Chapter 30
The next day they were given a tour of Cavachi. Mr Briggs was not impressed. Messenger was not surprised but he had hoped…
But he could also understand. Cavachi and Astar were as different as night and day. For an Astarian, the elegance and jewels and unnecessary accoutrements of life displayed so proudly in Cavachi were mind-blowing. Messenger thought they added something, something Astar would be better for having.
Something even he had trouble understanding and Mr Briggs had no patience with was the Vachi’s curious beliefs about their dead. Their knowledge of history fascinated Messenger. In Astar it wasn’t thought important, but the Vachi knew all kinds of things about their past. But their habit of recording family trees and leaving offerings for their dead… he couldn’t get his head around it. Mr Briggs thought an awful lot of what the Vachi did was an obscene waste of resources and time. His mood had darkened as the tour continued.
At the moment Messenger thought he might be about to have a heart attack. They were standing on a wooden walkway that wound its way through a dark forest of carvings. The carvings rose from the floor, which they could only make out by the light of the torches below, to hundreds of meters in height. The height did not bother Messenger. He had been in this place before.
What bothered him was that these poles were the history of the families. Each Master of the House added another segment to the top of his family’s pole. The bottom segments were the oldest; the ancestors supported all that came after.
Somewhere ahead in the darkness the Speaker was talking, as he had been since they entered this place. Recha was translating. It was the history of the Speaker’s family. Messenger thought it must sound very strange to Mr Briggs, hearing the Speakers rich but incomprehensible voice bouncing around in the darkness and then Recha’s quieter voice underneath.
This was one of the most sacred places of the Vachi and it was a great honour to be here. If Mr Briggs made any comment, if he gave one of those poles a sour look, it was all over.
It was very dark. The walkways spun across the vastness from side to side. Stairs were carved in the round walls of the chamber, which was lit only near the poles.
Far below, Messenger, could see the beginnings of the poles in those vivid and frightening animal carvings. And up and up throughout the blackness, the carvings appeared and disappeared into shadow. That was all that was visible.
When it was over and they were back outside the huge doors, which were flanked by not so ceremonial guards, the Speaker looked over at Messenger and Mr Briggs with a smile.
Messenger thought he probably looked like he’d been visited by the ancestors while in the vault and was still recovering from the terror. Messenger couldn’t bring himself to look at Mr Briggs face.
After that it was onto a ground worm. Mr Briggs actually looked interested as they waited in a section of the tunnel separated from where the rest of the populace waited. They heard the ground worm before they saw it. A roar of wind. Loud, fast mechanical clicking. They saw the nose of the worm appear and then it was past. Messenger discreetly held onto Mr Briggs as the white body roared past, then slowed and finally stopped.
A door slid open and they entered.
Comfortable padded seats sat along the curved walls of the worm. There were no windows as there was nothing to see outside but rock. In their section there was an attendant, though there wouldn’t be one in the other sections. The travellers in the other sections would make do with a map on the wall.
The doors slid closed.
A soft humming started up. That was the only sign the worm had begun moving. Mr Briggs looked around, his quick eyes noting everything.
‘Do these things go all through the city?’ He asked Messenger.
‘Yes, sir. There are stations throughout the city.’
‘Do they take long?’
‘It depends where you’re going, but they’re much faster than walking.’
‘Do they transport goods on these worms?’
‘I believe so, though not on the same ones people travel on.’
‘And if the mountain is attacked? Will these tunnels collapse?’
‘The Vachi believe they’re quite safe.’
‘Hmm… and what does it take to run one of these things?’
And so on for the rest of the trip, though it lasted only about five minutes.
‘We’re getting off here, sir.’ Messenger interrupted quickly as lights flashed along the sides of the worm.
They exited onto a platform much like the one they had entered from.
When they exited the station they found themselves in a huge cavern. They were near the top, looking down onto the buildings and roads and people below.
A railing ran along the edge of the path. Mr Briggs leant on this as he looked down at the glittering city below.
‘What’s down there?’ he asked.
‘That’s the lower city, sir, most of the residents of Cavachi live down there.’
‘Lower city?’
‘Uh….’ Messenger swallowed. This would be difficult to explain. It was still strange for him.
The Speaker for the Master of the House of Corchanus was not an ordinary Vachi, he was an important man. So was Mr Briggs. But whereas the Speaker dressed in the finest clothes and lived in an underground palace with private baths as big as some of the public baths, Mr Briggs lived pretty much like anyone else in Astar.
Recha, a translator for an important man, lived in a small, though lovely home with his young wife. It was only one cave, one small cave, separated into three sections by screens that Recha’s wife had decorated herself.
Mr Briggs was a member of the Council of Astar, he was one of the most powerful men in Astar, but his home would not have been much different to Messengers’. It was perhaps slightly larger, and closer to the centre of Astar, but the furnishings, decoration, all would have been the same. It was perhaps the same size as Recha’s home.
Recha’s dress was completely different to the Speaker’s. You needed merely to look at him to know his place in society. In Astar, no one wore jewellery and everyone wore clothes of a similar quality and style. With the gemengs being a constant threat wasting resources on jewels was unthinkable.
‘Um, most people live in much smaller houses than the Speaker.’
‘Why?’ Mr Briggs eyes were on the city below, mapping out the roads, eyeing the buildings to determine their durability.
‘The Speaker is very important.’
Mr Briggs frowned at Messenger. It was something that would take time to understand. Messenger hadn’t really grasped the difference between the classes until he’d spent time in the lower city. He still didn’t really understand the reason, however.
Mr Briggs turned to the Speaker, who had been watching.
He began speaking, and Recha translated.
‘The Speaker for the Master of the House of Corchanus apologizes for the view, you need not worry yourself, we will not be going down there. If you will follow me, we will take this path to our lunching area.’
Mr Briggs turned to follow. They began to walk up the path that wound along the wall of the cavern. High above the glittering city below, it was like walking into the night, above the stars.
Messenger smiled.
‘Who is that man?’ Mr Briggs suddenly demanded. Messenger turned. Mr Briggs was pointing at a pile of rags hovering near the station. Thin, bony arms extended from the rags. Then Messenger noticed a beard, and two little eyes peering out.
The Speaker made a sound of disgust and Recha translated. ‘A beggar, a parasite in our glorious city, please, avert your eyes. The guards will deal with him.’
Mr Briggs turned to Messenger. ‘A beggar.’ His grey eyes flashed.
‘Y-yes, sir.’
‘They leave their fellow humans out in the streets in this condition.’
‘I’m afraid so, sir.’
Mr Briggs stiffened, his mouth twisted. He said nothing. He could say nothing that
would not be dangerously offensive with their hosts listening.
Messenger cringed. He hadn’t put this in the report. He’d hoped they wouldn’t see any. He hadn’t for such a long time. Not that he’d been looking.
Astar didn’t have beggars.
‘I understand your disgust,’ Recha was translating again. ‘He will be removed at once. Come, let us move on from this place.’ One of the Speaker’s attendants had already scurried off, probably to fetch the guards.
Mr Briggs turned and silently followed, Messenger falling in behind.
They followed the path up to a dark opening in the wall. Inside there was darkness for a brief moment before the path turned a corner and opened up onto the ‘park’.
A waterfall on the opposite side of the cavern led down into a wide river that crossed the cave. Three bridges spanned the river. It was on the banks of this river that the Speaker’s servants set up their rugs, pillows and food. The park was made up of spires of stone and crystal. Precious metals and stones gleamed from the uncut rock. And yet it was not all stone and rock. Giant mushrooms that gave off a faint glow grew in abundance. Cave mould of varying colours clung to the walls.
It was a strange and magical place.
They sat and ate. Messenger enjoyed the quiet, the sound of water on stone, the soft sound of laughter and the rustle of robes.
The silence didn’t last long. Recha was translating for the Speaker again.
‘Now we have some peace. Let us hear your family story.’
The Speaker was settled back onto his cushion as if he would be there for a long time. His own story had taken near three hours to tell in the Vaults of the Ancestors. It had, Messenger knew, been a condensed version. A proper telling would involve music and actors and would go on for days.
‘My mother and father were in the military.’ Mr Briggs said, his voice toneless. Messenger suspected he was wondering why anyone would waste time talking about such a thing.
Messenger glanced over at Recha before he translated; ‘His father was in the military.’
‘Can he not share his story?’ Recha asked softly.
Messenger squeezed his hands together tightly. It was more like he didn’t know it. Messenger nodded, finally.
To the Speaker Recha said in Ravki, ‘he is not a Teller for the House of Briggs, he may not share more than this, for it would dishonour his ancestors.’
The Speaker nodded knowingly.
As far as Messenger knew, many men within a family could be Tellers. All that meant was that they had been properly trained in the story of their House so they could tell it to people. Messenger had had some trouble unravelling the difference between the Master of the House and the Speaker. He’d thought the Master would have some important role, and he did, but not in a way Astarians would consider important. The Speaker, usually also a Teller, spoke on the behalf of the Master regarding everyday matters. The Master did not often leave the House and dealt with more important matters, such as honouring the ancestors. For all intents and purposes, that Astarians would understand anyway, the Speaker was in the charge of the House. The Vachi considered the Master’s role far more important; he was the moral and spiritual guide of the House.
One of the servants began playing a small, stringed instrument and they lapsed into a relaxed silence.
Though Cavachi was a city predominantly inside a mountain, nowhere was it dark. Somehow the Vachi managed to keep the place bright all the time and often with natural light that came through carefully cut and planned tunnels.
The only place, really, that was dark, was the lower caverns. If this was Astar, the lower caverns would be the edge of the city, right up against the city wall.
But it wasn’t Astar and there was no wall.
They were in a vast network of caverns that continued on for who knew how long. Messenger translated for Mr Briggs as they looked around. Messenger had been here before.
‘This is where they harvest the cave mould.’ Messenger was saying to Mr Briggs.
The only light here was from the pale green cave mould. Mostly, the cavern was a deep dark blue, fading to black.
In the lightest dark, shadows could be seen moving around. Like Astar, this was where the unwanted lived.
‘We’ve seen plenty of cave mould.’ Mr Briggs said. ‘By that river, all over the place.’
‘That’s decoration.’ Messenger said, inwardly cringing. Mr Briggs didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to for Messenger to be able to imagine his stern, disapproving gaze.
‘So they’re collecting the cave mould.’ Mr Briggs asked of the shadows. ‘We haven’t eaten any.’
‘They don’t eat cave mould in its raw form here.’ Messenger said. ‘Sir, not even the beggars will eat raw cave mould, please don’t say anything about it.’
Mr Briggs complied, his silence ominous.
They passed increasing numbers of poor and homeless as they descended deeper into the mountain. The Speaker’s attendants kept the poor far away from them.
In Astar, there were no beggars.
Every human life was valuable. How could it not be in a world full of gemengs? Even those who could or would not work were taken care of, partly with the hope that they could one day rejoin in the defense of Astar. But if not, they were still human. With the gemengs threatening to wipe them out at any time, how could any human in need not be helped? They’d be helping the gemengs if they didn’t take care of their fellow humans.
Soon after, they were back in their chambers to rest before dinner. Messenger dreaded what was coming.
‘Are these creatures human, Messenger?’ Mr Briggs said in a dangerous voice once the door was closed.
‘Y-yes-’
‘How do you know?’ he demanded. ’They look wrong. Have you ever seen a human with such black skin? No. They behave like gemengs. They engage in wasteful nonsense and leave their fellow ‘humans’ on the street to die. So tell me, how do you know?’
‘They say humans came in many colours once, before the gemengs.’
Mr Briggs face clouded angrily. ‘There is no before! There is only now!’
Messenger remained silent as Mr Briggs glared him down.
‘Even so, how can you trust their words or their knowledge?’
‘Sir, when I came here I was hurt, they looked after me. If they were gemengs I would not be alive right now.’
‘And, sir,’ Messenger swallowed, ‘I don’t think they have as much trouble from the gemengs as we do. They say they haven’t been attacked in a long time. Perhaps… perhaps that’s why they-they can leave people living in such conditions as we never would. They aren’t a people at war, not like us.’
Mr Briggs gazed at Messenger levelly. ‘How is that so?’
‘There aren’t any gemengs near here. I think… I think they killed all the ones near them. Did you notice any near Cavachi? I never have.’
‘How is that so?’ He asked, grimly curious.
Messenger hoped this was an improvement. If Mr Briggs went back to Astar and told the council he thought the Vachi were gemengs, it was all over.
This was also something Messenger had thought about on his many trips to Cavachi. ‘Well, we developed our weaponry enough to come out of the caves and fight the gemengs around four hundred years ago, sir, but the Vachi seem to have done that about two hundred years earlier. Also, they never really left their caves. Cavachi must have been here in some form much longer than that.’
‘But why would that be so? They are a wasteful, foolish people. How is it they could have developed faster than us?’
His tone told Messenger that Mr Briggs was not yet convinced by his arguments. But it was better. It was better.
He didn’t think Mr Briggs would appreciate their vague stories of the valkar that provided an answer. And he certainly wasn’t going to suggest luck, or that perhaps the Vachi were just smarter than the Astarians.
‘Well, they had help. From other people.’
Mr Briggs
eyes locked onto Messenger. ‘Other people. Are these humans too, Messenger?’
‘N-no, sir, but not gemengs either. They believe a people called the valkar provided them with help when the gemengs attacked.’
‘Who are these people? Where did they come from?’
‘I’m not sure, sir.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘And they provided help only to the Vachi? Not any of your multi-coloured humans? Why?’
‘Well, sir, the Vachi say the other… humans were their enemies.’
‘I see.’
‘Sir,’ Messenger said with a touch of desperation. Mr Briggs wasn’t convinced. Not enough. Not really. ‘Sir, we must look very strange to the Vachi, but they still took care of me. They have welcomed us into their home and shared their food with us. And even though they might be wasteful, what gemeng could build what they do? How could a gemeng make the things we have seen here? How?’
Something in Mr Briggs face changed and softened somehow. Messenger felt something unknot inside him. At least for now, Mr Briggs was willing to accept the Vachi as human.
That night at dinner cave mould was served. Or rather what was once, a long time ago, cave mould.
Mr Briggs eyed the wobbling mass suspiciously. Inside the clear jelly were fresh, sweet berries. The greenish colour was long gone, boiled away til only a gelatinous, sticky substance remained. This was mixed with clear juices and a variety of other things before being left in a cold place. What remained after this process was a refreshing, sweet dessert that went down as easily as a glass of water on a hot summer’s day.
The table was laid with a variety of other desserts, some cold some hot, some sticky, some not. Messenger’s favourite was the cave mould. Or what was once cave mould.
He sighed when he saw how Mr Briggs was looking at it.
‘Cave mould is very nutritious.’ Mr Briggs said.
Messenger saw the horrified look on Recha’s face as he, thankfully, translated something entirely different.
He wondered what would happen when a Vachi representative came to Astar. The game would be up then. They’d see a plain, unadorned city, with people from the top to the bottom dressed the same and all eating cave mould.
Not even beggars in Cavachi ate cave mould.
They’d find their new ‘friends’ barbarians.
Messenger’s mouth twisted in despair. Would they be willing to put aside their ideas about what was right for friendships sake? From what he knew of his own people and the Vachi, he didn’t think so.
Who was to say which way was better? They were different, that was all! Why could neither the Vachi or Mr Briggs see that?!
Though perhaps, he hoped, Mr Briggs had been convinced for a while. If he could be, maybe the Vachi could…
He sighed.
If they were served cave mould in Astar they’d probably attack the city in recompense for the slander, he thought morosely.
He spent the rest of the dinner in despair.
‘Friend, what is wrong?’ Recha asked. He had dropped back from the Speaker’s side to talk to Messenger.
Dinner was over. They were heading home for the night.
Messenger gave Recha a hard look and blurted, ‘we eat cave mould. All through winter, every day, all day.’
Surprise flashed across Recha’s face and he smiled. ‘Ah, I knew you were a strange man, friend, and yet you still astonish me every time I see you.’
‘Recha, you must think we’re barbarians.’
‘You are.’ he said, blinking his big dark eyes owlishly. ‘You are my barbarian friend.’
Messenger felt a tingle of hope. ‘And what will the rest of your people think?’
‘To us, you are children, savages. But to the valkar we are the savages. They were our friends. It is a sign of a civilized person to be kind to those less learned, less civilized than you. A sign of a civilized people.’
Messenger didn’t really like his people being thought of as less though he smiled anyway. ‘So you think an alliance can work?’
Recha smiled. ‘It already is.’
Messenger smiled slyly. ‘Will we be meeting Vearla this time?’ He grinned as Recha looked back blankly. Perhaps, he thought, under the beautiful, sky blue robes of the Speaker was a man like Recha. And if there was, perhaps they would be ok after all.
Then Recha smiled and sighed. ‘Yes.’
Messenger was taken aback. ‘Really?’
Recha nodded. ‘She would like to see who would become our friends.’
And if Vearla didn’t like them, Messenger thought, that would end an alliance quicker than serving a Vachi cave mould.