“They use them for anchor cables, mostly. It takes a very large cable to hold big ships against the wind.”
“And you know this how?”
His face went blank. He knew this because he had lived a life aboard ship. It had not, however, been his own life. Having lived a number of other people’s lives was not something to discuss at this particular time. “I think I read about it,” he said.
Xulai merely nodded. Rope did not interest her as much as the strange headdresses worn by the crews of workers, some of whom were digging out sections of the road, others of whom were filling the sections with large stones or dumping sand and gravel on them to make a more or less level surface. When the wagons approached, the people laid planks across the less level areas and stood aside with their heads down while the wagons were driven slowly across.
Ahead of them, a massive wall along the road was capped by a mud and stone village plastered against the cliff-side like a cluster of cave swallow nests: earthen houses packed close beneath deep overhangs of thatch, each little cell joined to others by twisting flights of stone steps and small, walled landings. Here the foundation walls of the houses were also held in place by heavy nets and deeply driven anchors. As they approached, they passed people carrying water from the cistern. Probably women, Xulai thought, though the figures were indistinguishable behind their robes and strange headdresses: boxes of stiffened fabric jutting forward on either side and down in front of their eyes, cutting off all vision except for a narrow view below and before them.
“You there,” someone shouted. Bear pulled the horses to a halt and awaited the approach of the bulky man who had hailed them. That is, if it was a man, Xulai thought.
“You were lookin’ at them!” the man exploded when he arrived at the wagon side. “Lookin’!”
“At what?” asked Precious Wind.
“Them: our people. We don’t take kindly to people lookin’, and her there in the wagon, she was.”
“Me?” squeaked Xulai. “I was looking at . . . ah, the nets that hold your houses up. My friend was saying such rope is very hard to find. Also, your clothes are . . . we’ve never seen clothes like yours before.” The man wore the same jutting side pieces and frontispiece and could obviously not see them. Though he spoke to them angrily, his eyes were fixed upon his feet.
“We don’t take kindly to lookin’,” he repeated. “House nets is our business. Clothes is our business. Can’t make you wear blinders, since you’re not becoming cherished, but you keep your eyes on the road, straight ahead, and you go right on through. Anybody gets in front of you, you look down.”
Xulai said (without at all planning to do so), “Are you all so hideously ugly you prefer not to be seen?”
His eyes rolled wildly as he tried to find someplace to focus them without looking at any of them. “We must become beautiful.” The words seemed almost to choke him, but Xulai had the strange impression he was struggling not to laugh. It came to her suddenly that he was pretending to be offended, pretending in order to . . . what?
“We will not be cherished by the king unless we are beautiful,” the man cried in a theatrical voice. “His messenger told us others with depraved tastes would come among us to cause doubt. Evil critics and judges would come to assail us, she said. They must be kept apart from the people of loveliness. You just do as I say, go on through town, no lookin’.”
And with that he turned and stamped away, head bent slightly forward so that he could see (in Xulai’s estimation) only a step ahead of himself as he moved. Nonetheless, there was something false in his movements, false in the glance he darted behind him, as though to see their reaction. It reminded her of the children at Woldsgard who had been so intent on their play, except that this was the reverse. They had been playing pretend; this man was pretending play. They were totally different things.
The road widened for a short stretch and the drivers pulled up and took a moment to stretch their legs and engage in conversation. Bartelmy came back to ask, “Who or what was that critter, and what was he going on about?”
“I presume he was a Becomer,” Abasio replied. “One who must be becoming lovely at some future time, for I saw no symptoms of glorification appearing yet. Did you think him especially splendid, Precious Wind?”
“His nose looks like a potato,” she replied. “And his skin is weathered enough to serve as roofing for a barn.”
“Then what . . . ?” said Bartelmy.
Xulai said thoughtfully, “Someone has told them they must become lovely in order to be cherished by the king. Possibly that person has threatened them, telling them they’ll be sent back to whatever place they were driven from. Where was that, Precious Wind?”
“One of the sea islands overrun by the Sea King’s mercenaries,” Precious Wind replied.
“That explains the rope,” said Abasio. “They’re sea folk!”
Precious Wind nodded. “They were, yes. All these people are refugees that King Gahls has allowed to settle here in return for maintaining the road, but I hadn’t heard anything about this becoming lovely business.”
Xulai said thoughtfully, “Someone has set out to convince that man—all of his people, really, for they are all dressed alike—that they must become beautiful. In order to prove that he believes this, he is pretending that he is already beautiful, potato nose or not. I suppose it’s a lot less trouble pretending to be something if no one contradicts what you’re pretending to be.”
She was thinking of the time when she had needed to be brave. In desperation she had told herself she was brave enough. She would not have wanted anyone to contradict her while she needed to believe it. She had been angry at chipmunk for disillusioning her. But this man hadn’t been angry. He’d been amused. Strange. One could play pretend with total conviction, but one could not pretend play in the same way. His every movement spoke of mockery. He didn’t believe it himself! Moreover, he didn’t intend that she should really believe it!
Bartelmy remarked, “The guard below said the Duchess of Altamont spent a lot of time fiddling with these villagers. If this is her doing, what is she up to?”
“Enough,” growled Bear. “Whatever she’s up to, this is no place to discuss it. Let us do as we are asked to do and leave here without causing difficulty.”
“I agree,” said Precious Wind. “Someone has frightened these people . . .”
“No, I don’t think that man was frightened,” murmured Abasio, who had walked around his wagon to be sure everything was still tied down. “I think he’s making sure that if we’re asked about these villagers, we say the right thing.”
“And that is?” demanded Precious Wind.
“That they wish to be cherished by the king. That they wish that more than anything else.”
Precious Wind joined Xulai on the seat of the dyer’s wagon; Abasio chose to walk alongside. The drivers returned to their teams and they went on, each of them looking down at the road, though both Xulai and Precious Wind glanced from the corners of their eyes as they proceeded. All the villagers they saw, even the children, were garbed in the same fashion. On a narrow terrace at the top of steep stairs, a group of children were talking heatedly among themselves.
“Children,” remarked Abasio in an innocent voice. “One wonders how they are conceived among such beautiful people.”
“In total darkness,” murmured Precious Wind with a giggle.
Xulai gasped as one of the children was accidently jostled off the terrace to fall sprawling to the next level down. He—Xulai thought it was a boy—staggered to his feet, holding on to the wall, his strange headdress knocked askew and blood streaming from his forehead. None of the other children had noticed he was gone.
“It’s dangerous,” Xulai whispered. “Even the children are dressed that way, and they can’t see what’s happening around them! Shall we help him?”
Abasio growled, “Interfering would be profitless and might get us killed.”
“Not if they can’t even look at us,” said
Xulai.
Precious Wind said, “Since they went to the trouble to warn us off, someone of them obviously did look at us. I’m sure they’ve arranged methods for dealing with both accidents and interlopers. Perhaps someone shouts out a location and everyone converges on that location and surrounds the miscreant so he cannot escape either their help or their blows.”
“You think they kill people?” Xulai breathed, unbelieving.
“The person who set them onto this idea might expect it,” Abasio replied. “Though that person would call it purification or some such thing.”
Xulai risked another glance at the injured boy. He was being helped up the stairs by someone, presumably his mother, who was whispering intently as they moved. Xulai’s eyes were drawn to a gleam at the side of the child’s face. An earring. Adornment? In a place where people did not look at one another?
“Precious Wind,” she whispered. “Look quickly. Do you see the earring in the child’s ear?”
Precious Wind cast a quick glance behind them. “I see it. Gold. Some triangular emblem on it. Why?”
“Isn’t it odd to find adornment on people who don’t look at themselves?” Xulai asked. No one answered.
After a time, Abasio walked forward along the line of wagons and asked Bear, “Will there be more of these people?”
“Not these, precisely,” said Bear. “But the guard said there were many villages up the slope. We can hope they’re not right on top of the road the way that one was!”
They passed a wide spot at the next switchback, the second turn to the north, a sizeable one, already occupied by several wagons. Above it was a tower, glued to the cliff-side like a swallow’s nest. A bell in the tower tolled briefly. Xulai looked questioningly at Abasio, and he shrugged. “The bell probably lets the wagons coming down know that there’s traffic coming up on the road. I’d guess there’s no place to pass between here and the next turn.”
His guess was verified as the other wagons pulled onto the road behind them, and they traveled upward together throughout what was left of the afternoon. The sun was low as they drove north toward the next village, this one built not far from the next looping turn to the south, the seventh switchback turn the cliff-side road had made. Bear passed the word for all of them to keep their eyes on the road and do no “looking,” but they were stopped once again, this time by a white-robed woman who stood in the center of the road, blocking the way, and then, having stopped them, stared into their faces as she walked along the line of wagons, stopping at Abasio’s wagon.
“You are entering the village of Those Becoming Pure,” she said in a ringing voice. “Do you intend to stop here?”
Precious Wind asked, “Do you object to our camping for the night just beyond the town?”
“Not so long as you are robed and do not speak to us or so loudly among yourselves that you are overheard. Sanctified robes are available in all sizes; the campsite cistern may be used for a fee; audible conversation by unbelievers is forbidden.” The words were mechanical, made bloodless by repetition.
“The robes,” said Bear, who had followed her on foot. “You rent them?”
“Sell them,” the woman rattled off. “Obviously, once you have worn them, they are unclean and must be destroyed.”
“How much?” asked Bear. “Six men, three women, one child.”
“Seven men,” said Xulai. “Abasio is with us.”
“Ten Gahls,” the woman announced.
“Good merciful goddess,” whispered Precious Wind, reaching for the moneybag she was carrying. “That’d buy me a Tingawan court robe embroidered in pearls!”
When she handed over the coins, the woman accepted them in a square of ragged cloth, carefully and without touching them. She folded the cloth and put it in her pocket. “Drive your wagons to the campground to let the other traffic go on. You may pick up your robes at the vestry, the blue building on the right.” She turned to stalk ahead of them.
“Her ear,” Xulai whispered to Precious Wind. “When we get closer, look at her ear.”
Precious Wind and Xulai were dropped off at the vestry and received a pile of robes that were neither new nor clean. When Xulai received her share, she also received a stroke and gentle squeeze from the woman’s hand along with what seemed to be a wink, though it was very quick. As she pulled her own garment over her other clothing she tried to figure out what the transaction, in all its details, had meant, but was distracted when Precious Wind asked, “What is the purpose of your becoming pure?”
“Not to be sent back,” said the woman matter-of-factly. “If we are pure enough, we will be so treasured by the king we will be allowed to stay.”
“Who told you that?” asked Xulai.
The woman turned her face away but looked at Xulai from the corner of her eye. “That would be the one who comes. The one who tells us what we must do. She comes down from above, up from below, sometimes, often . . .” And she winked at Xulai again, frankly, with a quirky smile. “We believe her, of course. We are greatly in her debt.”
They walked on to the wide, flat ledge at the turn. It held a grove of well-grown trees, a cistern, and an enclosed latrine as well as their wagons, which were in the process of being arranged according to Bear’s dictates.
“It’s obviously a regular way-halt,” said Bear with annoyance. “The cistern collects rainwater from upslope, but there’s no grazing, so we’ll have to feed the animals from what’s in the dray.” He motioned at Pecky, directing him as to the placement of his wagon. “We could more simply have paid a modest rent than have all this nonsense about buying robes. This one is so old and worn, it’s obviously been sold a hundred times before, despite all that nonsense about its being unclean and needing to be destroyed. I wonder if the king’s traffic is halted and extorted in this fashion.”
Abasio joined them in time to hear this last phrase. “What else could they be living on?” he murmured. “I saw no gardens, no fields, no animals, no craftsmen busy creating things. They need food, they need clothing, they need that heavy rope to make the nets that keep their houses and cisterns in place. Your ten Ghals probably supports both this village and the one below.”
“If not all of them up and down the cliff,” said Xulai.
“Speaking of king’s traffic,” said Precious Wind. “The woman we met wore a gold earring. So did one of the children back at the other village. I got a good look at this last one; it’s stamped with an emblem, a tower with a serpent in it. Isn’t a tower the king’s sign?”
“The symbol of the House of Gahls has a tower in it,” said Bear. “There’s an eagle over it, but it has no serpent on it anywhere. Now, why would that be? Could it be a symbol that these sea refugees are under the king’s protection? Or that they are of one . . . what? One sect? One heritage?”
“But under some other woman’s direction,” muttered Oldwife. “Some female’s telling them what they have to do. Guess who?”
“What do you suppose they’ve decided to become pure from?” Xulai asked.
“Who knows?” Precious Wind murmured. “I have traveled in many countries, and ideas about purity vary widely. Some avoid certain words, others cover certain body parts or eschew certain colors, certain foods, certain drink. Some reject music but allow dance, others reject dance but allow music. There is nothing so delightful, so pure, so innocent or enjoyable that some group has not forbidden it. I’ve heard that one of these refugee groups will assault you if you let them see the bottom of your feet. It’s considered a deadly insult. Before they kneel down, they hold a cloth behind them to hide their feet. Letting your shadow fall on them provokes some people, or even breathing wrong.”
“How can you breathe wrong?” asked Abasio, intrigued.
Precious Wind shrugged. “I’m sure someone has figured out several wrong ways.”
They gathered around their small fire. Bear snapped his fingers. When everyone looked at him, he said softly, “We’ll still keep watch tonight. These people may be pure,
but their purity may allow killing or stealing.”
“Does he really think so?” Xulai whispered to Precious Wind. “It seems very unlikely to me. I think they’re friendly but playing along with the silliness the duchess spouts for reasons of their own.”
“Bear’s only being cautious,” Precious Wind replied. “No one ever died from being overcautious.”
“How long have these people been here?” asked Bartelmy.
Precious Wind replied, “The first ones arrived in Wellsport a dozen years ago. Others followed, and more are still coming, so I’ve heard. All of them have been given permission to stay, though it may be the decision was made by someone other than the king.”
Abasio said, “As Precious Wind says, the decision may have been made by some deputy, but from a practical point of view, it makes sense to have someone maintaining this road. The villagers are obviously controlling traffic, to avoid conflict between wagons going up and wagons coming down. Also, as steep as this slope is, any sizeable storm would cause washouts. You see they’ve had to build a ten-foot wall along the road and fill in behind it just to gain enough level space to put one row of houses. Then they fill in behind the first row and build another row on that, all with little alleys and walkways between.”
“Like an upside-down staircase,” said Xulai. “One room on the bottom, two on the next layer up, three on top of that. The cliff is very steep.”
“It’s steep because it’s recent,” said Abasio. “This escarpment hasn’t been here long enough to erode. It’s a strange feeling.”
“Why, Abasio?”
“Oh, because where I was born most of the mountains were at least slightly rounded, and the plains were deep-cut by rivers. Most of the rock here is sharp, like daggers. It gives me the feeling I’m on some other planet.”
It wasn’t a feeling the others shared. The great cliff was something they knew or knew of, like the jagged peaks on the horizon west of them. The great earthquake that split Norland had happened recently in geological history, but Norland had always been this way in living memory. In either sense, however, the Becomer villages were new. Xulai stood at the edge of the camp, staring directly into it, for the way-halt was level with the top of the wall that supported the first row of houses. A path led straight from her feet to a village entry, a gateway giving on a walkway that was barely wider than Abasio’s shoulders, not so wide as Bear’s. Somewhere inside the structure a light-well pierced the fabric of the place, letting in a bit of sky, a faint light of evening disclosing a crosswalk where a constant flow of people went back and forth, to and fro.