1

NOTHING THAN THE LIGHT Introduction

This was to be a sci-fi fantasy work. I had tried to
write a novel (about an old man) and had produced a
shapeless mess. So, liking science fiction very much the
last refuge of the true Romantic (those who understand that
human beings now create all of their reality and are thus
solely responsible for it) I thought a genre novel of this
kind was within my powers.
THE WHITE CITY is this little genre novel and at first
I was nicely in control and full of confidence. Then the
characters began to take over and set about telling another
story, one that I came to realise would extend beyond the
rather comfortable world I was in the process of creating. I
think it is a virtue to let characters go free, but what they had
in mind in 1974 was way beyond my capacities at the time. A
period of preparation was needed as detailed elsewhere
then off they went, each coping in his or her own way with
the utter destruction of their world, through THE LAND OF
FIRE and THE FIELD OF PEACE, the remaining novels of
the trilogy.
One consolation, at least, of imaginary characters is
that they never leave you. If you read far enough into the
whole cycle you will encounter at least one of the characters
from this trilogy who turns up just when he is needed to
provide a vital service for another of my characters.

The White City Introduction

This is the first novel I completed. Woke up one morning in
October 1974, after a walking tour from Stonehenge to
Glastonbury nonstop rain seeing Korkungal staring with
disbelief at the White City. The story told itself, very patient
with my usual caution. But it was my care not to exceed my
ability that was instrumental in giving the work its abiding
freshness: a simple tale told simply.

The White City Summary

An old priest and his aging warrior guard approach an
outpost of a great empire. The priest is bringing bad news to a
friend of his youth, an imperial priest. The news is not
welcome and the bearer is accordingly punished. The old
warrior? A tribal hero is no match for the armoured
champions of a city of iron and stone.
Yet a destiny is created here.

NOTHING DARKER THAN THE LIGHT

Nil luce obscurius.

Isaac Newton

volume one

THE WHITE CITY

PHILIP MATTHEWS

Philip Matthews 1975

Who gave us the sponge to wipe away the whole

horizon? What did we do when we unbound this earth from
the sun? Where does it move now? Where do we move? Does
not the night and only the night come constantly on?...
Friedrich Nietzsche, The Gay Science.

Chapter One
Fearfully, Korkungal parted the tall grass and stared
across the headland with growing disbelief. Behind him, old
Kandrigi hissed excitedly:
Do you believe me now? Did I not tell you about this
place?
Korkungal shook his head impatiently and motioned
with his hand for Kandrigi to be quiet. The old priest
mumbled complainingly, then fell silent. He fingered the
edge of his cloak a sure sign that he was agitated and
consoled himself with the thought that no matter how long
Korkungal stared at the Ka, he would never learn as much as
he himself knew about the place.
Suddenly Korkungal slithered back down to join him.
He was grinning foolishly. Cocking his head to one side, he
asked:
Is it a farm?
It was Kandrigis turn to be impatient:
No, it is not. He sighed. Korkungal, I have told you
many times about this place. Do you not remember my
words?
Korkungal grinned again, a glint of cunning hardening
his blue eyes: I did not believe you, old man.
Kandrigi snorted in exasperation:
You are like a child, Korkungal, you will believe
nothing you are told.
Korkungals face contorted with quick anger. His
battle-hand clenched and unclenched rapidly. Kandrigi
7

reacted hurriedly to this familiar expression of warrior-rage,

but he nonetheless managed to remain dignified:
Never be angry with the truth, Korkungal, for it is
better to be a child than a fool.
The sweetness of the words soothed Korkungals
fighting blood; the wisdom passed over his head. He was
intimidated by the old priests knowledge, he lowered his
face in mock-shame and said:
Tell me again, Kandrigi, and I will listen and believe.
Kandrigi sniffed and pulled his stained cloak closer
about his thin body:
Very well, come and sit closer to me, so that I can be
sure of your attention.
Obediently, Korkungal shifted his thick bulk and sat on
his feet before him.
It is not a farm, Korkungal, Kandrigi began
rhetorically, nor is it like any dwelling of our race. It is not a
kings palace, though it contains the wealth of a powerful
king. It is not the fortress of a bandit tribe from the East, for it
is too comely and agreeable to the senses. It is not a harbour
of the Bir Karsh of the North, our enemy, though it is close
by the sea and ships beach at its foot, for these people are not
dark and hairy. In all, it is not many things, some of which
you know, many of which you do not know: they are not of
the races of the Inland Sea, nor cattle men, as we are, nor
mere fishers of the sea and rivers, nor timber men, nor
diggers after metals...
At this point Korkungal raised his head and shot a
burning glance of impatience at the contented Kandrigi:
8

Tell me what they are, Kandrigi, before my brain

melts through trying to understand the meaning of not-being.
I am a warrior, not a player-with-words.
Kandrigi made a sour face and pulled his cloak more
tightly about him.
I will tell you, Korkungal, of how I found this place,
he said in a stronger voice. As a young man I decided to visit
the land where the world ends, it being then a country of
great curiosity to me, though I had heard but little concerning
it. I set out from Ullenbrig, our homeland, in early spring and
went through the lands of our races following the old tracks
and seeking the advice and wisdom of the priests on the way.
I travelled many months, protected by the Grace of the
Goddess, until I passed into the country of the Savages. I
listened to their legends as best I could, for their language is
strange and trying on the ears. They told me of a great sea
that covers the world to the West and of huge monsters that
dwell in its waters. The Savages warned me not to cross it,
for, as they said, this sea has no end, except where it meets
the sun and boils eternally. But I did not believe this, for the
Savages are a rude people, steeped in curious superstitions.
I walked on across the plains, fording great rivers and
bypassing broad lakes, until I reached the seas edge. I could
find no boats there, nor men willing to build me one. But I
did hear of a majestic race to the south, who sailed this sea,
and so I decided I would go to them and seek their help...
Again Korkungal interrupted the garrulous priest with
a mean look.
'What of this place, old man? he said shortly, pointing
over the grass.
9

Kandrigi made an expression of pain: storytelling was

like a journey in a storm when a warrior was the audience. He
preferred old kings and young men.
Patience, Korkungal, for I am about to tell you. I
walked a great distance along the seas edge, sleeping at night
in a hollow in the sand and eating shellfish and berries. I was
strong in my walking, for I had great hopes of this sea people.
Then one day I sighted a big boat not far from the shore, with
many oars and a tall blue sail, and I saw that it was headed in
towards a point on the coast not far away. I hurried over the
sand, striving to keep pace with the boat, but I tired as the day
wore on and it sailed on out of my sight. That night my sleep
was troubled by excitement. On the morrow, I knew, I would
at last reach their settlement. And when I saw it, after
walking for not more than an hour, I was struck down with
amazement. I had never before seen nor had I ever conceived
in my youthful phantasies, such a sight.
In memory of the event, Kandrigi glowed with wonder.
You, too, Korkungal, have seen this sight. Do you not
feel wonder and awe?
Korkungal glowered. You have told me nothing yet,
old man, he said threateningly.
Happy in his wonder, Kandrigi ignored this.
But do not the great white walls of stone strike you
with awe, Korkungal? Their immense proportions?
Korkungal resented Kandrigis attempt to induce awe
in him. It was a feeling more like terror than love to him. His
training demanded that the feeling of awe be reduced to a
level his warrior-strength and weapons could deal with.
10

Are the inhabitants warlike? What weapons do they

use? What stratagems? His voice had all the gruffness of a
man used to dealing with practical affairs.
Korkungal, they do not carry weapons, nor will they
allow strangers carry weapons in their Ka. The old priest
was bubbling over with inward joy.
The seasoned warrior was incredulous: They are
unarmed?
Oh, they have arms, but they are stored away until
they are needed. They do not appear to like wars or any kind
of fighting. Yet I have seen their battle-boats and believe me,
Korkungal, they are vessels of great power and daring.
Korkungal stared at Kandrigi for some time, his mind
busy. They were now dealing with matters he could readily
understand. Finally he spoke:
Kandrigi, I will not go into this place, this Ka, as you
call it, without my weapons. I trust no man, this I have
learned from experience. I do not know why we have trekked
across such great distances, though I suspect you have a
reason, one you are not willing to tell me. I have come with
you to protect you, for it is my duty to protect my priest
against any danger. You say that the inhabitants of this Ka
are peaceful, but perhaps time has changed this and has made
them defensive and suspicious of strangers.
Do not seek trouble like this, Korkungal. This race of
men of very ancient lineage and do not change like the wind.
I ask you to leave your weapons here, wrapped in your
sleeping-skin, and come with me in trust to the Ka.
Korkungal was stubborn: No, So long as I do not
understand I will not lay down my arms.
11

Kandrigi sighed.
Oh, very well, Korkungal, I will tell you what is
proper for your profane ears. But I will first of all tell you
something of the people or the Ka. There are many slaves, of
many races and skin hues though Lamla the Yellow Priest
of the Temple of the Great Mother told me that they were not
slaves, I did not believe him and they are ruled over by a
regal race of tall men, who have bright, burning bodies.
When I first arrived in the Ka, I was ignored by the
inhabitants and I wandered amongst the dwellings and
storehouses until I chanced upon the Temple.
I was curious, for it is a mighty structure made of
gigantic blocks of stones and I climbed the steps and entered.
The interior was in darkness, except for a flickering light
away in the distance. I heard singing Korkungal, what
singing it was, that ineffable harmony I heard sung there for
the greater glory of the Mother. Helpless with joy and
gladness, I fell on my knees and worshipped She whose grace
guides us through life. Then some men came and led me out
of the Temple and brought me before one of the Burning
Ones. He did not understand my speech, nor I his. He went
away and presently returned with two others, one a man with
the yellow skin of a sick man, though I was assured later that
such a hue was proper to his race, which originates at the far
end of the earth, and the other was much like you and I, with
red hair and fair skin. But again I could not understand the
tongues of these men, though that of the red-haired man was
distantly related to the language we speak. Then I saw the
sign the yellow man wore on his cloak and I recognised it as
a symbol of the Great Mother. I traced it in the dust and at
12

once he went into the Temple and returned with a large clay
tablet which was covered with many secret symbols of the
Mother, most of which I knew.
We spoke for hours together through the secret
language of the Mother, and though I had little to tell him
other than my curiosity regarding the lands of the West, he
imparted a great amount of knowledge to me. I remember it
all, even after all these years. But though I can repeat many
sayings of great wisdom and many spells of great potency, I
am no nearer to understanding them now that I was when I
first heard them. They have words which have no meaning in
our language. They explain going on water and going in the
air, moving things and causing things to happen far away... I
will never understand them.
I stayed with them for many months and lost my
desire to travel to where the sun sets. As time passed I grew
homesick for Ullenbrig and became curious to know what
was happening among my people. I told Lamla the Yellow
Priest this and he understood and told me to return to my
home. The Burning Ones gave me food and gifts, one of
which is the bright sword you now carry, Korkungal, and as I
left Lamla told me to return and visit the Ka again, especially
if I were ever in need of help or advice.
Now I return to seek his advice. You would not
understand, Korkungal, for these matters do not concern you,
but I have seen a strange thing in the heavens that frightens
me and makes me anxious for the future. I do not fully
understand it, but I think the priests of the Ka will. That is
why I have come this great distance. I asked you to
13

accompany me because I am old now and cannot march

across whole countries on my own.
Do you understand now, Korkungal, my great warrior
of the Briga?
Korkungal had listened patiently to Kandrigi this time,
mostly because the speech dealt with, in the beginning at
least, a matter concerning him and his skills, he had not
understood the greater part of it, if only because it was
useless, priestly business. But what he had understood, the
seeming-gentleness or the inhabitants and the hospitality
given to old Kandrigi, in his youth, swayed him into
accepting the request that he disarm himself and approach the
Ka in peace and trust.
He laid his thick hand on the priests and shook it.
Very well, old Kandrigi, I will do as you ask, Kandrigi
smiled wizenedly in relief. I am glad, Korkungal, We will
sleep here tonight and go up to the Ka in the morning. We
have passed most of this evening in talk and we are tired.
His face settled in complacence: he was no warrior, victories
did not buoy him up for long, Besides, he had one more
wonder to show.
Tonight, Korkungal, before we sleep, I will show you
another thing belonging to this people that will amaze you.
Korkungal, busy pulling meat and grain from his
skinbag, merely nodded. His mind was busy with tactics for
the following day. With the passing of the mood of
conciliation he had forgotten his promise to Kandrigi.
He trusted nobody.
When darkness descended, Kandrigi showed him the
White Light that beamed down on the Ka from the top of the
14

Temple and lit not only the walls and dwellings but also
much of the surrounding countryside. Enthralled, Kandrigi
pointed to the inverted cone of light that ascended to meet the
stars.
Badly scared, Korkungal became bad-tempered and hid
himself in his sleeping-skin.
Kandrigi prayed to the Great Mother with tears in his
eyes.
Could harm come to the world when such power as the
people of the Ka possessed existed?

15

Chapter Two
Korkungal awoke with the first light of the dawn, as
was his habit, and paused but an instant before leaping up out
of his sleeping-skin. The morning was clear and sharp and
spoke well of the day to come. Naked, he ran up and down
the hollow in which they had spent the night, swinging his
arms vigorously and lifting his knees high in order to warm
his stiff, chilled body, He was always a happy man in the
early morning, greeting the new day with the enthusiasm of a
young man, because his sight was bright and his memory
dull.
When the blood was coursing briskly in his veins and
his limbs were supple in their bending and stretching, he
threw himself on to the grass and rolled about, delighting in
the shock of the icy dew on his flesh. Gurgling deep in his
throat, he threshed about in abandon. Then he jumped to his
feet and ran up and down a few times to dry himself.
He dressed quickly, putting on his best shirt, of fine
white linen, his belt of red-dyed bull-leather, and sandals of
tough oxen leather soles and intricately worked calf-leather
strapping. Next, he attended to his weapons, taking them
from under his cloak, which he had used to protect them from
the night. He polished the smooth lengths of his throwing
sticks with the shirt he had worn the previous day and
checked the thongs of his well-finished flint axe, a weapon he
always kept by his side for the task of ritual-killing his
enemies. Finally, he took the bright sword from under the
cloak and held it up to the sun, marvelling as he had done
16

many times before at the uniqueness of it. The fact that he did
not use it in battle (he did not know how to wield it against a
rush of axe-and club-hearing raiders and he would not cast it
like a throwing-stick for fear of losing it) did not weaken the
wonder if it. It was the gift of the priest, a sign that he was
especially favoured by the Goddess, and he invariably held it
in his battle-hand at councils. He wiped the dew off it,
rubbing it energetically to make it shine.
His warrior-tasks finished, he turned his attention to
food. He tore off a piece of salted beef and sat on his
sleeping-skin and chewed contentedly, savouring the familiar
juices of the meat.
Kandrigi was by now awake. He lay curled up in his
cloak, his old body numb with the cold, and uttered the ritual
morning incantations to the Goddess in gratitude for a new
days dawning. When he had done praying, he rolled over on
to his back and opened his eyes. Korkungal saw this and
spoke, his words distorted by a mouthful of chewed meat.
Are you well, Kandrigi?
The priest blinked rapidly and opened his mouth a
number of times, but did not speak.
Korkungal wiped his lips.
Are you cold, old man? It is like our home here, is it
not? Do you feel the cold air of the sea in your bones?
Kandrigi did not like the mock-bravado of the taunting
warrior and so did not speak.
Again Korkungal spoke, Will I assist you in your
rising, old man?

17

I will be on my feet very soon, Korkungal, Kandrigi

said stiffly, his voice full of agd dignity, I am engaged in
certain thoughts.
Do not hurry, Kandrigi. The day before us is long. He
paused, and then added slyly, The sun will he soon warm.
Immediately he heard this, Kandrigi pushed his cloak
away and got stiffly to his feet. Shivering in the chill air, he
faced Korkungal and said:
I do not need you to tell me that, great warrior, for I
have witnessed the fact on every day of my life,
Korkungal, feeling he had lost face, bowed his head in
mock-shame and spoke into his lap:
That is true, Kandrigi. I acknowledge your wisdom.
It is well you do, warrior, for the world has great need
of it.
I believe you, priest.
Kandrigi turned his back to Korkungal and began to
beat his arms against his sides to get his blood flowing.
Korkungal watched him placidly, busily chewing on a new
piece of meat. Soon, he knew, the morning happiness would
leave him as his memory grew bright. Already he
remembered the strange light over the Ka, he chewed more
vigorously. The priest stopped beating his arms and took to
wriggling his shoulders.
It will be a great day for us, Kandrigi, will it not?
Korkungal said to his back. It is always a great thing to be at
a journeys end and to look forward to a crowded council
house and a warm bed afterwards.

18

Kandrigi stopped wriggling his shoulders and turned

about to face Korkungal. His eyes were brighter his face
more coloured.
It is, Korkungal. I have waited a long time to visit the
Ka again and to see the great Temple of the Mother. I see you
have dressed as it is fitting. I am glad of that, for it will give
honour to our hosts.
Korkungal looked down at himself, grinning with
pride. Then he stood.
Will you eat now, Kandrigi? Some meat? Some of the
berries we picked yesterday?
No. Korkungal, it is not proper for me to eat on a day
like this. But I will take some water.
I will get it for you, Kandrigi. He brought a bowl of
water. I have eaten and I am ready now to go up to this Ka
with you.
I will not he long.
There is no hurry, Kandrigi, though I am impatient to
go and meet these strangers. But while I await you, I will
climb up and look at the Ka again.
He automatically took his axe with him when he
scrambled up the side of the hollow. The white wall of the Ka
glittered in the early sun, rising many times the height of a
man above the grassy headland. Many streams of dark smoke
eddied up from the place, drifting in the light sea wind.
Korkungal saw a group of men come through the tall gates
and walk down the track that led to the beach. He heard a low
murmur of activity from within the wall, and knew from it
that many, many people lived there. It was a strange sight,
sure enough, but yet it gave him pleasure to see such a clean
19

thing as this encircling wall that gave protection to so many.

It would need a large band of warriors and strict stratagems to
conquer it.
It is a strong fortress, Kandrigi, he said when he had
returned to the priests side. It is also a pleasant sight to gaze
upon. It was so placed by good strategy, I tell you, with a
wide, deep sea behind and a flat, grassy country in front. It
would be foolhardy to attack it.
Bah, Korkungal, why do you talk like this? We come
as friends to the Ka. Must you think always of fighting.
Korkungal was deep in his wisdom and therefore spoke
in a caressing tone.
Tell me then, Kandrigi, why this people built such
strong walls about their dwellings, if it is not to defend
themselves in time of war?
Kandrigi jerked up his head and stared closely at the
stocky warrior.
They have goods of great value, Korkungal, which
they must hide away. But what is this to us? We come on
peaceful business.
Korkungal was nodding away to himself and rubbing
his axe with a pensive thumb, he let his silence speak for him.
Kandrigi became impatient with this posture.
Come, Korkungal, we must go now.
Korkungal came to life and set about rolling his
sleeping-skin and spare clothes into a bundle. Then he picked
up his weapons, sticking the axe and the sword into his belt.
Seeing this, Kandrigi waved his hands in the air and cried
petulantly:
20

No, no, Korkungal. You are to go unarmed. We

agreed to this yesterday, do you not remember?
It is better that we show them the kind of men we are,
Kandrigi: you a priest and I a warrior. We do not want to
stand at their gate like two beggars.
Kandrigi pressed his hands together in agitation.
You said you would not arm yourself. Why do you
break your promise?
Korkungal blushed hotly: I will not meet strangers
bare-handed like a hairless youth, old man. I am a proud
warrior and will not he guided by you in matters that are not a
priests business. So, he waved his throwing sticks above his
head, I am ready now, with the bearing proper to a renowned
warrior of the Briga.
Kandrigi shut his eyes tight and swayed, his body
trembling with temper. It will do us no good, he repeated
over and over.
Korkungal stopped waving his throwing sticks and
stood still and watched Kandrigi in silence. He waited to see
if the priest would stop his tantrum, and when he showed no
sign of doing so, he said loudly: I am going up to the Ka
now, Kandrigi.
At once, Kandrigi opened his eyes and said:
Leave you axe and throwing sticks, at least.
Korkungal. Do not shame me by disobeying me.
The words softened the warriors heart.
I will leave all my throwing sticks except one. There,
old man, will that satisfy you?
Kandrigi nodded and said:
21

And your axe? Will you put your axe with the sticks,
Korkungal?
Korkungal shook his head violently.
Have I not done enough? Without my axe I am
helpless.
But you have the bright sword. That will do you much
honour in the eyes of the people of the Ka. More than a
simple axe will.
Korkungal relented and reluctantly pulled the axe out
of his belt and laid it on the grass beside the sticks.
You are a tough old man, Kandrigi, he said, more in
affection than in anger.
Kandrigi smiled, his jowls creasing deeply.
I will cover them with my old cloak, Korkungal, so
they will be safe.
Outflanked, Korkungal sighed and raised his brows.
Let us go then, old man. The morning is passing and
we have spent too long in talk.
He picked up his ample cloak, woven from undyed
wool, and spread it across his shoulders and fastened it at his
throat with a gold pin. He waited while Kandrigi did
likewise, his cloak being dark blue in colour, which signified
the priestly rank among the Briga. Then they climbed out of
the hollow and stood for a moment at the top, conscious of
being fully exposed to the inhabitants of the Ka.
We will walk with even measure, Korkungal, and
approach without fear, Kandrigi said with unconcealed
excitement.
They set out across the grassy plain in the direction of
the high, white wall, which glittered brightly in the strong
22

sunlight. They could see columns of men coming through the

open gate and going down the track to the beach below,
backs bent under bundles of merchandise. Others walked in
the opposite direction, some laden, some not. No one seemed
to notice the two strangers approaching.
Does it not impress you, Korkungal? Kandrigi asked
from the corner of his mouth.
The stocky warrior, wrapped in his cloak, his battlearm exposed across his belly, throwing stick held parallel to
his arm, spoke gruffly.
I do not wish to he impressed, old man.
Ach, my fine warrior, you are as ever suspicious.
Fine things are nothing more than distractions. This
wall you praise so much is a thing of purpose, these slaves
are creatures of purpose. They must he studied to discover
whether they assist our purpose or interfere with it.
Kandrigi was silent. They could see detail in the wall
and in the faces of the burdened men now. Still they had not
been noticed.
Perhaps you are right in your own way, Korkungal.
You are a warrior, a pillar of strength, staunch in defence,
daring in the raid. It is proper that you watch these things.
But I am a priest and I have my business to attend to, matters
you do not readily understand.
Korkungal was glaring at the wall and gate. A well
thrown stick could strike them down: the inhabitants of the
Ka had all the advantages, he gripped his stick more tightly.
Leave me to my business then, Kandrigi, and you
attend to yours. I am here to protect you.
23

They stopped at the gate. Korkungal had never seen so

many races and skin hues before. That so many different
types of men lived on the earth disconcerted him. More than
this, the fact that the slaves ignored him gave him the greatest
unease. He could not understand. A stranger in the home
village is the most ambiguous of men, capable of arousing the
strongest curiosity: yet these labouring men did not show the
slightest interest in him.
Kandrigi touched his elbow to signal him to follow.
Korkungal went into the Ka behind him. The first thing he
saw was a seething mass of men and women, all naked
except for loin clothes. They sweated at their tasks: lifting,
carrying, packing and unpacking. Those who had the breath
sang; those who did not, listened. They were everywhere, no
matter where Korkungal put his face, and it was not long
before he was gripped by terror. As his eyes swivelled from
side to side, in an attempt to encompass all that was presented
to his vision, he was vaguely conscious of the buildings
beyond: storehouses and dwellings of good proportions and
strongly made.
Kandrigi sensed his fright and turned to him. His eyes
were blank and moist. Ignore them, Korkungal. Believe that
they mean no harm. In time you will grow used to them.
Wide-eyed, Korkungal nodded.
With sure steps, Kandrigi led him deeper into the Ka.
The press of people eased as they entered the quarter of the
artisans, where men worked at their benches and wheels to
the accompaniment of much scraping and hammering.
Korkungal became calmer and began to single out individuals
to study, he happened to stare down at a silversmith as he
24

passed his workshop, and discovered a thin, dark face staring

back at him. Korkungals expression changed to a glower.
The smiths face broke into a good-humoured smile that
wrinkled up his eyes. Korkungal was startled and he looked
away. About to turn a corner, he glanced back and saw that
the smith was still watching him, his face cocked in childish
amusement.
It was very strange indeed that the man had shown no
fear.
We are almost there, Korkungal, Kandrigi said.
Korkungal followed the pointed finger and saw a
massive building, grey in colour. It took him a while to
realise it was build entirely of stone. Stone! Korkungals
heart sank. If the race that ruled this place could build such a
building, then of what use were his puny weapons against
them. The shame he felt was in no way playful. Sunk in his
impotence, he saw that Kandrigi was looking at him with
benevolence.
Do you understand, Korkungal, my great warrior?
Korkungal glanced down at his wooden throwing stick.
I do, Kandrigi. You are a wise man.'
Remember I have been here before.'
Then you did not explain it well to me.'
I tried my best, Korkungal. I do not always know how
your mind works.
Korkungal gave a heavy sigh and pulled his cloak more
tightly about him.
Let us go then, Kandrigi. It is a hard lesson for one of
my years to learn.
Will you leave your throwing stick here?
25

No, priest, I am still a warrior, though perhaps not so

great as before, and it is still my duty to protect you as best I
can.
You are still a great warrior, Korkungal. Kandrigi
smiled with mock-conceit. You are a good man in your
simplicity.
Korkungal grunted and walked on towards the stone
building. Kandrigi had to hurry to keep up with him.

26

Chapter Three
They halted at the foot of the flight of broad stone steps
that led up to the Temple. This part of the Ka was deserted
and the bustle of the labouring masses seemed far away.
Korkungal had not recovered from the succession of shocks
he had experienced so far that morning, but his warrior-nature
tried to assert itself by means of a feeling of being
scandalised by all these new sights and lessons. Confused,
fearful, and angry, he glared from under beetling brows at the
great facade of dressed stone, blank except for a small door
through which nothing could be seen of the interior. He
clutched his throwing stick defensively across his chest in his
two great fists.
Kandrigi had drawn apart from his protector and was
straining forward, head to one side, trying to catch at least
one note of the heavenly music he remembered with such
clarity. The noises of the Ka, however, were too loud. Losing
patience, he signalled peremptorily with his hand to
Korkungal.
Let us go up the steps, Korkungal, for I can hear
nothing down here but the shouting of slaves at their work.
Korkungal said nothing in reply and did not mount the
first step until Kandrigi was halfway up the flight. He
followed slowly, lifting his feet with care, shoulders crouched
with tension.
Kandrigis expression changed as he approached the
door and heard at last the harmonious strains of the sacred
Temple music. Bliss settled on his wrinkled features and he
27

forgot for the moment the fears and premonitions which had
haunted him for so long and which had finally driven him to
undertake this journey to the Ka. Head bowed, arms across
his breast, he walked slowly into the dark interior of the
Temple. As so long before, it seemed immense in its
darkness, with no apertures in the walls to allow in the
daylight, the gloom relieved only by a lamp at the far end of
the hall, yellow and guttering in the distance. But the singing
filled the space, to the delight of Kandrigis ears, echoing
loftily from the high ceiling, booming with holy dread in
unseen corners. His will weakened in worship and he
dropped to his knees, hands clenched before him, moist eyes
raised to rest in the infinitude of the dark.
Korkungal heard the singing from his station outside
the Temple, at the top of the steps in the bright sunlight. He
would not enter the Temple on any condition, knowing that a
warriors struggle is with the human enemy and not with the
dark unseen forces of the otherworlds. That was the business
of the priest. He rested his throwing stick in characteristic
pose, his cloak hanging loosely from his shoulders, head
forward, weight thrown onto one leg. The eminence gave him
an overall view of the Ka: the high, encircling wall, the
ramparts visible, the ramps of beaten earth slanting up above
the dwelling. And the dwellings! There was a multitude of
them, square, rectangular and circular; timbered and wattled,
thatched and mud-roofed. Korkungal had never seen so many
crowded in to such an area. Towards the gate were the
storehouses and granaries as long as council houses, but
taller, built of stout timbers and heavy thatching. The sounds
of unrelenting labour came to him as a continuous rumble.
28

In time he became restless. He went to the end of the

platform and looked towards the back of the Ka. Here was
quieter, the buildings less crowded in upon one another.
Below him flowers and bushes grew among trees in a square
garden. Buildings of many kinds were grouped a round it,
from tiny beehive-like cells to a tall mud-brick dwelling of
two stories. Behind this, there was a pond, and beyond,
reaching to the wall, were two enclosures containing horses.
Korkungal studied the quarter with puzzlement as well as
curiosity. There was an atmosphere about the place that was
strange to him. So many well-ordered buildings, the garden,
the horses stock-still in the sunlight, flicking at flies with
their tails, yet no man that he could see. It was the fact that
nothing was happening that struck him as strange. For a short
while he was as happy as a child, the stillness touching a faroff memory, but then he was deeply unhappy and he knew
that he did not like such a sight as this. He turned away,
strange-feeling and troubled, longing all at once for the
homeland he had left so many months before to accompany
the priest on his private mission. His eyes grew sightless and
he envisioned Ullenbrig, its plains grassy and well-watered,
and the ramparted dwellings of the Briga, and saw himself in
the company of his kind, fleet-footed after game or resting in
the evening above the sea. He heard the horns warning of
raiders and experienced the excitement of the gathering
outside his Kings fort, weapons ready, the air alive with the
boastings and the calls.
Then, the longing satisfied for now, the visions faded
and Korkungal saw again the high white wall and the
crowded dwellings of the Ka. He paced back and forward
29

along the platform before the Temple, throwing stick across

his shoulder, patiently awaiting Kandrigis return.
He spied two figures walking towards the Temple from
the direction of the artisans quarter. Both were dressed in
long robes of saffron-dyed material, which were wrapped and
tied about them in a complicated way. As they drew closer,
Korkungal saw that both were of the same skin-hue: yellow.
One of them appeared to notice Korkungal, the first person in
the Ka to do so, and he paused and spoke to his companion,
pointing up to the platform. Now both of them stared at him
with calm faces and again conversed together. They resumed
walking, coming in the direction of the steps. Korkungal
edged along the platform until he had placed his bulk in the
doorway to the Temple, where he raised his stick across his
chest. Calmly and with steady practiced movements, the two
yellow strangers mounted the steps, heading straight for him.
Korkungal recognised his dilemma. He had no right to
prevent these men from entering the Temple and yet he must
protect his priest against possible danger. Because his duty to
Kandrigi was greater than all alien rights and duties, he stood
his ground and took a strong grip of his throwing stick. He
felt the familiar inward plunging of the death-possibility.
The two men halted within an arms length of him.
Calm, sad eyes stared back into his bright, battle-tense eyes,
Korkungal shook his stick. One of the men raised his hand,
palm outward, and spoke in a language of a strange fluting
quality that Korkungal could not understand. For the sake of
doing so, Korkungal spoke
I defend my priest with my life, so beware.
30

The stranger who had spoken shook his head, smiling

wanly, and spoke again. Korkungal replied:
I am the warrior Korkungal of the Briga, renowned
throughout Ullenbrig and kindred lands, Terror of the
Northern Raiders and their allies. I am King Mekdans right
arm in battle, the leader of a company, the flank of an
army...
The stranger raised his arm and spoke again. Then he
pointed over Korkungals head into the Temple.
Kandrigi, the priest of my family, is within, stranger. I
stand here to protect him.
The stranger shrugged his shoulders and turned and
spoke to his companion, who nodded and went clown the
steps.
The remaining stranger faced Korkungal without
movement or expression, while the warrior stared back, his
tension losing force until he was only a statue in the doorway.
The brown eyes in the oval yellow face were remote and did
not convey authority, yet Korkungal could not act against
them, could not make even a tiny gesture or intimidation. He
felt his will drain away and his arms grow as wooden as the
throwing stick he held. Yet he was not fearful.
From within the Temple, Kandrigi suddenly said:
What are you doing, Korkungal? Why do you block
up the door?
Korkungal remained unmoving.
Kandrigi grasped his shoulder and shook him,
Korkungal! Do you hear me?
Dazed and stiff, Korkungal turned.
I was protecting you, Kandrigi.
31

The priest stepped around him into the sunlight. He

blinked rapidly. The second stranger followed him, a shy
smile flickering on his lips.
Kandrigi raised his brows: You are as ever eager in
your tasks, Korkungal. That is a good thing it has rightly
made you famous among the Briga. But I wish you could
judge matters in ways other than at the end of your throwing
stick.
The strangers had meanwhile been speaking among
themselves. Now the one who had gone into the Temple to
find Kandrigi turned to him and gestured towards his
companion. Kandrigi made a stiff bow and greeted him by
drawing the forefinger of his right hand across the tips of the
fingers of his left hands The stranger greeted him with a
similar gesture. The three men then began to converse in the
finger language of the Goddess, stiffly at first, for Kandrigi
used many archaic expressions that were unfamiliar to the
strangers. He introduced himself at length, informed them of
his previous visit to the Ka the reference to Lamla the
yellow-skinned priest, drawing an abundance of nods and
smiles and gave a brief history of his journey to the Ka and
his reasons for it. Then the strangers introduced themselves
as priests of the Temple and welcomed Kandrigi, and his
warrior escort, to the Ka and the Temple. They ended their
speeches with many low bows and invitations to refresh
themselves in the priests house. When they had eaten, Lamla
would be notified of their arrival.
Korkungal had remained to one side during all this
finger-talk, watching suspiciously, disregarding the rebuke he
had received. Now Kandrigi turned to him.
32

They welcome us, Korkungal, as I said they would,

and invite us to eat with them in friendship. They are priests
of the Temple, which accounts for their dress and manner, for
they remind me of Lamla, my old friend. I will now accept
their invitation and remind you that they are our friends, to he
treated with cordiality and respect, and not with glowers and
grunts, and the handling of a throwing stick.
He hand-spoke to the two saffron-robed priests and
was answered with broad smiles and much tapping of fingers.
They led the way down the steps and around the Temple in
the direction of the garden. Kandrigi and Korkungal followed
them at a distance.
They are not men of much importance, Kandrigi,
Korkungal said in a low voice, notwithstanding that the
priests could not understand him. They smile and bow too
much.
Do not make that mistake, Korkungal. Their
Priesthood is important among the peoples of the Ka. They
are possessors of profound knowledge concerning the
workings of the world and the ways of the Thrice Blessed
Mother. As for the bowing and smiling, their ways are gentle
ones, and seek more to ingratiate than challenge. Such is their
wisdom. But do not he mistaken in this, for it is not the
accommodation of the weak that they practice, but the
magnanimity of the powerful.
Then where are their warriors, Kandrigi? Korkungal
hissed. I see great walls and a few horses, but I do not see
armed, reckless men. Tell me, do the slaves defend the walls
with their toiling hands?
33

Ach, you do not understand, Korkungal. Why do you

not think? Where is the enemy? Who is the enemy that seeks
to despoil the Ka? See! You do not know. Do you think the
inhabitants would throw up such great walls for the
protection of their rich merchandise and yet have no men to
defend it? You must think on these things.
They reached the garden and followed the two priests
around its perimeter. Korkungal was silent for a moment,
then he spoke.
Do you know what I think, Kandrigi? You are a wise
man in the ways of the Briga and our enemies. You are wise
in the matters of the seasons and the progress of the moon.
You are wise concerning the workings of the minds of such
simple men as I. But for all that I do not believe you
understand this Ka in any way better than I do.
Kandrigi shook his head with impatience.
Bah. Believe this, Korkungal. I have more important
things to think on than the dispositions of the warriors of
those I hold to be friends.
Before Korkungal could reply they rejoined the
company of the two priests, who stood smiling before the
entrance to a large timbered dwelling. They made finger-talk
with Kandrigi.
They invite us to enter and wash after our long
journey, he told Korkungal.
I will go first, Kandrigi, Korkungal replied, smiling
with mock-friendship at the two priests, who smiled in return.
With a firm grip on his stick, he strode through the
door and entered the dimly lit room. A small fire glowed in
the hearth in the centre. In a corner, beside a large
34

earthenware bowl containing steaming water, an old man sat

on his heels.
Kandrigi joined him in the room.
You will assuredly never learn, Korkungal, he said
acidly.
The two priests pointed to the bowl and Kandrigi went
to it without hesitation. Korkungal, however, walked with
stiff steps to the end of the room and stood with his back
close to the wall. From here he had a clear view of the room
and its occupants. Kandrigi unpinned his cloak and slid it
from his shoulders. One of the priests spoke and the old man
got to his feet and gathered up the fallen cloak, folding it
carefully. Then he brought a small ewer and poured some of
its contents over Kandrigis hands, he washed his arms and
face, and when he had dried himself, the old man pulled a
low stool from behind the large bowl and signalled that he
was to sit. The old man washed his feet slowly and with care.
Now, Korkungal, will you leave your station and
bathe, for I must confess that I an faint with hunger.
Kandrigi said, stroking his face with his fingertips. The
water, by the way, is very pleasantly scented. It is sure to
soothe you.
Korkungal went to the bowl and laid his throwing stick
against the wall close by. The old man unpinned his cloak
and removed it before he could stop him. Seeing the bright
metal sword, he went to pull it from his belt, but Korkungal
stopped him.
Kandrigi spoke at his back: Let him, Korkungal.
There is no shame in it,
35

Korkungal glared at his priest but did not resist the old
man. He submitted to his directions and ministrations with
ill-grace, refusing to admit to enjoying the gratuitous
attention.
When it was done, he leaped to his feet and threw his
cloak about him. Grabbing his weapons, he rushed from the
room.
Kandrigi and the two priests followed him.
You are beginning to shame me, warrior, with your
childish actions, Kandrigi said petulantly.
Leave me be, Kandrigi. I will not suffer gladly such
attentions from a slave.
Kandrigi turned to the priests, a look of mortification
on his face. They continued smiling and seemed not to notice
the look. They pointed to the house at the end of the garden,
beside the back wall of the Temple, similar to the wash-house
in materials and construction, and set off walking in its
direction. Kandrigi and Korkungal followed, ignoring each
other and fuming.
The interior of this house was better lit, lamps hanging
at intervals from all four walls. Brightly coloured cushions
were arranged in a rough circle around a straw mat and three
graceful chairs stood side by side against the wall opposite
the door through which they entered. The smell of fresh bread
pervaded the air.
The priests together indicated first the chairs, paused,
and then the cushions, smiling more widely in encouragement
as they did. Kandrigi made a slight how in the direction of the
cushions. As he prepared to sit, Korkungal caught him by the
arm.
36

Will they have us on the ground, Kandrigi?

That is their custom, Korkungal. They do not use the
couches we use, but recline instead on these deep cushions.
Would you rather sit in a chair, as a cowherd will sit on a
rock to eat his bread and cheese.
Mollified, Korkungal followed Kandrigis example and
sank gingerly on to the soft pile of cushions. One of the
priests disappeared through a small door in the corner of the
room, while the remaining one knelt opposite them on the
other side of the straw mat. Tilting his head to one side, he
stared expressionlessly at them.
Kandrigi sighed: Korkungal?
Yes, Kandrigi?
I know well that you are ill at ease in this place,
Korkungal, for if I am to he truthful and open-hearted with
you, I must say that I am also ill at ease. It is a confusing
thing to he among strangers who have not heard of Ullenbrig
and its people, who do not show fear or respect on account of
our greatness. We are here like men come back from the
dead, with no reputation going before us, travelling unknown
and unseen, worse even than slaves for slaves have the
name of their masters to give them some significance like
ghosts abroad on a winters night. The confusion I speak of
has before been unknown to you. You were always joyfully
greeted by friends and ever-watched by enemies while
hitherto you were abroad. But I knew this confusion once
before, when I first visited the Ka. Then I was a young man,
fluid in mind and easy in habits, for whom strangeness held
all the gaiety of adventure. Nevertheless, I was clumsy and
light-headed and many times in later years, when I learned
37

the true meaning and purpose of manners, I cried over my

foolishness during my days here. But later again I learned
that it was better to be foolish among strange things and
strange people than to he ungrateful and arrogant, for such
foolishness admits of ignorance where ignorance is to he
expected, while ingratitude merely compounds ignorance
with stupidity and boorishness. I know that I am a longwinded old priest, Korkungal, but do you understand me?
Korkungal raised his head and allowed the light to fall
on his face. It was long in misery and tears welled in the
corners of his eyes.
I understand you, Kandrigi. But I believe it is right for
me to remain a warrior in this place and see things through
the eyes of my experience. You were young when you were
foolish, and that is a good excuse. I am old, well-formed in
my years, my knowledge and experience well-proven by
numberless exploits. Your wisdom is made up of much brainspinning and fine words and it is a pleasant thing to hear on a
winters night, when our enemies are vanquished or far away.
But this is not the time for it and it is your constant correcting
that creates my confusion by shaming me and my warrior
title. I know well enough what it is like to be a stranger
among men, for is not a warrior in battle a stranger to the
world at large and him full of death-possibility? Is he not a
stranger to himself? Does he not struggle with demons that
rise up out of the ground at his feet and come hurtling from
the sky at him when he goes out to face the enemy?...
Kandrigi held up his hand for Korkungal to he silent.
The second priest had returned, followed by two youths, also
yellow-skinned, wearing loin clothes, who carried trays
38

loaded with bread, fruit and jugs of milk. These they laid out
on the mat.
Kandrigi made finger-signs to the two priests and then
spoke to Korkungal:
Now, Korkungal, let us eat and he content. I am
famished.
But Korkungal ignored the food.
I have not finished speaking, Kandrigi.
Kandrigi slapped his thigh.
I understood you, Korkungal, and I now acknowledge
the truth of your wisdom. When we have eaten and are alone
again we will discuss these things, if you still wish it. Now
we must show gratitude to our hosts for all this fine food.
Great Mother, I am hungry.
Korkungal reddened in anger and gripped his throwing
stick. Kandrigi smiled at the two priests and reached for
bread. The warrior, realising that he would get no satisfaction
for his anger, grunted loudly and fell to eating.
The priests drank only a little milk during the meal and
spent most of the time staring at Korkungal and Kandrigi
with blank eyes. Kandrigi made noises of appreciation for
their benefit, to demonstrate his enjoyment of their food, but
Korkungal ate with downcast eyes, munching sullenly.
When they had eaten, one of the priests got to his feet
and spoke to Kandrigi with his fingers, saying that he would
now go to Lamla and announce the arrival of Kandrigi, priest
of the Briga, and his escort, and ask for instructions
concerning their lodgings. Kandrigi replied, thanking him,
and begged him to tell Lamla that his business was of the
39

greatest importance to both of their peoples. The priest

bowed low, smiled, and went out.
Korkungal was in better temper, now that he had eaten
his fill, and lay on his side, supporting his head in his hand.
We have eaten well, Kandrigi.
We have, Korkungal. Do you believe their hospitality
now?
Korkungal was reluctant.
'A farmer would do as well, Kandrigi. I wish now for
company. Musicians. A kings troop for boastings and tales.
And a maiden to fill my cup.
Huh. You do not wish for much, Korkungal.
I do not. It is what a warrior of the Briga would expect
in the fort of his friends.
These are the quarters of the Temple, Korkungal, not
the house of a King strong in the defence of his land.
Mores the pity then, Kandrigi. You have brought me
to a barbaric place.
Let us have no anger, Korkungal. I will speak to the
priests and explain the matter. It will take time, for it is a
delicate business broaching the subject of your legendary
sensuality in the precincts of a great Temple.
Do that, Kandrigi. I am not a priest, to keep a tight
rein on my appetites.
Kandrigi pushed himself stiffly to his feet.
Will you walk with me in the garden, Korkungal?
No, I will not.
'It is still daylight, and it is a green and pleasant place.
I will rest here. It has been a long journey, Kandrigi.
Very well. I will not be long.
40

He bowed to the yellow-skinned priest and went out.

Korkungal gazed about him for some time and
frequently glanced over at the smiling, smooth face of the
priest, who seemed to watch him and yet not to watch him.
Soon, his eyes grew heavy. Lulled by the silence in the room,
he fell asleep, his head slipping from its perch on his hand
and sinking into the deep pile of the cushions.

41

Chapter Four
His shoulder being shaken awoke Korkungal, he
started quite suddenly, alarmed at finding himself in a strange
room, and floundered among the cushions. A youth was bent
over him, whom he had never seen before, studying him with
amused curiosity.
Who are you? Korkungal demanded roughly. The
events of the day came back to him.
The youth straightened himself and stood back. He
remained silent. Korkungal rolled off the cushions on to the
flagged floor and leaped to his feet. He clasped the hilt of his
sword menacingly.
Youre an impudent brat. Now answer me!
The youth was beardless and red skinned, his face
round and handsome, as tall as Korkungal himself. A red
cloak of some fine material covered his shoulders and hung
to his ankles. He took one step back and lifted the cloak and
tossed it onto his shoulders with practiced movements to
expose a lithe body clothed with a white tunic, from a thin
belt at his waist hung a sheathed dagger made of the same
bright metal as Korkungals sword.
So you will fight me, Korkungal roared in heavy
irony, drawing the sword from his belt.
The smile vanished from the youths face, but
reappeared immediately when he saw how Korkungal held
the sword: brawny hand grasping the blade just below the hilt
as though he would throw it. He raised his two hands, palm
42

outwards, in peace and spoke in the same fluting tongue as

the priest had earlier that day outside the Temple.
Korkungal put his sword back in his belt. What do you
want? he asked, disregarding the fact that the youth could
not understand him.
He must have guessed the nature of the question,
however. For he turned towards the doorway and beckoned
Korkungal to follow. Korkungal picked up his throwing stick,
a weapon the youth paused to stare at with unconcealed
incredulity, and strode out of the room. But he had no sooner
taken two steps in the open air than he recoiled in horror and
turned and ran back through the doorway. He collided with
the youth, who had been hurrying to catch him up. Korkungal
grabbed him by the wrist and shook him, asking earnestly:
Where am I? Am I in Hell?
The youth was puzzled by the terror obvious in
Korkungals voice. He pulled himself free of his grip and
went to the door. But once he understood. He returned to
Korkungal, his finger to his lips, to silence him, and took him
by the wrist. Gently but firmly he led him to the doorway.
Korkungal stared out. Everything had lost its colour! Trees,
bushes, dwellings, even the Temple, were no more than black
silhouettes superimposed upon one another. Yet he could see
these shapes with remarkable clarity, for the air itself seemed
as though white, like milk, eddying among the black forms,
separating them.
The youth laughed and pointed upwards. Korkungal
bent forward and followed the line of the finger. Above the
Temple he saw a ball of white light, which radiated a cold,
brilliant aura of light. The youth laughed again and skipped
43

out into the glowing air, beckoning Korkungal to follow.

Fascinated, he did so. The youth had turned black in the light,
and when he looked down at himself, Korkungal saw that he
too was black, merging without seam into the black ground
under his feet. The youth clasped his hand in his, squeezing
it, laughing and pointing at the ball of light, crying, Lula!
Lula!
Lula, Korkungal repented, amazed, terrified,
overwhelmed.
Lula, Lula, they shouted in unison, the youth
encouraging Korkungal by squeezing his hand and pointing.
It was Korkungal, though still in terror of the effects of
the light, who calmed first. His practical nature did not grant
authority to abstraction from the senses. The frightful scene
about him did not attack him, did not threaten him physically,
so he accepted its passivity, though not liking it. The youth
continued to chant the word at the top of his voice, body
jerking, eyes starting from his head, as a kind of hysteria took
him over. Korkungal stared at him, but when he felt his own
nerves begin to respond in sympathy with the hysteria, he
caught the youth and shook him until he quietened.
Brows raised, mouth slack, the youth mumbled a final
Lula and then suddenly laughed in Korkungals face and
threw himself on him. Korkungal exerted his great strength
and freed himself, pushing the grinning youth away.
Kokunkul, the youth said, pointing at him. Then he
laid his hand on his own chest and added: Harmesh. He
intertwined his fingers, drew his arms in against his body,
and spoke at length in the alien, fluting tongue, bowing often,
his voice ranging over almost every tone of expression from
44

sadness to gaiety. When he had finished, he became grave; he

pulled his cloak tightly about him and walked away.
Korkungal followed him as he went around the garden
and behind the Temple. They crossed an open area and
skirted a number of buildings, which stood out against the
murky air as flat silhouettes, and presently the youth stopped
before a tall, tower-like building. He paused until Korkungal
caught up and then led him through the heavy doorway, the
lintels and jambs constructed of large stone blocks. Thick
candles guttered in wall sockets, and Korkungal looked about
him in relief, glad to see colour again, while the youth swung
the heavy door to and shot a bolt of wood into a hole drilled
in the jamb.
The room was circular, the walls of rough, unmortared
stone and bare except for the candles. Steps of stone followed
the curve of the wall and disappeared through a small
opening in the ceiling. Korkungal steeled himself against the
chill in the room.
The youth came and faced him. He had thrown his
cloak back and stood with both hands extended, palm
upwards.
Kokunkul, he said, his eyes hooded and shyappearing.
It took some time for Korkungal to understand what
the youth was saying. He remembered hearing him say it
before.
Korkungal, he said. The youth tried to mimic him but
in the end succeeded in correcting only the last syllable.
Kokungal, he said at last, grinning widely. Then he
pointed to himself: Harmesh.
45

Harmesh, Korkungal repeated.

Immediately the youth grasped Korkungals free hand
in both of his and squeezed it.
Kokungal, Kokungal, he chanted, seemingly
delighted with himself.
Harmesh, Harmesh, Korkungal chanted in unison,
happy to make a game of it.
Harmesh became excited and began to dance up and
down. Korkungal remained still, though he was infected with
the youths gaiety. Suddenly Harmesh rushed forward and
kissed Korkungal on the cheek. He whispered Kokungal
and then ran away up the steps, his laughter echoing in the
room and up through the building.
Korkungal went up the steps after the youth. The first
floor was in darkness, but the winding stairway was
illuminated from the chamber above that again, He could hear
Harmeshs shrill voice, talking rapidly and laughing. The lit
chamber was empty. There was a couch in the centre, covered
with furs. On the wall hung weapons: swords, throwing sticks
of various lengths, each with a head of metal, and axes with
heads of metal. Shields too: square, round and oval,
constructed of leather and wood, some with metal edging, all
brightly decorated. Korkungal was too tired and numb to feel
either great shock or surprise at seeing such a quantity of
superior arms in one small room.
He ascended to the next floor. Harmesh stood in front
of a couch talking to a figure hidden in wrappings of blankets
and cloaks, his hands demonstrative as he spoke. He stopped
and turned when Korkungal grunted, and eagerly beckoned
46

him forward. He pointed to the swaddled figure on the couch

and said:
Klimbah.
Then pointing to Korkungal:
Kokungal.
Korkungal bowed stiffly, leaning on his throwing stick.
The figure named Klimbah began throwing off his coverings.
Then Korkungal saw a spectacle that made him wish for his
snug bed back in the land of his family. Klimbah was literally
a giant, a massive figure who had to stoop in the relatively
high room. His hair was white with age and his blue-black
skin was wrinkled all over. He stared at Korkungal with livid
eyes and grunted a greeting. Those formalities over, Harmesh
indicated that Klimbah was to sit, which he did, drawing the
blankets about him again.
Smiling, Harmesh then led Korkungal to the far side of
the room. Leaning against the wail was a gigantic stone axe,
its handle the dimensions of a small tree. Harmesh pointed to
the sword in Korkungals belt and mimed bending it with
ease, as though to explain why the giant used stone weapons.
Beside the axe stood a shield of wood, as tall as Korkungal
and as wide as Harmeshs extended arms. Finally, he showed
him the giants spear. Lying on the floor, its shaft stretched
across the room behind the couch, The head was made of a
blue metal, which, Harmesh demonstrated, was capable of
piercing stone.
He stood back then and grinned with amusement at
Korkungals bemused face and the throwing stick he held
with habitual firmness. Korkungal, out of pride, resisted the
temptation to touch any of the weapons, and to distract
47

himself he turned his head to look at the seated giant.

Klimbah stared impassively before him, ignoring both
Korkungal and Harmesh.
He is old, this giant, Korkungal said to Harmesh, who
twisted his face quizzically in reply. Korkungal pointed to his
own hair and then pointed to the giants s hair. Harmesh
understood immediately and nodded vigorously, grinning. He
nodded in Klimbahs direction, thrust out his chest and began
to beat it with his fists, his eyes bright and wide with
mockery.
Suddenly uneasy because of the youths insulting
behaviour, and feeling the strangeness of his own presence in
their company. Korkungal threw a quick glance at the giant.
He was watching Harmesh with placid eyes, apparently
unmoved by his mockery. Korkungal was outraged, mostly
because he had felt an instinctive respect for this huge blue
man and his weapons. He caught Harmeshs arm and shook
him forcefully, saying thickly, Stop it, boy, or I will beat
you.
Harmesh broke free and staggered back, holding his
arm. He began to scream at Korkungal and now and then he
seemed to appeal to Klimbah. Korkungal sensed the alliance
between them and realised that he had made a serious
mistake. Seeing Klimbah slowly and ponderously getting to
his feet made him more certain. He began to move back to
the stairway, taking care to make no gesture that could he
interpreted as an expression of fear or aggression. Klimbah,
meanwhile, took one step, which was sufficient to bring him
to Harmeshs side. He spoke a number of words in a booming
voice, and when these seemed not to have the desired effect,
48

he cuffed Harmesh gently. At once Harmesh switched the

direction of his verbal assault and began to punch the giants
midriff. Korkungal stopped at the stairway and watched
them. Klimbah stood still for a moment, showing no reaction
to the punches; then he laughed aloud and picked Harmesh
up. He shook him until he cried out in terror. Then he brought
him In against his breast. Harmesh threw his arms about him
and clung to him, his voice now whimpering and pleading.
Klimbah laughed again, this time indulgently, and put
Harmesh on his feet.
Korkungal saw that it was safe to come back into their
company. What he had witnessed made no sense to him as a
sequence of actions between three men. There had been
actions which were proper between men, between men and
youths; and between men and young children. Korkungal had
acted as a man should with a mocking youth, then he had
been repulsed by an alliance of men, only to see this alliance
turn into a man teasing a child. It was very strange, and the
strangeness made him momentarily timid and watchful.
Klimbah had returned to the bed, where he wrapped
himself in blankets and cloaks, a doting eye on Harmesh,
who was quickly recovering from his fright. He smiled shyly
at the giant.
Korkungal coughed.
Harmesh spoke to Klimbah, who then looked over at
Korkungal and nodded. Harmesh signalled to Korkungal to
go to the stairway. He slapped the giants knee playfully and
skipped across the room after Korkungal. They went down
the stairs past the lit chamber with the furs and shields and
metal weapons. In the dark below Harmesh touched
49

Korkungals arm as a signal that he was to wait. He went

below to the ground floor and returned soon carrying a
candle, which he pushed into a socket.
The room had the same dimensions as the chambers
above. In the centre stood a couch, on which lay a number of
folded blankets. The wall was completely bare, broken only
by a small window covered by a heavy curtain.
Harmesh shook out the blankets, chattering away in his
own tongue as he did. Korkungal watched him, leaning on his
throwing stick. The sight of the couch and the prospect of rest
caused him to tremble with fatigue.
When he had laid out the blankets, which varied in
richness of decoration, Harmesh turned and gracefully
indicated that Korkungal was to take possession of the
chamber and treat it as his own. He even went so far as to lay
his hands on Korkungal's shoulders and gently push him
backwards until he was sitting on the edge of the couch. Then
he relieved him of his throwing stick and sword and stood
them against the wall. With a final bow to Korkungal he went
to the stairway and paused to throw an ironic glance at both
the warrior of the Briga and his weapons before darting up
the steps and out or sight.
Korkungal entered the world of sleep as though he
were escaping from Hell.

50

Chapter Five
Kandrigi sat facing the window, looking out at the
Temple buildings. They were black planes only, inert in the
streaming white, misty air. He was praying to the Great
Mother. Earlier, he had prayed furiously, clinging to Her
because there was nothing else in this unearthly night-place
to cling to. By now he had grown calmer, secure in the
bosom of the Mother, the vertigo eased by distraction. His
prayers were a beam of concentration.
He sat on a comfortable cushion, a soft fleece about his
shoulders. The brazier to his left threw pleasant rays of
warmth on to his face and intertwined hands.
The young yellow-skinned priest came quietly down
the broad stops from the High Priests quarters. Kandrigi
heard the swish of his robes. The young priests face was as
unmoved as ever. On his fingers he said:
Lamla, our High Priest of the Temple, will see you
now, Kandrigi of the Briga. Will you follow me.'
Kandrigi reacted immediately to the increased
formality.
I will assuredly, Priest or the Temple. It gives me
great joy to go to meet my old friend, Lamla, your High
Priest.
They bowed to one another and then the priest led
Kandrigi up the steps and along a corridor of bare stone walls
relieved only by small doors inset at regular intervals along
both sides. At the end of the corridor, they were confronted
by a more massive door. The priest pulled on a silken cord
51

and Kandrigi heard the tinkle of a bell somewhere above him.

After a short pause the door was opened by a youth dressed
in a short tunic, his hair and eyebrows shaven off. The priest
spoke to him and then stepped back and bowed Kandrigi
forward into the care of the youth.
The first thing the youth did once he had closed end
latched the door was to bow to Kandrigi with a surprisingly
reverential intensity. He was caught off-guard by this and the
best he could manage by way of reply was a quick nod. But
the youth did not seem to notice this, for he kept his eyes
lowered all the while, even when he pointed towards the
flight of steps with a languid, graceful gesture. Kandrigi
pulled his cloak firmly about him and ascended.
A curtain separated the top step from what Kandrigi
saw, when he pulled it aside, to be a large room. He took one
step through into the room and stopped in amazement. He
had all his life been content to dwell in a dry hut with a wellpacked earthen floor and clean straw under his feet and
water-proof thatch over his head. The only decoration had
been a few ancient skins bearing the most important family
legends, simple picture stories executed in black and red inks,
and a groups of figurines representing the more public
aspects of the Great Mother, grouped together in a corner.
This room, however, was chock-ablock with decorative
didactic works of all kinds: the walls had been plastered and
painted with bright colours, figures of men and women in
strange dress and tall headpieces; figures carved out of stone
and wood stood about the floor. The room was brightly lit by
candles in clusters on stands in all parts of the room, and the
colours on the walls and statues reflected the light brilliantly,
52

making the very air appear to tremble with the beauty of

harmonious colour and ring with accidental dissonance.
But what really gave the room its cluttered appearance
were the many pieces of furniture that stood about
everywhere, lacking sense or organisation. Except for the
bright coverings on a few of the couches, the sombrely
painted furniture: chairs, tables, footrests, chests, cabinets,
and coverless couches, interrupted the bright play of light and
colour and stood out as mysterious and menacing nodes of
darkness. The contrast tickled Kandrigis poll-hairs, and he
experienced a further, and sharper, dart of terror when one of
the pieces of furniture appeared to move. It continued to
move, slowly, until it was detached from a heavy table. A
voice issued from it; a voice that was reedy in the large,
bright room.
You are well, I hope, Priest of the Briga, and rested
after your long journey.
Kandrigi started and then quickly recollected himself.
It is you, Lamla, now High Priest of the Great Mother,
is it not?
The figure turned and the light of the many candles fell
on his face.
Who else awaits you, Kandrigi? Who else but the
friend of your youth, Lamla?
Kandrigi went forward into the room impetuously, his
hands extended.
I have waited impatiently for many months for this
moment, Lamla. Your friendship I have always treasured in
my heart.
53

It is good to hear that, Kandrigi. Our friends are our

past, especially in old age. Come closer, that I might see you
more clearly.
He held out his hands. A great black cloak was
wrapped about him and a woollen cap covered his head, so
that only his face was visible. The face was not as Kandrigi
had remembered it. The skin was a dull, sickly yellow in
colour, mottled all over with brown, and stretched tightly
over his round skull. His eyes were moist with strain, the
whites dulled and speckled with the blood of ruptured
vessels. The hands that gripped Kandrigis were thin and
bony, but firm in their grasp.
You look well, Kandrigi. Age has been good to you.
Kandrigi shrugged complacently. The Great Mother
has been kind to me.
Lamlas eyes flickered.
Indeed, Kandrigi, that is the truth.
He grasped his visitor by the elbow in a vice-like grip
and continued:
Let us sit, We have much to talk about.
Yes, Lamla. It has been a momentous day and I will
be glad to sit in the quiet of your fine room and converse on
matters of mutual affection.
They sat on high-backed chairs, firm cushions under
them, before a brazier in a corner of the room, away from the
brilliant light with its radiance of reflected colour.
Your escort, the warrior Korkungal, is he being taken
care of? I gave instructions that he was to he brought to the
watch-tower and given a chamber.
54

I believe so. The young priest assured me that he

would he taken there and given company for the night.
Kandrigi suddenly laughed and slapped his knees. Ho! Poor
Korkungal! He would not admit to the wonder he felt at
seeing such a mighty place as this Ka. He is a simple man,
but strong and loyal.
Lamlas eyes flickered again. Indeed, Kandrigi, and
what were your feelings?
Oh, I have seen the Ka before. I was joyful. It is a
long journey from Ullenbrig and hard for a person of my
years.
It is a great thing for just two men alone to undertake
such a dangerous journey, is it not? You must have crossed
many strange lands and met with many strange peoples.
No, it was not dangerous. If it had been we would
have come well prepared. There are only the Savages, a
strange people, thinly spread throughout the northern lands.
They are poor and primitive, with no religion but childish
superstition. They pay us great respect when we go into their
lands, but we do not go often, for there is little tribute or
booty to he gained from it. To the West are the Dark Lands,
The Briga have not ventured so far, not having reason, and
the stories of the Savages concerning that quarter are garbled
fancies about dragons and giants and fires that burn in the
land. To the south are the Grasslands, with little water and
less rain. The Savages sometimes go there, but no one else.
And who dwells to the east of the Grasslands?
' The tribes of the Briga and their kindred, as far as the
Inland Sea.
Are the Briga and their kin many?
55

Yes.
Lamla sat back in his chair. He gently drummed his
fingertips together and stared at the floor. Then he spoke.
You heard the singing in the Temple, Kandrigi?
I have indeed, Lamla. It is a subtle heavenly thing.
The Ka must gain great grace by pleasing the Great Mother in
such a manner.
It is a subtle music. It has taken many generations of
study to produce it. I remember that you loved it in your
youth and I was sure you would not have forgotten it.
No, music of such high entreaty could never be
forgotten, once heard.
You are a man of deep sensibility, Kandrigi.
I am a priest, Lamla, as you are. We study the ways of
the Great Mother and the proper responses to her Being.
Lamla sighed.
You are right, Kandrigi.
He drew a small bell from under his cloak and rang it.
Will you drink with me, Kandrigi. It grows late and
there is yet much to be done this night.
Kandrigi bowed his head ceremoniously.
I will be glad to, Lamla.
The shaven youth walked noiselessly across the room
to them. Lamla spoke to him and he bowed low and went
away. Kandrigi realised then that the high Priest had been
conversing with him in his native language.
You have learned the tongue of the Briga.
A thin smile lit Lamlas face for an instant.
Yes, Kandrigi. The priests of the Temple nursed a
navigator who had fallen on hoard his ship. He was of your
56

race his tribe trade on the Inland Sea. It was he who taught
me. I have a great curiosity for things like this for the
customs and tongues of people... He now serves here in the
Ka. I appointed him Captain of the Ships. Would you like to
meet him? I can easily arrange it.
Kandrigi rubbed his hands together.
Yes, he said slowly. But later, when I am more
rested.
Lamla bowed his head.
Very well, Kandrigi. Tell me when you wish to meet
him and I will have him sent for.
The shaven youth returned carrying a tray on which
stood a flask and two cups made of silver. He set it down on a
low table and dragged it to within the High Priests reach.
Then he bowed low and went out of the room.
Lamla filled both cups with a reddish-brown liquid. He
handed one to Kandrigi.
Drink it slowly, Kandrigi.
Kandrigi followed his advice.
It is sharp, Lamla, and distinctive in taste.
Lamla had drained his cup and was filling it again.
The plant came originally from far away to the east.
The race who tend it and who make this liquid from it
worship a god to whom they sacrifice great quantities of their
best produce each season. Afterwards they drink until they
are filled with the passion of this god, for he is in many ways
more beast than man, and exhaust themselves in singing,
fighting and whoring their women indiscriminately.
A god like a beast, Lamla?
57

Oh, Lamla said with some warmth. He is of course

the son of the Great Mother... One of many, I fear.
Lamla was again filling his cup. Kandrigi had just
taken his third sip.
I do not readily understand, Lamla. The Great Mother
has but one son, he that she rends in the great mystery of
Fate.
That is our belief, Kandrigi, our truth. But these
uncivilised people do not know it. And there are many other
races like them. They worship beasts and kings, even the
moon and sun. They say they worship the Great Mother
through them, that is what they say.
But surely the truth is evident, Lamla?
Lamla sniggered shortly. He filled his cup for the
fourth time.
The truth is evident, Kandrigi, only to those who can
see it. Why one should know it and another not is a mystery.
Perhaps the Great Mother reveals it to one and hides it from
another. If that is so, then it is a greater mystery.
Kandrigi nodded.
You have great experience of the world, Lamla.
Perhaps we will have time to talk at length about it. I would
like to know more about your race.
Yes, yes, Kandrigi, we will do that... Now, drain your
cup and let me refill it.
Kandrigi did so and grimaced. Lamla leaned forward
and poured liquid into the proffered cup. He then emptied the
last of the contents of the flask into his own cup, his hands
tremoring ever so slightly, and leaned back and gazed down
58

at the liquid. He sighed hugely, compressed his thin lips, and

spoke in an extraordinarily reedy voice:
Ah, Kandrigi, I cannot believe you are here before me.
I cannot. I am man alone with myself for many hours without
end, preoccupied with affairs not suited to the temperament
of a priest. Do you understand me?
As Kandrigi was about to reply. Lamla raised his hand
to silence him.
Hear me, Kandrigi, he said with unguarded
abruptness. Kandrigi slumped back on his chair, nodding.
Do you remember, Kandrigi, the days of your youth
spent here with me? Lamlas voice was sharp and precise
with passion. Do you remember our long walks across the
grassy plain outside the Ka? The hours spent at the seas
edge, watching the tides ebb and flow? What did we not
discuss? Did we not examine all, the attributes of the Great
Mother? The mystery of Her sons suffering? Did we not find
the wisdom there to maintain us in the days to come? He
shook his head violently, knocking his cap askew, and drank
from his cup.
Kandrigi took advantage of this pause and spoke:
There is no doubt that we did, Lamla.
Lamla got to his feet, shaking his head again. He
wandered into the middle of the room, into the midst of the
bright colours. Kandrigi pushed himself into a standing
position and stared vaguely after him. Lamla slowly looked
about him, at the paintings, the statuary, at the carelessly
arranged mass of furniture.
I am not a practical man, Kandrigi, he said evenly,
speaking into a far corner. I live in terror of the stupidity and
59

greed of man. I do not understand them, yet I must organise

and control their lives.
Kandrigi would have spoken if he had known what to
say. His feelings were warm, but inarticulate: his brain was
bright, but it was the brightness of a river in moonlight flowing, flowing, though the moons reflection gave the
appearance of solidity like ice in winter.
Lamla turned and came across to him. His mouth was
down-turned in irony. He lifted his cup.
It is a surprising liquid, is it not?
Kandrigi looked into his cup. The little of the liquid
that remained glowed in the light of the candles,
A deceptive drink, Lamla.
It makes men beasts. It makes me mad.
It is a night drink, Lamla. It does not make me happy.
A cup of sorrow, Kandrigi? Yes. A poultice for sad
minds. I drink it each evening, when night comes on, with
anticipation and relief... Soon this effect will pass away.
I am melancholy now, Lamla. I do not like it.
Lamla laughed for the first time, a shrill laugh, and
threw his cup to the ground.
Finish it, Kandrigi. Its effect will soon pass.
He resumed his seat and indicated that Kandrigi was to
do likewise. He hid his hands within his cloak.
Tell me, Kandrigi, why have you come to the Ka? It is
a matter of curiosity that a man of your years should
undertake such a long, arduous journey merely to sit here and
talk of old times. Surely your people have need of you?

60

You are right, Lamla. I have come on important

business. It is good to see you again, to sit and talk, do not
misunderstand me, but I am too old to come for that alone.
Have your chiefs sent you with articles of treaty?
Kandrigi showed momentary surprise:
Treaty? No. It is not that. I have discussed this matter
with the priests. Some agreed that I should travel to the Ka;
others disagreed, saying it would be of no use. Many did not
believe me, nor would they accept the evidence of their own
eyes.
Lamla, more his usual self now, sighed.
Tell me what it is, Kandrigi, and I will see if I can
help.
Do you still study the heavens, Lamla?
Not often. Other priests have that task.
Have they reported anything exceptional among the
stars?
For example?
The new star.
A new star?
Yes. But it may not be a star.
What might it be then?
I am not sure.. It shines like a star but does not move
as stars do.
Lamla nodded, Have you noticed anything else about
it?
I think it grows bigger. My eyes are old.
Yes. I have heard reports.
Kandrigi sat bolt upright.
What do they say?
61

A strange star, moving in a strange path, and growing

bigger. As you have told me.
Do they know what it is?
Lamla leaped to his feet.
I do not know. Let us go and see the priests and ask
them.
He drew out the small bell and rang it. The youth
came, bowed, received instructions, and departed. Lamla
turned and waved Kandrigi to follow. At the foot of the steps
the youth had lit a large torch of pitched rushes and was now
running his narrow hand back and forth over the wall beside
the massive door. Lamla and Kandrigi waited on the steps,
the former impassive, hands hidden in his ample cloak, the
latter curious and attentive, if somewhat befuddled still by the
drink. They heard a low click and a section of the wall slid
open.
Kandrigi gasped and Lamla turned and smiled
benignly.
They followed the youth into the revealed tunnel. Its
surfaces were faced with smooth stone. It was high enough
for a man to walk upright and sufficiently wide to allow
Lamla and Kandrigi walk side by side in comfort. The youth
went ahead with the smoky torch held high. He was
obviously familiar with the tunnel.
That door is a clever piece of construction, Lamla.
A spring and fine balancing, Kandrigi.
Their voices boomed hollowly.
Nevertheless, it is exceedingly skilful. I would not
have known of its existence if I had not seen it open.
That is the object, Kandrigi.
62

I am deeply impressed by the advanced mechanics of

the Ka.
You did not think it was magic then, Kandrigi?
Magic? There is coincidence, Lamla, and chance and
fortune. Then there is contrivance, bluff, persuasion.
And no magic?
Such as?
Occult power. Prayer. Does not the Great Mother
favour a few with special powers?
I do not know. I have never met such a person. Prayer
salves the anxious mind.
You are inordinately sceptical, Kandrigi.
Is there magic, Lamla?
Affairs can be guided to a desired end if a certain state
of mind is adopted, Kandrigi.
You have this power, Lamla?
There are traditions among my people. Metal can fly
high in the air; stones can be made to move and gates to fall
open; voices can be heard in the sky, and forces can destroy a
city at a stroke.
Do you believe these traditions, Lamla?
Who could invent such stories, Kandrigi?
It is a good argument, Lamla, but it would require
much discussion to prove. But tell me, Lamla, what of the
Light above the Temple? Is that part of your magic. I confess
I do not know how it operates.
It is magic insofar as no one knows how it operates. I
will tell you what I know of it another time. There are other
lights like it throughout this region.
63

The youth halted in front of them. The light of the

torch illuminated an ascending flight of steps. Lamla spoke
brusquely to the youth and he began to climb.
We are almost there, Kandrigi.
There were many steps and they were steep. By the
time they reached the top Kandrigi was breathless and found
it necessary to push himself from step to step by pressing his
hands down on his knees. Lamla swayed and panted with
open mouth.
The youth used his weight to raise a small square
trapdoor. When he had done it, he stood back and bowed low
to the two priests. Lamla led the way into the tiny chamber.
This, Kandrigi, he said between short gasps, is the
Khumsung, our observation tower. Do you remember seeing
it high upon the headland beyond the Ka?
I do, Lamla. Have we walked below the ground from
the Ka?
We have, There is no other entrance. You see,
Kandrigi, that it is also a useful fortification.
The youth reached up and lowered the torch into a
bracket on the wall. Lamla spoke to him and he went and
pulled on a length of frayed rope. A section of the ceiling was
pulled away and a beam of light shone down. A head
appeared in silhouette. The youth spoke, bowing and
gesturing in their direction with a graceful. sweep of his arm.
The head disappeared and then a short, stocky ladder was
thrust down. Lamla went to it immediately.
Will you follow me, Kandrigi, he said as he began to
climb stiffly.
64

Three men stood together in the chamber above. One

was old, with white hair, while the remaining two were
younger, their black hair cut to a stubble on their yellow
scalps. Each wore a heavy woollen gown of bright yellow.
They bowed low before Lamla, their eyes intent upon
Kandrigi as they did. Lamla acknowledged their greeting
with a nod and then addressed them, introducing Kandrigi.
They made the hand-sign of priests to him and Kandrigi
swept his fingertips in return.
The old priest approached Lamla and spoke in a curt
tone.
We have come just in time, Kandrigi, Lamla said.
The moon is about to rise. Tonight is the first night of the
new moon. It is a propitious occasion for your visit.
I am glad to hear it, Kandrigi was formal in front of
the observatory priests.
The old priest led the way, Lamla and Kandrigi behind
him, while the two young priests came last. The youth
remained below. They went through a dark opening in the
wall and Kandrigi found himself stumbling up a narrow,
winding stair in pitch blackness. It was not pleasant to climb
in the dark, for the steps were worn and uneven, and he was
relieved when he suddenly emerged into a brightly lit, low
room. However, he had hardly time to get his breath and look
about him before he was politely ushered forward to a short
ladder by one of the younger priests. He caught a glimpse of
low couches, a pile of rolled skins and clay tablets in a
corner, and a star chart that covered one wall, the stars dull
gold on a background of deepest blue.
65

Kandrigi went up the ladder and discovered himself on

a kind of platform with the soft night-wind eddying about
him.
Lamla joined him.
It is a calm night, Kandrigi. For that at least we should
be grateful. On a windy winters night this place is a
penance.
Kandrigi stared about him. The sea glimmered in the
light of the stars. To the north. the land was dark, all
unbroken night. But in the south the Light of the Ka glowed
and pulsed coldly, lighting the land and the air above, the
great wall of the Ka casting a short contrasting shadow.
Now, Kandrigi, admit to wonder and excitement,
Lamla said at his side.
Kandrigis eyes glowed and his face wreathed with
hesitant, childlike smiles. I do, Lamla. To see the nightworld like this is a strangely moving sight. This is what the
Mother sees when She looks down upon us.
Lamlas mouth twitched in the flicker of a smile.
The Briga have nothing like this, have they?
Kandrigi smiled with more certainty.
We do not need towers in order to see the heavens,
Lamla.

66

Chapter Six
The two young observatory priests were busy with an
instrument, a long tube of polished wood mounted on a
conical stand, on the eastern side of the platform. The old
priest spoke at length to Lamla.
Kandrigi stood to one side staring vaguely out to sea,
the warmth of contentment filling his breast. His mind was
bright with unrealised thoughts; he was worshipping creation,
and yet he was not he was contented with himself and a
tenuous line of unconditioned feeling encountered the
contentment in the night-world outside.
The old priest finished speaking and stared
significantly at Kandrigis back. Lamla spoke now and made
conciliatory gestures with his hands. The old priest pursed his
lips, hesitated, and finally nodded. Lamla gripped his elbow
and squeezed it, a thin smile of intimacy tightening his lips.
He turned to Kandrigi.
They have sighted the viewer, Kandrigi. Very soon
now the moon will rise and we will know if their predictions
are correct.
Kandrigi started; Why should they not be? They are
trained men.
Ah, indeed. But Ma-Tins calculations are not always
what they should be. He is a hasty man. I hope his successor
is an improvement.
Who is he? Is he here?
No. He is in the Temple awaiting our signal.
67

The three observatory priests were gathered around the

viewing instrument.
Lamla did you speak to them about the new star?
No, I have not. We will let them complete this ritual
first. There is time enough.
Ma-Tin suddenly cried out. One of the young priests
ran to the ladder and disappeared down into the tower. Soon
he was back again, carrying a newly lit torch. Ma-Tin
shouted at him, gesturing sharply for him to hurry. He
wrenched the torch from him and waved it over his head. It
flared up and sparks flew in every direction. The two younger
priests began to chant loudly and Lamla at Kandrigis side
echoed them in a low voice.
Then from the Temple came the murmur of voices,
swelling and lowering in chant. Now the choir joined them,
penetrating the night with a long sonorous metre of praise.
Soon the uneven rattle of chanting voices quietened and the
splendidly intricate harmony that the choir was developing
was alone and clear on the night air. It seemed to gain
strength from an access of power in the knowledge that it was
unchallenged. It would reach the ends of the earth, flowing
out over the glimmering, heaving sea in one direction, and
echoing through the silent, pensive nightlands in the other.
Lamla silently took Kandrigis arm and led him to the
viewing tube. He bent and put his eye to it. Then he invited
Kandrigi to do likewise.
The bore of the tube was blackened and Kandrigis eye
was filled with the soft, yellow light of the sliver that hung
low in the sky. The light poured endlessly through the
68

transparent space from the new moon into his eyes. Spots
danced before his eye and the music filled his ears.
Lamla touched his shoulder.
Kandrigi, enough. Do not look any longer. It is bad for
your inexperienced eyes.
Kandrigi continued to stare with fascination at the
yellow slice of the moon. Tiny white and ice-blue spots
appeared and vanished along the bore of the tube. The
singing came clearly to his ears.
Lamla touched his shoulder again.
Come away, Kandrigi. You will blind yourself.
Kandrigi remained glued to the tube. Lamla called MaTin, who took his time about looking around he was gazing
down on the Ka, his assistants on either side of him. He
spoke to one, and he reluctantly left his post and came across
and helped Lamla pull Kandrigi away from the tube. As soon
as they managed to do it, he went back to his place by MaTins side, ignoring the dazed and violently blinking
Kandrigi.
Did I not warn you, Kandrigi? Lamla said angrily.
Kandrigi looked at him with his unaffected eye. His
head felt strange, as though it no longer belonged, to him.
There was a humming sound in his ears and his eye burned
and flashed redly. Lamla caught his arm.
Answer me, Kandrigi,' he said, more anxious now
than angry.
Kandrigi tottered and Lamla steadied him.
Help him sit! Help him sit! Kandrigi cried out in a
strange commanding voice.
69

Lamla started and called the three priests to come and

help him. The voice had startled them too and they needed no
further command. The four of them crowded around Kandrigi
and lowered him to the stone surface of the platform. Lamla
attempted to create order so that he could have time to think
of what to do next, but his voice was drowned by Ma-Tins as
he told one assistant to get cushions and the other to help
carry Kandrigi down the ladder to the chamber below.
Kandrigi boomed again: Stand back! Give him room!
Lamla, Ma-Tin and the assistants jumped back and
gathered at the edge of the platform, their eyes unswervingly
on the seated figure of Kandrigi, who had now drawn his feet
in to his body and wrapped his arms about his knees. He
cocked his head to one side, as though to listen. Then he
straightened up and said in his usual voice:
I do not understand it.
Again he listened. He nodded.
Why must it be so? Give me a cause.
No. Should there not be a cause?
He paused, listening, then spoke again:
I do not understand. I am a simple man of faith. There
are others more capable than me.
Another pause.
No! No! All this talk about time makes no sense to
me. Tell me mans part in this. Is he to blame?... Then who is
to blame?... I do not understand these laws. Can they not be
controlled?... No! I will not believe it!... Freak? Accident of
nature? I cannot accept that. It is insane... I will listen
patiently.
70

Kandrigi listened with what seemed to he exaggerated

attention. Then he said:
It is no help for you to say that what must be must be.
Why do you tell me about it if I can do nothing to stop it?...
No! You are either a fool. or you are a madman. I refuse to do
what you ask... I am not a fool. Do you think I would tell men
that? It is insane yes it is, even if it is inevitable. Do it
yourself. I will not... No. no. I would die first... You can. If
you can tell me you can tell everybody... Then I do not want
the honour. You are a coward as well as a fool... Do? Stop it,
of course... No. I do not understand it. You are making
excuses. You must have the power... Who has, then?... I do
not believe you. You must be mad. If you are not, then I must
he... No! Leave me. I want no part in it... I will no longer
listen. Go away!
Kandrigi waved his arms furiously.
Go away, go away.
He bowed his head and raised it again and called:
Lamla, Lamla, where are you? Come and help me.
All four priests rushed forward and surrounded him.
When Lamlas hand brushed his arm. Kandrigi grabbed it
with both of his own and pulled himself to his feet.
What happened to you, Kandrigi? Lamla asked
feverishly. Ma-Tin asked him a similar question in his own
language and the two assistants repeated it brokenly.
Kandrigi was staring at Lamla, his face strained.
Did you speak, Lamla?
Yes, Kandrigi. I asked you to tell me what had
happened to you.
71

I cannot hear you. There is a tremendous roaring in

my head. Is it the choir in the Temple? Or has a storm sprung
up?
Lamla spoke more loudly: Can you hear me now? The
choir has finished its hymn and the night is calm and silent.
Kandrigi saw Lamlas lips move but he heard nothing
except the roaring in his head, like the incessant ocean
crashing on to a rocky shore. He shook his head.
There is only this roaring, Lamla. I see your lips move
but I do not hear your words.
Ma-Tin told Lamla that it was shock and that Kandrigi
should he taken below to rest. He did not try to conceal his
impatience. This stranger could not be forgiven for
interfering with the sacred ritual of the New Moon.
Lamla spoke to Kandrigi on his fingers and told him
Ma-Tins suggestion.
I will go down after I have seen the star. I must see it
first.
Lamla translated for Ma-Tin, who snorted in
exasperation and replied that it would take too long to find.
Lamla asked him if he had not made calculations of its
position and Ma-Tin curtly replied that it was impossible, that
its course was not clear. Lamla pursed his lips and paused, as
though he was considering this reply, then he sharply ordered
Ma-Tin to search the heavens for the star and to keep
searching until he found it. Ma-Tin baulked, clenching his
hands, but his eyes soon wavered under Lamlas steady gaze
and he turned on his assistants and shouted at them to set up
the tube in the centre of the platform, When they had done
72

this, he pushed them out of his way and bent his eye to the
tube.
Lamla hand-spoke to Kandrigi: As you can see,
Kandrigi. Ma-Tin has now assented to search for the star. I
hope it will not take long.
Kandrigi nodded abstractly. He began to scan the
heavens himself, his mouth clamped tight with nervous
expectation.
Lamla felt this tension. For a second it unnerved him,
but his sense of responsibility asserted itself and cooled his
mind. He called one of the assistants, who were standing to
one side talking in low tones, and dispatched him to bring
Hepteidon, Ma-Tins deputy and successor, over from the
Temple. The assistant, relieved to get away from the
platform, leaped down into the chamber below.
Lamla approached Kandrigi and attracted his attention
by tapping his shoulder.
Are you cold, Kandrigi? he asked on his fingers.
Kandrigi shook his head rapidly. It is a cold no
clothing will cure, Lamla. It is deep within my bowels.
You have my sympathy, Kandrigi.
I am grateful for that, Lamla.
Will you tell me now what happened to you?
Do not press me, Lamla. Let it remain my secret. Let
it die with me, for it would do you, or any man, no good to
know it.
Lamla shook his head. Do not talk of death, Kandrigi.
You will rest and my priests will attend to you.

73

You were always a good, patient friend, Lamla. I do

not wish to grieve you, but my body grows as cold as a
corpse.
Ma-Tin joined them and spoke to Lamla, pointedly
ignoring Kandrigi. I have found the star.'
Lamla asked: Are you sure? There are many stars in
the sky.
I am sure. It is now the brightest star.
Lamla told Kandrigi this news and led him to the tube.
Kandrigi stooped and peered up the tube.
It has grows bigger, Lamla. I am certain of that.
He stood erect.
Lamla addressed Ma-Tin: Has it grown?
It is brighter, Ma-Tin replied stiffly. That this is due
to increased size I do not know, for there is no way of
knowing.
Ma-Tin says it is brighter, Kandrigi, Lamla said on
his fingers, but that this is no proof of increased size.
We have traditions among my people as to the nature
of the heavens. They say that brightness is an indication of
distance from the earth. Kandrigi spoke slowly, his eyes
intent upon the star.
Ma-Tins retort was sharp when Lamla had translated
Kandrigis reply.
There is no proof for such a tradition, besides, how
would the stars remain at the various distance from the
earth?
Lamla relayed this to Kandrigi.
I do not know, Ma-Tin. I am simply repeating an
ancient tradition of the Briga.
74

Pah, it is superstition, Ma-Tin spat out.

Lamla did not relay this reply. Instead, he asked a
question of his own: You learned something tonight,
Kandrigi, that persuades you to accept this old story?
No, I have always believed it.
Superstition,? Ma-Tin repeated, resentful because he
was being ignored.
I will accept what you say, Kandrigi, Lamla spelled
out on his fingers. Come now and rest. You have seen the
star, as you wished.
A figure appeared through the opening in the platform.
He was dressed in the yellow robe of the observatory
priests. His hair was not cut; it fell in dark waves on to his
shoulders. His face was smooth, the colour of his skin that of
the rising sun. Lamla greeted him warmly and took him by
the hand and led him to Kandrigi. On his fingers he said
simply:
Hepteidon.
Kandrigi bowed and then stared at the handsome
young man. He saw that the eyes which returned his stare
were green. About to speak, he was suddenly seized by a bolt
of pain. He shut his eyes in agony. When the pain had passed
he opened them again.
All was black.
Lamla, help me, he said in a strangled voice, I am
blind. I cannot see.

75

Chapter Seven
Lamla, the High Priest of the Temple of the Ka-Bil, sat
wrapped in his black cloak. He occupied the straight-backed
chair in the corner of his cluttered room. Hepteidon, Deputy
to the Temple Astronomer, sat opposite him in the chair
Kandrigi had occupied earlier in the night, when he had
drunk with Lamla.
The High Priest stared with sunken eyes at the floor
between them. He sighed hugely as the question arose into
his mind once again.
How could such a thing happen, Hepteidon? he asked
for the hundredth time.
Hepteidon looked at his High Priest. His young face
was impassive.
I do not know, Lamla, he replied for the hundredth
time. If it concerns the body, then I am not a practitioner of
cures and the art of making well again. If it is the spirit, then I
am not the practitioner of spells and incantations. My
business is the movements of the stars in the heavens and the
portents to be discovered therein. I chart the seasons and
make harmonious the ordering of the Ka within their
rhythms.
Lamla threw a fleeting glance at the red-skinned man
but made sure to keep his eyes veiled, for Hepteidon was of
the ruling race and had influence above his station in the Ka.
You do not give me much assistance, Hepteidon, he
said wearily.
76

Then it is because I cannot, Hepteidon replied with a

certain finality.
Lamla pulled his cloak more tightly about his
shoulders.
Is is on this point that I disagree, Hepteidon, he said
warily.
Hepteidon raised his brows a fraction. You have said
this before, Lamla many times. Yet I cannot accept it. If I
am an agent in this matter. I am an agent without my
knowledge. Therefore, I cannot enlighten you. This I have
previously explained.
Lamla sighed again. The question was rising in his
mind again: How could such a thing happen?
Oh, Hepteidon. How could such a thing happen?
The Deputy to the Temple Astronomer compressed his
lips a fraction. I do not know, Lamla.
Lamla raised his long thin hand to stop Hepteidon
finishing his well-worn speech. He spoke himself.
Consider this, Hepteidon, as I have myself considered
it many times during this night. The Temple Guest, Kandrigi,
the Priest of the Briga, looks at the moon and is rendered
deaf. Then he speaks in a strange voice, engaged, I believe, in
a conversation with some unseen person, nothing of which he
would afterwards divulge to me. Finally, when he sees you,
he immediately becomes blind. I do not understand what has
happened this night, nor will I pretend to understand. But
between these three strange occurrences I sense there is a
connection. Do you understand me?

77

Hepteidon shifted in his chair. I understand you,

Lamla, However, it does not follow that I accept what you
say.
The High Priest allowed himself to betray an instant of
impatience. Can you offer a better explanation, Hepteidon?
The young priest paused before replying. I cannot,
Lamla, nor will I pretend that I can.
Lamla felt himself to be repulsed. Nevertheless, he
made his face stern.
In that case, Hepteidon, I would be grateful if you
would exercise patience and listen to what I have to say
concerning my intuition.'
Hepteidon bent his head slightly and said in a
noncommittal tone. Because of my respect for you, High
Priest, I am prepared to listen.
You have my gratitude, Hepteidon. I will make no
great demand on you.
Hepteidons lips flickered in what appeared to be a
smile. And I will pay close attention to your words.
First, Hepteidon. I want you to appreciate my
assurance that I am not a superstitious man. I am a practical
man who believes that the affairs of man are the sole concern
of man. I have no interest in tales of miracles or visions,
except where they are of use in guiding the affairs of man.
I appreciate your assurance, Lamla, and accept it.'
I am glad, Hepteidon. We will therefore avoid
misunderstanding. Now, while I am not superstitious, I am
yet of the opinion that what we call religion contains
elements that are superfluous to the ordinary, everyday needs
of man. We may say sceptically that what is called religion is
78

no more than the expression of mans experience through the

ages, or we might accept the tradition that tells us that it was
the Great Mother who gave man this wisdom in the form of
revelation and ritual. It is not important to my argument
which you believe.
Lamla paused. Hepteidon chose not to speak and
instead merely stared unhelpfully at the old priest. Lamla
took a deep breath and went on.
The religion of the Empire placates the terrors of its
subjects: it can justify death, loss and pain to the comfort of
those who suffer. It provides an outlet, a channel, for the
expression of joy and happiness, to the satisfaction of those
who wish to celebrate. These services form the greater part of
the priests duties. In the history of the Empire no greater
challenge has arisen to test the wisdom of our religion.
This is a source of pride and comfort. It is good that
man can order his affairs in such a way. But what of the ages
which preceded the establishment of the Empire? We know
that man existed for generations before the founding of the
Empire. We are told that they were days of darkness and
chaos, when man was a savage fumbling in the dark of
ignorance. There are legends to prove it, legends filled with
barbarity and tumultuous events. But there are many strange
things in these legends which we do not understand. And
because we cannot understand them, we say therefore that the
men of those times could not understand them either. That is
false logic.
Lamla wrinkled his face and sighed.
However, I am not concerned with these arguments.
What I wish you to understand is that our religion contains
79

not only the experience of the Empire but also the experience
of the generations that went before it. This is what I mean
when I say that there are elements in it that are apparently
unnecessary for the ordering of our societies.
Hepteidon rubbed his palms together with deliberation.
I understand your argument, Lamla, but I do not
understand why you take the trouble to expound it.
If you will forbear, Hepteidon. I will explain.
The young priest sat straighter in his chair and folded
his arms. Lamla felt a pang of unease. The gesture had been a
fraction too exaggerated.
You must exercise patience with me, Hepteidon. I am
an old man, who must sift his mind a great deal in order that
he might make sense.
Hepteidon slowly unfolded his arms. I will be patient,
Lamla. But I tell you bluntly that it is a hard thing.
Lamla slumped and looked down at the floor. After a
short while he looked up again. His eyes were more sunken
and they glittered redly.
Very well, Hepteidon, I will also be blunt. You have
studied the new star in the heavens? Will you tell me your
opinion of it?
Lamla was grimly appeased to see Hepteidon start.
It is no more than a curiosity,' he said with forced
nonchalance.
Lamla decided to provide him with another shock:
The purpose of Kandrigis visit here was to seek
advice about this star. He did not think it was merely a
novelty.
80

Hepteidon was better prepared this time. Nevertheless,

his voice carried the tension of resentment.
And what is his opinion of the star?
Lamla permitted himself the flicker of a smile.
I do not know, Hepteidon. But when you consider that
he has come a great distance to seek our advice, it will
become obvious that it is more than simple curiosity that
brings him here.
Hepteidon was still struggling to remain aloof and
uninvolved.
He is surely unduly alarmed, What cause for fear can
a simple priest of a barbarian tribe find in the appearance of
this star that remains hidden from our great science? I am
tempted to suspect superstition. Simple people are always
alarmed by things they do not understand.
Lamlas smile widened.
Does it follow then that you know the cause for the
appearance of the star, Hepteidon?
No, Hepteidon covered his confusion by means of a
show of impatience, it does not follow. But I do not find
grounds for alarm and terror in its appearance.
Lamla arched his brows: A strange logic, Hepteidon.
However, that is not important at the moment. I wish you
now to consider the events of this night.
Hepteidons sudden passion did not surprise Lamla.
I have told you many times since that Kandrigis
afflictions are outside my province. If you believe that they
are connected somehow with his mission concerning the
strange star, why do you not ask Ma-Tins advice? He is the
81

Astronomer of the Temple. His knowledge and experience far

surpass mine.
Lamla reached out and grasped Hepteidons hand.
I am glad you are beginning to understand,
Hepteidon.
I do not, Lamla, I swear I do not.
Consider, Hepteidon, the course of events. Kandrigi is
made deaf when he looks at the moon, and yet afterwards he
hears the voice of someone unseen. He is deaf to nature and
yet he hears a voice we do not hear. When you appear on the
Khumsung he looks but once upon you and is immediately
struck blind. It is as though be no longer needs his eyes
because he has seen all that is needed to see. He now has but
two senses remaining, those of touch and speech. Tell me,
Hepteidon, what does that suggest to you?
In his distraction Hepteidon clutched Lamlas hand.
I do not know, Lamla. I do not know.
You do, Hepteidon. You have known from the
moment you first saw Kandrigi.
Hepteidon was beside himself now. He bent down and
kissed Lamlas hand.
It has happened without my knowledge, Lamla. I do
not know what I am to do.
Lamlas gaze became very gentle.
Then I will try to tell you, my young Hepteidon. From
the beginning of these strange events, Kandrigi has been deaf.
Therefore we are to understand that we have nothing of use to
tell him. Yet we are made witnesses to his conversation with
the unseen being. It was plain to me, at least to me if not also
to Ma-Tin, that Kandrigi struggled mightily to refuse the task
82

imposed upon him. He would tell me nothing afterwards,

wishing rather to die instead. Lastly, his sight is taken away
from him once he has seen you. Therefore we are to
understand that there is nothing more for him to see in this
world that would be of use to him. It is ironic, Hepteidon, and
it is no harm if we see this irony and are amused, that the
sense that Kandrigi would most want to lose, that of speech,
remains with him, It follows from this that though there is
nothing further for him to see or hear in this world, there is
something he has to impart. And who is he to tell,
Hepteidon?
The young priest was weeping. His tears fell on to
Lamlas hand. He shook his head vigorously.
There is no need to be afraid, Hepteidon. It is a great
honour to be chosen in this way. Have trust and you will not
be afraid. But I must finish. Kandrigi has been left with the
sense of touch. Therefore, a question must be put to him. And
you, Hepteidon, must ask this question. I do not know what it
is but perhaps I may discover it for you.
Lamla was relieved. He stood up and placed his free
hand on Hepteidons head. Slowly, Hepteidon quietened and
then raised his face. Lamla stooped and kissed both his
cheeks.
The sun is risen, my son. Eat with me and then sleep
here in this room so I will be near if you should need me.
Lamla produced his little bell and rang it incessantly
until the shaven youth appeared, his eyes swollen with sleep.
Bring food and drink, and then prepare a couch for
Hepteidon.
83

Chapter Eight
The first light of the sun lit the sky, then the land, then
the wall of the Ka. The birds that inhabit the ample
grasslands behind the fortified city began their morning song.
The sun rose higher and its light struck the taller
dwellings in the Ka. It lit the massive blind walls of the
Temple. The watch-tower gleamed.
The sunlight fell on the thick curtain that covered the
small window of Korkungals chamber: a weak milky glow
penetrated the curtain into the room.
Korkungal awoke when the light was strong enough to
outline the grosser details of the chamber. This was a habit so
engrained in him as to be an instinct by now. He rolled onto
his back. For an instant he experienced confusion then
quick enthusiasm for morning time, like that of a youth,
swept over him and he threw off the blankets and leaped from
the couch. The chilled air caused him to shiver mightily,
hissing noisily through clenched teeth, he skipped a few
times and then pulled his tunic off. He neighed like a horse as
the cold struck his naked body and pranced vigorously,
happiness surging in him, delight plucking the roots of his
hair, and joy in the freedom of his body giving him the
strength of ten young warriors. He ran and tore the curtain
from the window and greeted the clean light of the sun with a
quick hoarse shout. It warmed his flesh.
Now, while yet without memory, while as innocent as
the morning itself, Korkungal wrapped himself in his ample
cloak and descended and went out into the open. He trotted
84

around the back of the Temple, between the dwellings

gathered about the little garden, past the pond, and across the
stony common to the corrals. Throwing off his cloak, he ran
among the horses, slapping the rumps of those that happened
to come within his reach, grunts of ecstasy escaping
spontaneously from his throat. When he had thoroughly
heated himself, he dropped on to the grass and rolled about in
the dew, Like a young animal, he threshed his limbs, his flesh
tingling from contact with the moist grass. Growing chill, he
scrambled to his feet and commenced to run around the
corral, lifting his legs high to quicken the blood. He circled
the corral three times, following the rough wattle fence and
passing under the shadow of the wall of the Ka, until his
pulse raced and his breath came in short pants. With a last
burst of his early morning high spirits he grabbed up his
cloak while running and held it above his head as he leaped
over the fence and landed, tumbled and rolled on the other
side. There he lay still for a moment in order to regain his
breath.
During that moment his memory returned. He sighed
fatalistically. He remembered Harmesh and Klimbah, the
warriors of the Ka. He was amused by his memory of them,
but impressed when he recalled their weapons. And the Ka
and the many new things he had seen during the previous
day. He grew confused and lonely. He pressed his hot cheek
into the dewy grass: he accepted. He calmed. He would be
ever-watchful.
He rose to his feet and swung his cloak over his
shoulders. At the pond the woman of the Ka had come to
fetch water. They lined the ponds edge, their full jugs at their
85

feet, watching him. Korkungal wrapped his cloak tightly

about him. It was unseemly that women should spy on a
warrior at his exercises. If he had known...
He blushed. The women saw the bright blush on his
white skin. They lowered their eyes their dark skins did not
permit a flush to convey their embarrassment. Korkungal
approached the pond with strong, measured steps. The
women hastily took up their jugs and retreated, giggling and
eyeing one another in their excitement and confusion.
But one woman remained, hands on hips, a small table
jug between her feet. When Korkungal reached the pond, she
spoke to him in a clear voice:
It is a fine morning, Warrior of the Briga.
She had the firm features and level glance of a woman
in her middle years.
Korkungal was non-plussed. The woman called again:
Are you thirsty, Warrior?
Korkungal was very dry. He nodded and stooped to the
water.
Stay, the woman said. I will bring you water.
Korkungal froze and followed her with straining eyes
as she walked around the perimeter of the pond. She would
be a strong wife and mother, Korkungal thought, with a
husband who knew his business and kept to it, with a strong
son near manhood whom she teased and spoiled, with
perhaps young daughters whom she treated severely.
The woman stood before him, gazing at him with
irony. She produced an earthenware bowl from under her
shawl and poured water from the jug.
Korkungal gulped the water down.
86

I thank you, woman, he said, wiping his mouth with

the end of his cloak.
You are a strong, agile man, Korkungal, the woman
said. Though her skin was dark, her eyes were blue. They
glittered brilliantly in the early light.
You know my name, woman, and you know my
tongue, Korkungal said confidentially. It surprises me. Will
you tell me how these things are known to you. Perhaps the
priests have sent you to me.
Not the priests, Korkungal. They will send you boys
and old men, nothing more.
Harmesh, then?
The woman curled her lips. Harmesh? He would drive
the Mother herself to distraction.
I am known as a patient man in my dealings with
women, but will you now tell me who sent you to me.
What is it to you who sent me, Korkungal? Is it not
enough that I am here for you to look on?
I do not understand. Why have you come?
Sacred Mother, Korkungal, but you are a simple man.
All these questions. I have come to offer you company.
She looked him up and down. Korkungal knew then
that she was not the wife of a strong man, nor did she have
any daughters.
What is your name, woman?
Chorsa.
You are a fine woman, Chorsa.
She laughed musically. I am? Be truthful, Korkungal.
Would you not prefer a younger woman? A maid, perhaps,
shy and submissive?
87

And before Korkungal could reply, to protest his

preference for her, Chorsa seemed to change. She seemed to
grow younger, her skin to soften and dimple, her eyes to lose
their experience and become tremulous and trusting.
A young girl, Korkungal, shy and without blemish?
Korkungals throat was dry again.
Yes, he said hoarsely. If there is a choice. Though I
do not understand how this is possible.
You are not a priest, Korkungal, to try to understand.
Accept the evidence of your eyes, no more. You have the
choice. Make it.
Korkungal made his choice with speed: The virgin,
Chorsa. The virgin.
As you will. A virgin it will be.
Her body lost weight and became slender under her
shawl.
Come with me now to my chamber in the watchtower.
Korkungal could hardly contain himself.
Not now, Korkungal. Her voice seemed soft and
sweet. Tonight, when it is dark, I will come to your chamber
and share your couch.
Now, Korkungal insisted. He reached out to touch
her.
Tonight, Chorsa repeated gaily, evading his hands.
Oh, very well. I will wait for you.
She will come. Go now. Chorsa seemed to assume
her original appearance. She waved her hands at him. Be off
with you now, Korkungal. You have much to do.
88

Korkungal reluctantly left her and retraced his steps to

the watch-tower, walking slowly with head bowed, his body
excited and his brain bemused. Soon, the wonder of it passed
beyond him and he began to doubt Chorsas existence.
I have been too long without the company of women,
he told himself gravely.

89

Chapter Nine
Harmesh was stretched out on the couch in
Korkungals chamber and he raised his head in greeting when
the warrior climbed into the room. He mimed sleeping to ask
if Korkungal had slept well.
I did, Korkungal muttered, forgetting in his
distraction that Harmesh could not understand him. But now
I am hungry.
He threw his cloak off and hurriedly slipped his tunic
on. He was cold after standing for so long at the pond.
Harmesh watched him, giggling, and spoke in his own
tongue. Korkungal mimed eating, doing it with ill-grace. The
instant he understood, Harmesh slid off the couch and went
and called up the stairway. There came a gruff reply, and in a
moment Klimbah appeared, obviously having difficulty in
negotiating the cramped stairs. Harmesh tipped Korkungals
arm and indicated that he was to follow him down. Klimbah
came last, huffing and puffing, arms outstretched to balance
himself.
They walked to the eating house at the edge of the
garden, passing in the shadow of the Temple. Harmesh
chattered to Klimbah and had to trot to keep pace with the
shambling giant. Korkungal did not hurry. He let them go on
ahead, though making sure to keep them in sight.
The meal they were served was similar to that of the
previous evening: bread, milk and fruit. Korkungal ate
ravenously. The warriors of the Ka ate sparingly, Harmesh
punctuating a ceaseless stream of words with hastily bitten
90

pieces of fruit and Klimbah chewing steadily on tiny morsels

as he nodded and grunted monosyllables by way of reply.
Afterwards, they went and sat under the trees in the
garden and dozed in the rising heat of the early day. The
hubbub of the Ka seemed far away. Towards noon, a young
priest came and spoke to Harmesh, who rose up, complaining
loudly to Klimbah, and sulkily followed the priest out of the
garden. He returned not long after and shook Korkungal
petulantly and signalled him to follow him. They left
Klimbah dozing in the buzzing warmth.
Harmesh led him to the two-storied mud brick building
behind the garden square and mockingly bowed him into a
large room on the ground floor. There was a wide flight of
stairs at one end and a tall glowing brazier at the other. The
room was otherwise bare of furniture or decoration. An old
priest stood before the brazier, draped in a black cloak, his
hands held out to the heat.
You are Korkungal, Warrior of the Briga, escort of the
priest, Kandrigi, the old priest stated with assurance.
Korkungal hesitated before nodding. Here was another
stranger of the Ka who spoke his tongue without difficulty.
I am Lamla, High Priest of the Ka.
Where is Kandrigi? Korkungal asked importunately.
The room was cold and he was beginning to shiver in his thin
tunic. The cold made him uneasy.
He is resting, Korkungal.... And you? Are you content
with your quarters in the watch-tower?
I do not complain, High Priest.
Lamla nodded abruptly in acknowledgement. Is your
company to your satisfaction? There are few in the Ka who
91

speak your tongue. This you must expect, as we are not of

your race. However, there is one of your people in my
service, a navigator. He is the Captain of our ships, a valuable
and useful man. I will inform him of your arrival and invite
him to join you as companion and guide for the duration of
your stay in the Ka. Would that be to your liking?
Korkungal nodded uncertainly. A guest was not
usually treated like this in the forts of the Briga. A warrior
would find his company among warriors, priests among
priests. What would a sailor have in common with he,
Korkungal, except to chatter on about his trade?
Lamla waited until Korkungals face cleared of the
strain of thought before speaking again.
Very well. I will send for him and he will come to you
tomorrow. He paused again and stared into the brazier. Tell
me, Korkungal, did you have a hard journey here?
Korkungal started: Is Kandrigi ill?
Lamla smiled a very thin smile. It is not that,
Korkungal. I am merely curious. It is impressive to hear that
two men should undertake such a long journey alone. Was
there no danger?
Little danger, High Priest, to men of good experience,
Korkungal said shortly. He was shivering now.
You have great self-possession, Korkungal. You are
truly the great warrior Kandrigi holds you to be.
We knew the lie of the country and prepared ourselves
for it..
The Savages? Lamla hinted.
Korkungal looked at him sharply. Kandrigi has
spoken to you of our journey, High Priest? he asked harshly.
92

Yes, yes. Lamla had to struggle to hide his anger.

But warriors and priests view things differently. I am curious
to hear your opinion of them.
They are poor and weak. There is no honour in
fighting them.
Why do the Briga not conquer them? Your people are
renowned for their might and valour.
Their country is large and they are thinly scattered.
We have no fear of the Savages and we have no use for their
land.
But what of your enemies? Do they not try to make
treaty with the Savages and persuade them to attack you?
The Savages will not gather as an army. Besides, the
Bir Karsh are a sea people and raiders rather than
conquerors.
Lamlas eyes gleamed for an instant.
You have sound knowledge of your enemies
Korkungal.
It is to be expected, High Priest. I am in the councils
of kings.
Lamla raised his smooth black eyebrows.
And what of the Dark Lands?
They are of no interest. They are too far away. We
have never seen the inhabitants. There are stories among the
Savages, incredible stories, but they are not significant.
Lamla nodded and resumed staring into the brazier.
Korkungal watched him, feeling little heat though he was
close to the fire.
Tell me of your country, High Priest. Your yellow
skin intrigues me. Korkungal did not feel intimidated by
93

Lamla or by his authority in the Ka. Had not the High Priest
said that warrior and priest see the world through different
eyes?
Lamla smiled and nodded towards the brazier as he
would if asked a precocious question by a child.
I have never seen the land of my origin, though it is
part of the Empire of the Sun. It lies far to the south. There
are many races in the Empire, many-hued and manytongued.
Which race rules this Empire, High Priest?
Lamla laughed, though Korkungal thought it was a
snigger.
The question of a warrior, Korkungal. For sixty six
generations it has been ruled by the red skinned Merura,
which means the Dwellers on the High Plain. They came
from the west many ages ago and conquered the Empire
through victory in one great battle. Before them, the brownskinned races ruled. It is said that they established the Empire
in the young days of mankind, when the earth was on fire.
You are yellow-skinned, yet you rule, Korkungal said
pragmatically.
This is a small Ka, It is a mere outpost of the Empire,
established no more than five generations ago.
Korkungal could not stop himself from looking about
the room. Lamla of course saw this.
The Ka impresses you, Korkungal, he said, the thin
smile on his lips again.
Korkungal bluffed: It is strongly fortified, but
defended by slaves.
Lamla turned his head to him.
94

Slaves? he feigned, Do not say that to Harmesh,

Korkungal bristled: Harmesh is a child.
Lamla smiled broadly and his face wrinkled.
Harmesh is a child, he echoed. He shook his head, A
child indeed, but a noble child. Capricious but influential. I
would be grateful if you were to be generous to him.
I have no reason for being otherwise.
Lamla inclined his head, You are a complacent man,
Korkungal. However, Harmesh has come to look upon you as
a friend. He wishes to prove this friendship to you and has
spoken to me concerning the proper thing to do. He is shy, as
you can well understand. He is also uncertain. He does not
wish to show disrespect for the greater age and experience of
you. I have therefore undertaken on his behalf to make you a
small gift and express his ardent wish that you accept it as a
token of his affection for you. He clapped his hands and a
group of priests appeared at the head of the stairs, each
carrying a wrapped bundle.
Korkungal turned to face them and as he did he moved
closer to the brazier. Now one side of him at least was warm.
Lamla gave instructions to the priests. They placed
their bundles on the floor and opened them, First, they
brought forward a breastplate of thick oxhide reinforced with
a lattice of bright metal and strapped it about the torso of the
unresisting Korkungal. Next, a scabbard made of thinly
beaten sheet and a brightly decorated belt of leather, which
they fastened about his waist, Then a cloak of bright red was
ceremoniously laid on his shoulders. It hung, many-folded, to
his ankles. Finally, Lamla himself pressed a finely finished
helmet of shaped hide down on his thick red hair.
95

There now, Korkungal, he said, bowing. You are

dressed as befits the guest of the Empire of the Sun.
Korkungal was quick to recover from his surprise at
the suddenly conferred gifts. He looked down at himself,
grinning self-consciously, delighting in his new appearance.
He wished he had his throwing stick gripped in his battlehand.
You do me great honour, High Priest.
It is not I alone, Korkungal, Lamla replied evenly.
You must remember
Korkungal looked up, his eyes hard with cunning: I
do, High Priest.
He swung about and watched his new red cloak swirl
out around him. The priests stepped back. The scabbard
struck his leg, just behind his knee.
Lamla was impassive.
I will go and speak to him now, High Priest,
Korkungal said. His delight remained in him, but the trust it
sprang from began to seem misplaced. He remembered that
the gifts declared no true friendship.
He wished he was armed.
Lamlas precise voice stopped him: Before you go,
Korkungal, there is a favour I would ask of you.
Korkungal turned to face him,
You are a warrior of wide experience. This I have said
before, but there is no harm in repeating it. I would deem it a
great favour if you would impart some small piece of this
experience to our warriors.
I am willing, High Priest.
96

Good. You are a generous man, Korkungal. To help

you, I propose to confer on you the rank of Captain of
Military Advice to the Defenders of the Ka upon you. It will
not be by any means an onerous post, but it will command the
respect of the inhabitants of the Ka who are ignorant of the
greatness of the Briga and their chief. He produced a
medallion and chain from the folds of his cloak. Wear this
around your neck at all times. It is the emblem of your rank.
Korkungal slipped the chain over his helmet and
settled it on his breast.
You may go now, Korkungal. I give you my blessing.
Lamla raised his hands and muttered in his native
tongue. Then he bowed to Korkungal and went with his
priests towards the stairs at the far end of the room.

97

Chapter Ten
After standing for a short time in the sun, Korkungals
head became hot and he was forced to remove the helmet.
Once he had done this he felt at a loss. There was a new
swagger in his movements: he was aware of the new strength
implicit in the breastplate and the bulk of the helmet under
his arm was commanding and sweet.
But what tasks awaited him?
The blank wall of the Temple rose up before him in the
sunlight and the dwellings fronting the garden were inert and
silent.
Momentarily useless, he felt foolish.
Then he took a deep breath and let the foolishness pass
over him and go beyond him. He plunged through the
sunlight, finding relief in this activity, his new cloak flapping
out behind him, and marched between the thatched wooden
houses.
Klimbah had not moved. He lay out under the same
tree, the crown of his head touching the lowest branches.
Harmesh lay beside him, his head resting on the giants broad
chest. Klimbah stroked his brow. His eyes were closed, but
they shot open when he heard the rustle of Korkungals
cloak. He pushed Klimbahs hand away and jumped to his
feet and ran towards Korkungal, crying excitedly. Korkungal
stood still, a self-conscious smile softening his features, as
Harmesh danced about him, touching his cloak and
exclaiming rapturously at seeing so much finery. He
quietened then and approached Korkungal with a secretive
98

look and lifted the cloak apart. Seeing the new armour, he
raised his eyes to Korkungals and smiled proudly. He called
repeatedly to Klimbah until the giant laboriously pushed
himself to his feet and came over. He circled Korkungal,
nodding in sleepy appreciation.
Harmesh remained relatively quiet while Klimbah
inspected Korkungal, but now he sprang to life again. He
grabbed Korkungals hand and pulled him in the direction of
the watch-tower, calling Klimbah to follow.
In the watch-tower, he led them up past Korkungals
chamber to his own. Aware of being in control of the
situation, he fussed about behind his couch, out of sight of
Korkungal and Klimbah, talking to himself and now and then
throwing remarks at the giant, who, however, remained
silent. Suddenly, he drew himself upright and pressed his
palms to his cheeks, and brushed past the two warriors and
disappeared down the stairway. Soon he was back again,
Korkungals sword in his hand, He wiped the blade
perfunctorily on the furs that covered his couch and brought
it, ceremoniously laid across his open palms, to Korkungal,
who looked from it to Harmeshs face in puzzlement.
Harmesh returned his gaze and appeared to wait. When
Korkungal failed to make the desired response, he shook his
shoulders in annoyance and swiftly slid the sword into the
scabbard. Arms akimbo, he stepped back, nodding away in
satisfaction. Korkungal stared down at the now mated sword
and scabbard, the light of understanding widening his eyes.
He pulled the sword part-way out of the scabbard and pushed
it back in. Now the blunt end of the sword made sense to him.
99

Harmesh had meanwhile returned to fussing about

behind his couch. At last he straightened, a look of triumph
on his face. He held a long spear in one hand and a shorter
one in the other and gestured that Korkungal was to take
them. Korkungal wrapped his battle-hand about both shafts.
Now Harmesh gathered up an assortment of weapons:
swords, spears and axes, and headed towards the stairway,
nodding that Korkungal was to follow. Outside, he threw the
weapons down on to the grass in the open space between the
watch-tower and the Temple, Korkungal joined him and
stood looking down at the jumbled pile of weapons. With
pent-up excitement, Harmesh clenched his small fists and
flexed his slim shoulders, talking all the while. Korkungal
slipped his cloak from his shoulders and stood uncertain for a
time watching the antics of liar mesh. Obviously, he was now
to begin training the youth.
Harmesh glanced slyly at him and suddenly darted and
picked up a spear from the pile on the ground and ran at
Korkungal. Instinctively alert at once, Korkungal fell back,
dropping the shorter spear and levelling the longer one.
Harmesh came on at him without slackening his speed, a
broad grin on his face. With practiced deliberation,
Korkungal swung his spear to deflect Harmeshs, but the
youth surprised him by executing a deft counter-stroke with
lithe speed. Before Korkungal could retreat and take up a
defensive position, Harmesh had swerved to his left and
struck him with his spear on the breastplate. Korkungal
bellowed more in anger than in pain at being so easily beaten.
Harmesh careered past him and came to a halt behind him,
chuckling breathlessly. Korkungal swung about, intent now
100

upon teaching the youth a lesson, He raised his spear and cast
it. But a metal-tipped spear is not a wooden throwing stick
and Korkungal did not take account of the extra weight and
unfamiliar balance in his haste. Harmesh stood his ground,
spear at the ready, and watched Korkungals missile quickly
lose height and bury itself in the ground a mans length from
his feet. He cried out to attract the fuming Korkungals
attention, and when he had succeeded he raised his own spear
and threw it. Korkungal watched it arc towards him, its head
burnished in the sun, with a kind of silly fascination. At the
last moment he leaped to one side and saw it shoot through
the space he had just vacated and thud into the turf.
Harmesh whooped and leaped in the air with delight.
Korkungal stared at the trembling shaft for some time.
He was angry; he was confused. To train the young in arms
was a source of great pleasure of condescendence for the
teacher; it also had the merit of being necessary knowledge
and of instilling respect for their elders in youth. But this
youth, Harmesh, required no training in arms. Yet he was
lacking in respect for his elders. This shamed Korkungal, it
shamed him because it transgressed the ordering of things
among men, and he felt himself grow small and alone in the
world. He glanced at Klimbah, who stood to one side. The
giant watched them both with an impassive face. Korkungal
pulled the spear from the ground and turned to face Harmesh,
knowing that what he had to teach him might bring him into
conflict with Klimbah, whose prowess he respected, and the
inhabitants of the Ka. He levelled the spear and began to
advance slowly, his eyes riveted upon the slender form of the
youth. He must rid himself of the shame, for it unmanned
101

him, and he must do it regardless of the cost to himself. The

familiar sink of death-possibility gripped him and the world
at the edge of his vision warped and became monstrous.
Seeing Korkungal approach, Harmesh grinned broadly
and picked up the spear the Brigan warrior had thrown so
clumsily. He flexed his shoulders and crouched, imitating
Korkungals grave manner. When they had drawn close,
Korkungal jabbed at Harmeshs breast. The youth sprang to
the right and raised his spear with the intention of driving it
once again into Korkungals breastplate. But Korkungal
followed his thrust by suddenly swinging the shaft of his
spear and striking Harmesh behind the knees. He screamed
with pain and began to fall, and screamed with pain again as
the flat of Korkungals spearhead came down on his
shoulder. He writhed on the grass, crying shrilly in pain and
spite. Korkungal made the rhetorical gesture of placing the
point of his spear against Harmeshs throat and then stood
back and resumed his crouched position over his spear.
Somewhat mollified, he spoke:
You are a difficult pupil, Youth of the Ka.
Harmesh stared up at him with tear-filled eyes. His
surprise was great, but his outrage was greater. He looked
about him and shouted for Klimbah. Immediately, Korkungal
fell back and took up a position that gave him sight of both
Klimbah and Harmesh. The giant had not moved and he
remained still, his massive arms folded across his blue-black
chest. Harmesh called him again, his voice more imperious
now. The giant remained unmoved and merely spoke a few
words in reply.
102

As Korkungal watched, prepared for his end, he saw

Harmesh throw a tantrum and Klimbah stare impassively at
him. Harmesh screamed and yelled and beat the ground with
his fists, but when he realised that no one would help him he
quietened. Slowly, he got to his feet and rubbed his bruised
body. He tried to move Klimbah with pathos, by whimpering
and stretching his face; but the giant was unmoved.
Korkungal relaxed his guard, set his spear in the grass
and leaned on it. Again he was seeing the peculiar relations
that existed between Harmesh and Klimbah, which reminded
him of those between nursemaid and child. It was strange to
see warriors behaving in this manner, and though he should
feel unease, for it reflected upon himself as a warrior, he was
instead amused. It confirmed his opinion that the Ka was
defended by slaves. And yet the superior weapons and the
fighting skills of the two men could not be doubted.
Harmesh had continued to whimper and now Klimbah
jerked one massive arm out and spoke. Harmesh listened
intently, looking from time to time at Korkungal. He nodded
once sullenly, then brightened and nodded again, a grin
spreading across his face. He clapped his hands and ran to the
pile of weapons. Klimbah went into the watch-tower.
Korkungal stiffened and raised his spear. Harmesh chose a
sword, weighing it with evident satisfaction, and came
towards the watchful Brigan. Klimbah brought a shield and
helped fit it onto Harmeshs arm. He resumed his pacing,
only his eyes visible above the rim of the shield. They were
bright with mockery. The shield, strapped with bright metal,
was like the setting sun, brilliant as fire. The sword, by
contrast, gleamed hard and cold in the sunlight.
103

Korkungal readied himself. He did not complain about

the imbalance of arms, for this was no game. He came into
himself instead and felt his whole being and experience
gather about the death-possibility. He was immensely
satisfied, for he was about to justify himself or die.
What other purpose had a warrior?
Harmesh approached until his shield touched the tip of
Korkungals spear. His eyes were smiling, but they no longer
held the gaiety of youth. Like Korkungal, he saw deathpossibility, and it satisfied him, though he was young and
would lose much of the experience of life.
He rattled his shield against Korkungals spear and
spoke a few words, as though incantating. Then he raised his
sword and cut at Korkungal, who leaped away and jabbed his
spear at the youths belly it was deflected by a twist of the
shield. They circled one another. Korkungal feinting and
Harmesh tapping his sword against the rim of his shield.
They grew dazed at seeing each other against a swirling, fluid
background, and when the dizziness brought on the sudden
surge of energy and exultation they both shouted aloud and
rushed together. The confined space between the Temple and
the watch-tower rang with the sharp clatter of arms in
combat, Korkungal feinted and thrust, testing Harmeshs
ability with the shield, to find a blind spot in his defence.
Harmesh concentrated upon this defence, his mouth grim as
he countered Korkungals skill, and contented himself with
making frequent slashes with the sword, which however were
harmless, for Korkungal kept him a spear-length away.
They fought like this for a long time, then Harmesh
broke and fell back, shield high and sword pointed into the
104

ground, Korkungal followed him eagerly, thinking that the

youth was tired, he rammed his spear into the shield and
Harmesh staggered and turned and dropped on to one knee.
Korkungal saw the exposed flank of flesh and his mind lit in
anticipation. He did not see the sword rise but felt only the
shock down his arms as it sliced through the shaft of his spear
just behind the metal head. Harmesh was immediately on his
feet again, coming forward, and Korkungal fell back,
momentarily stupefied by the cunning and skill of one so
young. He stared at the splintered end of his spear. Harmesh
sliced at his head and only instinct saved him from
decapitation. He continued to retreat, trying desperately to
control his confusion, using the shaft to ward off Harmeshs
cuts and sweeps. Now Harmesh began to circle him, teasing
him, delaying the final moment, And now Korkungal the
Victorious, the Warrior of Kings, saw the humiliation that
was about to be made his. Who was to sing of his death?
Who of his people were here to mourn and praise him?
Korkungal, the Warrior of the Briga, grew smaller than he
had ever been before, grew small to the point of extinction.
His pride and his self-glory vanished and he was alone in a
way he had never been before. He was without past, without
friends, almost now without name. He would have cried to
the sky and would have sank to his knees in submission if
one thing had not remained in him. Life for the sake of life
surged in him, made his head hot, made his face quiver with
insane need. He went forward with a power and a strength
that was not warrior-made, that was not tribe-made, not even,
perhaps, man-made, and brought the shaft down upon the
shield of the unprepared Harmesh. The shaft broke into
105

splinters and the shock paralysed Korkungals hands and

arms. It folded the shield outwards and bits of metal cracked
and shot away and Harmesh lifted off the ground and
tumbled over, his screams lacking the mediation of his
vanity. Korkungal was remorseless. He fell on the
semiconscious Harmesh and tore at him with his numb hands,
his breath coming in short, hot bursts, his throat tight but
trying to form words of scorn and hate. He found the slim
neck and his hands attempted to encircle it, to strangle the life
out of the one who had aroused this murderous passion but
they could not, for they were stiff and numb.
He slumped over Harmesh and cried out of frustration.

106

Chapter Eleven
Kandrigi, Priest of the Briga, knew he lay on a couch, a
warm blanket of wool covering him. Otherwise, he did not
know where he was. It was not important. Nothing was
important.
It comes in time, Kandrigi, the voice said in his head.
He did not know whether it was his memory which spoke or
the voice he had heard on the Khumsung. All are helpless
against time, Kandrigi.
But Kandrigi would not speak. He had vowed not to.
It comes, Kandrigi, through cold eternal space.
Be warned, Kandrigi, and let your race be warned.
I have seen it, Kandrigi. It is a great body, capable of
great destruction,
Let your race he warned, Kandrigi, for I grieve for
them and their destiny.
Through time it comes from afar, Kandrigi; in time it
will cross the path of your earth.
Believe me, Kandrigi, believe me, I grieve for you and
your race. There is no stopping the body, for it goes beyond
my power. I warn you. Let your race be warned, so that they
might prepare themselves for their destruction.
Kandrigi, it comes in time. It comes with time. Tell
your people, that they might prepare. Nothing else can be
done. I have seen it. Irresistible it is, plunging through dark
immensities of space.
Be warned, Kandrigi. It will grow large in your sky
and you will know then that you have been forewarned.
107

You must tell them, Kandrigi, for I cannot. They will

honour you till the end of your race. They will honour you for
your wisdom and grace.
Believe me, Kandrigi, I grieve. You do not understand
me, as I feared. I cannot save your race. I can only warn it.
One of your race must reveal the coming destruction, for if I
were to tell all, there would be madness and despair. One
man must tell all men so that they can weigh the warning
within human comprehension.
You are honoured, Kandrigi, for I honour you with this
revelation...
Someone touched him. He felt a finger move over his
palm and fingers. It said:
It is I, Hepteidon.
Kandrigi pulled his hand away. In his head he heard:
It comes in time, Kandrigi. All are helpless against
time.
Hepteidon took his hand again and moved his finger
over it.
You have my sympathy, Kandrigi, in your affliction. I
wish to help you.
Again Kandrigi pulled his hand away. He had vowed
not to speak.
It comes, Kandrigi, through cold eternal space.
Hepteidon spoke with his finger again. This time he
held Kandrigis hand.
You must allow me to help you, Kandrigi, for I
believe I can.
Be warned, Kandrigi, and let your race be warned.
108

Tell me what afflicts you, Kandrigi, and I will help

you.
I have seen it, Kandrigi. It is a great body, capable of
great destruction.
What have you heard, Kandrigi? What have you
seen?
Let your race be warned, Kandrigi, for I grieve for
them and their destiny.
Tell me of your vision, Kandrigi. Let me share your
burden.
Through time it comes from afar; in time it will cross
the path of your earth.
There is a mystery here that I do not understand,
Kandrigi. I have been told that I can help you, that I must
help you, and though I am frightened I have come to ask you
to tell me your secret. Believe me, Kandrigi, believe me, I
grieve for you and tour race. There is no stopping the body,
for it goes beyond my power. I warn you, let your race be
warned, so that they might prepare themselves for their
destruction. If this secret concerns the Empire, then we,
the priests of the Empire, have the right to know the secret
and therefore you must reveal it to us. We claim the right to
know and we will take steps to discover it if you do not tell
us.
Kandrigi felt his hand being released. He had vowed
not to speak.
Kandrigi, it comes in time. It comes with time. Tell
your people, that they might prepare. Nothing else can be
done. I have seen it. Irresistible it is, plunging through dark
immensities of space.
109

His hand was gripped again and the finger touched his
fingers.
It is a sad state you are in, Kandrigi, without hearing
or sight. Will you ever see your homeland again? Will you
ever hear the tongue of your people again or see their
welcome? How will you find your way back to your people
again? Kandrigi heard this and wrinkled his face in pain. The
grip on his hand tightened. Be warned, Kandrigi, it will
grow large in your sky and you will know then that you have
been forewarned. Do you not wish to see the lands of your
people again? Tell me your secret and your afflictions will
fall away. Of this I am assured.
You must tell them, Kandrigi, for I cannot. They will
honour you till the end of your race. They will honour you for
your wisdom and grace.
The hand that gripped his tightened more. Tell me, old
priest, what you know, or by the power of the Empire I will
have it dragged from you.
Believe me, Kandrigi, I grieve. You do not understand
me, as I feared. I cannot save your race. I can only warn it.
One of your race must reveal the coming destruction, for if I
were to tell all, there would be madness and despair. One
man must tell all men, so that they can weigh the warning
within human comprehension.
His hand was freed and throat was clutched. Yet still
the finger stabbed at his fingers.
I warn you, old man. I will have no pity for you. You
do not know my rank, but believe me I can call on all the
machines of torture to my aid in this quest. No man will stop
me. Do you understand me?
110

You are honoured, Kandrigi, for I honour you with this

revelation.
There was a struggle and the figure that had lain across
him was pulled away. Another hand touched him and spoke:
I regret this, Kandrigi. Hepteidon is young and
headstrong. I, Lamla, will seek mercy for you. Sleep now, the
sun sets.
Kandrigi sighed. He had vowed not to speak.

Lamla drew the resentful Hepteidon away from the

couch on which Kandrigi lay and led him to the far end of the
room, to the wall that was covered by the star chart. The gold
of the stars glowed in the candlelight.
I will permit myself this blunt remark, Hepteidon:
You are exceedingly tactless. This is a matter for generosity
and goodwill, not threats and bullying.
Hepteidons green eyes glittered.
I have little patience with the old fool.
Lamlas retort was quick. He was not inclined towards
hiding his anger. It is not your place to consider the demands
on your patience. As you have admitted, this affair is not of
your own making. You are an instrument of events, perhaps
beings, far greater than you.
Hepteidon snapped suddenly: And I grow impatient
with you, old priest. If it were not that you have been
considerate and fatherly towards me, I would have you taken
to the homeland of my family on the next boat, together with
the story of your insolence during this day. There would be
111

no fine talk then, for we have quick, efficient ways of dealing

with such things... Do you doubt me?
Lamla checked himself. He composed his face and
spoke without emotion.
I will make my appeal to reason, Hepteidon, and I will
be pleased if you listen to you.
Very well, I will listen. You are wise even if you are
insolent.
This morning we discovered that Kandrigi would
speak if the proper question was asked, did we not?
That is true.
You have now spoken to Kandrigi without success,
therefore we are to presume that you have not discovered the
question. Do you agree?
I agree.
Do you believe then that the question will be found in
the tongs and whip?
He must be made to speak.
Lamla betrayed a trace of his earlier anger. Do you
believe our puny instruments will persuade him to speak
when whoever had the power to strike him deaf and blind
could not?
He is a man. Many men have been made to speak.
Is he only a man? Is there not a new spirit in him?
That is superstition, Lamla.
I made myself clear on that point this morning,
Hepteidon, and I am not one to be expedient in my opinions
on matters of this nature. It is not superstition. Consider the
events of last night. The most sceptical of men is forced to
admit that something unusual occurred. Do you not agree?
112

Hepteidon shrugged. The unease of that morning was

returning.
It could be a trick. It is not difficult for a man to
pretend to be deaf and blind. Many beggars do it.
For what end, Hepteidon?
To demoralise us. Perhaps he is a spy for his people.
Lamla allowed himself a tight smile.
And that is why you cried this morning?
Hepteidon wrinkled his face in his discomfort.
I was unguarded and tired. Now I am impatient and I
wish to resolve this so-called mystery as quickly as possible.
Lamlas tone was caressing.
And you are no longer afraid.
Hepteidon started and stepped away from Lamlas
side. Fear? Who has spoken of fear? I have not.
Lamla appeared resigned.
Very well, Hepteidon. Take Kandrigi to the Temple
cellars and examine him, if it will please you. but remember
that he wishes for death. He will have no fear of your
instruments.
Hepteidon had regained his composure.
That remains to be seen. No man wishes to die,
Lamla. You must know that.
Lamla smiled smoothly.
Again I ask you: Is he only a man?
Hepteidon replied with arrogance.
Lamla, you begin to argue in circles. Your old brain
grows tired.
Lamla bowed slightly.
113

I ask the question a second time because you did not

answer it the first time.
Well, I will answer it now: He is only a man, for he
could be nothing else, except mad.
Is he mad?
I do not know yet.
Lamla glanced at the supine figure of Kandrigi at the
far end of the room.
Now that you have answered this question, Hepteidon,
may I continue my reasoning?
You may. But do not detain me long. The sooner this
old man is examined the better.
What is the best method for formulating a question,
Hepteidon? No, I will tell you. By knowing the answer.
Come, Lamla. This is a trick of logic. I am not a
tradesman to be fooled in this way.
It is not. Consider that most questions seek
confirmation rather than knowledge.
There are questions that have no answers.
Such questions are merely provocative and entail
matters of belief rather than fact.
Do you then know the answer?
Not entirely. It concerns man, and may be of the
greatest importance. It also concerns the new star. The
evidence points to some connection.
Hepteidon laughed outright. Lamla checked his anger.
Is that all, Lamla?
It is a beginning.

114

You are free to ponder on this question and answer.

Meanwhile, I will take Kandrigi to the cellars and have him
examined.
I cannot stop you, much to my sorrow. Will you
promise me one thing, Hepteidon?
Not to cause him too much pain?
No. The pain will be meaningless to him. It is this: if I
succeed in discovering the answer will you ask him the
appropriate question?
Hepteidon, excited now, sneered.
Yes, yes, Lamla. If it gives you comfort, I promise.
Now, let us put an end to this talk. Your reasoning becomes
too subtle for my practical mind.
Lamla bowed more formally this time.
As you wish. I will go up to the platform and study
this star with Ma-Tin. Perhaps I will find the answer tonight.
Perhaps.
Hepteidon spun on his heels and walked briskly from
the room to get priests to carry Kandrigi to the Temple.
Lamla crossed to Kandrigis side and spoke to him on
his fingers:
It is I, Lamla, your friend. You have my pity. I will do
what I can for you.

Kandrigi was not warmed by the woollen blanket that

covered him, his bowels were like ice.
It comes in time. All are helpless against time.
It comes through cold eternal space.
Be warned, let your race be warned.
115

I have seen it. It is a great body, capable of great

destruction.
Let your race be warned, for I grieve for them and
their destiny.
Through time it comes from afar; in time it will cross
the path of your earth.
Believe me, believe me, I grieve for you and your race.
There is no stopping the body, for it goes beyond my power. I
warn you. Let your race be warned, so that they might
prepare themselves for their destruction.
It comes in time. It comes with time. Tell your people,
that they might prepare. Nothing else can be done. I have
seen it. Irresistible it is, plunging through dark immensities of
space.
Be warned, it will grow large in tour sky and you will
know then that you have been forewarned.
You must tell them, for I cannot. They will honour you
till the end of your race. They will honour you for your
wisdom and grace.
Believe me, I grieve. You do not understand me, as I
feared. I cannot save your race, I can only warn it. But one of
the race must reveal the coming destruction, for if I were to
tell all, there would be madness and despair. One man must
tell all men, so that they can weigh the warning within human
comprehension.
You are honoured, for I honour you with this
revelation.
Kandrigi felt himself being lifted from the couch.
I have vowed not to speak.
116

Chapter Twelve
Korkungals chamber in the watch-tower was in almost
total darkness. The only light was a faint glow of the White
Light that oozily penetrated the thick curtain.
Korkungal did not know how long he had lain on the
floor near his couch, nor did he care. Klimbah had carried
Harmesh away after the fight and had completely ignored
him. He did not care about that either. He had been too
preoccupied with struggling against the terrible things that
attacked him when he collapsed upon the unconscious
Harmesh. He had known of the existence of these monsters,
they had been the subject of many childhood stories, but he
had never before been confronted by them in this way. He
had seen them before, certainly; he had seen them many
times on the eve of battles, hovering at the edge of vision,
always watching for the opportunity to strike and carry off
their victims to their horrifying world. But he had managed to
spite them by being victorious always in battles and had
laughed at them, exulting in his spite, in the manner of a
warrior, taunting them with his love of life, of food and drink,
of woman. He had swaggered before their memory at the
victory feast, condescending as he granted them the
vanquished, when secretly he had been really mustering a
great number of slain enemies for them in order to placate
their desire for him. But they were not to be placated, for
their appetite was insatiable they were the devourers of all
life. It was a battle without compromise.
117

Out of the wall of the Temple had come the Beasts,

their breath of fire, their talons tense for tearing: their fire
burned but did not scorch; their talons tore but did not
wound. From out of the ground came the green-eyed snakes,
mouths agap, fangs poised, tongues flickering in anticipation.
They wriggled forward, eager but cowardly, for they retreated
when sighted. Their poison twisted the bowels and stiffened
the neck, but did not kill. From the sky, from the sun, flew
down the Sons of the Otherworld. Their skin was scaly and
red. They had the heads of animals; all were sturdy and virile,
livid with the intention of slaughter, gloating at the prospect
of blood. They were armed with axes and knives, which
shone with fresh blood, as though they passed from killing to
killing without ceasing through all time. And yet their
weapons did not kill, though they sank a thousand times into
the flesh of their victims. And Korkungal had known this as
he struggled with his will against them. Let a hundred of
them fail upon his exhausted body and they would leave no
mark. But this knowledge did not lessen the terror they struck
into Korkungals heart. He must struggle against them, for if
he did not, if he surrendered his will to them, his very life
would ebb away and he would pass into their world, where,
eternally helpless, he would twist and scream as the talons
that did not wound tore him, and the poison that did not kill
convulsed him. He would burn, he would be wracked, torn,
consumed in a world without time, while yet he remained
whole and conscious. He knew this was possible, for he had
seen warriors suffer like this, a living screaming terror that
even death could not end...
118

The sun was low in the western sky, the common

hidden in the shadow of the Temple, when he finally came
back to himself. He had rolled onto his back and stared up at
the turquoise sky, a good colour to return to, and had cried
out of relief and gratitude, the tears flowing freely across his
cheeks and into his hair. The ground was solid and cool under
him, he loved it for its persevering density, and a breeze
eddied about his trembling body. The city was quiet, the
artisans finished their labour for the day, the warehouses
empty of their labourers and the great gate in the wall through
which the porters filed endlessly closed for the night.
Korkungal thought these last thoughts and was surprised he
would not normally consider the doings of ordinary men,
slaves, worthy of his attention. His love of life was allembracing, all-consuming.
He breathed deeply and felt the torpor fade from his
sinews. His joy was overwhelming. He did not triumph, nor
did he taunt or swagger. No enemy had been vanquished, no
battle won. There would be no celebration this night. He had
survived a contest with a younger man armed with superior
weapons, that was all.
He was getting old, but he was with himself now and
was content.
Then he remembered the White Light and had pushed
himself to his feet. He stared down at the shattered spear and
the buckled shield and felt, not shame, but acute
embarrassment. The contest had grown out of the pride of an
older warrior and the arrogance of youth, false and wasteful
grounds for a killing. He thought of Harmesh with
tenderness, a spoiled youth, not his own man: he had almost
119

killed him today and perhaps he would have to kill him some
day in the future.
He walked slowly to the watch-tower, his limbs
aching, his throat dry, his hands hanging limply at his sides.
No one came to greet him with water or food; no one offered
to rub his tired body with oils. He climbed the winding stairs
of the watch-tower and stumbled into his chamber. With a
sigh he collapsed on to the floor and slept...
Korkungal did not know how long he had lain on the
stone floor; nor did he care. Night had come on and the
chamber was dark, except for the faint glow at the window.
He moved, and grunted because of the stiffness of his limbs.
He pushed himself into a sitting position. His hands were
strangely numb, his wrists and arms tingling. His whole body
shivered with cold. He put his head between his knees.
Ah, he lamented for himself in his loneliness, it is a
terrible thing to grow old.
His pity was sweet and he felt less lonely.
Now he took a deep breath and endured the pain as he
stood on his feet. His head went hot and he swayed dizzily.
You fought well today, Warrior of the Briga.
Korkungal almost fell over. This dizziness was gone in
an instant and was replaced by tremendous shudderings.
You were told you had a day of great doings before
you, were you not?
Again Korkungal shuddered. He thought he was dead
and in the hereafter. He tried to speak but no words came. He
swallowed and tried again.
Who speaks?
It is I, Agnanna, the maid.
120

Where am I?
In your chamber in the watch-tower of the Ka, such
being the name they use now. Long ago, it was called the
Tower of Bil-La. It was once the Keep of a mighty tribe, now
alas gone, their blood mixed through all the tribes of the
world...
Where are you?
Sitting on your couch. I have waited while you slept,
thinking it wiser not to wake you. But you have slept a long
time, Korkungal...
Why have you come? Who has sent you?
Do you now remember the promise this morning?
You were eager then with anticipation.
Are you Chorsa, the woman at the pond?
I am not.
Are you her daughter? There was a merry laugh.
I am not, Korkungal.
Her sister?
Neither her sister.
Her niece?
No, not her niece. Oh, Korkungal, you ask so many
questions! You would have difficulty in understanding how
Chorsa and I are related.
Why did Chorsa not come?
There was a rustle of clothing.
Oh, Korkungal, you are a tenacious man! All these
questions! Be satisfied that I have come and ask me no more
questions... Now, sit on the couch while I run and get
candles.
121

He caught a fleeting glimpse of movement and heard

the pad of bare feet on stone. In a moment he saw a glow on
the stairs and she returned bearing a candle in each hand. She
pushed them into sockets in the wall above the couch.
I have brought food and drink, and ointments to ease
your pain, Great Warrior.
She went and pulled a bundle from a shadowed spot
near the window. Korkungal watched her. She seemed little
more than a child and her dark skin was lighter than that of
the other brown-skinned people he had seen in the Ka. It was
pleasant to look at her, though it was true that her garments
concealed her natural shape. She wore a cloak of yellow-dyed
wool bordered with stars of gold and underneath that a plain
vestment of black-dyed linen which fell without dent from
her neck to the floor. Her eyes were hazel and lustrous, made
vivid by bands of a black cosmetic painted around them. The
rest of her oval face was also heavily made up: carmine lips,
rouged cheeks and throat, all liberally dusted with a coarsegrained white powder. Her hair was long and straight, but
brittle and badly split at the ends; it was a woody brown,
unevenly tinted with a lighter brown.
She opened the bundle and from it took a small ewer
and a small howl. She poured a white fluid and handed the
bowl up to Korkungal.
Drink this, Warrior. It is milk and honey, good foods
that will refresh you. You are tired in body and spirit, no
doubt, for it was a difficult task that you surmounted today.
Korkungal drank the sweet, thick fluid with little
formality and braced himself contentedly afterwards.
Agnanna shook her head in approval.
122

See? It is good. Soon the contentment of the cow and

the peace of the flower will flow through you. Now, I would
wash you first, but I think, looking at you, that you would not
have the patience for it, so instead I will give you food. It will
make you content and restful and better disposed to the
enjoyment of the service of cleansing.
She gave him a wooden platter piled with white bread,
fish and fruit. Korkungal ate ravenously, his whole being
concentrated upon the food. Goodwill and ease gradually
took the place of his earlier loneliness and pain. Agnanna
stood back and watched him eat. She chattered and
gesticulated all the while, and such was the force of all her
nodding and smiling and talking that particles of powder
became detached from her face and fell like a gentle snow
upon her cloak and vestment.
I am adamant in this matter of food, Korkungal. Good
food partakes of the goodness and beauty of the earth and
when a man eats he partakes in this goodness and beauty.
Some believe that they merely satisfy an appetite, which they
disdain and treat economically because it is an instinct. They
will pick at stale bread and dried fruit and believe that they
are wise, and rise from their meal filled with a curious
complacence. Ha! They are fools and you may be sure that
they waste the rest of the day in telling themselves that the
pangs in their bellies and in their souls are signs of a rational
mortification. They will call it discipline and their bodies will
shrivel and their minds will grow feverish for the want of
nourishment.
But look at the man who understands his appetites. He
comes to his meals rubbing his hands, preparing himself for a
123

happy event. He knows that beyond the need to eat there rises
the pleasure and contentment in satisfying an appetite and
that these superfluous feelings exalt him.
It amazes me, Korkungal, that men will spite
themselves in the way that many do. Consider the priests.
They but nibble for needs sake, and then stare miserably out
of windows or into dark corners of rooms. I do not
understand their denial, for they murder life. I can tell you
that once upon a time there lived a great people in this region,
when it was covered by thick vegetation and all the fruits of
the world grew in natural abundance, who offered up a
prodigality of gladness and happiness each day. Ah! They
were a blessed race! But the land changed and it grew dry and
barren, and this people went away and mingled throughout
the world. Oh, they were searched for, but they are now
finally all gone and commingled. Do not think that I am
unhappy, though it is true that I regretted their passing. I am a
patient girl, and I know that there have been other peoples
here to match their happy spirit, and know that others will
come in time.
But these Merura and their confederation of races give
me no pleasure, though I am constantly among them with
advice and encouragement. And as for their Temple, that
great barn of stone, and their music, sure they have me
circumscribed and anticipated to such an extent that I fear to
listen to it...
Korkungal had finished eating and was staring at
Agnanna with vague expectancy. She recollected herself and
looked closely at him.
124

Do you wish for more, Korkungal? Already she was

bent over her bundle.
No, I am content.
I am glad to hear it. Take your armour and tunic off
and lie on the couch. I will serve you tonight as it is proper to
serve a victorious warrior. She began to lay out jars and vials
on the floor. It does not surprise me that no one came to
serve you when your fighting was done. Priests do not think
of these things. They do not understand that warriors are
solitary men. They themselves have many servants and cooks
and other classes to supply their needs, and because of this
they believe that man is self-sufficient...
Because of his numb hands, Korkungal could not undo
his scabbard belt. The girl leaped to help him, her small
hands darting expertly between his. She then removed his
breastplate and pulled his tunic over his head, too intent upon
this to notice Korkungals hisses of pain as she forced him to
stretch his arms.
Lie out now, Warrior. I will clean and anoint your
tired body, for I can well believe that it is sore and stiff. See,
your skin is red here, white there it is dry and unsupple. It is
a sad thing to see you in this state. In your own land, I know,
your kin would have sent their women to you, to see to all
your requirements. But here, in this Ka, the priests know no
better than to send two fools to serve you. Do not let it
surprise you, Korkungal, that they should do this. It is typical
of them. They will sing and pray to the heavens till they are
out of their wits, and engage in logic that cannot call an apple
an apple, nor a man a man, but which spins like a top and
cause them to tremble with love for their own wisdom...
125

She threw off her cloak and pushed up the sleeves of

her vestment above her elbows. From a jar she poured a
scented oil into her cupped hand and began to rub it into the
flesh of his arm.
Korkungal could no longer remember the events of that
day, though many momentous things had happened to him.
Nor did he want to remember. He watched Agnanna. Her hair
had fallen over her face and it trailed on his skin. Her
voluminous vestment no longer concealed her bent form.
And Korkungal could not conceal his pleasure.
Agnanna saw this. She looked frankly at him and said
with a merry laugh:
Ha! You are not so tired after all, Warrior, are you?
Korkungal chuckled and shook his body. He knew
nothing else but his contentment.
Agnanna laughed again. She bent over him and worked
the oil into his broad chest, growing breathless with the
exertion.
Oh, Korkungal, she panted, I have not begun to tell
you what these priests do not know!

126

Chapter Thirteen
The dawn found Korkungal still on his couch, sweet
scented and asleep. The sun rose and the Ka came alive as it
did every morning and yet Korkungal slept. The murmur of
work grew into a clatter and a babble, and this did not disturb
him.
The visitor who entered his chamber at mid-morning
was surprised to find it in twilight, the curtain still drawn. He
looked about him with pursed lips, scratched the back of his
head, sniffed, shrugged, and sat on his heels beside the couch.
Within a few minutes he was asleep, his head resting on his
fists, overcome by the heat in the dark room.
When Korkungal did finally awaken, around noon, he
blinked, grunted, and sat bolt upright. He looked about him,
saw nothing in the dark, and swung off the couch, stumbling
because his legs were stiff, and pulled the curtain from the
window. The sunlight was intense, and Korkungal fell back
blinking furiously.
These actions had been automatic, Korkungal was still
without memory. But when he looked about the chamber and
saw the crouched figure, he started violently and gave a
hoarse shout. The strangeness of the stranger was
appropriate, for Korkungal was beginning to remember all
the strange things that he had experienced since he had come
to the Ka. He staggered forward, intending to grab the
stranger and drag him to his feet, so that he might either beat
him or question him. Instead, he floundered down on to the
127

couch and did no more than stare at the now awakened

stranger, who returned his stare.
Moments passed. Korkungal heard the babble of the
artisans quarter and intermingled with it the murmur of the
sacred music of the Temple. As he heard this he remembered
many things. And the things he remembered made him jump
to his feet and shout at the stranger:
Who are you?
There was little of the authority of the warrior in the
question, for Korkungal sensed that he was no longer a
warrior. He did not know what he was because he no longer
knew where he was in the orders of creation.
The stranger smiled hesitantly, an ingratiating smile, a
plausible smile.
I am Ferlung, the navigator, Captain of the Ships of
the Ka.
Why are you here? What business have you here?
The stranger pushed himself to his feet with deliberate
slowness. When he raised his head again his smile was more
certain.
I have been sent to keep you company and to show
you the Ka. They say you are interested in it.
Ferlung had light, wavy hair, receding from his
temples and clipped short. His face was broad and jowled,
burnt red by the sun. He wore a jerkin of brown leather, worn
and creased, knee-length trews of soiled linen, and a pair of
new buskins, solidly constructed and finely decorated.
Around his neck hung a medallion of silver.
Your accent is strange, Captain of the Ships. You do
not belong to this place.
128

No, Captain of Military Advice, I do not.

Why do you call me captain? I am Korkungal of the
Briga, a Kings Warrior among them.
Ferlung grinned disarmingly.
Like me, you are a Captain in this place.
I remember now. It means nothing.
Oh, but it does, Captain, for if it was meaningless you
would not have it.
I dont understand you.
It is not important.
In that case, do not address me as Captain, Captain.
I must, Captain. For on one hand you have been made
a Captain by the ruler of the Ka, and on the other you insist
upon addressing me as Captain.
But you are a Captain. You are Captain of the Ships,
which I assume is an important post among those of your
trade.
I can apply the same argument in your case, Captain.
The Ka has no defenders that I know of that are in
need of training.
Ferlung laughed.
Well, Captain, the Ka has no ships?
This is strange, Captain. We are Captains of nothing,
it seems.
Indeed, Captain. And it is an occupation that suits my
temperament.
You are not ashamed of being idle, Captain?
I do not think about it. It is better to be a Captain of
non-existent ships than no one in charge of nothing in this
Ka.
129

Why do you not leave.

I am forbidden.
Are you a prisoner? Or a hostage?
No. I have my responsibilities to the ruler of the Ka.
But your trade as a navigator is surely more useful to
the Ka.
There are no ships.
But ships come and go every day.
They do not belong to this city.
Do these ships not need navigators? I am surprised
they are not eager to employ you.
That is true. But I cannot leave here. I have duties and
responsibilities.
It is all very strange, Captain
Surely not, Captain. Your own situation as Captain of
Advice to non-existent Defenders will explain it to you.
I have not been here long, Captain.
Then you will understand in time, Captain.
Korkungal scratched his head.
Are you unhappy, Captain?
No, I am not unhappy, Captain. I have no cause for
unhappiness here... Are you happy, Captain?
I am. I must admit this, Captain, though I can find no
cause for it.
Then do not complain, Captain. You want for nothing
here and you have the respect of the people.
It was then that Korkungal realised that he was naked.
He jumped to his feet and searched for his tunic, and found it
neatly folded on top of his equally neatly folded cloak on the
floor beside the head of the couch. He pulled it on and
130

slipped his feet into his sandals, which lay beside his folded
clothes.
Do not forget your emblem of rank, Captain. Ferlung
was sitting on the edge of the couch, arms folded. It is
difficult to remember it in the beginning, but with the passing
of time you will not be able to remove it. I, for instance,
never take it off.
Dressed, Korkungal found his sword hanging from two
pegs on the wall. The scabbard and the belt hung below it.
You will not need your weapons, Captain. I can assure
you of that.
I am a military captain, Captain
And I am a Captain of Ships, yet I do not carry the
instruments of my trade with me.
Korkungal looked about him. Nearby, his breastplate
and helmet hung on pegs.
I have always carried weapons, Captain.
Where is the enemy, Captain? There is only peace in
this Ka.
Very well, Captain, I will accept your advice.
Do not worry, Captain. Your badge of rank will
suffice among the merchants and tradesmen. If you are ready,
we will go. I think we should eat first I do not think you
have eaten this day.
I have not, Captain.
Ferlung jumped to his feet, flexed his shoulders and led
the way down. Once out on the common he took a deep,
appreciative breath, thrust his hands behind his back and
began to walk slowly towards the cluster of wattled houses
that was the quarter of the artisans.
131

Korkungal had turned towards the eating place of the

priests and had hesitated when he saw Ferlung go off in the
opposite direction. About to call him, he changed his mind
and hurried to catch him up. He measured his pace to his and
also thrust his hands behind his back.
They strolled into the narrow streets of the quarter. The
noise was very great and the street was thronged with people
of all ages, who took the trouble not to obstruct the progress
of the two pale-skinned officers of the Ka.
Korkungal very quickly realised that he did not have to
take much notice of the people about him. As Ferlung
remarked, the tradesmen and their families were quite willing
to do it for them. And this was true, for he heard them
anxiously chiding each other in their own tongue to watch
out.
Once the two men were settled into their walk, Ferlung
inclined his head and said in a low voice:
You are from the north, I believe.
Yes. From beyond the Grasslands.
On the coast?
Within sight of it.
A dangerous coast. It is impossible to trade along it
because of pirates.
Yes. They raid us year in year out.
A great nuisance. There is a coastline over a months
sailing along which we could not cover. I dont know how
many times my people have taken ships up on to the Northern
Sea and tried to clear it for trading.

132

Oh, we have learned to live with it. As you say, they

are a nuisance more than anything else. But tell me, dont
your people trade on the Inland Sea.
Yes, mostly along the western shores. The
competition is pretty strong. A confederation in the east, who
call themselves the Empire of the Dawn, control most of the
sea and its hinterland east of us. We expanded into the
Western Sea, only to come up against this Empire. I was
taken prisoner during a battle between two of our ships and a
fleet of theirs. That is how I came here...
They now entered a broader street flanked by tall
warehouses. It was quieter here. Korkungal happened to
glance to his right. A woman sat on a low stool by a door
combing the hair of a young girl. Korkungal stared hard at
her. It was Chorsa, the woman who had spoken to him at the
pond.
He grasped Ferlungs arm and asked:
Do you know that woman?
She is the wife of the merchant Tograt. Why do you
ask?
What is her name?
I am not sure. I think it is Pilha. Do you know her?
She gave me water to drink one morning at the pond
Do you wish to talk to her?
Ferlung walked back to the woman, Korkungal on his
heels. He bowed slightly to her and spoke in a very formal
voice, fluent in the tongue of the Ka. The woman looked up,
freezing in the act of combing the girls hair. She nodded.
Ferlung spoke again, smiling warmly. He pointed to
Korkungal, who stepped forward.
133

Are you the woman who gave me water to drink at the

pond?
The womans eyes narrowed in puzzlement. Ferlung
translated for him. The woman seemed to grow even more
puzzled.
Are you sure this is the woman, Captain? Ferlung
asked.
Yes, I am certain, Captain.
Then she seems not to remember. She is confused.
Nevertheless thank her for me.
Ferlung spoke and the womans expression changed to
suspicion. She stood up and began to retreat towards the
door. Ferlung bowed and brought Korkungal away with him.
Hardly the woman to be so forward, Captain, Ferlung
said as they continued down the street.
I agree, Captain. I cannot explain it. Tell me, do you
know a woman similar in appearance to the one we have just
spoken to, who is called Chorsa?
Chorsa? Is this the name you were given at the pond?
Chorsa? It rings a bell, but it is not the name of any
woman in the Ka, Ferlung grinned. At least, not the name of
any of the forward women.
They walked on, hands behind backs, till they came to
the main thoroughfare, near the gate, where Ferlung pointed
to a low building and then led Korkungal across to it.
It was a place for eating and drinking, at this time of
day uncrowded.
I live here, Captain, Ferlung said as he gave a general
nod to the customers.
134

It was small and dark, smelling of food and grease.

Forms and low sturdy tables were set along the walls. Most
of the customers were men, porters and warehousemen taking
a break from their work. There was only one woman to be
seen and when she looked up to see who had darkened the
doorway, Korkungal got a second shock. It was Agnanna, the
girl who had come to him the previous night.
Korkungal followed Ferlung to a table at the far side of
the room. An elderly man appeared from the back of the
building and Ferlung spoke to him in the language of the Ka,
apparently ordering food and drink. When the old man was
gone, Korkungal twitched his companions jerkin and asked:
Who is that girl over there?
Ferlung raised his brows, which wrinkled his forehead.
Do you know her too?
What is her name?
Oh, that is Sora. Where did you meet her? She hardly
ever leaves the place, except to go with one of the men.
Korkungal would not tell him. For an instant it seemed
as though a curtain had been drawn and he had seen behind it
a world confused and contradictory beyond the wildest
imagining of men. Two women had come to him, had been
sent to him, with strange names and frank proposals, and he
had seen these two women in the Ka, one a respectable wife
and mother, the other a common prostitute, both with
different names. Korkungal was sure it had happened, these
woman had come to him, and yet seeing them this day
contradicted his memories. He felt a great agitation sweep
over him and he became frightened then it vanished and he
felt that it was not important.
135

He was happy again.

The food was brought, mostly meat, and bowls of a
golden brew laid by their hands. Ferlung set to eating with
relish. Korkungal ate with restraint. When they had eaten, he
asked Ferlung:
Are you sure her name is not Agnanna?
Agnanna? No, it is not. I have told you it is Sora. I am
not mistaken in this, Captain, for I know her well. He
grinned hugely.
Do you know anyone with this name?
No. But the name itself is familiar. Agnanna,
Agnanna. Now I remember. He stood up and shouted a name
at the top of his voice. Nobody but the girl, Sora, looked up.
Ferlung called again and this time there was a movement in
the shadows beside the door and a thin old man shambled
into the light. Ferlung called him and waved his arm
impatiently.
Sitting down, he explained to Korkungal:
This old codger is Uos, the storyteller. I am sure I
have heard him mention the names Chorsa and Agnanna in
the course of his eternal storytelling.
The old man leaned on their table and stared down at
then with bright, yellowed eyes.
It is you, Captain, he said raspingly. What do you
want with me? I was taking a short nap. I cannot get sleep
when this place is crowded and it is always crowded except
for this short while in the afternoon. Though I am old, I still
need rest, a fact that everyone constantly overlooks... What
do you wish to hear? Tell me, and I will prepare it in my
mind. I must do this for my wits are scattered and grow more
136

scattered with each passing day. Meanwhile, will you be so

good as to order me something to drink. My throat, it hurts
constantly. It is my age, you see: one thing that time cannot
cure.
I will get you drink, and in return I want you to
answer a few questions. Sit here by my side, Uos.
The old man did what he was told and a large bowl of
beer was brought to him. Korkungal leaned over to Ferlung
and whispered:
He speaks our tongue.
Yes. I think he learned it from me, though I am not
sure how. Since the day he arrived here he has spoken to me
in my language.
The old man bent close to them and said:
I can speak every tongue, Korkungal, and I can see
everything.
Korkungal drew back.
You know my name? How is that?
The old man laughed. I told you I know everything.
Ferlung interrupted: Do not take him seriously,
Captain. He has heard it mentioned in the Ka, that is all.
There is not much that he misses. Nor should you take his
boastings seriously he is old, too old, perhaps, for sanity.
The old man laughed again. What do you know of age
and sanity, Ferlung the Navigator?
Ferlung pressed his lips together in anger and then
smiled broadly and said:
No matter, Uos. We have not come to argue with
you. I wish only to ask you a question.
137

The old man had taken the bowl to his lips and they
had to wait until he drained it. He wiped his mouth with his
bony hand.
Well, what is your question?
Tell me who Chorsa and Agnanna are.
The old mans eyes lit up and settled on Korkungal.
Do you not know, Korkungal?
Korkungal shrank away from the old mans stare.
No. I do not.
Ah, you do, Korkungal. And what you do not know I
cannot tell you.
Ferlung looked closely from Korkungal to Uos and
back again.
What does he mean, Captain? I confess that his riddles
often pass beyond my understanding' he said.
I do not know, Korkungal replied. Then he said to
Uos: I do not understand you, old man. You say you know
everything.
The old man replied in an insinuating tone that
disquieted Korkungal:
I know everything that can be known, Korkungal.
What I do not know cannot be known.
Ferlung suddenly raised his head. A bell was ringing
somewhere out in the Ka.
I must go now, Captain, he said, rising and pushing
past Uos. The ships of the Imperial Army are in sight. I
must go to the beach. Will you come? It will interest you.
Korkungal jumped up, glad to get away, and followed
Ferlung.
138

Come again, Korkungal, Uos called after him,' I will

tell you a story. A true story of long ago.
Neither Korkungal nor Ferlung had touched his drink
and the story teller took advantage of this by draining their
bowls of beer.

139

Chapter Fourteen
Going through the gate of the Ka, Korkungal remarked
that there was no guard.
Why should there be a guard, Captain? No one comes
through here but porters, merchants and sailors, Ferlung
replied.
Both walked at a faster pace this time, their arms
swinging. The broad path curved away down to the as yet
concealed beach.
I think I would have a guard on the gate.
Oh, Captain, you must learn your duties. You are the
adviser of the defenders. It is not your task to dispose them.
Besides, there are no soldiers in the Ka.
There are the two who live in the watch-tower.
The youth and his servant? Ferlung laughed. They
are guests of the Ruler, no more. The youth is exiled here
from the far end of the Empire. It seems he tried to usurp his
brother, who rules a great city on the islands where the sun is
hottest.
Korkungal sighed. Again he had been mistaken; yet his
memory could not be untrue. The agitation rose in him again.
He looked about the rolling grassland and the pacific sea and
felt it subside. He became happy.
They passed a file of sweating porters carrying great
bundles and boxes. Each porter lowered his eyes and moved
aside to let them pass. The path curved down and slowly the
beach came into view. The beach was short, bounded on both
sides by cliffs that extended into the sea to become the
140

protecting heads of the perfectly formed bay. On the head to

the right was situated the observatory tower, the Khumsung,
bare and alone outside the white wall of the Ka. The city
itself, of which only the uppermost part of the seaward
ramparts could be seen, was a brilliant inert thing: it was hard
to believe that many men, women and children lived out their
lives there.
A scattering of ships rode in the bay, of all sizes: some
with masts and rows of long oars, others no more than
enlarged canoes powered by the labour of slaves. Skiffs and
rafts plied between them and the beach, where groups of
porters collected while awaiting work. For all the crowding
of the beach and bay, it was quiet, except for the occasional
shout or cry which, however, was quickly sucked away into
the wide hemisphere of clear blue sky.
But the attention of Korkungal and Ferlung was
concentrated upon the three military ships. Two were already
at anchor, while the third, the smallest, had edged past them
and was gliding evenly through the swell towards the beach,
its oars rising and dipping in unison. The two larger ships had
only just anchored, lying out in the northern part of the bay,
away from the merchant shipping. Their huge white sails
hung unfurled, flapping aimlessly in the breeze, and their oars
jutted out at rest, still wet and glinting in the sunlight.
Ferlung nodded with satisfaction.
They carry soldiers, he whispered confidentially to
Korkungal. However, I do not think they will stay here for
long. See, the sails have not been furled nor the oars shipped.
I think they will take on provisions. It is not often that such
ships come here. I myself have seen them only once before...
141

Be sure of this, Captain, there is war in the making in some

nearby land.
These ships must interest you, Captain, for you are a
military man. Long ago, the Empire perfected the science of
moving large armies across the seas of the earth. A necessary
thing: the Empire is spread throughout many lands and
separated by vast stretches of ocean, and from time to time
she is threatened by raiders and invaders. To maintain
standing armies in each land and island would be beyond the
resources of the Empire, so she instead has centred large
armies in certain places, in homelands of their own where
they live and breed, support themselves, manufacture arms
and train endlessly. When there is danger, the nearest military
city is instructed to embark a sufficient number of men to
deal with it.
The small military ship struck the seabed and swung
about until it was parallel with the beach. A canoe went out to
it and uniformed men descended into it. A column of priests,
in ranks of two, came down the beach.
Ferlung rubbed his chin.
The soldiers may bring instructions for the Ka,
Captain, he said, his voice lower this time. Perhaps they
also seek information from the priests. If this is the case, then
they must be sailing north. I do not see the reason for this.
North of us is the Unknown Land, or the Land of Fire, as
some call it, which is inhabitated only by a few savages.
What profit is there in making war against them?
Three soldiers stepped on to the beach and walked
across the tidal sands in the direction of the priests. Two
figures detached themselves from the group, one robed in
142

black and the other in yellow, and went down to meet the
soldiers.
It is the High priest, Captain, Ferlung whispered. It
is indeed important. Rarely does the High priest leave his
quarters. I do not recognise his companion, but he wears the
robe of the observatory priests. Perhaps he is to give
information on the stars above the northern seas for the
purpose of navigation.
The soldiers and the two priests bowed low to each
other and drew close in conversation. Lines of porters filed to
and fro, on and off the beach, without taking the slightest
notice of this consulting group: the world carried on as
normal around them.
Why do they go north? Ferlung mused. What is
there for them? For generations my people have awaited the
war that must be fought between them and the Empire. Now,
instead of going east into my homeland, they sail north into
empty and useless lands...
He stopped suddenly and gripped Korkungals elbow.
The High Priest, he hissed excitedly, he points in our
direction, Captain. This is significant. He speaks of us to the
soldiers. Perhaps we are to be involved in this mission.
Korkungal saw that the High Priest had in fact gestured
in their general direction and that the soldiers had turned and
looked at them.
Ferlung shook Korkungal more fiercely.
Let us go forward, Captain, he said, trying to sound
dignified, but without much success. It might be that they
will wish to speak to us. Korkungal hesitated, so Ferlung
143

added testily: Come quickly, Captain, for it is our duty to go

when we are called.
Korkungal allowed himself to be drawn forward across
the sand. Ferlung at first trotted eagerly, but as they came
closer he slowed to a walk, then to a shuffle and finally halted
twenty paces from the group. He stared at the priests and
soldiers, then out to sea and then at Korkungal. He coughed
and spoke very slowly:
We will wait here, Captain, until the moment the High
Priest requires us. It would not do to rush up and interfere
with their talk, which, you may be assured, is of the greatest
importance to the well-being of the Empire and our Ka.
The priest in the yellow robe raised his head and
looked over the High Priests back at them. His impassive
face offered them no encouragement. Ferlung took one step
back and pulled Korkungal with him.
Not yet, Captain, he muttered hastily. We are not yet
required. I tell you, Captain, it is hard at times to know
rightly what these priests want of a man. You must always
watch them closely and be accurate in interpreting their nods
and stares. If you approach them when you are not wanted or
remain at a distance when you are, then they will glower at
you and put all the blame on you. They will not contemplate
the possibility that they might be at fault.
One of the conferring soldiers noticed the priests
distraction and he too looked over at Ferlung and Korkungal.
A second soldier, the leader of the military, looked up.
Ferlung was undecided as to what he should do, go forward
or fall back. The High Priest, realising he had lost their
attention, turned to see what diverted them. His face was
144

severe. Ferlung squeezed Korkungals arm and nodded with

disarming eagerness. The High Priest spoke to his
companion. The yellow-robed priest compressed his lips and
lifted his shoulders in the merest shrug. It was only when the
High Priest clenched his thin hand that Ferlung came to
understand that not only was he not required by the priests
but that his presence was fast becoming an intolerable
nuisance. He strengthened his hold on Korkungals arm and
backed away.
When they were half the length of the beach away,
Ferlung released Korkungal and rubbed his face vigorously
with his two palms.
That incident is a good example of what I was saying
about the priests, Captain, he said loudly, his voice muffled
behind his hands. You see now how difficult it is to get good
clear instructions from them. In the beginning I believed they
required our presence at their conference, and with good
reason, for am I not a man of the sea and you a soldier? Are
we not better suited to advising a floating army than these
priests, who spend all their lives behind the walls of their
Temple? But when we come closer, so that we might
instantly be consulted, we discover to our vexation that we do
no more than disturb them in their talk. Tell me, Captain,
what do you make of it all?
Korkungal was staring up at the Ka, his brows
shielding his eyes from the sun. The wall, brilliantly white in
the sunlight, aroused in him a peculiar fascination. His voice
was slurred as he replied to the Navigator:
I must confess, Captain, that I am too inexperienced in
the ways of the Ka and its priests to judge one way or the
145

other. And for my part, there is little I could tell these seasoldiers. I know nothing of the sea.
The High Priest bowed to the soldiers and walked
slowly to join the huddle of priests. They formed themselves
into a procession and left the beach. The yellow-robed priest
remained with the soldiers for a while longer, then he bowed
to them and walked up the path to the Ka alone, his hands
buried in his robe.
Ferlung sighed hugely. He gave a final glance at the
soldiers, he laid a hand on Korkungals shoulder and said:
Let us, too, return to the Ka, Captain. We have no
more business here.

146

Chapter Fifteen
Lamla, High Priest of the Ka, sat on a low stool in a
corner of the Temple. It was dark here, but that did not
matter: the Temple was totally bare. The edges of his mind
were prickled by the sound of low chanting. Beautiful,
harmonious, pathetic and exalting though it was, Lamla was
little moved. The core of his mind, all his wisdom and
experience, was engaged on a problem.
What is the question? he asked himself once again. He
posed this question whenever he felt the oncoming of vertigo
as his brain laboured to exhaustion against the outer walls of
his incomprehension. The question asked, he felt his mind
clear and there, just beyond his grasp, he saw the answer.
He knew the answer, he had always known the answer
perhaps he had been born knowing it and yet no amount of
logic and reason could bring it into the light of consciousness.
His tired brain began its hunt once again. He recalled
the night on the Khumsung, his conversations with
Hepteidon. Many clues had been unravelled concerning
Kandrigis experiences. Taking only the signs that were
evident to all men, as was proper, and ignoring the
speculations concerning their origins, thus evading the
charges of credulity and superstition, it was logically
veritable to say that something had happened to Kandrigi.
Both Hepteidon and Ma-Tin had conceded this.
But neither would concede much more than that.
He heard the dull thud of leather striking stone, its
echoes whispered all about him, and he saw the smoky
147

contrast of yellow loom out of the dark. Purposively,

Hepteidon walked directly towards him.
I see you, my Lord Priest, Hepteidon said in a
subdued tone, which nevertheless seemed to boom in all
quarters of the massive building.
Lamla forced his attention outwards, suffering with
resigned anticipation the momentary giddiness as he crossed
the threshold between the inward and outward worlds. He did
not rise.
I greet you, my son, he intoned without emotion.
Hepteidon stood over his High Priest and stared down with
mixed feelings of anger and fear.
I have searched many places for you, Lamla, he said,
thinking you might have instructions for me.
In what regard, Hepteidon? Lamla countered without
looking up. There are many duties and missions about which
you might be instructed. Do you have a specific duty or
mission in view?
He heard Hepteidon hiss.
There is an event of which both of us are well aware,
Lamla, he retorted, thinly disguising his anger, which is of
the highest importance to the Empire. I have reason to believe
that I will take a leading position in a mission connected with
this event.
Lamla did not reply immediately. He let the young
priests temper rise and waited to see if he would lose selfcontrol.
Lamla! Hepteidon finally burst out. You are making
fun of me! I swear that I will throttle you if you do not
answer me.
148

Lamla raised his head. He knew that Hepteidon would

not see his thin smile in the gloom.
Which event do you refer to, Hepteidon? he asked,
letting his voice lilt with humour. More than one great thing
has happened in the Ka in recent days.
Hepteidon bent and brought his red face close to
Lamlas.
The ships, Lamla, he hissed, not caring that his spittle
spattered Lamla. I refer to the ships in the bay. Do I have to
make myself more clear?
You should have done so in the beginning,
Hepteidon, the old priest said levelly, in which case we
would have avoided all this heat and anger.
I thought you would understand me, Hepteidon said
in a softer voice than before. What else has happened to
match in significance the coming of the ships?
You have undertaken the examination of Kandrigi, the
Priest, Hepteidon, have you not?'
That is only a minor matter, Lamla. How can that
compare with todays event?
But you have made no report on the outcome of your
examination, Hepteidon. How can the well-being of the
Empire be maintained if we rush from duty to duty, leaving
each unfinished in our desire for the novelty of the new?
Hepteidon paused, audible swallowing, and stood back.
Lamla sighed in relief.
Will you make your report now, Hepteidon? He
could afford to be tender towards the young priest.
There is nothing to report, Lamla.
Did he speak?
149

No.
Did you apply the tongs?
Yes.
And yet he did not speak?
No, Lamla. Not even when the whip and the weights
were used.
Did he suffer much?
Yes, though he did not cry out or scream.
Does his fortitude surprise you, Hepteidon?
Very much, Lamla. No man could withstand such
torture. Either he has no feelings or he is somehow mad.
Are they the only conclusions you have reached?
What else can I think, Lamla?
Have you thought about what I said to you? Do you
remember?
I have made myself clear on that subject, Lamla. I
neither understand nor accept what you say,
I will not argue with you, Hepteidon, for there would
be no point to it at this stage. In time you will understand, and
in understanding you will accept, for that is the secret of
knowledge.
Suddenly Hepteidon fell on his knees and pressed his
forehead against the dusty stone floor.
Then I do not wish to understand, Lamla. I beg to be
freed from this obligation to understand this matter, for I am
sure it will be the death of me.
Lamla leaned forward and caught Hepteidons arm and
gently pulled him close. He stroked his hair as he spoke.
You misunderstand me, Hepteidon. I have not placed
this obligation on you. Therefore I cannot release you. Once
150

before, I tried to explain this to you, but I failed. I do not

know why you were chosen for this awesome task nor what
purpose it will serve, though I have passed many hours
thinking about it Tell me, were you afraid while you
examined Kandrigi? Tell me the truth. There is no shame in
admitting it.
Hepteidon raised his tear-stained face. His eyes
continually rolled in their sockets.
Yes, yes, Lamla. I was in constant terror of the old
man.
Do you know the cause of your terror, my son?
No. And that is the worst of it.
Do you think that by killing the old priest you would
rid yourself of this terror?
How else can I rid myself of it?
By doing what is demanded of you?
Hearing this, Hepteidon loudly groaned and pressed his
face into the floor. Lamla watched him for a short while and
then he reached and pulled the trembling priest up.
One last question, Hepteidon. Do you see only terror?
Is there nothing else?
Hepteidon stopped his sobbing and stared at the
wrinkled, now kindly, face of Lamla.
I feel only terror terror and fear. He shook
violently, then subsided, as though this frank admission had
taken him through a crisis. Composed, he asked: What else
should I feel, High Priest? Tell me, you have told me many
things about myself that I do not accept.
Do you not see love for old Kandrigi?
Love Are you mad?
151

No. I am not mad, though we talk of feelings that are

close to madness.
Hepteidon jumped to his feet and backed away.
No more of this, Lamla. I have examined the old
priest and have reported to you on the outcome. I have
fulfilled my duty and I am finished with him. He came
closer. Let us discuss the ships in the bay instead.
Lamla pursed his lips. It was difficult to guide the mind
of the young.
Very well, Hepteidon. Come and kneel by me.
Hepteidon knelt and Lamla laid his thin arm across his
shoulders.
You heard the Commanders report, did you not? As
soon as they have taken on provisions they will sail north for
the duration of a month and then make camp on a prominent
shore. The small vessel will return south tomorrow and will
lead the main fleet to join the scouts in the north.
They seek guides and navigators from the Ka,
Hepteidon prompted.
Yes. The two scout ships will require someone
familiar with the stars of the northern sky and also the council
of any who have been in the north. The main fleet needs only
charts. If there is any danger, one of the scouts will return to
warn the fleet...
And I?...
Lamla smiled tenderly. I have been ordered to send
you with the scouts. You are to interpret the stars for them.
You will also chart the far north stars and map the coastline...
It is a great honour, Hepteidon, for one so young. The
Commander said that the order came from the Emperor
152

himself. Someone in Ka-Ra has taken a great deal of trouble

on your behalf.
My uncle. He is an Imperial diplomat.
You are blessed, Hepteidon, I wish you good fortune.
Hepteidon acknowledged this with a condescending
nod.
You mentioned the two red-haired barbarians to the
Captain, he said slowly. What do you plan for them?
I am not sure. They would be more useful to us if they
sailed with the expedition. They do nothing in the Ka. I know
nothing of these northern lands, except the little I have
gleaned here and there. Most of this is no more than wild
phantasy, for if these lands are all that rumour says they are,
then they are unique on earth. Lands of fire and dragons?
There is great heat in parts of the world, but no fire such as is
attributed to this strange quarter. And dragons? You have
heard them described: eaters of fire that fly in the heavens. I
find all this difficult to believe. However, we must allow that
it is possible, if only because we have not yet seen these
places. It is because of this that I have contemplated sending
Kandrigis companion, the warrior Korkungal, with you. His
race dwells to the north and he might have experience of the
climate and conditions there, though he has not admitted this
to me, Also, if by chance you are shipwrecked, he could lead
you to safety through the country of the Savages, as they are
called. It is also possible that your voyage may take you to
the territory of the Briga, in which case Korkungal will
ensure your welcome there, As for the other white-skin, the
navigator, I will send him tomorrow to join the main fleet.
They might have use for him, more use than we have.
153

One more thing I would like to know, Lamla: What is

the greater purpose of the mission? To send an army into the
north merely to see if wild rumours are true will bring no
profit to the Empire. I suspect some other object,
Again Lamla smiled his doting smile.
I have not been told this greater purpose, Hepteidon,
but I have given thought to it. I suspect it is an attempt to
outflank the Empire of the Dawn, Soon they will gain total
control of the Inland Sea and they and their confederates will
push out into the Middle Ocean and attack the Empire. If we
can establish colonies to their immediate north, among the
Briga and their kindred tribes, for instance, we might be able
to forestall their aggression. As you know, the Empire of the
Sun seeks only harmony and peace among the nations and
peoples of the world. We are obliged, because of our strength
and influence, to maintain this peace against the ravages of
the more war-like peoples of the world.
I see the sense of this strategy, Lamla.
Are you satisfied now, Hepteidon?
I am, Lamla.
You will be gone from here in a few days, Hepteidon,
Lamla said in a low voice. He caressed the long locks of the
young priest at his knees. Then I will never see you again,
for you know that your future will be in Ka-Ra, close to the
Emperor.
It is a sad thing, Hepteidon replied. He spoke too
quickly and Lamla knew that it was no more than rhetoric.
You have been a long time in my company,
Hepteidon. I have seen you grow to manhood under my care.
I have been like a father to you,
154

They were happy years, Lamla. The words were

spoken grudgingly.
I will miss you.
I must obey the order of the Emperor. Hepteidon was
becoming sulky.
Lamla could not prevent his irritation showing. I
understand that. We must all obey the Emperor. Nevertheless,
you will not depart immediately. We will have time together,
Hepteidon.
Hepteidon pushed himself to his feet.
I have many preparations to make, Lamla. I will be
very busy,
Lamlas voice rose and it echoed in the Temple. There
will be time, he said, half peremptory, half pleading.
Hepteidon began to walk away. He was no more than a
blur of contrast in the dark.
Hepteidon! Lamla cried, rising.
The shape halted.
What do you want? The voice echoed all around
Lamla,
One more thing. Lamla was composed again. Have
Kandrigi moved into my quarters. And see that he is cared
for.'
Hepteidon resumed walking and he disappeared into
the dark. All Lamla could hear of him was the thud of his
sandals on the stone floor.
He stood still for a long time. The chanting came to
him, but did not touch his heart.
He had found the answer to the problem that vexed
him. He had seen it in the death of love. It opened up a new
155

prospect: he saw why Hepteidon loved Kandrigi and not him.

And
He knew the question. And in knowing the question, he
knew the answer
He fell on his knees, whispering. So be it. In the dark,
he heard the chanting. It ascended melodiously, pathetic and
exalted.
He let it into his heart.

156

Chapter Sixteen
The tavern was crowded, now that the days work was
finished. It was noisy and hot, the drinkers euphoric through
relief, rather than riotous. There was a lot of giddy laughter.
Korkungal and Ferlung sat together in a corner,
protected from the clamour by a line of men who leaned
against the tables. They were untouched by the atmosphere of
the room, Both sat very erect, Ferlung because he was a
Captain, Korkungal because he wanted to sleep and was
afraid to. They had drunk a lot of the sweet golden beer in the
early evening, but since the porters and the workers of the Ka
had come in none had been brought to them. Ferlung was
used to the drink and temperamentally suited to it, for he
submitted willingly to its tender influence. But Korkungal did
not like its effect upon him, He could not understand this
reaction to the beer; he merely expressed it by his fight
against sleep.
Now, when the celebration of the evening was at its
height, and Ferlung sat erect in a trance and Korkungal sat
erect in the midst of a struggle, the line of men in front of
them was violently broken and a figure came hurtling through
to collapse on their table. Ferlung blinked once and creased
his bald forehead; Korkungal wanted to arise in alarm and
defend himself, but managed only to stare in a dazed manner
at the convulsed body. Then they heard the dry laughter, and
focusing their eyes more carefully they saw that it was Uos,
the storyteller, who lay before them, helpless with
provocative laughter, jolliness and drink.
157

Uos must have known that Ferlung and Korkungal

were there, for when he saw them he showed no surprise.
Instead, he used his elbows to push himself off the table and
slide down to the floor.
You see, Captains, I have been brought to you!
He did not explain himself. Setting himself on his
heels, he began to rock and croon:
I see you everywhere, my dear,
I see you everywhere,
In the grass, in the sea and sky,
Everywhere in the stones,
But most of all in the stars,
I see you everywhere, my dear.
When he had finished, he looked up at Korkungal in
particular, clapped his hands and said:
The story! The one true and glorious story!
He scrambled to his feet and grasped Korkungals
hand,
The story you wish most of all to hear.
Korkungal made a feeble attempt to protest that this
was not true, He pulled his hand away and the thought sprang
into his battle-weary brain: What is the story that I most want
to hear?
Uos meanwhile pushed his two hands between
Ferlung and Korkungal, and when they shifted he squeezed
his back between them and burrowed energetically until he
was securely seated. Korkungal gave way to him: he was
preoccupied with trying to remember what story he had asked
158

to hear. Ferlung, on the other hand, resisted, wanting only

peace and his trance. Uos gave him a final shove and
grinned at him.
You are an ingrate, Ferlung the Navigator. You are a
man born of earth and water, Beware of this: Water always
returns to the sea, and if the earth does not resist it will be
carried away with it, I tell you this for nothing.
Though Ferlungs eyes widened, he did not understand
the old man. Nevertheless, he moved over.
Now, Korkungal, this story. It is an old, old story.
How old, I could not begin to tell you. It is also a simple
story, as stories should be, and conveys great wisdom to him
who understands it. I have not often told it, not many have
asked me to tell it, for the inspiration to ask to hear it is
greater than the inspiration to tell it. Do you understand me?
A story needs a listener before it needs a teller. So, I am a
slave to the need and curiosity of others, yet where would
they be without me? Which is the most miserable? The
listener in need of a teller, or the teller in need of a listener? I
do not know, for I have never been in need of listeners in
places like this. And yet this problem haunts me. It should
not, I know, for who ever heard of tellers without listeners, or
listeners without tellers? It is the possibility of such a divorce
that haunts me, for like everything else it is possible... Will
you get me some drink, good Korkungal. I cannot go on until
I wet my throat.
Uos abruptly fell silent and bowed his head.
Korkungal got to his feet and searched the room for the
tavern-keeper. All he could see was a sea of dark heads,
159

Did you get the drink yet, Korkungal? Uos asked

pettishly.
Korkungal swung around, Uos was standing on the
seat staring at him.
It is difficult in so crowded a place, old man,
Korkungal said lamely.
It is not. Wait. Uos took a deep breath and shouted:
Sora!
Immediately, the line of standing men parted and Sora
appeared. She carried bowls in one hand and balanced a large
jug on her hip.
Ah, Sora, my daughter. As swift as ever you are.
He jumped down and sat, Sora poured him a bowlful of
beer and he drained it at once, As he drank she glanced up at
Korkungal and motioned that he was also to sit. When he had
done so, she filled a bowl and handed it to him.
Korkungal stared at her, He could not believe that she
was not Agnanna, the virgin who had visited him in the
watch-tower. She wore the same black vestment and her face
was as heavily coated with cosmetics. But Soras eyes were
different, They did not sparkle or dance: they were level and
calm, He took the bowl and drank.
Sora placed the jug on the table in front of Ferlung and
sat on the floor at Korkungal's feet. Before Ferlung could
reach the jug, the old storyteller had tipped it over his own
bowl and was filling it again.
Korkungal did not drink more than a mouthful, having
taken so much out of courtesy for Sora and Uos. He put his
bowl on the table and looked down. Sora was staring at him,
as though appraising him.
160

Are you not Agnanna? he asked with a kind of

wonder.
She wrinkled her nose and looked at Uos.
She does not understand your tongue, Korkungal, he
said without taking the bowl from his mouth, She speaks but
one language and speaks it rarely. She would tell you, if she
could, that she has no need of words in her life. And that is
true.
Will you ask her my question, then?
There is no need, for I can answer it for her. She is not
Agnanna, and in a little while, when I have told you the story,
you will understand why.
But I will not doubt my memory, Korkungal began,
his earlier agitation returning.
Uos interrupted him:
I do not ask you to doubt your memory, only to
understand it. I know your trouble. You are not the first to
experience it. But do not make Sora responsible for it.
Korkungal shook his head. The agitation moved in him
and he could not rid himself of it. Sora continued to stare at
him. The expression in her eyes had changed. It questioned
him and seemed ready to relent and accommodate him.
Korkungal returned her stare with a strange fury. His
agitation increased.
Did you tell her to come here, he asked Uos angrily,
in order to tease me?
Uos fell back against Ferlung, his face wide with
mock-fear.
I called her. You heard me.
161

How was it that she came so quickly, bringing this

drink?
Uos laughed, edgily provocative:
What else would she bring me, an old man,
Korkungal?
He stroked the girls hair. She glanced up at him in a
quick, child-like way.
You will not believe this, Korkungal, though I will tell
you in any case. She is my consolation in old age. She is the
fairest, the gentlest creature in this world. I need only raise
my head, need only sigh, and she comes running to me,
anticipating my wishes, be it food or drink, or perhaps some
liniment for my throat, She is like a daughter to me,
Korkungal. And yet I do not know why she is like this, for I
am an ugly, misshapen, irascible old man. I am perverse and
cantankerous, while she is sweet and considerate.
Sora seemed to understand this. She looked at
Korkungal in triumph. Uos pinched her cheek and chuckled.
Now, Korkungal, let us get on with this story,
otherwise we will be here till dawn. It is, as I have said, a
simple story, capable of being understood by a child, There
are no great events, no burning of worlds or the drowning of
whole races, no conflicts between empires with heroes dying
by the thousand, There are no kings, no princes, no great
personages at all in my story. No mighty deeds of daring,
nothing that will fill you with awe or fear, nothing that will
overpower the senses with the passions of love. Finally, there
are no gods or goddesses, no demigods, no half gods; no
strange creatures, no demons, no weirds, or other phantasies
of the demented...
162

Korkungal had been listening with growing

impatience. Now he burst out:
Tell me what it is about, storyteller. I have no interest
in things that are not.
In his distraction he noticed that Sora was once again
staring at him, a playful smile on her lips.
Very well, Korkungal, I will proceed to the subject of
the story, though I am pained that you lack the patience to
enjoy the storytellers art. I will tell you first who this story is
concerned with. An old woman and her orchard. There! You
have spoiled it. I will have to pause and recollect my wits
with a bowl of drink.
As he drank, Ferlung leaned over his back and
whispered to Korkungal:
He is right, Captain. Lack of respect for a storyteller is
a sure sign of barbarity.
There are proper times for stories, Korkungal hissed
in return, and this is not one of them.
Drink up, Captain, Ferlung said, winking. Your bowl
is before you. Be peaceful and co-operative. What else is
there to do at this time?
I do not know, though I feel it within me to do
something else.
Uos replaced his empty bowl and sat back. He wiped
his mouth with vigour.
An old woman and an orchard, Korkungal. Do you see
it? An island in the middle of a great ocean, a small island
with rocky shores and patches of bright green grass in places.
And in the centre, on the brow of a low hill, an orchard, with
the old womans hut snug in its shade. There was music in
163

those apple trees: the wind played without pause on the

leaves and they rustled, chipped and sang all day and all
night. The old woman loved this music. She would sit each
day in the centre of her orchard and listen in rapture to it, her
eyes wide, her tongue hanging out. And though she loved this
music and was grateful to the leaves and the wind for
combining to provide it, her greatest love was the fruit itself.
All summer long she would watch the apples grow, her
upraised face speckled with the sunlight filtering through the
leaves, seeing them first as little green pips of things, then
swell and colour until they were red and bursting with the
good sweet sugar of the earth. In the autumn she would pick
them, placing each red apple in her apron with the greatest
care. She would store them at the back of her hut, bedding
them in straw, and eat one a day through the winter and
spring, seated in a warm corner out of the wind. She would
savour each bite, each spit of juice.
And the old woman herself? She called herself Asta.
In height she was no taller than a ten year old. She had bowed
legs, her knees the length of an arm apart, the result of some
obscure misfortune. There was no grace in her body: dugs
hung flapping to her waist and her hips and buttocks were
wasted away to the bone. Her face was cracked and wrinkled,
made worse by running eyes and a toothless hanging mouth
that dribbled constantly. She had no hair, except for the odd
wisp not worth notice, and her nails were broken and filthy.
She was a wilful creature, and satisfied with being on her
own, and satisfied, too, that the universe should concern itself
solely with ripening her apples. But for all this, she was not a
164

happy woman. It would be truer to say that she was a woman

mollified.
Asta lived in her orchard for longer than most people
can remember, watching her apples grow and then eating
them during winter and spring. Of course, this could not last
for ever; for if it had, I would not have a story to tell you.
One day in autumn, a man came out of the water and stole all
her apples. He was a giant of a man, taller than you,
Korkungal, and you, Ferlung, with bushy eyebrows and a
thick black beard. His eyes seemed equally black, and both
hair and eyes contrasted strikingly with his skin, which was
as white as milk. He wore a coat made of the skins of black
goats, badly made it trailed the ground in places; and over
his shoulder he carried a huge club made of some dark knotty
wood, which he had apparently chipped into shape with a
rough stone. He came striding out of the seas mumbling to
himself, and stopped in amazement and delight upon seeing
the rosy apples in Astas orchard. She had not yet seen him,
she was busy making preparations for the picking of the fruit,
arranging the straw in anticipation, and the first she knew of
his presence was when she heard his shout of glee. She ran
out of doors and found him among the trees, his great hands
tearing away apples, leaves and branches in greedy haste. She
screamed at him, cursed him, and beat his back and thick
buttocks. But all to no avail. He did not see her, being too
intent upon the apples, though she cursed him with all the
resources of her venomous mouth, and when he had eaten
them all, and a fair amount of leaves and twigs as well, he
turned about and marched back into the sea.
165

For most of the following winter and spring the old

woman was no longer mollified. Instead, she was filled with
the cruellest, the most shocking plans for revenge. She sat
watching the shore for days on end, hoping that the robber
would be tempted to return, though she did not know what
she would do if he did return. Then she grew tired of waiting
and grew tired of looking out to see, so she went up to the
orchard and cleared up the mess of broken branches as best
she could. When in spring the buds appeared she felt her
heart lighten and the black moroseness in her brain lighten a
little. The blossom helped her feel better; the first sign of an
apple cheered her up no end. She resumed her vigil in the
orchard, gazing up at the growing apples with the sun
dappling her face. Autumn came on and the fruit ripened. She
had by now forgotten all about the giant from the sea and no
longer did the memory of his smelly coat or, more to the
point, his total indifference to her as he ate up her crop of
apples, rouse her to insane anger. She prepared as usual to
pick the apples, getting the straw ready, making sure her
apron was cleaned and darned. Then, on the very morning she
planned to begin, the giant came marching out of the sea and
repeated his actions of the previous year. Again he ignored
her and got on with his work, and when he had stripped the
trees completely, he went back into the sea.
She had been angry the first time it happened, but her
feelings this year bore no comparison with her original anger.
Not alone did she curse him, she cursed all of creation,
making it an accomplice in the deed, and more than once
swore violently to destroy it. Creation took no notice; it went
on as usual and when spring came round it produced bud,
166

blossom and apple-to-be, as though nothing had happened. It

lightened the old womans mood, but this time she did not
forget the giant. She lived in dread of his coming and
watched her fruit ripen with a kind of fascination, the
anticipation of old strong in her out of habit, but mingled now
with a contrary foreboding that the anticipation would again
be frustrated. Sure enough, on a day in autumn, just when she
had decided to take a chance and pick the fruit a little earlier
than usual, the giant appeared and ate the lot.
This happened in the next autumn and again in the
autumn that followed. Asta tried to pick the fruit earlier and
earlier in the season, though it had not ripened fully and it
went against her nature to do it, but each time the giant came
out of the sea and foiled her. Her temper grew as black as
could be, until she began, out of spite, to wish for her own
destruction. However, she had one hope. Chorsa came and
listened to her. In no time at all she found a solution to the
problem...
At this point Uos was interrupted. Two soldiers thrust
their way through the standing men and presented themselves
before Ferlung. They addressed him in the fluting tone of the
Ka and he replied and stood up, shaking slightly.
The priest, Hepteidon, wishes to see me, Captain, he
told Korkungal. Perhaps he has orders for me...
Korkungal stood up also. I will come with you. It
might be that I am included.
Stay and hear the rest of the story, Ferlung said
slowly, the drink thickening his words. Your name has not
been mentioned. The instructions of the priests are always
precise and no implications should ever be sought in them.
167

When you are required you will be called by name. Surely

you have experience of this.
Uos coughed loudly and filled his bowl, speaking as
he did:
He is right, Korkungal. Sit down and let me continue
with my tale, for if I say it myself, it is progressing well.
Ferlung smiled, rubbed his forehead, spoke a word to
the soldiers and followed them out of the tavern.
Korkungal sat again. Uos drained the bowl and wiped
his mouth, grunting loudly to clear his throat. Then he
clapped his hands and looked about him. Seeing Sora, he said
to Korkungal:
Perhaps we could make room for little Sora now. She
would rather sit beside you than on the floor gazing up at
you.
Korkungal said nothing. He looked at Sora. When
Uos spoke to her she jumped up and settled herself between
them, drawing her vestment in about her legs.
Now, Uos said, petting her arm, she is happier. She
is a patient girl, but there is no harm in making her more
contented.
Korkungal merely blinked and sighed. The agitation
was still in him. The story had calmed it but now it grew
strong again.
Go on with your story, he said shortly.
Assuredly, Korkungal. That is why we are here, is it
not? Uos said with mock-moderation. Where are we? Ah,
yes. Chorsa has a solution to the problem of the giant. It is a
simple solution, though not immediately evident within the
scheme of the story so far told. It was spring and the trees had
168

budded and blossomed. Old Asta had cleared the orchard of

broken branches and twigs. The tiny apples were appearing
and she was desperate for them. Chorsa returned with a small
army of men, their wives and children. She had them camp
on the shore and provided them with sweet water and dried
meat. Throughout the summer Asta sat in the orchard and
watched her apples grow. Chorsa had her men prepare
weapons of stone and wood and laid plans for the coming
battle with the giant.
Autumn came and the apples ripened. Asta set the day
for the picking and Chorsa continued to train her men. Sure
enough, on the day that Asta put on her apron to pick the
fruit, the giant came out of the sea and marched up towards
the orchard, his black eyes set on the trees and nothing else.
Asta screamed at him and Chorsa gave her men the word.
What a day for screaming and shouting! Half of the men were
maimed or killed, but half of the crop was saved. The
gluttonous giant swung his club and Chorsas army attacked
with stick and stone, and Asta filled her apron as fast as she
could, ducking and dodging the battle that raged around her.
Afterwards, Chorsa was content that her plan had worked and
Asta was mollified by the sight of the low pile of stored
apples.
At the time of the next harvest the giant was attacked
as soon as he came ashore. This was a better plan, for the
giant had eyes only for the apples and so did not fight well.
Nevertheless, many men were killed and the giant succeeded
in stealing part of the crop. In the next year, Chorsa set the
wives and children of her fighting men to help Asta harvest
the apples. The giant was forced to retreat to the sea with his
169

appetite unsated, the men belabouring his broad back with

long sticks. When the autumn came round again, the giant
came to the shore and no further. Chorsas men, their older
sons helping to swell their sadly reduced ranks, lined the
beach and the giant merely looked at them in perplexity
before turning away and disappearing into the sea. Asta, her
store filled as in years before, thanked Chorsa and sat in a
secluded corner throughout winter and spring, eating with
relish one apple a day.
Then, in early summer, Agnanna came to play among
the men and their families. In the autumn the giant did not
appear. Chorsa began to talk of taking her army away, now
that they were no longer needed, but Asta shivered with fright
and rage and insisted that they stay in case the giant should
decide to return in the future. The wives and children helped
with the harvest it was fast becoming a custom among
them, singing and dancing merrily as they did, much to
Agnannas delight while Chorsa oversaw the maintenance
of the weapons and the day-long vigil on the beach by her
men.
Years passed. The men remained on their guard,
weapons at the ready, although the giant did not appear, and
the women and children helped with the harvest. Many times
Chorsa suggested taking the men away and each time Asta
grew pale and trembled, begging her not to do it. Chorsa
would complain then that she was tired of providing for them
and Asta would plead with her to be patient and remember
that her labour served a useful end. Agnanna, in contrast, was
happy among the people. She played with the children,
170

gossiped with the women and teased the men. She loved their
company and they seemed to love her in return.
It was because of this love that Agnanna one day
proposed to Asta and Chorsa that the men and their families
should receive a share of the apples each autumn. She wished
only to increase their happiness. Asta reacted in horror at the
idea, but Chorsa, seeing that her labours would be reduced,
agreed. She dismissed Astas unwillingness with the remark
that she should pay for the protection the men gave her
against the possible return of the giant. Between them,
Agnanna and Chorsa decided that the orchard should be
shared equally by Asta and the people...
Here Korkungal got to his feet and stretched, his great
fists clenched above his head. Uos regarded him with a
comic puzzlement.
Do you grow tired of my story, Korkungal?
It tells me nothing, storyteller. Korkungal spoke
without looking at Uos.
You have not heard the ending. Perhaps it will tell you
something. Come, sit again and let Sora fill your bowl.
He spoke to the girl in her native language and
immediately she jumped up and filled the bowls of
Korkungal and Uos. Korkungal refused the proffered bowl
and instead stared with fear-widened eyes at Sora.
Are you not Agnanna? he asked her gently.
Sora smiled and nodded. Uos had been watching
Korkungal with increasing amusement, now he suddenly
leaned forward and said:
No, Korkungal. She has not understood your question.
She thinks you make a different request, one she is more than
171

willing, it seems to me, to fulfil. I have told you before that

she is not Agnanna and it should be clear to you by now why
she is not. Sit down and drink. Let me finish this story, for
you can do nothing better this night than listen to it. The last
part, concerning Astas wrath, will making the meaning of
my tale plain to you.
The agitation rose in Korkungal until it filled his head.
He could no longer control the terror that burned in him.
With a rage that strangled his throat, he rushed forward,
knocking over the table and some of the standing drinkers,
and ran to the door. In the twilight he hurried through the
noisy streets, finding his way by instinct to the Temple. Here
he was confronted by a night world dominated by the White
Light. The Temple was a black plane floating in a sea of
milk. Korkungal began to tremble violently, his brain burning
and his legs as immobile as stone.
How long he stood like that he did not know. He heard
a rustle close to him and this acted like a fillip to break the
spell. He turned and saw Sora at his side, her features hidden
by the peculiar effect of the Light. She raised a hand to him,
whether to signify her reason for being there or to lead him
away, he did not know. He recoiled and cried:
The old man has sent you, has he not?
The silhouette of her head tilted to one side and she
replied in the fluting tongue of the Ka.
Korkungal clenched his hands and shouted:
He wishes to make fun of me by sending a common
whore to my chamber?
Sora spoke again, her voice sad-seeming, and she fell
on her knees before him. Korkungal took one threatening step
172

forward and shouted at her to go away. Then he spun round

and ran towards the watch-tower. He did not look about him
as he ran through the milky air, but kept his eyes on the tall
black shape that was the tower. His lungs heaved and his
heart pounded painfully. In his throat a scream was stuck,
unable to find expression, and it seemed to choke him.
He saw an inexplicable shape at the foot of the tower,
beside the door. Drawing close, he recognised the figure of
the blue giant, Klimbah. He stared morosely before him,
knees drawn up, his two arms laid across them.
Korkungal halted beside him and murmured a hoarse
greeting, instinctively wary. But Klimbah did not
acknowledge it and so Korkungal threw his weight against
the door and gratefully found himself in the candle-lit lower
chamber of the tower. He paused to rest.
The door opened and Sora came slowly in. She stood
by it, her hands clasped together at her breast. Korkungal
looked down at her. The face, the vestment and the cloak
were all Agnannas.
Are you not Agnanna? he asked helplessly.
Sora smiled briefly and remained silent. The smile was
indulgent. She took a candle from its socket in the wall and
turned expectantly towards the stairs.
Korkungal continued to look at her, his arms loose by
his sides. He panted still, but his heart no longer thumped in
his chest. The agitation had eased, partially relieved by the
run through the Ka. It was with resignation that he mounted
the stairs. A strange resignation: it was outside of him,
beyond him, having no end or object. Not even death would
satisfy it.
173

Sora followed him. He heard the swish of her cloak on

the stone. In his chamber, she put the candle in a socket over
the couch. Korkungal looked at her again. Her features
trembled in the flickering light. He pointed to the couch and
she climbed on to it, betraying neither reluctance nor
enthusiasm. She unfastened her cloak and let it fall behind
her. Korkungal motioned that she was to lie down, which she
immediately did. He laid a blanket over her. She stared at him
for a moment, then suddenly she sat up, grasped his hand and
kissed it.
Korkungal moaned and jerked away. He wrapped his
cloak about his shoulders and sat on the floor by the foot of
the couch.
He thought of Kandrigi, his priest. Tomorrow, he
would go and see him and ask him to come away from this
strange place. Living among the Briga again would not settle
this agitation, he knew, but it would at least make him once
again what he had all his life pretended to be:
A warrior.

174

Chapter Seventeen
Kandrigi lay on a couch, He knew this. But it was not
important. Nor was it important that he was cold, or that his
limbs trembled with shock and pain.
All was silent, Kandrigi was grateful for this. The
voice spoke to him occasionally, repeating only fragments of
its original message.
The silence was a void. Perhaps it was death.
Lamla sat on a stool in his chamber. Behind him, the
paintings on the walls reflected the light of many candles.
The clutter of furniture stood out like islands in this sea of
brilliant colour.
Kandrigi lay on a couch in front of him. His feet were
bandaged and his body coated with a soothing ointment.
Lamla had sat for a long time watching over his old friend.
Grief was like a spike in his heart. The wounds were terrible:
deep scores crisscrossed his body and his feet had been gored
and torn with the pincers. His left hand, too, was crushed and
disfigured but Hepteidon had preserved the right hand for
communication.
Lamla steeled himself and touched this right hand. He
spoke on it, moving slowly over the fingers:
It is I, Lamla, your friend. The sight of your wounds
moves me to deep pity.
Kandrigi waited until Lamla finished his speech before
withdrawing his hand.
175

Lamla sighed. Kandrigi was a stubborn man, Like

Hepteidon, like all men, he refused to see that he resisted the
inevitable. Tonight, both Kandrigi and Hepteidon would be
forced to recognise this. He sighed again.
He spoke on Kandrigis fingers again:
Believe me, Kandrigi, I speak to you as a friend. I did
not approve of this torture, but I was powerless to stop it.
This fact will not console you, I know. Nor does it console
me.
Kandrigi pulled his hand away. Lamla stood up and
produced his little bell from under his cloak. He rang it and
the bald youth hurried across to him.
Have word sent to Ma-Tin and Hepteidon that they are
to come to me immediately, he instructed him.
The youth bowed low and hurried away. Lamla pulled
his cloak tightly about him and began to pace up and down
the room, his impassive face radiant with the reflected colour
of the paintings. His mind struggled for detachment from
what was about to happen. He took no pride in having found
the solution to the problems of Kandrigis silence. Was it not
ordained that he would? In such a mystery as this, could
matters be otherwise? Hepteidon would understand this
before the morning came. It is a truly divine twist to the
whole mystery that the answer which Hepteidon might
destroy himself in eliciting from Kandrigi is already known
to me, he thought; yet I cannot reveal it, for I lack the
authority. Lamla was forced to smile inwardly at the
atrocious irony. He hoped Hepteidon would be wise and
accept his fate; if he was not wise, he would assuredly be
mad.
176

Ma-Tin entered the room and at once his bright yellow

cloak began to irradiate the reflected light. He walked quickly
across to Lamla, his thin smile a slit of irritation. He bowed
perfunctorily to his High Priest.
I am grateful to you for coming so quickly, Ma Tin,
Lamla said slowly, his inward irony entering his voice.
It is my duty to obey you, my High Priest, Ma-Tin
replied drily, not knowing why Lamla should show
amusement.
How goes it with the heavens? Do the stars hold their
places?
Ma-Tin cocked his brow. Lamlas speech was
beginning to puzzle him. However, he remained unmoved:
As they have moved throughout the past ages, so do
they move this night, High Priest.
That is good to hear. Tell me, Ma-Tin, will the stars
always move in their correct courses?
Now Ma-Tin became uneasy. Some change had taken
place, he told himself; but the stars do not change, therefore it
is Lamla who has changed.
The heavens do not change, High Priest, he said
slowly, his eyes narrowing watchfully, And there is no
reason for believing that they will.
Lamla pursed his lips in what might be a smile.
Tell me about the new star? Does it not change?
Ma-Tin paused before answering.
It changes, Lamla. But it obeys its own laws. Like the
seven great bodies, its law is different from that of the stars.

177

Is its law eternal, Ma-Tin? Lamla pressed with

peculiar excitement. We first observed it no more than three
winters ago.
Its law cannot be otherwise. I will admit that it is
different, as I have said. We have traditions of earlier
appearance of this star. It grows in brilliance and then fades
again. Perhaps that is its cycle, as it is the cycle of other
stars.
Lamla bowed. When he looked up again, his face was
subdued.
You are our Astronomer, Ma-Tin. I respect your
knowledge.
Ma-Tin inclined his head, feeling justifiably proud.
I am grateful for your respect, High Priest.
Lamla took his arm and led him to the couch on which
Kandrigi lay.
I have brought you here so that you might act as
witness to an event, he said deliberately. You recognise
Kandrigi, the priest of the Briga?
Ma-Tin had been staring at the supine figure with
distaste.
Yes, I recognise him.
Hepteidon is convinced that Kandrigi withholds a
secret from the Empire. He has examined him on this point,
but without success. You see that the examination was
thorough.
Ma-Tin glanced at the bandaged limbs.
Did he speak?
No. Hepteidon admitted surprise at the old priests
fortitude. The irony had returned to his voice.
178

It must be a secret worth keeping, to have withstood

such pain.
Indeed, Ma-Tin. Tonight, however, Hepteidon will
question Kandrigi again. I wish you to witness it.
They heard footsteps. Hepteidon walked purposefully
towards them, Lamla clasped Ma-Tins arm.
Remain here, I wish to speak to Hepteidon alone.
He met Hepteidon in the centre of the room. The young
priest was visibly impatient.
Why have you brought me here, Lamla? I told you I
had much to do before I embark.
Lamla grasped his wrist and smiled tenderly.
There are various matters, Hepteidon, he said gently.
I am glad that you prepare for your mission with such
eagerness. It is the way a man of affairs should act. Has the
navigator been notified of his new duty?
Hepteidon was mollified by Lamlas tenderness.
Yes, Lamla. Already he is aboard the naval ship.
Did he accept the instructions willingly?
He was intoxicated, but he appeared to welcome the
change.
Good. It is well that he will be useful. He has grown
fat in the service of the Ka.
Ma-Tin is here, Lamla, Has he brought the charts? Is
that why you sent for me?
Lamla lowered his eyes. He did not want Hepteidon to
see the sudden flush on his face. A strange excitement burned
in his blood at the prospect of telling Hepteidon the reason he
had been brought to him. Not since his youth had he
experienced such a commotion within himself.
179

The charts will be sent to you tomorrow, Hepteidon,

Do not fret on their behalf. You see also that Kandrigi is here.
Hepteidon looked over at the couch and then bent
slightly to peer at Lamla.
I see that, Lamla. It was your instruction. What is it to
me? I want no more to do with him.
Lamla strengthened his hold on Hepteidons wrist. His
voice rose in excitement as he spoke.
I have discovered the question, Hepteidon.
The young priest replied with genuine puzzlement:
What question, Lamla? All the questioning has been
done. There is nothing to be learned from the madman.
Lamla shook his wrist.
It came to me in a flash of inspiration, Hepteidon. I
had known that logic could not discover it, for logic is useless
without presumption. It is a simple question, and the answer
is equally simple. I want you to put this question to Kandrigi,
for I believe he cannot refuse to answer it.
Hepteidon did not seem to understand. He shook his
head.
There is no question, Lamla. Do you not understand
that? We have finished with the old priest. It is better that you
send him back to his tribe with a few gifts as a compensationprice.
I cannot order you to ask this question, Hepteidon, for
I have not the authority. But I can tell you the question and
let you decide for yourself whether it should be asked or not.
I do not want to know what the question is. I will not
listen, Lamla. He pulled his wrist free and pressed his hands
to his ears.
180

Lamla looked at him, paused, and instead of speaking,

he raised his fingers and began to spell on them.
Immediately, Hepteidon closed his eyes, Lamla smiled at the
sight. He stepped forward and spelled the question on
Hepteidons fingers.
The young priest turned away, bent double and swung
back to face Lamla in a single violent movement. He opened
his mouth, shook his head, and then quite suddenly went
completely still. Slowly, he took his hands from his ears and
opened his eyes.
I do not believe you, he said simply, his voice full
and calm. He interlocked his fingers at his chest and pressed
them together until the skin around his knuckles was white.
It is an absurd thing.
Lamla shrugged, feeling detached from Hepteidons
behaviour.
What you think of it is not important.
You are mad, Lamla. What you say is beyond reason.
I am not mad, Hepteidon, though I admit that what I
have told you is beyond reason. It came to me through
inspiration. However, we will not waste time discussing the
unreasonable. Before I ask you for your decision regarding
the asking of this question, let me say this: if, as I believe,
Kandrigi reveals his secret to us in reply to this question, I
feel certain that he will be cured of his strange ailments. He
will regain his sight and hearing, because there will no longer
be any reason for his remaining stricken like this. Kandrigi
will be whole again and in a month his wounds will have
healed, so that he will return to his land with his health. Do
you see the wisdom of this? Soon, you will begin a journey
181

into the north and perhaps you will sail as far as the land of
the Briga. What welcome do you think you will receive if a
crippled Kandrigi is among them and it is discovered that you
are the cause of his misfortune? Say the question on
Kandrigis fingers, no more. Ma-Tin and I will be with you.
We will take note of what he has to say.
Hepteidon continued to press his hands together; his
muscles stood out on his neck. Lamla took him by the elbow
and drew him over to the couch.
Ma-Tin had watched them with growing curiosity and
when Lamla led Hepteidon to the couch, he curled his lip and
asked:
What ails Hepteidon? I have never seen a man so
terrified.
Lamlas reply was curt:
Then he is afraid of nothing, Ma-Tin. He stopped
Hepteidon as the edge of the couch. Now, Hepteidon, look
down on Kandrigi and then give me your decision.
He looked down, groaned, and slipped to his knees.
Ma-Tin hurried to support him, but Lamla stopped him with a
sweep of his arm.
Tell me what ails him, Lamla. What are you doing to
him? Ma-Tin asked angrily, Why do you make him suffer
the sight of the man he has examined?
It is not my doing, Ma-Tin, believe me. It is a
necessary thing, beyond my control.
Hepteidon had taken Kandrigis hand between his two
and now he covered it with kisses. Lamlas detachment grew
and he turned to Ma-Tin and said:
182

You see, Ma-Tin, it is as I thought. Hepteidon loves

old Kandrigi. Then he added, his voice trailing away: But it
is a pitiful sight.
Ma-Tin snorted, This is an evil game, Lamla. Let me
take Hepteidon out of here.
No, There will be time enough for that, Lamla
replied. He bent down and placed his hands on Hepteidons
shoulders. Tell me what you will do, Hepteidon, he said
softly.
Hepteidon turned his tear-stained face to Lamla and
nodded. His green eyes were filled with hate. But Lamla did
not feel the sear of his hate: he saw that it turned back in
Hepteidon; that it was unsure of its object.
Hepteidon bent over Kandrigi and slowly spelled out
the question:
Tell me of the worlds end,
Without a flicker of reaction, Kandrigi began to speak:
It comes in time. All are helpless against time.
It comes through cold eternal space.
Be warned. Let your race be warned.
I have seen it. It is a great body, capable of great
destruction.
Through time it comes from afar; in time it will cross
the path of your earth.
Believe me, believe me, I grieve for you and your
race. There is no stopping the body, for it goes beyond my
power. I warn you, let your race be warned, so that they
might prepare themselves for their destruction.

183

It comes in time. It comes with time. Tell your people,

that they might prepare. Nothing can be done. I have seen it.
Irresistible it is, plunging through dark immensities of space.
Be warned, it will grow large in your sky and you will
know then that you have been forewarned.
Lamla could not conceal his triumph. Ma-Tin stared
before him in stupefaction, then he shuddered and ran from
the chamber.
Hepteidon pushed himself to his feet and stood
squarely before Lamla. His voice was venomous, projecting
the hate at Lamla:
His senses have not returned to him.

184

Chapter Eighteen

Korkungal had a dream as he slept crouched at the foot

of the couch upon which Sora lay. Three small men came and
pricked his body with tiny spears. They took no notice of
Korkungal as they industriously attacked him. Becoming
annoyed, he swept them away. They returned and set to
pricking him again, and again Korkungal brushed them away
like flies. A third time they came and darted at him with their
spears and a third time Korkungal reached the limit of his
patience and drove them away.
They did not return. Later, Korkungal heard a mighty
thrum-thrum, like an army on the march, and he shook in his
sleep for the want of powers of resistance. His fear became so
great that he awoke and sat up, shouting in alarm and groping
about him for his weapons. The clamour as of an army
diminished and in its place he heard a solitary beat, thrudthrud, coming from outside the watch-tower. He calmed and
looked about him. Sora stood by the window. She had drawn
the curtain and she stared wide-eyed down at the common
below. Korkungal took a deep breath, leaped to his feet and
strode to the window.
In the centre of the common between the Temple and
the tower, lit by the rising sun, a figure stood, legs apart,
185

beating his spear on his shield. It was Harmesh. He was

covered from head to foot by leather armour, each piece
closely moulded to the contours of his slim body. On his head
he wore a metal helmet surmounted by a golden disc.
Korkungal could not doubt that the challenge was for him:
Harmeshs dark eyes burned into his. And when Harmesh
saw him, he raised his spear and shouted in the tongue of the
Ka.
Korkungal shook a clenched fist in acknowledgement
and turned away. Sora was staring at him, her brows arched
quizzically. Korkungal glanced at her face sleep had
smeared her make-up and tumbled her hair and then down
her vestment to her tiny feet. He was happy to look at her and
in his happiness he felt himself grow strong and self-united.
He pressed his fists to his chest and grinned widely at her.
Sora replied by softening her features and lowering her eyes.
Korkungal went over to where his weapons hung,
flexing his muscles to drive the stupor of sleep away as he
walked. Sora followed him and helped him dress for battle.
She strapped the breastplate about his body, then the
scabbard about his waist; she fetched his red cloak from the
foot of the couch and stood tiptoed as she fastened its clasp.
While Korkungal put the helmet down on to his head, she
lifted his sword from its place on the wall and presented it to
him with mock-serious ceremony. Then she sat on the couch
and appraised him, a quick smile playing on her lips a smile
composed of pride and the humour of a woman seeing the
doings of men.
Korkungal raised his cloak for her to see him more
clearly. The weapons and armour were still strange to him,
186

but he had to trust them. Sora clapped and pointed to his

hands and made signs to say that he had neither shield nor
spear, while Harmesh below had. Korkungal went up to
Harmeshs chamber and selected two spears and a light round
shield of bull leather. Now that he was prepared for fighting,
he felt the familiar surge of excitement that goose pimpled
his skin and tickled the nape of his neck. The deathpossibility came to him in a new way, filling him with a
strange relief. It made him unusually confident, almost
reckless, as though his life was charmed.
He ran downstairs and out into the sunlight. Harmesh
had kept up his beating of spear on shield; seeing Korkungal
now, he increased its tempo, as much to incite himself as to
insult Korkungal. Sora stood by the door, her eyes hooded
against the sun. She raised her hand as though in blessing.
Korkungal gave her a quick glance of pride and walked past,
his eyes riveting on to the crouched figure of Harmesh.
He walked forward, every instinct alert, shield high
and the two spears resting against its rim. Harmesh peered
over his shield, serious and also watchful. The disc atop his
helmet glinted brilliantly in the sun. They closed on one
another, pace by pace, until they were shield to shield.
Korkungal dropped one of his spears behind him and lowered
the other and tapped it against the youths shield. Harmesh
sidestepped and plunged his spear at Korkungals flank. The
Brigan deflected it with his shield and drove his own spear
into Harmeshs arm, tearing a gash through the leather of his
armour. Surprised at being so easily outmanoeuvred,
Harmesh fell back and took up a more solidly defensive
position. Korkungal bared his teeth at him in a mocking smile
187

and padded forward, moving faster now and darting to left

and right to confuse Harmesh.
Suddenly, a figure rushed past him and stopped in front
of Harmesh. It was Klimbah, towering over his young charge,
his massive arms gesticulating angrily. Korkungal heard him
shout in the fluting tongue and Harmesh reply in thin insolent
tones. Klimbah seemed to reach the limit of his patience: he
wrenched the spear from Harmeshs hand and swept the
slight figure to one side with an almost casual swing of his
arm. He held the spear high and pointed to it as he continued
to scold the momentarily dazed Harmesh. Then he grasped it
with his two hands and with little effort broke it in two.
Harmesh screamed with rage and ran at him. Korkungal saw
what Klimbah did not : the glint of the sword blade; but
before he could shout a warning Harmesh had sunk it into the
giants belly and was twisting it with well-practiced skill.
Klimbah dropped the broken spear but he was dead before he
could use his hands to defend himself. Korkungal did not
think, this reaction had been in him before: he hefted his
spear with care and cast it. It pierced Harmeshs armour and
entered his heart, as Korkungal had intended, and he jerked
forward and fell across the body of Klimbah.
Korkungal paused to regain his breath before he
walked over and took up his other spear. He approached the
two bodies slowly, tremoring as usual at the sight of death.
With his foot he rolled Harmesh off the giant. He had been
prepared to kill Harmesh, though it would have been more
fitting if it had been a warriors death in combat. The sight of
Klimbah filled him with pity for the waste of his life. It
grieved him that it would not be avenged. Harmesh would
188

have died that day anyway. Putting a spear in his heart had
been a mercy he was unworthy of.
He threw his spear and shield to the ground and
loosened his cloak and laid it over Klimbah. Then he dragged
Harmeshs body across the common to the side of the
Temple. Using his sword, he mutilated and dismembered it.
He threw the pieces out on to the grass, scattering them well,
and when that was done he sighed a long sigh of relief.
Hearing Sora call, he looked up. A line of soldiers
stood between him and the watch-tower. The captain in
charge stepped forward and called to him, but Korkungal did
not understand him because he spoke the fluting tongue. The
Captain waited for a reply and when none came he signalled
four of his men to advance. They came up to Korkungal with
a certain nonchalance, their spears held in relaxed positions.
He waited until they were about four paces away before
rushing them, his mighty warrior-arm arcing the sword in
great bloody swathes. Surprise was on his side and by the
time he had crushed all their resistance to him three were
lying on the ground, two of them dead and the third
grievously wounded, and the fourth was running away,
crying with terror. Korkungal took advantage of the ensuing
confusion the line of soldiers broke and retreated and their
captain was totally occupied with calling them to order to
run and retrieve the shield. He went back to the wall of the
Temple and faced the soldiers, shield up and sword ready, the
red glaze of battle-lust lighting his eyes. A great peace filled
him and he was happily without memory.
The captain managed to bring his troops under control
and get them in line again. He slapped the frenzied soldier
189

into some kind of consciousness and sent him running off in

the direction of the gate and the beach. Then he called to
Korkungal again and signalled that he was to throw down his
arms. He made gestures of peace and reconciliation and then
gestures of a terrible death to show Korkungal the
alternatives open to him. When Korkungal made no response
of any kind, he ordered his line of soldiers to advance. They
came forward slowly, their spears ready and their faces
contorted with fear and concentration. The captain followed
behind, chanting encouragement in a monotonous voice.
Korkungal did not move until they were close; then he
ran along the wall and attacked the soldiers at one end of the
line, swinging his sword and sweeping his shield. The
remainder of the line broke into confusion as it tried to turn to
face Korkungal and found itself jammed against the wall of
the Temple. The captain ran among the soldiers, screaming
and manhandling them in an attempt to get them to reform
further out on the common. Korkungal carved a path through
the tangled mass, leaving dead and wounded soldiers behind
him. They made some resistance, but it was difficult to wield
a spear at such close quarters. All at once. as though obeying
an unspoken command, the surviving soldiers turned and ran
away. Their captain paused only long enough to look about
him in wonder before running after them.
Korkungal leaned against the wall of the Temple.
Blood and sweat commingled on his skin, trickling out of his
hair, down his arms and from under his breastplate. He was
grateful that the wall was in shadow, for the sky and the
watch-tower were brilliant in the sunlight.
190

He rested, content to feel the excitement of battle,

ignoring the cuts and gashes on his limbs and back.
Sora crossed the common to him. She surveyed the
battlefield with some wonderment, but without any sign of
revulsion for the carnage that littered the erstwhile green
grass. She produced a jug of water from under her cloak and
handed it to him. As Korkungal drank, she wiped his body
with the end of her cloak, indifferent to the fact that it became
stained red. Korkungal returned the jug to her and she went
back to the doorway of the watch-tower.
Six soldiers appeared on the edge of the common,
reinforcements armed with shields and heavy metal axes. One
visibly gagged at the sight of his dead comrades. They did
not advance; rather, they seemed to be waiting. Another
group of axe-bearing soldiers came around the back of the
Temple and took up station between the common and the
quarter of the priests.
Korkungal took a fresh grip of his sword and shield
and crouched in readiness. He feared the axes. but his
destruction would be hard-won and paid for many times over.
Such is the value of a warrior in comparison to a common
soldier.
Three captains, one of them the routed captain, came
marching up the street leading from the beach at the head of a
column of over twenty soldiers. They formed themselves into
ranks of six while the captains walked out on to the common.
They were deep in conversation and did no more than glance
across at Korkungal. Then one of them stepped forward and
addressed him in a loud voice. He gestured to the dead
soldiers and pointed behind him at the ranked troops.
191

Korkungal did not understand him and replied by crouching

lower. The captain who had spoken shrugged and spoke to
his fellow captains. They nodded in agreement with what he
had to say and the three of them retreated behind the line of
axe-bearing soldiers. Just then, two priests came round the
front of the Temple and hurried over to the Captains. Another
priest appeared, walking more proudly. He had long black
hair and wore a yellow cloak. Korkungal had seen him
before, down on the beach. He spoke to the captains and they
listened attentively. He looked with keen eyes at Korkungal
and then gave orders, pointing and demonstrating with
condescension. The captains shouted to their troops and
immediately the two lines of axe-bearing soldiers began to
walk towards each other. The ranked soldiers divided into
two groups, one going over to the watch-tower, the second
taking up position at the corner of the temple to Korkungals
left. Meanwhile, the other two lines of soldiers met in the
centre and turned to present Korkungal with two ranks of
certain death.
The yellow-cloaked priest borrowed the sword of one
of the captains, the routed one, and strode purposively across
in Korkungals direction. He made a show of wielding the
sword with vigorous ease. When he reached the first body he
stopped and stared down at it; then he stared at the other
bodies that were strewn about at Korkungals feet. He spoke
in a harsh, blunt voice, gesturing at the massed soldiers about
him and pointing with the tip of his sword at the dead bodies.
Korkungal did not understand him either. He took one
threatening step forward and shook his sword at the priest.
There was a general stir among the soldiers in response, but
192

the priest did not flinch. Instead, he stared at Korkungal until

he stepped back to the wall. Then he shouted over his
shoulder and one of the priests bobbed his head and ran away
around the front of the Temple. The longhaired priest gave
Korkungal one last hard look before walking with the same
measured steps back to join the captains at the edge of the
common.
In the pause that followed the only sounds to be heard
were the creaking of leather and the odd jingle of metal
touching on metal. The sun beat down on the soldiers and
again Korkungal was thankful that he was in the shade of the
Temple.
A black-robed priest came out of the priests quarter
and walked slowly on to the common. Korkungal recognised
him as the High Priest, with whom he had had an interview
not many days before. The High Priest signalled to the
captains that their soldiers were to fall back and the captains
hastened to obey this order. He approached Korkungal until
he was within a spears length of him. There was no fear in
his face. He looked at the dead soldiers with an impassive
expression.
You have done terrible work this day, Korkungal,
warrior of the Briga, he said reflectively. The Ka pays
dearly for an example of your prowess.
Korkungal had difficulty in speaking: the exertions of
battle and the tension of awaiting death were very great.
It is nothing much, priest, he said slowly. Many
more will die before the sun sets.
Lamla raised his brows slightly.
193

I believe you, warrior. It is not a vain boast. I have

never before seen so much destruction by the hand of one
man. But tell me, Korkungal, is this mere sport or is there
true justification for this slaughter?
I was challenged and I defend myself, Korkungal said
with a shrug.
Did these soldiers challenge you?
No.
Who then?
Harmesh.
Ah, Lamla sighed. He walked over and lifted the red
cloak. Then he walked about looking at the ground. He bent
stiffly and lifted an object, which he brought back to
Korkungal. He raised it for him to see. It was the head of
Harmesh. In death, his lips were curled in spite and
arrogance.
Lamla studied it for some time before speaking.
You made his death very shameful, Korkungal. Was
this necessary?
He murdered Klimbah in treachery, priest. His life
was already forfeit to me, so his death was not a price for the
death of Klimbah.
Lamla dropped the head and rubbed his hands.
A harsh morality, but a just one, Korkungal. I will
respect it. But why the slaughter of so many fine soldiers?
Did they also challenge you?
They attacked me, Korkungal replied bluntly.
I see. Be patient with me while I speak to the captains,
Korkungal. I think there has been a sad misunderstanding.
194

Lamla picked his way over the bloodied grass and was
met halfway by the three captains and the yellow-cloaked
priest. All bowed to him, except the priest, who merely
nodded. He spoke to them in a gentle voice and the captains
answered him respectfully one at a time, repeating
themselves often. As he returned to Korkungal, one of the
captains shouted orders and the soldiers who bore axes and
shields broke rank and retreated to the vicinity of the watchtower. The remaining soldiers raised their spears and rested
them on the ground. They broke into an excited chatter,
which sundered what had hitherto been an intense, brooding
silence.
This time Lamla came up to Korkungals shield. He
smiled a wan, weary smile.
It seems, Korkungal, that the Captains merely want to
retrieve their dead, Will you allow that? he said with mockirony.
Korkungal grunted and looked down at the High Priest.
When the fighting is at an end they can bury all their
dead.
No, no, warrior of the Briga, Lamla cried, raising his
hands as though in sudden alarm. The fighting is at an end.
The Captains recognise their error. They had interfered
merely to prevent bloodshed. Though you may not know it,
fighting is not permitted within the walls of the Ka. But
Harmesh knew this and it was he who incited you to battle, so
the blame for all this slaughter lies with him. It is regrettable
that this misunderstanding has caused so much death and I
have explained to the Captains that you cannot be held
responsible.
195

I will wait until the soldiers leave before I sheath my

sword, priest.
They are leaving now, Korkungal. Besides, I will
myself guarantee your safety. You see that I stand between
you and the soldiers.
Very well, I will put up my sword.
Korkungal cleaned the sword on the grass and slid it
into his scabbard. Lamla waved but once and instantly the
captains shouted and the soldiers began to leave the common.
They had to push their way through the crowd of artisans and
their families that had gathered in the streets leading to the
common.
Only the priest in the yellow cloak remained. He
pointed the sword, which he had not returned to the captain,
at Korkungal and shouted angrily at Lamla. Korkungal drew
his sword again and stepped forward, but Lamla laid his two
hands on his shield and said:
Have patience, Korkungal. Hepteidons anger has
other causes. I will speak to him and quieten him. Put up your
sword.
He hurried over to Hepteidon and laid his hand on the
fist that held the sword. He spoke soothingly and gently eased
the sword away from him. For a second it looked as though
Hepteidon would strike his High Priest, but Lamla continued
talking to him and finally succeeded in persuading him to
leave the common.
Lamla smiled to reassure Korkungal as he approached.
There, Korkungal. We will have no more fighting in
the Ka. Hepteidon is amenable to reason, that must be said to
his credit. He smirked in a peculiar way as he spoke these
196

last words, and Korkungal was surprised to see something

break in the otherwise level gaze of the old priest. However,
you will want to bathe and rest now after this mornings
work, Korkungal. If you will come with me, I will see that
my priests attend to you.
Korkungal looked with mistrust at the huddle of
buildings behind the Temple. Then he looked over at the
watch-tower.
Sara stood in the open doorway, wrapped in her stained
cloak. Lamla followed his gaze and said:
That old tower is a cold, gaunt place, Korkungal. My
priests will give you better attention. Lamla deliberately
paused before adding: Besides, I am sure you would like to
see your priest, Kandrigi.
Korkungals expression changed, much to Lamlas
secret astonishment.
The sternness of the warrior was replaced by a distant
look of longing. Korkungal remembered his vow of the
previous evening: he must persuade Kandrigi to leave the Ka
today.
But then he had a vision of the evening he first laid his
eyes on the white wall of the city, and he saw there a man
different from the one he was now. He trembled and tears
pricked his eyes for the Warrior of the Briga the Ka had
finally destroyed.

197

Chapter Nineteen

Lamla led Korkungal to the priests wash-house and

ordered the old priest there to his feet. As the old man
patiently arranged his bowls and ewers of oil, Korkungal
hesitated and then turned to Lamla.
I will not be served by this slave, High Priest, he said
with sudden fury.
It is his allotted duty, Korkungal, Lamla said
reasonably. It will not shame you to submit to him.
The old man approached Korkungal and tried to
unfasten his scabbard. His mouth hung open and dribbled in
his senility and he seemed amused by the Brigans resistance
to him. When he made a more determined effort to grab the
buckle, single-minded in his desire to fulfil his duty,
Korkungal swung his shield and struck him to the ground.
Lamla hissed in anger and Korkungal turned to him, drawing
his sword.
One more death this day will be as nothing, priest, he
said with fierce conviction.
Lamla stepped back and studied Korkungal.
Why this obsession with death, Korkungal? You do
not embrace life with the joy of a victorious warrior. Are you
unhappy to he alive?
198

The doorway darkened and both Korkungal and Lamla

looked over. Sora glided into the room and went straight up
to Korkungal without glancing at either of the priests.
Silently, she took sword and shield from Korkungal. She
undressed him and brought water and oil and washed away
the sweat and blood.
She had cleaned her face and neck of all the cosmetics.
Her skin was smooth and dark-brown, her eyes less luminous
now that the contrast had been removed.
When she had finished washing and anointing him, she
put a clean shirt on him, taking it from the corner where the
old priest cowered. She kicked the breastplate, shield and
helmet away and gave him only the sword and scabbard to
wear.
Finished, she nodded to herself, then left the washhouse without looking at Lamla or the attendant.
Lamla stepped forward and said:
Do you know that she is only a common whore? His
voice turned acid as he spoke the last word.
Korkungal suddenly seemed very tall to Lamla, like a
Merura noble. He replied with a stinging contempt:
What do you know of women, priest?
Lamla stared at Korkungal, thinking, remembering the
new rumours about this barbarian. He turned to the door,
through which Sora had gone.
A whore? he thought, seeing irony. Then he shrugged
and dismissed the matter.
It was not his concern. Come now and see Kandrigi,
Korkungal.
199

They walked side by side to Lamlas quarters,

Korkungal tall and strong beside the old priest. In the corridor
leading to his chamber, Lamla said:
I must forewarn you that Kandrigi has been very ill.
Even now he lies near to death. My priests have tended him
to the best of their ability, but they are not workers of
miracles.
Korkungal was unmoved by this news.
Kandrigi chose to come to this place. He boasted of
his knowledge of its ways.
He is without sight or hearing, Korkungal. The illness
is mysterious. My priests can find no known cause.
Korkungal made no reply. He walked with a firm step
by Lamlas side.
Though it was still daylight, the curtains in the
chamber were drawn and the multitude of candles cast a
brilliant light on to the walls and furnishings. Lamla led
Korkungal to the couch where Kandrigi lay.
You see how wasted he is, Lamla said evenly. We
have had to bind his limbs because of the sores.
Korkungal looked at the shrunken form of the priest
without feeling. His cheekbones stood out on his face and his
lips were blue. Lamla stepped forward and spoke on
Kandrigis fingers:
It is I, Lamla. I have brought Korkungal, the warrior,
to see you. Will you greet him?
Kandrigi paused before drawing his hand back. Lamla
caught it again.

200

Is this the way to greet a warrior of your tribe,

Kandrigi? Korkungal suffers to see you thus, he said on his
fingers.
This time Kandrigi wrenched his hand away. The sigh
that escaped between his lips showed that it pained him to do
it.
Lamla remained still for a long time, his hands
hovering over Kandrigi, as though undecided on what to do
next.
In that space of time Kandrigi felt the cold at last
engulf him. Turning all his attention to the dark that
accompanied the cold, he died.
Lamla finally stood erect.
He is very ill, Korkungal, he said, allowing a note of
sympathy to enter his voice. He will not speak to you today.
Perhaps tomorrow he will be better.'
He signalled that Korkungal was to follow him into the
centre of the chamber. Sitting down on the high-backed chair,
he said:
Do you know, Korkungal, that Kandrigi came to this
Ka a long time ago, when we ware both young?
Korkungal nodded. He did not speak.
We were friends then, Lamla said musingly.
Korkungal remained silent. He was staring across at
Kandrigi. Something warm and active stirred deep within
him, but he ignored it and it went away. Then he grew
restless and he wanted to leave. He circled the chair that
Lamla sat on. Lamla clasped his hands, waiting for the sword
to strike. Korkungal appeared before him again.
Will he live? Korkungal asked.
201

Lamla looked up. The figure before him was huge and
powerful, yet he did not fear him. If Korkungal were to kill
him, it would not be an act that originated within him.
I do not know, he replied.
Korkungal glanced over at Kandrigi.
Will he live? he repeated doggedly.
No, Lamla said quietly. He felt an immense surge of
pity, as sharp as cloves and without end. It was not pity for
Kandrigi, nor was it pity for himself. He does not want to
live.
Korkungal settled his sword belt on his hip as though
in preparation for leaving. When he spoke, his voice was
calm and full:
I do now know what has happened here, priest. Nor do
I care. Only one thing do I know: I no longer fear death. I
will go now. I will not return to the land of the Briga. I will
go into the Grasslands.
He spun on his heels and walked with firm steps from
the chamber.

Korkungal went to the watch-tower and selected a

shield and two spears from among Harmeshs collection of
weapons. Then he walked down through the artisan quarter.
The streets were filled with an excited and restless throng.
Many recognised him. They either drew back in superstitious
fear or shook their fists at him for the slaughter of Imperial
soldiers. But they gave him passage through the streets, partly
through fear and awe, but mostly because he was not the real
cause of their unease. He went down past the warehouses and
202

out through the gate, the soldiers on guard there offering no

obstacle.
He walked to the hollow where he and Kandrigi had
slept the night before going into the Ka. He opened his
bundle and took out his stone axe. The throwing sticks did
not interest him now, so he thrust them away. He put
Kandrigis old cloak around his shoulders.
He ate some dried meat and then climbed out of the
hollow and sat on his heels in the grass. The white wall of the
Ka was touched red by the setting sun. He could hear the
shouts and screams in the city clearly. The sight and sound
fused with his own deep, incoherent rage. He sat on, working
out tactics whereby a force might take the city. He pictured
the taking, the destruction and the burning. He trembled with
the lust that such a picture aroused in him.
Lamla took out his little bell and rang it. When the
shaven youth came, he ordered him to bring a flask of the
reddish-brown liquid. He drank from the silver cup and
immediately felt its effect. His head lightened and seemed to
expand in concentric circles of increasing vagueness. He
filled the cup again and drained it. He expanded without limit
and grew aware of a silence about him. Fear gripped him for
a moment, then it passed away and was replaced by
indifference. He told himself that, logically, nothing of the
past had been changed, that he was still High Priest of the Ka,
with the duties and responsibilities of that charge. Tomorrow
he would attend to the affairs of the city as though nothing
had happened.
203

He drank again. Something had changed, however.

Korkungal, the simple-minded warrior, realised it too, though
how he had come to know it Lamla was not sure. Not to fear
death was in itself a source of great fear. He began to feel
restless. The Ka remains real, he told himself, no matter what
happens. And then the terrible thought struck him, coming as
though from outside: It is real only because you want it to be
real.
At the End, he realised, the fact that the past was
unchanged was a fact of absolutely no importance.
He drank again, draining the last of the liquor from the
flask. He did not feel frightened, and he was too old, too wise
for terror. Instead he saw the comedy of it. The limitless
universe moved in laughter.
Lamla was grateful for his wisdom.
Later in the night he was awakened by the arrival of
Hepteidon. The young priest no longer wore the yellow gown
of the Astronomy Priesthood: a sleeveless leather jerkin
covered his body, revealing muscular limbs as yet pale for the
want of sun.
He was a different man now, more livid, restrained
through physical control, not through piety. He treated Lamla
as a complete stranger.
Ma-Tin is dead, he said factually. He fell from the
top of the Khumsung. Perhaps it was an accident.
Lamla nodded. Ma-Tin had not been wise. But then he
had never been a wise man.
204

Hepteidon swung about to look at Kandrigi lying on

the couch in the corner of the chamber. His tunic creaked,
being new.
What is Kandrigis condition? he asked, showing
more warmth at the mention of the name.
Before Lamla could reply, before he actually knew
what he would say, Hepteidon walked across to the couch.
He bent over the shrivelled figure and touched an arm. He
straightened then and called:
Come here, Lamla.
Lamla hastened over.
Touch him.'
Lamla grasped Kandrigis hand and tried to raise it.
The hand and arm were rigid.
He is dead, Hepteidon, he said weakly, feeling a
sense of betrayal. He could not avoid the thought that
Kandrigi had somehow been graced by his death. He had
faced something directly, an act that would be impossible for
most other men.
He is to be buried within the Ka, Hepteidon said
curtly. The people must honour him as a saint. It may help to
calm their growing fear.
There are always rumours among the common
people, Lamla interjected sourly.
Nevertheless, they begin to fear the star. They already
know Kandrigis prophecy. It will become harder to restrain
them.
Lamla cocked his head with impatience: We will keep
order by force if reason and piety will not do it.
205

This is only the beginning, Lamla. Hepteidon turned

away. Tomorrow I sail into the North. I will not see this
place again.
Lamla broke through his introspection: Go with my
blessing, Hepteidon, he said automatically.
Without replying, Hepteidon left, his tunic creaking
and his swinging arms flashing in the candle-light.
Lamla knelt by the couch, sinking back into his
introspection. The massed candles flickered in the chamber,
lighting the wall paintings and the furnishings.
Lamla did not see this. Everything was transparent,
without foundation.
Lamla saw this, even though his eyes were closed.
It was dark and a warm breeze blew at Korkungals
back. The scents of the Grasslands came to him now and they
were sweet. The White Light above the Temple glowed. The
shouting and crying and the sound of fighting were loud in
the city.
A figure approached him from the direction of the Ka.
Sora walked up to him, paused, and then knelt before him. He
looked at her and she returned his look. He stretched out his
right hand and touched her clear cheek. It was warm and dry.
She clasped his hand in hers and kissed it.
Korkungal stood up and went down into the hollow.
The Light of the Ka did not penetrate here. He lay out on his
back and gazed up at the stars. One of them was brighter than
all the others. It stood out with brilliant starkness, suspended
clear above the warm, odorous air of the Grasslands.
206

Sora came and stood over him. She watched him for a
while. Then she raised her black vestment and lay on top of
him, drawing her yellow cloak over both of them, until
Korkungal could no longer see the stars or feel the eddying
air.
Chapter Twenty

The sun had not yet cleared the mists from the
Grasslands when Korkungal awoke. He blinked, then rolled
out from under Soras cloak and scrambled to his feet. The
air was cool and fresh; the sky above was unbroken blue. He
ran up and down the hollow to warm himself, beating his
arms against his sides.
Sora awoke. She shivered, huddling in her cloak.
Korkungal encouraged her to run with him, but she declined.
She watched him run for a while and then climbed out of the
hollow.
She returned not long after, bringing fresh milk and
bread. Behind her trotted Uos, red-eyed and blue with the
cold. He slid down the incline and hunkered low.
You are leaving the Ka today, he said forthrightly to
Korkungal. It will be a good day for starting a long journey.
He eyed Kandrigis old cloak, until Korkungal slipped
it off his shoulders and gave it to him.
Sora shared out the food and the three of them sat in a
circle and ate. When they had finished, Korkungal began to
wipe the dew off his weapons. Uos watched him for a while
and then said:
207

Your stay in the Ka was short, Korkungal. And yet it

was momentous, was it not? Little did you expect visions and
slaughter here, eh? No matter, greater things are to come. I
will tell you this in friendship for whoever Sora loves I
must also love: like a rock you are, impervious to water; but
when the land twists and tears, the rock will shiver and lie as
sand beneath the sea. Do not be frightened of what I say, for
all things must come to an end.
Now, while you are busy I will take the opportunity to
finish my tale. It is not long. You remember how Chorsa and
Agnanna decided to share the orchard equally between Asta
and the people against Astas will. Well, they went ahead and
did just that. Asta was furious and threatened all kinds of
revenge, but Chorsa easily quietened her by telling her that
she would take the people away and so leave her without
protection if the giant should return. The people, of course,
were happy to get control of part of the orchard. During the
years that followed they divided their time between working
in Astas portion of the orchard and their own. And in time
Asta became mollified and reconciled to the arrangement.
Now, as time passed Chorsa came to see that she was
no longer needed. She was only too glad to get away, for the
strain of seeing to the wants of the men and their families had
been very great. Agnanna continued to play with the people,
delighting in their happiness. But she soon recognised that
there was a limit to the happiness and so she began to think of
asking Asta to surrender part of her share of the orchard. She
mentioned it to the men and they agreed to support her in this
demand. Asta was furious and tried to resist, but it was of no
use. Agnanna drew a new boundary in the orchard which cut
208

Astas share in half. The happiness of the people increased in

proportion and Agnanna basked contentedly in the warmth of
their joy.
This arrangement remained the same for several
seasons, when the men spoke among themselves and decided
that they should own all the orchard. They said nothing to
Agnanna and she knew nothing of the conspiracy until the
men rose early one morning and drove Asta away. She cursed
them and promised to inflict the most terrible punishment on
them for their presumption. They laughed at her and told each
other that an old woman could do little against the men who
had driven away the giant, a creature she herself had been
helpless against.
So Asta went and lived on a rocky part of the island,
well away from the orchard. Agnanna did not trouble herself
about the methods the men had used to get rid of Asta. Why
should she when the happiness of the people positively
overflowed? However, they came to her one day and told her
to leave, explaining that they had need of her no more.
Agnanna was heartbroken; even so, she left them. The men
organised themselves for the proper government of the
orchard. They elected a king and he created nobles, to carry
out his commands and see to the welfare of the people
generally.
Asta, meanwhile, had been brooding away to herself
on her rocky patch. She made her plans. One night she crept
down to the orchard and set fire to it. The men could not put
it out and by morning nothing was left of the apple trees
except charred stumps.
209

Afterwards, they called on Chorsa to come and help

them. She felt obliged to come; after all, she had introduced
them to the island. She showed them how to pick berries and
roots, how to fish and search the shore for shellfish. Agnanna
returned too, knowing that a little happiness, no matter how
hard it is earned, is better than no happiness at all. Asta never
returned, and nobody knows what became of her.
Uos looked up when he had finished and grinned
broadly.
Do you understand my tale now, Korkungal? he
asked.
Korkungal continued to wipe his spears as he replied:
No, I do not, storyteller. I am a simple warrior. Tell
such subtle stories to the priests.
Korkungal spoke with a public tone; but he also
glanced over at Sora.
Uos noticed both facts. He grinned triumphantly:
Ah, but you do, simple warrior. You cant hide that
from me!

Hepteidon spent his last night in the Ka among the

soldiers camped between the corrals and the pond. These
were the heavily armed troops who had confronted
Korkungal on the previous day. They had not been used to
quell the riots in the city during the night: their weapons were
not appropriate.
In the morning, military patrols were sent out to locate
Korkungal. It was not till noon that the report was brought,
210

that he was in a hollow just outside the city, in the company

of an old man and a girl.
Hepteidon took it upon himself to seize Korkungal. He
requested and received a troop of the axe-men and he led
them out of the city.
Using the old man as an interpreter, he commanded
Korkungal to come with him to the beach, where he would
embark on the ships sailing north. Korkungal refused and
retreated to the far side of the hollow. He crouched behind his
shield, one spear stuck in the ground at his back and the other
at the ready, and offered battle to anyone who dared.
Hepteidon had the axe-men surround the hollow and then
ordered them to attack Korkungal from all sides. At the cost
of one soldier wounded, not seriously, Korkungal was at
length disarmed and subdued. Then Hepteidon had to take
personal charge of Korkungal to protect him from the axemen, who wanted to revenge the death of their comrades.
Before taking Korkungal away, Hepteidon, as though
on an afterthought, ordered that the old man and the girl be
taken to the ships as well. Korkungal would be more tractable
if his woman remained with him. The old man could act as
interpreter.
It was early evening before the two ships were finally
under way, gliding smoothly out of the bay, their prows
turning around the headland to point into the north.

211