Helliconia Summer - Brian W. Aldiss [597]
Up the face of the mountain the buildings climbed, many of them chapels or mausoleums erected by pilgrims on this holiest of sites. Some of them stood boldly above the snow, perched on rock outcrops. Some were in ruins.
Shokerandit gestured largely ahead. ‘Of all this my father is in charge.’
He turned back to her. ‘Do you want to look more closely at the Wheel? They don’t take you in there by force. These days, you have to volunteer to get a place in the Wheel.’
As they moved forward, Toress Lahl said, ‘I somehow imagined that we should see a part of the Wheel from outside.’
‘It’s all inside the mountain. That’s the main idea. Darkness. Darkness bringing wisdom.’
‘I thought it was light brought wisdom.’
Jostling locals stared at their metamorphosed shapes. Some locals bore prominent goitres, a common malady in such mountainous inland regions. They superstitiously made the symbol of the circle as they moved towards the entrance of the Wheel with Shokerandit and Toress Lahl.
Nearer, they could see a little more: the great ramplike walls leading in from either side, as if to pour humanity down the gullet of the mountain. Above the entrance, protected from landslides by an apron, was a starkly carved scene embodying the symbolism of the Wheel. Oarsmen clad in ample garments rowed the Wheel across the sky, where could be recognised some of the zodiacal signs: the Boulder, the Old Pursuer, the Golden Ship. The stars sprang from the breast of an amazing maternal figure who stood to one side of the archway, beckoning the faithful to her.
Pilgrims, dwarfed by the statuary, knelt at the gateway, calling aloud the name of the Azoiaxic One.
She sighed. ‘It’s splendid, certainly.’
‘To you, it may be no more than splendid. To those of us who have grown up in the religion, it is our life, the mainspring that gives us confidence to face the vicissitudes of this life.’
Jumping lightly from his yelk’s back, he took hold of her saddle and said, looking up at her, ‘One day, if my father finds me fit enough, I may in my turn become Keeper of the Wheel. My brother was to have been heir to the role, but he died. I hope my chance will come.’
She looked down at him and smiled in a friendly way, without understanding. ‘The wind’s dropped.’
‘It’s generally calm here. Mount Kharnabhar is high, the fourth-highest mountain in the world, so they say. But behind it – you can’t see it for cloud – is the even grander Mount Shivenink, which shelters Kharnabhar from the winds of the pole. Shivenink is over seven miles high, and the third-highest peak. You’ll catch a glimpse of it some other time.’
He fell silent, sensing that he had been too enthusiastic. He wished to be happy, to be confident, as he had been. But the encounter with Insil the previous evening had upset him. Abruptly he jumped back on his yelk and led away from the entrance to the Wheel.
Without speaking, he wended a way through the village street, where pilgrims were crowding among the clothing shops and bell stalls. Some munched waffles stamped with the sign of the Great Wheel.
Beyond the village was a steep ravine, with a path winding down into a distant valley. The trees grew close, with massive boulders between them. Drifts of snow lay here and there, making the route treacherous. The yelk picked their way with care, the bells on their harness jingling. Birds called in the branches high above them and they heard the sound of water falling onto rock. Shokerandit sang to himself. Batalix weakly lit their way. In the chasmlike valley below them, shadow ruled.
He halted where the track divided. One fork ran upwards along the slopes, one down. When she caught up with him, he said, ‘They say this valley will fill with snow when the Weyr-Winter really comes – say in my grandchildren’s time, if I have any. We should take the upper track. It’s the easiest way home.’
‘Where does the lower track