Helliconia: Helliconia Spring, Helliconia Summer, Helliconia Winter by Brian Aldiss Page A

People, tiny as ants, movedamong the lanes and jostled inside roofless rooms. The noise of their traffic rose faintly to where the men stood peering down.
    ‘Where are we?’
    Sifans gestured. ‘That’s Vakk. You’ve forgotten it, haven’t you?’
    He watched with some amusement, his nose screwed up, as Yuli stared down, open-mouthed.
    How simple he was, he thought. He should have recognised it was Vakk without having to ask, like a savage. He could see the far archway leading to Reck, faint as ice in the distance. Nearer, squinting, he made out familiar livings and the alley where his room had been, and the home of Kyale and Tusca. He recalled them – and the beautiful black-haired Iskador – with longing, but his feelings were muted, because there was no point in yearning for a bygone world. Kyale and Tusca would have forgotten him, as he had them. What chiefly struck him was how bright Vakk appeared, for he remembered it as a place of deep shadow, lacking all colour. The difference marked how greatly his sight had improved during his stay in the Holies.
    ‘You recollect that you asked me who the Keepers were,’ said Father Sifans. ‘You asked if we saw them. Here is my response.’ He indicated the world below them. ‘The people down there do not see us. Even if they look upward, they are still unable to spot us. We are superior to them. So are the Keepers superior to mere members of the priesthood. Within our fortress there is a secret fortress.’
    ‘Father Sifans, help me. Is that secret fortress … is it friendly towards us? Secrecy is not always friendly.’
    The father blinked his eyes. ‘The question should be rather, Is the secret fortress necessary to our survival? And the answer to that is, Yes, whatever it costs. You may find that a strange answer, coming from me. I am for the middle way in everything but this. Against the extremities of our life, against which Akha seeks to defend us, extremes are called for.
    ‘The Keepers keep Truth. According to the scriptures, our world has been withdrawn from Wutra’s fire. Many generations ago, the people of Pannoval dared to defy Great Akha and went to live outside our sheltering holy mountain. Towns like Vakkwhich we see before us were built under the naked skies. Then we were punished by fire, which Wutra and his cohorts sent down. A few survivors lived to return to our natural home, here.
    ‘This is not merely scripture, Yuli. Forgive the blasphemy of that “merely.” This is scripture, I should say. It is also a history that our people have lived. The Keepers in their secret fortress keep that history, and many things that still survive from the period of naked skies. I believe they see uncloudedly what we see clouded.’
    ‘Why are we in the Holies not considered fit to know these things?’
    ‘Enough to know them as scripture, a parable. Myself, I believe that the naked knowledge is kept from us, first, because those in power always prefer to hoard knowledge, which is power, and second, because they believe that armed with such knowledge we might again attempt to return to the outside world of naked skies at such time as Great Akha banishes the snows.’
    Yuli thought with racing thoughts. Father Sifans’ frankness astonished him. If knowledge was power, where stood faith? It occurred to him that he was possibly being tested, and was aware of the priest awaiting his answer with alert interest. Playing safe, he brought in the name of Akha again.
    ‘Surely, if Akha banishes the snows, that is his invitation to return to the world of skies? It is not natural for men and women to be born and die in darkness.’
    Father Sifans sighed. ‘So you say – but you were born under the skies.’
    ‘I hope to die there, too,’ Yuli said, with a fervour that surprised himself. He feared that his unpremeditated response would provoke his charge-father’s anger; instead, the old man placed a mittened hand on his shoulder.
    ‘We all desire conflicting