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  In sudden fear, Yuli told himself that it would be better to die a man in the wilderness than a dry mouth here in the shadowy safeties of Pannoval. Even if it meant leaving behind his fluggel and the strains of ‘Oldorando’.

  The fear made him sit up, casting off his blanket. Dark winds, the restless inhabitants of the dormitory, blew about his head. He shivered.

  With a kind of exultation matching the exultation he had experienced on entering Reck long ago, he whispered aloud, ‘I don’t believe, I believe nothing.’

  Power over others he believed. He saw it in action every day. But that was purely human. Perhaps he had actually ceased to believe in other than human oppression during that ritual in State, when men had allowed a hated phagor to bite the words from young Naab’s throat. Perhaps Naab’s words might still triumph, and the priests reform themselves until their lives held meaning. Words, priests – they were actual. It was Akha that was nothing.

  Into the moving dark he whispered the words, ‘Akha, you are nothing!’

  He did not die, and the winds still rustled in his hair.

  He jumped up and ran. Fingers unwinding the wall-scroll, he ran and ran until he was exhausted, and his fingertips raw. He turned back, panting. Power he wanted, not subjection.

  The war in his mind was stilled. He returned to his blanket. Tomorrow, he would act. No more priests.

  Dozing, he started up once again. He was back on a frozen hillside. His father had left him, taken by the phagors, and he flung his father’s spear contemptuously into a bush. He recalled it, recalled the movement of his arm, the hiss of the spear as it embedded itself among the tattered branches, the knife-sharp air in his lungs.

  Why did he suddenly recollect that insignificant detail?

  Since he had no powers of self-analysis, the question remained unanswered as he drifted into sleep.

  The morrow was the last day of his interrogation of Usilk; interrogations were permitted for only six days consecutively, then the victim was allowed to rest. Rules in this respect were strict, and the militia kept a suspicious eye on the priesthood in all these matters.

  Usilk had said nothing useful, and was unresponsive alike to beating and cajolery.

  He stood before Yuli, who was seated on an inquisitorial chair carved elaborately from a solid chunk of timber; it served to emphasise the difference between the state of the two men, Yuli outwardly at ease, Usilk half-starved, ragged, shoulders bowed, face wan and without expression.

  ‘We know that you were approached by men who threaten the security of Pannoval. All we wish is their names and then you can go free, back to Vakk.’

  ‘I did not know them. It was a word in the crowd.’

  Both question and answer had become conventional.

  Yuli rose from his chair and walked round the prisoner, giving no sign of his emotions.

  ‘Usilk, listen. I feel no enmity for you. I respect your parents, as I told you. This is our last session together. We shall not meet again, and you will certainly die in this miserable place, for no reason.’

  ‘I have my reasons, monk.’

  Yuli was surprised. He had expected no response. He lowered his voice.

  ‘We all have reasons … I will put my life in your hands. I am unfit to be a priest, Usilk. I was born in the white wilderness under the skies far to the north of Pannoval, and to the wilderness I wish to return. I will take you with me, I will help you to escape. That’s true speaking.’

  Usilk raised his gaze to Yuli’s. ‘Scumb off, monk. That trickery won’t work on me.’

  ‘It’s true speaking. How can I prove it? You wish me to blaspheme against the god to whom I made my vows? You think I can say these things lightly? Pannoval has shaped me, yet something in my inner nature makes me rebel against it and its institutions. They bring shelter and content to the multitude, but not to me, not even in the favoured role of priest. Why not, I cannot say, except that it is how I am made …’

  He choked back his flow of words.

  ‘I’ll be practical. I can get a spare monk’s cassock for you. When we go from this cell later, I will help you slip into the Holies and we will escape together.’

  ‘Scumble on your tricks.’

  Yuli fell into a rage. It was all he could do to stop himself attacking and beating the man. He flew in fury to the instruments hanging on the wall, and lashed at his chair with a whip. He seized the fat lamp that stood on the table and thrust it under Usilk’s eyes … He hit himself on the chest.

  ‘Why should I lie to you, why betray myself? What do you know, after all? Nothing, nothing worth having. You’re just a thing, snatched up from Vakk, your life without meaning or importance. You have to be tortured and killed, because that is your destiny. Fine, go ahead with it, enjoy feeling your strength die day by day – it’s the price you pay for pride, and for being a cretin. Do what you will, die a thousand times. I’ve had enough. I can’t bear the torment. I’m off. Think of me as you lie in your own scumble – I’ll be out, free, free, under the sky where Akha’s power can’t reach.’

  He shouted these words, careless who heard him, blazing before the beaten pallor of Usilk’s face.

  ‘Scumb off, monk.’ Just the same sullen phrase he had used all week.

  Jumping back a pace, he brought up the whip and struck Usilk with the stock across his broken cheek. All his force and rage went behind the blow. His glaring gaze saw by the lamp’s uncertain light exactly where on the cheek under the eye and across the bridge of Usilk’s nose the stock struck. He stood with whip half-raised, watching as Usilk’s hands came up towards the injury, how his knees buckled. He swayed and fell to the floor, resting on knees and elbows.

  Still clutching the whip, Yuli stepped over the body and quitted the cell.

  In his own confusion, he was scarcely aware of the confusion round him. Warders and militia were running here and there in an unexpected manner – the normal progress through the dark veins of the Holies was a funereal walking pace.

  A captain came along briskly, holding a flaring torch in one hand and shouting orders.

  ‘You’re one of the priest-interrogators?’ he demanded of Yuli.

  ‘What of it?’

  ‘I want all these rooms cleared of prisoners. Get them back to their cells. The injured are going to be put in here. Look sharp.’

  ‘Injured? What injured?’

  The captain roared his annoyance. ‘Are you deaf, Brother? What do you think all the shouting’s been about this last hour? The new borings in Twink have collapsed, and many good men are buried. It’s like a battlefield down there. Now, get moving and get your prisoner back in his cell, fast. I want this corridor cleared in two minutes.’

  He moved on, shouting and cursing. He was enjoying the excitement.

  Yuli turned back. Usilk still lay crumpled on the floor of the interrogation room. Stooping, he seized him under the shoulders and dragged him into an upright position. Usilk moaned and appeared semiconscious. By levering one of the prisoner’s arms over his shoulder Yuli could persuade him to walk after a fashion. In the corridor, where the captain still roared, other interrogators were removing their victims, hustling excitedly, nobody exactly looking displeased at this interruption to routine.

  They headed into the dark like shadows. Now was his chance to disappear, while the excitement was on. And Usilk?

  His rage was dying, his guilt returning. He was aware of wishing to show Usilk that he was sincere in his earlier offer of help.

  The decision was made. Instead of heading towards the prison cells, he turned towards his own quarters. A plan grew in his mind. First, he had to revive Usilk, to prepare him for escape. It was useless to think of taking him to the brothers’ dormitory, where they would be discovered; there was a safer place.

  Wall-reading, he turned off before the dormitories, propelling Usilk up a winding stair, off which, in a warrenlike arrangement, the chambers of some of the fathers led. The band of carving under his hand kept him informed
of where he was, even when the darkness grew so intense that phantasmal crimsons drifted through it like submerged weeds. At Father Sifans’ door, he tapped and entered.

  As he had calculated, there was no response. At this time of day, Sifans should be engaged elsewhere. He pulled Usilk in.

  He had stood outside this door many times, but had never entered it. He was at a loss. He helped Usilk to sit, leaning with his back against a wall, and groped about for the lamp bracket.

  After some blundering against furniture, he found it, and spun the chert wheel attached to the bracket. A spark flew, a tongue of light grew, and he lifted the lamp from its socket and looked about him. Here were all Father Sifans’ worldly goods, few in number. In one corner stood a small altar with a statue of Akha, greasy with handling. There was a place for ablutions. There was a shelf supporting one or two objects, including a musical instrument, and a mat on the floor. Nothing more. No table or chairs. Lost in shadow was an alcove which Yuli knew without looking would contain a cot where the old father slept.

  He moved into action. With water from the basin, piped from the rock, he washed Usilk’s face and tried to revive him. The man drank a little water, puking as he did so. On the shelf in a tin was some doughy barley bread; Yuli fed some to Usilk and ate a chunk himself.

  He shook Usilk’s shoulder gently. ‘You’ll have to forgive my temper. You provoked it. I’m only a savage at heart, not fit to be a priest. Now you see that I spoke truth – we are going to escape from here. With a rockfall in Twink, it should be easy to get away.’

  Usilk merely moaned.

  ‘What do you say? You’re not that bad. You’ll have to move for yourself.’

  ‘You will never trick me, monk.’ He looked at Yuli through slitted eyes.

  Yuli squatted down beside him. The movement made Usilk flinch away. ‘Look, we have already committed ourselves. I have committed myself. Try and understand. I’m asking nothing from you, Usilk – I’m just going to help you get out of here. There must be some way to escape through the north gate dressed as monks. I know an old trapper woman called Lorel, not many days journeying north from here, who will allow us shelter while we grow used to the cold.’

  ‘I’m not moving, man.’

  Smiting his forehead, Yuli said, ‘You’ll have to move. We are hiding in a father’s room. We can’t stay here. He’s not a bad old boy, but he’d surely report us if he discovered us.’

  ‘Not so, Brother Yuli. Your not-so-bad old boy is a grave of secrets.’

  Jumping up, Yuli turned and stood face to face with Father Sifans, who had emerged quietly from the alcove. He put forward a papery hand in a protective gesture, fearing attack.

  ‘Father …’

  The gesture became one of reassurance as Father Sifans blinked at him in the wan light.

  ‘I was resting. I was in Twink when the roof fell in – what a mess! Fortunately, I was not in great danger, but a piece of rock flew and bit my leg. I can advise you that there will be no escape through the north gate; the guard have closed it and declared a state of emergency, just in case the worthy citizens do something unwise.’

  ‘You’re going to report us, Father?’ From the olden days, the days of his adolescence, he had kept one possession, the bone knife which his mother had carved in her well days. His hand crept beneath his cassock and grasped the knife as he asked his question.

  Sifans sniffed. ‘Like you, I shall do something unwise. I am going to advise you on the best route to take to leave our country. I am also going to advise you not to take this man with you. Leave him here, I’ll see to him. He’s close to death.’

  ‘No, he’s tough, Father. He’ll recover quickly when the idea of freedom really sinks in. He’s been through much, haven’t you, Usilk?’

  The prisoner stared up at them, across a blackened cheek which had already swollen enough to close one eye.

  ‘Also, he is your enemy, Yuli, and will remain so. Beware of him. Leave him to me.’

  ‘It’s my fault he is my enemy. I will make amends and he will forgive me when we are safe.’

  The father said, ‘Some men do not forgive.’

  As they stood regarding each other, Usilk made clumsy movements to rise to his feet, and stood gasping, resting his forehead against the wall.

  ‘Father, I hardly can ask you this,’ Yuli said. ‘For all I know, you are a Keeper. Will you come with us to the outer world?’

  The eyes blinked rapidly. ‘Before my initiation, I felt I could not serve Akha, and I attempted once to leave Pannoval. But I was caught, because I was always one of the docile kind, and not savage like you.’

  ‘You never forget my origins.’

  ‘Oh, I envied savagery. I still do. But I was defeated; my wish was subverted by my nature. I was caught and treated – well, as to how I was treated, let me merely say that I also am a man who cannot forgive. That was long ago. Since then I have gained promotion.’

  ‘Come with us.’

  ‘I will remain here and nurse my injured leg. I always have my excuses, Yuli.’

  Taking a stone from the floor, the father drew a sketch on the wall for Yuli, explaining an escape route to him. ‘It is a long journey. You must travel beneath the Quzint Mountains. You will find yourself at last not in the north but the more clement south. Stay well, and prosper.’ Spitting on his hand, he erased the marks on his wall and tossed the stone into a corner.

  Finding nothing to say, Yuli put his arms round the old man, so that his frail arms were pinned to his side, and hugged him. ‘We’ll go at once. Farewell.’

  Usilk said, speaking with difficulty, ‘You must kill this fellow, kill him now. Or, as soon as we leave, he will give the alarm.’

  ‘I know him and I trust him.’

  ‘It’s a trick.’

  ‘You and your damned tricks, Usilk. I won’t let you touch Father Sifans.’ This was said in some agitation, as Usilk came forward and Yuli put out a detaining arm to keep him from the old priest. Usilk struck at his arm, and for a moment the two wrestled together, until Yuli pushed him off as gently as possible.

  ‘Come on, Usilk, if you’re fit enough to struggle. Let’s go.’

  ‘Wait. I see I’ll have to trust you, monk. Prove yourself true by freeing a comrade of mine. His name’s Scoraw and he worked with me at the fish pool. He’ll be in Cell 65. Also fetch a friend of mine from Vakk.’

  Stroking his chin, Yuli said, ‘You’re in no position to dictate anything.’ Every delay meant danger. Yet he saw that it was necessary to make some gesture to placate Usilk, if they were to agree at all. Sifans’ plan made it clear that they had a dangerous journey ahead.

  ‘All right, Scoraw. I remember the man. He was your revolutionary contact?’

  ‘Are you still trying to interrogate me?’

  ‘Very well. Father, may Usilk stay here with you while I collect this Scoraw? Good. And who is the man in Vakk?’

  A kind of smile moved briefly over Usilk’s broken face. ‘Not a man, a woman. My woman, monk. Name of Iskador, queen of archery. Lives at the Bow, Bottom Alley.’

  ‘Iskador … yes, yes, I know her – I knew her once by sight.’

  ‘Get her. She and Scoraw are tough. We’ll see how tough you are later, monk …’

  The father tweaked at Yuli’s sleeve, and said softly to him almost inserting his nose into Yuli’s ear. ‘My apologies, I have changed my mind. I do not dare to be left alone with this surly and stupid person. Please take him with you – you have my assurances I shall not leave my room.’ He clutched fiercely at Yuli’s arm.

  Yuli clapped his hands together. ‘Very well. Usilk, we go together. I’ll show you where you can steal a habit. Put it on, go and collect Scoraw. I will go down into Vakk and collect your girl, Iskador. We will meet at the inner corner of Twink, where there are two passages leading off, so that we can escape if necessary. If you and Scoraw do not come, I shall have to leave without you, knowing you have been captured. Is that clear?’

  Usil
k grunted.

  ‘Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes, let’s move.’

  They moved. They left the shelter of Sifans’ small room and launched themselves into the thick night of the corridor. Fingers to wall-scroll, Yuli led on, forgetting in his excitement even to bid farewell to his old mentor.

  The people of Pannoval at this time were hardheaded. They had no great thoughts, except to keep their stomachs fed. Yet they had a kind of small change in stories, which were bartered about by storytellers from time to time.

  At the great entrance, by the guardhouses, before a visitor to Pannoval came among the terraces of Market, trees grew – small in number and stunted, but definitely green trees.

  They were properly prized for their rarity, and for their habit of yielding an occasional harvest of wrinkled nuts called roofers. No tree managed to crop every year, but every year one tree or other had a few lime-coloured roofers dangling from its outer twigs. Most of the roofers had maggots in them; but the dames and children of Vakk and Groyne and Prayn ate the maggots along with the flesh of the nut.

  Sometimes the maggots died when the nut was cracked. The poor little story had it that the maggots died of shock. They believed that the interior of their nut was their whole world, and the wrinkled case that contained it the sky. Then, one day, their world was cracked open. They saw with horror that there was a gigantic world beyond their world, more important and brighter in every way. It was too much for the maggots and they expired at the revelation.

  Yuli thought of the maggots in the roofer nuts as he left the gaunt shadows of the Holies for the first time in more than a year, and returned, dazzled, to the busy world of ordinary life. At first, the noise and the light and the bustle of so many people reduced him to a state of shock.

  All the challenge and temptation of that world was epitomised by Iskador, Iskador the beautiful. The image of her face was fresh in his mind, as if he had seen her only yesterday. Confronting her, he found her even more beautiful, and could only stutter before her.