Legends Page 9

  At sunfall, we came upon an Egni settlement and Agouzi suggested I take a room with one of the local families. This I did, and was somewhat revived by the cheerful tribe who offered me accommodation almost as soon as we stepped beyond the gate of their village. These people spoke a dialect I could barely comprehend, but they seemed happy simply to talk at me, and did not appear to expect responses. Chattering, they dragged me to their home and offered me vast amounts to eat and drink. I was very tired, and after eating collapsed upon the mattress in the attic to which they directed me and fell into the deepest of slumbers. Where Agouzi slept I had no idea.

  In the morning, I was awoken by the family and given more food. Agouzi presented himself at their door minutes after I’d finished eating. I paid my hosts and we set out once more. Today we would reach Gyth.

  Now the air was colder, and once a flurry of snow passed before my eyes, vanishing almost in an instant, as if the gods of the weather were teasing me. There was no one else up-on the road now, which surprised me. I’d expected a steady stream of plunderers, whose motivations would not be quite as noble as mine. The wind wove a lonely song, which was quite beautiful. Snow leopards, who appeared almost tame, lay, sat or stalked among the high rocks beside the road, observing us mildly. Sticks of incense the thickness of my wrist burned at intervals along the path, releasing a heavy perfume. I wondered if it was this that lulled the leopards.

  Midmorning, Agouzi led us off the main track onto a tiny, twisting goat path between sharp black rocks. Here, tufts of a heavily-scented herb grew in the deep fissures, making the air almost narcotic. I could hear the bells of goats but could see none nearby. And now the mists came to claim us, stealing in like prowling cats, wisps that might be soft paws and tails, or hot carnivore breath. I mentioned none of these fancies to Agouzi, but even so he said to me, “The servants of Shah Mahra, the Great Snow Leopard, travel in the mists. They observe the hearts of those who come here.”

  “And do they judge?” My question came out sharp.

  Agouzi laughed softly. “That is not their function. Look up there.”

  I raised my head and saw enormous dark shapes motionless in the dancing tendrils of mist. As I stared, these shapes resolved into the forms of two black granite leopards sitting erect, yet with their heads lowered; a watchful stance.

  “We approach Tin gurra Lath, the gateway to Gyth,” Agouzi said, “and here are its guardians. In years gone by, this was a city of towers so high their crowns brushed the realms of the sky. Its people rarely ventured into the lower areas and the towers were connected by bridges of golden ropes. It was called the City Above the Birds in the modern tongue.”

  In the silence that followed these words, I peered through the dance of the mist, and tried to imagine the ghosts of these towers around me, but all that remained were stumps; I could see that now. A graveyard of tumbled masonry stretched into the distance. Agouzi led the way over and through it, nimble on his long feet. I came more unsteadily behind, still giddy from the gift of the rock herbs. Occasionally, I would spy a face in the stones, the ripped visage of a tumbled statue, blind in surprise. But these were too big to pick up. Everything was. The fallen stones were mountains in themselves and cast thick dark shadows. I found the atmosphere oppressive.

  “How far to Gyth now?” I asked, my voice unnervingly muffled.

  “Beyond the gateway,” Agouzi said, pausing ahead of me. He allowed me to catch up. “At the north gate of Tin gurra Lath lies the Queen’s Step, or the wide road to Gyth. The two cities were almost one, except Gyth was on the ground.”

  Perhaps it was simply the combined effects of the rarefied air and the scented herbs that made me so dizzy, but I was finding it increasingly difficult to keep walking. Agouzi, now quite a distance ahead of me, again paused to wait. He appraised my condition and then, stooping down upon one knee, said, “climb upon my back.”

  And so I entered the city of Gyth like a child, riding upon the back of an adult.

  The Queen’s Step was not a long road and, once we emerged from the depressing stones of fallen Tin gurra Lath, the path swept down gracefully into a valley of golden grasses. Amid the mist, I saw trees with white bark and golden leaves, as if it were autumn, but the season was young. Nervous white deer grazed upon the grasses, pausing skittishly to observe our descent before bounding away, becoming one with the clouds around us. The Queen’s Step was remarkably well preserved, each slab of its surface carved with different pictures. The images themselves were somewhat worn down but I was sure I could discern depictions of Lighurdkind upon them. As we drew nearer to the city, the mist rolled itself up, drawing back to reveal the mysteries of Gyth to me. “Set me down,” I said to Agouzi.

  It is difficult to describe what I saw. My first thought was that the city had been scythed, in that its buildings had been sheered away at the same height, as if with an immense blade. Even so, they remained gigantic, constructed from pale stone that now glistened in sunlight. This was a city of columns and turrets, of hidden walkways, narrow streets and wide plazas. Ceremonial ways – or roads I took to be as such – radiated from the centre to each point of the compass. Everything about the place seemed to whisper, “come, I am waiting to be explored. Look upon me. See my many ways, my empty palaces that are perhaps not quite empty, my temples blistered with the jewels of gods. Come to me now; immerse yourself within me.”

  Gyth was, without doubt, a goddess of cities. And I was compelled to run, again like a child, into the goddess’ waiting arms. As I ran, the years seemed to peel back, and both Gyth and I became younger; the buildings became bigger around me. And my legs were pumping so fast I could barely keep up with myself; I would tumble into the city. And tumble I did, down the last stretch of the Queen’s Step, over and over and over, as if I were trapped in a kaleidoscope, colours of sky and city and landscape blurring into one.

  The sky is a queen’s gown of stars, encrusted so thickly it is a blanket of light. I am lying on my back upon stone. I can hear myself panting and the beat of blood in my head. No, I am not lying, I am sitting. Images around me are shadows, yet becoming more distinct with every moment. Am I dreaming? I’m unsure, but I’m not afraid. I am where I’m supposed to be. I hear the tumult of many voices raised in excitement. From the ground beneath me comes a sensation of throbbing that is not quite a sound, but as I fix my attention upon it, so it becomes louder, more recognisable as sound; a deep and immeasurable moan. I’m reminded of whale song, but it is not that. Now, I see I am sitting with many others within a stone amphitheatre that is the size of a small town. My companions are Lighurds, all of them, who are far taller than Agouzi; they are true giants. They are dressed in garments of metal scales that emulate the gleam of their natural scales. Some have decorated their quills most fancifully with streaming or spiky ornaments. I am looking for females, but they all appear the same to me. How would it be possible to tell? I can perceive now, upon the cliff-like walls of the structure, great pipes or horns from which the immense moaning notes are emanating. This strange music stirs my blood, for I can tell it heralds an approach of some kind. Then, wooden gates at either end of the amphitheatre swing open in a slow, ponderous fashion. There is only darkness beyond them. The horns issue their notes a final time – a blast that shakes my very fibres – and then shapes lumber forth from the darkness.

  These are creatures the size of cathedrals, taking careful steps with their surprisingly graceful webbed feet. I wonder if they are dragons, but then I’d always believed dragons to be beautiful, attenuated beings, at one with the air. These before me are incontrovertibly creatures of earth. Their hides are the colour of clay, although one is lighter in tone than the other. Their immense heads are reptilian but blunted, and have no quills like the Lighurds’. They are bipedal with legs proportionately larger than their arms, and long thick tails culminating in what appear to be natural spiked clubs. They face each other, clapping their clawed hands, shaking their heads, switching their tails. Above them, the hor
ns boom once more, and around me the crowd rises to their feet, uttering cries. I expect the beasts to fight to the death, conjuring a greedy blood-lust from the spectators. No doubt they have placed bets upon the combat.

  And then a lone Lighurd steps into the arena. He must be around eleven or twelve feet tall, yet is an insect in comparison to the snorting giants. They turn their heads sideways to regard him. Their mobile toes flex in the dirt of the arena floor. Is he a sacrifice? I don’t want to see, convinced something terrible and sickening is about to happen. The Lighurd has copper and emerald scales, and is draped in a garment that appears to be fashioned of metal disks, yet it moves around his body like linen. He raises his arms and throws back his head, striding slowly towards the gigantic beasts. When he stands between them, he raises his quills, which surround him like a starburst. Crystal ornaments upon them capture the light of the sky and he becomes a being of starlight.

  The beasts begin to circle around the Lighurd, very slowly. And now the crowd is uttering a crooning song, their lean bodies swaying as one in a sinuous dance. Someone next to me reaches for my hand and I see for the first time that I am Lighurd too; my hand is long and clawed and I am wearing a ring with an immense jewel, perhaps a topaz, on one of the fingers. I am singing too. I know the song. We are calling to the stars, to our ancestors. We are calling upon the wisdom of the Ahn Toth, these two immense beings before us. We have called them down from the Holy Peak to work their magic for us. They have travelled for over a week to reach us. They are the last of their kind.

  The Lighurd in the arena is Kurra’Koor, the chosen one of our season. The Ahn Toth loom over him, weaving the air with their claws, drawing substance from it that I cannot see, cannot understand. They sing, too, and the sounds they make are tools to change reality. The starlight becomes an inferno around the body of Kurra’Koor. He can barely be perceived within it, and then it somehow falls and folds around him like a garment. A deity stands before us, clothed in light. Kurra’Koor’s scales are of luminous pearl. Where once were quills are now spreading vanes or fins that gently float upon the air; unutterably beautiful. The crowd falls to their knees before this vision, myself among them. I feel a stirring deep within my being that is at once holy and lustful. I am also aware of a feeling of relief, as if some part of me feared this ritual might not work.

  The paler of the Ahn Toth gently lifts Kurra’Koor with one hand as if he were a doll, only now he is no longer he but she, as is the being who holds her. She places Kurra’Koor upon her shoulder, where there is a convenient seat between knobs of bone-like protuberances. We will follow Kurra’Koor to the White Temple of Spring Flowers, and there our next generation will be created. For some time thereafter Kurra’Koor will bear eggs within the sanctum of the temple. Each one of us will have a son and we will know our own by sight. There is never any mistake over that.

  I am given no more than this.

  When I came back to true consciousness Agouzi was cradling me in his lap. One hot hand was on my brow. I felt the tips of his claws against my left temple. He was not looking at me but out across the city.

  “Does it still happen that way?” I asked him.

  He tilted his head to regard me, in the way the great Ahn Toth had done with Kurra’Koor.

  “I saw,” I said. “Kurra’Koor... the Ahn Toth,...”

  “They were the last of their kind,” Agouzi replied at last. “We had to learn what they knew.”

  “Were they... your ancestors?”

  “In some ways,” Agouzi replied. “We were certainly connected. Once the Ahn Toth ruled this land you call Kyla. They made us to survive them, but before they left the land there was much they had to teach us.”

  I struggled away from him, still awkward in my movements, disorientated. I was surprised he did not question me about what I’d seen, or how I’d seen, but then I was not surprised at all. “It was so unthinkably long ago. Your people... what happened?” I gestured at the ruins around me.

  “Others came who coveted our land. They flew in above the mountains. There were wars. There always are. But as you said, that was long ago, and even the conquerors are dust.” He stood up. “You must drink.”

  Agouzi fetched me water from our supplies, which I drank greedily, while Agouzi squatted before me, observing me, perhaps concerned my experience had made me ill. The sky seemed to be ringing like a vast bell, but perhaps that was in my head.

  He did not owe me explanations. What I’d seen had been private, a racial memory of his kind. Why it had been shown to me particularly, I did not know. Yet still I had to ask. “You are all male until a certain season, then one becomes your queen?”

  “We came down the Queen’s Step,” he said, as if this explained everything. Getting to his feet, he offered to me a hand. “Come.”

  By the time we reached the arena, or what was left of it, the moon had risen, blue in the velvet sky, surrounded by her starry court. The place was just a jumble of pale stones that dreamed of starlight. The Lighurd of the past were gone, aeons ago. Those who lived in Kyla now were very different. Did they still build? Were there fabulous academies hidden away somewhere, full of arcane astronomical equipment? Were the bones of the last of the Ahn Toth enshrined in some immense underground chamber, locked in by secrets and labyrinths, and guardians not of this world? I wanted to believe these things.

  “Were you dragons?” I asked wistfully.

  Agouzi squeezed my hand. “If that is what you wish.” He threw back his head and uttered an ululating sound. For a while this echoed around the immense silent ruins, then other songs rose in response. My skin prickled.

  “It is our choice now,” Agouzi said.

  And then they came over the broken stones, Lighurd maidens with their floating hair that was not hair, their almost feline yet serpent-like faces, their utter grace, their indescribable ancient beauty.

  “I will give to you my son,” Agouzi said. “Take him out into the younger world and tell him stories, show him wonders as is the privilege of your profession. He will tell you stories in return. When you are dead, he will bring your stories back to us.” He opened his mouth, narrowed his eyes: a grin. “Perhaps even before that.”

  I managed a shaky laugh. “The children you give us, they are chroniclers.”

  Agouzi again narrowed his eyes in a smile. “We are intrigued by the follies of youth.”

  The ethereal Lighurd women had formed a circle around us now. Their light was not supernatural; their fish-fin hair merely snared the starlight and stored it.

  One reached out to me and I took her pearly hand. She had chosen me in some way, and so had chosen Agouzi. “Can you be like her?” I asked Agouzi softly, “if you wish?”

  “I am like her,” he said. “Let the others take you, they will feed you. At dawn I will return to you.”

  The women took me to a bower among the golden-leafed trees. Here they bid me recline upon a bed of flowers and grasses and gave to me delicacies enjoyed by their people. The nervous deer were drawn to investigate and some of the women fed them. I lay back and gazed up at the firmament. Across it flowed an attenuated, graceful shape – a serpent of the sky that flew without wings. Or perhaps it was simply a flight of night-singing birds, like lace against the stars.

  In the morning, Agouzi returned to me, as he’d promised, and I woke from perhaps the most refreshing sleep I’d ever experienced. The Lighurd women had gone, but they had left me gifts; a delicate stole of silver disks, a collection of tiny statuettes depicting goddesses and spirits of the land, four nets of fruit, two cooked birds, some steaks of a meat I took to be goat, spiced potatoes wrapped in muslin, and a flagon of golden liquor. Agouzi too seemed pleased with the food and drink they’d left behind.

  We set out again, leaving Gyth behind, seeking out further remains even more ancient. You can see what I brought back with me – all these treasures. I travelled for three months with Agouzi among the vast ruins of Kyla. I found so many wonders, great and small, I had to b
uy another goat and hire two Egni as well. We climbed the highest mountain in the world, and at the top I shouted out my wishes for the future, since that peak is closest to the gods and they can hear you clearly there. We visited the vast catacombs that wormed through the mountain, filled with the tombs and creations of monstrous beings, the like of which I’d never seen before. Lighurds were more human in comparison. We visited a secret province few outsiders have ever been shown that is like the Garden of Creation, populated by a race of people so fair they must have been hidden away by the gods for their own protection. I have many stories to tell, but the one you really want me to finish telling is about the gift Agouzi gave to me, isn’t it?

  He was waiting for us as we returned to the ruins of Gyth. Poor child, he might have already been there for days before he spied us. He and Agouzi called to one another, long before I could see him with my physical eyes. He was like a smaller version of Agouzi rather than having the proportions of a human child. His quills were pale and soft and did not quite reach his shoulders.

  “Leshi will have told him he is to go with you,” Agouzi said to me as we approached his son. Leshi must be the Lighurd with whom he’d... well I suppose the word is ‘mated’.

  “Aren’t you afraid for him?” I asked.

  “No,” Agouzi replied, again with his usual lack of inflection. His confidence could mean many things: he felt I was trustworthy, or the child was capable of looking after himself, or Agouzi could already see his son’s future. I still don’t know which of those it was. The young Lighurd’s name is Ran’zar and I brought him home with me.

  My employers were very interested in him, of course, and he was – and is – very interested in them. He has a great curiosity for the world, and is less concerned about our past than how we are now. Sights and experiences are like food to him. He knows the past of his kind – all of it, because I believe it is handed down as clear memories from one generation to another – but he will not speak of it to me. Not yet. As a child, he is more interested in his own desires and that is knowledge of us and our world.