Once walked with Gods

Chapter 5

Flinch and perish. In a thousand years the seat of government had not witnessed such ferment and unrest within its walls. The floor in front of the stage was heaving. The galleries back and sides crammed like never before. Every window and door was filled. Outside on the piazza, thousands more were gathered, hoping to get inside.

Properly built at the heart of Ysundeneth, the ocean home and first city of Calaius, the building was called Gardaryn in the ancient tongue but less grandly termed the ‘beetle’ by the local population. It dominated the cobbled southern piazza and its spires could be seen from all points of the city. Its shape resembled the carapace of the liana beetle. A metaphor for immense strength. The carapace would not crush under a careless boot.

Stone walls, carved from the quarries at Tolt Anoor, were all but hidden beneath the splendid wooden roof, whose edges swept almost to the ground either side. It curved up above the grand entrance and staircase, rising almost a hundred and fifty feet at the top of its spine. The spires rose at four corners and in its centre. When the Gardaryn was in session, red flags flew from the spires and ceremonial guards in classical deep-green livery took up station in small turrets.

Katyett had climbed high into the lattice of rafters with her TaiGethen cell. Up the stairs to the central gantry and then further up into the shadows. There, away from the unsettling closeness of the huge crowd that had filled every seat, bench, aisle and ledge, they could see everything.

At the head of the large public areas, a stage rose. At its back, an arc of five stepped rows of seats. The seats were plain, though cushioned, one for each of the high priests, the Amllan of every village, town and city, and further representatives of each thread of the elven race.

In front of the seating were three lecterns, each adorned with a carved image of Yniss at work creating the earth and the elves. They were arranged in a semicircle around a dark stain on the otherwise scrubbed white stone floor. Blood had been spilled just once in the Gardaryn. The day of its inauguration would forever be a bleak one. The large irregular shape was preserved as a reminder of days apparently not all hoped were buried for good.

The air was charged. A thunderstorm had moved across Ysundeneth an hour before, lightning and torrential rain accompanying it. A message from the gods, some would be saying. Katyett gave that no credence. The elves had to look to themselves if they were to escape this. That was what the gods had placed them on this land to do. Live in harmony. Live in peace. Love the land and all that lived and grew there.

Too many had forgotten that. And too many of them were here. The crowd bayed for the speeches to begin, practically salivating at the prospect of the denouncement. It brought Katyett a profound sadness. She knew the root of their fury but not one of them had been there on that fateful day ten years before when Takaar had taken his backward step. Not one. She wondered who was really behind it and why they had waited so long to set their plan rolling. Perhaps today they would find out.

Katyett looked down at the most senior representatives of the Ynissul. Jarinn, high priest of Yniss, who clearly wished he was back at the temple at Aryndeneth. Llyron, high priest of Shorth, whose gaze never faltered. Kalydd, the Amllan of Deneth Barine, who fidgeted with his hands. And Pelyn, Arch of the Al-Arynaar, the army of Yniss who, like always, looked angry and defiant. Of course, not an Ynissul herself but a disciple of Takaar. The direction of the Al-Arynaar, an army drawn from every thread, would be critical in the times to come.

Katyett let her gaze travel to the tapestries that adorned the wall behind the ranks of seats on the stage. They were beautiful. They told the story of the final battles, of ultimate heroism and of the tasks of Takaar. They were inaccurate. Incomplete. She wondered how long they would remain there.

‘We could do with him right now,’ shouted Grafyrre over the howling of the crowd.

Katyett turned to her Tai. He was sitting astride a beam, leaning on another that angled up towards the carapace. She raised her eyebrows.

‘We could do with him as he was then,’ she said.

Grafyrre nodded. ‘Yes. Sorry. That was insensitive.’

Katyett smiled. ‘Only a little. Yniss knows you are right.’

‘You should be down there,’ said Merrat, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

‘Your hold appears precarious,’ said Katyett. She bit her lip and looked down at the gathering again. ‘Not for all the blessings of Yniss would you find me down there today.’

‘A reckoning?’ asked Merrat.

‘That implies some measure of rationality,’ said Katyett. ‘I doubt we’ll see that in today’s proceedings.’

The aggression rose from the floor in waves. It added to the stultifying humidity. Outside the air was utterly still, and though every door and shutter was open, no draught could be felt. Heat bloomed and rose, sweat mingling with timber and animal odours to cloy in the nostrils. Stares followed the heat upwards. Angry eyes. Disdainful.

‘All right, here we go,’ said Merrat.

The Speaker of the Gardaryn was on his feet to an extraordinary explosion of noise from the public. His name was Helias and he wore the green and white robes of his office with a confident ease. He was an ambitious young Tuali. Revered and reviled in equal measure. It was a position in which he revelled. Conversation in the galleries and on the floor died away as Helias approached the centre lectern. A couple of shouts bounced about the walls. Normally good-natured. Not today.

‘Now we come to it!’ called Helias. ‘You’ve all felt it. You all have your opinion. You all wonder why we have been so long reaching this juncture. Now hear it from the mouths of those who would have your heart and your soul to believe their words.’

‘Good of him to try and ease the tension,’ muttered Katyett.

‘Think he’s taking sides?’ asked Merrat.

‘Perish the thought.’ Katyett smiled. ‘He’s as neutral as any slighted Tuali.’

‘I call to the debate, Jarinn, high priest of Yniss, keeper of the temple of Aryndeneth and defender of the memory of Takaar!’

A storm of boos and jeers greeted Jarinn’s announcement. A classically tall Ynissul, he wore his black hair long and tied back with gold threads. His face was proud, an accident of birth, he always said, and his eyes, large angled ovals, were a beautiful blue. His robes were plain, as Yniss demanded. Brown, unadorned and without a hood. He went barefoot, a symbol of his trust in Yniss to keep him safe from harm. Katyett hoped his prayers had been particularly fervent this morning.

Reaching the lectern, Jarinn looked square at the public. There may have been a slight shake of his head. He focused then on the lectern opposite him, ignoring the opportunity to appeal to the Speaker for protection from the abuse that rained on him. He did, however, pause to nod his thanks at those in the arc of seats who had stood to applaud him. It merely served to intensify the noise from the floor.

‘So where’s the public support?’ asked Grafyrre, when Helias belatedly raised his hands for quiet.

‘Jarinn advised Takaar’s followers to stay away,’ said Katyett and again she smiled. ‘Anyway, most of us are up here.’

There were five Tai cells watching from the rafters. Quite an assembly of Yniss’s elite warriors. Five further cells were dispersed around the city, watching likely trouble spots should the denouncement be carried. Katyett needed to know the mood of the city quickly in the event Jarinn required a secure exit back to Aryndeneth.

Below them, a rhythmic thumping and stamping had begun. A powerful sound reminiscent of ancient battles, the prelude to chant and dirge. Katyett let the reverberations roll over her, taking her back to a time before the harmony, before Takaar’s law.

‘I call to the debate-’ began Helias.

The voices of the public grew from a bass rumble to a thundering, battering shout.

‘Lor-i-us, Lor-i-us, LOR-I-US!’

Over and over. Helias held up his hands for quiet but he saw he was going to get nowhere. Katyett could just hear him over the tumult, his voice rising into the rafters.

‘I call to the debate, Lorius, high priest of Tual, keeper of the temple at Tul-Kastarin and denouncer of Takaar!’

The rhythmic chanting and stamping gave way to a frenzy of adulation. Some ran towards the front of the stage. Al-Arynaar guards blocked any further advance. Fists punched the air, heat and tension rose. Grafyrre blew out his cheeks. Katyett knew how he felt.

Lorius rose, meandered more like, to his feet. Lorius was old. Very old for a Tuali. He predated the resetting of the calendar to record the harmony. The years of peace. A shame that his memories of the times before the harmony were so confused.

Lorius moved with agonising slowness to his lectern. He spread his papers and studied them for a time before lifting his head to gaze out over the floor of the chamber. His face was deeply lined, his eyes still blazed with hazel passion and his chin, which trembled slightly, still held a few wisps of the huge beard he had once boasted.

He tipped back his hood to reveal a bald dark-spotted head and ears whose points had sagged outwards. Lorius held up his hands and the tumult stilled on an instant. He nodded his thanks.

‘Dark days are upon us,’ he said, his voice phlegm-filled and hoarse. ‘Dark forces move beneath the veneer of benevolence.’

‘Pompous idiot,’ muttered Katyett.

‘It is a creeping disease that threatens us and all we have built. Most are unaware it is happening, yet the evidence is all around us, plain to see for those who choose to look. A tragedy will overcome us unless we act now.’

Theatrical boos rang out from all corners of the public areas. Lorius held up his hands again. Jarinn shook his head.

‘Yes, and the tragedy is this. Takaar and all his grand ideas, his harmony, all his deeds. A sham. All of it. A sham!’

‘How can a thousand years of peace be a sham?’ shouted Jarinn before the yells of the crowd drowned out anything more.

The sound of a gong echoed out over the Gardaryn. The Speaker had called for order. The gongs were hung in frames to the left and right of the stage. Ula with beaters as long as their arms stood ready for the Speaker’s order. The echoing tone rolled out over the Gardaryn, quietening the crowd. Mob.

‘I will have decorum in this chamber. The public will refrain from drowning out the debate,’ said Helias before looking square at Jarinn. ‘And High Priest Jarinn will await his turn to make his opening remarks.’

The crowd exploded into noise, cheers, jeers and a concerted wagging of fingers at Jarinn. The high priest spread his hands and shrugged, playing the villain for the moment but only drawing more abuse. Lorius quietened the crowd again.

‘Thank you, Helias. I am not telling any of you anything you don’t already know. We all believed Takaar’s words. We all believed the myth of the harmony of the elves. And why is it a myth? I’ll tell you why and it is two-fold. First.’

And the finger he held up was mimicked by thousands on the floor.

‘Takaar may have begun with pure ideals but what happened when his own life and those of his Ynissul brothers were threatened? He ran like the dog coward that he is. He ran to the gateway, his acolytes trailing in his wake. And through it he dived, consigning a hundred thousand elves to death. So much for the harmony on that day. So much for the harmony on that day!’

You had to hand it to Lorius: he didn’t shrink from milking a volatile crowd. Katyett scanned the faces that she could see. Puffed up with anger and righteous indignation. Looking for an outlet for the fury they felt and finding it at the lectern opposite their hero. The vocal barrage that flew at Jarinn was truly shocking. And Helias stood by and watched it. For his part, Jarinn kept his face carefully neutral.

‘Second!’ thundered Lorius and a forest of V-signs shot into the air to accompanying cheers. ‘Just what is it we have seen in the decade since Takaar appeared through the gate from Hausolis and fled into the forest as it collapsed behind him? Have we seen the returning Ynissul working like slaves to maintain the harmony their coward imposed upon us?’

Lorius paused. The public hushed. ‘Let me take you back in history just for a moment. There have been elves living here in the rainforest for over a thousand years. All of us faithfully following Takaar’s harmony, Takaar’s law. And there are none among us – few enough that remember the first days here – who would deny that it worked. And, Tual knows, we needed to live in peace with the challenges that we faced here.

‘All threads pulled together to make sure we not only survived but thrived. The Ynissul too.’

Boos and jeers stalled his speech, and for the first time Lorius displayed anger. He moved from behind his lectern and faced the crowd full on. For a moment, Katyett wondered if he’d dropped them as easily as he’d caught them. There he stood, an ula alone in front of a hooting mob that paid him no attention. For a second time, though, she had to admit a grudging respect.

Not for a heartbeat did his expression change. Nor did he gesture for calm or let his eye move away from the scene in front of him. And slowly, slowly they quietened, realising perhaps that their show had ceased and their principal actor had walked from the stage.

‘Thank you,’ said Lorius quietly. And he returned to his lectern, daring them to begin again. ‘Why do you jeer at the truth? Perhaps your memories are short. The Ynissul were instrumental in the success of the harmony and High Priest Jarinn a central figure in that success. Jeer now if you don’t believe me.’

Silence. Almost. Merrat chuckled.

‘Good, isn’t he?’

‘Very,’ said Katyett. ‘And just look at the space he’s created for whatever lie is coming next.’

‘So why is it that we stand here now knowing that our people are unhappy? That they feel undermined? That tension grows by the day and knowing that there have been incidents of violence between threads. A dark place we thought never to revisit. The answer is as simple as it is tragic.

‘In the wake of Takaar’s abject failure, the Ynissul, bolstered by the return of so many with him – mysterious when brother and sister threads suffered so badly – have set about reinstalling themselves as the dominant thread.’

Now the boos began again and Lorius nodded.

‘Yes. Yes. Across our land, they take charge. The Amllans of Ysundeneth, Tolt Anoor and Deneth Barine?’

‘YNISSUL!’

‘The high priest of Shorth?’

‘YNISSUL!’

‘The Lord of the Fleet?’

‘YNISSUL!’

Lorius spread his hands and let the applause grow. He wagged a finger when it was at its height and began again.

‘I could go on.’ He snatched up a sheaf of papers. ‘From judges to landowners, civil servants to the keepers of the exchequer, Ynissul are everywhere. And while the Lord of the Al-Arynaar might be a Tuali, her love for Takaar renders her Ynissul in all but name. The insidious, growing influence is everywhere. Even up there in the rafters!’

Every face swung up to sneer at the TaiGethen high above the floor. Missiles were thrown, mainly fruit. The TaiGethen in the rafters swayed and dodged economically, catching much that reached them, Merrat cocked her arm, a hard, unripe mango in her fist.

‘No,’ said Katyett. ‘Or at least, not yet.’

‘Look at them.’ Lorius continued the taunt. ‘Like monkeys swinging from the branches of a banyan, too fearful to put their feet on the ground lest we see the deception in their eyes. Too haughty to nestle among their brothers in case we should give them something unmentionable. And do they, our oh-so-glorious immortals, do they hide up there to protect us all from harm? To police thread unity? I think not. Every TaiGethen is an Ynissul. EVERY SINGLE ONE! And there they sit, waiting for the call to defend their own and only their own.

‘Takaar is the reason the Ynissul alone refuse to interbreed. They use Takaar’s law against us. Why is every position of power being eaten up by the Ynissul? Same reason. Takaar’s law. The law that demands that the holder of any position of authority must be given to the brother or sister best able to enhance the harmony. Takaar’s harmony!

‘The harmony that meant a hundred thousand non-Ynissul died. The harmony that would enslave us all again beneath the heel of the Ynissul. We must free ourselves before it is too late. We must live the harmony as it was first conceived. Before it was perverted as a weapon to oppress our lesser, mortal souls.’

The crowd’s anger and volume intensified and increased with every phrase, every punch of the air.

‘Before the true harmony is destroyed we must claim back the life we enjoyed before Takaar failed us all. I say to hell with Takaar’s law! I say rip it from the statute. I denounce Takaar for the coward he is. I denounce all that he stands for and I say wipe the slate clean of his influence. I denounce Takaar. Vote with me!’