“Well,” I said. “My House is the House of the Wall. This is the place of my House. I’ve waited all my life to reach this place. Stay with me and I’ll take you to the Summit.”
“Are you nominating yourself, Crookleg?” Muurmut asked, so I knew right away there would be trouble with him.
I nodded.
“Seconded,” said Traiben.
“You’re of his House,” said Muurmut. “You can’t second him.”
“Seconded, then,” said Jaif the Singer.
“Seconded,” said Galli, who was of the Vintners, Muurmut’s own House.
Everyone was silent a moment.
Then Stapp of Judges said, “If Poilar can nominate himself, so can I.” He looked around. “Who seconds me?” Someone snickered. “Who seconds me?” Stapp said again, and his face began to go puffy and hot with anger.
“Why don’t you second yourself too, Stapp?” Kath said.
“Why don’t you be quiet?”
“Who are you telling to be—”
“You,” Stapp said. Kath raised his arm, not necessarily in a menacing way, and an instant later Stapp came jumping forward, ready to fight. Galli caught him by the middle and pulled him back to his place in the circle.
“The Bond,” Thissa whispered. “Remember the Bond!” She looked pained by the threat of violence among us.
“Does anyone second Stapp?” I asked.
But no one did. Stapp turned away and stared at the Wall above us. I waited.
Thuiman of the Metalworkers said, “Muurmut.”
“You nominate Muurmut?”
“Yes.”
I had expected that. “Seconds?”
Seppil the Carpenter and Talbol the Leathermaker seconded him. I had expected that too. They were very thick, those three.
“Muurmut is nominated,” I said. You will notice how I had already taken charge, here in the time before the choosing. I meant nothing evil by it. It is my way, to lead; someone has to, even when no leader has been appointed. “Are there any other nominations?” There were none. “Then we vote,” I said. “Those who are for Poilar, walk to this side. Those who are for Muurmut, over there.”
Muurmut gave me a sour look and said, “Shouldn’t we set forth our qualifications before the voting, Poilar?”
“I suppose we should. What are yours, Muurmut?”
“Two straight legs, for one thing.”
It was cheap of him, and I would have struck him down then and there except that I knew I could turn this to better advantage by holding my temper. So I simply smiled, not a warm smile. But Seppil the Carpenter guffawed as though he had never heard anyone say anything funnier. Talbol the Leathermaker, who was not the sort to stoop to such stuff, managed a sickly little grunt as his best show of solidarity with Muurmut.
“Yes, very pretty legs,” I said, for Muurmut’s legs were thick and hairy. “If a leader must think with his legs, then yours are surely superior to mine.”
“A leader must climb with his legs.”
“Mine have taken me this far,” I said. “What else do you have to recommend your candidacy?”
“I know how to command,” said Muurmut. “I give orders which others are willing to follow, because they are the correct orders.”
“Yes. You say, ‘Put the grapes in this tub,’ and you say, ‘Crush them in such-and-such a fashion,’ and you say, ‘Now put the juice in the casks and let it turn into wine.’ Those are very fine orders, so far as they go. But how do they fit you to command a Pilgrimage? The way you mock my leg, which is as it is through no fault of mine, doesn’t indicate much understanding of someone you have sworn in blood to love, does it, Muurmut? And if a leader is deficient in understanding, what kind of leader is he?”
Muurmut was glaring at me as though he would gladly have heaved me from the mountain.
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have said what I did about the leg. But how will it be for you in the dangerous places, Poilar? When you’re climbing, will you also be able to think clearly about the things a leader must think about, when every step you take is hampered by your infirmity? When the change-fires begin to assail us, will you be strong enough to defend us against them?”
“I have no infirmity,” I said. “All I have is a crooked leg.” I would with great pleasure have kicked him with it too, but I restrained myself. “As for the change-fires, we don’t as yet know whether they’re real or myth. But if they’re real, why, then, each of us must do his own defending, and those who are too weak to resist their temptations will fall by the wayside and turn into monsters, and the rest of us will go onward toward the gods. That is the Way, as I understand it. Do you have any other qualifications to put forth on behalf of your election, Muurmut?”
“We should hear yours, I think”
Quietly I said, glancing from one to another of my fellow Pilgrims, “The gods have chosen me to bring you to the Summit. You all know that. In a single night every one of you dreamed the dream that I dreamed, in which I was designated. You know that I can lead, and that I can think clearly, and that I am strong enough to climb. I will bring you to the Summit if only you follow me. Those are my qualifications. Enough of this talk: I call for the vote.”
“Seconded,” said Jaif.
“Seconded again,” said Thissa softly.
And so we voted. Muurmut and Seppil and Talbol stood to one side, and all the others moved across the circle to me, three or four of them very quickly, then another few after a little hesitation, and then, in a general rush, everyone who was left. Even Thuiman, who had nominated Muurmut, deserted him. So it was done. Muurmut made no effort to disguise his fury. I thought for a moment he would attack me in his rage, and I was ready for him. I would hook my crooked leg behind his good one and throw him to the ground, and seize him by the feet and spin him around and press his face into the stony ground until he submitted to me.
But none of that was necessary. He had better sense than to lift his hand against me in front of the others, and in any case he could see the one-sidedness of the vote. So he came over grudgingly to offer me his hand afterward with the rest. His smile was false and his mien was sullen, though, and I knew that he would let no opportunity pass to displace me, if he could.
“Very well,” I said. “I thank you for your support, all of you. And now we must talk of what lies ahead.” I looked around. “Who among us has been beyond Hithiat?” I asked.
I heard nervous laughter. We had all come this far during our training, and most of us had gone up the Wall on our own once or twice out of sheer mischief, perhaps as high as Denbail, even to Hithiat. But no one goes beyond Hithiat if he has any sense. Still, I thought it was a useful thing to ask, though I expected no reply.
To my surprise Kilarion put up his hand and said, “I have. I’ve been to Varhad to see the ghosts.”
All eyes turned to him. The big man smiled, enjoying the attention his boast had earned him. Then someone laughed again, and others took it up, and Kilarion’s face darkened like the sky before a storm. The moment was suddenly very tense.
“Go on,” I said. “We’re all waiting to hear.”
“I went to Varhad. I saw the ghosts and did the Changes with one. Anyone doesn’t believe me, he can fight me,” Kilarion said, drawing himself up even taller. And he clenched his fists and stared from side to side.
“No one doubts you, Kilarion,” I said. “But tell us when it was that all this happened.”
“When I was a boy, with my father. Every boy in my clan comes up here with his father when he turns twelve. Axeclan is my clan.” He was still glowering. “You think I’m lying, do you? Wait and see what’s in store for you up ahead.”
“That’s what we want you to tell us,” I said. “You know and we don’t.”
“Well,” he said, suddenly ill at ease and uncertain of himself. “There are ghosts. And white rocks. And the trees are—well, they’re ugly.” He paused. He was groping for words. “It’s a bad place. Everything moves around. There’s a smell in the air.”