Brian Aldiss - Helliconia Spring

“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 hit 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 chanigged 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?”

Usilk 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 Groyrie 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.

Her father’s living had several compartments and was part of a small factory for making bows; he was the grand bowmaster of his guild.

Rather haughtily, she allowed the priest in. He sat on the floor and drank a cup of water, and slowly managed to tell her his tale.

Iskador was a sturdy girl of no-nonsense appearance. Her flesh was milky white, contrasting with her flowing black curly hair and her hazel eyes. Her face was broad, with high cheekbones, and her mouth wide and pale. All her movements were energetic, and she folded her arms over her bosom in a businesslike way as she listened to what Yuli had to say.