Kavin's World (2 page)

We lifted a hatch to peer below, and Uncle Hogir sniffed thoughtfully.

“Dry holds. And no rot, either,” he said. “But she’s carried queer goods. There’s smell there of spice, and of something like stale olive oil. Queer, isn’t it, lad?”

“Uncle…” I began, my fingers digging into my palms. “My Lord Prince…”

“You never address me so politely unless you’ve a gift in mind,” he said, amused. “See now, I’m a sorcerer like old Thuramon. I read your thoughts. You’d like to have this craft for your own.”

I nodded, unable to speak.

“Boy, this is an odd sea-gift,” he said thoughtfully. He stared at me, for a long time, and then, “But she is truly beautiful, I’ll agree. She should not be broken. She should be tried, with her queer rig as it is. And maybe we can learn a new thing or two about seacraft from her. But it might be wiser to have an experienced sailor, one of less rank, but not an heir to the princedom…”

“Uncle Hogir!” I burst out. “I’ve sailed since I could scarcely walk! You taught me how to read the star track yourself, and…”

He bellowed with laughter, slapping one big hand on the smooth black rail.

“I was teasing, boy,” Prince Hogir said, his wide grin turning my face red. “She’s yours. And you’ll have a round thousand silver-weight coins to spend on rigging her and making her fit to sail, and any more you need you may ask later. You’re master of this sea-orphan; tell Belagin so, and what you’ll have him do. I’d never stand between a man and his true love. But there’s one thing…”

“Anything, uncle!”

“I’ll have you let me come with you, when she takes the salt water.
At least once.
Agreed?”

I would have agreed to have off an arm for that gift.

A thousand silver pieces were more than enough to make the ship ready again, for Belagin would ask nothing for his work, only for the cost of new copper. He had become fascinated by my beautiful seabird himself, as a great many others did as she lay on the shore.

But I was as jealous of her as a new bridegroom at harvest festival. I spent every day with her, getting into every task of her repair, returning each day covered with bits of tar to a borrowed bed in the nearby village. In fact, I realized one morning, as I spread canvas on the shore, that I had completely forgotten about the girl Jora. That was well enough, because she had taken up with another by then, a most serious affair indeed, resulting, I believe, in twins.

That morning, I stood under the ship’s lovely, beaked prow and tried to think of a name for her. She was nearly ready, and I had thought of a dozen names and discarded a dozen. But nothing seemed right or proper, somehow.

I climbed aboard her once more and made my way to the high quarterdeck, where I had been working at a task I would not allow anyone else to do. We of Dorada are skilled in navigation above all others, and we know ways of setting such instruments as are needed. Near the whipstaff I had placed a great compass, made for me by a craftsman in the town, with an oil lamp to light it at night. On each side, I intended to place bronze peloruses, to line up angles between the ship herself and marks ashore. These lay ready to be placed, and my tools waited nearby.

The ship had been steered by a rudder hung in pintles, up to the whipstaff above; the shaft of this rudder lay cased in a kind of column of dark wood rising through the after end. Next to the staff’s point of emergence from the deck I had seen a small square trap, flush on the deck of the great cabin, which I had assumed was for the purpose of casting out wastes.

It was odd that as often as I had studied the ship, I had never before today noticed a small fact: this was a matter of the distance beneath the great cabin, and the place where the rudder post emerged. The trap, I suddenly realized, was not even visible on the outside of the hull.

I quickly went down into the great cabin, an odd idea forming in my mind. At the trap, I placed a sharp iron under the edge, and pried up. It came, unwillingly enough, and with a squeak of nails, since it had been fastened tightly. There, underneath, was a black opening; a place in
my
ship, where I had never been. Impossible!

I found a greaselamp and lit it, and slid down into the opening, barely big enough for my thin body.

The space beneath ran under the cabin deck; it was a space not quite high enough to stand up in, and, in the lampflare, full of… something. I should have realized
,
I thought, that ships sometimes keep such hiding places, on the chance of piracy or mutiny. Here I might find anything!

I found four chests, all empty—then a fifth, filled with a mad collection of things. I pulled out the contents, pawing each item with increasing puzzlement. Bright-colored garments, full of damp-mold; a pile of queer jewelry, of no great value; and a moldering mass of rolls, which I opened, too quickly, for some of them broke apart as I handled them. The language was totally unfamiliar, a twisting script. But here and there in one roll
were
drawings of this very ship, and I knew with joy that I had found the working sailplan itself.

Other drawings were there, also: shoreline work, which must have been a set of sailing directions for some unknown coast, odd symbols and incomprehensible mechanisms. There was one diagram of what seemed to be a device like a catapult, but many of the others were beyond me.

There was a small box containing tools with ivory handles, carving implements of some kind. With it were several blocks of wood, on which drawings and letters had been carved, all stained with
ink.
Then I saw another box, a little larger, and locked. I broke it open; this contained another kind of tool, which I regarded with a certain nervous familiarity, for these showed evidence of being used for certain work of magic. There was a black rod, with the correct markings, and a small knife; also vials of liquids and powders. A magician’s workbox, I knew, and closed it hurriedly.

And finally, all the way into the corner, I found the ivory figure. Even in the dim yellow flicker of the lamp it was astonishingly beautiful. It was a small form, no bigger than a young child, carved by a master. It was the shape of a young girl, nude, leaning forward to thrust with a lance in one hand; her other hand was extended forward, palm up, as if to offer a gift. Its face was pointed, strange, and more beautiful than any human face.

I carried all my loot above, into the cabin, my work quite forgotten, and wasted half the day examining it all. The figure I set up on a shelf, and sat for an hour staring at it. At last I heard footsteps on the deck above, and down into the cabin
came
Prince Hogir.

“Where in the name of Nine and Three did you get that?” he asked in a peculiar voice.

So I told him, showing him the secret place under the boards. He spent some time turning over the scrolls and the other moldy treasures, and returned at last to the ivory girl, to stare hard at her white form.

“You don’t even know her name, do you, boy?” he said at last.

“I’ve never seen such a figure before.”

“Nor have I,” Hogir said, his eyes fixed on it. “But in certain old books I have heard of her. She is a goddess, of a people long since lost or scattered… still worshipped in some places, I believe. But I know of nowhere in these seas where she rules as a divinity… and the figure is not an old one, either. Strange…”

“What’s her name?” I asked.

“Her old name was Tana,” the Prince said.
“In our tongue, ‘luck.’
Fortune, who slays with the left hand, gives riches with the right.
Chance… a strange goddess to worship.”

“She has one devotee left, then,” I said. “I give her my knee, since she’s got no others.” I dropped to a knee and bowed. “Great Tana, accept my homage. And I’ll name this ship for you…
Kavin’s Luck.”

Boys will sometimes do rash things, but I hope never to do anything
more rash
than that. It is not wise to go about committing oneself to unknown gods and goddesses; nor would I advise anyone else to ever do such a thing.

It is very difficult to write down precisely what happened, just then. Certain things are impossible to describe, and words merely make the matter more obscure. However, I’ll try.

There was a ringing sound, like that of very small bells, heard at a great distance. There was also a sharp, sweet scent, like a perfume, or like roses burning. And there was something much harder to describe, which was like the feeling of lightning in the air, or like many colors seen through closed eyes, or like the love of a woman, or a thousand other things. It was like all these, and it was not.

After that, I got up, very pale, and looked at my uncle, Prince Hogir, who was even paler.

“You may have done a very rash thing,” he said quietly. “But let us never speak of this again. However… the ship is undoubtedly
yours,
and it has a name.
Kavin’s Luck…”

Two

The
Luck
was her name, truly. The ivory Luck was mounted on a shelf in the great cabin, and a duplicate, carved in smooth white wood, rode the prow. I found the best carver of figureheads in the port, and paid him well; the figure was the same, though twice the size.

I gave her wine, not blood, since I knew somehow that wine was what she wished; I poured it over the prow as the
Luck
took the water. Then I drank a sip of it myself and watched her as she came about, and shouted for joy at the sheer loveliness of her movement on the river water.

It took work and time, but at last we had her rigged and sailing. By mistakes and pains I learned how to handle her, and trained a dozen fisher boys as well; we sailed her out of sight, beyond the skyrim and back again, half a dozen times. I was of age by then, and a bit more; but I never thought of tomorrow or the day after that. My uncle the Prince was a strong and healthy man; if I lived past my first youth it might be another nephew chosen at his death, by whoever was the Goddess-on-Earth at the time, and the prince seemed like enough to live that long. Among us, none older than twenty-five may be chosen prince, unless there is no choice.

I had no desire to rule. That, as a few know all too well, is a task like a prison, and for life. I had never seen the face of she who might be the next representative of the good Goddess, for as Maiden it is always veiled. She was called Samala, I knew, and was, like all of them, very beautiful and very wise, and I wanted nothing at all to do with her.

Then I became twenty, and much happened.

There was to be a spring sailing of five fat merchant ships to carry goods to the coast in the west. With them, the
Seabird,
a fine warship, would sail also; and I gained permission to go with them, with my fine
Luck,
to see the trading ports again, and learn more of outland ways.

The
Luck
was well cared for; I lavished on her, like a man with a sweet mistress, the best rigging, sails fine enough to be a lady’s cloak, and such. I had fitted her with four cannon, though I always mistrusted the things: one of small bore, as a chaser, and two more on side ports, and the fourth, of an odd design, fat and short, for casting firepots.

On the trip west we sailed rings around the lumbering merchants, and raced at times with the oared warship, beating it handily. Such rigs as we used were not for hulls like our Doradan craft, but some were already being tried on fishing boats.

Those were pleasant days, my last for a while.

We spent some time in haggle-and-dicker work in the ports of the west. I roared and rollicked ashore, with my own bullyboys, playing the captain’s role to the hilt; and traded a few bits of cargo on my own, to good advantage. Then, my pockets full, I visited the local slave markets, thinking about a notion I’d lately had. I had a fair share of girls at home, one way and another, but I had caught the idea of owning one.

The coast folk, of course, own slaves enough, especially since the new religions began to come in. For us in Dorada the practice is made quite difficult, since the Goddess does not approve of much connected with slave owning. I could, for instance, own a male slave captured in battle, or bought; but I would have to free him and place him in security whenever the Temple decided to set one of those holy days, which happened at least every fifteen years or so. I could kick him, but I couldn’t kill him, either.

As for female slaves… well, the Goddess looks after her own kind. If I owned one, she would be free the instant she became pregnant, and I’d owe her a large sum, too. She would also be free if she so much as touched the pillars of the Temple gate, and in any case she’d be free—
with
the payment, as before—in seven years. You can see why slavery never became a problem with us. Only a wealthy man could afford it, and even for him it was a short-lived rule.

But I had one of those youthful notions about the hidden charms, the unknown talents, of a foreign girl. There were more than enough to keep me busy at home; our girls are neither shy nor backward, particularly at the harvest festival. But… there it was.

I visited one or two of the markets, seeing nothing that took my eye. Then, I entered the third.

This was the market of Eli Ofriti, one of the dark southern merchants. I came into the sunlit square, crowded with buyers, full of noise, with half a dozen expensive beauties lined up on a platform in the center. I swaggered in, jingling my coin.

Then, suddenly, there was nobody in the square at all. I couldn’t hear a sound of
all the
clamor, nor see any other at all, not even the luscious and naked girls who were up there. There were only two of us: myself and the red-haired girl who stood there quietly, waiting.

I probably paid about four times too much. I would have paid ten times as much, or borrowed more. I no longer remember the price,
nor
any of the details.

I do remember Eli Ofriti, grinning lewdly with his stumpy brown teeth as he accepted my gold and assured me I had made a wonderful choice.

“Positively, a virgin, young sir,” he hissed cheerily.
“Speaks no known language, so you may be untroubled with any conversation, except smiles of joy.
But in the best of health, docile, and with a fine appetite, heh, heh, sire, we hope an appetite for love as well, may we not?”

I heard him but answered nothing at all as he put her lead-cord into my hand, flung a brown hooded robe around her, and turned to his business again. I was in a daze.

She was a small, perfectly shaped girl, her long red hair almost waist-length; her curiously pointed face was calm, almost incurious about her fate. She smiled at me, as I led her out, a distant smile, as one might at a mild joke.

I took her back to the quay, and aboard the
Luck;
there, under the yellow glow of the cabin lamp, I sat down, and looked at her standing quietly.

“You,” I said, distractedly. “You’ve got a name, haven’t you?”

I had completely forgotten what Eli had said about her lack of language. She simply stared, still unmoved.

“Gods,” I said, with a groan. I tried again. “Me…
Kavin.”
Tapping my chest, I smiled. I pointed.
“You… what?”

“Oh,” she said. Then she smiled, this time with a warmer look that sent the blood to my ears. She touched her own chin.
“Isa.”

“Isa?”

“Isa.”

Well, it was a start.

I continued with the language lesson over food and wine brought by my bodyservant, Choregon, who leered abominably at both of us. We made progress. I was sure now that Isa was her name, and that she laughed divinely; that she lisped a trifle in pronouncing words with r’s in them. She had learned, very rapidly, a dozen words of my language, and I learned none of hers, if indeed she had one.

Then she happened to notice the curtained shelf whereon the Luck stood, and playfully she glanced behind it.

Her green eyes widened, and she dropped the curtain hastily and backed up, making a gesture with her right hand.

“Tana!”

“Oho, so you know the name?” I said, fascinated. “By the Nine, maybe I’ve found someone from the same land this ship came from.”

But that was all she had to say about the goddess. She positively refused to look in that direction again. Tana was no stranger to
her,
it seemed, but no friend, either.

As for me, my head was swimming with lust. I had never wanted any wench as much as I wanted this one, and I held my control over myself with difficulty. Rape was not my intent, but seduction might be difficult with no common words in which to woo her. Therefore, I did my best, with hands, eyes, and such sounds as one might make to lure a kitten. If she were truly a virgin, I anticipated some problems of which I had vaguely heard, although we do not have any surplus of virgins in Dorada.

To my great joy, there were no problems at all, and words were completely unneeded. Eli had been truthful enough, she was indeed a virgin; but the matter once disposed of, she became as anxious to learn as I was to teach. We were still awake, though very weary, when the sun’s first light dimmed the cabin lamp; we rolled and giggled like children, naked among the blankets of my bunk.

Then, on the deck, I heard running footsteps and loud voices, and a fist banged heavily on the cabin door.

“May whoever that is be cursed, three times in nine cold hells…
”
And I went hastily to the door, naked as I was, and opened it.

“Lord Kavin…” It was a sweating seaman, a Doradan, one I knew as a man of another ship. “Lord, a ship from home, with ill news. The worst news…”

“What, damn it?”

“Prince Hogir is slain!” His eyes goggled. “Riders, evil hordes, attack our valley. Dorada is on fire!”

For several moments I simply stared at the man like a clown, unable to grasp the whole of what he was saying. He, shaking and big-eyed, went on with the tale as he had been given it only a short time before.

Half a dozen fishing boats, and a pair of merchant ships, crowded with fear-stricken refugees, were even now anchoring within the breakwater. All were from Dorada, women and children and the old for the most part, and more were still at sea, sailing west to safety in the ports of Meryon.

In a single night the mountains had poured out an evil horde; horsemen, so many that no one could guess at their number. They were wild small men riding small horses, dressed in skins, and tribe upon tribe of them came down through the rocky passes and into Dorada. I had heard of such nomads, living in the distant plains to the north, but never of such numbers of them.

Within a single day they had swarmed over villages and farms on both sides of the river, coming seaward in a human wave, killing and burning as they came. Their savagery was unspeakable, according to the few who had seen and escaped. And their hunger was as great as their savagery, because it was rumored that they were cannibals. It was certain that something had driven them down upon us, possibly the death by a plague of their flocks of cattle; there
was
no cattle with them when they came, and they were known to be herdsmen.

But speculation about that hardly mattered under the circumstances.

The wild men had reached Astorin itself within three days, and were all around the city and the castle when the refugees had left. Their riders had swept down so swiftly that many ships had been burned at their moorings and a good part of the unwalled outer harbor attacked. A very few folk had managed to escape, ahead of the riders, coming down the river in boats; and some of these were among the flotilla which had come here. Among these, one had said that Granorek, the castle on the upper river, still held, surrounded by the hordes, and that Uncle Malvi was there.

As for Prince Hogir, he had ridden forth to meet the human tide on the day they appeared before Astorin walls, he and five hundred of the best men of Dorada. From the walls, they watched him charge, and for a long while there was a whirling fight in the midst of the crowding invaders. But the fight went farther and farther from the walls, and at last not a single pennon of Dorada was seen any more. In the afternoon, an invader rode up to the gate of the city, and flung the head of Prince Hogir at the closed gate, as one throwing a ball; and whipped his horse round to ride away. He was pinned with a hundred arrows before he had gone a yard, one said.

But the Prince was undoubtedly dead. Worse, since the ships had left Astorin some days gone, there was doubt about even the city itself. It might already have fallen; had the invaders any knowledge of siegecraft, it could not hold for long.

All this I heard as I washed and clothed myself in great haste. Remembering the girl, I made her understand that there was great trouble, and she should stay close to my cabin; then I hurried out.

On the quay, there were crowds of people of the city, and boats landing from the Doradan ships, each bearing a new set of blood-chilling stories; wailing women, sitting on such small possessions as they had saved, tearful children, and panicking citizens of the port.

This port was tributary to the High King of Meryon, and as far as I knew, he was quite competent to defend it; also, ranges of impassable mountains lay between Dorada and this place. But the tales being told had the whole town in a wild panic, as if the riders were already at their gates. I had to thrust my way through the milling crowds, and shout more than once before I could find the captains of the Doradan ships.

I found more than the captains.

A boat came to the stone steps whose cargo was different from the others: no overflowing mass of wailing woman, but only five, dressed alike in white, and hooded; and the oars were handled by ship captains, and men of rank. The boat drew in, and a tall woman stepped ashore, followed by the other four. Her eyes, like two ice chips, came upon me where I stood, and she beckoned, silently.

When the lady of the Temple, who is the earthly form of the Goddess herself, calls you, you come. It occurred to me as I approached that the situation must be terrible indeed for these priestesses to leave the holy place and flee; it was their presence, more than the tales I had heard, that made the doom of Dorada real to my mind.

“Kavin of the Hostan,” the tall woman said quietly, and I went to one knee. I recognized her well enough, she who had been Bride to Uncle Hogir, and who now was the Third of the Three, his widow. For the first time in an age, a high priestess had had no chance to perform the rites of burial over a Prince of Dorada; but she was still the Oldest One, the Third,
the
Lady of Terrors.

“We have heard ill things of you, Kavin,” she said, and I grew a little cold. It would not be pleasant to be criticized by either a Maiden or a Bride, but a Widow has frightful powers, and is short of temper to boot. Death is her province, and she may give it with the touch of a finger if she chooses.

But it would seem that the high priestess was not that displeased with me, fortunately.