Helliconia Summer - Brian W. Aldiss [507]
‘The titles are arbitrary,’ the old man said. ‘They are intended to conceal real names. The Oligarchy is secret, and the names of the Members and the Oligarch are kept secret, so that no one knows them. Why, they don’t know each other … Just as well …’
‘So you never met the Oligarch?’
‘No one ever claimed to have met him. But it was a special occasion, and he was in the next room. The Oligarch himself. So it was said at the time. I know he was there, I’ve always said so. For all I know, he could be a gigantic lobster with pincers stretching to the sky, but he was certainly there that day – and had I opened the door, I would have seen him, pincers and all …’
‘Father, what were you doing there, what was this special occasion?’
‘Icen Hill, it’s called. Icen Hill, as you know. Everyone knows where it is, but even the Members of the Oligarchy don’t know each other. Secrecy is important. Remember that, Harbin. Honesty’s for boys, chastity’s for women, secrecy’s for men … You know the old saying my grandfather used to tell me, “There’s more than an arm up a Sibornalese sleeve.” Some truth in that.’
‘When were you at Icen Hill? Did you assign a tithe of this estate to the Oligarchy? I must know.’
‘Duties, boy, there are duties. Not just buying women dolls and poems. The estate is entitled to protection if you assign it. Winter’s coming, you need to look ahead. I’m getting old. Security … There’s no need for you to be upset. It was agreed before you were born. I was someone then, more than you’ll ever – you should be a major by now, son, but from what I hear from the Gardeterarks … That’s why I signed the agreement that my firstborn son should serve in the Oligarch’s army, in the defence of that state act, when I—’
‘You sold me into the army before I was born?’ Fashnalgid said.
‘Harbin, Harbin, sons go into the army. That’s gallantry. And piety. It’s piety, Harbin. As taught in church.’
‘You sold me into the army? What precisely did you get in return?’
‘Peace of mind. A sense of duty. Security, as I said, only you weren’t listening. Your mother approved. You ask her. It was her idea.’
‘Beholder …’ Fashnalgid went and poured himself a drink. As he was throwing the liquid down his throat, his father sat up and said in a distinct voice, ‘I received a promise.’
‘What sort of a promise?’
‘The future. The safety of our estate. Harbin, I was for many years myself a Member. That’s why I signed you over to the army. It’s an honour – a good career, fine career. You should cultivate young Gardeterark more …’
‘You sold me. Father, you sold your son like a slave …’ He began to weep and rushed from the house. Without looking back, he galloped away from the place where he had been born.
A few months later, he was posted with his battalion to Koriantura, under his enemy, Major Gardeterark, and ordered to prepare a warm reception for Asperamanka’s returning army.
Throughout recorded time, Sibornal had existed more unitedly than had the rabble of nations which comprised Campannlat. The nations of the northern continent had their differences, but remained capable of uniting in the face of an external threat.
In milder centuries, Sibornal was a favoured continent. From early in spring of the Great Year, Freyr rose and never set, permitting the northern lands to develop early. Now that the Year was declining, the Oligarchy was busy tightening the reins of its power – bringing in its own kind of darkness.
Both Oligarchy and common people understood that winter, setting in steadily, could burst society apart like a frozen water pipe. The disruptions of cold, the failure of food supplies, could spell the collapse of civilisation. After Myrkwyr, only a few years away, darkness