The Wanderers of the Water-Realm (48 page)

Paris was the next member of the expedition to experience difficulty, for the envoy simply passed out and fell by the side of the transport narr that he was leading. Whiteflower halted the caravan and helped Myra to revive the exhausted man with a tiny draught of water; she then shared out the remaining liquid amongst the rest of the company.

Myra knew that the time had arrived for her to bring her witch skills into play and after causing the men and animals to be drawn around her in a circle, she uttered the words of a powerful strengthening spell and issued a measure of a strong pain relieving drug to each of the travellers before allowing the march to continue.

The caravan struggled onwards across the trackless waste and for a while the heat seemed less oppressive and fresh energy began flowing through their tired bodies, but the elemental power of the five suns gradually ate into and finally dispersed the protective powers of the witch’s spell and the members of the expedition were once again fully exposed to the full rigors of the march.

By the middle of the afternoon, both humans and animals where reaching the point of complete physical collapse and Whiteflower was desperately scanning the horizon for a glimpse of the old trade road that was their initial objective, Darryl forced his tired limbs to carry him to the head of the column where he joined the blonde haired scout and together they peered into the far distance.

“Nothing master, nothing!” The girl said. “We should have reached the road by now. I cannot believe that we have not found it!”

The boatmaster placed his hand upon the tribes-woman’s shoulder.

“Courage lass,” he replied. “The pace of our march has slackened over the past hour and we may still have some way to go.”

Once again he peered out across the expanse of crimson moss and his eyes lit upon a faint dark line, which seemed to run across the face of a low hill about a mile ahead of the advancing column. Darryl immediately drew the girl’s attention to this unusual feature and she let out a single heartrending sob from her parched throat.

“It is the road master. May all of the unseen forces be praised, if we press on we shall reach the road and then we must find the way-station if we are to survive.”

The other members of the expedition received the good news and advanced with renewed hope. Soon the ruined culverts and broken bridges lying along the line of the road could be clearly seen as the caravan drew closer and the sharp eyed boatmaster eventually spotted a rectangular building standing in the shadow of the low hill. He embraced his youthful guide and pointed towards the structure

“There’s the way-station lass; directly ahead of us. Soon we shall drink from the cool waters of the well lying within its walls. Lass; we must all pay homage to your skill as a navigator. You, alone, have ensured our survival by your intimate knowledge of this confounded wasteland.”

The girl thanked Darryl for his kind words and tugged urgently at his sleeve

“Come master.” She urged. “The way-station is further off than you think and we must reach it before the daylight fails. We must not be numbered amongst the multitude of travellers who have died of thirst within a stone’s throw of water. Come master; let us continue the march with all possible speed!”

The day was almost over and only a single hour of daylight remained when the caravan finally approached the entrance to the way-station. Unfortunately, access was denied by a door made from tough Thoa timber. Whiteflower paused and called for Darryl and his witch-sister to join her at the head of the column, then turned and addressed the twins.

“A few of these way-stations are still occupied by their original owners, who cling to their property in the hope that traders will once again return to the road, such men live isolated lives and are understandably wary of strangers. I will therefore advance alone and bargain for shelter with the proprietor, should the place prove to be occupied.”

“My inner-eye tells me that yonder place is indeed occupied, aye and by exactly six souls!” Myra gasped from her parched throat. “And all of them are very nervous, so take the utmost care, or you may get a darter bolt in your body for your trouble.”

The tribeswoman left her friends and slowly walked towards the door of the station with the palms of her hands extended to show that she was quite unarmed. As she walked, she noticed that a number of darters where pointing at her from weapon slits in the station walls, but she bit her lip and continued to move forward. The girl halted about thirty paces from the gate.

“I am Whiteflower a child of the Kev.” She announced. “I am guide to a merchant from the river-lands who wishes to obtain protection and sustenance within the walls of your establishment. For this service he is willing to pay you handsomely with the very best of medicinal herbs.”

She paused and a man’s voice answered her from within the wall.

“I am the proprietor of this way-station and I am prepared to supply you with ample water and shelter, for the reasonable price of two narr-loads of herbs.”

“You thieving son of a whore!” The girl shouted, despite the painful dryness in her throat. “Two bunches would be enough for what you offer, yet you have the nerve to ask for two whole narr-loads?”

“For you and your companions, two loads is cheap indeed my girl.” The man replied. “I can see that your caravan has just emerged from the wastelands and you must therefore be in desperate straits for water. It would be a simple thing for me to deny you aid and wait for you all to die of thirst and take your entire cargo at no cost to myself!”

“You are wrong!” The girl shouted angrily. “We would rather kill our transport narr and burn our goods to ashes, than let you profit from our unjust deaths.”

Whiteflower half turned and pointed towards Myra who was standing alongside her brother.

“Yonder woman is a witch who possesses great occult powers, before she dies; she swears that she will lay a terrible curse upon you and your family, one that will bring misfortune to your kin for many generations to come. Her inner sight reveals that you are six in number, and she declares that her spell will strike you all, if you are callous enough to leave us to die in this wasteland!”

There was a long pause and the man behind the wall spoke again, but this time in a much subdued voice.

“I am a trader who must do the best for his family in these troubled times. I will ask for only twenty bunches of herbs and a well-wish from your seer, in return for food, water and lodgings for seven darkenings within my way-station. If my terms are acceptable to you, then my sons will open the gate and my wife and daughters will tend to your every need.”

Whiteflower agreed to the man’s terms and the gate swung open. An old man wearing a turban appeared upon the threshold and called for them to enter. Darryl was still suspicious and wished to enter the station first, sword in hand, in case of treachery, but his twin sister forestalled him.

“Have no fear!” She said quietly. “My inner-eye tells me that yonder man is sincere and will keep his word and his threat to watch us die of thirst was but a traders bargaining ploy.”

The young witch stepped forward and taking Whiteflower by the hand, she led both the tribes-girl and the caravan into the safety of the way-station.

Darryl lay back and relaxed upon one of the comfortable bunks lining the walls of the way-station’s simple but adequately appointed hostelry. As he rested, the boatmaster recalled the expedition’s entry into the way-station that had taken place only a few short hours ago.

Ulf had greeted them inside the gate and he turned out to be a small elderly gentleman with a red beard, he wore a rather worn robe woven from narrs-wool and he sported a bright blue turban, which he later explained, was the traditional garb of a way-station proprietor. Ulf had immediately demanded payment of his fee of twenty bunches of medicinal herbs, after introducing the newcomers to his plump and jovial wife and his grown up family comprising two sons and two daughters. The proprietor’s family had supplied the thirsty travellers with cool sweet water freshly drawn from the station’s well and allowed them to bath in a cistern filled to the brim with the life-giving liquid. The five newcomers had sighed with delight as it cooled their sun burnt skin and re-vitalized their dehydrated bodies. Afterwards, they had dined to repletion upon a vegetable stew that was flavoured with herbs and fragments of dried narrs-flesh.

Darryl had subsequently engaged the proprietor in conversation and it transpired that his caravan was the first to call at the station for over three years. The boatmaster had wondered how the man had survived in business with so little commercial traffic now using the route. When asked this question, the proprietor had sighed loudly and stated that he and his family had been forced to become farmers in order to survive. The spring inside the way-station, Ulf had explained, could be relied upon to produce copious supplies of fresh water and the proprietor, together with his sons and daughters had diverted much of the liquid and used it to irrigate an area of soil lying inside the walls of the establishment.

“Much of the land enclosed within these walls is highly fertile.” The man had explained, and he declared that two crops a cycle could easily be obtained, though not without much hard labour on the part of himself and his family. Ulf’s two sons, it also transpired, were competent hunters and occasionally brought the carcass of a wild narr back to the way-station to enliven their diet with a little fresh meat.

Ulf was unquestionably proud of his families’ success at adapting themselves to the practice of husbandry. Yet the old station proprietor admitted that he sorely missed the days when the caravans from the river-lands called regularly at his establishment and traded their wares to the numerous clans-folk who once dwelt hereabouts.

“Where are those clans-folk now? Darryl had asked, before retiring to the hostelry to rest in the comfort of his bunk.

“Dead or scattered to the winds!” Ulf had replied. “That would have been our fate also, but for our fertile garden, our stout boundary walls and deadly skill with our darters when bandits approach.”

The boatmaster then ceased to question the old man and had retired to his bunk in the station’s hostelry where he now lay and the last thing that he heard was the distant call of a wild narr as he slipped into a deep dreamless sleep.