The Temple of the Sun Read online

  As the moon rose higher in the sky Fern urged the little craft faster along the metal path, taking out the paddle and scooping the silver water back to add speed to its progress.

  Her first exultant urge to speed turned to despair as the great disk lifted higher and higher, further and further from her reach.

  She stood at last, arms uplifted, calling to the moon with a strange and unnatural call.

  Kyra jerked awake with the sound, seeing the girl transformed.

  ‘Fern!’ she cried in alarm.

  Fern did not hear her, but stretched her arms to their limits...

  The moonlight caught her eyes and to Kyra they seemed to be made of moon metal.

  She seized her and shook her. The boat rocked dangerously and Fern’s eyes became pools of dark.

  ‘Come back!’ Kyra cried. ‘Fern, you are possessed!’

  Karne grumblingly awoke now and stared bewildered at the scene.

  He saw his sister Kyra shaking Fern violently, felt the boat rocking.

  In an instant he was up and in control. He pushed Fern and Kyra down with oaths of command, seized the paddle and righted the spinning and jerking of the boat.

  Fern crouched with her head against Kyra’s breast sobbing and shivering. Kyra enclosed her with her arms and comforted her with soft sounds.

  ‘What is this?’ Karne shouted. ‘What have you done?’

  Kyra looked above Fern’s head and could see no land to the west and the stars they had set their course by were not where they should have been.

  They were caught in a sickly white light in the middle of darkness, far from home, far from anywhere they knew. And creeping over the face of the moon was the dark hand of a cloud.

  Within a short while the stars had gone out one by one, the whole sky was overcast and they were in absolute darkness.

  They sat huddled together, the cold they felt as much from within as from without.

  Karne and Kyra had quietened Fern’s sobs and had silently agreed to say no more about the incident. What was done was done, and now they must think what to do next.

  ‘There is nothing we can do but wait for morning and the light,’ Karne said.

  He held Fern close to him, knowing that what she had done she had not done deliberately to bring them into danger, but that something from deep within those mysterious levels we all have within ourselves had stirred, and an urge to reach and follow something she herself could not control or understand had taken over.

  In the darkness, drifting with the deep sea currents, the three young people and the unborn child waited.

  They saw no sun in the morning, but they knew it had risen because the black pit of darkness in which they had been marooned gave way to a dull and sombre grey, neither sky nor sea distinguished in any way.

  Gloomily the three made breakfast of wheat biscuits and water from the goatskin bag. Up to now they had fed off the land each day and had not needed to draw on their emergency store of food.

  Karne stared around him at their featureless world.

  They had pulled down the rough sail in an attempt not to travel any further off their course, and lowered strings of fibrous rope over the side to watch which way they drifted, hoping their rudimentary knowledge of currents and tides, gleaned from fisherman friends, would help them decide which way land lay.

  It was Fern who noticed the first sea bird and after that they concentrated on the sky and noted with desperate attention which way the birds flew. But this at first was not much help as the birds seemed to come and go from many directions.

  Kyra buried her face in her hands and tried to ‘feel’ the presence of the land. Karne kept quiet, knowing this was a power Kyra sometimes had which she was hoping would grow with training as a priest.

  Fern joined her in her concentration, thinking of the forests and the growing plants with whom she had lived in close harmony all her life. She needed them now and called on them for help.

  * * * *

  At first no help came.

  The sound of the slap, slapping of the water against the side of the boat was all they were conscious of, that and the coldness of the air that enclosed them.

  Karne watched the ropes, counted seagulls and noted the direction of the drift of flotsam.

  Gradually through the darkness in her head Fern began to feel little stirrings, hear little sounds like leaves rustling, small animals moving through undergrowth...

  She opened her eyes with excitement and found Karne pointing in the same direction, and Kyra looking decisively along the line of both their pointing fingers.

  Laughing, they all talked at once.

  ‘I am sure it is that way – I heard forest sounds,’ Fern cried.

  ‘And I saw a gull carrying nesting materials in its mouth travelling that way. It must have been returning to the cliffs!’

  ‘And I,’ Kyra said dreamily, ‘felt the presence of a Sacred Circle and someone in it calling to us.’

  They looked at each other joyfully and set about turning the boat around to head in the direction they had all agreed was the right one.

  While Fern was following the moon they must have drifted a long way off course and it took them the best part of a day to reach again the comfort of the land.

  Great was their delight to see at last a darker smear of grey upon the western horizon, and even greater was their pleasure to distinguish the tall stones of a Sacred Circle crowning the highest point above the sea as they drew nearer.

  They were still a long way from their destination, the Great Temple of the Sun where the Lord Guiron waited so uneasily for them, but as they pulled into the rocky cove at the base of the cliff that housed the stone circle Fern was singing and Kyra’s eyes were shining. People who used the tall stones of a Sacred Circle to communicate with the spirit realms must be of their own kind, and it would be good to be among such people again. Karne, who felt the responsibility of carrying Kyra and Fern safely over so great a distance and through so many dangers, was particularly relieved to break the journey for a while and seek the advice of people who would certainly know these waters and this coast better than he did.

  He leapt into the shallow water and hauled the light craft as high out of the sea as he could, the girls joining him with enthusiasm.

  It was almost dark but they could still see fairly well, and when they finally drew breath from all the effort of attending to their boat, they found that they were not alone.

  Standing on some rocks a short way from them and holding in their hands what looked like clubs stood several men, rough and uncouth, clad in furs and not in woven cloth.

  Kyra, Karne and Fern froze, unsure of their next move.

  The men stared at them and they stared at the men.

  * * * *

  The first movement came from Kyra who took a step or two towards them in spite of Karne’s warning touch upon her arm. She stood vulnerable, her hands empty and open in front of her, as though showing them that they had nothing to fear from the people from the sea.

  At the same time she tried to project friendly thoughts towards them, knowing that all people respond, whether they know it or not, to the thought flow from others.

  Her overtures must have succeeded because they approached and there was no menace in the way they came. Their faces were smiling and friendly, though dirty, and as they drew nearer Karne could see that the sticks they carried were not clubs, but bundles of rushes, probably dipped in fat, to use as torches against the dark of the night that was fast closing in around them.

  The men spoke their language but with a more guttural sound. From what they said it became clear that the travellers were expected. Their priest had sensed their presence at sea during the dawn watch in the Sacred Circle and sent greetings and offers of hospitality to the strangers.

  Karne accepted with gratitude on their behalf.

  While the leader of the group and Karne exchanged these words, two of the men busied themselves making fire with a bow-like too
l. It spun fast on a piece of kindling wood until it smouldered and set light to the rushes which became their torches for the climb up the rocky cliff path.

  At the top of the cliff the whole village seemed to have gathered to greet the strangers, but the one who stood out among the others was the priest, the only one clad in woven cloth and wearing leather on his feet. He was shorter than his charges but of enormous bulk, the folds of his garments falling over a great belly. He raised his two plump hands to them in salute while the villagers crowding behind him waited eagerly but silently to join their greeting to his.

  ‘Welcome, my friends. It is not often I have the pleasure of sharing my hearth with one of the brotherhood,’ and he looked straight at Karne who stood tall above the girls and slightly ahead of them.

  Karne was puzzled by this, but said nothing more than polite greetings in reply.

  ‘Come!’ the priest said imperiously but kindly, indicating that Karne should follow him.

  Instantly the rest of the villagers closed in on Kyra and Fern and, chattering excitedly, led them off away from Karne, to the group of wooden huts surrounding a small circle of open fires.

  ‘You will eat with us,’ some said.

  ‘Our house is your house,’ others cried, and Kyra and Fern could see that they were to be quite smothered with hospitality.

  Although the people were very different from their own, the whole atmosphere was so friendly and festive they did not think to feel alarm.

  Both girls were glad they would have the comfort of sleeping in a warm house for a change, but both wondered somewhat anxiously what had become of Karne. There was no sign of him or the priest.

  When Kyra could at last make herself heard above the hubbub of questions and friendly offers of food, she ventured to ask where her brother might be.

  ‘He is with the Lord Yealdon, of course,’ she was told as though her question had been a foolish one. ‘He will eat well and sleep soft. You have no cause to be concerned. It is a great day for the Lord when he has someone of equal stature to talk the Mysteries with!’

  Again Kyra felt a small twinge of puzzlement, but she was hungry and tired and cramped from the long hours on the boat and soon dismissed thoughts about her brother and the priest to enjoy the good roast deer and pungent root ale. The firelight flickered from every side, dim figures wove in and out through it and when the light caught their faces she saw nothing but friendliness and pleasure.

  * * * *

  After the eating and the drinking, when Fern and Kyra were feeling decidedly dizzy from the ale, the villagers performed a dance for them, singing a strange song very different from any the girls had ever heard before. It seemed to be a hunting song accompanied by a ritual dance. Half the dancers had antlers fixed to their heads on strange masks and tails of fur hanging between their legs, while the other half had spears which they pretended to throw from time to time.

  The dance started slow, the hunters close to the ground stalking their prey, the ‘animals’ feeding peacefully and unaware of danger. Almost without Kyra and Fern noticing it the tempo of the slow drumming music and muted song changed, becoming faster and faster, louder and louder. The chase was on! The ‘animals’ leapt and twisted trying to escape. The ‘hunters’ circled and pursued, drawing their trap tighter and closer.

  Kyra and Fern found themselves caught by the savage rhythm of the beat, so unlike the music of their own peaceful farming community, and began stamping their feet in time to the dance. The impact of so many stamping feet raised the dust and the air seemed to vibrate with frenzy. Dust and sparks and smoke mingled with the dancers, the heady smell of ale and of roasting meat, the loud and louder chanting of so many throats, began to work on Fern and Kyra so that they found themselves leaping up and joining in, a surge of primitive ecstasy burning them up like the stubble in a field of straw on fire on a windy day.

  Kyra could feel the sweat pouring from her, but she could not stop dancing. It was as though she was being danced, rather than herself dancing. The drumming of her feet had become her own heartbeat.

  On and on the sound went, the movement went faster and faster until at last a composite scream broke from the throats of all the dancers...

  ‘Kill!’

  Ice cold the word like a flung dagger stopped all movement, all frenzy, instantly. Kyra was dimly aware in the immediate and deathly silence of the humming whine of dozens of spears travelling through the air.

  ‘Oh you gods,’ she cried within herself, ‘they have not killed them!’

  She tried to pull herself together enough to see what had happened, but the dancing and the ale and the unaccustomed emotions of the whole evening had told on her and she could feel herself slipping into unconsciousness. Her last thought as the weirdly falling dust disappeared from her sight was for Fern. Fern who carried a child within her body and must surely be feeling even worse than herself.

  * * * *

  Karne, seated on a thick rich bearskin rug within the priest’s comfortable house, which was some way from the feasting and the fires, could hear the sound of singing and the loud thud of stamping feet, but it was very much a background noise and he did not take much notice of it.

  He was amazed at what he saw. The dwellings of the villagers he had noticed in the firelight seemed no more than temporary shelters against the weather. In his own village the sturdy circular houses were built of wood and rushes, bound over with hides to keep the weather out. They were built to last a man’s lifetime. He wondered if these people were nomadic. He had heard of such people, wanderers who had not learned the way to use the land skilfully so that it yielded year after year the crops needed for sustenance. People who used the land once and then moved on. Hunting people. Restless people.

  But the priest’s house was sumptuous with the most magnificent furs Karne had ever seen hung from every beam and spread across the floor. He was given a sweet wine made of honey to drink, and bowls of rich and tender meat, spiced with nuts and herbs he had not tasted before, to eat. Several young girls slipped in from time to time silently and discreetly to replenish their goblets and their bowls.

  At first he was delighted with it all, but gradually as more and more wine was pressed upon him and his refusals were ignored, he began to have misgivings. The friendly face of the priest seemed to him too friendly. He smiled too much and his plump hands that had been raised in greeting with such dignity began to look greasy and unclean as he fingered the food.

  Karne wondered at the great disparity between the style of living of the priest and his people. He seemed an alien among them. In Karne’s own community the priest Maal, who had been with them for many years, had held a position of great respect and, although master of Mysteries that the ordinary people never questioned, had a relationship with them that was friendly and loving.

  Karne noticed that the fat priest had many large rings upon each finger, some in silver and some in gold, but one in particular he noticed and disliked. It was of a greyish metal that he had not seen before and was shaped like an eye. As the priest’s hands moved the eye seemed to glint and gleam and never take its attention off Karne. He tried to shake himself free of the feeling, telling himself that it could not possibly be an eye that could see, but a blind piece of metal fashioned by a man. But whether it was the wine or the monotonous and softly droning voice of the priest, Karne felt himself slipping further and further away from the reality he knew how to control.

  ‘It is not often we welcome such a distinguished traveller as yourself,’ the man said at last, smiling.

  Karne through his confusion knew enough to try to protest that some mistake was being made, but his voice seemed to come out thin and dim and carry no conviction. The priest ignored it.

  ‘You are too modest,’ he said, still smiling, indicating to the girl that Karne’s cup needed refilling.

  ‘No...’ said Karne feebly.

  ‘I insist,’ the priest said, smiling.

  He paused a while, and Karne strug
gled to work out what was happening, but his mind was too confused by the influence of the wine.

  ‘I must hold on,’ he told himself desperately. ‘Something is not right!’

  But the man’s charming voice was speaking again, soothingly, softly.

  ‘I have been cut off here among these barbarians for longer than I care to remember!’

  He said the word ‘barbarian’ with great venom and bitterness. Karne wondered what the girl who stood behind him to serve the wine was thinking. These were her people and although she was poorly clad and possibly not as advanced in knowledge and skill as the girls in his own village were, she was by no means deserving of such scorn.

  He had thought it was a priest’s duty to educate and guide his people, not to keep them in a state of savagery and then despise them for it.

  ‘We could exchange knowledge and ideas,’ the fat priest continued smoothly. ‘It is many years since I learnt the Mysteries, and you are young. There must be many new things taught in the temple schools these days that would add to an old man’s strength. You could teach me these things, while I,’ and here he leaned very close to Karne and his rheumy eyes seemed to leer into the boy’s, ‘could teach you things I have learnt over the years of practice as a magician-priest that no school ever taught or ever would. I have powers that would startle you, young priest!’

  ‘I assure you...’ Karne began feebly, really worried now, realizing the misunderstanding had been allowed to go too far.

  ‘No, do not protest,’ the old man’s voice was suddenly sharp. ‘I assure you I need to know what they are teaching these days and if...’ and here he paused and his face was harsh and cold, ‘if you refuse my offer of a peaceful trade ... I have ways of taking what I want...’

  There was a cruel and relentless edge beneath the smoothness of his voice now. He raised his right hand slightly, turning the deadly eye of his ring towards Karne so that just briefly, as though it was a taste of things to come, the firelight in the brazier glinted off its metallic surface and pierced his eyes with light so icily inhuman that for a moment he was blinded.

  Karne was afraid now, deadly afraid.