Maia (148 page)

a timber-strewn flood-race. Well, it had probably done for them; there were still plenty of other things to hit, and now the boat was out of control.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Couldn't be helped," she answered rather absently. She was trying to think what, if anything, could be done. "Much my fault as yours."

The boat was turning all ways at once now; sometimes stern foremost, then spinning in a cross-current only to veer away again on the instant. She felt more horribly in danger than at any time since they had set out.

"Zenka," she said, trying to speak calmly, "bring me an oar, quick, as you can."

There was no time to go looking for a length of rope. She hadn't seen any on board and wouldn't know where to start looking. The stern anchor rope would have to do. At least it was long enough and about the right thickness; and they'd still have the bow anchor.

As Zenka came back with the oar she drew her knife, cut the anchor rope and hitched it round the rudder-head.

"Now lash the oar to the rudder-head, Zenka," she said. "Like this, look; over and under and round and round. Only you'd do it better'n me, 'cos it's got to be real tight, see. I'll support the oar while you lash it; mustn't lower it into the water till you're done."

Despite the continual lurching of the boat he was deft and swift, pulling the lashing tight with his full strength at each turn, trapping it closely and finishing, as she showed him, with another hitch to hold all firm. She had never before used a stern oar for steering and was surprised, when they were done, to find how well it answered. She had not foreseen that oar and lashing together would pivot easily about the rudder-head without working loose: the oar could be turned as far as a right angle to the boat, to check and turn it almost instantly. Its only disadvantage was that its length, together with the force of the current, made the sheer effort of working it for any time more than she could manage.

"You'll have to help me, Zenka," she panted, having righted the boat and recovered the midstream channel. "This'U do fine as long as we're careful, only I just haven't got the strength. See if you can get us round this bend that's coming up."

He could. Hedid. Or rather, she provided the judgment,

leaning this way and that on the handle of the oar, but relying on his greater physical strength to reciprocate and carry out what she wanted. As the boat rounded the bend without mishap, they broke into simultaneous cries of excitement. The trees were less dense and no more than five hundred yards ahead, as near as she could judge in the failing light, lay open water-the further edge of the forest. "Anda-Nokoniis!" she called. "We're through!"

Anda-Nokomis, turning in the bow, raised his hand in the traditional Beklan gesture of acknowledgment to the winner of a contest. At this same moment, as they still stood side by side with the oar between them, Zen-Kurel, as naturally as a bird might alight on a branch, put his free arm round Maia, drew her to him and kissed her.

She clung to him, both arms round his neck, now laying her face against his soaking wet hair, now returning his kiss again and yet once more as the rain ran down their faces and mingled between their lips. At last, releasing him, she gasped, "The boat, my darling! We've still got to get to Katria."

"I know. But at least tell me one thing now. I want us to be as we were in Melvda-Rain. I want you to marry me. Will you?"

"Yes, of course! Further to starboard; hard over, quick!"

The river, as it emerged from the forest, was broader, though flowing no less swiftly, for here, as far as they could make out in the falling dusk, it had not yet burst the distant, stony dykes on either side. They were in less danger now, for the trees had gone, there seemed to be no obstacles ahead and for the moment at all events little or no heavy debris in the main channel. The boat, however, had filled with so much rain and grown so heavy that it was actually hanging in the current-moving, certainly, but Maia, looking overside, could see sticks and leaves passing them at twice their speed. They had very little freeboard, too.

"Darling, yes will have to do for now."

"It'll do very well," he answered. "You'd better bail again, I suppose."

"Anda-Nokomis," she called. "Come and help me!"

"Do you think it's safe to leave the bow?"

"Yes: we're moving so slow. Only we got to bail this water out, else we'll never get there 'fore dark."

They both set about bailing, while Zen-Kurel remained at the steering-oar. Maia, in spite of the great flood of joy filling her heart, knew now that she was undoubtedly ill- ill enough to need to go to bed as soon as she could. Her head ached, her throat and ears were horribly painful and she was feeling even more light-headed than when they had entered the forest.

"D'you mind if I have a go at the djebbah, Anda-Nokomis?" she asked, shivering. " 'Fraid I'm took bad: it's the wet and bein' s' tired out. I'll be better once we c'n get warm and dry."

He nodded and passed her the flask, and she took a good, long pull. She could feel the fumes rising consolingly to dull her pain. Leaning forward, she kissed Anda-Nokomis on both cheeks. "You've been the best of friends to me, Anda-Nokomis, that you have! When you're back in Melvda-Rain-when you really
are
Ban of Suba-can we come and be your guests, Zenka and me?"

"Yes," he answered, "you shall. And no one shall speak a word against you."

Yet as he spoke he looked so downcast and low that she felt ashamed, and very sorry that in her happiness she had spoken with so little consideration for his feelings.

"Dear, dear Anda-Nokomis, I'm so sorry about-you know; honest I am! Oh, sometimes, I just about wish I could split myself in two!"

"It would have to be a thousand and two, I think, Ser-relinda," he answered with a smile. It was the only joke she ever heard him make.

"Anda-Nokomis," she said (bail and fling, bail and fling, oh Cran! don't I feel bad?), "do you know there was one time when I cursed you, and swore that if ever I could harm you I would? Doesn't seem possible now, does it? Live and learn, that's about it. Fools don't know who their friends are, I reckon."

"When was that?"

"After you'd made me dance the senguela at Sarget's party in the Barons' Palace; that was when.'

"But-er-surely you made rather a success of it, didn't you, as far as I recall?"

(As far as I recall. Oh dear, oh dear!) "I know. It was on account of-of something else." The djebbah was really taking effect now: her head was fairly spinning.

"Well, but you
did
harm him, didn't you?" said Zenka, "and me too, come to that. But it's all dead and done with now."

"My love, I never went to harm you, nor Anda-Nokomis neither."

"What?"

"No, I never! Oh, darling Zenka, I wanted to
save
you both! Oh, and so many more! Anda-Nokomis, do you remember Gheta at the farm?"

"Gehta at the farm? What farm? Don't you mean Clys-tis?"

"No,
no!"
He looked blank. "Then surely you remember Sphelthon at the ford? Poor boy,
he's
at peace now, anyway."

"She's light-headed," said Zenka sympathetically. "It's not surprising. We must take care of her once we-"

"I'm
not
light-headed!" she cried. "It's
men
that's lightheaded! All of you, everywhere! If you'd only
seen
that poor boy at the ford."

She began to cry. "I never meant you to go to that horrible fortress, or be tormented by that wicked woman. I
neverl
I never meant to betray you! I didn't do it for the Leopards! I didn't do it to be the Serrelinda! I just wanted to stop you all killing each other! I'd seen what fighting
did
to people! I wanted Sendekar to get to the river in time to stop your king getting across, only it just didn't work out like that."

Anda-Nokomis put his arm round her.

"You'd better tell us everything, Maia-about Gheta and Sphelthon and all the rest. A great deal seems to have happened on our journey to Suba that I failed to see."

By fits and feverish, tipsy starts, she told them everything-how Gehta had told her of her terror of an invasion of western Urtah; how she had knelt by Sphelthon at the ford; how she had been left alone in Melvda-Rain when the armies were assembling, to reflect on Karnat's plan and what it would mean for her own people.

"But I never let on to any of the Leopards, Zenka," she ended. "I never told Sendekar or Kembri or any of them as it was you that told me. I loved you then and I

love you now and that was why I went to the jail that night in Bekla and made them let out the both of you."

Zen-Kurel, leaving the oar to trail in the current, dropped on his knees and kissed her.

"Whether you were right or wrong doesn't matter anymore. What matters is that you didn't do it for yourself or to harm anyone. You did it out of pity, didn't you? I might have guessed that."

"But if you'd known in Melvda-Rain that you were Su-ban-" Bayub-Otal was beginning, when all three of them looked up in surprise, hearing a long, ululating call in the distance. Zen-Kurel, gripping the oar once more, trimmed their course, while Bayub-Otal, helping Maia to her feet, stood looking out over the water.

"Who is it?" asked Zen-Kurel, peering from one bank to the other. "Is it us he's calling to?"

After a moment Maia pointed. Perhaps two hundred yards off and a little astern, in the bare, flat fields stretching away behind the dyke, a man was waving to them and pointing downstream. He was clearly a shepherd, for with him were two dogs and a little group of three or four sheep huddled together. In all the rainswept desolation there was not another soul to be seen.

"Those'll be strays he's been out after," said Anda-Nokomis.

"What's he saying, though?" said Zen-Kurel, cupping his hand to his ear. The man, as best he could, was running after them, plainly agitated. His voice reached them again.

"Boom! Boom!"

"What's he mean?" asked Zen-Kurel. "That's nonsense-boom, boom!"

"I wish it was," said Maia. "he's warning us there's a boom across the river lower down."

"I remember now," said Bayub-Otal. "Some Belishban once told me in Bekla: they keep a boom across the river at the frontier, to stop rafts and boats and make them pay duty. No doubt they stop fugitives, too," he added grimly.

"A boom?" asked Zen-Kurel, "across a river this breadth? What can it be made of, for Cran's sake?"

"There's only one thing it could be made of," said Maia. "Ortelgan rope: probably with bells, to give warning if a boat runs on it at night."

"Can't we cut it, then?"

"They wouldn't have a boom if you could get past it

that easy. It'll be nearly as thick as your arm, and winched up level with the surface. There'll be a frontier post with bowmen, for sure."

"But if we stop they'll recognize us," said Bayub-Otal. "This hand of mine-everyone knows what I look like: you too, Maia, come to that. And they'll be Leopard soldiers, probably warned already to look out for us. Anyone in Bekla would guess that since we escaped I'd be trying to get to Suba. If we're brought ashore in Belishba we'll be seized and held; that's certain."

"Perhaps I could bribe them," said Maia.

Zen-Kurel shook his head. "They all hate Katrians too much, my darling. They'd only take all you'd got and then send us back to Bekla; there or Dari."

No one spoke for more than half a minute, while the boat, rain-heavy again now, drifted on in the dusk. The only sounds were the creak of the steering-oar and the rain on the timbers.

"Here's what we'll do," said Maia suddenly, "and you'd just better listen, the both of you, 'cos there's no time to think of anything else. There's the guard-houses now, look, only just down there. See the lights?"

Zen-Kurel looked where she was pointing. "Gods! One each side! Who'd have thought it? And look, further down still there's a village; can you see? That must be in Katria!"

"Will you only
listen?"
she said again. "It's ten to one there'll be no one actually outside in all this rain. That means we won't be spotted until we hit the boom. Then I reckon it'll go taut and ring a bell. Each of you get hold of an oar, now. I'll take the boat over towards the left bank and run her on the boom sideways on, best as I can. Then you'll both have to jump for it. The oars'U hold you up, near enough, to go down a hundred yards and get ashore."

"But what about you?" asked Zen-Kurel.

"Soon as you've gone I'll dive in and swim under water far 's I can. I'll be there 'fore you, no danger. Might give you a hand out, even." She gave each of them a quick kiss. "Now grab your oars and get over that side, 'cos here it comes.'

She leant hard on the steering-oar, turning the boat to port as they drifted down towards the guard-huts facing each other on opposite sides of the river. The smoke from their chimneys hung low over the roofs and lamps were

alight inside. She could hear male voices, but there was not a soul to be seen. Good!

On either side, sticking up out of the flood water between the huts and the river, were two stout posts. Their tops were cloven, and in these grooves ran, as she expected, a thick rope. Upon the river side of each hung a bell as big as her head. She couldn't see how the ends of the rope were secured; probably to iron rings, she supposed, but all she was looking at was the river between. About ten feet out on each side the rope, sagging, disappeared into the water. How far would it be under in the middle, then? Could she have hoped to sail over it?" Hardly; they'd have thought of that. It wouldn't have been worth the risk to try: if it had turned out wrong her men would never have been able to reach the bank from midstream. Anyway, it was too late to change now.

Ahead she could see a regular undulation where the river flowed over the rope. With all her strength she shoved the handle of the oar over to starboard. The boat turned and checked broadside on to the stream: then the starboard beam drifted gently against the rope. The boat listed but the rope gave only slightly-less than she'd expected.

"Now!" she cried, and in the same moment heard both the bells ringing. Anda-Nokomis and Zenka, clutching their oars, flung themselves over the starboard side.

Maia remained standing in the tilted stern, clutching the steering-oar to keep her balance. This was the bit she hadn't told them about. She unbuttoned her tunic, letting it hang open, and ripped her shift to the waist.

A voice was shouting "Turn out! Turn out!" Soldiers, one or two with torches, others stringing their bows, were pouring out of both guard-huts, peering into the rain as their eyes adjusted to the almost-gone light.

"Help!" she cried. "Help me! Oh, Cran, I'll drown if you don't help me!"

"What the hell d'you think you're doing, girl?" shouted one of the men; the tryzatt, she supposed. "Where've you come from?"

"I didn't know about the rope!" she shouted. "Oh, please help me!"

"Well, you know now," answered the tryzatt. "You mean you're alone?"

"Yes: I took the boat to run away from home. Please help me!"

"My stars, just look at her!" shouted another of the soldiers.

"Can you swim?"

"A little, yes. Oh, but I'm so frightened!"

No one had spotted her men yet; she mustn't look in their direction for fear of drawing attention to them. By now they might have had almost long enough to get ashore and out of bowshot.

At this point the matter was taken out of her hands. A sudden, sharp impulse of the current tilted the boat yet further, though still it hung against the ropes. Water came pouring over the starboard side. It was going to sink.

Maia plunged forward and under water. Although she kept her eyes open, she could see nothing. The current was swift and full of frightening drags and counterflows in which she was tugged helplessly one way and another. Obviously she was going downstream, but in which direction-right or left-she had no idea. She swam on for as long as her breath would hold, then came up, turned her head and looked quickly behind her.

Her heart sank. She must have gone from side to side, for she was no more than thirty or forty yards down from the rope, if that. On either shore there seemed to be something like twenty men, all gazing intently downstream. At that very moment one of them saw her and pointed.

"There she is, look!"

"Come in to the bank, girl," shouted the tryzatt, "else we'll have to shoot, and I mean it!"

She dived again, trying, in the swirling mirk, to swim to her left. Her head seemed splitting, now, and she felt so feverish and ill that she hardly knew what she was doing. Yet when she came up once more she was much further downstream and closer in to the left bank, where the water was lying almost level with the top of the dyke.