Maia (138 page)

"Then he must have done it for Meris. Give it to her, go on. I'm stood here: I won't let anyone stop you."

Zirek, raising his arms as in prayer, began to sing. His voice was true and sure and after the first line or two rang out with a confidence which carried its own authority. Before the close many of the dispersing onlookers had turned back to listen and he, perceiving this, repeated his threnody from the beginning.

"The swift, black river withers in its banks, Buried in gaunt trees, blind to the sun. Only a deep chattering of stones Tells where the cold fingers of current run.

And faint ghosts of bones that lie in the wood Flicker and cackle together among the branches. Two green eyes move silently to drink, Crouching on huge, imagined haunches.

A noise of running, and startled birds fly up

In the distance. What was that, that suddenly cried?

Footsteps… Only the river pouring down

And the dumb, warlock forest stretched beside. Now I remember how, in that still town, They told of a girl wandering till she died."

In the succeeding silence, Maia stood for some moments as unstirring as though it had indeed been a god who had devised the words. Then, turning to Zirek, she flung her arms round his neck, clinging to him and weeping. This strange, oblique lament had pierced her as no conventional elegy for Meris could have done. He stood quietly, suffering her thus to reciprocate what he had offered. The people went away once more and they werejeft alone.

At length, looking up, she saw Anda-Nokomis beside them. He took Zirek's hand in his own.

"The tarpli, was it?"

"Yes, sir."

"That's well done. I'm to blame: I overlooked it. But you didn't, so all's as it should be."

He waited without impatience while Maia recovered herself and dried her eyes. Then he said, "Elleroth wants to see the four of us. There's no hurry; whenever you're ready."

"I'm ready, Anda-Nokomis," said Maia.

Elleroth, having nodded to the servant to leave them, looked up at his four guests.

"The dead are at peace," he said. "We have to believe that." No one spoke and he went on, "I can't imagine the gods being very hard on that poor girl, can you? It's been a miserable business; I hope that at least you're able to feel that everything's been done decently and properly."

"Yes," replied Bayub-Otal. "We're all well satisfied as far as that goes. It was most good of you, with so much else on your hands."

"No, we're the people who feel under an obligation," said Elleroth, "and as far as we're concerned it's not discharged yet. I need to know what you want to do now, so that we can help you to do it. But before we come to that, may I ask you, Serrelinda, to do me the honor of accepting this little keepsake on behalf of me and my men?"

It was his own neck-chain, with the silver corn-sheaves emblem.

Maia's lips trembled. Yet as one might have expected, the Serrelinda, who had been presented to King Karnat dressed in golden lilies and given a tress of her own hair to Durakkon in the Caravan Market, was equal to this moment also. Having returned the Sarkid commander's smiling gaze for a moment, she bowed her head in a silent gesture of recognition and gratitude as demure as any virgin acolyte of the Thlela. As she did so he bent forward, placed the chain round her neck and centered the emblem at her bosom. '

"He knew neither his father nor his mother," murmured Elleroth.

"Among strangers he labored as a slave, An exile in a country not his own, The Lord Deparioth, God's appointed sword."

This was part of the traditional lament for the hero Deparioth, known as "The Tears of Sarkid." Maia could only guess that Anda-Nokomis must have told him her story.

She raised her head. "Thank you, my lord." Running her fingers down the chain, she closed her hand on the corn-sheaves emblem. "It's just over my heart: I reckon that's the right place for it, don't you?"

They all laughed delightedly, and as she sat down Zirek stooped and kissed her shoulder.

"Well," said Elleroth briskly, "as I've said, you shall have every help from us. U-Zirek, let's take you first, shall we; for I rather think there's not much doubt about you, is there? You'd like a safe-conduct to Santil, wouldn't you?"

"Thank you very much, my lord," replied Zirek. "Yes, that would take care of everything as far as I'm concerned."

"It's not thirty miles to my father's estate in Sarkid," said Elleroth. "You've only to get there in one piece to be treated to all you deserve-he'll be more than delighted when he learns who you are-and from there you should easily be able to reach Santil in two days."

"Well, I'll make so bold as to tell your father, my lord, what I think of his son."

"I fear that
he
may tell
you,"
said Elleroth, "what he thinks of an heir who goes off freebooting with Santil with-

out asking either consent or blessing-which he knew he wouldn't get, of course. But that won't affect my father's hospitality, I can assure you. Give him my dutiful greetings and tell him to expect me back when Bekla's fallen. And now, Lord Anda-Nokomis, what are
your
plans?"

"The Ban of Suba," he replied, "has a duty to get back there as quickly as he can."

"That's what I thought you'd say, and I can only applaud. However, has it occurred to you that under present conditions, the most feasible route may unavoidably be circuitous-not to say ambagious, periphrastic and anfractuous? In a word, have you considered going back to Suba via Bekla? We'd be only too delighted for you to join us."

"I'm honored, Elleroth, and thank you. My own people will follow a one-handed man because they owe allegiance to his legendary mother's son, but I don't think I could reasonably expect the same of your men."

"Anda-Nokomis, I could do with a really knowledgeable, competent chief of staff. Can't I tempt you?"

"I'm sorry, Elleroth, to disappoint you, but I've thought about this very carefully, and I'm certain that my best chance of getting back to Suba is to make for Nybril and try to come by a boat."

Elleroth nodded. "You're right, I dare say. An epitaph, on my behalf-no chief of staff. So be it. But Captain Zen-Kurel, surely I can tempt
you,
can't I? We really do stand in need of another experienced, able company commander. Since Chalcon we've lost two or three senior officers we could very ill spare. Won't you come with us and help to cut Kembri to pieces?"

"It's tempting," he answered, "and like Anda-Nokomis, I'm flattered. But the hard fact is that I'm still an officer of King Karnat's staff. That appointment's never been terminated, as far as I know. So I'm afraid it follows that I've got to do all I can to get back."

"Ah, well: easy come, easy go. But now, Maia! Maia Serrelinda!
You'll
come to Bekla with us, won't you? Or would you rather go with Zirek, to be rewarded by Santil? I'll be more than happy to give you a letter telling him what you've done for us, and I've no doubt Ta-Kominion would be glad to as well."

As Elleroth waited for her reply, Maia looked up to see

all four of them regarding her intently. She colored; yet her answer came without hesitation.

"My lord, a little while back you said something as made me think you may already know that I'm Suban."

"Well, I've-er-heard something to that effect, yes."

"I want to go to Suba."

"You mean, to
live
there?"

Returning his gaze, she remained silent.

"But why, Maia?"

"Because I'm Suban, my lord."

"But mightn't that be rather-er-difficult for you?"

She stood up. "And I think Lord Anda-Nokomis is quite right. Going to Nybril will be our best way, my lord. I wonder whether you'd be so good as to excuse me now? It's been a long day and I'm that done up: I'll be back for supper, of course." Taking his hands, she smiled at him no less dazzlingly than she had once smiled at Selperron from her golden jekzha. "I'm very much looking forward to it."

She went out. After a few moments Elleroth crossed to the sideboard, picked up the wine-jug and refilled the cups.

"Well, dear lads, that's certainly put me in my place, hasn't it? And it's rather put paid to the turncoat theory as well, don't you think? Suba: h'm! There's really no accounting for tastes, is there? No offense, Anda-Nokomis, I assure you, but I imagine there's bound to be a certain change in her life-style, to say the least. Er-is all well with you, my dear Katrian comrade?"

Zen-Kurel was staring before him with an expression of agitated and baffled amazement.

"Suba? The girl must have gone out of her mind! They'll tear her limb from limb!"

"Not if I have anything to do with it," said Bayub-Otal.

"Not if you
do,"
said Elleroth. He looked quizzically for a moment from one of them to the other. "Well, now I must be off: there are a few things to be seen to in the camp before we meet again for supper. Do make yourselves comfortable. There's hot water whenever you want it. Just tell one of the orderlies."

He went out, singing to himself just audibly,

"As I roved out-one early-y mor-orning, To view the forest and to take the air, I there did meet with a fair pretty mai-aiden-"

His voice, receding, died away as the servants came in to tidy the room and lay the table for supper.

The next morning was again clear-skied and as hot as ever. Almost every available man, including many of the Or-telgans, had been sent across the river to continue cutting the forest-track under Mollo's direction, and there were not a great many, apart from Elleroth himself, Zirek and Ta-Kominion, to wish god-speed to Maia and her two companions. Their escort-none other than Tolis and tryzatt Miarn, with twenty men-assembled outside Maia's shelter to accompany her to Elleroth's headquarters. They had brought a litter for her, but she smilingly declined it.

"I'd rather walk, and that's no more 'n the plain truth," she said to Tolis. "After all, 'tain't as if it was all that far to Nybril. Tell you what, though; if I get tired, I'll jump in the river and swim."

At this there was a general laugh, for naturally her fame as a swimmer was well-known to everyone. It was not more than twenty miles down river to Nybril, but in view of the heat and his wish to be as considerate as possible to his guests, Elleroth had begged them to take two days over it.

"Why don't we make a raft and just float down?" Maia had asked him at supper the night before.

"A raft for twenty-six people?"

"No, just the three of us."

"You're having an escort because of the very real risk of bandits and cut-throats," he answered. "We can't rule out the possibility of some sort of robbers with boats on the river. That's the sort of thing the Leopards have reduced the empire to. Cran only knows how long it's going to take to restore law and order when we've taken Bekla."

They had given her new shoes and a brand-new cloak and tunic. (She couldn't help wondering where they had come from. The truth was Elleroth had sent to Sarkid for them, about twelve miles each way.) Her Beklan cloak and tunic had been ruined in the forest and the river, but fortunately the new tunic, like the old one, had pockets capacious enough to hold her money and valuables.

She felt in good shape and ready for anything. The most

substantial reason for this-even stronger than the idolization of the soldiers and Elleroth's unconcealed regard- was the complete change in Anda-Nokomis's manner towards her. Often, during those days at the farm, she had felt wretchedly certain that nothing could ever alter his aversion and contempt-no, not if she were to call down Lespa to carry him to Melvda-Rain and crown him with stars. Her deed in Suba, with its terrible (and unintended) consequences, had put her beyond the pale, and all she had done since or ever could do was doomed to be regarded as worthless.

Yet at supper last night she had realized that this had changed. Anything that ordinary people would regard as warmth or cordiality was not really, of course, within Anda-Nokomis's capacity; yet she, who knew him so well, could perceive clearly the alteration of his feelings. She could only suppose that he must have been reconsidering one thing with another-the escape from Bekla, the raft, the waterfall and her night excursion to the Ortelgan camp- and had at last decided to forgive her. She was not to know that in fact it was none of these things which had tipped the scale in that proud, obsessed mind. Maia's disclosure that she was his cousin had brought about in him a turmoil of perplexity. For some days he had been quite unable to decide whether it could or should alter his view of her- whether it ought to make any difference to his condemnation of her unspeakable treachery. Yet nevertheless, within the hour and while he was still very much confused, it had been the real though undivulged cause of his persuading Zen-Kurel against killing her. Only much later did he realize the full significance of the fact that when she had betrayed him to Sendekar she had not herself known either that she was Suban or that they were cousins. If she had known that she was Suban, would she have done it? He had concluded not.

And then, following upon her saving of his life at the waterfall-and beyond all question that had been a brave, loyal deed, for no one could have blamed her if she had judged it impossible to attempt-had come Elleroth's very cogent suggestion that from the moment she had discovered that they were kindreds-that she was a Suban and he her liege lord-she could hardly have risked more or shown greater courage on his behalf.

Yet even all this had not been enough for a man like

Bayub-Otal. What had taken him completely by surprise and finally overcome his last reservations, had been Maia's instant and unhesitating reply to Elleroth that she was a Suban and wanted to go back to Suba. And when Elleroth had hinted at what she must already have realized-she had politely snubbed him and put paid to any further discussion of the matter. Until that moment it had never occurred to Bayub-Otal that when it came to the point Maia, Suban or no, would decline reward and honor from Santil-ke-Erketlis in favor of a hazardous journey to return to Suba and live there. Neither at that time nor throughout the evening had he said one word to express his astonishment; yet he had hardly been able to sleep for its effect. And it was this effect, evidenced by all manner of minute changes in that diffident, haughty man, which Maia was well able to sense and appreciate. Anda-Nokomis, she felt, was now more truly her friend than he had ever been. Might she dare hope to recover yet another friend?

Alas! she was soon made sure that there was little enough prospect of that. Zen-Kurel remained all courtesy and detachment. She was still his responsibility: just that. And that, she felt sure, was the only reason why he had gone out to look for her yesterday, when he had learned that she had set out for the Ortelgan camp. He had regarded it as no more than his duty.

It is perfectly possible-indeed it is common-to be delighted and gratified at one level of the spirit while remaining deeply unhappy at another; and so it was now with Maia. Naturally, the acclaim of the soldiers and the change in Anda-Nokomis had pleased her-she would scarcely have been human if they had not-yet she would gladly have given all in exchange for the longing of her heart.

In truth, she thought dismally, it boiled down to something very simple. It was nothing to do with what she had merited in the past or whatever she might merit now. It was nothing to do with the fortress at Dari-Paltesh or the escape from Pokada's prison; with the rafts or the waterfall or the Ortelgan camp. The plain truth was simply that Zen-Kurel was no longer in love with her. Once he had been and now he wasn't. She loved him but he did not love her.

In such a situation both merit and reason are alike immaterial.

Where love cannot fulfill itself through reciprocity, it can do so only through sacrifice. And this, of course, was the real reason why she had instantly told Elleroth that she was going to Suba and then evaded any discussion either of her motives or of the danger. If it was the last thing she did, she was going to play her part in Zen-Kurel's return to Katria. It might very well be the vital part, too, for a boat would cost money. Besides, did either of them know how to handle a boat? She doubted it. She alone had the money to buy a boat and the skill to sail it down the Zhairgen to Katria. What was going to become of her after that was immaterial. This was high itruth. The low truth would keep till later.

This was her melancholy solace as Zen-Kurel politely greeted her that morning. Yet solace it was, sure enough, to see his obvious hopefulness and the eager spirit with which he discussed the final arrangements with Tolis as they prepared to set out.

She kissed Zirek good-bye with tears.

"I only hope you're doing the right thing, lass," said he. "I suppose you know best; but it's not too late t'o change your mind even now, you know."

She shook her head, her eyes brimming.

"No, I can't do that. But I'll miss you, Zirek, very much I will. Don't forget me, will you?"

"That's not likely," answered he. "When I'm a rich man, with my own estate, I'll send for you to come and be my guest; you and your husband, eh?"

"Oh, Zirek-"

"Look, they're starting," he said quickly. "Don't get left behind, my pretty girl: that wouldn't do, would it? Might never get to Kat-I mean to Suba."

He grinned, putting a hand on her shoulder. "It's true what I said in the forest that night, you know. He
is
still in love with you. You wait and see if I'm not right. Only we never really seemed to get any time to talk, did we, you and me?"

He kissed her once more; then turned aside as Elleroth came up to wish her well. A minute or two later they were on their way.

Two of the soldiers were familiar with the country between the camp and Nybril; a half-wild, little-frequented district, the indeterminate borderland between Sarkid and Lapan. With these as guides they made their way unhur-

riedly downstream. All that morning they met no one, save for three young fellows out hawking and, later, an old man gathering sticks. This seemed encouraging. Local people, at least, were apparently ready to venture out on their normal business. Tolis asked the old man whether he was not afraid of robbers. The old man shrugged.

"One's always afraid. These are rough times. But you have to live, and I haven't much that any robber would want. I scratch a living and trust in the gods. What else can you do?" Maia gave him ten meld and they left him staring after them, shading his eyes with his hand.

After some six hours the guides were sure that they were now at least half-way to Nybril, and Tolis and Zen-Kurel began looking for a place to camp for the night.

Maia, having persuaded one of the soldiers to come with her to carry back her clothes, strolled half a mile upstream and swam down to cool off. Like the Urtans at the Olmen, the lad was disconcerted at her stripping naked, and she could not prevail upon him to walk back along the bank beside her. It was the same when she waded ashore: everyone was busy elsewhere. Yet in her absence they had done enough and more to show her what they felt for her. Camp had been pitched upon the edge of a little grove, and in the center of this they had erected for her an arbor with which Lespa herself might not have been displeased. Leafy boughs had been bent, interlaced and tied down to form a kind of hedge round a central patch of turf, and here they had made her a bed of pliant branches and a mattress of grass covered with cloaks. At its head, strands of scarlet trepsis had been entwined on the hedge-wall to read "Ser-relinda."

Later that evening she danced for them: "Astiguata" and "The Long Reeds," two dances of Tonilda which she'd known from a child; artless stuff-hardly the thing to set the upper city alight. But then she had no Fordil-only their rhythmic clapping and a man who sang "Diddle diddle di-do." Yet she enjoyed it, while to the men it was like water in a desert. After supper enough wood was collected to keep a fire going all night, sentries were posted and most of the men were soon asleep.

Maia lay wakeful. A few stars twinkled through the branches and she could just make out the gentle, continuous lapping of the river fifty yards away. Nearer by sounded the minute rustlings of the thicket in the sultry dark. They had given her

a personal sentry-more as a mark of esteem than from any real need she might have to be guarded-and from time to time she could hear the man quietly moving or clearing his throat a little way off among the trees.

It seemed to her now, in that state of half-dreamlike imagination often induced by silence, night and fatigue, that she herself had been gliding away-yes, a year and longer now-upon a river fully as grim as that which Zirek had evoked in his tarpli for Meris. She thought of all those she had encountered, good and evil, who had gone under in that river-Sencho, Sphelthon, Tharrin, Durakkon, Milvushina, Jarvil, Randronoth, Meris. She thought, too, of those whom likely enough she would never meet again- the three girls she still thought of as her sisters; Sednil, Ogma, Nennaunir, Otavis and above all, Occula. "O Lespa!" she prayed. "Sweet Lespa, that's preserved me through so much, preserve Occula too. Don't suffer that cruel woman to kill her; and let the two of us meet again one day. Le it be part of your dream."

She herself was still adrift on that river which had killed so many. Towards what falls was she drifting now and where would she come ashore? Danger, she thought, always danger, danger. I live in danger like a fish in water. Never a safe bed and a strong, loving arm round me, same as any girl back in Meerzat.

Suddenly she sat up quickly, startled by sounds of movement just outside the entrance to her bower. The sentry was making some slight but deliberate noise to attract her attention. After a moment, his voice said, "Saiyett?"

"What is it?" she said sharply.

"There's one of the gentlemen wants to speak to you, but he says only if you're not too tired."

"Who is it?"

"It's the Suban lord, saiyett: Anda-Nokomis."

Anda-Nokomis, that chilly exemplar of propriety, the last man in the empire to make his way to a girl's bed at night! Her curiosity was aroused. Whatever he might want, it could not be her body: and whatever it was he wished to say, he was giving her the option of refusal. But then he would, wouldn't he?

What could conceivably be at the back of this? She really could not refrain from finding out.

"Very well," she answered. Drawing her cloak around her, she propped herself on her elbows and waited.

After a few moments Bayub-Otal, cloaked like herself, came quietly through the opening and sat down on the ground beside her. She could tell at once that he was agitated.

"Maia," he said, speaking just above a whisper, "thank you for letting me come. I haven't sent the sentry away, so you needn't worry about appearing compromised. I need to talk to you alone, and there seemed no other opportunity."

"Not tomorrow, in Nybril?" She shrugged, putting on a little act of not being particularly interested but nevertheless bearing with his whim, however incorrect.

"I felt-I felt I ought to speak to you before we reach Nybril."

"Ought?
Why, what have I-"

"No, no! I only meant-"

He stopped. She had never seen him so hesitant and unsure of himself. This was not the haughty, frigid lord of Suba whom she had come to know so well.