Speaker for the Gods, week 15
Friar Waldman's Key
“For hours I stayed silent, fearful of angering my as-yet-unseen captors. Peeking out from my cell, I spied the stone walls of a dungeon, lit not by the flickering of oil lamps but some gentler, more solemn glow. A wooden chair stood in the corridor, casting a dozen soft shadows at various angles that rotated slowly in circuitous rhythms. I thought it likely Kai was imprisoned in the same area, though I knew not where in the Grand Monastery’s pyramid we might be. We had gone upstairs, to be sure, but how far? To test the terms of my imprisonment, I simply called my companion’s name and was met by silence. My second call aroused an angry bellow from down the hall, and a fat man in a loose black wrap approached. With his shoulder he suddenly and violently struck the door, shaking it and shocking me into springing back. Quiet, he said in Kane, and vanished again.
“I waited some time in silence, perhaps twenty minutes of cautious prayer marked by the ticking of rosary beads in my mind. Once I felt safe moving again I placed my hands against the door and gave a firm, slow push to thump the wood against its stone frame. The guard did not come at the sound, nor on my second attempt, nor even on the third and fourth thereafter. On the fifth push, I rapidly struck the door again for two quick thumps one after another. A pause, then another single thump and finally I heard a response: a similar noise of wood on stone from down the corridor to my right. My heart surged with hope and I sent another thump. Another response came quickly, and I backed away from the door. No sense in further risk, I thought, having answered what few questions I could. I had no way to know my interlocutor was Kai, but it seemed likely given the otherwise empty dungeon.
“Hours passed; a day and night at least. Water came to my cell in a leather skin passed back and forth through the porthole. I found time’s passage impossible to mark: the Sun invisible behind stone walls, no rhythms of civilization. In the scheme of captivity I found it not especially unpleasant, long stretches of fasting and prayer having occupied much of my adult life. I prayed for Kai most of all, willing him spiritual strength he was too young to possess. It takes many years, learning to place one’s fate in larger hands, and some simply cannot acquire the skill no matter their exertions.
“At long last the door creaked open, revealing my obese prior acquaintance now flanked by armed guards. Tattoos marred one man’s entire face with whorled patterns that shifted with his mouth (as he seemed to be chewing cane). They bound my hands with cord, and when led into the corridor I saw more guards bearing a much-depleted Kai from his own cell. I smiled to cheer him, but the lad couldn’t muster the vigor to return it. Along the walls roved strange golden lights like stamps made by an alien sun; the eerily constant luminescence I’d spotted before. It was sorcery, there could be no doubt—but I steeled myself, fixed the Father in my vision and let fear pass from my mind.
“Through stone halls they led us, all lit by ensorcelled sprites until a spiral staircase: solid stone and dark as a cave. The guards held us close as a precaution against flight; in truth I’d have split my head open trying to run down the steps. At the bottom, we finally stepped out into natural white Sun. It was blinding at first but instantly glorious, a reminder that the world still turned and the Father still looked loving down upon us. When my eyes adjusted, I saw we were outside the Grand Monastery’s base—though on its eastern face whereas before we’d only seen the south. Workers hauled animal feed and piles of manure the pilgrims would have blanched to see.
“The filth was quickly explained as the guards took us to a large stable of oxen near the city’s north wall. A cart had been prepared, a driver at the reins. In the bed sat a white-robed Speaker: an elderly woman flanked by imposing, armored Koali’i soldiers. Our jailor departed but the armed men remained to prod us into the cart with the tips of their spears. We sat across from the wizened woman and found our heads hooded with black cloth before the vehicle rattled into motion. An ear-splitting crack of hai’oleo provoked the sound of creaking gate hinges as we took off northward. I cannot state with full certainty where this gate stood along the city wall, but I posit a rear portal allowed the To’means access to Mauna ‘Ele’s caldera. Hoku’e’s clattering stone streets were abruptly muffled to the gentler rumble of dirt beneath the wheels. In just minutes we swung to the east. My expedition to the City of Stars was concluded; never again would I set foot in the To’mean capitol.
“We rolled along for nearly two hours, first up and then down, climbing the crater’s lip and crossing it to wind down the eastern slope. The cart stopped in a place with harsh winds, and we three prisoners were prodded out onto parched gravelly ground. Our hoods came off and I saw we stood on a high cliff by the sea, in the late afternoon. Mauna ‘Ele rose behind us, vast and close. The cliff was precipitous, the great volcanic slope sliced away from To’mea as though by a paring knife. I expected rocks below, fallen remnants piled up at the cliff’s base, but saw none; the sea stretched unbroken to a horizon so distant I could see the Earth’s curvature. Swells rolled in from the open sea unhindered by shallow reefs to break on the rocks with titanic force and the sound of thunder. This was a far cry from the To’mean beaches whose bucolic comforts I’ve previously described.
“Along the cliff edge stood five people near two mysterious objects, awaiting our arrival. A thick strut of lumber rose from an anchor sunk in the stone to extend out like an arm over the precipice. A rope-and-pulley apparatus at the tip of the arm linked to a wooden box the size of a man: a gallows of sorts and a coffin, though their true purpose was yet to be revealed. Of the five men, two appeared simple laborers—wiry fellows with Sun-blackened skin, waiting by the coffin. A To’mean High Speaker stood at some distance, facing our party expectantly, garbed in a feathered cape of red and yellow. A large crested headpiece of the regal style reared high over his skull, decorated with plumage to match his cape. The High Speaker’s herald stood in the customary spot on his right forehip. The fifth and final man stood behind the speaker with his head down: I knew without seeing his face, from the black Western suit, it was Deacon Rider.
“He raised his face at our approach, but the High Speaker who spoke first: announcing a grave violation of Ku’s law, what the oldest Kane once called kapu. The walls of Hoku’e had been breached by a foreigner and heretic, he announced, a man who defies and disrespects the gods though their work stands before his very eyes. Worse still, the violation occurred with the aid of a native To’mean son—mongrel though he happened to be. The High Speaker welcomed us, Kai and myself, to Pali’makeloa: the cliffs of execution. It was a place known across To’mea, the site imitated here and there by overzealous village Speakers who dropped criminals still living into the sea. The lore was repeated in brief by the High Speaker: the sacrifice of mortal forms to the god Ku, the warmongering patron deity of the To’mean people. Ku’s breath, the herald proclaimed on that black cliff, fueled the volcanoes and powered the forges. His will had allowed the construction of Hoku’e, and any desecration of the holy city was therefore a debt owed the god of war.
“In the interest of that debt, the regally-dressed man continued, he would determine the truth of our crimes. He advised us in advance of any untruths that the Deacon’s fate was bound to ours. As my host and Kai’s patron, guilt from our lies would fall equally on him. It was here I noticed another ox cart behind the High Speaker, in which he and Ephrem had traveled. It bore two more coffins, enough to put us all beneath the waves. I nearly fainted but managed to hold myself together. The High Speaker questioned Kai first: why had he done this thing? To assist me, he said, as a kindness to demonstrate Hoku’e’s beauty and the miracle of its construction. I tried to interject, to say I’d begged him for entry, but for my trouble was struck hard in the gut by an enterprising guard. The High Speaker continued: had the Deacon any knowledge, before or after? Never, the young man answered with admirable backbone: Deacon Rider had in fact forbidden him from the City of Stars, and only by lying had he made the journey.
“The interrogator turned to me. He asked my name and business on To’mea; I told him the truth. I explained the work I’d done, the admiration I held for his people, how I had erred only in the course of sharing the Speakers’ power with the larger world. I begged him to spare the others’ lives, and submitted willingly to my own destruction. The High Speaker seemed unmoved, and at last he turned to Ephrem. Are these things true, he inquired? The Deacon said they were, to the best of his knowledge, and solemnly apologized for everything we both had done.
“The High Speaker spread his arms and made his pronouncement. I was to die, given to Ku in retribution. Kai was banished, to leave the island of his birth and never to return—his wooden seal of To’mean citizenship revoked and burned. He had not harmed Ku, said the man, but had nonetheless proved himself unworthy of the gods’ shelter. My feeling at that moment is hard to describe now even after much meditation: filled with dread at the prospect of my own demise, and yet profoundly relieved. Kai would recover and find his fortune elsewhere, smart and resourceful as he was. Pins and needles ran over my skin and it seemed as though I floated an inch off the ground. Prayers raced through my mind, cycling noisily to drown out the roar of my soft mortal components fearing their inevitable end.
“But Kai stepped forward then, stating quickly ‘give me to Ku.’ Ephrem’s eyes went wide and both he and I objected in the strongest terms. The High Speaker silenced us and asked the young fool why he sought death. ‘Because of the Friar’s book,’ he answered. ‘I serve the Deacon’s God but have for my entire life known Ku’s strength. I have seen hai’oleo and I have seen God’s works and known the truth in both. But our Bible says nothing of hai’oleo, Ku or the other gods my ancestors knew and know to this day. So it cannot be complete. And if it is incomplete, then it is the word of men and not of God himself.’ Thus reinforcing, stated the lad, the Cult of Luther’s core belief: only through knowledge may man advance himself. ‘Ku will take me as payment; kapu’s demands will be satisfied. Banish Friar Waldman. Let him take his notes and write his book. He will take Ku’s truth to the world outside. He will pay in his own way. All the laws of gods and men will thereby be satisfied.’
“Ephrem and I stood aghast at the boy, whose heart and soul had just shone purer than the world (or certainly I) deserved. ‘Please, High Speaker,’ the Deacon begged from his knees. ‘This is a boy. He does not think clearly, looking to defend the man who nearly condemned him! If a life Ku must have, surely it should be the Friar’s life as originally you pronounced.’ I nodded and loudly agreed. Kai was blameless, I declared, his only sins committed at my behest. His young life would serve the world better than mine, mostly spent. Not even in the Cult of Luther would a book’s worth ever approach that of a human being. But the High Speaker, having pondered, smirkingly announced he would honor Kai’s decision.
“The Deacon howled with grief and begged him to reconsider. It was no use, and Kai assured his master that he was confident in martyrdom. My protests earned only swift blows from the guards. The old female Speaker—whom I had nearly forgotten in the drama—stepped from behind me to the cliff edge and sung a slow dirge. Kai was led to the upright coffin and placed compliantly inside. Ephrem knelt on the rocks, clutching hands to his chest and mouthing prayers of deliverance as I joined with my own. With rough ropes they sealed Kai’s box, the line to the pulley pulled taught. They hoisted the box off the ground, swinging it out over the cliff side as the Speaker’s singing built to something that was were no longer Kane but a rushing phonetic dread that buzzed through my skull with a strange and eerie timbre. At the High Speaker’s command, the men lowered Kai’s coffin at a deliberate pace towards the sea.
“A maelstrom opened in the water below like the mouth of Charybdis. Ocean water was pulled into a whirlpool one hundred feet across, opening a growing funnel down to the depths, the sound beyond description: a stupefying cacophony of hai’oleo, wind, wailed prayers and sucking foam. Down and down went the coffin, dangling and swaying from the end of the cable, all the way into the funnel itself. Surrounded on all sides with rushing water faster than any waterfall, it hung in the abyss for a long time before its slow orbit finally connected with the funnel’s wall. When this finally occurred, the box spun and jumped off the side as though swatted by God’s very hand to strike a second wall and burst apart on the third. Spray and splinters leapt into the air, the boy vanished from my sight and for that I remain thankful. With a last Spiritus Sancti for his departed soul, I got to my feet. The sorcery stopped abruptly, the singer slumping like something had been drawn out of her. Folds of ocean closed again in the maelstrom’s wake, the displaced water returning at long grudging last to its origins. It gurgled and rushed back into the cliff rather than splashing—no doubt inhaled by some submerged lava tube.
“Deacon Rider sat on the ground, rocking with his forehead against his knees. I consoled him as best I could, and he accepted the comfort in a very Christian spirit. It could not have been easy to look at the face of a man whose curiosity had ultimately slain his adopted son. Armed guards loaded his limp form into the cart in which we’d arrived. The Speakers went their own way in the other. I climbed silently into the cart after Ephrem, and we were delivered without ceremony to back around Mauna ‘Ele’s rim to the front gates of Hoku’e. Not a word transpired during the long journey south and west, nor during the hike from the gates down to Hale Hauoli. Weakened from hunger and imprisonment though I was, an arm had to be spared to hold the Deacon up. We made our way downhill as the Sun descended and the late afternoon’s heat seeped from the black earth. Waves shimmered in the air; Kane hawks, ‘Io, circled on high-up thermal plumes. Illusory puddles of water formed in the distance and vanished at our approach.
“Children played in the schoolyard, but stopped their games at our approach and then stood watching in silence as we passed like a funeral procession. Ephrem’s wife met us at the door and her tears flowed freely as she saw Kai had not returned. She gathered their orphaned wards inside while I took her husband to his room. After a moment she came up, and I let her put him to bed while I tended to the children now finishing their suppers. I was in no entertaining mood, but the needs of the young have never ceased for heartbreak. The Deacon’s bookshelves bulged and fairly creaked with re-printed treasures from ages long past, though the ravages of time had left many incomplete. He had a copy of Gulliver’s Travels—the tales of Lilliput and Brobdingnag at least, the others inexplicably absent. In this moment I felt closer to the latter tale, reflecting as it does on the inescapable plagues of Man’s fallen condition. But Lilliput it would be, more suitable by far for the tastes of children. Their eyes lit up and mouths hung open when Gulliver awoke restrained to the beach with hundreds of tiny strings. The thought thrills me to this day: to be so large, and the world so small. To stride across the channels between islands, corralling foreign navies and winning peace the world over in a mere afternoon’s work.
“The Deacon’s wife came downstairs to herd the young off to bed in various states of sleepiness—some obviously keener than others on old Jon Swift. She asked what had transpired out at the cliffs. I told her the truth and wept with her—finally wept, many long hours after Kai went so foolishly to his watery tomb. That night as I lay in Ephrem’s guest room, I offered prayers and questions to my Lord: what was the purpose in this, I inquired with a childish desperation? Was six months’ scholarly work the only good to come of such terrible grief? But exhaustion set in, and at long last the wheels of my mind ground themselves to a halt.
“Ephrem was up and about the next morning, clearly shaken yet able to tend his flock of lambs. I rose early and scattered old corn on the grass for the chickens the figure-eight patterns. My host offered his continued hospitality, at least for several days before Hoku’e’s men came calling to verify my departure. I thanked him but declined, preferring to make my way back to Hunakai Harbor alone and immediately. Ships waited there to take me away, and if not they would appear within the week at most (the contemporary shipping routes around the Kane islands, and both to and from the Western and Eastern “mainlands,” are addressed in the Second Chapter of this volume). After breakfast, I gathered my notes and possessions from the guest room and packed everything carefully away. With final thanks, farewells and apologies to Deacon Rider and his lovely wife, I was on the road again.
“South past the fork in the road leading up to Noio Koha, I bedded down in the soft plowed dirt of a cane field. The Great Road came in view the next day, and by sundown I had traversed a few miles of its finely masoned length—truly the most impressive road on To’mea, carving at one point directly through an ancient magma cone. Basalt and granite rear up on either side in enormous piles covered with moss and vines like ivy, sheared away in the murky past by some awful magicking of the Speakerage. Mahoe Kahu, the monument is called: the only remnants of the one great obstacle to the Great Road. The Speakers have famously little care for events outside their territory, but on To’mea their wills warp the very Earth.
“Villages rolled slowly by but I gave them a wide berth, fearing the Speaker’s reach and a swift death at one of many improvisational pali. In my own melodramatic way, I fancied the notes in my bag might be Kai’s last resting place: my demise, so earnestly wished for at the cliffs, would at this moment end the both of us forever, snuffing out my flame and casting the brave young man’s memory into oblivion. So I traveled on the roads and slept off them, scratching every morning at the ants who always found their way inside my robes.
“One afternoon, one full day, and one morning I spent on the Great Road before reaching the Harbor. I was in luck; a ship was taking on cargo and passengers the very next day, tagging two other islands, and then making her way east towards my much-missed home. I presented the Abbot’s last black pearl as passage, only to have it turned away by the kindly Filipino deckmaster. He recognized my symbols, collar and robes and as one of the True Faith declined to take payment from a man of the cloth. I thanked him profusely and pressed my rosaries into his palm—after my hours of mental chants I could scarcely stand to look at them. These he gratefully accepted, and we dropped to our knees on the spot to pray for the goodness and salvation of Mankind. Never have I been so pleased to encounter such simple decency: a good man never goes out of style, as I’d once read. And at the end of our chant was Kai: the crewman bowed his head and repeated my improvised eulogy word-for-word as it left my mouth.
“I left To’mea having seen the absolute edge of human civilization: the strange lush spaces where old spirits have taken root and thrived. No secrets discovered, no new truths revealed except to confirm that men know nothing of their own world. If my Lord rules over that little island, as surely He must, then the garden has grown twisted and tall at his behest. His servants who rule the island, the mighty Speakers, are flawed only in the ways that all men are flawed. Given instruments beyond normal men, they have wrought things both greater and more terrible—but no different. Kai died unjustly, as a hundred million brave young men have done and will yet do, and even his hideous execution was kinder than it might have been. Books contain great answers, but this is not such a book. I have given an account, told a story, such that a man might one day grow a little wiser. And perhaps in so doing, he might make our world a gentler place to live.”
The printer left the last four pages blank, currently scrawled with prayers and proverbs in a half-dozen hands. The story left my stomach a desolate pit of sadness but still my skull buzzed, the account having triggered the feeling I’d missed something important. I re-read the execution, focusing on Friar Waldman’s description of the Pali’makeloa. It was his description of the sea I found most fascinating—so deep it could swallow a whole chunk of the island without giving a sign—and I nearly slapped myself when I realized why. An isolated site, a sudden drop into very deep water. Exactly what I’d sought. One sentence in particular should have screamed at me: “It gurgled and rushed back into the cliff rather than splashing—no doubt inhaled by some submerged lava tube.”
A cavity below the water; a grotto concealed in the cliff face. Even if the hidden port wasn’t below that precisespot—and the gallows Waldman described might not still exist to mark it—this passage answered the crucial question, “how does one hide a ship?” If I could find the original Pali of execution, where poor Kai was entombed, I’d reach near enough my goal to strike at it. Reaching the facility, burrowing beneath the waves? To say nothing of entering the ship and finding whatever the manual specified? Those would be good problems to have, tackled when they drew near enough to grapple.