Usilk grunted.
“Is that clear?”
“Yes, let’s move.”
They moved. They left the shelter of Sifans’ small room and launched themselves into the thick night of the corridor. Fingers to wall-scroll, Yuli led on, forgetting in his excitement even to bid farewell to his old mentor.
The people of Pannoval at this time were hardheaded. They had no great thoughts, except to keep their stomachs fed. Yet they had a kind of small change in stories, which were bartered about by storytellers from time to time.
At the great entrance, by the guardhouses, before a visitor to Pannoval came among the terraces of Market, trees grew—small in number and stunted, but definitely green trees.
They were properly prized for their rarity, and for their habit of yielding an occasional harvest of wrinkled nuts called roofers. No tree managed to crop every year, but every year one tree or other had a few lime-coloured roofers dangling from its outer twigs. Most of the roofers had maggots in them; but the dames and children of Vakk and Groyrie and Prayn ate the maggots along with the flesh of the nut.
Sometimes the maggots died when the nut was cracked. The poor little story had it that the maggots died of shock. They believed that the interior of their nut was their whole world, and the wrinkled case that contained it the sky. Then, one day, their world was cracked open. They saw with horror that there was a gigantic world beyond their world, more important and brighter in every way. It was too much for the maggots and they expired at the revelation.
Yuli thought of the maggots in the roofer nuts as he left the gaunt shadows of the Holies for the first time in more than a year, and returned, dazzled, to the busy world of ordinary life. At first, the noise and the light and the bustle of so many people reduced him to a state of shock.
All the challenge and temptation of that world was epitomised by Iskador, Iskador the beautiful. The image of her face was fresh in his mind, as if he had seen her only yesterday. Confronting her, he found her even more beautiful, and could only stutter before her.
Her father’s living had several compartments and was part of a small factory for making bows; he was the grand bowmaster of his guild.
Rather haughtily, she allowed the priest in. He sat on the floor and drank a cup of water, and slowly managed to tell her his tale.
Iskador was a sturdy girl of no-nonsense appearance. Her flesh was milky white, contrasting with her flowing black curly hair and her hazel eyes. Her face was broad, with high cheekbones, and her mouth wide and pale. All her movements were energetic, and she folded her arms over her bosom in a businesslike way as she listened to what Yuli had to say.
“Why doesn’t Usilk come here and tell me all this rigmarole?” she asked.
“He is collecting another friend for the journey. He could not come into Vakk—his face is a bit bruised at present, and would excite unwelcome attention.”
The dark hair hung down on either side of the face, framing it with two wings. Now the wings were flicked impatiently aside with a toss of the head, as Iskador said, “Anyhow, I have an archery contest in six days, which I want to win. I don’t want to leave Pannoval—I’m happy enough here. It was Usilk who was always complaining. Besides, I haven’t seen him for ages. I’ve got another boyfriend now.”
Yuh stood up, flushing slightly.
“Fine, if that’s how you feel. Just keep quiet about what I’ve told you. I’ll be off and take your message to Usilk.” His nervousness before her made him more brusque than he intended.
“Wait,” she said, coming forward with extended arm, a well-shaped hand reaching out towards him. “I didn’t say you could go, monk. What you tell me is pretty exciting. You’re meant to plead on Usilk’s behalf, begging me to come along with you.”
“Just two things, Miss Iskador. My name is Yuli, not ‘monk.’ And why should I plead on Usilk’s behalf? He’s no friend of mine, and besides …”