Mara and Dann

  Meanwhile, they had to get through this fearful night, and then there was another day of the carriage.

  Dann said he would stay awake and on guard, and he did, with his knife beside him. Meanwhile Mara slept, and Daulis watched Leta. Then Daulis watched, and Dann lay down where Daulis had been. Leta slept heavily, and seemed chilly to the touch, so they piled on to her the inn’s blankets. This alone told them how different a country they were approaching: all the inns farther south might provide no more than a thin cloth, or nothing at all, for bed coverings. Here there was a stack of thick blankets and the windows had heavy shutters. When they woke in the night, they heard the shutters shaking and rattling, and the coldness of the wind could be felt inside the room.

  In the morning Leta lay limp under her heap of blankets, silent, looking at the ceiling. They all three knew what she was feeling. Daulis knelt by her and said, ‘Dear Leta, it’s one more day, that’s all. And then the worst will be over.’

  She did not at once respond, but then sat up, throwing off the blankets, and saying, ‘I think I know what to do. I don’t know why I can’t bear this…horrible emptiness everywhere, but I can’t. I’m going to wrap my head in a scarf and not look at it. And I’m going to give myself a dose that will calm me. If I sleep, then that will be best.’

  When the driver came with the carriage and the mules he demanded money. Mara again said she had paid him well before they started. Again it was a question of not being noticed. There were a lot of people coming out from the inn, to go to the rail coaches. And so the man was paid extra, when he did not deserve it. Mara said she was running low with money and must change another coin.

  Daulis said there was no need to worry. Once over the frontier, changing money would be easy.

  ‘And what is this paradise of a place? Dann and I have been worrying about changing money all the way from the Rock Village.’

  ‘No paradise, I can assure you. But – you’ll see.’

  That day was worse than yesterday, but at least they had something to occupy them, looking after Leta. Through the gauzy veil she had wound around her head, it could be seen that this pale creature was white as…but what could that pallor be compared with? Her skin, which usually had a lustre or glow, was greenish and looked lifeless. She lay in Mara’s arms until Mara’s whole body had gone numb, and then in Daulis’s and then in Dann’s. She kept her eyes shut, and dozed, but was always shaken awake again. There was no mist today so it was as well that she did not look out at this country – like yesterday’s, enormous expanses of dark earth, with gleams of water everywhere, and clumps of reeds that swayed almost to the ground in the wind.

  The end of that day’s journey was an inn a mile from the frontier with Tundra, standing alone by the road; and as soon as they were in the main entrance, it was evident that it had all the characteristics of a frontier inn. It was full of every kind of person; the proprietor observed them each, one by one, carefully, in case he would be asked to describe them, and there was no doubt that among this cram and crush of travellers would be spies and agents.

  They were given a room at the end of an extension to the main building: an arm flung out, consisting of single rooms one after another with interconnecting doors that could be locked, with a narrow, covered pavement, because the ground was boggy. Daulis protested that they should be given a better room, was told the place was full. Meanwhile Leta was evidently longing for one thing only, to lie down. They all went to the room, put Leta to bed, and conferred. Dann said he hated this place, and Mara agreed. Brother and sister had never been more one than in their restless, unhappy prowling about this room, as if they were animals in a trap; and then Dann said that it would be madness for him to stay here, and Mara agreed.

  Daulis did not like the two going off, to spend the night in the open. They said they were used to it. No, of course Leta could not be moved; of course Daulis must stay with her. Councillor Daulis was not enjoying being reminded that, in his own way, he had been as sheltered and comfortable as Leta. He contented himself with saying that after tomorrow everything would be better.

  Dann and Mara took with them some food, but no water – this landscape hardly lacked water. It was dark, but a great yellow moon was up, and they could see everything. The trouble was that there were no buildings near they could shelter in, only sheds and stables belonging to the inn. They put themselves into the minds of possible pursuers and knew that these outhouses were where they would be looked for first. There seemed to be no trees anywhere. A big cluster of rocks, about half a mile from the inn, had the same disadvantage as the inn: it was an obvious hiding place. There were rushes, and some clumps of reeds. Reeds was what this landscape had most of, in the way of vegetation. And where would these imagined pursuers look for them, if not among the reeds?

  Far away to the east was the shine of water and they went there, choosing their way carefully, through this marshy land. There was a little lake, and on it a boat, tied to a stump. They lay down side by side in the boat, knowing their grey blankets would disguise them. It was very still, the sounds of the inn out of earshot. The water was still, the moonlight poured down, moving the shadows of the reeds across the surface.

  They did not dare to talk. ‘I’ve never been more scared,’ whispered Dann, and Mara agreed. ‘I know there’s someone after us. I feel it in my bones.’

  It was cold, even wrapped tight in thick cloth.

  The hours went past. Sometimes Mara dozed a little, then Dann.

  The moon had gone out of the sky when they heard a squelch of feet. They were terribly tempted to leap up and run – but there was nowhere to run to. They lay still. Only one person – that was a surprise. Neither Charad nor Bilma would send one agent, much more likely several.

  A man by himself came to stand above the boat, where the path descended through the reeds. He was staring across the lake. Then he looked down at the boat. It was so dark now that he could not see much, only a black boat on black water with something dimly grey in it. He stayed there some minutes, sometimes looking around behind him. Then a marsh bird screamed quite close, from some reeds, and the man gave a grunt of fear and ran off.

  ‘That was Kulik,’ said Dann.

  ‘I know.’

  They stayed where they were, hearing nothing. The bird screamed again, and they thought that might mean Kulik was coming back.

  The sky lightened. They were stiff and cold. They crawled up out of the boat, through the reeds, and between them and the inn could see nothing. They went fast, not wanting to be observed. Around the inn all was animation, and people were already streaming off towards the frontier. The two went quietly into their room and found Daulis, sitting with his back against the stack of blankets, with Leta in his arms, leaning back against him. He was stroking her hair, and she seemed to be asleep.

  Daulis said that in the night someone had tried to force the shutters, then the door. The two told their tale.

  ‘Just let’s get over that frontier,’ said Mara. ‘Let’s go.’

  They roused Leta. They all ate a little. Daulis went to pay the bill, so the others would not be seen. They went with crowds of others towards the frontier post. This was a serious frontier, not like the casual, or invisible, ones of farther south. There was a heavy wooden beam across the road, in a fence that ran away on either side of it, out of sight. The fence was not like the ones Mara and Dann had seen, of heaped coils of rusty wire. This was not rusty. It was full of sharp points and it glittered.

  On this side of the wooden beam were half a dozen soldiers who stood about yawning, and waving the line along; but on the other side were about forty men and women, in black overall uniforms, with black capes for warmth, and they were looking carefully at the people they let in, and counting them by sliding beads along a string. These strings were stretched in lines along wooden racks. When one rack was full, it was taken back to a shed where it was stacked with others. On this side, no one was counting who came through.

  It w
as a bleak landscape, all right, with a few dark trees and a greyish look to the shrubs and grasses. Leta was not wearing her veil, but was forcing herself to look about her. Daulis was supporting her, just behind Dann and Mara, who had warned them that there might still be danger.

  The waiting lines spoke in low voices, mostly Charad, but there was some Mahondi too. There were also dialects which at first they didn’t recognise as Mahondi. The lines were made up of families, who were from Tundra, who had been visiting, and were going home. There were also groups of officials, and it was noticeable that people coming through from the northern side were let through at once if they were officials, but the officials from this side had to wait and go through the formalities. The different groups of people in the lines were wary, eyeing each other across the gaps they were careful to leave between them, so these lines were discontinuous and no one took any notice of the soldiers who tried to move them along. Those in front of the four kept glancing back at them, and the people behind noticed them and discussed them. Three tall Mahondis, handsome people, but there were other Mahondis in these enormous crowds. It was Leta they all looked at, this Alb woman whom they were treating as one of themselves, not as a servant. And Leta, now that she was feeling better, had regained her pale, gleaming beauty, and that hair of hers in its great smooth knot shone in the weak sunlight.

  It was a wearying business, this waiting, moving forward so slowly; and just as Mara was thinking, we all look half asleep, she saw Dann being pulled out of the line by two men whose lower faces were covered by the ends of head cloths. One was Kulik. They had Dann by the arms, one on either side, and were trying to hustle him towards a waiting chair. Now Mara leaped out of the line and had her arm with the poisoned serpent on it, the knife released, around Kulik’s throat.

  ‘If you don’t let go I’ll use this.’

  Neither of the men recognised the snake, did not know their danger, looked at her face, then down at the tiny sliver of a knife, then back at her…And Daulis was out of the line, with a knife in one hand and a dagger in the other. All this was happening so fast, the people in the lines had not yet noticed; but for Mara the pace was slow, every movement and gesture in a time of its own, so she was able to think, If I press this spring, Kulik will die, and then the soldiers will be forced to take notice, and there will be problems and … The two men had loosened their hold on Dann and his knife was out and at the throat of the other man. One moment, and both these men could be dead. And Mara was remembering how long ago Dann had sworn that he would kill Kulik.

  But not now. Mara let Kulik go. Dann removed his knife. Kulik’s scarred face turned in the familiar bare-teethed, hated grin, for a last look, and then he was off into the chair, with his aide, and the runner in the chair had the shafts up and was off, going back fast to the inn.

  The people in the front had not noticed what had happened. The people behind, who must have seen, were staring ahead, their faces saying, We have seen nothing.

  If Dann had been hustled off to the chair, not one of these people would have intervened, or alerted the soldiers. What kind of people were these, then? Probably they would only help someone in their own immediate group. As for the soldiers, a couple were staring after the chair, but not as if they had seen anything much.

  Mara saw that Dann was energised by the danger: his eyes were bright and he smiled at Mara, and put his arm around her. ‘Perhaps you should sell that pretty snake of yours, for all the good it’s done us.’

  ‘It’s good for killing,’ said Mara. ‘So I’ll not part with it yet.’

  And there it was on her arm, the deadly sting back in its groove, and indeed it was a pretty little snake.

  Soon they were at the front of the line, and were being waved on past the beam, towards the Tundra soldiers, who were watching them come forward.

  Before Daulis could speak the officer in charge said, ‘We know about you. But we were expecting three, not four.’

  Daulis said, ‘If the Centre had known I was bringing this woman they would have made provision for her.’

  ‘They told us to have three horses for you.’

  ‘We need four.’

  ‘Horses are not to be had for the whistling for them,’ said the officer. ‘As you must know.’

  The horses stood waiting. They were stout, stubby little beasts, and certainly not able to carry two people. Besides, Mara had never been on a horse. Nor had Leta. Dann had said he had, once, but it had been a striped horse, different from these, well trained and mild. These horses were anything but mild: they were kicking and bucking, and generally making it clear that they did not enjoy their servitude.

  All kinds of conveyances stood about waiting for customers. ‘We’ll find something,’ said Daulis to the officer.

  ‘They’re expecting you,’ was the reply, meaning, Don’t waste time.

  They walked slowly along the road, having a good look: there was nothing like it in Bilma, nor in Charad – not since Chelops, where it had been a solid surface of shining black – but this road seemed to be surfaced by a grey spider-web, innumerable tiny lines, like scratches. Daulis said the road had been made long ago, certainly hundreds of years, and no one now knew the secret of this substance.

  It was then mid-afternoon. Ahead was a town, and most of the travellers were making their way there. Daulis said he knew the town, a pretty and prosperous place, and well worth looking at. But they were all tired. The inn they chose was an affair of several storeys, with servants in uniforms, and the room was large, with real beds, not pallets on the floor, and fine hangings at the windows, and carpets.

  They would have to pay for it. Mara changed two coins at the reception table, for their proper value. They lay down to recover. Then they went out to an eating house Daulis knew, and all of them, including Leta, ate very well. Neither Dann nor Mara had eaten this food or imagined it existed, and Dann said to her, ‘I told you it would get better all the time, didn’t I?’

  And Mara said, ‘I’ll agree with you when I’m sure Kulik isn’t following us.’

  ‘They wouldn’t let him in,’ said Daulis. ‘No one comes into Tundra except for some good reason. Like being useful to Tundra.’

  ‘You don’t know this man,’ said Mara. And she actually shuddered. She explained, ‘You see, you can’t get rid of him, ever. It seems he has always been in my life – and Dann’s. Why? It’s as if he was born to torment us and chase after us, never letting us alone.’

  In the room they had to make decisions. To where they would catch a boat going North, would be two days if they took a carriage or carrying-chairs. The coaches did not run here on their rickety rails. If they walked, that would take nearly a week. With one voice, Leta and Mara and Dann averred they would rather die than ever again use a carriage, a carrying-chair, or a coach. Daulis said drily that they were lucky not to be officials, who had no choice.

  ‘So we are lucky, we can walk if we choose,’ said Mara gaily, for her spirits were rising, and so were the others’.

  ‘But we are supposed to be hurrying.’

  Daulis said, ‘Well, if you knew how long they’ve been waiting, I wouldn’t worry about a day or so. Or even a week.’ And then he said to Mara, ‘Haven’t we something to celebrate, you and I?’

  ‘What?’

  Leta laughed at her. ‘You are no longer married, not in Tundra. That ended at the frontier.’

  Mara had forgotten. She was surprised to feel a little sinking in her stomach, a giddiness. Regret. She was actually feeling sad, and she said to Daulis, ‘For a moment then I was really sorry. But don’t be alarmed.’

  ‘I’ve enjoyed being married to you, Mara,’ said Daulis. ‘Though some aspects of married love seemed to be wanting. Better be careful never to go back into Bilma, though. Not if you don’t want to be married to me.’

  ‘Oh but I might enjoy it, for a while.’

  This banter was upsetting Dann. Mara said, ‘If you are jealous about a convenience marriage, what are you going to
be like when I am really married? If I ever am.’

  And Dann surprised them by thinking a while and then saying seriously, ‘I don’t know what I will do. I know I won’t like it.’

  This was an uncomfortable little moment, for Dann and Mara as well as for the others.

  Next morning, when they got back on the big road, they saw a long procession winding out of town. It was a pilgrimage and it was going to visit a shrine. These new words having been explained by Daulis, they joined the end of the procession and were handed bunches of reeds that had been dyed black and dark red. The songs were doleful, and the people’s garb was dark and sad, and all the faces wore looks of resigned suffering.

  The shrine, Daulis said, housed a machine that was certainly many thousands of years old, of a metal now unknown, and it had survived vicissitudes, which included falling to earth like a leaf in a whirlwind, but into a swamp, which saved it. It was believed that Gods had descended to Ifrik in this machine, and the bones of two of these Gods had been sealed inside jars and set inside the machine. There were four pilgrimages every year to this ancient machine, which was guarded by priests, but of a different kind from the ones in Kanaz. The two different orders of priest despised each other, refused to let their followers have anything to do with each other, and had often fought vicious wars, in the past.

  ‘But,’ enquired Mara, ‘why is walking to a place a sign of devotion to that place?’

  ‘And why,’ asked Dann, ‘four times a year? Wouldn’t once be enough?’

  ‘And what,’ Leta wanted to know, ‘is the point of the bones?’

  Daulis said that it would be better if questions like these were not asked aloud, because these people were of the sort that would set on critics and even kill them.