance, do you throw it? Or, again, is it a knife belonging to a giant?' The Savage's curiosity was getting the better of him.

Korkungal decided to take advantage of the acknowledgement of friendship in order to force a break in the formalities.

'Ah, Man of the Grasslands, if you had but been nearby as the moon came over the mountains, you would have seen me handle it.'

The Savage started suddenly. He glanced at Korkungal, then chuckled. Deftly taking the sword by the handle, he swung it by his side as Korkungal had done earlier. Then he made a long stroke with it.

'So that is how it is used. An ingenious weapon. Good for hacking.'

Now he handed it towards Korkungal.

'But, Guest of Peace, you need not grieve for its loss. See, I give it to you.'

Korkungal put his hands up in refusal and spoke a little too perfunctorily:

'No, no, Man of the Grasslands. What lies in the homeland belongs to the Men of the homeland.'

'Then, take it as a gift.'

'You make me very welcome. How can I repay you this favour?'

'It is a long night and I have come from afar.'

'Then you are welcome by our fire, Man of the Grasslands, for you are in your homeland.'

'I thank you for your hospitality, Guest of Peace.'

'Do not speak it, we are here on your sufferance.'

'But you are welcome to our poor place''

'But it is a rich homeland. Look, This food we have borrowed. It is rich and nourishing. It is yours.'

'I thank you for preparing it for me.'

The Savage took the bowl, fingered the gruel and ate some meat. Then, that over, he sat down opposite Korkungal and asked in a more openly curious tone:

'You are red headed and white skinned, yet you are not a Man.

'Our home is in the North. We return there.'

'Ah. Where in the North? We are told there is nothing in the North.'

'We go north and then east along the coast.'

'There are people there?'

'My people, the Brigan tribesmen, are there.'

'I heard once that a man rules this world. Is he a Brigan?'

'No. The Brigans rule nobody but themselves, as is proper among men.'

'The men in the big boats, they are not of your tribe?'

'No. They come from the south. They are friends of my people.

'From the south? The sun is hot there, I believe. And they are black, like burnt earth. And they are friends?'

'They are friends, even though strangers.'

The Savage transferred his attention to Sora and stared openly at her.

'She is my wife, Man. She is a silent woman, but of a pleasant nature. She is my constant companion.'

'That is good, Brigan. A man without a woman is like a head without a body.'

Now he stared at Uöos.

'I am the High Priest of Beth-Shur, in the land of Kimer, to the south of the Inland sea. My people are gone, so I journey the world for peace of mind. I have heard good stories of the North and I have come to see if they are true.'

Everyone was nonplussed at Uöos' speech. He preened himself and took a piece of meat. Under other conditions Korkungal would have laughed. The Savage stared at him and said to Korkungal.

'Is the old man mad?'

'He is a storyteller.'

The Savage nodded, satisfied by this explanation.

'Will you tell a story now, High Priest of the South?'

'Will you listen, Man of the North?'

'Do you make curses?'

'When I am put to it, I can send a man to his death with four words,'

'What are these words?'

'I will give them to you backwards, so as to spare your life. They are: ratsehtroftiaw.'

'Ah, High Priest. It is my fault, but you have put a great bond on my mind.'

'Such is curiosity.'

'Yes, I am known as a fool. But I will work to forget these words. In that way I will be free.'

'You will not.'

'Why is that?'

'Because you will not forget them. I tell you again: you will not forget them. Will I tell you a third time?'

'No. No, High Priest, I am in your power. I fear the temptation.'

'Good. But I am an indulgent kind old man. I can release you.

'How?'

'I can tell you a certain story.'

'Ah. But what must I do first?'

'Answer my questions.'

'Begin, powerful magician.'

'Are you many?'

'Not as many as you.'

'Where are we?'

'By the mountains of Topar, a mighty and invigorating God of the Men, and by the river of Sila, his consort; by the sea of Leten, that is, the sea of the Land of Fire.'

'How far is it to the homeland of the Briga?'

'That I do not know. If it is to the east, then there is four days march to the turn of the coast. For one month you then travel east through the homeland of the Men. Beyond there are others, who are our kin but who are not Men but Dogs. Perhaps beyond their homeland lies the homeland of the Briga. In any case, it is far away.'

Korkungal suddenly interrupted.

'Uöos, ask him about the Land of Fire.'

'Man, tell me about the Land of Fire.'

'It is said that beyond the sea, in the North under the Star, there is another land. In the centre of this land lies the Vagina of the World. It is from there that the world issues, due to the fructifying attraction of the North Star. Birth is continuous, so the world grows and grows. It is called the Land of Fire, not because it is on fire, but because the world is born in a kind of light which is a palpable as fire. This light-fire is required because it makes things simple, which is how everything begins.'

'Have you seen this land?'

'They say that if you sail north for days, you will come to see its glow on the horizon. It is said that only once has this been done. A long time ago, when the world was young, a Hero named Khor sailed in a boat of fire to see this sight. It is said that he cried afterwards. But why he did this no one knows.'

'A boat of fire?' Uöos asked doubtfully.

'There was a fire deep within the boat, and this fire forced the boat to go forward at great speed, faster then the running of a deer.

'Strange.'

'That is what I was told.'

'Is it a superstition? I have never heard that the world grows.'

'What if it is a superstition? We would be the poorer without it. In any case, how would you know whether the world grows or not? Your life is short and the world grows slowly.'

In the silence that ensued, the Savage asked patiently:

'Do you have further questions, great priest?'

'No.'

'Do you not want to know about the Cave of the Dragon, which is up in the mountains of Topar?'

'What Dragon?'

'That is not a proper question.'

'Tell me about the Cave of the Dragon.'

'This I have seen myself. If you wait for a night when the clouds withdraw from the peaks, you will see below the second peak, which is tilted slightly, a bright light. That is the Cave of the Dragon.'

'You have seen this Dragon?'

'No, but I have seen the Light and I have heard it roar. When it roars it sends a great flame up into the sky.'

'Ha, I have seen such a thing myself in the south. That is a volcano. There the earth is molten and it is spewed into the sky.'

'How high?'

'How high what?'

'How high does it go in the air?'

'A good bit, then it falls to earth and cools.'

'Ha, yourself, magician. It is not a Dragon. Here the Dragon goes to the stars.'

''>And does it return?'

'Of course. Roaring and making a 1ight.'

'It is very strange.'

'Yes, it is.'

'Have you climbed to examine this cave?'

'Some have. But they die before they reach it. They turn green and their hair falls out. Then they die.'

'It is a wonderful thing, I admit, Man.'

'It is wonderful in some ways, magician. Perhaps you will be lucky. Perhaps the Dragon will rise this night.'

'Do you expect it to?'

'It does so irregularly. I have seen the light once, but I have seen the Dragon rise three times, and I have heard it six times.'

'It is a most wonderful thing. I have never heard of the like.'

'Our homeland is quiet and peaceful, priest of magic, but it is no harm that it has one wonder. **'**

'Tell me your name, Man of the Grasslands.'

'I will, but I do it in friendship, though I am under bond to you. You ask questions like friend and you respond like a friend. I am Karusal, of the kin of The Setin... Now, may I ask a favour of you?'

'Yes?'

'Tell me the Brigan's name.'

'It is Korkungal.'

The Savage slapped his knee. 'There! I thought there would be a great lineage to him. He has the pose of a great man. Are there great tales to be told about him?'

'There are. I tell you more, Karusal of The Setin.' Here Uöos leaned forward, 'He is a man of great ambiguity!'

'Ah, I like that. He will not use it against the Men, though I think he has done it once already.'

'You must seek that assurance of him yourself, Karusal of The Setin.'

'I will, Uöos the High Priest.'

The Savage suddenly shivered and looked about him. He drew his cloak around his shoulders.

'This wind will not die tonight, I think. There will be a long blow.'

Korkungal cocked his head. Yes, the wind blew towards the ships. Then he noticed forms moving gently from shadow to shadow across the terrace.

The ships!

'Korkungal the Brigan, is it possible that you might consider not using your ambiguity against us in a malicious, harmful way?'

Uöos laughed.

'Karusal, Korkungal is tricky, but he is not malicious.'

'Oh. Forgive me, Korkungal. I did not mean to impute evil. I mean to ask you not to harm us in a wilful way.'

Korkungal bent as though in acknowledgement, but really he was trying to place his ear. There! He heard a chink of metal. To the Savage he said nonchalantly.

'Man, the wind blows towards the sea. But it does not blow trouble for us.'

The Savage flexed his left hand in an elaborate way.

'That is true. Sitting here in shelter, with a fire between us, we may well be safe. Is that so?'

'Oh, my arm assures that too.'

'Good, Tell me, then, do you wish us harm?'

'But you are my friend, Karusal of The Setin. Did you not tell me that?'

The Savage relaxed and grinned. He pulled his right ear, saying.

'My friends, I must show you a small weapon. Perhaps it will impress you.'

It was an arrow, with a small stone head. Korkungal said, 'That is a useful thing. I have seen the likes on the ships behind me on the river. But they walk in lines. They never walk at night. But I will tell you of another weapon. Do you see this?'

Korkungal picked up his stone axe.

'There is a weapon which has a similar construction, but which is made of the same material as my sword. It is carried by bulls. Who walk, even in the night, like bulls.'

The Savage smiled and looked up to the sky. He put the arrow away.

Uöos pushed his sword under his legs. Korkungal put his axe in his belt and laid his shield beside him to the left and his sword to the right. The Savage sniffed and said,

'Black bulls.'

The axemen wear too much armour, Korkungal thought.

'Black bulls, Karusal. All in a line.'

The Savage sniggered.

'My friend, Uöos the Great Magician, will we have time for the story? I need that greatly.'

Running steps brought Tel-Shan up behind Uöos. He stared blankly at the Savage. When he saw Korkungal on the other side, he started and shouted:

'Brigan, we have the keeping of you!'

The axemen – helmets, shields, axes, body armour, leg armour, collars of bronze – they wore everything – slipped out of the shadows and formed a circle around the circle around the fire.

'Brigan, it has been decided! We have the judging of you!'

Korkungal, Sora and Uöos remembered another time like this.

The Savage, Karusal, chuckled:

'Oh, ho, Korkungal, is this more of your ambiguity?'

Chapter Eighteen

Tel-Chan stared out above his shield, his eyes revealed in the gap between shield and helmet as glistening dark stones. He held his great axe up, the raw steel edge jutting from the painted metal of the head.

'Tell me, **'** Karusal asked Korkungal equably, 'what does he say? He addresses you.'

Korkungal grinned.

'They have come to protect me from the dark, and to protect _themselves_ from me.'

'Ah, do you do them harm?'

'They say I lay a great task on them.'

'What task is that? Is it the destruction of the world, perhaps?'

Korkungal slapped his knee:

'Karusal! You are as quick as the storyteller.'

The Savage flushed, pleased, and darted a glance at Uöos.

'What other task would they have you have for them?' Uöos said, sniffing with mock-disdain. 'They are proud men.'

The Savage looked around him slowly.

'They are that. And fierce. But their clothing is a great burden. Is it useful?'

Korkungal answered:

'Only when they meet their own like.'

'And do they?'

'The world is full of men like that. Rampaging bulls on thin leashes.'

Now Uöos looked around him, craning to peer up at the Captain of the Axe. To Korkungal, he said in a mock-worried tone:

'There is one missing, new-man.'

Korkungal winked:

'He is the one who is laid out now.'

Uöos laughed heartily:

'You have a hard humour, Brigan.' To Tel-Chart he called up imperiously: 'Captain, why is the Astronomer not here? Who is to tell us our duties this time?'

Korkungal said to Uöos in the Imperial tongue, 'Why do you ask that? Is the journey ended, or do we begin afresh?'

'What do you judge, Captain? No, wait.' Korkungal looked around the circle of armoured soldiers. 'Is Shen here?'

To his left a voice said, 'I am here, Korkungal.'

'Is _this_ the end of the journey, friend Shen?'

Tel-Shan crashed his axe against his shield.

'We are not here, Brigan. to talk of journeys. We are here to ask you questions. We are here at the command of our Commander.

'Ask then,' Korkungal said.

Karusal whispered loudly across the fire to Uöos.

'Their leader's axe, as you call it, speaks well. What does it seek of Korkungal?'

'Answers to questions, friend Karusal,' Uöos replied, wrinkling his nose.

'Ah, good magician, then the axe has our companion in bond, does it?'

'I think it pretends to that.'

Tel-Chart lowered his shield so as to reveal his mouth:

'Brigan, it is said that you endanger our mission. What do you say to that?'

Karusal leaned expectantly towards Uöos, who said:

'They want to know what harm Korkungal intends them.'

The Savage nodded, excited, and turned to watch Korkungal answer, murmuring to Uöos:

'All in line, my friend. As you say.'

Korkungal looked up at Tel-Chan:

'Captain, you know I do the things you yourselves cannot do. I am the guide.'

The answer angered Tel-Chan, but it obviously impressed his soldiers, some of whom nodded in agreement.

Karusal said impetuously:

'There's a good answer there, Uöos. Please tell it to me.'

Tel-Chan barked, 'Who is this garrulous skeleton, Brigan?'

'He is a Man, one of the inhabitants of this place. He has come to visit his guests and accept hospitality.'

Tel-Chart snorted and gestured across the fire:

'Get the savage out of here!

The axeman behind Karusal hesitated, looking from his Captain to Korkungal. When he finally moved forward, raising his axe uncertainly, he suddenly stumbled through the brush and fell over sideways, squealing, the long shaft of an arrow protruding from his neck just below his ear.

While this was happening, Karusal said:

'We must go north now, and then east to the dark. Can the girl fly?'

Uöos nodded, clutching for his sword.

Before the axemen recovered from their surprise, more arrows dropped in, striking axemen behind Korkungal. As the armoured circle broke, another flight struck, this time on the other side of the circle.

In the confusion, Karusal said, 'Let us go north.'

He rolled away, followed by Sora, then Uöos and Korkungal, and ran low, zig-zagging. Ducking into a hollow, he immediately clutched Uöos as he slithered in behind him and whispered:

'Tell me the story now, magician, for I must have myself now.'

Uöos fought for breath, nodding in the dim light of the moon. The axemen were shouting their confusion, and the bellow of Tel-Chan could be heard calling them to order. Korkungal crept up to watch.

'It's a short story,' Uöos said evenly, 'but it is unusual. Listen carefully now; afterwards you can think about it.'

Karusal shifted closer, his ear bent to Uöos' mouth:

'I listen, storyteller.'

'Now, Karusal, there are two images in this story which can be brought together from the outside but not from the inside. You must note that fact. The first image is this:

'There is an ant-nest in the corner of a plain. It is thriving, busy, with lines of ants going and returning, providing sustenance, with military ants on the gates, and household ants within, nourishing the young and attending their Queen. The nest has long been there and their world is good, for they wisely attend to their own affairs only. But suddenly, one day like any other, a sound is heard, then another sound. Most ants ignore it and continue to fulfil their duties, saying that this is the proper thing to do, for life must go on. There are some ants who shout doom, but they are seen to be deficient in sense, for the doom they preach is absurd, containing as it does an inevitability which cannot be avoided. But the military ants rouse up and rush to the gates, to defend the nest, shouting to maintain their fighting spirits. This has some rightness, for that is the function of military ants everywhere. Then the nest collapses and all the ants except one are buried and crushed. The surviving ant crawls out, looks about him, but sees an exterior world unchanged. In despair, he blames the gods of the ants, wonders what they have done to deserve this calamity, and... well, it is not clear what he did next.

'Now the other image is this: There was once a great battle on a plain. The soldiers massed in ranks according to their weapons and in obedience to orders, turned and marched and fought and died. At the middle of the day it became clear how the battle was to be decided. As the sun began to sink, the victors began to overwhelm the losers. At moments like this, a man's heart can give out and he will run. He will run away from the place of danger and seek shelter somewhere. One soldier dropped his weapon, I do not know what kind of weapon it was, but this is not important, and ran away towards the hills adjoining the plain. I do not even know if he was followed. But he ran, and in running stepped on an ant's nest, jumped clear, and continued running. Whether he got away or not I was not told.'

Karusal's eyes were bulging by now. He gripped Uöos' elbow and squeezed it tightly:

'Ah, storyteller, the greatest pleasure in my life is to hear a well-told story. And you tell your tales well. But, tell me this, Uöos, there is a great war then?'

'Oh no, Karusal. I have heard other forms of this tale, in which the man is hunting deer, again he is playing with his woman. In other versions, it is a deer which does the damage, in others even a falling tree.'

Korkungal slid down and chuckled, beating a fist in his palm:

'It is a great thing to see, companions. The axemen call to the ships for help, but no one comes. And they call for help, though no one attacks them. What a strange space they inhabit now. What do you say, Uöos?'

'I have said this before to you, Korkungal, but I will say it now for Karusal's benefit: it is fear which proves that the nothing does exist.'

Karusal shivered with pleasure.

'Oh, Holy High Priest, you know the depths of everything and the heights of everything.' He clutched Uöos shoulder and kissed his cheeks. 'And you give this wisdom to your friends with a great ease. **'**

Now he caught Korkungal's wrist and shook it;

'Is he not a great, good friend, man of the power of ambiguity?'

Korkungal patted the Savage's hand:

'He is that, when it suits him.'

A figure slid into the hollow. His young eyes darted around, then he said:

'Karusal, though you command me, I tell you again to your face that you are a fool and a meddler.'

Karusal laughed easily:

'Manosur, keep your breath for the tasks I give you.'

'I do. Will you come now?'

'We will come now.'

'Who are these?'

'My friends.'

'Oh.'

Karusal beckoned to Korkungal and Uöos and said:

'We go now. Bring the girl.'

They ran from the hollow, flitting from shadow to shadow, running low across the terrace towards the rising slope. There was less shadow than before, now that the moon was past its zenith. But renewed howls and cries from the axemen indicated that a diversionary attack was under way.

Once up the slope, Karusal and Manosur paused for breath. The others followed suit. Out of danger, curiosity rose, and they all went to the edge of the slope and looked down.

The axemen now formed a rough circle around the fire, facing outwards, shields and axes up. Within the circle, beside the fire, which had been fed with the bushes, so that it blazed brightly, lay a tangle of bodies, wounded and dead axemen. There was only one light burning out in the channel, in the stern of the command ship, but singing could be heard, chanting, hysterical singing.

Karusal said to Korkungal:

'Are they your friends? I am your friend, but I would not treat you like that.'

'Perhaps I am their friend, Man of the Grasslands.'

Karusal laughed, moving away:

'You are a tricky one, Korkungal.'

They went up the slope, lit directly by moonlight. Manosur led them off at an angle, back towards the river. They walked in silence, though Karusal sometimes took to humming happily. At the rear, Korkungal's sword could be heard swishing through the grass and sometimes cutting into bushes. Once he said in a low voice forward to Uöos:

'Old man, could the journey be at an end?'

'Do you wish it, new-man in no-where?'

'I cannot wish it, you know that.'

'And that is how it is, destroyer of the world. There is no rest.'

'It is not the rest that I wish. Note that.'

They climbed over the crest of the slope and began to descend the other side, walking carefully in the shadows. But Manosur led them surely along an irregular track. At last the ground levelled out and they came once again into moonlight. It was a high terrace, and at the end, high above the moonlit river valley, stood a copse of low trees. As they approached the trees, Manosur gave a peculiar whistle. The answers were different kinds of whistle, coming from the left and right. At the edge of the trees, Karusal said:

'We will rest in the shelter of the trees. My friends have come to see the Dragon's Lair. Where is Tantor?'

'I am here. What do you want now, in the middle of the night?'

The voice was thin and testy. An old man, bent over and leaning on a stick, appeared.

'My friends wish to see the Cave of the Dragon. Is it possible tonight?'

The old man grunted and turned himself in such a way that he could look up.

'The wind strengthens and it is steady, Karusal. It is a night for it, though there is no certainty.'

'Good. Manosur, bring food and drink. We return hospitality. We will sit here. The mountains can be seen from here.'

They sat in a semicircle facing the mountains to the north. The old man, Tantor, grunted and complained, but continued to sit beside Uöos. The storyteller drew Sora down beside him. Korkungal sat beside Sora, Karusal sat beside Tantor. When Manosur and two other young Savages brought jars and bowls, and meat and beer had been handed around, Manosur sat beside Karusal, while the two young Savages sat behind him. Soon other Savages appeared, some coming from the trees, rubbing sleep from their eyes, others coming over from the seaward terraces.

Once the first bowl had been drunk and the mood of wholeness had appeared, Karusal said to Tantor in a curious prodding way:

'That one beside you, old man, is a High Priest of a great city in the South, where the sun is closer. He is also a great magician, for he bound me with little trouble, and a great storyteller, a pleasure to listen to.'

Tantor grunted with reactive jealousy and drank a whole bowl of beer at once. Wiping his mouth, he turned his head stiffly and eyed Uöos. No one spoke while Tantor undertook his examination. Finally, he hawked noisily and said:

'Have you dreamed the story of the Star, Priest of the South?'

His tone was unexpectedly professional.

'No, Priest of the Men, I have not had that particular gift.'

Tantor waited while Manosur filled his bowl and topped up Uöos'. They both drank deeply. Then Tantor nodded earnestly. The pleasure he took in talking with Uöos was not concealed, and Uöos for his part leaned sideways to catch the old man's words.

'There are many gifts and each man receives only a few. Yet some gifts are in a man's power to give and it is better for the world if these gifts are given freely.'

'That is so, good Tantor.'

Korkungal had now reached the stage where he called out for more beer. A youth was sent to him with a jar. Karusal himself drank another bowl so as to enter a like state.

Tantor ignored the shout and said:

'I have dreamed the story three times, Uöos. For that reason I hold it to be inspired by the Goddess. Would you agree in principle?'

Uöos nodded:

'Thrice telling is such a sign. I have often thrice told a story in order to establish its truth in the minds of my listeners. It is a great power; it must surely be a divine power.

It was Tantor's turn to nod.

The Savages at the back were now beginning to grow boisterous. Already two fights had been decided and some were calling for the woman of the tribe to come out.

Tantor said:

'I will tell you this story now, Great Priest of the South, for I think it might be of use to you, now or in the future.

'And I will listen closely.'

Karusal leaned across them and attracted Korkungal's attention:

'You are my friend, are you not?'

His words were slurred but his eyes were bright with intention, Korkungal regarded him, watching the movement of his eyes. When Karusal's eyes finally slid away to look at Sora, Korkungal slapped his knee and laughed.

'I have never seen such colour before, my friend,' Karusal said sheepishly.

Tantor began speaking, absently pushing Karusal away from him:

'I will tell you the dream, Uöos, then I will offer you my comments. Then, if you will, you can offer me your comments.' Karusal reacted by pulling back from Tantor's hands until he fell on his side. Laughing, his eyes on Sora, he got on his hands and knees and trotted around Tantor and Uöos to sit in front of Korkungal and Sora. 'This is the story, then –'

'But it is more than that, Korkungal my friend, believe me. For I offer you respect.'

'– A great being once built a city and provided it with everything that would make it rich and busy. It thrived as he foresaw it would –'

' believe that of you, Karusal. I see it in your eyes.'

'In all honesty, Korkungal, I cannot help myself –'

'– But when the city had grown as it was planned it would, a strange thing happened. It bred its own great being –'

'–for I see a lewdness in your wife that moves me to lust.'

'– Now the inhabitants of the city were clever people. The being they bred was female. She was young, beautiful and desirable, As you might expect, the creator being came to desire her . –'

'I can see that, too, Karusal. And it is a dangerous thing to have a man lust without respite.' Karusal laughed, and touched Sora tenderly on the cheek. She regarded him with warm eyes. 'What must be done, should be done. Is that not right, Sora my silent one?'

'– He came down to the gate of the city and told the inhabitants there of his desire. They acknowledged the truth of his claim and allowed him enter their city –'

'Now, Korkungal, it would not be right to leave you alone without warmth and comfort. To replace Sora at your side I will call my wife and her sisters –'

'– He was brought to the chamber in which the female being sat. He went and knelt before her, his eyes on the ground, the back of his neck exposed to her. He said, in a humble tone, "Give me one wish, beautiful female" – '

'– I do this to honour Sora, for she has surpassing charm. It weakens my knees, Korkunga1.'

Korkungal nodded assent, drank and waved them away. When Karusal rose, Sora rose also.

'– The female being was not malicious. You must understand that, Uöos. She was in her own way innocent, for she had known nothing of the creator being's passion until then. So she said, with the amiability of the innocent, "I will give you what you desire, male being. Tell me what it is." –'

Karusal went towards the trees and Sora followed. There, he called softly, and spoke to the dark form that appeared. Then he took Sora's hand and went a little off onto the grass.

'– The male being swooned with relief and bowing even lower said, "Let me possess you for ever". The female being replied immediately, "I promised, male being. It shall be. You may possess me for ever" –

Sora lay on the grass and Karusal pulled up her gown. Then he lay on top of her. Korkungal drained his bowl and had it filled by the youth. Three women came and sat before him.

'– The male being uttered deep thanks and praised her for her great condescension. He then arose and approached her, studying her beauty and charm avidly. He sat beside her and put his arms about her, still studying her –'

The woman in the centre was not entirely young, but the two flanking her were. The cheering and calling behind Korkungal indicated that other women had come out also. Karusal lay on Sora and moved rhythmically. His pleasure could be heard among the cries and cheers and the droning of the old priest.

'– He said after a while, when his desire moved from his eyes to his loins, "Let us lie down, lovely female". She complied immediately. But when he lay beside her, he discovered that as a female she was incomplete. She was surprised at his rage, for she had not realised she was incomplete, being a unique being –'

Korkungal drank more beer, studying the women, allowing his lust to rise. Then, when it took him over, he reached for the middle woman, out of respect for her, and brought her down to the ground.

'– The male being raged at the inhabitants of the city for their deceit, but they only laughed at him. He stormed, caught now in a tangle of loves, for his creation and for the female the city had bred. On the one hand, he was tempted to destroy the city, but he loved his creation too much, it had so well fulfilled his intentions, –'

Korkungal's lust was great, for the sight of death always made his lust great, and he soon brought a sister of Karusal's wife down beside him. Out in the grass, Karusal himself signalled his ejaculation with a hoarse, strangling cry.

'– On the other hand, he was tempted to leave the female being and endure in frustration alone. But she reminded him of the boon he had required and which she had granted. So he could not leave her.

'That is how it remains in the story, Uöos. The city went on to extend its dominions. The poor male being, and he is to be pitied, remains in the bondage of the female being who is not a woman.'

Now Korkungal drew the second sister down and brought her to lie beside him. But, being a kind man, and also being in part sated, he did not ignore the other sisters. He was leisurely, joking with them, caressing them, bringing all four into a circle of companionship and sensuality.

Uöos pulled his ear.

'It is a strange story, Tantor. I can see the ramifications in it, the compounding of honest love with unforeseen obstacles. But, tell me, though you have dreamed this tale three times, where is the Star?'

'Oh, do you not see, Uöos? –'

Karusal and Sora came and joined Korkungal and his wife and her sisters. They lay down in the tangle and embraced and caressed and joked and sniggered. Then Korkungal discovered another girl beside him, who looked at him with surprise before laughing and throwing her arms about him. Karusal lay on his wife's sister and a young man approached Sora timidly, his eyes wide at the sight of her brown flesh. Sora eased his timidity by lying back on the ground, her head resting on the throbbing thigh of some man.

'– The male being's creation slipped away from his control. After that, it was in the control of the inhabitants of the city, who were necessarily inferior beings. They were now the rulers of creation, and from then on, the evidence of their inferiority became plain –'

Now someone began to sing a song which was alternatively sad and rhythmical. Others joined in. There was a tangle of flesh, partly naked, partly clothed, some bodies still locked together and moving, others embraced in satiation, others interacting in a random and sluggish way. Jars of beer passed

'– Under their mishandling, the creation slips increasingly into chaos, as the order of creation decays. The Star, Uöos, is the sign of that final decay.'

Uöos turned to hide his face from Tantor. He drank some beer. He was surprised to see the mass of tangled bodies around him. He shook his head to remind himself of Tantor's words.

'Tantor, you swear you have had this dream three times?'

'I swear to that, I would not lie about such things.

Uöos lowered his head, this time to avoid seeing the provocative sight beside him. He thought hard and then sighed.

'My good friend, Tantor, I do not understand your dream at all. Least of all do I see reference to the Star.'

Tantor shook his hands.

'But what else could it concern. '

'Ha. I will be candid. It concerns an old man and his failing.'

Tantor lowered his head in misery.

'I see the salvation of men in this story. '

The welter of bodies was quietening. Some now slept, some sang, some drank, and one or two still embraced and moved. Korkungal, one arm around a sister and another around Karusal, with a young girl lying across his thighs, snored loudly. Only Sora sat, her gown up about her thighs, looking around her with an air of open contentment.

Uöos called her and she came immediately, picking her way among the strewn bodies and limbs. He watched her, his eyes warm, and said to Tantor behind him:

'What salvation, Tantor?'

'The female being must be put to rights, Uöos.'

Uöos snorted in laughter.

'And how are we inferior beings, to do that?'

Sora sat down beside Uöos, who put his arms about her and snuggled his face into her warm neck.

'Uöos. Remember that the story is an echo of some reality, I would not have been told the story if man had no part to play. There is some analogous action that we can perform.'

'Only, I do not know what it is, Uöos.'

Uöos looked around at Tantor. His attention was slackening.

'Well, I can see nothing in it.'

Sora pulled his arm gently and Uöos giggled and tumbled down beside her. He loosed his tunic and pulled up her gown. Lying on her, he muttered in her ear, and Sora opened her face in silent laughter.

Tantor watched them, thinking about man's ignorance. He drank more beer. Finally, he turned away and glanced around him. The moon was setting and its light fading. Tantor shivered with growing drowsiness.

Then, for the twenty-sixth time, he saw the light of the Cave of the Dragon. It shone clear and yellow, up below the second peak.

No one else saw it. Everyone slept now, except Uöos and Sora, but they were too preoccupied with their rising excitement to be distracted.

Chapter Nineteen

Pol-Chi turned his drained, brittle attention to the subject again:

'But a light high in the mountains? I tell you my view, Hepteidon. It is an omen. We have reached our journey's end.'

Hepteidon remains sardonic. But I must stand by my own insight now. It may be wrong, and I may be sinking into superstition, but what else can I do? The various events will not hold together otherwise.

'And I say, Commander, that the local tribes-people, the Savages, as they are called, lit a fire. It was a big fire, admittedly, but perhaps it was a religious ceremony. No doubt they worship some god of the mountains.'

The dawn had brought relief. Perhaps the cloud is also a sign. But of what? Again, the end of something. Oh – there is no sun, or moon or stars now.

The shiver ran up his body and clutched his neck, his jaw and brow.

If only this barrier would give way!

'But, Hepteidon, the light was steady, while the wind was strong. It was an unwavering yellow light, which neither flared nor dimmed all the time we watched it. What fire is like that?'

Hepteidon wraps himself up in his bitterness. Ha, he folds himself on his fear and does not know it. His science fragments and he pursues the last dregs of it. Like our late priest, he will end up with empty words. Empty logic against the free power of the word.

What will save him?

My friend!

Give him his God!

'Commander, there is no other rational explanation. If it was not a fire, then it was a trick of nature. We are in a strange place, where there are bound to he new things.'

'Surely, Hepteidon. That is reasonable. But I ask you, what kind of natural thing is this?'

Even seated, Hepteidon contrives to use his height to convince me of his arguments. He practices the downward tilt of his head and the flashing of his green eyes.

He is a Merura.

When will he grow up? The Brigan is right. What is a sign of power worth if the wielder does not have to mature? Our Empire is a hierarchy of children playing with symbols.

I move my hand thus, and the yellow stone in the ring flashes yellow light. Many things gather here about the light of this jewel.

Is this the journey's end?

'You have completed your mapping of this region, Hepteidon?'

'Yes, Commander. I used the inclination of the moon and the North Star to fit the position of the mountains. They are an important feature, as you can well imagine, in such a flat land. Next, we must find the turning of the coast. It will not be far away.'

My secret question answered. So be it.

We will sail on today. We will leave cairns for the slain soldiers and a message for the Main Fleet. They can investigate the Savages and take what revenge my father wishes.

More deaths! Tel-Chan is a fool, a dangerous fool. He plays soldiers with his axe, disguising his jealousy in justice.

'We will sail today, Hepteidon. There is a good wind.'

But the other ship has no sail. I will decide what must be done when the time comes.

But Korkungal? Will he return?

I miss them! There is an incompleteness now. Do I belong more to them now than to my Empire?

My heart expands in reply. They have love!

'Tell me, Hepteidon, judging by the inclination of the Le-Tlu, how far is the North from here?'

Ah, he is surprised! Yet it is obvious that he has not thought of this himself.

'Allowing that one thing implies another, that there is a land under the North Star, so that it can be said that there is a North, it seems that we are now about two-thirds of the distance between where the sun stands highest and where it would stand lowest, that is the North. On that basis, we are about a month of steady sailing from this North.'

So far!

'But, Commander, our instructions do not tell us to sail to the North. We are to investigate the north coast of this continent only. It seems that soon we shall travel east. Speaking poetically, as you are a poet, it can be viewed as the end of the journey away from the sun, after which we begin to sail towards the rising sun.'

'You like the sun, Hepteidon?' He discusses symbols, so why not pursue it?

'The sun gives us light and heat, Pol-Chi. It maintains all life. It is thus important and central.

He is mollified. Does he realise that he passes beyond his science?

'And in the system of your Priesthood, Hepteidon, does it not also represent reason and the light of the intellect?'

I have brought him home. But does he realise that the sun is no longer important?

'There is that, too, Pol-Chi. But I have never dwelt on that kind of symbolism.'

What? There is an individual thought here. Hepteidon's own belief as an individual. A great clue, perhaps.

'But why not, Hepteidon? It seems to me an obvious symbolism.'

Hepteidon's reply was drowned in sudden cheering. The ship rocked as many feet pounded the ladders from the rowing deck and hammered across the upper deck. The cheering grew in volume; echoed from the second ship.

Pol-Chi stood up and approached Hepteidon. Thinking that assistance was being offered, Hepteidon scrambled to his feet and moved sideways towards the door. But Pol-Chi only wanted him to repeat what he had said. Still walking, Hepteidon said over his shoulder:

'I said, Pol-Chi, that man requires no symbol. All symbols gather in him. Is that not obvious to you?'

The soldiers crowded the bow of the ship and leaned over the rails on the port side. From the stern deck Pol-Chi and Hepteidon saw a small raft drift in between the two ships. Korkungal, sitting at the back and manoeuvring a long paddle, acknowledged the cheers from the two ships with laughter, releasing his left hand from time to time to wave.

Uöos and Sora sat on a skin, wrapped up in cloaks. Both were smiling with an infectious delight.

Pol-Chi could not stop himself from giving a cheer. The delight on the raft passed into him. Hepteidon looked askance, raised his brows, and before he, too, could help it, had raised his arm. What had begun as a fist became an open hand: he waved. He was immediately annoyed and made as though to turn away. But Pol-Chi caught his wrist as Uöos saw them. The storyteller threw back his head in an ambiguous way and spread his hands, as though to say that it could not be helped. This mollified Hepteidon. His face softened as he turned to Pol-Chi:

'They are clowns.'

Pol-Chi laughed with relief and delight.

They have come back!

'But they are useful clowns, Hepteidon,' he said, bending his true feelings in order to engage the Astronomer at that level, to allow him release.

Hepteidon nodded slowly.

'Perhaps. But their uses create division, Pol-Chi. Remember that.'

The raft came alongside and the soldiers pushed and fought to help them aboard. They formed a circle around them, almost afraid to touch them, Korkungal towering in the centre, red hair flying in the wind, his shield strapped to his back, with Uöos on one side and Sora on the other, as though sheltering under his bulk.

The soldiers chanted, 'Korkungal! Korkungal!'

Why do they not chant 'Chosen', as they usually do? Is he no longer their Chosen? Only their Hero?

Perhaps they have already passed within the ambit of their belief in him.

But it is not a morning for visionary acclaim. The sky lours, grey cloud rolling out from the mountains. The world closes about us. Only the beach can be seen; the sea is green and near.

Korkungal laughed less now. The crowd seems to oppress him, perhaps reminding him of his role. What does he feel?

I see weariness in his face. He feels his task to be a heavy one.

Then Korkungal showed animation and went to the edge of the circle and spoke to a soldier, whose face had a red gash of burst flesh. The crowd suddenly quietened, wanting to hear.

'That is a bad wound, Sern.'

The axeman nodded, seeking, surprisingly, fraternity with Korkungal. 'An arrow, Korkungal. I was lucky.'

'It was a foolishness, Sern, and regrettable. May the Goddess accept those not so lucky as you.'

The axeman's head went down in sudden grief, a feeling that swept through the soldiers and reached Pol-Chi.

Foolishness. Yes.

Stupidity. A deliberate misinterpretation. Tel-Chan need not have gone ashore in the dark like that.

'Who says it was foolishness, Brigan?' Tel-Chan pushed his way to the rail of the bow deck. 'Five axe were murdered by your friends last night. Now there are fourteen deaths to your name, Brigan. I say you should be cut down like a dog!'

A buzzing response seemed to split the packed soldiers, forcing them apart into groups.

Pol-Chi looked around for his Captains. Only Shu-Ken the Archer and Set-Jun saw him beckon. They hurried over.

'Try to get the soldiers below. Signal to the other ship to get under way. Quickly. I will speak to Tel-Chan.'

The fragmentation of the crowd was such that a passage opened up between Korkungal and Tel-Chan. The Captain of the Axe, Pol-Chi now saw, was fully armed. He brought up his shield and axe and shouted:

'The barbarian must be punished! That is the law and justice!'

Pol-Chi shouted down the length of the ship, but Tel-Chan had already dropped on to the amidships deck and was approaching Korkungal with his axe back and his shield up. Some of the axemen moved towards him, unarmed and dubious, uncertain of what to do.

Korkungal pushed Sora into Uöos arms and stepped away from them. He looked worried and patient.

'This is foolishness, Tel-Chan. I grieve for your dead. But I deny responsibility.'

Tel-Chan came up to him and shook his axe.

'I say your are responsible, and that is enough. Submit now to justice.'

He jumped forward, sweeping his axe before him. Pol-Chi shouted again, then pulled Hepteidon with him on impulse and went down among the soldiers.

Korkungal leaped to one side, raising his hands as though in supplication. But Tel-Chan turned and roared, crouching behind his shield, his axe poised. He weaved towards Korkungal, trying to drive him into the corner formed by the ship's rail and the bow deck. When he realised this, Korkungal pulled his sword from his belt, slashed in a feint and ran contrariwise, turning on Tel-Chan's shield flank. Moving lithely, he turned again and came up at the axeman, and using his two hands brought his sword in a horizontal sweep against the edge of Tel-Chan's shield.

Pol-Chi heard the dull crack of splitting ox leather, heard Tel-Chan's cry of pain, and pushed more vigorously through the packed soldiers to the front.

The axeman was back to the wall of the bow deck superstructure. He held his shield up, but it was obvious that there was no strength there. The shield was split three- quarters across and blood dropped from behind it on to the deck. But his axe was ready and he screamed:

'Kill him! Kill the outsider!'

Korkungal had stepped back, his sword still clutched in both hands, breathing deeply, a practical watchful look on his face. The brown square of his shield covered his back like a shell.

Pol-Chi noted this calmness and said from behind Korkungal.

'It is I, Pol-Chi, Korkungal. Do not kill him. There is enough death.'

'I do not mean to kill him, Commander,' Korkungal replied without moving his attention off Tel-Chan. 'I defend myself.'

Pol-Chi hesitated, aware that none of the soldiers had moved from the deck. On the other ship, the rails were crowded.

There is a reckoning here. A turning-point.

But he is my Captain!

'Tel-Chan, enough of this. You take the meting out of justice into your own hands.'

Tel-Chan glared, not taking his eyes off Korkungal.

'No more talk, Commander. It will be settled now.' He raised his head and shouted. 'Axemen! To me! Your Captain calls in a matter of justice.'

Pol-Chi stepped wide around Korkungal, his hand up to stay movement.

'You do not have my authority for this, Captain.'

'I received my authority last night, Commander. Deny that!' Again he roared. 'Axemen! Arm yourselves!'

Pol-Chi heard the movements around him. To Korkungal he said as calmly as he could: 'Put up you sword, Brigan. I am Commander here.

When Korkungal, after a pause, lowered his sword a fraction, Tel-Chan crouched lower, his axe drawing back. Korkungal raised his sword again.

'I cannot, Commander. I must defend myself.'

Axemen pushed to the front of the circle of soldiers. There were murmurs as other soldiers began tentatively to obstruct them.

Everything is falling apart now.

Only two of the axemen that he could see were armed, and they only wielded axes. But Pol-Chi saw spears appear above the heads of the massed soldiers, waving erratically as they pushed forward.

An archer took up position on the bow deck above Tel-Chan, an arrow notched and partially drawn. The soldiers around him made no attempt to stop him.

Tel-Chan stamped his armoured foot. It boomed hollowly across the ship. 'To arms, axemen! Your Captain orders you!'

One axeman cried, 'This is not the way, Captain.'

Tel-Chan suddenly trembled with rage. His eyes glittered as he fought pain.

'I order you as your leader! Obey me!'

Three armed axemen moved around in front of the soldiers, skirting Korkungal widely. Voices in the crowd called to them, some jeering, some appealing to them to stop. The spears were now at the front too. One had been lowered. It pointed across at Tel-Chan.

Korkungal spoke from the corner of his mouth in a low tone meant only for Pol-Chi.

'Control him, Commander. Get him to stop now.'

There was no threat in his voice, but Pol-Chi knew what was intended. Once again, Korkungal was in the position of having to do what no one else would or could do.

'You axemen and spearmen,' Pol-Chi barked, 'put up your weapons.'

The addressed soldiers looked at their Commander, and then the spearmen and axemen looked at one another.

'Where are my trusted axe?' Tel-Chan shouted in this moment of decision.

The axemen looked away, truly confused; but they resumed circling towards their Captain.

A spearman stepped out in front of them, his spear swinging down to point at them, and shouted,

'We won't let you kill him.'

Pol-Chi appealed again to Tel-Chan.

'Put down your axe, Captain. Let there be an end to this before there are more deaths.'

In reply, Tel-Chan raised his axe and pushed himself away from the wall:

'Kill the barbarian!'

Korkungal went forward towards Tel-Chan, dropping his sword. Tel-Chan swung his axe around at the exposed body. Korkungal leaped back and brought his sword up in a vertical sweep. The axeman's bracelet of leather was no protection against all of Korkungal's strength. His axe spun away towards the massed soldiers.

Tel-Chan raised his arm, realised what had happened, and looked up and saw the gushing stump where his hand had been. Before he could react, Korkungal swung his sword again. Tel-Chan's helmet jumped off his head and the Captain fell back, hitting the superstructure and tumbling on to the deck.

'Don't kill him, Korkungal!' Pol-Chi shouted, running towards, not Tel-Chan, but towards Korkungal.

Korkungal examined the axeman and then looked over Pol-Chi's head at the soldiers. They were frozen in a tableau, a spear pointing at an axeman's chest, an axe partially raised to push through resisting hands. The archer on the bow deck aimed an arrow at another axeman over at the ship's rail. Set-Wun was frozen with his hand on a spear, in the act of pushing it away from an unarmed axeman.

Korkungal looked at his once again bloody sword and blew his cheeks and sighed, realising that death-possibility still haunted him, though only faintly from the distance of memory.

'I don't intent killing him, Pol-Chi. I only defended myself.'

He handed the sword to Pol-Chi, who took the warm handle and felt a vibration along the length of metal.

The sword sings!

Korkungal bent over Tel-Chan and removed the shield. He lifted the unconscious axemen in his arms, grunting slightly.

'Where will I put him?'

The soldiers suddenly cheered in relief. The axemen cheered too, dropping or hiding their weapons.

'We must cauterise the stump now, Korkungal, while he is unconscious. Already he has lost a lot of blood.'

Pol-Chi called for a brazier and an iron bar. He beckoned to Uöos, who held Sora over by the rail, in front of the soldiers. Seeing Hepteidon's head above the soldiers, he beckoned to him as well.

The axemen had gathered together. One of them came forward to Pol-Chi.

'We have no Captain now, Commander,' he said, looking at the unconscious body in Korkungal's arms, 'Make Korkungal our leader.'

Leader! Are they beyond the Imperial forms now? They ask for a specific leader.

Pol-Chi looked at Korkungal and back to the axemen. His companions had drawn closer. The other soldiers were beginning to realise what the axemen wanted. There were murmurs of resentment.

Uöos came and looked at Tel-Chart's arm. Glad to avoid the axemen's request for the moment, Pol-Chi said to Uöos:

'Can we cauterise the wound?'

Uöos put his hands around the forearm of the damaged arm and squeezed. The blood ceased pumping out.

'I need to tie this. There are pieces of leather in the wound.'

Pol-Chi turned to the axeman:

'Tear a piece of your shirt. We must bind your Captain's wound.'

Hepteidon pushed through and stood behind Uöos.

'Astronomer, are you trained in healing? You are a priest.'

Hepteidon nodded:

'But Uöos' skill surpasses mine.'

Pol-Chi felt the relief ease his heart.

'Will you help him then, Hepteidon?'

When he nodded, Uöos told Korkungal to put Tel-Chart down on the deck. Kneeling, he beckoned to Hepteidon.

The axemen suddenly addressed the now unburdened Korkungal:

'Will you be our new leader, Korkungal?'

Pol-Chi found he could not intervene. The duties of the Empire only partially covered the exchange between the axeman and the Brigan.

'I cannot do that, Pern. You know that.'

'But we have no leader now.'

Korkungal looked at the other axemen and found the appeal in their faces too. Then he looked around at the other soldiers.

He appreciates the balance of authority here! Have I underestimated him? Does he understand the structure of the Imperial Army?

Does he accept that structure?

Or has the structure collapsed?

'Commander, among my people there are no Captains or soldiers. We are companions, and if one leads the companions, it is because he is regarded as the most fitting to lead.' Korkungal spoke loudly enough for all to hear him. It is a good ploy. 'Among my people I was a leader of a company, but only because my companions wished it. I cannot be a Captain of your axemen, Commander, because I am not of the Imperial Army, not will I accept the rank, even though I am a Captain of the Ka. But I am already a companion of your soldiers.' He gestured to include all the assembled soldiers. 'Many I know well, by name. But all of them, except the axemen, have their appointed leaders. The axemen are like orphans, leaderless men. This will not be good. Therefore, as their companion, and at their request, I will lead them as a company.

The axemen cheered and rushed to surround Korkungal. Pol-Chi watched helplessly, feeling power draining from him. But Korkungal raised his arms and silenced the axemen, and addressed them directly; 'But remember, you are soldiers of the Empire. You have a Commander here, and there are other Captains here. You must obey them as your superiors, as you have always done.'

He pointed to Pol-Chi and so obliged the axemen to look towards him too. Pol-Chi made himself appear grim and commanding. He raised his free hand in salute.

'You have heard Korkungal, axemen,' he said loudly, wanting all the soldiers to hear. 'He is willing to be your companion-leader. But I am your Commander. From now on, Set-Wun, the Captain of the Ships, will be your military Captain. Look to him as you looked to Tel-Chart.'

Pol-Chi turned away, seeking Set-Wun among the soldiers. Finding him, he stared at him until the other nodded.

Set-Wun will know what to do. Perhaps Korkungal will too. But there is an ambiguity here.

What else could he say to the axemen? They are like orphans.

A hiss and a groan brought him around. All he could see was the twitching of Tel-Chan's legs. A fool, but I pity him now. Death would have been preferable.

Set-Wun came up to him.

'We will discuss this later, Set-Wun. For now, order the rowing crews below. Relay the order to the other ship. It grows late already.'

The wind was strong. We could have sailed today.

But the other ship must come. They cannot be sent back. The mission is united now in a way I do not fully understand.

Korkungal had moved in such a way that the axemen had been intermingled with the rest of the soldiers. But there is a breach there that even the Brigan cannot heal.

The archer still stood on the bow deck, arrow still notched.

'Archer,' Pol-Chi suddenly barked. The archer jumped.

'Are you rowing today? Well, then, get to it!'

The archer ran across the deck, fumbling to unsling his arrow.

Uöos called up:

'Commander!'

Pol-Chi hunkered beside him.

Tel-Chan was weak but conscious. Seeing Pol-Chi, he said:

'Let me die, Commander.'

He looked down at the covered, reeking stump.

'No, Tel-Chan. You are alive and that is that.'

Tel-Chan looked up at the tumbling cloud. He was pathetic in his weakness. An empty bag of pride.

'Then let me go to the other ship, Commander. I am shamed here.'

Pol-Chi looked up. Soldiers were climbing down from the ship's rail to untie the oars. The decks were cleared.

He would have to be put in the bow here. 'Very well, Tel-Chan.'

He went aft to Set-Wun. Finding Tel-Sir, the Slinger, there, he asked him to arrange the transfer of Tel-Chan to the other ship. Tel-Sir and Set-Wun showed their relief.

'Let us go, Set-Wun. We are long enough here.' Pol-Chi, about to move away, paused and continued: 'Keep an eye on the axemen, Captain. Be discreet.'

Set-Kurt nodded in understanding. He raised an arm. The drum began to pound a moderate beat.

The beat recalled a nightmare. With it came a strange nostalgia. It seems so long ago, Pol-Chi thought, wondering why that was so. That has happened to make that experience seem so remote?

It is as though I have sat on this river for many days dreaming. In this grey cloudy light and closed-in world, it is hard to believe in a wide space and sunlight.

The drumbeat suddenly stopped. Orders were being shouted. Ropes had been thrown to the other ship and helped by the current it was being drawn in, bow to stern. Men were carrying Tel-Chart up to the stern. The aft-most oars had been pushed forward out of the way of the other ship.

The land was hidden. Was the light still there in the mountains, even in daylight?

Pol-Chi suddenly ached to know. In its pure, real mystery, the light had been a great comfort.

Uöos and Hepteidon stood side by side, watching Tel-Chan being transferred to the other ship. Neither spoke. Yet they seemed unaccountably close, Uöos looking smaller than ever beside the tall Merura. Some kind of acknowledgement had been made there; some kind of reconciliation.

Was Hepteidon, too, moving beyond the reach of the Empire?

Then Pol-Chi realised he was still carrying Korkungal's sword. Congealed blood was thick on the blade on either side of a clearer swath, where the blade had sliced through Tel-Chan's wrist. Lower down, one edge was chipped and slightly buckled. He gripped the handle.

No song now. The stone on his finger glittered in the dull light.

He looked for Korkungal and found him seated on a canoe beside the mast. He was calm, gazing out at the clouds. Sora leaned over him, massaging his thick shoulders.

Pol-Chi wanted to return the sword. But could not:

Sora's bent form was etched on her gown, quivering as she worked on the Brigan's shoulders, her slender buttocks gyrating –

unavoidably provocative –

Pol-Chi remembered everything. Suffusing suddenly with desire, he looked down to hide himself – and saw the ring –

and the sword:

Chapter Twenty

Pol-Chi woke up suddenly, wondering what had awakened him.

The drumbeat was steady.

There was a roaring confusion of water all around him. The ship suddenly wallowed and slid away to port. The sea crashed against the side of the ship, and then slammed on the deck above him.

Through the confused roar the steady beat of the drum could be heard.

There was a loud knock on the door.

Pol-Chi rolled from his cot and called out.

Set-Wun looked cold and preoccupied. He was soaked, hair matted on his forehead.

'You should have entered directly, Set-Wun, if the matter is urgent.'

The Captain of the Ships nodded, his lips pressed together. He closed the door behind him. Pol-Chi found a cloak and threw it across Set-Wun's shoulders.

'Commander, there is an urgent matter I must discuss with you. I know what to do, but the decision involves the exchange of one danger for another. But I was reluctant to disturb your rest.'

'What is it, Captain? This storm?'

'Oh, it is not the storm, Commander. We are too close to the shore. The water is very broken here. We are making very little headway.'

'How long have I slept?'

'It is middle afternoon now...If we move away from the coast, the sea will be more regular, but the wind will be stronger. We are sheltered here by the mountains.'

'Will we make better speed?'

'Yes, once we are accustomed to the direction of the wind. The mountains obscure the wind so that it blusters from different directions. Out at sea, I think it will blow out of the southeast. If that is the case, then the wind will help us.'

'Then do it, Captain...but why do you question this apparently advantageous choice?'

'The wind might endanger our mast.'

'Is there anything that can be done?'

'Hold the spar into the wind. It will be tiring for the men.

'Do it, Captain. If necessary, switch crews frequently.'

Set-Wun nodded in acknowledgement and left, carefully dropping the cloak on to a chair by the door.

The ship wallowed again, and Pol-Chi was thrown forward against the wall. Waves crashed above him. He noticed that water was being driven through the joining of the window and its frame in the hull. A thin layer of water was spreading on the floor out from the window. Korkungal's sword rocked on its hilt near the window. The water was dissolving the dried blood on the blade.

The cabin was murky in the grey light. The closed-in world of noise and erratic movement was strangely reassuring.

It suited his mood.

Perhaps our journey is ended.

Perhaps there is a sign here, too.

He shivered and found a dry, heavy cloak. When he slung it around him, the wool dropped on to his skin like...

That was the mood!

...the caress of a woman.

He shivered in the sudden warmth. His penis stirred, suddenly hot.

But he was not tempted to masturbate. Instead he hurried out and across the dark corridor to Hepteidon's cabin.

He was surprised to find Uöos there. Both Hepteidon and Uöos, wrapped in cloaks, sitting side by side on the floor, their backs to a wall away from the window.

The window leaks here too. What if they burst?

The ship slid away, then rose up sideways, tipped forward and slid again.

'Sit down, Pol-Chi. You will injure yourself.'

Hepteidon's tone was level, without expression.

Pol-Chi sat on the floor in front of them. He drew his feet in, wrapped his cloak about him and embraced his knees. The heat in his groin radiated through his whole body. There was tender comfort in it,

'Uöos has told me about the light in the mountains, Pol-Chi. I think it will interest you.' He looked down at Uöos.

'The Savages say that there is what they call the Cave of the Dragon up in the mountains, just below the second high peak in from the coast. They say that when the cloud clears the peaks you can see the yellow light of it. The old priest said he saw it last night, while we slept. He said it was visible almost until dawn, when the cloud returned to the mountains.

'Hepteidon says that you two saw it.'

Pol-Chi nodded.

'It is a pity that you did not see it, Uöos. Did the Savage priest not think to waken you?'

Uöos shrugged, grinning: 'We had drunk beer with the Savages. We were tired, Commander, and it was late.'

'That is unfortunate, Hepteidon and I differ in opinion on the nature of the light. What is your opinion, Uöos?'

'I did not see it, Commander. I only have the words of the Savages. But they told me more. They say it is not possible to approach the light, for if you do, you die of a sickness which turns your skin green and kills your hair. But I was also told that sometimes this Dragon leaves its lair, rising up as a bright light to the accompaniment of a roaring sound. At other times he can be seen descending, again accompanied by a roaring noise.'

'What is your opinion of this, Hepteidon?'

'A superstition, Pol-Chi. What else can it be?'

'But they report what they see,' Pol-Chi retorted, suddenly bridling.

'What is your opinion, then?' Hepteidon did not, as usual, retreat into his cool superiority, rather he seemed to seek engagement.

Pol-Chi now shrugged and lowered his eyes.

'Of what Uöos has said, I have none. But it is very strange. What manner of being could it be?'

Hepteidon nodded, as though an expectation had been confirmed. He looked down at Uöos:

'Pol-Chi believes that the light is an omen or symbol. He thinks it represents the, as he said, possible North. He thinks it is a sign that our journey is ended.'

Uöos did not laugh. He spoke with serious intent, ignoring the ship's sudden shuddering wallow and rising:

'What do you mean, Pol-Chi, by a possible North? Is it a limit for men?'

Pol-Chi was bracing himself, rocking. The motion gave him pleasure.

'I have had thoughts about the North, Uöos. Perhaps you will appreciate this. Hepteidon the rationalist does not. I have it arranged as a poem. I will tell it to you in that form:

Above the Plain of Crystal Glass

Stands the Fortress Northern Light,

That beyond the sun, moon and stars

Guards against Everlasting Night.

Light with Night in long battle rages

Upon that Plain wide crystalline:

Night in hollows with Nothing engages

And Lights like fire streak on peaks sublime.

One Being upon that glassy rock

Helps Starry Fire throw back the Dark;

One Being neither Man nor God

Brings to Caves the Relieving Spark.

This Being upon her shoulder wears

A Star bright Gold, a Light long old;

And within a gown sheer black she wears

The Mark of Man: a Heart grown cold;

And of the men of trembling fear,

Who pursue ends that can't come near,

Who thrust at veils of Light and Night,

She scorns their might, she sees their fright.

Strives eternally

for the greatest Victory

Pitting Light on Dark

in fear of the High Star

Consummation sought

in the cold embrace of Nought:

Fructifying Night

at the expense of the Light.

At Death of Light

In Dead of Night

She comes to Man

Heart cold, Star bright:

Stealing his Seed

Sowing the Deep

Bearing new Life

Beyond the Light

Beyond the Night.

In the stunned silence, the ship lifted and fell with a groan, the hull timbers grating and complaining. The shouted orders were distant: the drum beat suddenly changed, increasing in tempo.

Pol-Chi discovered that he was steadying himself with both hands upon the floor. Uöos and Hepteidon had been thrown together, but neither pulled away. Uöos eyes were tightly closed, his mouth quivering with concentration. Hepteidon's eyes were wide open and green, staring at and through Pol-Chi.

Pol-Chi looked from one to another, seeking in his memory with dismay.

I did not intend it that way!

It makes an irrelevance of all my thought.

'The female being must be helped,' Uöos suddenly said, opening his eyes and staring across the cabin. 'Tantor was right. The old fool was right!'

Now Hepteidon stared at Uöos, his mouth hanging open in an uncharacteristic way.

'What do you mean, Uöos?' Pol-Chi's mind had gone blank. Empty, he waited to be filled.

'Hush, let me think!' Uöos closed his eyes again, clasping his hands tightly. He looked as though he was praying.

Hepteidon turned back to Pol-Chi:

'The images, where did you get such images?'

Pol-Chi raised his hands, suddenly glum:

'I am a poet, Hepteidon. I seek inspiration. Sometimes I get it.' Though not always as I would like, he continued in his mind.

Cold heart!

He shivered, thinking. Oh, poor Sora! That is how I see you!

Now Uöos opened his eyes. He was excited and he clutched at Hepteidon, beckoning Pol-Chi to come closer.

'The old priest of the Savages told me of a dream. I thought then that it was meaningless, the nightmare of impotent old age. A being created a city, which grew in wealth and power. The inhabitants bred a female being and of course the creator being fell in love with her. He tied himself to her for ever, and only afterwards did he discover that she was not a complete female. Being tied thus, the inhabitants of the city were free to take over all his creation, with the result that there began a slide into chaos.

'The old priest was convinced that this dream concerned the threat posed by the New Star. According to him, men could be saved only if the female being was made whole.'

Hepteidon snorted and the ship lurched, throwing all three to one side, Pol-Chi strained to steady himself, suddenly annoyed, and said loudly:

'I don't understand it, either.'

Uöos pulled himself back off Hepteidon:

'You must think about it, Pol-Chi.'

Hepteidon snorted again and –

laughed:

'You gabble like lunatics. I have never heard a more meaningless conversation since two old priests once tried to explain to me the relations in the triplicity of the Goddess.

His laughter was not cruel: it contained the wildness of youth only.

Uöos turned on him, flushing:

'And if you thought about that, you might see the necessity for those relations.'

Hepteidon laughed even more loudly, putting his arm about Uöos and shaking him:

'Spoken like a priest, good Uöos!'

Pol-Chi was infected, and he laughed too, though aware that he had other reasons for laughter –

cold heart!

Uöos suddenly opened his mouth and shouted:

'The destruction of man is not meaningless!'

It was Hepteidon who showed most surprise. His laughter disappeared and he took his arm from around Uöos' shoulders.

'How can you know that, Uöos? Tell me!'

Pol-Chi gave his attention, interested, though he was not surprised at what the storyteller said. But Uöos must have believed that it was meaningless, otherwise why should he emphasise the contrary?

'I will put it like this, Hepteidon. I have heard and seen more things that tell me it is not meaningless than tell me that it _is_ meaningless. That's all. I have no secret knowledge. I seek evidence as you do.'

This surprised Hepteidon even more:

'What evidence, storyteller? There is no evidence in stories. They are only phantasies, intended to beguile ignorant men. There can be no evidence in lies.'

Uöos pushed his finger into Hepteidon's arm:

'What is your evidence that it is meaningless, then, great logician?'

The Astronomer showed his old haughtiness.

'My evidence depends upon a distinction between the evidence of the senses and the phantasies of disturbed minds.' But he looked at Pol-Chi with apology. 'This evidence only tells of motions that are not fully calculated. Such motions do not warrant fear, merely because they are not fully understood.'

Uöos nodded, listening intently. With an encouraging confidence, he asked:

'And?'

'And what, Uöos?'

'What of the motions that are understood, what do they tell you?'

'Oh, such motions depend upon deeper motions,' Hepteidon said airily, as though speaking from rote.

'And the understanding of these deeper motions, what does it tell you?'

Hepteidon was suddenly at a loss; that was a question never asked. He stuttered:

'They are not fully understood.'

'Ah,' Uöos said rhetorically. 'Then how do you know your calculations are the true ones?'

'Because number is exact, and measures exactly,' Hepteidon snapped in exasperation.

'Measures what?'

'Motions.'

'What motions, Hepteidon?'

'The motions of the stars, Uöos!'

'Very well, Hepteidon. Tell us about number. What does it mean?'

'This is elementary, Uöos. You provoke me. Number is not meaning, it is an instrument of measurement!'

'Peace, Hepteidon,'

When Hepteidon had calmed, his anger moving him near to tears of frustration, Uöos continued:

'Hepteidon, you say that your evidence shows that fear, at least, is meaningless. That is right, is it not? Good. But your evidence could show nothing else, and this for two reasons – patience, Hepteidon, this is for your benefit – your evidence does not seek meaning, merely a description of motion. It seeks neither intention nor purpose. But it is nonetheless the science you claim it to be, for all that. We have the benefit of it on our journey. – I do not mock you, Hepteidon the Astronomer, I am serious. – But how do you measure fear with number, Astronomer? Of course you cannot. But that is not the problem. Is there a fear, Hepteidon?

'No, Hepteidon, not, Is the fear real in the sense of being warranted? But, does a particular fear exist among men now? You have heard the soldiers in their hysteria each night, singing and crying to drown out the world. What do you think that signifies?

'FEAR, Hepteidon! Try not to be stupid, or I will lose all patience with you.'

Pol-Chi interjected here, raising his hand:

'Uöos! You forget yourself!'

'I do not, Commander,' Uöos flashed. 'This evasion, this fear compounded by fear of fear is the cause of all the troubles on these ships. And you know it, Commander!

'You will all die hiding yourselves from your fear. You live and die like animals!'

Hepteidon bridled in his nobility:

'We live as men, old man!'

The ship lifted, shuddered and slipped away sideways. Pol-Chi bounced and tipped over, slithering and scrabbling across the floor. Luckily, his outstretched arm took most of the impact with the wall.

Hepteidon lay sprawled on top of Uöos, who pushed feebly at him, his eyes bulging.

Again the ship reared, this time see-sawing momentarily before plunging down bow first.

Pol-Chi rolled miserably away from the wall, wilfully doing nothing to stop the motion. The passivity found an echo deep inside him:

There is nothing to be done!

What if the ship did sink? What if we all drowned? A death is a death.

'Get up, you big ox,' Uöos spluttered.

Hepteidon was laughing again:

'What meaning has the sea, old wise man? Answer me that and I will let you up.'

'Get off me, I cannot breath!'

Pol-Chi sat up in the calm that followed and found himself under the window. Water soaked through his tunic, he shivered.

Hepteidon was helping Uöos back into a sitting position.

'The sea mocks us, Hepteidon.'

'The sea but slaps about aimlessly, Uöos. Isn't that right, Pol-Chi?'

Finding his cloak in the semidarkness, Pol-Chi wrapped himself up, feeling the chill in his buttocks,

'The sea will drown us, Hepteidon, if we let it.'

'But does it mock us, as the old storyteller says?'

'What do you mean?'

'I mean it denies our ambitions with ease.'

'That is true. Don't you agree, Hepteidon?'

'Ah,' Uöos suddenly burst out, gripping the Astronomer's arm. 'I understand now! Hepteidon thinks that men try to put meaning into the world, a world his science tells him is little more than an artefact of motions. Yes, there it is, Hepteidon.

'But what you don't understand is that man seeks to find his meaning in the world. A calm sea has meaning because man can sail with little trouble on it. A stormy sea denies meaning because it threatens human intentions and purposes.

'Don't you see, Pol-Chi, and you, Hepteidon? Men fear because their most fundamental intentions are denied by the coming of the New Star?

'The star denies man. It denies man's deepest love!'

Uöos suddenly fell silent and looked at his hands, which now rested in his lap.

Pol-Chi remembered Hepteidon's last words that morning.

About to speak, Uöos jerked up and asked:

'What was the prophecy, Hepteidon? You must tell us.'

Hepteidon looked around the darkening cabin, but realised he was cornered. He closed his eyes:

'It was said that a star came through space. This star would destroy the earth. The messenger said it could not be stopped. Kandrigi was told that he must warn men, for the messenger could not, for that would cause madness, men must prepare themselves for death.'

He had spoken flatly and without hesitation. It was obvious to both Pol-Chi and Uöos that Hepteidon spoke from a clear memory of the prophecy.

Uöos shook his head, murmuring, 'There is little hope in that.'

Pol-Chi saw why he had believed that Hepteidon had perhaps craved a new god.

He suddenly realised that the prophecy was not the source of Hepteidon's deep fear. He did not fear the star!.

'Hepteidon, do you fear death?' Pol-Chi asked, seeking confirmation of his suspicion.

'No, Death comes to all, Pol-Chi,'

But his fear is linked to the prophecy, I am certain of that.

Uöos moved his entire body in a spasm of release:

'Then you are merely a proud aristocrat, Hepteidon?'

No! Pol-Chi remembered:

'Tell Uöos what you told me about man, Hepteidon.' To Uöos, he said, 'It is Hepteidon's only idea, his only symbol.

Hepteidon wrinkled his face:

'That did I say, Pol-Chi? When?'

'This morning, Can you not remember?'

'Ah, yes.' He turned to Uöos and spoke seriously, as though repeating a phrase he had been taught;

'I said in reply to some argument, that man requires no symbols.'

'There's more, Hepteidon,' Pol-Chi muttered thickly.

'Is there? Oh, yes. All symbols gather around men.'

Uöos looked from Hepteidon to Pol-Chi.

'What is so remarkable about that, Pol-Chi?'

'He argued it against the Priesthood, Uöos. That is remarkable.'

Uöos concentrated again. Then he said:

'I do not see what is remarkable there, Pol-Chi.'

'He makes man greater than all the gods and goddesses. That is what is remarkable, old man. Can't you see that?'

'Nonsense,' Uöos said immediately, his mind obviously on some other problem.

'I did not mean that, Pol-Chi,' Hepteidon said hesitantly, strangely chastened at being the centre of what seemed a profound argument.

'What do you know what you meant?' Pol-Chi snapped, seeing the secret of Hepteidon.

'I merely meant that man has the dignity of possessing...' His voice trailed as a thought struck him. 'I...can not mean that. That is blasphemy, Pol-Chi. Do not accuse me of blasphemy.'

Uöos tapped his nose, looking intently through the gloom at Pol-Chi:

'You know what you imply, Pol-Chi, do you?'

Pol-Chi surrendered the secret. For too long has the unspeakable remained hidden:

'Hepteidon makes man a God!'

'No I do not blaspheme!. I swear before the Goddess that I do not mean that!'

Uöos ignored Hepteidon. He stopped tapping his nose and instead pointed his finger at Pol-Chi.

'Of course he does, that is obvious. But look at the implications, Pol-Chi.'

'What implications, Uöos? If man were god then he would be free... free to act! I see it. The emphasis on activity is what you fear.'

Uöos smiled tightly and secretly:

'Not quite, Pol-Chi. Think of it this way, as I believe you do in your own thoughts. Man believes he is a god and so acts like a god. But man is not a god, yet in his fear, in his loss of love, man is forced to act like a god. Consider what such action might be like.

'Pure chaos, Pol-Chi.'

Released through a barrier, Pol-Chi rose smoothly into the dark of his mind.

YES!

He nodded involuntarily and Uöos' face darkened, Hepteidon then said:

'All I meant was that man has the responsibility for order in the world. Order among men. In the face of all obstacles he succeeds in maintaining order. That is, when you reflect on it, a great thing.'

Uöos shrunk down as he heard this and looked at Pol-Chi again.

The Commander was staring at Hepteidon, just as if the Astronomer was a God.

'So be it,' Uöos murmured. 'What other way can there be? The Darkness is the ultimate gift, Pol-Chi, you know that. But the gift is not ours.'

Pol-Chi nodded hastily, gazing at the open, now naive face of Hepteidon:

He is the Beast –

and he does not know it!

But who opposes him?

To Uöos, Pol-Chi said abstractly:

'But you forget, storyteller. There will he a birth in that Dark.'

'Yes,' Uöos said sadly. 'But not for us.'

'No' Uöos, you are wrong. Think back on what you have said: The destruction of man is not without meaning.

'The birth in the Dark is for us. Then we will find love!'

Hepteidon looked from Pol-Chi to Uöos, his expression mild:

'You talk nonsense again. What can you know of such things? We are men, such things are closed to us.' He spoke with a practical calm. Then, looking around, he said.

'Pol-Chi, it grows dark. Why have the ships not stopped for the night?'

Pol-Chi jerked upright, suddenly aware of his surroundings. The cabin was almost dark, yet the rowing beat continued at its quick tempo.

What was Set-Wun up to?

'But the sea is smoother,' Uöos said, pushing up from the floor. 'Perhaps we are entering shelter.'

Not at this speed!

Pol-Chi got to his feet stiffly. The wind still buffeted the ship.

There were running steps in the corridor. A pounding on his door. A Pause, Then –

'Commander! Come on deck. There is great danger.'

A pounding on his door again.

Pol-Chi moved as fast as he could in the dark. The figure had his back to him in the corridor. 'What is it?'

'Commander, the Captain asks you to come immediately. He says you must hurry.' The soldier waited, then turned and ran, his wet feet slapping down the dark corridor.

On deck, Set-Wun said, his face a mask in the ebbing light:

'There are rocks ahead. I do not think we can escape them using the oars alone. The current is too strong.'

'Then raise the sail, Captain.'

'But what about the other ship, Commander?'

Chapter Twenty one

'How far are we from the rocks?'

'I do not know yet. The wind plays tricks with sound, Commander. But the water has suddenly deepened, that is why it is calmer. When it becomes rough again, then we will be close.'

'But how do you know we are caught in a current?'

Set-Wun gripped the rail and shouted in the wind. His hair flapped wetly on his brow, his sodden tunic clinging to his body.

'Can't you feel it, Commander? The ship is sliding to starboard all the time. The lines show it.'

Pol-Chi braced himself against the rail and turned slightly.

'Where is the other ship?' he shouted above the wind.

'Behind to port.'

'And we must use the sail.'

'Yes, Commander.'

Pol-Chi bent his head for a moment. Already the spray was soaking him. But it was better without the cloak.

'Captain, get it alongside and take the men off. Then use the sail.'

'We cannot, Commander. We need to use the oars, and so does the other ship.'

'Very well, Set-Wun. Get the archers to put lines across. Bring the other ship as close as you can and bring the men across on ropes.'

'But, Commander...'

'Captain, we will not leave here until we do everything we can for the other ship...Can it reach shore?'

'I do not know.'

'Then put across the lines. Signal that their archers are to do likewise. As many lines as possible. Get all men not rowing to work. Hurry, Captain, while there is still light and time.'

Pol-Chi jumped with the wind and landed on the amidships deck. It was deserted, swept by clouds of spray. He fought his way across the wind to the entrance to the rowing deck.

The heat was palpable at first, full of the sweat of men, then it was clammy, smelling of salt. To the oars-master he shouted above the drumbeat and creak of oars:

'Where are the Captains and soldiers?'

The oars-master indicated the aft holds. Pol-Chi ran back, past the straining blind rowers, feeling the beat under his feet.

Over twenty men crammed the rest area and the hold further in. The Captains jumped up from their game of dice when they saw their Commander run in, hair streaked, soaking.

'Get on deck, all of you. Immediately, Captains, report to Set-Wun. Quickly now. Archers! Bring your bows. You soldiers, get all the rope we have. I want long strong ropes. Come on. On deck, all of you!'

Pol-Chi stepped back and let his Captains and some of the soldiers pass him.

'Archers! Quickly! Your skill is most needed!' Going back along the gangway, Pol-Chi slapped and touched the oarsmen. He knew they would not notice, but he suddenly wanted to embrace all of his command, to express his allegiance to them. To the oars-master he shouted:

'You must maintain the beat. I will give you fresh crews when I can.'

The oars-master nodded, absently squeezing and squeezing his oily rag. He turned to shout at his assistant at the drum, stopped, and nodded again to Pol-Chi.

His lot is worst of all. He is always down here.

On deck, there seemed chaos. But he soon understood what was being done. Soldiers lashed ropes to the mast, while other ropes were strung along the rails to distribute the strain that would be on them. Tel-Sir and Lat-Pi were among them, shouting and helping.

The ropes were being laid to starboard, not port. On impulse, Pol-Chi ran forward, steadying himself along the rail. He dived into the corridor, collided with the wall and pushed himself along.

A lamp swung from the ceiling. Korkungal and Sora lay wrapped in skins.

'Korkungal!' Pol-Chi spread his hands apologetically. 'Will you help? There is danger. We could use your strength.' It was Sora who understood first. She pushed Korkungal, and he rolled away on to his hands and knees. He was naked, muscled, and Pol-Chi noted out of habit, surprisingly unscarred. The Captain's medallion swung on its chain from his neck.

Seeing that the Brigan was dressing, Pol-Chi turned to leave. Korkungal had pulled the top skin with him. Sora lay on her back, naked, looking at Pol-Chi with an open indefinable expression.

Pol-Chi caught his breath and felt his groin fire again. He could not stop looking at her, seeing everything of her and yet seeing nothing. She did not move; did not even straighten her leg.

Korkungal said at his side:

'I am ready, Commander.'

Korkungal was grinning cockily at Pol-Chi. He suddenly slapped his shoulder in a bruising friendly way:

'She is lovely, Commander. I do not blame you. She cannot help it either. She is, as Karusal said, lewd.'

Pol-Chi pulled away from Korkungal, going towards the door. It was Korkungal, following him, who paused and so allowed Pol-Chi that instant in which to look back.

Sora still looked at him. Still with a open face and body.

'Yes,' Pol-Chi said loudly, dropping his head to break the gaze.

'She is lovely, Korkungal. You are a lucky man.'

And then into the corridor. Korkungal behind him padding and laughing softly with great happiness. But on deck the wind took Pol-Chi by surprise and it was Korkungal who steadied him, looking around, asking:

'What is it, Commander?'

'We must take the men from the other ship. There are rocks ahead and we must use the sail.'

Korkungal nodded.

'Go to Set-Wun. Let him direct you.'

Korkungal nodded again, paused, looked down at Pol-Chi and said earnestly:

'Commander, among my people we do not keep our wives from our friends in need. It would be a bad thing which would breed rancour.'

Then he turned and pushed away into the wind.

Pol-Chi let the feeling run up and down him:

Sora lay on skins, naked, looking at him, just behind him.

But the danger to the ships.

I cannot, I cannot.

He discovered he was rubbing the stone on his finger, the wind buffeting him, threatening to knock him over. The ring was like a charm and he let himself go on rubbing it, thinking hard about the aching hole about him and his desire to fill it.

A ragged cheer broke his reverie. He saw an archer on the stern do a little dance, waving his bow. As he looked, soldiers took one of the laid out ropes and brought it to the rail. Then it was drawn through their hands, the rope slipping across the deck and up on to the stern.

He let go the ring and ran aft, leaping over the ropes, running away from the hole towards the soldiers. Something clattered beside him and suddenly he was surrounded by soldiers, shouting and pointing, and then pulling the string hand over hand as fast as they could. As he climbed on to the stern, he saw another rope from the ship go snaking over the rail into the thick, blustery gloom.

Set-Wun continued peering out over the stern into the gloom as he reported:

'They are coming up to our stern on starboard, Commander. It is the best way. I have told them to start sending men over immediately, but they delay, I know that. They rush to make as many links as possible.'

'How far are we from the rocks now?'

'There is time yet, Pol-Chi.'

The other ship suddenly loomed, rising on a swell, a black silhouette in the grey-blue dusk. The ropes connecting the two ships suddenly went taut, leaping out of the sea, shedding fine spray.

'Will these ropes hold, Set-Kurt?'

'They are trying to pass the great sail ropes across. If they succeed, we could even tow them for a while. It would give us more time,

'You would drop the sail then?'

'Yes, Pol-Chi.'

Set-Wun suddenly waved a wet white cloth. It flashed in the air. Dimly, an answering flash appeared, dipping twice. Set-Wun turned and shouted hoarsely:

'They are coming! Be ready!'

Soldiers gathered around the extended ropes, peering, tensed in crouches. Another arrow clunked and skidded across the stern deck, soldiers slipping and diving after it. When they began to haul the string, there was a sudden cheer from the other ship, rising and falling in the wind.

'One of the sail ropes, I think, Pol-Chi.'

An archer standing beside them raised his bow, aimed, and when the ship next rose, shot his arrow out into the greyness. String hissed over the rail. The archer peered; Pol-Chi could see the white mark on the arrow. It faltered under the weight of the string and then the wind caught it, blowing it away from the other ship into the sea. At once, the archer began pulling in the string.

Pol-Chi wanted to tell his Captain that the archer was badly positioned, but then he saw the other archers lining the starboard rail of the stern, aiming and shooting methodically. Seeing them, he suddenly became aware of the intermittent twangs of the bows and hiss of string.

As the great sail rope appeared over the rail, water shaking from it, a swarm of soldiers dived on it, pulling, pulling, shouting. All available soldiers, including two of the archers and Korkungal, began to tug and strain it aboard, pulling it across the deck.

Lat-Pi shouted from the lower deck for it to be brought to the mast.

Another arrow dropped down slithering on to the deck. Without thinking. Pol-Chi, and then Set-Wun, fell on it, grappling to secure the wet string. Without getting up, they brought the string in, hand over hand, working blindly without thought, pulling until the strain of the rope attached to the string became very great. Soon they were dragged across the deck by that weight as the swelling sea drove the ships further apart. Pol-Chi braced his feet against the stern rail, gripping the rope with all his strength and weight. He was only dimly aware of the pain caused by the pressure of Set-Wun's feet dug into his buttocks.

The strain eased suddenly and the rope began to come again. Automatically, Pol-Chi began pulling hand over hand, the cold sea water numbing his fingers and then his whole hand. Figures were suddenly about him: he saw straining legs, backs and buttocks, tunics clinging wetly to bodies. Then a hand reached to pull him up and he understood he could let go the rope.

Hepteidon helped him to his feet, his long black hair wrapped about his face. Pol-Chi shuddered, his knees shaking with pain and cold, but he tried to help Set-Wun up, bracing himself, tipping, suddenly filled with a churning nausea. The puking brought him to his knees, and again Hepteidon helped him up, sheltering him from the wind.

Set-Wun was shouting. The rowing pace slackened. More shouting; Set-Wun signalling wildly. Hepteidon helped Pol-Chi to the rail and ran away.

A cheer among all the shouts. A half drowned man appeared out of the sea, grappling for the rail. Many hands grabbed and yanked him. He fell in a bundle on the deck and began to crawl blithely away, coughing in great spasms, throwing up gobbets of viscous water.

Pol-Chi breathed deeply in the wind, concentrating himself as though in prayer. Soon, the warm thing rose in him, suffusing his head. He leaned over the rail, the wave passing through him, going up and up.

Then the drumbeat increased again and there was a cheer.

An arrow landed beside Pol-Chi. He grabbed it, allowing himself to stumble back across the deck. He blundered into someone, heard a curse, then a shout, then there was no drag on the arrow. Pol-Chi fell back, rolling across the deck. He hit the far rail passively, waited for the pain to pass, and then pulled himself up. The soldiers near him were shouting:

'Sail rope!. Sail rope!'

There was a surge from the lower deck. Lat-Pi was there, glancing at Pol-Chi, and then in among the soldiers, shouting wildly, pulling the string which became light rope. Then Set-Wun pushed passed him, shouting in deep hoarseness, waving pointlessly in the dark.

Pol-Chi dived into the melee, and found himself being pushed away by straining arms, being pushed forward to the head of the line. Then there was wet rope and his hands closed on it, pulling, soon methodically drawing hand over hand. A bulky figure came around him, groping urgently in the dark and Pol-Chi felt the strength of the man on the rope. Then another figure groped by and the rope still came, wet and painful on the hands. Pol-Chi found himself jammed now between two straining bodies, and felt himself push and shove in the heaving mass.

A shout from the front and the thin rope was gone. Now Pol-Chi could hardly hold the diameter of the new rope. This, he told himself dumbly, as though there was a new creation and a new hope, is the Sail Rope. With both hands around the girth of the rope, he pulled in single sudden spasms. Then the whole line of compressed bodies began to move back. Someone came and pushed him roughly, shouting at him to go back, back. He did what he was told, holding now, as everyone seemed to do, on to the rope in against his chest with his arms in a desperate clutch like that of the love-hungry.

He stumbled on the ladder, but he was quickly guided by someone, who seemed to allow him the space to step down, one, two, three, four, five, then grip the rope again and fall back against the man behind, taking the weight of the huge man in front.

Now more shouting and the word 'Mast!' was in the air everywhere. Pol-Chi tugged and said 'Mast!', tugged again and said 'Mast!'...

Then there was a horrible scream and the rope leapt like a huge snake and began to tear through his arms, cutting his tunic and...The file of men went forward and Pol-Chi was struck in the back and he –

lost the rope!

and fell away slithering, crying stupidly. Then he was dragged and pummelled, Lat-Pi screaming at him to get up – not recognising him – pulling him and then pushing him in a certain direction.

The Rope!

Lying on the deck. Still and dead. Within the tumult Pol-Chi heard long suffering groans, hissing broken breath, and something like a prayer. But he grabbed the rope and others piled around him, groping, shouting uselessly. And then they were straining and straining, shouting stupidly at one another, goading and pleading for help. The rope came – just like that – hand over hand, and then the real pulling again, hands like bracelets. Then the backward movement again. Back, 'Mast!' back, 'Mast!' and then he was pushed out of the way and Lat-Pi dived and ducked, thin rope in his hands, shouting like a madman.

Pol-Chi staggered away and someone thumped his back and said wildly to him 'We did it! We did it!'

The cheer was ragged and there were soon more shouts. Pol-Chi looked up, saw a figure pushing past against the wind, and he followed him, peering as keenly as his watering eyes would allow.

There!

He was to do this: he was to gather with others at the rail. Here! And when this thing came up out of the sea, he was to

pull it over the rail and throw it on the deck.

Every time a thing appeared he dived, straining on his stomach over the rail and

pulled

and then when it was on the rail he

threw it down.

But when there was no thing to pull, he felt himself being consumed in a terrible emptiness of anxiety:

Where is the thing?

When a thing came he cried out in relief, and was dimly aware for a passing moment of the chorus of relief, and leaned over and pulled and pulled, feeling tearing cloth and yielding flesh.

Then after a long time someone pulled him away and he found himself climbing the steps and then he was at another rail. And here there were more...

men –

from the other ship.

Half drowned, sightless eyes, gaping mouths, an awful coughing, water streaming everywhere. Now he helped them over and saw that they moved away once on deck. When one man did not, he bent and shook him. Then someone came and thumped his back and slapped his face. A great spluttering cough, streams of water, and a long moan.

Back to the rail. Peering into the dark. The rope – it was the Sail Rope – twanged heavily and water sprayed up.

There was infinite sadness.

'Commander!'

Set-Wun was almost naked, his body glistening with water, which was why Pol-Chi could see him.

'What has happened to you?'

Pol-Chi felt hands touch him. That set off an agony.

'It is nothing, Captain. How many have come over?'

'Almost thirty, Commander, I think the rowing crews are left now.'

'Well, order them over. They have done their task.'

'I can't, Commander.'

'Why not?'

'We can no longer signal.'

'Fire, man! Use fire!'

Set-Wun was earnest, as near to tears as Pol-Chi had ever seen him.

'There is no one on deck over there!'

'Tan-Sha?'

'He is missing. None of the soldiers know where he is.'

'How long have we got left?'

'Not long. I can hear the water on the rocks clearly.'

'Send someone over, Captain. If necessary, I will go across.'

Set-Wun gestured to Pol-Chi's body.

'It will kill you, Commander.'

'Captain, get a volunteer. Then drop the sail. Tow the other ship. I want every man off that ship!'

Set-Wun nodded, looking about him wildly. Then he disappeared into the dark.

Breathe. Breathe. Like that. Ignore the pain. Breathe and pray your relief.

It rose through his head, going up and up.

Hepteidon appeared nearby, a curious harness of rope around his body.

Pol-Chi leaped:

'Hepteidon' You cannot go. You are...'

The Astronomer smiled at him with a curious subjective pride.

'No one else can do it, Pol-Chi.'

Pol-Chi opened his mouth, thinking of the strength and fitness needed, about to say 'Korkungal', when Hepteidon suddenly anticipated him:

'Korkungal cannot do it. The rope nearly killed him.'

And then Set-Wun came up, gripped Hepteidon's arm, shaking it:

'Tell all of them to come at once. Our sail will take the burden. Tell them that. Now, hurry! The Goddess go with you.'

Hepteidon raised his palm to the Goddess, then saluted Pol-Chi and Set-Wun, laced his harness around the thick rope and slid down head-first towards the sea.

Set-Wun darted away, shouting.

Pol-Chi watched the darkness, the wind and spray cutting his eyes. Now and again a wave swelled up, dimly lit on its crest and rolled under the ship, lifting it in a rolling, easing way. But his eyes became useless, cutting him with a thin agony as water streamed over them. He turned away, helplessly seeking relief and sank down on to the deck. A calm entered him: it was dark.

Someone was shaking him. A groping hand gave him a cup. He drank the warm thick liquid. When he had finished and groped to return the cup, a face appeared close to him. It was the oars-master:

'Thank you, oars-master.'

The face nodded and withdrew. The oars-master was terrified, Pol-Chi laughed, warmth suffusing him.

The deck is the oars-master's concept of hell.

Then someone else leaned over him and he heard Shu-Ken say:

'Don't rest there, soldier. The rail might give way under the rope when it takes the strain of the other ship. You might be thrown into the sea.'

Then the presence was gone.

Pol-Chi pushed himself sideways, keeping his back to the rail. He bumped against a body. It said:

'It should be soon, friend.'

Pol-Chi had questions to ask, but then he understood:

'I hope so for their sakes.'

Suddenly caught in some phosphorescent glow of the sea, Pol-Chi saw the great white sail, straining on its ropes.

Sail Rope.

A lamp appeared on the deck, sheltered by a body, guttering. Set-Wun said:

'Be ready, men. They must come soon.'

Then he saw Pol-Chi and started.

'Go to Uöos, Commander. Let him treat your wounds.'

The soldiers beside him, there were five sitting side by side against the rail, started, looking at him.

'It is nothing, Captain. I have my strength. I will stay and help.'

Set-Wun nodded, biting his lip. He put the lamp down between Pol-Chi and the man beside him.

'I will bring more men.'

He saw the uncertainty in the soldiers. Shouting, he asked,

'How long more, then?'

The soldier furthest from him nodded energetically:

'Soon, my Commander. They will come over soon. Don't you worry.

Emotion was unavoidable. They were all alone and together here.

'Should we show the lamp, then, soldier?'

Pol-Chi saw that they wanted him to have rank.

They began to clamber up, leaving the lamp for their Commander.

Then the rail cracked and splintered and the great rope scraped and hit the deck loudly.

One of the soldiers immediately called for ropes and ran off.

Pol-Chi raised the lamp, swinging it in the wind. The flame guttered wildly but did not go out. Other soldiers appeared around him.

'Are the other ropes manned?' Pol-Chi shouted.

Nods in return and then a shout in the water. The soldiers jumped, nervous of the broken rail but eager to grab the figure. They pulled him up onto the deck, shook him and thumped him until he protested feebly.

To starboard there was a snapping sound and a scream of pain. The ship leaped in the water and the crunching and cracking of wood followed. Shouts came. Orders.

The ropes were parting.

Another figure came along the rope, the sea surging around his legs. Pol-Chi left the lamp on the deck and went to help pull him aboard. He crashed down and rolled over near the lamp.

Hepteidon.

Pol-Chi hunkered, then knelt beside him, slapping his face the way he had seen it done.

Hepteidon smiled a subjective triumph.

'They are coming, Pol-Chi. But there have been accidents there. I will tell you later.'

He rolled onto his knees, coughed up water deliberately, then pushed himself on to his feet. Pol-Chi caught him, helping and balancing him.

'Thank goodness you are safe, Hepteidon,' Pol-Chi shouted wildly, and Hepteidon looked at him with surprise. Nodding, he caught Pol-Chi's arm and squeezed it.

'Thank you, Pol-Chi.'

And went forward.

Two more men came along the rope before it broke away on the other ship. Instinctively, they pulled the whole rope in a fast as they could. One man clung to it, arms and legs wrapped around it, unconscious but locked to the rope.

Then the ship began wallowing and water came over the stern in sheets of spray. More shouts. Everywhere suddenly a gloom.

Soldiers came and cut away a rope nearby. No one looked very closely at them.

Then the ship slewed and leaped. The wind began to come directly over the stern. Pol-Chi went to the soldiers lining the rail, looking back into the pitch darkness. He slapped them.

'Well done, men. We did what we could.'

They nodded respectfully, giving him momentary attention, turning away again to look back into the dark. Set-Wun appeared with another lamp, going straight across to the steersman. Together they pushed the rudder over, turning the ship out to sea.

Pol-Chi went and threw his weight on the shaft. The churning sea bucked at him along the shaft.

The ship began to pitch, wallow, leap and dive as it hit broken water.

Then Pol-Chi heard the crash of water on rocks. He lay on the shaft, listening to that crash, suffering the violent movements of the ship. His helplessness joined the general atmosphere of helplessness on the ship.

Yet there was no fear.

Suddenly Set-Wun shook him and he relaxed his pressure on the shaft. Now he struggled with the others to hold it straight, fighting the even more violent chaos of the sea below.

The crashing remained over to starboard but now the ship tossed less erratically, settling instead to a steady battle with huge following seas, Set-Wun muttered to him, his voice raw:

'Soon, Commander. Soon.'

And Pol-Chi clung to the shaft, thinking, "soon, soon", feeling the helplessness dissipate, and a calmer mood come to replace it.

The sea still crashed on the rocks, but the sound was drifting astern. The ship made great dives, the bow digging into the sides of troughs and sending huge billows of water against the sail. They could hear them crash and wash, gurgling, kicking the ship with a regular violence. Then the stern would rise up, and up, into an almost dry wind. Then it would drop with a sickening inevitability, deep down among the heaving seas again. Waves would then come over the stern, snatching at them, playing maliciously with the rudder.

Finally, however, Set-Wun shouted to the soldiers sitting below the rail nearby. They came with ropes and the Captain set them to lashing the shaft to rings in the deck. This done, he waved to Pol-Chi and went forward, guiding the way with a lamp.

The silence in the corridor was intense, though in reality the noise of complaining timber and hammering seas was dreadful. But the wind no longer screeched in his ears or cut his eyes.

Two lamps swung in his cabin. The window had been boarded and plugged. Now and again a wave drove against the hull and the sound boomed in the cabin.

Like a demon.

A figure lay wrapped in skins on the floor near his cot. Korkungal, his eyes closed. Set-Wun breathed once, sighed.

'The rope trapped him against the stern ladder. But he did not let go. Commander, for a while, he held the rope alone. There are surface wounds, but Uöos does not know of internal injuries yet.'

He moved suddenly and caught Pol-Chi's shoulder.

'Now, Pol-Chi, you must lie down too and rest.'

Pol-Chi resisted.

'What of the men?'

'We are doing what we can. The injured and exhausted are sheltered. The rest have much to do.'

'Have you changed the rowing crews? They must be exhausted.'

Set-Wun pushed Pol-Chi with more strength, forcing him around Korkungal and towards the cot.

'Yes, Commander, all that is in hand. You must remember that I am Captain of the ship and that I have experience of these conditions.'

Pol-Chi suddenly saw that and relented, allowing himself to be sat down on the cot.

'Lie down, Commander. Rest now. There will be work enough for you.'

Pol-Chi lay down. Somewhere in his back there was a sudden pain.

'You go back to your ship, Captain. You are a skilful Captain, Set-Wun, and I, for one at least, am glad of that.'

Set-Wun suddenly smiled, a rare act.

'Flattery deserves flattery, Commander. You are a great Commander, Pol-Chi. You care for your men.'

Pol-Chi sagged. There was a surface of hot agony all down his chest and stomach.

What was that?

'Thank you, Captain. Take us safely from here. We are in your hands.'

When Set-Wun had left, Pol-Chi raised himself from the cot and went on hands and knees to Korkungal. He seemed to breathe regularly. He wanted to lift the skins, but he was afraid. He touched his brow. It was hot.

It was strange to feel love for such a wayward, murderous giant!

'You should rest, Commander.'

Uöos looked leathery in the flickering light. In his hands were cloths and small phials.

'Lie out now and I will treat your wounds.'

Pol-Chi shook his head with sudden emphasis.

'We should put Korkungal on the cot, Uöos. The seas shake him too much here.'

'Perhaps. But it is unwise to move him.'

'We will do it, old man. If he is injured inside, all this shaking will kill him.' He felt a sudden wild grief.

'Do you order this, Commander?'

Pol-Chi saw that Uöos was teasing him for some reason. But at a time like this!

'Yes, Uöos. If necessary, I do.'

It was not difficult, as Uöos seemed to think it would be. The skin on which Korkungal lay was dragged across the floor and manoeuvred up onto the cot and Korkungal tilted and pushed with it.

'There now, Uöos. He did not utter a sound.'

Uöos was staring at him from under his brows.

'Do you not hate him, Commander?'

Pol-Chi let the surprise show.

'Hate him, Uöos?'

'He has threatened your command, has he not?'

'Uöos, who could hate him? He defends himself and his companions.'

'Forgive me, Commander.'

'Uöos! Come on now, do your healing.'

Pol-Chi stripped away the remains of his tunic and sat on a skin. Only when Uöos began to bathe him did he see the extent of his injuries. All the skin had been grazed and in places torn away, on his chest and stomach, on the insides of his arms and on his palms. His legs, shoulders and head were cut and bruised.

'The sea will have cleaned the wounds, Commander. This lotion will ease the pain and help the healing. But do not cover it for a while.'

While Uöos finished his treatment, Sora came in, carrying a bowl, and went over to Korkungal. When she realised that he lay in the cot, she looked over at Pol-Chi and Uöos.

'He insisted, little daughter,' Uöos said, pointing at Pol-Chi. 'It seems he does not hate your man, after all. I should be whipped for my misjudgement.'

She nodded' apparently unmoved. When she had examined Korkungal, she came across and gave the bowl to Pol-Chi. He began to refuse.

'Accept it, Commander,' Uöos advised. 'Korkungal cannot drink it.'

The broth was thick with meal and salted meat. Sora stood over him while he ate hungrily.

Only when he had finished did he realise that he was naked. Sora seemed to watch Uöos work, ignoring his nakedness.

Then Uöos stood up and regarded him.

'Rest now, Commander. It is the best medicine. Let your body deal with its wounds.'

He glanced at Sora.

'Commander, may Sora rest here? I would not ask it except that all the cabins are filled with injured soldiers. She has done enough for them this night.'

Pol-Chi looked up in his nakedness, feeling his eyes glow. He nodded, looking at Uöos, then lingering on Sora,

Uöos said once to Sora, 'Rest', and then left the cabin. In the silence that followed, the sea battered the hull and the floor rose, dipped and sank, wallowed and rose again.

Pol-Chi looked around the cabin. In the corner by the window lay Korkungal's sword, cleaned by sea water and glistening now, rocking gently. There was only one skin. Pol-Chi got to his feet, feeling the fatigue deep in his bones. From his trunk he took his heaviest cloak. He pulled the skin over to the cot and sat down. To Sora he spoke frankly:

'Lie here, Sora. Between Korkungal and I.'

He did not expect it, but she slid her gown over her head. Then she lay beside him, the length of her warm body against his. He covered them with the cloak.

In the deep comfort he asked her:

'Do you bring love, Sora the Silent?'

When he felt her head nod, he reached for her arm. She rolled on top of him, taking care not to hurt him.

Down there was light. But it did not come up to him. He was tired, but he had to go to the light.

'No. I thought so.'

'How? How could you expect it?'

'The poem. If you had listened closely, you would have known.

'Is it a good thing, Uöos? The other's jealousy...'

'Korkungal shares her with everyone. Anyway, it's not his business.'

Laughter.

'How are you, no-man?'

'Is it the little poet?'

'Who else?'

'Ha. Such fire. Will it please her?'

'Don't you mind, Brigan?'

'Hush, Hepteidon. They stir. Hush. Perhaps, Korkungal. Who knows what pleases her.'

Pol-Chi dreamily felt the body beside him move against him. From behind a veil of light he sought to rise. But he was drawn back into the blinding centre:

'Forgive her.'

'Let us rest, Hepteidon. Go back to sleep, Korkungal... But the poet has wisdom. Perhaps it is good.'

The light compelled. And movement followed. Then he heard a small voice as though in his head:

'Love me, poet. Love me!'

There was a deep chuckle far away.

And then Pol-Chi exploded in light and fire and stars.

Then, at last, there was only darkness. And one star:

A Yellow Star.

Chapter Twenty two

The cloud was not so low, the light not so grey. But there was rain again and the wind churned the sea.

'We go before the wind,' Set-Wun explained, gaunt and weary in the morning light. 'It is best. We take a following sea, but the stern is high. It drives us north. But that is not a bad thing. When it blows over, we can turn eastwards and reach land within a day or two.

Bracing himself in the wind and movement of the ship, Pol-Chi nodded.

'You must rest now, Set-Wun. Put your most trusted crew on the sail and go below.'

'Pol-Chi, the wind or sea could turn. Experience is needed.'

'Captain, your men have their skills too. Trust them. I will remain here.'

'You must call me if there is any sudden change. If we lost the sail or mast we would be at the mercy of the sea.'

'I will do that, Set-Wun. Now, go. I order you. Eat hot food and then sleep.'

When Set-Wun had finally left, after shouting orders everywhere. Pol-Chi sent a soldier to bring his Captains. He met them on the amidships deck, in the lee of the stern superstructure.

'We brought thirty-nine men over, Commander,' Lat-Pi reported. 'One died in the night, and two are still very ill. Uöos says that one of them will recover but is uncertain about the other. His back is broken. Seven other soldiers are unaccounted for, either lost in the sea or trapped on the ship.'

'What happened to Tan-Sha?'

'It seems that Tel-Chan tried to take over the ship. Perhaps that is why he asked to be transferred. But he was out of his mind with pain and fever. He killed Tan-Sha and threw his body overboard. Then his axemen threw him overboard. All this happened in daylight. So the soldiers organised their own rescue.'

'What is their condition?'

'Mostly shock. But they are willing to work. Pol-Chi, the rescue has unified the men again. For my part, it is a good thing, though perhaps the price is high.'

The other Captains nodded in agreement.

'Shu-Ken, your archers demonstrated their skill last night. We all acknowledge this with gratitude. Please tell them that from me.'

'But it is their training.'

'Nevertheless, Captain, they deserve our specific thanks. And of the rest of the soldiers, what can I say, Captains? I saw what they did. I saw many of them risk their lives regardlessly. For once, Captains, we fought to save lives. It was a good thing.

'But my thanks to you, too. Lat-Pi, I wonder that you can talk this morning. All of you, never have I seen such wonderful command, or seen Captains work with their men with such dedication. Again, I thank you.'

It was Tel-Sir who spoke, quietly.

'You were on the sail rope, Commander?' When Pol-Chi nodded, he continued: 'Well, forgive me, then, for I must have handled you roughly.'

Everyone laughed, looking from face to face, slapping shoulders.

'I know now what the poor soldiers must endure.'

When the laughter had relieved them, Pol-Chi arranged for frequent changes of the rowing crews, even though they rowed only to give support to the rudder. He discovered for himself that the sailsmen from the other ship insisted on helping with the sail.

Finally, he instructed Tel-Sir to take an inventory of food and water, and to arrange rationing if necessary. To Shu-Ken he gave the task of maintaining an even distribution of the whole complement.

Lat-Pi he ordered off to rest until noon.

Before they left, Lat-Pi glanced at Shu-Ken arid Tel-Sir and said with an uncertain formality:

'Pol-Chi, you commanded us well. The men whose lives you took the trouble to save will always pray for you. This is what they say. As for us, we are grateful for your courageous imagination and ingenuity. It was a brilliant plan, which worked perfectly.'

Shu-Ken rushed to speak, 'You served as an example among the men during the rescue. Many men claim that they laboured by your side.

'And many claim,' Tel-Sir said, eager to speak too, 'that you personally pulled them from the sea.'

Now that they all had spoken, Pol-Chi raised the palm to them, laughing.

'Captains, Captains, you know I did as much as one man could do. When commanding is completed, then there is only work to be done. But I thank you for your earnest praise.'

He waved them away, and then noticed his hands. He should not have shown them: they were red and raw.

Set-Wun had ordered lines to be strung from the mast to the stern, one towards port, another to starboard, so that the deck could be traversed out of reach of the capricious sea. Now Pol-Chi took the nearest rope under his arm, for he could not hold it, and went forward.

He had no sense of command now. Instead he watched the sailsmen attend to the sail and its ropes. They hauled on the ropes constantly to maintain the trim of the sail as the wind howled, slackened, blustered, and steadied again. They acknowledged his presence in a pause from work, but he was aware that they looked his way often, offering him respect and admiration.

For his part, Pol-Chi offered them respect.

More ropes linked the mast and the bow deck and again Pol-Chi made use of one, moving patiently with the unpredictable movement of the ship. Twice water cascaded down on to him.

In the cabins under the bow deck he found injured soldiers laid out in rows, most had come from the other ship, and were resting, recovering from exhaustion and exposure in the sea. But he recognised his own men there, usually more seriously injured through falls or tosses on the deck during the night.

In the cabin which he shared with Korkungal and Sora, Pol-Chi found Uöos tending a soldier who lay on his belly, parts of his back opened to the bone.

'A snapping rope struck him, Commander.'

Pol-Chi remembered a scream of utter agony.

'Will he recover, Uöos?'

'Why not, Commander? It will take a long time, but he is young and healthy. I have seen men recover from worse.'

'So have I. But do you have everything necessary for treating these men. There is the trunk that the priest had.'

'I am using his medicines, Commander.'

Uöos raised himself stiffly.

'Have you rested, Uöos?'

'Yes, Commander. In the night.'

Pol-Chi regarded him. The storyteller looked drained.

'Did you, now, storyteller? Where did you rest? Not here, surely.'

Uöos grinned suddenly.

'We took the liberty of sleeping in your cabin, Commander. There was no place else to sleep.'

A memory stirred in Pol-Chi.

'And Hepteidon?'

'And Hepteidon.'

Then Pol-Chi remembered.

'Did Korkungal wake in the night?'

Uöos grinned again.

'He did, Commander. He was in good spirits. He will recover quickly.'

'Then I am glad you were there to tend to him.'

Uöos moved from the cabin and Pol-Chi followed.

'But Sora and you could have tended him in our absence.'

'Indeed, Uöos.'

In the corridor, Uöos stopped and turned to Pol-Chi. He had never looked so serious. Pol-Chi suddenly realised that behind all his banter and nonsense, the storyteller was a deeply serious man.

'Pol-Chi, I am happy that you do not hate Korkungal. It relieves me, for it is you I feared most.'

'Uöos, I tell you candidly, I love the crazy barbarian. He has a big heart, even if he must use the end of his sword every day to prove it.'

Uöos smiled, then pressed earnestly:

'Don't mock him just now, Pol-Chi. I tell you, he possesses what we all desire most now.

Pol-Chi saw a chasm, and decided that candour would continue to serve best:

'She is, Uöos. I...'

'Huh? Oh no, Commander. You misunderstand. Of all the gifts that the Goddess can give men in a time like this, Korkungal has been granted the most desirable.'

'If it is not what I thought it was, Uöos, then I do not know. Tell me.'

'Sora? She is a mystery, Pol-Chi. Perhaps she is happy, perhaps she is not. She is not simple. Avoid that trap. Some men have thought so and I have seen her deal with them. Perhaps Korkungal has described her best. He says that all men come to Sora, but that Sora only comes to him. But he does not place too much reliance on that fact. Their meeting was certainly strange – but that is another thing.

'But, Pol-Chi, be careful. She may come to you now. I have seen it coming for days. Like Korkungal, take the gift while it is given to you and do not place great reliance on the giving. She is a woman who, in desiring nothing but only giving, creates desire in all men. In the end, she will give all to the man who desires most.'

Pol-Chi, who had listened intently, suddenly interjected:

'Wait, Uöos, don't you see something in Sora? She does not give, she simply allows the man to take. Can you not see that? She allows every man to take what he wants.'

Uöos looked startled.

'You are wise, poet. Is it significant?'

'Tell me about Korkungal's gift first. Perhaps that will enlighten me further.'

'There is one ambiguous gift which the Goddess can bestow. It is what my teachers called the Gift of the Dark.'

Now Pol-Chi started and said with sudden feeling:

'The gift men most desire!'

'Do you think so, Pol-Chi? Perhaps you are right, but I was taught that it was an ambiguous gift. Korkungal's experience confirms that for me.'

'Why is it ambiguous, Uöos?'

'It is a gift of a kind of freedom from this world. But at the same time, it puts the receiver completely in the power of the Goddess. Perhaps in piety I should not say this, but I do.'

'Why?'

'It makes men like the gods.

'Ah, But...?'

'Yes Pol-Chi, but...I do not believe that men can become gods.

'You have said this before. But, even so, Uöos' the gift must serve some purpose. Can you not see that?'

Uöos shook his head, suddenly deflated.

'I grant you that, Pol-Chi. But that is not my point. I must confess this to you: at a certain point, such as now, my faith becomes impossible, I lose all understanding. Then all I can see is man crying in a desert.'

'And what do you think that desert is, Uöos? You believe that the Goddess gives gifts, first to this man, then to that man. She does not. She is like Sora: all the gifts are there for the taking. Some men come on them out of need, others find them in entreaty, others search for them, but loving the search, they do not hurry to find, even though they are at their elbows. Uöos, your desert is the Dark. Take it if you want to.'

'Oh, you are wise. Let me kiss your cheek, Pol-Chi.' Uöos leaned forward, saying in a low voice:

'I kiss a holy man.'

Pol-Chi pulled back, surprised at the suppliant tone in Uöos' voice. But the storyteller was firm, and he kissed both of Pol-Chi's cheeks.

Then he settled the phials in his arms, busy with this task, his head down.

'I will speak to Korkungal, Pol-Chi.'

'About what?'

'About your regard for him...'

'My love for him, old man. Don't twist the truth. And you can tell him of my love for you. And for Hepteidon. And finally for Sora.'

'And that, too, Pol-Chi. I will tell him of your understanding of Sora. He will know what to do.

Then, in an instant, Pol-Chi shifted inside himself, and found a new authority and a new wisdom.

'Tell Korkungal only one thing, Uöos. Tell him that he is always the guardian of Sora. He guards her with his life. Nothing changes, old man, because...because, friend Uöos, everything changes Now! Uöos, at this moment -

'A new age has begun!

'There will be a sign of this tonight. And a further sign soon.'

Then Pol-Chi was calm. He kissed Uöos in return and left, re-entering the storm on the deck.

Uöos raised his hand in blessing at the receding back of Pol-Chi, murmuring prayers, not knowing if the Commander was mad or not.

Blithely, Pol-Chi pushed against the wind, bracing his body with the roll of the ship, his arm around the safety rope. The day was grey and closed in, the sea green and churning, streaked with greenish-white foam. The sail creaked and strained in the incessant wind.

Yet it was good. A world of movement close in about men demanded from men constant decision and action. There was danger, and continuous necessary toil: but there was the successful maintenance of order in the face of threatening elements.

A group of sailsmen on the other side of the deck tended to a sail rope, hauling grimly on it to make some fine adjustment to the trim of the sail. Near the mast, another group crouched, watching them and their effect upon the sail, shouting advice at times.

They were completely engrossed in their work. They had no thought for anything else.

Pol-Chi saw that they shared his blitheness.

And below on the rowing deck there was the same sense of joyful purpose. The beat was easy, the oarsmen rested well between strokes. They were not so blind, so immersed in their task.

They had time to cheer their Commander and accept his acknowledging salute. To the oars-master, moving as usual along the gangway with his jar and oily cloth, Pol-Chi said:

'I thank you for your service last night, Tandu. It was valuable and necessary.'

The oars-master dropped his eyes and Pol-Chi saw flickering in his face the terror he had seen clearly there in the night.

So he laid his hand lightly on his shoulder in order to reassure him, and passed on.

He was cheered again in the crowded rest area and given a bowl of hot meal and bread. There was a sour-sweet smell of confined bodies in the hold. Pol-Chi asked Lat-Pi, who was there, why the men would not go on deck for air.

'Ah, Commander, they rest in warmth from their labour. This storm means work to them only. Without demands on them, they prefer the close company of their companions.

In the forward hold he found more soldiers resting in the dim light, sitting or lying on sacking and bags of grain. Most of them had come from the other ship. He asked after their welfare and they chorused their contentment in reply.

'I have not forgotten your companions who were lost, soldiers. When we reach shore, we will commemorate them and pray for their souls.'

A cloud of memory passed through them. He saw their vulnerability.

'You have everything you want, soldiers, do you?'

They immediately replied that they had. But Pol-Chi sensed their isolation and feeling of vulnerability.

He grinned at them, putting his arms akimbo.

'Well, then, guests, rest well. When this wind has gone, there will be time for much rowing. Then we will make use of the fat now gathering on your bones.

That jolted them and they laughed more warmly, slapping thighs and sharing the amusement with one another.

Out in the rowing deck, he caught the eye of Lat-Pi in the rest hold and beckoned to him.

'Do the complements tend to separate, Captain?'

'Not deliberately. They work shifts on the oars and sail. But the ship is overcrowded and the newcomers must take what space is available.'

'I appreciate that. But, remember, Captain, they are part of our ship now. They must he supervised and cared for with all the others. They are not passengers. We will need them for the rowing when this storm is over.'

It had begun to rain again, driving in great sheets across the sea and lashing against the ship. The sailsmen had constructed a shelter for themselves of sheets of leather, which were tied together around the mast in such a way that the whole construction could be raised and held over them by the sheltering soldiers. Pol-Chi heard a sudden volley of laughter from within the rough tent.

What do they talk of? What symbols or memories play through their minds and tongues at a moment like this?

Certainly, they do not talk of Beasts.

Does it require danger and death to make them forget their fear?

It is enough for now, perhaps, but will a time arrive when there will be nothing to be done? When there will be no masking the fear?

What will men do then?

It is obvious: They will make danger, death and destruction.

I can see it.

The Star comes, vying with day,

Churning our earth, making heavens rend;

In man fear unmasked holds sway,

Pitting Beast against Beast to hurry the end.

I see it: yet why am I not afraid?

Pol-Chi became aware that he was soaking. His wounds began to ache as water seeped into them. He bent against the wind, but no longer needing the security of the safety ropes.

Time enough to examine that. There must be fear.

In the cabins under the bow deck he saw more soldiers laid out side by side. Some lay with eyes closed, wounds open to drain; others lay, watching but too weak to move. There were some who sat up, leaning against walls, alone or in company.

In Hepteidon's cabin a table had been pushed into a corner to make cabin for injured soldiers. On it lay rolls of skins, pots of inks and writing shafts. On one wall hung a skin. On one side were marked stars, tiny symbols in red beside them, the upper part blank.

The North, Pol-Chi thought. There are no stars, after all!

But he realised that this part was to be charted by Hepteidon. That was the reason for his being here at all.

The other half of the skin contained a map. Pol-Chi immediately identified the long line running up the chart as the coastline they had followed. Curious, he carefully stepped over the supine soldiers and went closer.

There were two settlements marked. The most northerly one was obviously the Ka-La-Tlu which they had constructed.

The City of the Light of the North Star.

He smiled ruefully. An omen I did not recognise.

Have I changed since then?

Perhaps. And perhaps not.

It does not matter. I change as the world changes. So do we all.

Further up the coast, he saw the river and mountains marked. There are little red symbols beside them. Where did Hepteidon get their names from?

Then he noted with surprise that the rocks were marked in at the very end of the line which marked the known coast.

Pol-Chi was impressed by Hepteidon's dedication. He must have come in here some time this morning and made these marks while surrounded by this disorder.

A strong, purposeful mind!

He turned away and walked carefully among the sick men to the table. It was covered, especially around the edges, with spots and streaks of ink, red and black. Some of the rolls of skin were old, shiny, one cracked across and held together with stitching. Tipping open their ends, he saw that most of them were charts, a few maps but otherwise star charts.

But one was covered with small symbols, line after line covering half the skin. Pol-Chi suddenly realised that Hepteidon had written these symbols, that he was in the course of writing them.

'Commander.'

Pol-Chi spun about and saw Hepteidon regarding him across the cabin.

'Ah, Hepteidon. Forgive my curiosity. As a man of activity I cannot help but he impressed by the mystery of the written word. It is a symbol of very great power and persuasion.

Hepteidon stepped over the men without looking down.

'You are welcome, Pol-Chi. But there is no great mystery. Do you not compose words into powerful living symbols? There is no experience like that of the moment of creation of such symbols.

Pol-Chi laughed with sudden irony:

'I take little credit for such creation, Hepteidon. It is not a question of pleasure but of straining to catch inspiration. There is no time to dwell on the experience.'

Hepteidon absently brushed some drops from the edge of the table. When Pol-Chi stepped away in reaction, realising that the drops had fallen from him, Hepteidon smiled easily:

'No, Pol-Chi. The fault is mine. I have been accused of being too fastidious.'

There was an intimacy in Hepteidon's smile and words, Pol-Chi saw, but it was projected from a background of permanent self-regard.

'But water would in any case damage your symbols,' he said, pointing at the scroll with the lines of writing on it.

Hepteidon followed the gesture, looked at the skin and then said:

'You do not write, Pol-Chi?'

'No. It is not necessary to a soldier. We have our priests.'

'But you are a poet. Do you not have your poems written down?'

'No. But, sometimes, my father gets his priest to write them down for him, even though he cannot read them himself. He tells me the priest reads them to him at night, especially when we are apart.'

Hepteidon's face hardened and then softened.

'Your father is kind.'

Pol-Chi bridled his tongue and let the question that arose in him die: What of Hepteidon's father, then?

'Perhaps he indulges me, Hepteidon. He likes only the happy poems.'

Hepteidon nodded and began to move his fingers in a precise way over the table.

'It is a pity you cannot write, Pol-Chi. Then you could write down your inspirations and perhaps amend them over time so as to improve the quality of the expression.'

'I have often thought of that, Hepteidon. But I suspect attempts at improvement would be no more than surrendering to the temptation to make inspiration conform to my expectations. Or the expectation of others.

'For instance, my father tolerates my inspirations because he believes they are involuntary, that I have been blessed or cursed with the gift of poetry. In this way he accepts the happy poems and can disregard the unhappy ones with a light conscience. But what if I could recompose the poems at leisure? If then I produced unhappy poems he would think me morbid or worse.'

'What unhappy poems?'

'Ones that make men sad or too thoughtful.'

'Like the poem you recited to us recently.'

'Yes, my father would not want to hear that poem.'

'Who would, Pol-Chi? No, I mean that if such a vision could be avoided, then men would avoid it. As your father does.'

'Do you avoid it, Hepteidon?'

The Merura hid behind soft laughter.

'I have no taste for any poetry. It is too seductive, making trees and men other than they are.'

'Forgive me, Hepteidon, but what are they, except what we say they are?'

Hepteidon made his evasion plain and refused to be drawn.

Pol-Chi waited, and then asked:

'What do you write there, Hepteidon? I speak out of personal curiosity only.'

Hepteidon spread the skin, then looked at Pol-Chi. Self-regard shone in his face.

'I write down certain thoughts that I have. And sometimes I make a note of incidents or what others have said.'

'Then it is not religious writing, such as priests seem to compose all the time?'

'Not strictly. But I do it for my own benefit, Pol-Chi, I do not intend that others will read it.'

'Will you tell me something of the thoughts you have written then? I do not mean to pry, Hepteidon. If you are unwilling, then I will accept that.'

'They are private thoughts, Pol-Chi. You can appreciate that. All men have private thoughts which they choose to keep to themselves.' Hepteidon stopped and Pol-Chi could see that his fingers pressed the table. Then he relaxed and Pol-Chi felt the projection of intimacy again. 'But I have written them, so perhaps they are not so private. Here, at the beginning, I recorded thoughts about the building of the fort and the differences concerning the name given to it. I wanted to understand why these differences created so much rancour.' He pointed to a line of symbols. 'You, Pol-Chi, for instance insisted on the reference to the North Star rather than the sun. This also seemed to be the feeling of most of those I heard express an opinion. Yet, when the priest developed this idea or symbol, he created panic among the soldiers, I did not understand that. But afterwards I saw that he had abstracted the symbol from the setting you had given it and exploited it for other ends. I realised then that symbols were powerful. While they had appropriate settings, in other settings they could be dangerous. But I also saw that with careful handling it is possible to use symbols for other ends. This is what the Empire and Priesthood do. In a sense, the Empire and Priesthood exist only as expressions of the symbols they use to justify their existence.'

Hepteidon paused and smiled apologetically.

'I go on and on. But do you see what I mean, Pol-Chi?'

Pol-Chi saw a hard science forming in Hepteidon's mind.

'Can symbols be exploited successfully?'

'I see what you mean. To what extend do the Empire or Priesthood actually control the symbols they appear to use? I do not know. I still know only a little about symbols.'

'Do you wish to control some symbol, Hepteidon?' Of course, Pol-Chi suddenly realised, _Hepteidon fights his fear here_.

Hepteidon spread his fingers on the table and smiled.

'Do I have the temerity, Pol-Chi?'

'You wish then to understand some symbol?'

'I will be candid with you as a poet, Pol-Chi. There is a symbol lacking. I am curious to know it.'

Pol-Chi remained silent on purpose, to force Hepteidon to continue. Hepteidon saw this.

'Very well, Pol-Chi, I acknowledge the existence of the fear which you have always insisted upon. My reason for refusing was as you and Uöos have often said, the fear of fear itself. Now, I admit, I am afraid. There!

'But the fear has depths I cannot plumb, therefore I tolerate it as best I can. But why do we have this fear? Rumour and prophecy certainly in themselves give sufficient cause. But such rumours and prophecies speak of a twofold lack. One of actual means, and another which lies in our understanding. Perhaps I become fatalistic, like everyone else, but I see now that it is the lack of understanding which fuels our fear.

'If we can know what is happening to us, if we could find the meaning, then perhaps our fear will lessen.

'It was only when I heard you and Uöos disputing on the eve of the storm that I understood the importance of such knowledge. But it is hard to discover how it is to be done. For instance, from a mixture of contrasting opinion, yours, mine, and his own, Uöos could produce one startling conclusion: That the destruction of man is not meaningless. For me, that was a revelation. But the meanings you and Uöos proposed are senseless to me.

'So I have written down, here, the stories Uöos told us and your poem. See. This is your poem,

Above the Plain of Crystal Glass

Stands the Fortress Northern Light,

and so on.

'Perhaps I do not know what it is I seek. What form will the symbol have? A tale? Or an Image? Perhaps it will be a new word or gesture. I am open-minded in this matter, and perhaps I trust that I will recognise the symbol when I encounter it.

'I think, Pol-Chi, that it will be a matter of recognition: that the lack in me will find a fit in what fills this lack. So from another angle I see that anything which intensifies the fear will he a clue either to the name of the fear or that which will save me from fear. I think the Savage dream is, as Uöos himself admitted, senseless. But in your poem, Pol-Chi, there is part of a line which I cannot remember clearly. Perhaps it is a fault of memory, but perhaps it is not. Can you remember?'

'What line is it?'

'Here, I will read up to the point. Its about the woman,

And within a gown sheer black she wears

The Mark of Man: a Heart...

'A Heart what, Pol-Chi?'

Instantly, Pol-Chi recited:

'And within a gown sheer black she wears

The Mark of Man: a Heart grown cold.'

'Ah, I feared as much, Pol-Chi. Thank you.'

Hepteidon pulled a small blade from under a skin and scraped away some ink. Then he used a shaft to inscribe another string of symbols in red ink. When he had finished, Pol-Chi said, smiling:

'Hepteidon, what makes you think of the Being as a woman?'

Hepteidon jerked up in surprise.

'What? But you refer to the being as "she".'

'And?'

'Of course. You are right, Pol-Chi. All assumptions must be questioned. But, tell me, what does it mean to you?'

'Perhaps the cold heart is a symbol of the female being, or perhaps the symbol of man.'

'Don't you know?'

'Hepteidon, I do not control the images. I am an instrument: they speak through me. But what did you think the image means?'

Hepteidon looked at him seriously:

'That we were to be destroyed because we had failed to love. We are rejected by the Goddess.'

Pol-Chi nodded.

'I agree. But there are two things, Hepteidon. You tend to make too-literal interpretations of the poem. Most of all, however, you tend to accept the opinion given. Is what the female does necessarily good or bad? Why should man necessarily be the cause of the trouble?'

'But you blaspheme, Pol-Chi!'

'Hepteidon, I discuss a poem I composed, that is all. Piety is attached to symbols, perhaps for human reasons. But symbols are not in themselves either pious or true.'

Hepteidon shook his head.

'You threaten to destroy the symbols, Pol-Chi, with such doubts and questions.'

'Of course! Remember, Hepteidon, and you made me aware of this yourself, symbols gather about men. But may it not also be the case that men, and only men, make symbols?'

Hepteidon struck the table with his splayed fingers, a gesture that made very little sound:

'But why does man make symbols, Pol-Chi?'

'Exactly, Hepteidon. Why does he?'

'Oh, we are back on old ground now. I see that. I avoided the crucial question when I set out to uncover the symbol.'

'Yes, Hepteidon. You entered their illusions.'

'But, Pol-Chi, you call them illusions and question their truth. What meaning can they have then?'

'Perhaps as much meaning as your science of numbers has. Perhaps symbols measure some kind of reality.'

'Measure? But words have meanings. Otherwise, how can we talk as we do?'

'Why should numbers and words differ in their use?'

Hepteidon began finicking with a roll of skin. He spoke quietly now.

'Pol-Chi, fear does not rise up in the spread of measurement. There is no place for fear. Number is rational.'

Pol-Chi paused, allowing Hepteidon to think of what he had said.

'What of the New Star? Is the fact that measurement of it is incomplete a cause of fear?'

'No, no. All measurement is in a sense incomplete. Number does not speak of completeness or incompleteness, only of measure.'

'How do you know then that your measurements are not complete?'

Hepteidon went still.

'You open my mind in an uncomfortable way, Pol-Chi, I see now that measure acquires its meaning from elsewhere. There must be a cosmology before there is astronomy.' A sardonic grin appeared on the Astronomer's face. 'It is my habit to regard the accepted cosmology as nonsense. Yet you show me clearly that my science is dependent upon that cosmology.' He looked at Pol-Chi, eyes open and frank, hesitantly projecting a deeper intimacy. 'There is great fear for me in that. Everything could become meaningless. But, Pol-Chi, you play within what appears to be a flux of meaning, of illusion and questioning truth. Where do you find meaning?'

Pol-Chi laughed.

'You mean, how do I live with my fear? I do not know. I will express it this way. We become aware of fear when meaning or symbol fails or becomes inadequate. In this case our whole existence is and has been a struggle to find meanings. But the danger, as I see it, which the Empire, the Priesthood, and your science all demonstrate, is to try to stop the flow of symbols, to make one particular symbol stand for all time against the fear. Any symbol which comes to you and which you question is the barrier against fear. When you turn your attention to the symbols you remove your attention from the fear. To give your attention to a symbol is to give it meaning. Meaning resides in the value you believe the symbol possesses. But, Hepteidon, if I am right, meaning destroys value.

'There is no harm in this, providing there is a constant, continuous supply of symbols. Then we can constantly project meaning, leaping from symbol to symbol as value is exhausted. In this way, we keep fear in check.'

'But what, Pol-Chi,' Hepteidon suddenly interjected, 'is fear?'

'It is nothing but what opposes the value we think resides in any symbol at any moment. In other words, fear can only be described in terms of negation, of what is not. Put another way, Hepteidon, and let the paradox amuse you, fear, which is nothing, is the source of value. Can you see that? The movement of questioning, which generates meaning, implies a belief that value resides in a symbol. But the impulse to question symbols derives from our fear, to the extent that it generates the belief that a symbol contains a value which removes fear. This is easily proven, Hepteidon. What is the end of value? Exhaustion. It is drained until nothing is left. At the end of value lies the end of meaning. You see, there is nothing left but fear. So, my good Astronomer, in the end it must be said that there is only one truth, and that is fear.'

'I will write all this down. Pol-Chi, so we can discuss it again when I have studied it. But tell me the last thing, the question I cannot answer for myself, for it appears to have no answer: What are we afraid of.'

'Ha! We are afraid of nothing, Hepteidon!'

'But we must be afraid of something. We are not children.'

'That something is nothing, nothingness. Like children, Hepteidon, we are afraid of the dark.'

'I hear your poetry, Pol-Chi. It circles about me. The flow of symbols. I like the concept. I suppose it is useless to ask you what the Dark is.'

'Look inside yourself, Hepteidon, and answer for yourself.'

With that, Hepteidon chose between withdrawal and openness, and chose to open:

'I will think about all this, Pol-Chi. I am grateful for your knowledge.'

'Knowledge is the gift of all men.'

Pol-Chi touched Hepteidon's shoulder and turned to go, but Hepteidon suddenly asked:

'But why does our fear grow now?'

Pol-Chi spread his hands:

'The symbols in this Age have run out, Hepteidon. Now the Dark rises up before us.'

'What does man do now?'

'As you say, he seeks the new symbol. If there is one.'

Chapter Twenty three

In the evening the sky cleared in the northwest. The setting sun appeared and bathed that quarter in a great golden light, tipping the foam on the waves about the ship with streaks of gold.

Overhead, the cloud, the relentless wind bringing a driving drizzle.

Uöos stood beside Pol-Chi on the stern deck, glancing from the glowing northwest to Pol-Chi's face, seeing lit there a glowing glistening gold light.

Pol-Chi smiled inwardly at Uöos' bemusement.

We have not been brought here for nothing.

He said, conversationally.

'The sky clears from the west, Uöos. The storm will end soon.'

Uöos clutched the rail, looking at the sun again, wondering.

When Set-Wun bound on to the deck he began with apologies for sleeping so long. Pol-Chi laughed and embraced his shoulders.

'You had the rest your tiredness needed, Set-Wun. I am only glad that you have rested well.'

Set-Wun looked down the ship. Sailsmen checked ropes, calculated the trim of the sail, and sheltered under their leathers, talking and laughing.

'You see, Set-Wun, your men exercise their skill.' Now Set-Wun looked at the sea, one eye closed. 'We have sailed all day like this, Commander?'

'Without a pause, Captain.'

'Commander, how far north have we sailed?'

Pol-Chi looked at Uöos' face, following a droplet which ran down from his thin hair.

'Far enough, no doubt, Captain.'

'But consider, Commander, how long will it take us to reach land? We have sailed far north of the turning of the coast, I am certain of that. Do we have enough food and water for so many '

'There will be enough, I assure you, Captain.'

Set-Wun regarded Pol-Chi with narrowed eyes. 'How can you be so sure, Commander?'

'Trust me, Captain, if you do not trust yourself.'

Set-Wun maintained a respectful silence. Then he darted over to check the ropes on the rudder shaft, speaking to the steersman as he did. Then he spoke to the lookout on the far side of the deck. Then he returned and said:

'You have shown good judgment, Commander. I will trust you.

'Thank you, Captain.'

Set-Wun nodded and jumped down on to the amidships deck. Among the soldiers he began to ask questions and test ropes. His men flocked around him, explaining, pointing, seeking support from one another. Finally, he slapped the nearest backs and dived into the entrance to the rowing deck.

'A good, solid man,' Pol-Chi said, turning back to the sun.

Uöos looked down the ship, then looked at Pol-Chi.

'It is not good to make over-confident predictions, Commander. There is hubris in it.'

Pol-Chi smiled blithely and continued to look at the sun.

'Until we reach land again, Uöos, my prediction will be fulfilled.'

Uöos looked sharply at him, suddenly angry.

'How can you know, Pol-Chi? Don't let your beliefs overrule your reason!'

Pol-Chi cocked his eye at Uöos.

'How do I know?' he said with enough firmness to check the other's anger. 'I wanted to go to the North. I have been taken to the North. Knowing why I wanted to get to the North, I can tell you what we will find there. After we have seen it, we will be led back to land. That is all. Call it faith, if you wish.'

Uöos looked frankly incredulous.

'Come on now, Uöos. What are we doing here? Why are you with Korkungal and Sora? Why is Hepteidon here? There are more symbols than words, dreams and images.'

Uöos nodded matter-of-factly.

'I have often thought of that. And I have my opinions, Pol-Chi. But it does not do to speak them openly.'

Pol-Chi suddenly deflated. He is right, but he does not understand. Every veil must be torn aside.

'You are right, Uöos. I will try to be more circumspect.'

'Do, Pol-Chi. Otherwise, I will fear for you, and for all of us.'

'Do not fear for me, good storyteller. Give love, not fear. We must gather in love, that is our strength.'

Uöos looked about to cry, instead he said impishly:

'Ha! Four men and one woman and you ask for a love gathering!'

Pol-Chi smiled.

'Why not, old man? Is it beyond you?'

Uöos eyes suddenly glistened.

'Huh, we will see about that!' He abruptly quietened. 'But what of Hepteidon?'

'As Korkungal has said, it doesn't take balls to make a man. He will find his pleasure and satisfaction.'

'I hope so, Pol-Chi.'

'You have little faith, great high Priest of a great City.'

Set-Wun reappeared on the deck. He gave Pol-Chi one long searching look and then said:

'I will take command of the ship, Commander.'

'Do. Thank you, Captain. May we have a safe passage.'

Set-Wun bowed formally.

'Tell me, Set-Wun, how soon will the storm die?'

The Captain measured the sky and then eyed the sea.

'The sky clears slowly from the north, Commander. The wind will drop gradually during the night. But the sea will continue high for a while.'

'What do you propose doing?'

'When the wind drops and the sky clears, I will wait to see the direction of the wind, I think it will come from the west, or slightly more northerly. But we must ride out the heavy sea before turning. When the seas calm, I propose sailing towards the southeast. If we are beyond the turning of the coast, then we will strike land somewhere along the north coast. Once we have replenished the ship, I will await your orders.'

'An excellent plan, Set-Wun. It does you credit. We are safe in your hands.'

Set-Wun suppressed his annoyance, gave his Commander one more sharp look, and went off, shouting orders to change the crews.

Uöos waited until the Captain was out of earshot, then he said musingly over the wind:

'The clouds clear from the north. Like a veil being drawn back. I begin to believe you, Pol-Chi.'

Pol-Chi looked closely at Uöos.

'Veil? Storyteller, who said anything about veils?'

'No one. Its seems an apt image, that is all. Wait. Why do you ask me?'

'It plays upon a thought I had earlier. The thought concerned veils.'

'Ah, the men

Who thrust at veils of Light and Night.

Is that how you see it? Discovery, not revelation?'

'Veil after veil, Uöos.'

'And hubris is a necessary strategy, Pol-Chi.'

'Yes, we live the symbols too. We must act them out, seeking to uncover their illusion.'

'Tell me then, Pol-Chi, what lies behind the last symbol?'

'You know already, Uöos. When does your faith fail you?'

'In the desert?'

'No. No more symbols then, Uöos. You will then look at it itself. The reality.'

'I think you have already told me, Pol-Chi. But, forgive me, I cannot remember.'

'Precise1y.'

'What do you mean?'

'What are we afraid of, Uöos?'

'Nothing, Pol-Chi.'

'Can we remember nothing?'

'No, of course not.'

'There you are, then.'

'But I cannot look at nothing. I cannot know it.'

'Can you be nothing, Uöos?'

'That is the ultimate fear, Pol-Chi. And I fear it.'

'Then you will not understand until you have become nothing. In the void, or to quote, in the Deep, all things are clear. Because there is nothing to be clear.'

'We swim in paradoxes, Pol-Chi. I grow tired of that easily.'

'We have gone far enough for now, Uöos. Look, the sun is almost set. We will have patience now.'

The drizzle drove into their backs, chilling them, the wind whipping their wet tunics. Pol-Chi turned a little to keep his wounds out of the wind and rain.

The sun was almost below the horizon now. But its light still sprang up to the sky, rayed in gold beams across the darkening sky.

Hepteidon appeared beside them, nodding in greeting. Pol-Chi clutched his arm and spoke to him.

'Do you like the sunsets here, Astronomer? They are long and poignant.'

'You asked me that before, Pol-Chi. A long time ago. Yes, they are beautiful. So still.'

Uöos said, knowing that he repeated something said before:

'It is almost as though the sun were reluctant to leave the earth.'

Pol-Chi chuckled:

'Perhaps men hold it back, Perhaps this happens everywhere on earth now.

The sky was clear enough of cloud for the first star to be seen. It hung bright above the sun, at the edge of its radiance. It was very bright, though not as bright as the New Star.

'Tell us, Hepteidon the Astronomer, what star is that, hanging brightly over the sun?'

Uöos looked wonderingly at Pol-Chi and said,

'Have you not seen that star before?'

Pol-Chi laughed, feeling the tension gather, knowing there was special knowledge for him here.

'Uöos. I am not an Astronomer, I am just a poor soldier.

'Then it will interest you,' Hepteidon said from the distance of his own thought. 'It is called by the populace, the Evening Star. It is actually a planet, and it is dedicated to the Goddess in her most sublime aspect.'

'The Goddess? Does it shine there after sunset all the time?'

'No, Pol-Chi. She has her own movements. Now she is at the peak of her present manifestation. She is brightest now.'

'Ah,' Pol-Chi sighed, gazing in fascination at the star. 'It is a pity, Hepteidon and Uöos, that the New Star now outshines her, is it not?'

It was Uöos who answered in agreement.

'But when the New Star has gone,' Hepteidon said in the security of his science, 'The Evening Star will return. She will remain.

Uöos pre-empted Pol-Chi, 'But who will see her, Hepteidon?'

Hepteidon said nothing. Pol-Chi made an expansive sweep, paused, and said, slightly distracted.

'The new-man, Uöos. The one who comes after us.'

Then he turned and stared down the ship:

'The sailors come up for air, even though the sun sets.'

Uöos and Hepteidon followed his gaze. Hepteidon coughed lightly and said.

'Pol-Chi, they say that you will show them a miracle tonight. They want to see it. You see, their curiosity or faith overcomes their fear.

Pol-Chi swung on Uöos, 'How did they come to hear that?'

'I do not know, Pol-Chi. Perhaps you were overheard this morning. We were in the corridor. Do you remember?'

Pol-Chi nodded, pursing his lips. He raised his arms outwards, held them and then let them fall. He ignored the pain that resulted

'Well, then, there is nothing that can be done now.' He looked up at the clouds, then at the star. 'Except that it raining. It is wrong that they should be soaked unnecessarily. The storm has served its purpose.'

Korkungal came up on to the deck, accompanied by Sora. He grinned, but it was obvious that he walked with care.

'Should he be here, storyteller? I thought he was very ill. After all, I gave him my best bed last night.'

'He seems not to have any internal injuries,' Uöos said seriously. 'How that is possible, I do not know. He is an ox, but even oxen are not that solid.' Then it dawned on him, and he looked from Pol-Chi to Korkungal.

But Korkungal had seen the humour before him. He said with mock-cunning.

'Perhaps I had the most comfortable bed, Commander, but I doubt that I had the best bed.'

Hepteidon looked from one to the other and said.

'But Korkungal, it was generous of Pol-Chi to give you his bed in order to protect your life.'

Then he realised that both men were looking at Sora and laughing.

'But look at the price he exacted!' Korkungal shouted.

It was Uöos who crossed behind Korkungal and put his arm about Sora. It quietened the others.

Korkungal spoke into the silence.

'Commander, why does everyone gather on the deck?'

'Why are you here, Brigan?'

'Sora brought me, I don't know why.'

Pol-Chi stepped aside and extended his hand so Sora could see the Evening Star. She came forward to his side and gazed over the high seas, looking at the star, now brilliant in the almost complete darkness. Her eyes widened and her nose flared slightly. She bowed slowly.

Then, taking Pol-Chi's arm, she turned to the north and extended her arm.

Pol-Chi heard Korkungal mutter to Uöos.

'See, old man, she does go to him.

'Hush, no-man. Have patience.'

Then Hepteidon said with reluctant wonder:

'It has stopped raining!'

Pol-Chi nodded without turning.

Set-Wun bustled up, carrying a lamp, peering at the figures around him.

'Commander! Commander!'

'What is it, Captain?'

'All the soldiers are coming on deck. Listen. The drum even has stopped.'

'It will be only for a short time, Captain. You are welcome to come with us now.'

Set-Wun went closer to his Commander. He saw that the girl held his arm and that she was pointing forward, over the ship.

The ship, which had been pitching and rolling all day, suddenly calmed until it rose and fell regularly on the waves. Even the wind dropped, so that the sail flattened wetly against the mast, and relieved the sailsmen from their tasks.

Pol-Chi took Sora by the hand and led the group down onto the amidships deck. But Set-Wun stayed behind, nervously rubbing his hands, wanting above all to shout orders, to be active.

But he could not.

The soldiers made way, falling back on either side. Some gave tentative cheers, but quickly realised that this was not that sort of occasion. Many, however, saluted their Commander with a strange fervour.

But with Korkungal the soldiers were more informal. They called to ask how he was, to praise his strength and courage. He replied boisterously and produced laughter and banter in return. Uöos was also greeted, both as storyteller and healer. Passing them, he appeared small and wise, impish and serious by turns.

Hepteidon was surprised at being greeted at all. But the soldiers called to him with some familiarity, acknowledging his courage and labour during the storm, and praising him for them. At first he remained the stiff Merura, but a crack about his confusing which ship was being saved unbent him, and he found warmth in acknowledging the calls in the semidarkness.

For Sora there was an awed silence. Some knew her better than others, but the little light there was from a few lamps, revealed that she appeared to he leading their Commander down the ship.

There was no one on the bow deck. Sora walked into the angle and stood there, a mute attraction drawing Uöos, Korkungal and Hepteidon around her and Pol-Chi.

An intense silence gathered. Even the sea did no more than lap against the ship.

The north star shone, so high up that Pol-Chi leaned aside and asked Hepteidon how far north they were. The Astronomer studied the sky, calculating.

'Further north than I had expected, Pol-Chi.' Pol-Chi nodded with satisfaction. Then there were glimmers high in the sky. A greenish light began to stream up the sky into the North. There were gasps, both on the bow and behind, in amidships.

The streams thickened and the colour began to pour up the sky. It broke into bands, cascades of light, sometimes arching, but all the time scintillating and streaming.

Then Hepteidon muttered in annoyance and Uöos hushed him. Finally Hepteidon last patience and said testily to Uöos.

'But this is a perfectly natural fact. We have heard of this many times. It is merely an effect of the light of the sun.'

Uöos looked at him in the reflected light of the display, then at Pol-Chi and Sora. He reached a decision, and grasped the Astronomer's arm.

'Hush, Hepteidon. Be patient.'

Hepteidon snorted, but did not move.

Pol-Chi felt Sora's hand squeeze his. He raised his head expectantly. Uöos caught the movement and he shuffled until he had a better view between Pol-Chi and Sora.

When Hepteidon muttered again, Uöos dunted his arm as hard as he could.

The display began to break up, isolated rays of a green-white light scattering over the sky. In their place was an extensive veil of dark red. For a while this veil hung in the northern sky, then a light appeared towards the bottom. Its colour was indeterminate, changing so rapidly that it seemed to glow with a totally new colour. Then it began to rise, gaining in size and intensity. It became white. Brilliant but not as blinding as the sun.

Soldiers began to moan amidships. Some prayed loudly. Uöos gripped Hepteidon's arm. Still the light rose, the white gradually being replaced by red. This redness was intense and finally awful. The whole world about them, the sea, ship, sky, men's faces and bodies, seemed to burn vividly and violently. Rays shot away from the body of light and hurtled up the sky, silently streaking like tongues of fire.

Korkungal groped for Uöos' hand and pressed it within his own huge palm and fingers. His other hand found Sora's shoulder. She reached up and touched it gently. There was no sound, but each imagined a terrible thunder, of war, of destruction, of bloody death. The flaring, brazen light created a din that bowed heads and weakened hearts. The sea was a sea of blood, rolling and churning like a huge sacrificial vat, as though all the blood of the world had been gathered, freshly poured, into one place.

The body of light rose and rose, growing and growing in size till it was thrice the size of the sun. Now the light itself seemed to be everywhere. Harsh, unrelenting, speaking of destruction upon destruction unimaginable, as if all the blood that had ever existed had been regenerated and gathered into that great bloody ball.

To everyone it spoke of the death to come. Each individual death, every death, and all deaths. Hepteidon finally relented and touched Pol-Chi, who brought his hand up and grasped the Astronomer's.

The ball reached what seemed to be the top of the sky. It expanded and expanded, and some soldiers suddenly began to cry out that it was the Star come at last. This produced pandemonium, but nothing could control them and no one tried. The cries of _The Star! The Star!_ was interspersed with morbid screams about the Beast.

Then the whole world seemed to fall into the red burning globe and the five in the bow strengthened their holds on one another to prevent the contagion of panic reaching them.

Only Pol-Chi and Sora remained calm, giving what comfort they could to their friends.

Then –

IT WAS GONE!

Now everything seemed to fall into the blackness that remained. There being no object of fear, there was only fear.

Swallowed whole, the earth seemed to disappear. Amid the screams of insane terror there was suddenly a loud laugh. Surprisingly, it cut through all the noise and tumult and had the effect of calming everyone.

Pol-Chi laughed again.

It was always necessary to see the joke!

When he laughed a third time, Sora looked at him and he went still, hearing as though in his head.

'There you are, poet. I give you your desire.'

A huge yellow ball hung in the sky. Serene yet harsh, weak yet comforting, it glowed in an enforced silence, filling the sky with radiance.

Initially the light produced relief and in some a reaction to intense joy, which issued as hysterical laughter or deep abasement. But soon there were confused murmurs.

In the sky, light radiated which was in one place a glorious brilliance that hinted at divinity. Elsewhere, there was a harsh quality in the yellow, which hinted at a vulgar bragging, a strenuous self-assertion that brought back memories of the horrible void that had preceded it. But elsewhere again, there was the attraction of consolation and calm presence; here the yellow was effulgent, lying across the sky like an ultimate reality, the final and absolutely unmoving shelter for all feeling and thought.

And in the sea, the colour was reflected in a variety of qualities. To one side, it seemed to produce a clear sweet honey. Men could feel its sticky, soothing flavour in their mouths just by gazing upon it. There the sea seemed frozen in a pure, shining massive globule of the richest honey, a food fit for gods. But elsewhere, the yellow appeared as a turgid churning basin of pus, drawn from a putrid, festering sore in the earth. Looking at it, men felt their stomachs turn, their mouths become sour, their limbs melt into a poisonous decay, The sickly water churned heavily, threatening all the time to heave the whole revolting mass over the ship.

And elsewhere the waters rolled molten gold, a royal colour, rich, gay, strong, filled with laughter and the high good times of old, when the world – the world of the watching men – was more innocent and had a long untroubled future. The roiling sea spelt wealth, ease; it brought a longing for security and order, commands, obedience. It made some men remember youthful phantasies, before they realised that they had been born soldiers. It prompted others to crouch in its glow, to hide behind authority, to acknowledge that law, command, right lay in that colour.

That sea did not threaten, but remained, as it should for most of the men on the ship, at a distance, self-regarding in its brilliant easy movement. A few lusted, but it was a well-worn and boring lust.

Elsewhere? The sea in places seemed like brass, vulgar and hard; but that could be ignored. Again, it reminded some men of a young woman, laid out, gyrating in a responsive passion. That had to be ignored, at least by all but a few men. There were flowers there to provoke some: to long for a modest satisfaction and contentment. But there was too much emotional turmoil and damage now for modesty.

What was wanted most of all was supplied right in their own midst. Everyone had looked everywhere else before they looked up. The sky was dark there, with a back glow, a veil, of yellow, diffused and powdery, pleasant but ambiguous.

However, the sail hung flat against the mast. Normally a discoloured white, it was now more than anything else like the altar hanging of the Emperor's own Temple, if legend were to he believed. Above them hung what seemed to be the largest, most costly, most sublime, most holy, saffron-dyed cloth. The yellow light there took on a sufficient amount of orange to produce this moving spectacle.

In silence it was gazed upon. Mouths hung open. Eyes popped, hands clutched, twisted, reached, scratched. The cloth hung there, glowing with religious emotion. Turning hope into delight, pain into hope, horror into excitement, prayer and beseechment into a hope that leaped to delight.

And delight leaped into –

The men began again with prayer. Praying singly, then in groups, then as a congregation, they offered to the glowing raiment of the Goddess – for they believed it to be so – all their failings, all their weakness, all their nastiness and pettiness, their cowardice. They besieged the cloth with their offerings, assaulted the image with their sincerity and confession. Their emotion followed its course, welling up into a great orgasm of demand, bursting upon the cloth of gold. And the hanging symbol of religion took up in its boundless lustre, its innermost depths of colour upon colour, all their miserable offerings and gave them what they wanted, which was –

The men began again with hymns and chants, sacred movements and gestures, bowings and salutes, secret signs of mystery cults and high transformations, Some men simply went down on their knees and bowed their foreheads to the wet slippery deck. A few threw themselves down on their bellies on the muddily slimy deck and kissed the filthy wood and spread their arms and legs and said, 'Take me utterly!'

All this movement was spontaneous and intense and offered a wealth of significance to the cloth, a cloth which in bounds upon bounds of increasing depth offered a pure gateway for the most awful gesture, the most powerful incantation, the most elaborate invocations, the most complicated evocations. The most strenuous and the most insignificant gesture, sign and symbol went straight up through that gateway, went deep into the heart of the intended divinity, the most exalted power imaginable, and was accepted. In return the heavenly gate gave –

In the end various soldiers realised what it was all about, and they made the greatest sacrifice. They searched themselves, keyed it up and released it – love. The sail cloth gave them –

Winked-out yellow. A pale shimmer of whiteness reflecting the dirty white phosphorescence of the foam cresting waves. A storm in the process of clearing, seas churning, wind still strong though slackening gradually. Drizzle.

Skies clearing from the north.

One sailor, before he realised what had happened, pushed a short sword into his heart, hoping that this was the required thing.

In the north hung a bright yellow star. It was clearly yellow. It winked, sending out four rays at right angles. It winked once more, and when Pol-Chi raised his hands in thanks, drawing with them the hands of Sora and Hepteidon, it winked out. The North Star winked, white, high in the sky.

'As before,' Pol-Chi said, indicating.

Chapter Twenty four

Pol-Chi took a running jump off the bow deck and landed amidships, his legs buckling with residual fatigue, a place low in his back throbbing, and his chest wounds singing their pain.

Time for rest later.

'There is trouble, Captain?'

Set-Wun was beside himself, mouth thin, arms akimbo.

'The soldiers will not obey me, Commander.'

'Ah. What do you wish of them, Captain?'

Soldiers sat around the deck in groups, but so crowded was the deck, that it seemed that they formed one large group. Only by following the track of beer jars was it possible to discriminate the various groups. A few lamps, hung here and there on the safety ropes, gave a weak, yellow illumination.

Set-Thin pointed beyond the ship.

'Commander, we must get under way again. The wind still blows and the sea is high. There is a danger of the ship being swamped or capsized.

'The soldiers want to celebrate their safekeeping. Surely you do not begrudge them that?'

Set-Wun suppressed the explosion within him out of respect for his Commander.

'But, Commander, this is not the place for celebrations. We are in the middle of the high seas, it is dark, and there is danger.

'The wind is easing, as you said it would, Captain. Even I can feel that. Soon the sea will recover from its passion. Then there will be calm.'

'The sail, Commanders Look, it...'

'The sail is trim and the ropes taut. I am inexperienced in these matters, but even I can see that.'

Set-Wun stopped fighting his Commander and sought another ploy.

'This is chaos. Every last man is here. Even the injured. Look, even they sit about, drinking and singing.'

'Exactly, Captain. Every man celebrates his safekeeping. Every man here is safe. Even your fellow Captains. Look.'

Lat-Pi sat under the mast in the company of some spearmen. Shu-Ken and Tel-Sir sat with a mixed group, throwing dice and shouting excitedly, a jar passing quickly from hand to hand.

'But, Commander...'

'Oh, Captain, where is the good Engineer, Tan-Sha, and even that poor fighter, Tel-Chan? Remember them here. And what of all the soldiers who are absent tonight? Captain, thirty three of out faithful soldiers are no longer with us. Grieve for their absence.'

'I do, Commander, I do, but I have my duty...'

Pol-Chi finally clutched Set-Wun's shoulder and propelled him with sufficient force towards a group of axe men.

'Oh, fuck your duty this night, Set-Wun. Sit here with the brave axemen and drink, sing and gamble.'

Pol-Chi accepted the jar and drank deeply. He handed it down to Set-Wun.

'Your good health, Set-Wun, Celebrate now, We cannot wait until tomorrow.' Pol-Chi hunkered down and whispered in his Captain's ear, 'Tomorrow, my good loyal Set-Wun, the end of the world begins.'

Scrambling down the rolling deck, skipping over feet and avoiding bodies, Pol-Chi saw the soldier with the back injuries sitting in a circle drinking. His wounds still gaped, blood-rimmed, open to the night. Pol-Chi bent to him.

'Are you well, brave soldier?'

'Commander, I am passably well, thank you. I hope you are well.'

Pol-Chi accepted a jar and drank. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he replied.

'Like yourself, dear soldier, I am recovering. But tell me, such open wounds must be an inconvenience.'

'They are, honoured Commander, though there is no pain.

'Tell, such an inconvenience is unnecessary, good man. They should have closed up.'

Pol-Chi bent and touched the man's back gently.

'There now! Enjoy yourself now, soldier. And all of you.'

They chorused a similar wish for him. He waved farewell and crossed into the dark corridor.

Two lamps hung from the ceiling, throwing dull yellow light around the cabin. They swayed regularly, so that the cabin appeared to sway also, shadows lengthening, and then shortening, advancing across floor and walls, and then retreating, while other shadows grew and then retarded.

Pol-Chi went straight across the cabin to the boarded window and almost collided with it. To the rough wood he said:

'There now! It is almost done.'

The dark mood pulled at him. He thought the strength of it would kill him. It was inescapable.

It is painful to become a man again.

If the burden could be thrown off completely. If it was possible to unlearn. Instead:

My Lady calls me such grand names

My Lady plays such fine games;

My Lady calls me night and day

And says it is I who asks to play!

The pain! The pain! It tears my heart. I can feel it!

Pol-Chi hammered the boarding. It rattled loudly, but turned his blows into a feeble clatter.

I am tired of it all! It is all stupid! Stupid! Stupid! A silly game.

My Lady tells me that she prefers

To remain away and tend her affairs,

But I call, she says, for love and fire,

Not knowing that love lasts and fire

Burns.

S

Knowing that, I surrender,

Consummation, when it occurred, took the form of

The pleasure also took the form of

And such tenderness as there was, seemed like

And Pol-Chi, in being loved thus, knew he was

Embracing his Lady, he embraced

His seed was like

Her womb was

She said

He was

I am

is

.

Sora at the door looked across at him, Pol-Chi returned her gaze.

Sora looked with such pain. And Pol-Chi saw the horrible inevitability of it all.

Who are you, Sora?

'Forgive me, Sora.'

She nodded in her passivity. Nodding dumbly, her slender body at the same time engendered lust.

She is not simple! Beware, Pol-Chi.

It is always better to let the inevitable be.

Freedom is probably no more than the capacity to endure dumbly.

Pol-Chi moved from the window and pulled the sleeping skin into the centre of the cabin.

'Sit here, Sora the Silent.'

He took her by the hand and helped her sit. On impulse he kissed her hand tenderly, whispering.

'My own lovely love.'

Now he rummaged in his trunk and found three cloaks. He searched and found a fourth one lying behind the cot.

He came upon Korkungal's sword by accident. It seemed appropriate to give it to Sora. She laid it on the skin beside her.

'Take off your gown, my sweetheart.'

He stripped off his tunic and tossed it towards a corner.

He laid out the cloaks.

Uöos opened the door for Korkungal, who carried a beer jar under each brawny arm. He made a whinnying sound when he came in and called back to Uöos:

'It's a good thing you said patience, old man of stories.'

He laid the jars on the floor, beside one of the cloaks.

Uöos rubbed his hands briskly, looking smaller and wiser than ever.

'Where is Hepteidon?' Korkungal asked, rubbing his lips. 'It is not difficult to separate a few bowls from drunken soldiers.'

'Perhaps he has fallen into company,' Uöos said, kneeling to uncork a jar. 'Perhaps,' he sniggered, exerting all his strength on the cork. 'Perhaps he applies his science to dice.'

'There are bowls here,' Pol-Chi said, looking around. 'Well, aren't there?' He was suddenly impatient. 'Uöos, let Korkungal do that.' Then humorous. 'That's what we keep him for.'

Korkungal jerked the two corks out, raised one jar to his lips and drank until Uöos shouted. He handed the jar to Uöos, but it was too heavy, so Korkungal tipped it while he gurgled and drank convulsively.

'Who keeps me, Commander!' Korkungal said, showing a similar humour. He looked pointedly at Sora.

Pol-Chi went into the corridor and shouted, 'Hepteidon! Come in.'

He refused the jar, but said, 'Hepteidon drinks with Set-Wun and the axemen. What do you think of that?'

Korkungal snorted, but Uöos chided. 'He is only now discovering who he is. Leave him be.'

'But the axemen, Uöos?' Pol-Chi said. Then, suddenly serious. 'Those berserkers? Is it an omen, Uöos?'

'What if it is?'

'You are right, of course, wise man.'

Hepteidon came in, unaccountably on tip-toes. He carried one bowl. Pol-Chi looked at it and said,

'Did you take that from someone?'

'No, Pol-Chi. I was given it after I had explained why I wanted it.'

'But only one bowl! You would have got more if you had stolen them.'

'Perhaps you are right. The soldiers were too drunk and excited to understand me.'

'Anyway, there are bowls somewhere here.'

Pol-Chi rummaged around. In the end he laid out six bowls.

'See!'

The seven bowls were filled. Before he could he stopped, Uöos had emptied one and was in the process of draining another. Korkungal dived on a bowl. After some hesitation,

Pol-Chi snapped up a bowl. Korkungal dropped the empty one and pulled one from within Uöos' grasp. Cursing, Uöos scrambled for the next one, only to see Hepteidon pick it up, a mild expression of apology on his face. But he pipped Pol-Chi for the last bowl.

Korkungal filled the bowls again and it was decided that a second bowl could be had only after Hepteidon took up his second bowl. The Astronomer was forced to drink quickly. Intentionally, Uöos failed to get a second bowl.

Korkungal filled the bowls again. Now the game was for Hepteidon and Uöos to drink three bowls apiece. The slowest would get the seventh bowl of beer over his head. Uöos undressed for this. But Hepteidon was only on his second bowl when Uöos finished his three. The penalty was called for noisily. Then Korkungal admitted to having drunk the penalty bowl during the excitement of the race. Pol-Chi was drinking Hepteidon's third bowl.

At this point Hepteidon staggered and had to be steadied by a mocking Korkungal. Pol-Chi held up his hands for silence and announced a new game.

'We will make a symbol, friends. But, first, everyone must undress.'

Korkungal pulled his tunic over his head immediately. He shivered and rubbed his balls vigorously.

'Not yet, Hammerer!' Uöos shouted facetiously.

Hepteidon had to be undressed. Being naked sobered him somewhat and he began to protest. Korkungal noted.

'The wound heals well. You're a great healer, old man. You save his appearance, at least.'

Uöos bent and examined the wound, while Hepteidon was preoccupied with protesting to Pol-Chi ('You are under orders now, Astronomer. Naked I say, and naked you'll be.').

'The body is young and healthy, Korkungal. As for lasting damage, we will find that out tonight.'

Pol-Chi gave Hepteidon a last clap on the shoulder, a slap which pushed him into Uöos' company, and stood before them.

'This game or symbol is simple and may turn out to be interesting, Korkungal, you sit here.'

He pointed to the cloak beyond Sora, over towards the window.

'Hepteidon, you are here.'

The Merura was guided to the cloak on the other side of Sora from Korkungal, with his back to the door.

'Uöos, you sit between them down here.'

Pol-Chi went and sat on Korkungal's left, between the Brigan and Hepteidon, so that his back was to the north.

Korkungal dragged the jars over; Uöos got four bowls. They were filled and passed around. Hepteidon took his bowl and automatically drank from it, peering with moist eyes at Sora, obviously formulating a question.

But he was ignored. Pol-Chi slapped his knees for attention.

'The object of the game is this. Whoever Sora faces must do two things. He must couple with her, and he must also speak to her. He may do these in whatever order he wishes. He must speak, even if it is to utter only one word. And he must couple with her. However, this game has one consolation: you will not remember what happens to you.'

Hepteidon spoke his question, with a characteristic preamble: 'I was led to believe that a desirable woman should combine modesty with a certain... ampleness. I am a priest, and therefore should...should...be...inno... ignorant of these matters. But Sora is... how shall I put it...'('Out with it! Hurry!' Korkungal interjected.)'Yes, of course. She is so... oh – slight. And she is also, I believe, a whore. But why is she so... Sora! You are so lovely!'

Laughter. Ribald and grateful by turns, Korkungal leaned over and shook Hepteidon's hand with feeling.

'But,' Uöos suddenly said, 'what is the point in talking to Sora? Pardon me, Sora, but you will understand. She cannot reply.'

Pol-Chi struck his forehead and shouted:

'Wait, the symbol is not complete.'

He leaped and went and rummaged in his trunk. He came back clutching a thong, which he lowered over Sora's head.

The ring with the yellow stone fell between her small breasts and swung there, flashing yellow light.

Pol-Chi sat down again, looking suddenly youthful and satisfied.

'There now, What did you say, Uöos? Oh yes. Well, think about it. Speaking to one who cannot reply is like speaking to what?'

Uöos thought, then nodded significantly, looking at the other.

'But I don't understand, Pol-Chi,' Hepteidon suddenly said, too loudly.

'You will, friend Hepteidon. Now let us have another bowl and then we will begin the game.'

The bowls were passed to Uöos, who held them while Korkungal poured from the jar. When the filled bowls had been distributed. Pol-Chi raised his towards Sora:

'To the loveliest girl in the world. Sora!'

All raised their howls and repeated the salutation. All drained their bowls.

'Now, Sora, you are in command here,' Pol-Chi said. Then he closed his eyes and bowed his head.

Sora moved so that she sat in an angle between Pol-Chi and Korkungal. She sat with head bowed, her hands gathered in her lap, resting against her pubic hair. The stone flashed between her breasts as she breathed. Yellow.

As the silence stretched out, the men one by one closed their eyes and let their heads drop.

A golden peacefulness descended on the cabin. The lamps swung, throwing shadows hack and forth across the cabin.

Everything drifted as the ship drifted.

Uöos jerked his head up, startled. He had heard a voice, as though in his head, saying with rich laughter:

'You first, old goat.'

Sora was sitting facing him. Her face was inscrutable. He found there was a compulsion on him. He rolled on to his knees and crawled forward. Sora lay out on the skin and opened her legs.

Sitting at her waist, Uöos looked into her eyes, searching for an expression. Finding none, he was suddenly uneasy.

He saw that the game was not simply interesting. It created a terrible contradiction.

He could not say what was in him to say, and feel any desire!

Couple first! That was the answer. Get that over with.

He lay down gently on Sora's body, and then eye to eye, gazed at her. He beseeched her with his eyes to grant him a sign.

Slowly, she began to smile. Languorous, teasing, distant, voluptuous.

Then his penis swelled. Uöos rose in himself towards a darkness, a want of memory. He chased after this rising, trying to got ahead of it, wanting to make a request, to plead.

The familiarity of Sora's thighs worked on him automatically. Her lifting chin, the strain appearing around her nose, the thrust of her breasts, palpable on his chest now that her nipples were engrossed – these things were like signs in a ...desert?

He wanted to murmur endearments, to be playfully lusty with her, but his request was too obsessive now.

Then Sora made her usual sign, she lifted her groin. When he relieved her of his weight, her back arched up and her vagina came opposite his penis. As usual, Uöos simply pushed, and entered her moist mildness.

Now the request!

He wanted to call her name. He realised that he always sought to compensate her for something. For what?

For inevitability!

Then he saw it! All the way down, behind him, reaching back and back.

– He had always hidden his real desire because it was too familiar. And too boring.

'Sora, preserve me from...'

He mounted and mounted, pushing and pushing, sinking up into darkness.

Why this craving for light if it is so difficult to find?

Because you look in the wrong place, goat.

'Sora, let...let me...'

And part of him did, ejaculating with the usual doggy frenzy.

Someday I'll lose my balls doing this!

Laughter.

'Oh, Sora, thank you. Thank you again and again.'

She saves me; she maintains me, she keeps me out...

Sora smiled deliciously and turned her head on Uöos' mouth on her neck.

Uöos nuzzled the warm young flesh, knowing now that he need not say it.

Time came when he dragged himself away. He found the lighter jar and tipped it over his bowl. Seated again, he drank with relief. He wiped his mouth, watching Sora sit up, seeing the yellow stone sparkle.

Then he wanted to go back to her. To speak to her.

I want to say it now, when I am forbidden.

Uöos began to cry like a child.

Except for the guzzling miserable sobs and sniffles, a golden silence descended upon the cabin. The lamps swung and shadows darted back and forth.

Who sleeps this night? The last night?

Who could sleep the first night of the New Age?

Do you love me still, poet?

Lady, I die for you even now.

Your charm will save you from the worst.

I have seen the worst, Lady.

Perhaps, perhaps.

Korkungal looked into Sora's eyes, then peered, seeing something remembered. He gave a mighty stretch.

He brought his bowl of beer with him.

'I knew it was you.'

'Oh, Warrior of the Briga! I told you there would be great things in store for you, didn't I? Look, how you have fought and loved! In this world, Korkungal, there is only one man to stop you.'

'Who is he, Agnanna?'

'You will never see him, great Warrior. But it's no great matter. You know that. But come to me now. I am glad that you are not bruised or sick at heart this time.'

Korkungal drank some beer, wiped his mouth, and came.

'You are a great lusty man.'

'And so I am,' Korkungal said, grinning down into the bright animated face.

He lay over her, protecting her for now from his weight and did the things a warrior of the Briga knows. They were rough and exaggerated, but they always gave pleasure to a

woman.

'Oh, oh, Warrior. Do it to me now! Do it!'

Korkungal transfixed with the heavy eagerness of a bull, lifting Sora up into his arms, taking her weight on his elbows.

Sora's mouth fell open with surprised shock, as it always did, and her head rolled back helplessly.

'Again, Warrior. Oh, do it again!'

Obediently, Korkungal withdrew and rammed home again to the hilt.

Sora went completely limp in his arms, a strangled scream gurgling in her throat. Her nipples jutted out at the doped Hepteidon. The stone dangled down, glinting at the bowed head of Pol-Chi.

'Once more, you great bull. Now!'

Korkungal pulled out until only the crown of his penis remained in Sora's distended vagina.

'You're teasing me. Do it, Warrior. Oh do it now!'

Still Korkungal paused, feeling Sora's vagina convulse against the tip of his penis. He grinned down at her, proud of his power and wanting to share his pride.

But Sora waited, convulsed, gurgling.

'Please, Warrior. Do it!'

He did it, but tremored his penis first, the more to excite her body. The thrust sent a massive convulsion up Sora's body, her arms jerked and lost grip. Now only Korkungal's strength sustained her.

And his strength murdered her. He released his sperm in mighty thrusts, his whole body working to concentrate strength in the muscles controlling his penis. Sora screamed with startled ecstasy.

' _Eaaaagh!_ Oh! Warrior!'

Korkungal was always perfunctory afterwards. A warrior did not have time to study his victims. There is always someone else threatening.

But there was time for beer.

'You are a great murderous bear, Warrior of the Briga.'

Korkungal wiped his mouth and then rubbed his penis and balls. The cooling wetness irritated him.

'It is how I was trained, Agnanna.'

'Should I pity the women who trained you. '

'It is hard work. Remember that.'

Korkungal drained his bowl.

'Then it is work well done. Farewell, Warrior. Farewell, Mighty Warrior. Rest assured, the time is near. Farewell.'

Korkungal went and filled his bowl. Then he filled Uöos', and nudged him and handed it to him.

Sora sat up and glanced reproachfully at Korkungal. The Brigan Warrior toasted her. He yawned hugely and stretched, feeling the tenderness between his thighs. If it was not forbidden, I would sleep now.

It is hard work! And it gets harder all the time.

Who dreams of death?

Death dreams of me. Look! I move in its dream.

You are wise, poet. You know the dark places.

No, Lady. The dark places know me. They have found me here waiting.

Come then, poet, give me your love.

Pol-Chi went and sat in front of Sora. He touched her cheek and murmured:

'You should forgive yourself, not us, lovely child. Believe me, there is nothing else beyond this clamour.'

Sora nuzzled his hand. The gem sparkled yellow between her breasts.

'Let me kiss you, Sora.

She lay back and he kissed her mouth, her cheeks, her eyes, hair, shoulders, breasts, belly, vagina, her body eased with each kiss, extending and flattening to the sleeping skin.

He went back and kissed her lips again, gently and warmly.

'Do you love me, Sora?'

She looked at him bravely, then nodded abruptly.

'You are afraid!'

This realisation caused him to marvel. Then it made him uneasy. It made him conscious of his own fear.

'Why is the search for love so painful, Sora? Why does it always approach and never arrive?'

She pulled him towards her, but he resisted.

'No, Sora. For you too. Can't you see that?'

Yes, there was pity in it. But how otherwise? In the stillness there is no distraction. Everything is extension.

What can you do but pity?

Infinity breeds powerlessness.

When she pulled him in again, he submitted, knowing that she could not stand to see his pity. To assuage it, she gave him all she could otherwise give.

Herself.

It was a relief to have it over. There was weariness in tenderness.

'I love you, Sora. Do you accept that?'

She nodded, knowing he was only making the parting easier.

But where could he go?

She watched him retreat to his cloak with an expression of sad vulnerability.

Why are you faint-hearted, poet? You were offered a great gift.

I grow weary of all this searching, Lady.

Ah, but you were offered love.

It is an impossible love, Lady. You offer what cannot be given.

_Poet, poet, why are you afraid of silence_?

Sora had to knock Hepteidon out of his daze. The bowl landed squarely on his gonads.

He was aggrieved.

'Look. Don't make things worse, whore.'

He submitted to her with resignation, knowing he could not do otherwise. After a while he said:

'There! You see, I've had the balls kicked out of me, and that's that.'

She did the special thing with her tongue that she had been taught to do.

It worked. Hepteidon remained fatalistic. Sora suddenly slapped his face. Hepteidon just as quickly slapped hers. She glared and he glared.

His nobility brought him to a fine rage. He screamed

'Whore!'

She sat back on her heels, cocked her breasts at him, and looked smug.

He lost his temper and went for her.

She rolled to one side and brought up her heel, as she had been taught to do.

Hepteidon fell over, but though he displayed pain, the agony was not as great as he had expected.

Writhing, he struck something hard. It was the sword. He scrambled on the skin for it, and pointed it at Sora.

Sora looked instead at his now flaccid penis, and laughed. In her silent laughter, Hepteidon saw again that she was lovely. It would be absurd to think to kill her.

'Very well, little bitch. Let us do it.'

There was an erection and she helped him get it up. There was some sensation, but being a virgin who had observed the Priesthood's rules about masturbation, be wasn't sure whether it was enough or too much.

Soon he was panting with the exertion, back and forth, in and out, up and down. Sora panted in his ear, lifting, pushing, encouraging him with her hands, sometimes trying to get him to kiss her.

All he could do was push and pull and pant.

Then the sensation began to grow. He wondered if that was right. Wondering if it was right acted to depress the sensation, and lessening sensation worried him in case it was not what should be happening.

Anyway, just when he thought he would fall over with exhaustion and she was getting dry and desperate, the sensation caught him unawares and he blossomed.

It was dry, of course, seeing that a kick had, as it were, disconnected him. But the blossoming was there all the same.

Sora lay back with relief and gingerly touched her overheated vagina. He said, wiping the sweat from his brow.

'I thought it would be something like that. No children, I mean. The other thing is pleasant enough. But it is such hard work. I can think of better things to do.'

He got up off her. She lay there panting, body trembling, lathered in sweat. He looked at her. He touched a trembling breast. And grinned.

'But you are beautiful, whore. If you are pregnant, I will change your name, give you a lineage, and marry you.

He bent down close to her and shouted. into her face:

'I will possess you, bitch! Then you'll see!'

He just managed to stop her knee in time.

When he sat back on his cloak, he found a bowlful of beer there. He drank it, pushing his long black hair back off his sweating face.

The beer, he thought, is like piss.

Sora ended the game by clapping her hands three times. Pol-Chi arose and walked quickly from the cabin. When he returned, rubbing his mouth, he took the ring from around Sora's neck, wrenched the boarding away from the windows opened it, and threw the ring into the sea.

When he turned back there was no one in the cabin except Sora. He stroked her hair and then wrapped his cloak about her glistening body.

He knelt before her and said, 'If you were to speak, dear Sora, what would you say?'

He grinned knowingly. She compressed her lips, then looked away.

He saw the play of emotion on her face. She will say that she hates us; perhaps loves and admires us. But the choices became innumerable and meshed to produce a mask. Then simplicity:

'I am thirsty. You never offer me beer.'

Pol-Chi jumped up laughing, yelping.

'I knew! I knew! So often have I seen your throat working as though you spoke.

He gave her a bowl of beer. She gulped it. Then threw the bowl away and spat. Her screwed-up face showed what she thought of the beer.

Uöos came in, ashen and wrinkled, his balls drawn up.

'No more games. Pol-Chi.'

Helping him to sit, Pol-Chi laughed.

'But it was a good game, Uöos. A game of truth,'

'And you accept the truth?'

'Of course.'

Uöos made a face. 'I don't.'

Korkungal dragged Hepteidon in.

'He is like all priests, Commander. Always preaching what they cannot know.'

'What did he do?'

'Preaching something about a new age and a new symbol to the soldiers. He will get himself killed.'

Hepteidon made an almighty effort and. pulled away from Korkungal.

'I hate this! It is your fault, Pol-Chi. Thanks to your silly game, I have lost control of myself.'

'Don't think badly of me, Hepteidon. It was necessary.'

'Oh, stop it, Pol-Chi. No more of this mystery nonsense. You worked a fine illusion tonight, perhaps, and it was diverting. But what about tomorrow?'

'What of tomorrow, Hepteidon?'

'We are all on this ship together. Have you no shame?'

'I have done worse at the end of a mission, Hepteidon. I am a soldier, after all. What about you, Korkungal?'

He made a wry face. 'One woman to four men? It should be the other way round.' He glanced at Sora, pleading allowance for his remark.

But she looked at Hepteidon. Korkungal noted this, but said nothing.

'And you, Uöos?'

The old man looked up, weakness and nausea in his face, 'I am not a soldier.'

Korkungal snorted. 'That has never stopped you before, old ram.'

'But I never face death, as you do.'

Everyone, including Sora, looked at him in puzzlement.

Pol-Chi broke the strained silence. 'Let us sleep now. As Hepteidon says, there is tomorrow. We must go to meet my father.'

But Uöos was persistent.

'But why did we play that game, Pol-Chi?'

'Don't you know? I told you. We destroyed a symbol.'

'What symbol?'

'It is complex, Uöos. I wish you understood without explanation.'

'Tell me plainly, Pol-Chi.'

'Us.'

'Us? How do you mean.'

'We destroyed an illusion.'

'Why?'

'So another one could be created. The last one.'

'What is it?'

'Patience, old man. We'll see.'

Chapter Twenty five

Karusal said, plucking a long stalk of grass.

'And these are friends of yours, too?'

Korkungal glanced down through the grass at the ships in the bay. Each sail hung slack, a huge yellow star painted on it.

'They are all together, Man.'

Karusal began to pluck the seeds from the grass.

'All in a line, is it?' He ducked his head, grinning.

Korkungal nodded absently, still looking down through the grass.

The whole Army is landing!

'You have something grave to tell me, Karusal my friend.'

'This marching in a line. They sent an army from their new keep, did they not?'

'They did. You know that.'

'I do, friend Brigan.'

'What happened?'

'They were not Guests of Peace, Korkungal, Their men of the axes are mad. Blood lusters.' Karusal looked bleak. 'We are not many. It is a hard land. We must exact a high price.'

'How many?'

Karusal blew the grass seeds off his palm.

'They killed three young fighters. Only one had bred children.'

'But how many, Karusal? What kind of revenge will they want?'

'Some soldiers. Like stalking a herd, friend Briga. Every day one or two. We avoided stampeding them.'

'How many in the end?'

'About forty soldiers.'

'Forty? They will surely want your head, Karusal. The Empire is proud. But, tell me, you specify soldiers. Who else did you hunt?'

'Four Captains. No, Korkungal. It was necessary. We had to weaken their leadership. You know that necessity.'

'Go far away now, Karusal my friend. Go deep into the Grasslands and stay there.

'But, Korkungal, they were not peaceful. They killed three of my kin.'

'What is that to an Empire of millions?'

'Is there no justice?'

'What has justice to do with the handling of power?'

Karusal wept, easily and silently.

Korkungal waited until he was spent.

'You will go today, friend Karusal?'

'We must. It is a pity. This is a pleasant coast. It must resemble your own homeland, Korkungal the Brigan?'

'It does. The grass is the same. The little hills, too. Often have I sat in a spot such as this and surveyed the sea in summer.

'Come with us, Brigan. Bring lovely Sora, your wife, and the great magician. We will, as you say, go deep into the Grasslands. I fear this Empire takes possession of the coasts. Do you know that they have built another keep at the mouth of the river Sila, where we first met? And they will surely build one here.'

'How can I, Karusal? It would be a hard life for an old man and a girl unused to it.'

'Oh, it won't be for long, Korkungal. You could pass on to your homeland in time, if you wished.'

'You forget, Man of the Grasslands, that the Empire moves east along the coast. The way of my people will be broken.'

Karusal sighed, but he checked his tears.

'They say all things come to an end, Brigan. But it is painful to witness the end of all things.'

Korkungal made ready to leave. 'Endure it with joy, Karusal, and with my blessing.'

'I thank you for that. It heartens me. You are right. But you should come, Korkungal.'

'Why, Karusal?'

'The priest says he has dreamed of another wearing your head. You trust your friends too much.'

Korkungal stood up.

'Stay out of sight, my friend.'

He bent down and embraced the thin Savage and kissed his cheeks, wet with tears.

'Remember, endurance and joy. My respect to your wife and her sisters. I remember them well.'

'And they remember you. Give my respect and honour to your lovely wife, Sora, Korkungal. All my kin speak of her with admiration.'

'Go with the Goddess now, Karusal.'

'Farewell, man of ambiguity.'

Karusal stirred, skipped and was gone through the grass.

Korkungal turned and walked through the high grass, towards the little gully he had ascended.

The sun shone on the brown land. Like the Brigan homeland. But no cattle or forts. A naked land.

The gully had a bed of stones which made descent easy. Lower down there were small trees, their leaves still green.

Korkungal realised he missed the green grass of spring. It always generated anticipation.

The stones clattered under his feet and Korkungal thought of anticipation.

And the death of anticipation.

Kandrigi had said that he knew the ways of the Ka. He had been wrong. He could not know their impersonal cruelty.

Entering the trees, Korkungal realised the drift of his thought.

Cruelty. Death. Anticipation.

Suddenly he stretched his arms out, breathing deeply.

It's all behind me now. And yet there is no anticipation...

Behind me!

Korkungal did not turn. He was not to see. It did not...

As he heard the familiar hum of a sword stroke, he realised that as he had come to expect:

he could have light if he desired it...

The sword struck the back of his neck with force, severing his spine and arteries.

it really did not matter in the end.

**

The Land of Fire is the second volume of the Nothing Darker Than the Light trilogy, which chronicles the struggles of a diverse group as they face the total destruction of their world by a passing heavenly body

The full title list is as follows:

Volume One: The White City

Volume Two: The Land of Fire

Volume Three: The Field of Peace

All these novels are available for download on this site.

This trilogy is part of the opening section of a larger cycle of novels called Dark Liberation. A short Introduction to Dark Liberation is available for download on this site. Most of the novels of this cycle will be published here.

