Shardik (46 page)

‘But where? The only access to the lower city is through the Peacock Gate. We’il never get away.’

‘There’s quite a fair chance, actually. Santil advised me to look into it and I did, yesterday afternoon. As you know, the city walls run south and completely encircle Crandor; but high up, near the south-east corner, there’s
a
d
isused postern in the wall. Santi
l told me it was made by some king long ago, no doubt for some unspeakable purpose of his own. Yesterday afternoon I walked up
there
, a
s Santi
l suggested, and had a look at it. It was all overgrown with brambles and weeds, but bolted only on the inside. I shouldn’t think anyone’s touched it for years. I oiled the bolts and made sure it ca
n be opened. If anyone’s gone there
since and seen what I’ve done, that’s too bad, but I doubt they will have. I had a nasty moment coming back, when I met the so-called king and General Zelda walking in that direction, but
they
turned back soon after I’d passed them. Anyway,
that
‘s our best chance and we can’t do better than take it. If we can get as far as
the
upper slopes beyond
the
Barb
without
being caught, we may very well get
through
that gate and reach Santil’s army in two or three days. No pursuit will go faster than I shall, I promise you.’

‘I call it
a
thin chance. The whole thing’s more than risky. And if we’re caught -‘

‘Well, if you now feel that you’d prefer not to take part, my dear Mollo, by all means say so. But you said you’d risk anything to harm
them
. As far as I’m concerned, I haven’t kept my skin whole these five years just to come here and risk nothing. Santil wants
a
resounding crash -
1
must try to provide one.’

‘Suppose, after all, I did kill the woman, couldn’t we simply dive into
the
crowd and pretend complete ignorance? No one would be be able to identify us, and the fire might have been an accident -blown sparks on
the
wind.’

‘You can certainly try that if you prefer, but they
are
bound to find out that
the
fire was no accident - I shall have to rip up the roof to get it to take properly. Suspicion will certainly fall on me - do you think it won’t on you, after the motive you’ve been given today? Can you trust yourself to resist suspicion and enquiry convincingly for days on end? Besides, if the bear dies, the Ortelgans will be beside themselves. They
are
quite capable of torturing every delegate in
the
city to get
a
confession. No, on balance, I think I prefer my postern.’

‘Perhaps you’re right. Well, if we succeed and then manage to reach Erkcdis —’

‘You will certainly not find him ungrateful, as no doubt you realize. You will do very, very much better for yourself than you would as governor of Kabin.’

‘I believe
that
, certainly. Well, if I don’t turn coward or think of any other stumbling-block before nightfall, I’m your man. But thank God there isn’t long to wait.*

29
The Fire Festival

As dusk fell along
the
terraces of the Leopard Hill,
with
a green, yellow
-streaked sky in the west and fl
utterings of bats against the last light,
the
new moon, visible all afternoon, began to gleam more bri
ghtly
, seeming, as it moved towards its early setting, so frail and slender as almost to be insubstantial, no more than a ripple of the surrounding air catching the light like water undulating over a submerged rock. Small and lonely it looked, despite
the
nearby stars; fragile and fine as a greenfinch in spring, assailable as the innocence of a child wandering alone in a field of summer daisies. All below lay in silence and star-lit darkness, the city quieter than midnight, every fire extinguished, every voice silent, not a light that gleamed, not a girl that sang, not a flame that burned, not a beggar that whined for alms. This was the hour of the Quenching. The streets were deserted, the sandy squares, raked smooth at close of day, stood empty, ribbed and void as wind-frozen pools. Once the distant howl of a dog broke off short, as
though
quickly silenced. So still at last grew the moon-faint night that the sound of a boy’s weeping, in a barracoon of the slave-market, carried as far as
the
Peacock Gate, where a single guard stood in
the
shadows, his arms folded, his spear leaning against the wall at his back. Above this expectant quiet, still as the spring fields outside the city, the wan crescent of light moved slowly on, like one compelled to travel towards a dark destination, of which he knows only that it will end his youth and change his life beyond foreseeing.

High on the Serpent tower Sheldra, cloaked against the night air, stood gazing westward, waiting for the lower horn of
the
decl
ining moon to align itself with the pinnacle of the Bramba tower at the opposite corner. When at last it did so,
the
mile-wide silence was broken by her long, ululant cry of ‘Shardik! Lord Shardik’s fire!’ A moment after, a streaking, dusky tongue of flame leapt up the thirty feet of the pitch-coated pine-trunk erected on the palace roof, appearing from the city below as a column of fire in the southern sky. From along
the
walls dividing the upper from
the
lower city, the priestess’s wailing call was answered and repeated, as five similar but lesser flames rose, one after another, from the roofs of the equidistant guard-turrets, like serpents from their baskets as the reedy note of the snake-charmer. Then, from the lower city, there followed in appointed order the flames of the various gates and towers - the Blue Gate, the Gate of Lilies, the towers of the great clocks, the tower of Sel-Dolad, the tower of the Orphans and the tower of Leaves. Each flame soared into the night with the speed of a gymnast climbing
a
rope, and the poles burned in long, blazing waves, the fire rippling like water along their sides. So for
a
little
they stood alone, indicating the length and breadth of the city where it lay upon the plain like a great raft moored under the steep of Crandor. And as they burned, their crackling alone breaking the silence
that
returned upon the ceasing of the cries from the towers, the streets began to fill with growing numbers of people emerging from their doors; some merely standing, like
the
sentry, in the dark, others groping slowly but purposefully towards the Caravan Market. Soon many were assembled
there
, all
unspeaking, all standing pa
ti
ently
in
a
moonset, flame-flecke
d owl-light almost too dim for any to recognize his neighbour.

Then, far off against the Leopard Hill, appeared the flame of a single torch. Quickly it moved, bobbing, descending, racing down through the terraces towards the Barb, through the gardens and on towards the Peacock Gate, which stood ready open for the runner to enter the street of the Armourers and so come down to the Market and the reverent, waiting crowd. How many were gathered there? Hundreds, thousands. Very many men and some women also, each one the head of
a
household; justices and civic officers, foreign merchants, tally-keepers, builders and carpenters, the respectable widow side by side with Auntie from the jolly girls’ house, hard-handed cobblers, harness-makers and weavers, the keepers of the itinerant labourers’ hostels, the landlord of The Green Grove,
the
guardian of
the
provincial couriers’ hospice and more, many more, stood shoulder to shoulder in silence, their only light the distant glinting of the tall flames which had summoned them from their homes, each carrying an unlit torch, to seek, as the gift of God, the blessing of the renewal of fire. The runner,
a
young officer of Ged-la-Dan’s household, honoured with this task in recognition of courageous service in Lapan, carried his torch, lit from the new fire on the Palace roof, to the plinth of the Great Scales and there at last halted, silent and smiling, waiting a few moments to collect himself and to be sure of his effect before holding out the flame to the nearest suppliant, an old man wrapped in a patched, green cloak and leaning on a staff.

‘Blest be the fire
!
‘
called the officer in
a
voice that carried across the square.

‘Blest be Lord Sha
rdik!’ replied the old man quave
ringly, and as he spoke lit his torch from the other’s.

Now a handsome, middle-aged woman stepped forward, carrying in one hand her torch and in the other a yellow-painted wand, in token that she was deputizing for a husband absent at the war. There were many such in the crowd.

‘Blest be the fire!’ cried the young officer again, and ‘Blest be Lord Shardik!’ she answered, looking him in the eye with a smile that said, ‘And blest be you too, my fine fellow.’ Holding her lit torch aloft, she turned and set out for home, while a rough, heavily-built man, dressed like a drover, took her place before the plinth.

There was no jostl
ing or haste, but a measured and joyous solemnity as torch after torch was lit. None might speak until the gift of fire had been bestowed upon him. Not all waited to receive fire from the actual torch carried from the Palace. Many, eager, took it as it was offered by those who were moving away across the square, until on all sides resounded the happy shouts of ‘Blest be the fire!’ and ‘Blest be Lord Shardik!’ Gradually the square became full of more and more points of light, like sparks spreading across the back of a hearth or the surface of a smouldering log. Soon the tossing, dancing flames were flowing out in every direction along the streets, while loosened tongues chattered like birds at first light and the rekindled lamps began to shine in one window after another. Then, on the roofs of the houses up and down the city, smaller fires began to burn. Some were poles, in imitation of those already lit on the gates and towers, others braziers full of wood or clearer fires of scented gums and incense-sprinkled charcoal. Feasting began and music, drinking in the taverns, dancing in the squares. Everywhere, the gift of light and warmth by night manifested the power over cold and darkness bestowed by God on Man and Man alone.

Beside the Barb, in the upper city above the Peacock Gate, another, graver messenger had arrived with his torch - none other than General Zelda, his full armour dully reflecting the smoky light as he strode towards the ripples lapping on the shore. Here, too, suppliants were waiting, but fewer and less fervent, their emotions modified by that detachment and self-conscious restraint which characterizes the aristocratic, wealthy or powerful participating in popular customs.
Zelda
‘s invocatory ‘Blest be the fire’ was spoken indeed with raised voice but in a formal, level tone, while the responding, ‘Blest be Lord Shardik’, though uttered sincerely, lacked the hearty ring of flower-girls or market porters in the lower city, breaking two hours’ darkness and silence with the words appointed to commence one of the great frolics of the year.

Kelderek
, robed in saffron and scarlet and attended by the priestesses of Shardik, stood waiting on
the
highest terrace of the Leopard Hill, surveying the city below; the torches spreading through the streets like water flowing from a sluice along dry irrigation channels; the multitudinous shapes of doors and windows emerging in light out of
the
darkness, as
though
called into existence by the new fires kindled within
them
; and nearer, the lines of flames lengthening, extending further along the shore of the Barb. So sometimes may news actually be seen to spread through a crowd, wind across a dusty plain, or sunrise down the western slope of a valley. About him burned the salts and gums and oils prepared for
the
fire festival, mysterious and splendid in combustion - kingfisher blue, cinnabar, violet, lemon and frost-green beryl - each transparent, gauzy fire, in its bronze bowl, carried upon rods between the shoulders of two women. The gong-like bells of
the
palace towers were ri
nging, the
ir shuddering harmonies vibrating over the city, fading and returning like waves upon a shore. As he watched, the slip of the new moon sank at last below the western horizon and upon the lake appeared the gliding shape of a great dragon, a grinning monster all of fire, green-eyed and clawed, its jaws spouting a plume of white smoke that trailed behind it as it gathered way. Shouts of admiration and excitement broke out, young men’s battle-cries and the stylized calls of the chase. Then, as the dragon reached the centre of the Barb, there sprang into being upon the further shore another fiery shape, erect upon its hind legs, thirty feet tall, round-eared, long-muzzled, snarling, one clawed fore-paw raised aloft As the cries of ‘Shardik! Lord Shardik’s fire!’ rose higher and echoed from the walls about the garden, the figure of a naked man, bearing a torch in each hand, appeared in the bear’s jaws. One moment he paused on that high, bright platform; then leapt out above the water. Secured to his shoulders and unrolling behind him was a long strip of tarred canvas which, burning, made it appear as though the bear were salivating fire. The leaper, plunging into the water below, slipped out of his harness and swam to the shore. Another followed, and now it was the shape of a fiery arrow which fell from the bear’s mouth to the water.
Quicker and quicker came the le
apers, so that the flaming shapes of swords, spears and axes poured from
between the bear’s teeth to hurtl
e down over the lake. At length, as the dragon, belching smoke, glided beneath the towering effigy of Shardik, a burning noose dropped to encircle the prow forming its throat. The lights of its hot eyes went out and amid shouts of triumph its smoky breath died away as it floated captive at the glowing, ember-shaggy feet