Shardik

  Helping her to a patch of grass, he sat down beside her. She was trembling, her breath coming in gasps, but after a few moments she opened her eyes and half-rose to her feet, looking back down the road.

  "Damn and blast the bastards!" whispered the Tuginda. Then, meeting his stare, she laughed. "Didn't you know, Kelderek, that there are times when everyone swears? And I had brothers once, long ago." She put her hand over her eyes and swayed a moment. "That brute was right, though--I'm not well."

  "You've eaten nothing all day, saiyett--"

  "Never mind. If we can find somewhere to lie down and sleep, we shall reach Zeray tomorrow. And there I believe we may find help."

  Wandering over the ground nearby, he came upon a stack of turves, and of these made a kind of shelter in which they huddled side by side for warmth. The Tuginda was restless and feverish, talking in her sleep of Rantzay and Sheldra and of autumn leaves to be swept from the Ledges. Kelderek lay awake, tormented by hunger and the pain in his heel. Soon, now, he thought, the change would be complete and as an animal he would suffer less. The stars moved on and at length, watching them, he also fell asleep.

  Soon after dawn, for fear of the villagers, he roused the Tuginda and led her away through a ground-mist as white and chill as that through which Elleroth had been brought to execution. To see her reduced to infirmity, catching her breath as she leaned upon him and compelled to rest after every stone's throw walked at the pace of a blind beggar, not only wrung his heart but filled him also with misgiving--the misgiving of one who observes some portent in the sky, and fears its boding. The Tuginda, like any other woman of flesh and blood, was not equal to the hardship and danger of this land; like any other woman, she could sicken, and perhaps die. Contemplating this possibility, he realized that always, even in Bekla, he had unconsciously felt her to be standing, compassionate and impervious, between himself and the consuming truth of God. He, the impostor, had stolen from her everything of Shardik--his bodily presence, his ceremony, the power and adulation--all that was of men: everything but the invisible burden of responsibility borne by Shardik's rightful mediator, the inward knowledge that if she failed there was none other. She it was and not he who for more than five years had borne a spiritual load made doubly heavy by his own abuse of Shardik. If now she were to die, so that none remained between him and the truth of God, then he, lacking the necessary wisdom and humility, would not be fit to step into her place. He was found out in his pretensions, and the last action of the fraudulent priest-king should be, not to seek death from Shardik, of which he was unworthy, but rather to creep, like a cockroach from the light, into some crevice of this country of perdition, there to await whatever death might befall him from sickness or violence. Meanwhile the fate of Shardik would remain unknown: he would vanish unwatched and unattended, like a great rock dislodged from a mountainside, that smashes its way downward, coming to rest at last in trackless forests far below.

  Afterward, of all that took place during that day he could recall only one incident. A few miles beyond the village, they came upon a group of men and women working in a field. A little distance away from the others, two girls were resting. One had a baby at the breast and both, as they laughed and talked, were eating from a wicker basket. Half a mile farther on he persuaded the Tuginda to lie down and rest, told her he would return soon and hastened back to the field. Approaching unseen, he crept close to the two girls, sprang suddenly upon them, snatched their basket and ran. They screamed but, as he had calculated, their friends were slow to reach them and there was no pursuit. He was out of sight, had wolfed half the food, thrown away the basket and rejoined the Tuginda almost before they had decided that a silly girl's few handfuls of bread and dried fruit were not worth the loss of an hour's work. As he limped away on his bruised heel, coaxing the Tuginda to swallow the crusts and raisins he had brought back, he reflected that starvation and misery made an apt pupil. Ruvit himself could hardly have done better, unless indeed he had silenced the girls with his knife.

  Evening was falling once more when he realized that they must at last be approaching Zeray. They had seen few people all day and none had spoken to or molested them, due no doubt partly to their destitution, which showed them, clearly enough, to be not worth robbing, and partly to the evident sickness of the Tuginda. There had been no more woodland and Kelderek had simply gone southeast by the sun through an open wilderness, broken here and there by sorry pastures and small patches of ploughed land. Finally they had come once more to reeds and sedges, and so to the shore of a creek which he guessed to be an inlet of the Telthearna itself. They followed it a little way inland, rounded the head and so came to the southern bank, along which they made their way. As it grew broader he could see, beyond the creek's mouth, the Telthearna itself, narrower here than at Ortelga and running very strongly, the eastern shore rocky in the distance across the water. Even through his despair a kind of dull, involuntary echo of pleasure stole upon him, a subdued lightening of the spirit, faint as a nimbus of the moon behind white clouds. That water had flowed past Ortelga's reeds, had rippled over Ortelga's broken causeway. He tried to point it out to the Tuginda, but she only shook her head wearily, scarcely able to follow even the direction of his arm. If she were to die in Zeray, he thought, his last duty would be to ensure that somehow the news was carried upstream to Quiso. Despite what she had said, there seemed little hope of their finding help in a remote, squalid settlement peopled almost entirely (or so he had always understood) by fugitives from the justice of half a dozen lands. He could see the outskirts now, much like those of Ortelga--huts and wood smoke, circling birds and in the evening air, from which the sunlight was beginning to fade, the glitter of the Telthearna.

  "Where are we, Kelderek?" whispered the Tuginda. Almost her whole weight was upon his arm and she was gray-faced and sweating. He helped her to drink from a clear pool and then supported her to a little grassy mound nearby.

  "This is Zeray, saiyett, as I suppose."

  "But here--this place?"

  He looked about him. They were in what seemed a kind of wild, untended garden, where spring flowers were growing and trees stood in bloom. A melikon hung over the water, the peasants' False Lasses covered with the blossoms which would later turn to golden berries dropping in the still summer air. Everywhere were low banks and mounds like the one on which they were sitting; and now he saw that several of these had been roughly marked with stones or pieces of wood stuck in the ground. Some looked new, others old and dilapidated. At a little distance were four or five mounds of newly turned earth, un-grassed and strewn with a few flowers and black beads.

  "This is a graveyard, saiyett. It must be the burial ground of Zeray."

  She nodded. "Sometimes in these places they have a watchman to keep off animals at night. He might--" She broke off, coughing, but then resumed, with an effort, "He might tell us something of Zeray."

  "Rest here, saiyett. I will go and see."

  He set off among the graves and had not gone far when he saw at a little distance the figure of a woman standing in prayer. Her back was toward him and both she and the raised grave-pile beside which she was standing were outlined against the sky. The sides of the grave had been faced with boards, carved and painted, giving it something of the appearance of a large, decorated chest; and, by contrast with the neglected humps all around, it possessed a kind of grandeur. At one end a pennant had been thrust upright in the soil, but the cloth hung limp, unstirred by the least wind, and he could not see the device. The woman, dressed in black and bareheaded like a mourner, appeared to be young. He wondered whether the grave to which she had come alone was that of her husband and whether he had died a natural or a violent death. Slim and graceful against the pale sky, her arms extended and hands raised palm forward, she was standing motionless, as though for her the beauty and dignity of this traditional posture constituted in themselves a prayer as devout as any words or thoughts that could proceed from her mind.

  "This," h
e thought, "is a woman to whom it is natural to express her feelings--even grief--through her body as well as through her lips. If Zeray contains even one woman of such grace, perhaps it cannot be altogether vile."

  He was about to go up to her when the sudden thought of how he must appear made him hesitate and turn away. Since leaving Bekla he had not once seen his own reflection, but he remembered Ruvit, like some shambling, red-eyed animal, and the ragged, stinking men who had first searched and then befriended him. Why this woman was here alone, he could not tell. Perhaps young women in Zeray commonly went about alone, though from all that he had ever heard of the place this seemed unlikely. Could she perhaps be some courtesan mourning a favorite lover? Whatever the reason, the sight of himself would probably alarm her and might even put her to flight. But she would feel no fear of the Tuginda and might even take pity on her.

  He retraced his steps to the water.

  "Saiyett, there is a woman praying not far away--a young woman. For me to approach her alone would only frighten her. If I help you, and we go slowly, can you come with me?"

  She nodded, licking her dry lips and stretching out both hands for his. Helping her to her feet, he supported her faltering steps among the graves. The young woman was still standing motionless, her arms raised as though to draw down peace and blessing upon the dead friend or lover earth-wrapped at her feet. The posture, as well he knew, became a strained one in no long while, yet she seemed heedless of discomfort, of tormenting flies and the loneliness of the place, absorbed in her self-contained, silent sorrow.

  "She needs neither to weep nor to utter words," he thought. "Perhaps loss and regret fill her life as they have come to fill mine, and she can add nothing except her presence in this place. No doubt there are many such in Zeray."

  As they approached the tomb the Tuginda coughed again and the woman, startled, turned quickly around. The face was young and, though still beautiful, thin with hardship and marred, as he had guessed, by the lines of a settled sorrow. Seeing her eyes widen with surprise and fear, he whispered urgently, "Speak, saiyett, or she will fly."

  The woman was staring as though at a ghost; the knuckles of her clenched hands were pressed to her open mouth and suddenly, through her rapid breathing, came a low cry. Yet she neither ran nor turned to run, only staring on and on in incredulous amazement. He, too, stood still, afraid to move and trying to recall of what her consternation reminded him. Then, even as he saw her tears begin to flow, she sank to her knees, still gazing fixedly at the Tuginda, with a look like that of a child unexpectedly found by a searching mother and as yet uncertain whether that mother will show herself loving or angry. Suddenly, in a passion of weeping, she flung herself to the ground, grasping the Tuginda's ankles and kissing her feet in the grass.

  "Saiyett," she cried through her tears, "oh, forgive me! Only forgive me, saiyett, and I will die at peace!"

  Lifting her head, she looked up at them, her face agonized and distorted with crying. Yet now Kelderek recognized her, and knew also where he had seen before that very look of fear. For it was Melathys who lay prostrate before them, clasping the Tuginda's feet.

  A quick gust of wind from the river ran through the trees and was gone, tossing and opening the pennant as some passer-by might idly have spread it with his hand and let it fall again. For a moment the emblem, a golden snake, showed plainly, rippling as though alive; then drooped and disappeared once more among the folds of the dark, pendent cloth.

  43 The Priestess's Tale

  "WHEN HE CAME," SAID MELATHYS, "when he came, and Ankray with him, I had already been here long enough to believe that it could be only a matter of time before I must die by one chance or another. During the journey down the river, before ever I reached Zeray, I had learned what I had to expect from men when I sought food or shelter. But the journey--that was an easy beginning, if only I had known. I was still alert and confident. I had a knife and knew how to use it, and there was always the river to carry me farther down." She stopped, looking quickly across at Kelderek, who, replete with his first full meal since leaving Kabin, was sitting beside the fire, soaking his lacerated feet in a bowl of warm water and herbs. "Did she call?"

  "No, saiyett," said Ankray, huge in the lamplight. He had entered the room while she was speaking. "The Tuginda is asleep now. Unless there's anything more you need, I'll watch beside her for a time."

  "Yes, watch for an hour. Then I will sleep in her room myself. Lord Kelderek's needs I leave to you. And remember, Ankray, whatever befell the High Baron on Ortelga, Lord Kelderek has come to Zeray. That journey settles all scores."

  "You know what they say, saiyett. In Zeray, Memory has a sharp sting and the wise avoid her."

  "So I have heard. Go, then."

  The man went out, stooping at the doorway, and Melathys, before she resumed, refilled Kelderek's wooden beaker with rough wine from the goatskin hanging on the wall.

  "But there is no going on from Zeray. All journeys end here. Many, when they first come, believe that they will be able to cross the Telthearna, but none, so far as I know, has ever done so. The current in midstream is desperately strong and a mile below lies the Gorge of Bereel, where no craft can live among the rapids and broken rocks."

  "Does no one ever leave by land?"

  "In Kabin province, if they find a man who is known to have crossed the Vrako from the east, he is either killed or compelled to return."

  "That I can believe."

  "Northward from here, thirty or forty miles upstream, the mountains come down almost to the shore. There is a gap--Linsho, they call it--no more than half a mile wide. Those who live there make all travelers pay a toll before they will let them pass. Many have paid all they possess to come south; but who could pay to go north?"

  "Could none?"

  "Kelderek, I see you know nothing of Zeray. Zeray is a rock to which men cling for a last little while until death washes them away. They have no homes, no past, no future, no hope, no honor and no money. We are rich in shame and in nothing else. I once sold my body for three eggs and a glass of wine. It should have been two eggs, but I drove a hard bargain. I have known a man murdered for one silver piece, which proved worthless to the murderer because it could be neither eaten, worn nor used as a weapon. There is no market in Zeray, no priest, no baker and no shoemaker. Men catch crows alive and breed them for food. When I came, trade did not exist. Even now it is only a trickle, as I will tell you. The sound of a scream at night goes unremarked and the possessions a man has he carries with him and never puts down."

  "But this house? You have food and wine; and the Tuginda, thank God, is in a comfortable bed."

  "The doors and windows are strongly barred--have you noticed? But yes, you are right. Here we have a little comfort--for how long is another matter, as you will see when I have finished my tale."

  She poured more hot water into Kelderek's foot-bowl, sipped her wine and was silent for a little, bending toward the fire and stretching her beautiful arms and body this way and that, as though bathing herself in its warmth and light. At length she continued.

  "They say women delight to be desired, and so perhaps they do--some, and somewhere else. I have stood screaming with fear while two men I hated fought each other with knives to decide which of them should force himself upon me. I have been dragged out of a burning hut at night by the man who had killed my bed-mate in his sleep. In less than three months I belonged to five men, two of them were murdered, while a third left Zeray after trying to stab me. Like all those who leave, he went not because he wished to reach somewhere else, but because he was afraid to remain.

  "I am not boasting, Kelderek, believe me. These were not matters to boast of. My life was a nightmare. There was no refuge at all--nowhere to hide. There were not forty women in Zeray all told--hags, drabs, girls living in terror because they knew too much about some vile crime. And I came to it a virgin priestess of Quiso, not twenty-one years old." She paused a moment, and then said, "In the old days on Quiso,
when we fished for bramba we used live bait. God forgive me, I could never do that again. Once I tried to burn my face in the fire, but for that I found no more courage than I had had to encounter Lord Shardik.

  "One night I was with a man named Glabron, a Tonildan who was feared even in Zeray. If a man could only make himself feared enough, a band would form around him to kill and rob, to put food in their stomachs and stay alive a little longer. They would frighten others away from the fishing places, keep watch for newcomers to waylay and so on. Sometimes they would set out to raid villages beyond Zeray, though usually it was little enough they got for their trouble. It's very small pickings here, you see. Men fought and robbed for a bare living. A man who could neither fight nor steal could expect to live perhaps three months. Three years is a good life for the hardest of men in Zeray.

  "There's a tavern of sorts, down near the shore at this end of the town. They call it 'The Green Grove' after some place in Ikat, I believe--or is it Bekla?"

  "Bekla."

  "Ikat or Bekla, I never heard that the drink there could turn men blind, nor yet that the landlord sold rats and lizards for food. Glabron exacted some wretched pittance in return for not destroying the place and for protecting it from others like himself. He was vain--yes, in Zeray he was vain--and must needs have the pleasure of others' envy: that they should watch him eat when they were hungry and hear him insulting those whom they feared; oh yes, and he must be tormenting their lust with the sight of what he kept for himself. 'You'll take me there once too often,' I said. 'For God's sake, isn't it enough that I'm your property, and Keriol's body's floating down the Telthearna? Where's the sport in waving a bone at starving dogs?' Glabron never argued with anyone, least of all with me. I wasn't there for talk, and he himself was about as ready with words as a pig.

  "They'd had a success that evening. Some days before, a body had been washed ashore with a little money on it, and two of Glabron's men had gone inland and come back with a sheep. Most of it they ate themselves, but a part they exchanged for drink. Glabron grew so drunk that I became more afraid than ever. In Zeray a man's life is never so much in danger as when he's drunk. I knew his enemies and I was expecting to see one or more of them come in at any moment. It was dim enough in the room--lamplight's a scarce luxury here--but suddenly I noticed two strangers who'd entered. One had his face almost buried in the top of a great fur cloak and the other, a huge man, was looking at me and whispering to him. They were only two to Glabron's six or seven, but I knew what could happen in that place and I was frantic to get away.