Farlander

opened the book on his lap. He noticed Nico's resistance.

'Trust me, Nico. To be able to read is a worthy thing in this life.'

'But all you have is poetry. Poetry bores me.'

'Nonsense, poetry is what we live, what we breathe.' The old far-lander opened the book at random. He studied one page for a moment, then licked his thumb and flicked to another. 'Listen,' he said. 'This is how we sometimes write poetry in Honshu. This is Issea, writing of sitting alone at night.' Softly, he read: 'Mountain pool, Drinking the moon Drinking me.'

He looked to Nico. 'Do you sense it? The solitude?'

'I think you'd better read it again. It's so short I hadn't realized it had begun.' But even as Nico said the words he was drawn to sit beside Ash, and to look down at the printed words.

Ash lay the book on Nico's lap. 'Try reading something – at your own pace.'

Nico read each word carefully, mouthing their sounds as he did so. As soon as they began to change and shift, he forced himself to relax. He could read when he wanted to. It was the draining effort of the process that he hated, and the frustration at his own ineptitude. It was easier with these short poems, the language simple, bordered amply with white space. He flicked through the pages, choosing poems as they came to his eyes. He found himself reading one aloud: 'In the doorway, 'The space 'Of a startled bird.'

'You see?' said Ash. 'You read fine. It is hard, but not impossible.'

'These poems – they either come to you in a flash, or they don't at all.'

Ash nodded. 'Here, you may keep this book. Consider it part of your education.'

'Thank you,' said Nico. 'I have never owned a book before.' He stared at it. Brushed the leather cover with his fingers.

Nico stood up, the book in his hand.

'Now please,' he said, 'for the love of mercy, can we go out and do something?'

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Paradise City It was almost three in the afternoon, according to the clock mounted on the pinkish facade of the local Mannian temple. Nico and Ash ate at a side-street eatery, perched on tall stools by an opening in the wall where the customers' orders were taken, and through which the sweaty cooks could be seen at work in the tiny, steamy kitchen. They ate in silence, working eagerly at noodles in a spicy sauce, as they watched people scuttle past through the drizzle falling from a low sky, water dripping constantly from the corners of the canvas awning extending above their heads. Ash remained alert despite his obvious weariness. Nico knew him well enough by now. He could tell that the old man was observing those around them from the periphery of his vision, no doubt looking for any sign that they were being watched. If he noticed anything, he did not share the fact.

The temple across the street attracted Nico's attention. It was not just the people going in and out of it but the structure itself. It was unlike any temple he had ever seen before, being basically a stone spike that thrust up from the squat surroundings of the neighbourhood; a smaller version of the skysteeples found elsewhere in the city. He wondered again how steel and liquid stone could be impressed to stand in such a way, so tall and thin.

Quietly, he mused: 'I sit here, eating soft noodles in Q'os itself, and I realize I know nothing of these people at all, save that as a Mercian they are my enemy, and therefore to be feared.'

Ash chewed slowly. Swallowed. 'They are just ordinary people,' he said, 'save that their ways have become extreme, and likewise their hearts, so that they are ill in a way – ill of spirit.' Ash slurped another strand of noodle into his mouth, as he glanced over his shoulder towards the temple. 'If you knew their priests, you would fear them more.'

Nico wondered if that was true. The stories of human sacrifice by the priests of Mann and the lesser depravities of its followers – sitting here now on a street corner in the very heart of the Empire – began to seem like so much myth and nonsense. He was quiet for a time. Then once more, he found himself thinking out loud. 'Perhaps we would have less to fight over,' he ventured, 'if we did not have all these differing faiths in the first place.'

'Perhaps,' replied Ash, licking his fingers clean. 'But think further on that. Do you really suppose we would wage war on each other any less if we all shared the same faith, or even had none at all?' Ash shook his head, a curiously sad gesture. 'It is our way in this world, Nico, to pretend that our beliefs mean everything to us. But wars are seldom fought over beliefs. Wars are fought for land and spoils, for prestige, for foolishness. They are fought because one side wishes dominion over another. If there is a difference in faiths between opposing nations, all the better for concealing the very things they share in common. Only rarely does genuine belief come into it. The Mannians are no different, despite appearances. Dominion is their deepest creed. At heart, they desire to rule all things.'

Across the street, the temple clock chimed out the hour. A priest emerged on the tower's high balcony and called out through his bullhorn to the people below as other similar calls sounded across the city. At his muffled words the strangest of sights confronted Nico. The entire population of the street ceased what they were doing and knelt on the ground as one, holding their faces and arms up towards the distant Temple of Whispers.

Nico felt his arm being tugged, and he was drawn down on to his own knees as Ash did the same. Looking around he could see he was not the only one to have been slow at genuflections to Mann, nor the only one who seemed unhappy about it.

'The daily call,' Ash said with a hint of contempt in his tone, and thrust his arms into the air, exposing them bare to the rain, as the sleeves of his cloak slid to his elbows.

Reluctantly, Nico followed his example, feeling like an idiot as he did so.

*

At six they caught a tram, a large carriage drawn by a team of twelve zels, their black-and-white striped coats steaming from their exertions. The sign over the door read: Paradisio City.

Ash slotted a half-marvel into the turnstile at the rear of the tram to gain access to board. Behind him, Nico did the same. There were no seats left, so Nico followed Ash's example and gripped hold of the luggage rack running the entire length of the vehicle. The rack itself was stuffed with sacks of vegetables, rolls of cloth, even a crate of live chickens that watched Nico with their small, glassy eyes. He and Ash stood rocking to and fro as the tram worked its way through the heavy traffic of early evening, their swords carefully hidden beneath their rain cloaks. The passengers were subdued and the carriage strangely quiet save for the steady drum of rain against the windows and roof.

'No one talks to anyone else,' whispered Nico. 'They don't even look at each other.'

Master Ash smiled thinly. The carriage gradually emptied as the tram made one stop after another. At last some seats became available, and Ash and Nico made themselves comfortable. The old farlander immediately closed his eyes.

Nico noticed his forehead furrow in pain. With trembling fingers, Ash pressed his temple as though relieving a sudden pressure. He took out one of his leaves and placed it in his mouth.

'You don't look well,' Nico observed.

In a weary voice, and with eyes still closed, his master replied: 'This place does me no good at all, Nico. Wake me when we reach the last stop.' And with that he wrapped his damp cloak tighter around himself, and was still.

*

The island of Q'os had four harbour bays, each created by the spaces between the 'fingers and thumb' known as the Five Cities. The First Harbour was a bay bounded on one side by the protrusion of land known as the thumb, and on the other side by that resembling the index finger.

Paradisio City, also known as the First City, was the largest entertainment district of Q'os, and occupied most of the land forming the island's thumb. Its main thoroughfare ran along the coastline and looked out over the First Harbour and the eastern docks where Nico and Ash had rented their room. Crossing into this district, they could now clearly see the cluster of skysteeples surrounding the vast structure of the Shay Madi, the island's newest and largest coliseum, whose flanks sprouted like a small hill rising above the suburbs around it. It was there the tram stopped for the final time, right in the shadow of the mammoth stadium itself.

Nico could only gape at the soaring bulk of arches and columns, as they stepped out into the drizzle with the