Read Online Helliconia: Helliconia Spring, Helliconia Summer, Helliconia Winter by Brian Aldiss - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Brian Aldiss
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the people were pretty tough, as the saying had it. A man with short-cropped free-flowing hair, and therefore neither a priest nor a sayer, ran up and jumped onto a scumble barrow.
‘Friends,’ he said, standing before them. ‘Listen to me for a moment, will you? Just stop your labours and hear what I have to say. I speak not for myself but for the great Akha, whose spirit moves inside me. I have to speak for him although I put my life in danger, for the priests distort Akha’s words for their own purposes.’
People stopped to listen. Two tried to make a joke at the young man’s expense, but the others stood in submissive interest, Yuli included.
‘Friends, the priests say that we have to sacrifice to Akha and nothing more, and he will then keep us safe in the great heart of his mountain. I say that is a lie. The priests are content and do not care how we the ordinary people suffer. Akha tells you through my lips that we should do more. We should be better in ourselves. Our lives are too easy – once we have made sacrifices and paid taxes, we care nothing. We merely enjoy, or go to the games. You hear so often that Akha cares nothing for us and everything for his battle with Wutra. We must make him care – we must become worthy of his care. We must reform ourselves! Yes, reform! And the easy-living priests must reform themselves also …’
Someone called to say that the militia were coming.
The young man paused. ‘My name is Naab. Remember what I say. We too have a role in the great war between Sky and Earth. I will be back to speak if I can – speak my message to all Pannoval. Reform, reform! – Before it is too late …’ As he jumped down, there was a surge among the crowd that had gathered. A great tethered phagor rushed forward, with a soldier at the other end of his leash. It reached forward and grabbed Naab’s arm with its powerful horned hands. He gave a cry of pain, but a hairy white arm went round his throat and he was led away in the direction of Market and the Holies.
‘He shouldn’t have said such things,’ a grey man muttered, as the crowd dispersed.
Yuli followed the man on impulse, and grasped his sleeve.
‘The man Naab said nothing against Akha – why should the militia take him away?’
The man looked furtively about. ‘I recognise you. You’re a savage, or you wouldn’t ask such stupid things.’
For answer, Yuli raised his fist. ‘I’m not stupid or I would not ask my question.’
‘If you weren’t stupid, you’d keep quiet. Who do you think has power here? The priesthood, of course. If you speak out against them—’
‘But that’s Akha’s power—’
The grey man had slipped away into the dark. And there in that dark, that ever watchful dark, could be felt the presence of something monstrous. Akha?
One day, a great sporting event was to be held in Reck. It was then that Yuli, acclimatised to Pannoval, underwent a remarkable crystallisation of emotion. He hurried along to the sports with Kyale and Tusca. Fat lamps burned in niches, leading the way from Vakk to Reck, and crowds of people climbed through the narrowing rock passages, struggled up the worn steps, calling to one another, as they filed into the sports arena.
Carried along by the surge of humanity, Yuli caught a sudden view ahead of the chamber of Reck, its curved walls flickering with light. He saw but a slice of the chamber to begin with, trapped between the veined walls of the passage along which therabble had to pass. As he moved, so into that framed distant view moved Akha himself, high above the heads of the crowd.
He ceased to listen to what Kyale was saying. Akha’s gaze was on him; the monstrous presence of the dark was surely made visible.
Music played in Reck, shrill and stimulating. It played for Akha. There Akha stood, broad and horrible of brow, its large stone eyes unseeing yet all-seeing, lit from below by flares. Its lips dripped disdain.
The wilderness held nothing like this.
‘Friends,’ he said, standing before them. ‘Listen to me for a moment, will you? Just stop your labours and hear what I have to say. I speak not for myself but for the great Akha, whose spirit moves inside me. I have to speak for him although I put my life in danger, for the priests distort Akha’s words for their own purposes.’
People stopped to listen. Two tried to make a joke at the young man’s expense, but the others stood in submissive interest, Yuli included.
‘Friends, the priests say that we have to sacrifice to Akha and nothing more, and he will then keep us safe in the great heart of his mountain. I say that is a lie. The priests are content and do not care how we the ordinary people suffer. Akha tells you through my lips that we should do more. We should be better in ourselves. Our lives are too easy – once we have made sacrifices and paid taxes, we care nothing. We merely enjoy, or go to the games. You hear so often that Akha cares nothing for us and everything for his battle with Wutra. We must make him care – we must become worthy of his care. We must reform ourselves! Yes, reform! And the easy-living priests must reform themselves also …’
Someone called to say that the militia were coming.
The young man paused. ‘My name is Naab. Remember what I say. We too have a role in the great war between Sky and Earth. I will be back to speak if I can – speak my message to all Pannoval. Reform, reform! – Before it is too late …’ As he jumped down, there was a surge among the crowd that had gathered. A great tethered phagor rushed forward, with a soldier at the other end of his leash. It reached forward and grabbed Naab’s arm with its powerful horned hands. He gave a cry of pain, but a hairy white arm went round his throat and he was led away in the direction of Market and the Holies.
‘He shouldn’t have said such things,’ a grey man muttered, as the crowd dispersed.
Yuli followed the man on impulse, and grasped his sleeve.
‘The man Naab said nothing against Akha – why should the militia take him away?’
The man looked furtively about. ‘I recognise you. You’re a savage, or you wouldn’t ask such stupid things.’
For answer, Yuli raised his fist. ‘I’m not stupid or I would not ask my question.’
‘If you weren’t stupid, you’d keep quiet. Who do you think has power here? The priesthood, of course. If you speak out against them—’
‘But that’s Akha’s power—’
The grey man had slipped away into the dark. And there in that dark, that ever watchful dark, could be felt the presence of something monstrous. Akha?
One day, a great sporting event was to be held in Reck. It was then that Yuli, acclimatised to Pannoval, underwent a remarkable crystallisation of emotion. He hurried along to the sports with Kyale and Tusca. Fat lamps burned in niches, leading the way from Vakk to Reck, and crowds of people climbed through the narrowing rock passages, struggled up the worn steps, calling to one another, as they filed into the sports arena.
Carried along by the surge of humanity, Yuli caught a sudden view ahead of the chamber of Reck, its curved walls flickering with light. He saw but a slice of the chamber to begin with, trapped between the veined walls of the passage along which therabble had to pass. As he moved, so into that framed distant view moved Akha himself, high above the heads of the crowd.
He ceased to listen to what Kyale was saying. Akha’s gaze was on him; the monstrous presence of the dark was surely made visible.
Music played in Reck, shrill and stimulating. It played for Akha. There Akha stood, broad and horrible of brow, its large stone eyes unseeing yet all-seeing, lit from below by flares. Its lips dripped disdain.
The wilderness held nothing like this.
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