The White City
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 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.’
‘No, Captain of Military Advice, I do not.’
‘Why do you call me captain? I am Korkungal of the Briga, a King’s 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 don’t 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.’
‘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 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.
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 month’s sailing along which we could not cover. I don’t know how many times my people have taken ships up on to the Northern Sea and tried to clear it for trading.’
‘Oh, we have learned to live with it. As you say, they are a nuisance more than anything else. But tell me, don’t your people trade on the Inland ‘
‘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 Ferlung’s 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 girl’s hair. She nodded. Ferlung spoke again, smiling warmly. He pointed to Korkungal, who stepped forward.
‘Are you the woman who gave me water to drink at the pond?’
The woman’s 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 woman’s 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.
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 companion’s 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.
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 Uöos, 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 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, Uöos.’
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, Uöos. We have not come to argue with you. I wish only to ask you a question.’
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 man’s eyes lit up and settled on Korkungal.
‘Do you not know, Korkungal?’
Korkungal shrank away from the old man’s 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 Uöos 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 Uöos: ‘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 Uöos. ‘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.
‘Come again, Korkungal,’ Uöos 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.
Chapter Fourteen