Brian Aldiss - Helliconia Spring

“Why doesn’t Usilk come here and tell me all this rigmarole?” she asked.

“He is collecting another friend for the journey. He could not come into Vakk—his face is a bit bruised at present, and would excite unwelcome attention.”

The dark hair hung down on either side of the face, framing it with two wings. Now the wings were flicked impatiently aside with a toss of the head, as Iskador said, “Anyhow, I have an archery contest in six days, which I want to win. I don’t want to leave Pannoval—I’m happy enough here. It was Usilk who was always complaining. Besides, I haven’t seen him for ages . I’ve got another boyfriend now.”

Yuh stood up, flushing slightly.

“Fine, if that’s how you feel. Just keep quiet about what I’ve told you. I’ll be off and take your message to Usilk.” His nervousness before her made him more brusque than he intended.

“Wait,” she said, coming forward with extended arm, a well-shaped hand reaching out towards him. “I didn’t say you could go, monk. What you tell me is pretty exciting. You’re meant to plead on Usilk’s behalf, begging me to come along with you.”

“Just two things, Miss Iskador. My name is Yuli, not ‘monk.’ And why should I plead on Usilk’s behalf? He’s no friend of mine, and besides …”

His voice tailed off. He glared angrily at her, cheeks colouring.

“Besides what?” There was a hint of laughter in her question.

“Oh, Iskador, you’re beautiful, that’s what besides, and I admire you myself, that’s what besides.”

Her manner changed. She put her hand up so as to half-hide her pale lips. “Two ‘that’s what besides’ … both rather important. Well, Yuli, that does make a bit of difference. You’re not unpresentable yourself, now I come to look at you. How did you get to be a priest?”

Sensing the turn of the tide, he hesitated, then said boldly, “I killed two men.”

She seemed to spend a long while regarding him from under her thick eyelashes.

“Wait there while I pack a bag and a strong bow,” she said at last.

The collapse of the roof had sent an anxious excitement through Pannoval. The event most dreaded in popular fancy had occurred. Feelings were somewhat mixed; with dread went a relief that only prisoners and warders and a few phagors had been buried. They probably deserved everything that Great Akha sent them.

At the rear of Market, barriers were drawn up, and the militia were out in force to keep order. Rescue teams, men and women of the physician’s guild, and workers, were moving back and forth at the scene of the disaster. Throngs of onlookers pressed forward, some quiet and tense, others merry, where an acrobat and a group of musicians encouraged them to be cheerful. Yuli pushed through the melée with the girl behind him, and people gave way to a priest out of long custom.

Twink, where the disaster had occurred, had an unfamiliar look. No onlookers were allowed, and a line of brilliant emergency flares was set up to assist the rescuers. Prisoners fed powder into the flares to maintain their brightness.

The scene was one of grim action, with prisoners digging and other ranks behind waiting to take over when they rested. Phagors had been set to hauling away the rubble carts. Every so often, a shout went up; then digging became more feverish, and a body would emerge from the earth, to be passed to waiting physicians.

The scale of the disaster was impressive. With the collapse of a new boring, part of the roof of the main cave had fallen in. There had been more than one subsidence. Most of the floor was piled high with rock, and the fish and fungus farm had largely been obliterated. The source of the original weakness that led to the disaster was a subterranean stream, which now gushed from its course, adding a flood to the other difficulties.

The rock fall had almost buried the rear passages. Yuli and Iskador had to scramble over a pile of debris to get there. Fortunately, this action was concealed from enquiring eyes by a still larger pile of debris. They climbed through without being stopped. Usilk and his comrade Scoraw were waiting in the shadows.

“The black and white suits you, Usilk,” Yuli commented sarcastically, referring to the priestly disguise both prisoners wore. For Usilk had come eagerly forward to clutch Iskador. Perhaps displeased by his battered face, she kept her distance, appeasing him by holding his hands.

Even in his disguise, Scoraw still looked the prisoner. He was tall and thin, with the droop to his shoulders of a man who has spent too long in a cell too small. His hands were large and scarred. His glance—at least during this encounter—was indirect; flinching from meeting Yuli’s eyes, he took little sips of sight when Yuli’s attention was elsewhere. When Yuli asked him if he was prepared for a difficult journey, he merely nodded, grunted, and shrugged a bag of possessions further on to his shoulder.

It was an inauspicious start to their adventure, and for a moment Yuli regretted his impulse. He was throwing away too much to consort with two characters like Usilk and Scoraw. First, he perceived, he must assert his authority, or they would meet nothing but trouble.

Usilk evidently had the same thought in mind.

He pushed forward, adjusting his pack. “You’re late, monk. We thought you’d backed out. We thought it was another of your tricks.”

“Are you and your mate up to a hard journey? You look ill.”

“Best to get going and not stand about talking,” Usilk said, squaring his shoulders and pushing forward between Iskador and Yuli.

“I lead, you cooperate,” Yuli said. “Let’s get that clear, then we’ll all agree together.”

“What makes you think you’re going to lead, monk?” Usilk said jeeringly, nodding to his two friends for support. With his half-closed eye, he looked both sly and threatening. He was feeling pugnacious again, now that the prospect of escape was offered.

“Here’s the answer to that,” Yuli said, bringing his bunched right fist round in a hard curve and sinking it into Usilk’s stomach.

Usilk doubled up, grunting and cursing.

“Scumb you, you eddre …”

“Straighten up, Usilk, and let’s march before we’re missed.”

There was no more argument. They moved after him obediently. The faint lights of Twink died behind them. But at Yuli’s fingertips went a wall-scroll, serving as his sight, teasingly formed of beads and chains of tiny shells, spinning out like a melody played on a fluggel, leading them down into the enormous silences of the mountain.

The others did not share his priestly secret, and still relied on light to get about. They began to beg him to go more slowly, or to let them light a lamp, neither of which he would do. He seized on the opportunity to take Iskador’s hand, which she gave gladly, and he walked in a steady delight to feel her flesh against his. The other two contented themselves with clinging to her garment.

After some while, the passages branched, the walls became rougher, and the repeating pattern gave out. They had reached the limits of Pannoval, and were truly alone. They rested. While the others talked, Yuli kept clear in his mind the plan that Father Sifans had sketched for him. Already, he regretted that he had not embraced the old man and bidden him farewell.

Father, you underdood much about me, I believe, for all your odd ways. You know what a lump of clay I am. You know that I aspire to good but cannot rise above my own dull nature. Yet you did not betray me. Well, I did not knife you either, did I? You must keep trying to improve yourself, Yuli—you’re still a priest, after all. Or am I? Well, when we get out, if we get out … And there’s this wonderful girl … No, no, I’m not a priest, old father, bless you, never could be, but I did try and you helped. Fare you well, ever…