XLII
In the days after the lawmoot, the king oversaw the dissemination of his laws to all his domains, and those of his peers. Karvalo was among the first to receive a new lawbook, and at once, he set about producing copies for his allies. One such book made its way to Samnew, and Awldano received it with pride.
‘What an excellent thing it is,’ he said, ‘to hold in my hands proof of my place in the world. I was among the deliberators of this law. I made it fast, and fast are the leaves on which it is set. But faster still is the wonder with which I behold its beauty. No earthly power could shake it from my breast.’
Awldano was so moved by the book’s artistry that he decided to produce a book of his own to commemorate his accession to the lordship. However, though Samnew did at that time have the means to produce whatever logs and accounts the lordship demanded, it had no proper scriptorium, and certainly not the talent required to produce a work bearing even a fraction of the lawbook’s eminence. Awldano resolved to change that.
‘I will make this place a place of art,’ he said, ‘and a place of culture, where before it has been a place of strife.’
‘Yes,’ said Thalo. ‘It would be better to produce your own work than to get only what Karvalo cares to give.’
To this end, Awldano had one of the small bedrooms set aside and made his way to Pearmol, where he asked his father to give him a scribe or two.
‘Why would you ask this of me?’ said Karvalo.
Awldano explained his decision to establish a scriptorium at Samnew, for which he would need more accomplished scribes than he had available.
‘That seems a wasteful effort,’ said Karvalo. ‘I gave you the laws recently, did I not? Did you not find it a satisfactory production?’
‘More than satisfactory,’ said Awldano, ‘it was right inspiring!’
‘That was not my intention, nor is it my intention to entertain this. If you need a book, come to me, and I will see what I can do about it. Until then, I advise you go home and turn your attention to more important endeavours.’
Then Karvalo left the room.
Awldano went home empty-handed, but his luck was not yet spent. Odwala came to him and said there was another way, and a better one. She said she had received a priestly education at a small temple called Swotteyr, not far south of Samnew, and she had been taught her letters by a wise old priest named Owvo.
‘He was from Fessos,’ she said. ‘They produce the foremost hands in the kingdom, and they are ever eager to loan them out. If you ask the high priest there, I am sure you will find yourself some finer scribes than your father’s.’
As reluctant as he was to dismiss his father’s counsel, Awldano’s thoughts turned readily to Thalo’s. He alone was the Lord of Samnew, not Karvalo, and he would make it a place of art, and a place of culture. He would have his scriptorium. Just so, he sent Odwala sailing down to Fessos a little while later to procure some priests. He did not go himself, for autumn was approaching, but he sent Thalo in his stead.
‘What queer jest is this?’ said Thalo, sitting on the ship. ‘Why is it that I sit aboard this ship, but not those bound for greater exploits?’
‘Thalo is not aboard that ship,’ said Awldano. ‘You are Awldano, my will and my voice. I should be going myself, but my lordly obligations deny me that honour. As my husband, you are the most fitting replacement. If that is not to your liking, you can go to Pearmol on my behalf and ask my father again.’
Thalo stayed on the ship. Even so, Odwala was in charge of the expedition, for she best knew her way around a monastery. After her and Thalo, the rowers were twelvefold, six on each side, and when everyone was ready and the sea had been adequately appeased, they set off.
The wind was fair, and as they were approaching Flatteyr, they decided to stop for the night. The Lord of Flatteyr at that time was a man called Addeo—he will be important to remember. Addeo was a proud and forthright man, but he had only recently taken the lordship amid a dispute following the death of his sister, Kona, at Thwenawl, where she fought alongside the late king. Addeo granted Odwala his hospitality, and though nothing is said of Thalo’s time in his hall, I imagine Addeo had much to ask his guest.
They set sail again early the next morning and followed the coast until they came to Kwelnas. They had to row their way upriver, going past Syorbak and on until they came to Arbak, and there they disembarked at last, to walk the rest of the way to Fessos. When they came to the monastery, they all went in together, halted a passing priest, and asked for an audience with the high priest.
‘Who are you?’ said the priest.
Odwala said, ‘We have come on behalf of Awldano, Lord of Samnew, to speak with the high priest.’
The priest said he was in the temple and led them there. They came through the south door into a room of black stone, lit only by candles hung along the walls, and a distant glimpse of sunlight at either end. Dug into the middle of the floor was a pool of water, in which sat a short, round man. He was Saffero the High Priest, and the water came up to his nipples. The right one was called Thlewze, and the left Thlowze, and he was otherwise alone.
‘Who are you?’ said Saffero.
Odwala said, ‘We have come on behalf of Awldano, Lord of Samnew, to speak with the high priest.’
‘That is all well and good, but that is not what I asked. Who are you?’
‘I am Odwala, former Lord of Samnew, albeit briefly, and foremost servant of my very own successor. Beside me stands Thalo, the lord’s husband, who has come in his stead.’
Saffero asked them why they had come to Fessos.
Odwala said, ‘The Lord of Samnew wishes to establish a scriptorium in his hall, for which he will need the appropriate scribal staff. We hope you will be willing to provide this.’
‘No, no! More than willing! I am ever proud to hear how highly our art is regarded. It is most pleasing to know that this is no less even in the northerner and simpler reaches of the land.’
Thalo could not let such a slight stand. Stepping forth, he said, ‘What do you mean by that, priest?’
Saffero only laughed as bubbles welled up about his nipples.
‘Thlewze hears,’ he said, his gaze fixed upon Thalo, ‘and Thlowze judges. I will sort you out.’
Then he rolled out of the pool and left the temple without putting on any clothes, or even drying off.
While Saffero made the necessary arrangements, his guests were put up in the monastery. The twelvefold rowers were hidden away in two bedrooms of six each, where they might be readily ignored, while Odwala and Thalo were put in a very small room together near the temple. Neither found this situation at all comfortable, but neither were they willing to say anything about it. They were both invited to explore the monastery as guests of moderate esteem, but only one took up this offer.
As Odwala was leaving the room, she turned to Thalo and said, ‘Would you care to accompany me?’
‘I am well enough as I am,’ said Thalo, and he lay upon his bench.
Odwala did not ask him again. She returned to the temple, now empty, the candles all unlit, and spent the rest of the day there, marvelling in silence. The whole building was wrought from stone, as was not the fashion in those days, and every stone was black all over, save only veins of a dull grey, brought many lifetimes ago from a faraway land. So fully did the walls consume the daylight, so thick was the shadow they cast, that though the temple was open-ended on both the east and west faces, it might as well have been entirely enclosed. But the darkness was not absolute, for as if infused with some ancient magic, the pool in the floor seemed to glow with a pale light. After she had walked the entire length of the temple and back, Odwala went to it, knelt before it, peered into it, and was transfixed. With a cautious hand, she reached out.
‘Withdraw it,’ said a voice behind her. It belonged to a young priest who had come to fetch her. ‘That is not for touching.’
‘Its light is most intriguing,’ said Odwala.
‘And its light is faintly golden. Turn away.’
Odwala did as she was told, but though she had turned her eyes away from the beauty of the pool, she was swiftly stricken by a new one, though one she could scarcely see. ‘And the darkness is ever so deep.’
The priest took Odwala by the hand and said, ‘Only when the eyes are blind can the heart truly see. Come, it is bedtime.’
So she led Odwala out of the temple and back to her bedroom. Thalo was still lying on his bench—he had not moved at all—and they both went to sleep.
On the following day, Odwala shared her breakfast with her companions and the priests, and then took to wandering once more as she awaited Saffero’s choice of scribes. And just the same, Thalo waited alone in their bedroom and said nothing to anyone.
It was not until the evening, when Odwala had returned and was about to lay upon her bench, that a priest arrived to invite them to the temple.
‘Saffero will see you now,’ said the priest. ‘Follow me, and swiftly.’
This they did, both yet in their bedclothes, but Thalo picked up his belt as he left, so as not to be parted from his sword.
When they came to the temple, the candles were all lit again, and there they found Saffero sitting by the little pool with four priests, a young woman and three men, two big, one small. At once, Odwala recognised the woman to be the priest she had met the day prior, but where before she was veiled in the darkness of the temple, now she saw her all the more fully, and grew all the more smitten.
Saffero welcomed them and introduced his fellows. The first to be named was Foyva, the youngest of the four, but she was nonetheless an experienced and worthy scribe, having been orphaned at birth and raised at Fessos since her toddlerhood. Then there were the three men. The oldest of them was a man named Orveo, and he was called Orveo the Fat, for he was fat. He was by birth a man of Pearmol, but he had left early in Gonwela’s lordship to hone his art elsewhere and had become a renowned illuminator. The other big man was Olmodo, from Wolnew, but his bigness was of the stouter sort, and he was thusly called Olmodo Stock. The small man was Gezoro, a man from Lagovol, and he was called Wibble-wobble, for he seemed so lacking in constitution that even the gentlest breeze would put him off balance.
‘Now you know them,’ said Saffero. ‘It is only fitting that they should know you.’
‘I am Odwala,’ said Odwala, ‘predecessor and foremost thane of Awldano, Lord of Samnew, granddaughter of Ekkeo, who first held the lordship, and once a student of one of your own.’
‘Tell me about that,’ said Foyva. ‘Who was it?’
Odwala was all too happy to oblige, and she spoke fondly about her days at Swotteyr, and her education under the priest Owvo.
‘My hand is his,’ she said, ‘though scarcely so artful.’
‘If he was a priest of Fessos,’ said Foyva, ‘then his hand is likewise mine, and mine is therefore yours, or will be.’
Odwala’s wits abandoned her then, and with nothing more to say, it was Thalo’s turn. Saffero invited him to speak, but he said nothing.
‘He is Thalo,’ said Odwala, ‘Awldano’s husband.’
‘But that is not who you are, Thalo man.’ said Saffero. ‘You have not the grace of a lordly fellow. Tell me who are you?’
Thalo remained silent, and Olmodo spoke in his place.
‘Hold on,’ he said. ‘I have heard something or other about a Thalo man. Might that be you?’
‘It might be,’ said Orveo. ‘It is no common name, after all. Say, lad, what have you heard?’
‘Old Albyoga was only recently at Syorbak for the laws, and there she heard about a certain Thalo man, whom they called Thennelo.’
‘Thennelo?’ Orveo turned to Thalo and said, ‘Is that right? Is that you?’
‘So I would reckon,’ said Olmodo. ‘Albyoga said there was very much to hear, but little at all to see.’
Brimming with manful pride, Thalo broke his silence at last, saying, ‘Do you doubt me?’
‘Tell me, however does one meet a troll, let alone kill one?’
‘What is a troll but an ugly man? There are four here before me.’
Olmodo leapt up from the floor, saying, ‘Oy-oy, then! Stand up and try it, if you dare!’
Thalo arose, drew his sword, splendid Sleme, and held it out. ‘I have killed two trolls. Let me make it three.’
Saffero said, ‘You would not spill blood in a place of peace, would you?’
‘It would not be the first time.’
A moment passed, and without a word, Olmodo returned to the floor. There was a dreadful sincerity in Thalo’s words, shining in his eyes, and one he did not mean to test.
Yet Thalo did not move. With Sleme still outstretched above the pool, he stood unflinching, his mind belocked by the twinkling light upon the sword’s edge. He had seen that light before, a golden light glimmering in the darkness, and in it he saw his everlasting life.
‘It would not be the first time,’ he said again, his voice low and hesitant. ‘He is watching. He is waiting.’
No one was quite sure what he meant by this, and none dared ask.
‘Thalo,’ said Odwala, ‘sit down.’
Thereupon he remembered where he was, sheathed Sleme, and sat down, allowing the conversation to return to the matter at hand. Saffero and Odwala agreed a price for the priests’ service, and they each said they were willing to go to Samnew. In turn, Odwala agreed to have them.
‘With that decided,’ she said, ‘you must prepare yourselves for an early departure tomorrow.’
‘So soon?’ said Saffero. He turned to Thalo, staring silently into the pool. ‘I had hoped to have you longer.’
Thalo did not respond. With his gaze held downward, lost in the water-light, he found some small comfort in a memory beckoning from days long past. For a moment, the warmth of a mother’s love, his mother’s pride, washed over him, and soothed him, but only for a moment.
‘And we would be glad to stay longer,’ said Odwala, ‘but we must hasten homeward. Autumn is approaching.’
‘So be it,’ said Saffero, and he led everyone out of the temple. The priests hurried off to gather their possessions, while Thalo and Odwala returned to their room with not a word said between them.
That night, Thalo slept very poorly. He dreamt, as often he did, of the foxes at their dinner table, but where before it had been out in the woods, now it was inside. He knew that place, he thought, a place of regret, or of fear, or of blood, but he could not discern its location.
‘An altar?’ he said. ‘A tomb?’
There in the middle of the table lay Kolmago, dead on the glittering platter. The foxes all licked their lips, all braced their swords, and as one they plunged the points into his flesh.
‘How for!’ said the old fox, for the old fox had now appeared. Around his head sat a golden circlet, an acorn set upon his brow.
‘How for!’ he said again, and thereupon the foxes picked up their spears (their swords were spears now), hoisted Kolmago up into the air, and danced around the table, all screeching or rubbing their bellies—all except one, sitting opposite the old fox.
Thalo took up his cup, glowing with pale golden light, and had a sip to drink. Only then did the terror befall him, but he could not discern its source.
‘An altar?’ he said. ‘A tomb?’
‘How for!’ said the old fox, his acorn circlet grown into a golden oak, its roots his brains.
‘Blood?’
Thalo awoke when it was still nighttime. He reached for his belt-bag at once, groping for his golden acorn. It was still there. He held to his breast for a moment, cherished it, and then stowed it once more in the bag. Though he tried to go back to sleep, the night would not take him.
So he slipped out of the room and stole into the vast blackness of the temple. He sat beside the pool, stared into its glow, until he was stirred from his trance by the sound of footsteps ahead of him. There was Saffero, emerging from the gloom.
‘Bedtime is behind us,’ he said, ‘and it will soon be time to wake.’
Thalo jolted onto his feet, but he did not speak.
‘Tell me,’ said Saffero, ‘why are you here?’
Thalo stepped away from the pool without a word.
Saffero’s face hardened, and his voice grew grim. ‘Hide, then. It will change nothing. I know who you are, Thalo Thennelo, and what you will become.’
But Thalo would not hear it. He took a purposeful, prideful step forth and said, ‘Had I my sword.’
‘What then would you do? Would you kill me? Would you make me but another corpse to climb over?’
‘Readily.’
Saffero sat beside the pool with a scoff, fixed his eyes upon the water, and said, ‘I know who you are, Thalo, but there can be no immortality in a wholly mortal world. The gods are dead, my ancestors dead, and yours dead likewise. I will die, and you will die, and every memory of us will die thereafter, until it will be as if we had never lived at all. We each will become one with the earth itself, until that too is reduced to nothing. But though all things in this life are fleeting, not all with like haste. The longevity of one’s memory is determined not by one’s willingness to be remembered, but by the willingness of others to remember.’ Saffero looked up at Thalo and said, ‘Tell me, Thalo Thennelo, who will remember you? What will they remember?’
He did not await an answer, but stood up again, turned away, and left Thalo alone in the temple. Thalo took one last look at the pool and returned to his bedroom. He would not sleep again that night.
Thalo and Odwala left Fessos the next morning, with the fourfold priests in tow. They set off shortly before dawn, eager to get as far as they could in a day, but once they had come back to Arbak and boarded their ship, they found the wind and waves were not so agreeable. They did not make landfall that night until they came to Owffek, when the sun had long since set.
They sought the night’s lodging with the lord there, who was still Seymodo, and he welcomed them with pleasure. They were all put up in his hall, but Thalo did not sleep at all that night, and instead spent it sulking beneath the stars.
Then, as dawn approached, they thanked Seymodo for his hospitality and set off again, sailing homeward at last. They returned to Samnew later that day. Awldano came down to the shore to welcome them, but as they disembarked, there was not a smile to be seen among them.
Thalo was the first to leap off the ship. Awldano came to greet him, kissed him, and asked why they had come home with such sour moods.
‘Tell me,’ said Awldano, ‘has some tragedy befallen you?’
‘No,’ said Thalo. ‘You wanted priests, and we have some priests.’
Then he went straight up to the hall without another word.
Awldano brought the priests inside to welcome them properly, whereafter they were shown to their bedrooms. They had all been given positions of high honour, so the sleeping arrangements had been altered to accommodate them. Orveo, Olmodo, and Gezoro were together with a fourth man named Gawrrono Mountain-mane, about whom nothing more is remembered than the awesome height of his hair. Foyva ended up in a room with Odwala, Ormana, and Eyge, and together they were the chiefest four of Awldano’s thanes.
Awldano had his scriptorium ready as soon as he could. To commemorate it, and to commemorate his lordship, he put them to work on a book chronicling the history of Samnew. This was dictated by Odwala herself, for she knew the most about that. Eyge also contributed many details about more recent events, but these were mostly omitted.
Foyva oversaw the creation of this book, and she and Odwala grew very well acquainted during this time. They had put themselves together within a week, sleeping more often atop one another than each on their own, and they were wed before the year had ended.
Oze the Bald returned from their voyage shortly thereafter, and in triumph. They had raided far and widely, and their ship is said to have been laden with so much booty won in Awldano’s name that it was barely afloat. Oze also came with many tales of their adventures, but those are told elsewhere.
Thus, after the strife of recent years, peace and prosperity seemed to be returning to Samnew at last.