The Resuurection Fields Page 8

  “Thank you, thank you,” the old man muttered. “Now I will finally be released.” He turned to Osman. “He promised, you know. He said if I could show him all nine hundred and ninety-nine in the bowl, he would let me go. They can’t go back on a promise. Even they have to abide by some rules.”

  “Of course they do,” Osman said reassuringly. “Now perhaps you wouldn’t mind keeping your side of the bargain and showing us how we might get out of here.”

  “Very well,” the old man agreed, “but first swear you will tell no one who showed you.”

  “We swear.”

  “Because if my tormentor should hear about it …”

  “He won’t hear about it.”

  “All right, then, follow me. Quickly now!”

  He made his way around the base of the cliff, looking over his shoulder all the time and hissing at them to hurry. Finally he stopped at the entrance to a large tunnel. “This is the only way in or out. You must take the right fork. But hurry! He will be here soon.”

  They thanked him and entered the tunnel. Surprisingly, it was not completely dark, for the walls seemed to give off a dim light of their own. Almost as soon as they were inside, the tunnel branched in two directions. They stepped into the right-hand fork. Not a moment too soon! Out of the other fork came a sumaire. Fortunately, it was rushing ahead and did not notice them.

  “That must be the old man’s tormentor,” Nyro whispered.

  Just then they heard the most enormous sneeze from beyond the mouth of the tunnel and, immediately afterwards, the old man’s despairing cry: “No! No! The seeds!”

  THE TRAITOR

  Manachee, Maeve and Albigen stared at the letters that had been carved in the stone step:

  When every other hope has fled,

  When he is lost who once was found,

  Climb the stairs and greet the dawn,

  Make the world’s most ancient sound.

  As he watched them, Dante felt his hopes begin to rise. Perhaps now that Bea had told them how a bird had helped her discover the message, it might be possible to find some way to communicate with them. Dante urged Kidu to move closer to the steps, and Kidu reluctantly hopped a few paces forward.

  “There’s the bird that scratched away the moss,” Bea said. “I’m sure it was doing it on purpose.”

  Dante tried to persuade Kidu to move closer still, but the bird refused to cooperate. Bea took a couple of steps towards him, and Kidu immediately flew off to a nearby tree. Nothing Dante could say would persuade him to get any closer.

  Bea turned back to the others. “I’ve got a feeling about this inscription,” she told them. “Almost as if I was meant to find it. Do you think it was carved by the people who built the beehive huts?” she asked.

  Manachee shook his head. “No. The language is far too modern. They lived long ago and spoke a much more ancient version of our tongue. We wouldn’t be able to read their writing so easily.”

  “Then who put it there?”

  “Anyone could have carved it. These steps have been here for hundreds of years. Thousands, maybe. Who knows how many people have come and gone in that time?”

  “But you said people had forgotten their history since Dr. Sigmundus came to power. You said no one came here anymore.”

  “Yes, that’s true. But perhaps someone put it there before Dr. Sigmundus was even born. On the other hand …” He hesitated.

  “What?”

  “We do know one person who came here regularly.”

  “Alvar Mendini?” Bea said eagerly.

  “That’s right. Like I said before, he used to come here to seek inspiration for his poetry. If I had to make a wild guess, I would say that this is a fragment of the Mendini Canticle.”

  “Do you really think that’s possible?” Albigen asked.

  “Alvar was no ordinary man,” Manachee replied. “I knew him well, and I promise you, he could see things that had not yet happened. He might have left this message here many years ago, knowing that Bea would one day be standing here to read it.”

  “What is the Mendini Canticle?” Bea asked.

  “The Mendini Canticle was Alvar’s last poem,” Manachee said. “But it was more than just a set of verses. He put all his powers into it, and all that he had learned of the Odylic realm from his wife, Yashar. He only ever really talked about it once to me, but I can still remember the words he used because they seemed so strange at the time. ‘Long after I am dead,’ he told me, ‘my poem will still be taking place in the flight of a bird, in the actions of the Púca and in the mysterious workings of the Odyll. I have woven in events that are yet to happen, for my poem is alive and will let itself be known when it sees fit.’”

  “The flight of a bird!” Bea repeated wonderingly.

  “I agree it’s a possibility,” Albigen conceded. “But even so, what are we supposed to do about it?”

  “I don’t know,” Manachee admitted. “But if this really is a fragment of the Mendini Canticle, then its meaning will become apparent when the time is right.”

  “And in the meantime,” Albigen said, “we need to find out what’s going on in Podmyn. We’ve had reports that there’s a big event planned there this afternoon. Anyone want to come with me to take a look?”

  “I will,” Manachee said.

  “So will I,” Bea volunteered. Reluctantly she walked away from the pillar, still puzzling over the meaning of the verse.

  Later that day Albigen drove them to Podmyn. Immersed in their own thoughts, they each had different ideas about what the Púca ought to be doing next, and it was becoming clear that they did not always see eye to eye. Without a leader to decide among them, tensions were beginning to simmer beneath the surface.

  Albigen was, in many ways, the most obvious choice to lead the Púca following the death of Ezekiel Semiramis. He was strong, brave and quick-witted. But he was best at practical things. What he lacked was Ezekiel’s vision and, more importantly, his powers. Manachee was one of the most senior members of the Púca, but he was a born second-in-command. That left Bea. As a newcomer, she should not even have been a candidate. Yet, since she had told the Púca of Tzavinyah’s appearance, many of them held her in a kind of awe. Bea was not particularly comfortable being in this position, but Tzavinyah’s words had been very clear—only she could overcome their enemy. If that meant taking control of the Púca, then she was prepared to do so.

  “Let’s stop the truck here,” Albigen said. “We could leave it in one of those abandoned farm buildings up ahead.”

  With the increasing security presence since the funeral, it was wiser not to attract attention by driving a large truck right into the town. So they turned onto the farm track and parked the truck inside an empty barn, making the rest of the journey to Podmyn on foot.

  The small town was full of people. However, unlike the day of Dr. Sigmundus’s funeral, when farmworkers had proudly put on their best clothes and chatted freely, this time people were keeping their thoughts to themselves, glancing about nervously and talking in low voices. It was clear that a swirl of rumor had the whole place in its grip.

  “I wonder what they’re so worked up about,” Bea said.

  “Looks like we’re going to find out shortly,” Albigen replied, nodding towards a wooden platform that had been assembled in the town square. As they watched, a security officer climbed a set of steps at the side of the platform and held up one hand for the crowd to be silent. Almost immediately the buzz of conversation ceased and several hundred anxious faces looked up at him expectantly.

  “Men and women of Podmyn and those of you who have come from the outlying districts, may I begin by saying what a pleasure it is to see you all assembled here today,” the officer began.

  “This is very odd,” Manachee whispered to Bea. “A security chief doesn’t normally bother with flattery. There must be something very nasty coming up.”

  “I am speaking to you today on behalf of our new Leader,” the man continued.


  “Long live Sigmundus the Second!” shouted a group of security officers. Immediately the crowd understood what was expected of them. “Long live Sigmundus the Second!” they chorused.

  “Many of you good people traveled to Ellison for the funeral of our former Leader,” the officer went on, “and you will have seen with your own eyes that even while the streets were thronged with grateful citizens, many of whom had stood in line for hours to pay their respects to the founder of our nation, a handful of depraved and ruthless individuals made a despicable attempt to disrupt the ceremony.”

  He paused and shook his head as if the thought of such wickedness were almost too much to bear. “You may well ask how it is that crime has raised its ugly head in our society once more. You believed that this terrible sickness had been eradicated once and for all. Well, you were right. It has been. These attempts to undermine everything we have built under the benevolent guidance of Dr. Sigmundus, and everything we are hoping to build under the inspired leadership of his successor, come … from outside.”

  Bea, Albigen and Manachee looked at each other.

  “For a long time our neighbors in Tavor have cast jealous eyes upon our noble country. They have looked upon our well-organized society, our prosperous citizens, our safe and pleasant streets, and they have envied us. Now their envy has boiled over, and they have sent their agents into Gehenna to undermine everything we have worked so hard to build.”

  “Shame on them!” shouted the security guards.

  “Shame on them!” the audience echoed.

  “Why is he blaming Tavor?” Bea asked herself. “Does he really not know that the smoke bombs were the work of the Púca?”

  “But there is worse to come,” the officer continued. “Much worse. For these treacherous agents are not content with disrupting the funeral of our former Leader. No, that was only the beginning. We have it on good authority that they want to take over our country and have been busy recruiting collaborators from within Gehenna itself. Yes, my friends, there are traitors amongst us.”

  There was a collective gasp as he said this.

  “While our new Leader has been busy picking up the reins of power, these vile scum have spread their contamination into every town in Gehenna. But do not fear, my friends! Sigmundus the Second knows what the people of Gehenna are made of! He knows that we are prepared to fight and to win—come what may. Am I right?”

  “Yes!” they shouted back.

  “Sigmundus the Second knows that he can rely upon the loyalty of the people of Gehenna. And he has given each and every one of you a unique chance to prove yourselves. Today, ladies and gentlemen, I can announce the formation of a new force in our country that will tackle the enemies of Gehenna. This force is to be called the Faithful.”

  Bea gasped. Hadn’t her father said he would be working with the Faithful?

  “At the end of our meeting today,” the officer went on, “my officers will be taking the names and details of all those brave men and women, all those patriotic individuals, who want to volunteer to help save their country in its time of greatest need. I know that every one of you will want to be the first in line. But before that happens, there is something else that must be taken care of. An unpleasant duty, ladies and gentlemen, but one that I will not shirk. As I told you, there are traitors all over Gehenna. Even here in Podmyn itself. Well, it is time we showed them how we intend to repay such treachery.”

  He turned to his men. “You know what you have to do,” he told them.

  The security guards pushed their way through the bewildered onlookers, roughly elbowing aside anyone who got in their way. There was a shriek as they seized a woman from the midst of the crowd.

  “Stop! You’re making a mistake!” the woman cried.

  “I know that voice!” Bea said to herself.

  As the guards emerged from the crowd, Bea saw that their prisoner was the woman she had sat next to on the bus when she had traveled to the funeral of Dr. Sigmundus.

  “I don’t believe this for a moment,” Bea said quietly. “She’s not clever enough to be a traitor!”

  “Keep your voice down!” Albigen hissed.

  The guards dragged their victim over towards the corn exchange and forced her to stand on a wooden chair on the pavement outside. Meanwhile, another guard was busy on the balcony above, lowering a rope with a noose on the end.

  “I can’t watch this!” Bea muttered.

  “Stay where you are!” Albigen whispered back.

  “We know all about you,” the guard told the sobbing woman, placing the noose around her neck and pulling it tight. “We’ve been watching your every move.”

  “It isn’t true!” she protested. “I haven’t done anything. I love my country. I would never do anything to harm—”

  But she did not finish her sentence. The chair on which she was standing was kicked away beneath her.

  Bea shut her eyes.

  “Death to all traitors!” the security guards shouted.

  This time there was no echoing cry from the crowd, only shocked silence.

  The security guards left the woman hanging there. Then they crossed the square and smashed the windows of the shop in which she had worked and lived. They kicked open the door and turned everything upside down.

  When the guards had finished, the officer on the wooden platform began speaking once more. “That is how we deal with traitors,” he declared. “We show them no mercy because to show mercy is to show weakness. And now, ladies and gentlemen, I invite you all to do your duty to your Leader and your country. Step up to the front and sign up for the Faithful.”

  Crowds of people began pushing their way to the front, eager to display their loyalty lest they, too, be considered potential traitors.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Albigen said.

  “There’s something I have to do first,” Bea replied.

  She made her way through the crowd towards the baker’s shop with Albigen and Manachee following behind her. The townsfolk of Podmyn had already taken advantage of its owner’s disgrace by helping themselves to the produce on the shelves.

  “You’re too late. There’s nothing left!” an old woman with no front teeth told them.

  But Bea had not come for bread. She stepped inside the front door, then quickly made her way behind the counter to the room at the back where the bread was baked. From there, a corridor led to the backyard and here, as she had expected, she found the woman’s dog wagging his tail and looking expectantly at her.

  He was little more than a puppy, friendly and inquisitive. Bea had no trouble convincing him that he ought to come with her. Next to the door was a leash, which she attached to his collar. Then she led him back through the house into the square, where Albigen and Manachee were waiting for her.

  “What are you doing with that dog?” Albigen asked incredulously.

  “He belongs to the woman who was hanged,” Bea explained. “I couldn’t just leave him there. She told me the neighbors didn’t like him barking. They’d probably have him killed, too.”

  Albigen looked around anxiously. “Bea, please—we’ve got enough problems feeding ourselves without adding another hungry mouth.”

  “Let her keep him,” Manachee said gently.

  They both looked at him in surprise. Manachee did not often come down firmly on one side or the other.

  “Well then, you’re completely responsible for looking after him!” Albigen told Bea.

  “Of course I am,” Bea said, bending down and stroking the dog, who immediately turned his head and licked her hand with his big, sloppy tongue. “See, he already knows that.”

  THE DUCHESS

  Nyro and Osman made their way silently along the tunnel. The right-hand fork sloped steeply downwards, but it was broad and high-ceilinged, with plenty of room for them to walk upright. Soon Nyro forgot about the Chief Justice and found himself thinking instead of the terrible fate that had befallen his friend Luther. He described what he had seen to Osman,
including Luther’s warning about the bridge that was being built between the Nakara and the Resurrection Fields.

  A little later they rounded another bend and emerged at the other end of the tunnel. Stepping out into the light, they found themselves in a clearing beyond which stretched a dense forest. A tall, striking-looking woman dressed all in black was standing beside a crude wooden hut. She stood very upright, and the impression of height was increased by how her hair was piled on the top of her head in an elaborate coiffure. Around her neck she wore a rope of pearls, and diamonds glittered at her ears. To Nyro she looked like a duchess. However, despite this air of nobility, the woman seemed to be in distinctly reduced circumstances, for she was standing beside an open fire over which there hung a large cooking pot. From time to time she stirred the pot with a wooden spoon, and the smell that arose from it was quite delicious.

  “Perhaps we can get directions from this woman,” Nyro said.

  “We could ask her for something to eat first,” Osman suggested.

  Nyro was about to protest that they had no time to waste when he realized that he was actually very hungry. After all, he had eaten nothing for twenty-four hours.

  The woman nodded and smiled as they drew closer, as if she had been expecting them. “You’re just in time,” she announced. She gestured towards a wooden table and benches nearby. “I take it you would like some soup.”

  “That’s very kind of you, madam,” Osman said.

  Beside the fire, on a large flat rock, there were three earthenware bowls into which the woman now began to ladle soup.

  “We were wondering whether you had heard of the Resurrection Fields?” Nyro said when they were sitting down at the table.

  “Of course, serving soup is not the sort of thing I’m used to,” continued the duchess, as if she had not noticed his question at all. “When my dear husband was alive, we never kept fewer than thirty servants, you know.” She sighed deeply.

  “May I offer you our commiserations on your bereavement, madam,” Osman said.

  “Thank you, sir. You are very kind. Very kind indeed. But all the kindness in the world cannot make up for what I have lost. My husband was a truly remarkable person. A man of power and a man of vision. How seldom we find these two qualities together nowadays.” She paused in her ladling, apparently lost in recollections of her late husband’s virtues.