The White City

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 Priest’s quarters. Kandrigi heard the swish of his robes. The young priest’s 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 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 well-packed 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, 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 Kandrigi’s 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.’

  ‘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 Kandrigi’s 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.’

  Lamla’s 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.’

  ‘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.’

  Lamla’s 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?’

  ‘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 G
reat 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 Lamla’s 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 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 Priest’s 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?’

  ‘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 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?’ Lamla’s 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 sea’s edge, watching the tide’s ebb and flow? What did we not discuss? Did we not examine all, the attributes of the Great Mother? The mystery of Her son’s 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 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 moon’s 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, Tania. I do not like Lamla 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?’

  ‘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 o
ld.’

  ‘Yes. I have heard reports.’

  Kandrigi sat bolt upright.

  ‘What do they say?’

  ‘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.’

  ‘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.’

  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.

  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.

  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 winter’s 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.

  Kandrigi’s eyes glowed and his face wreathed with hesitant, childlike smiles. ‘I do, Lamla. To see the night-world like this is a strangely moving sight. This is what the Mother sees when She looks down upon us.’

  Lamla’s 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.’

  Chapter Six