It was not, of course, lost upon Clystis that the two of them were on bad terms and that Maia was unhappy. Yet she asked no questions, only letting Maia see that she felt sympathetic. Insofar as her own feelings could be inferred, they appeared to be that the quicker Zen-Kurel recovered his health, the quicker the trouble was likely to blow over (she could, of course, have no idea of its gravity) and to this end she applied herself with natural, unselfish kindli-ness.
After four or five days he was up and about, and almost at once began to show his natural force of character and those qualities of initiative and resourcefulness which had gained him his place on Karnat's staff. At first, while still not allowed to do much, he busied himself in shaping three rough but serviceable bows and then in cutting and fletching arrows. There was, of course, no metal for the tips, but he sharpened and fire-hardened the points so skillfully that they felt strong enough to penetrate not only flesh but any clothing lighter than leather. He then set to work to make three wooden spears.
"They'll be a lot better than nothing, Anda-Nokomis," he said, offering Bayub-Otal his choice, "and we may be able to come by some knives later on."
There was no dissuading him, a day or two later, from going out to reconnoiter beyond the bounds of the farm. He took Zirek, but would not let Bayub-Otal accompany them. "Three's really no better than two, Anda-No-komis," he said. "Not on a job like this. One of us ought to stay behind, and the Ban of Suba's more valuable than me."
Bayub-Otal smiled and gave in, only begging him not to exhaust himself. Maia, who had overheard their conversation while hanging out the washing, drew the conclusion that Bayub-Otal was not going to be able to stop Zen-Kurel from doing anything he had decided upon.
He returned that evening. Maia was at her needle, helping Clystis to patch and darn. Naturally, it was beneath her dignity to get up and leave, and she sat working silently while he and Zirek ate supper and talked to Bayub-Otal.
"You were right about the upper Zhairgen," he said. "We're only about eleven or twelve miles from it here."
"You didn't go that far today, I hope?" said Bayub-Otal.
"I would have," replied Zen-Kurel, "but it's not so easy as I've made it sound. Two or three miles from here you come to a forest stretching all the way down to the north bank. Eight or nine miles of deep forest, Anda-Nokomis-- Purn, they call it--dividing Bekla province from Lapan."
"I don't see any point in making for the Zhairgen unless there's some hope of getting hold of a boat," said Bayub-Otal. "How far does the forest extend along the river; did anyone tell you that?"
"I was told it goes as far as the Ikat road one way and the Herl-Belishba road the other," answered Zen-Kurel, "but I don't think we ought to risk being found on either of those roads, do you?"
"I agree about the Ikat road," said Bayub-Otal. "Kem-bri's army will almost certainly be somewhere near there. Anyhow, that's not the way we want to go. But the Herl road--"
"We could very well get into just as much trouble on that," said Zen-Kurel decisively. "What d'you think, Zi-rek?"
"Well, I doubt we could get there, sir, anyway," answered Zirek. "It must be nearly twenty miles, I'd guess, across dangerous country--robbers and that, I mean--to say nothing of the river."
"What river?" asked Bayub-Otal. "You don't mean the Zhairgen?"
"No, he means the one they call the Daulis," said Zen-Kurel. "It rises on Mount Crandor, you know, Anda-No-komis--actually inside the citadel, so I'm told--and then comes down in a chain of falls they call the White Girls. Down here it's not all that wide--we went and had a look at it today--but it's deep. There aren't any fords and I don't believe we could get across. I think," he added with a certain emphasis, "I think only an expert could hope to do that."
Maia gave no sign of having heard him. Zirek drew in his breath involuntarily, and it almost seemed as though Zen-Kurel himself half-regretted what he had said, for he went on rather hurriedly, "But going into the forest may be a bit risky--there seem to be no tracks at all, and apparently hardly anyone ever goes in."
"Ah, that's right," put in Clystis. "You don't want to get wandering about in there, sir, not in Purn you don't. Lose your way easy--there's them as has--an' you'd be lucky to get out again. 'Sides which there's all manner of wild beasts an' that--"
"But I think we are going in, all the same," continued Zen-Kurel, smiling at her. "You see, Anda-Nokomis," he resumed, "no one from Bekla's going to find us in there, are they? And once we've reached the Zhairgen, we'll be able to follow the bank down to some sort of town or village and then get hold of a boat. I was told today that there's a town about twenty miles below where the Daulis runs into the Zhairgen."
"Do you know anything about that, Clystis?" asked Ba-yub-Otal.
"Well, I've cert'nly heard tell of a town," she replied. "Nybril, they call it, but none of us has ever bin that far. It's--oh, right away beyond the other side of Purn, see." Looking up at Zen-Kurel in the candlelight, she shook her head. "There's no one goes into Purn, sir. You'd really best not try that, honest."
"Well, but we can't stay here for ever, Clystis," he said, "kind as you are."
"You're very welcome to stay as long as you like," she answered. "That's if you don't mind--"
Suddenly the door into the yard was flung open so violently that it crashed against the wall behind, and Meris came into the room. Her dress was torn at the shoulder, exposing one breast, her hair was dishevelled and she was bleeding from a graze on her arm. Without a word she went across to the tub and began to rinse her face and arms. Then, turning to Clystis, she said sharply, "Perhaps I could use your needle and thread, could I?"
"Why, Whatever's happened?" asked Clystis, staring.
Meris went over to her and plucked the needle from between her fingers.
"Oh, nothing but what you're quite used to here, I dare say," she replied; and thereupon sat down and began stitching up her ripped bodice.
At this moment Blarda entered. Everyone turned to look at him. The boy was plainly not himself. He had a hang-dog look, faltering and apprehensive, and his eyes wandered from one person to another. In the middle of the room he stopped uncertainly, as though awaiting he could not tell what.
"But what's happened?" asked Clystis, with more urgency.
Meris laid down the needle, put her hands in her lap in such a way that the bleeding graze showed more plainly in the candlelight, and gazed at Blarda with compressed lips.
"It's not my fault!" blurted Blarda. No one said anything and his voice rose hysterically. "It's not my fault, sis! I never done anything, honest!"
Meris, tapping the fingers of one hand on the opposite wrist, let out her breath and cast her eyes up to the ceiling. Clystis, her cheeks flaming, stood up and advanced on Blarda, who backed away, whimpering, "Are you going to tell me what's happened?" she said in a whisper like a passing arrow.
"I--I--that's to say--well, she got angry all on a sudden, like, didn't she?" said Blarda, now almost in tears.
"Why did she?" said Clystis. "What are you talking about?"
"It's not fair!" burst out Blarda. "The other day she says to me--she says'Let's go in the hay'--"
For two minutes he babbled on with the inability, typical of a youngster in trouble and under pressure, to do anything but come out with all the banal and embarrassing truth.
"But what's happened now?" interrupted Clystis at length. "Are you or aren't you going to tell me why she's--"
"She was in the shed, wasn't she?" muttered Blarda. "Up by the hay. So I says to her, 'Come on, then,' and I went to--to do like we done before, see. But then suddenly she comes over angry. She says 'Go away!' So I says 'No,' 'cos I thought she was only playing around. And I had my hand down inside the front of her clothes and she pulls away and then she says, 'Now look what you done,' she says, and I tried to stop her but she went off quick. Honest, sis, I never done anything 'ceptin' what--well, what--"
To an elder sibling, the emergent sexuality of the younger is often shak
y ground; sometimes a matter of sensitivity to the point of anger; a cryptic variant of the discomposure not uncommonly felt by parents.
Clystis, like most country folk, spoke and behaved to people according to her own personal opinion of them. Respectful towards Bayub-Otal and Zen-Kurel, she had already sized up Meris accurately enough.
She now turned and faced her, hands on hips.
"Perhaps you can tell me some more about what the lad's bin saying, can you?"
"Perhaps I can," replied Meris coolly. "What would you like to hear? He's coming on very well, really. He'll be ready to clear out of this place soon, I wouldn't wonder."
"What the devil d'you mean, coming on very well?" shouted Clystis. "Are you sayin'--"
"Yes, I am," answered Meris. "He is coming on very well. He just got a bit over-excited, that's all." She dabbed ostentatiously at the bleeding scratch. "He's much better than your husband already. Well, I dare say you do know about him. Anyway, I do if you don't."
"What did you say?" cried Clystis, staring.
"Not my fault," said Meris composedly. "Poor man, I feel sorry for him. I was just obliging him, really."
"You liar!" screamed Clystis, bursting into tears and stamping her foot. "You're lying, lying--"
"Lying?" said Meris, standing up and facing her. "How funny, then, isn't it, that I should know that Kerkol's got a mole at the bottom of his zard, just a bit on the right side? And how funny that I should know he's got a white scar on the other side, just at the top of his left thigh! In fact I'll tell you some more while I'm about it, if you like. He--"
"No, you won't," interjected Zen-Kurel suddenly. Hitherto none of the three men in the room had spoken, as though each felt that to try to intervene in an unhappy family affair of this kind would avail little and possibly even do more harm than good. Now, however, Zen-Ku-rel's manner was unhesitant and authoritative. He stood up and crossed the room, interposing himself between the two women.
"Go outside, Meris, please," he said.
"Outside? Where?" answered Meris insolently.
"I don't mind where," replied Zen-Kurel in the same quiet, controlled tone, "but don't come back until I send for you."
As Meris hesitated he gently raised his hand, as though if necessary to take her by the arm. Meris tossed her head, flung down the bone needle on the flags and went quickly out the door. After a moment Zirek followed her.
Clystis, sitting at the table with her face sunk on her arms, was weeping unrestrainedly. Maia put a hand on her shoulder.
"Look, dear, you mustn't take on like this. It's not the end of the world. There's lots of worse things--"
"You let me be!" cried Clystis. "You'll have to go now-- tomorrow--all of you. You can't stay here after this!"
Maia, concerned only to comfort her, felt at a loss. It had never entered her head that Meris, in indulging her taste for mischief, would make such a cruelly thorough job of it. In effect, thought Maia, she had inflicted a wound which would go on hurting Clystis for years, perhaps for life. She racked her brains for some sort of comfort.
"Listen, she's not worth crying about, Clystis--"
"It's Kerkol I'm crying about," sobbed the girl. "Oh, I never did Meris any harm--"
"Meris is a bad, spiteful girl," said Maia, "and that's no more than the truth."
At this moment Zen-Kurel spoke again. "Well, I'm fairly certain-, myself, of something that is the truth. Clystis, will you try to listen to me, please, because I think this is very important?"
His voice had a compelling quality and a quiet confidence which reinforced his request so effectively that Clystis raised her head, looking at him in silence. He, however, was looking riot at her but at Blarda, standing over by the far wall with a look of utter dismay, as though he had opened a door at random and found he had let out a wolf.
"Blarda," said Zen-Kurel, "can you come over here, please? There's nothing at all to be afraid of. I'm not going to hurt you; I just want to ask you a question, that's all."
Rather nervously, Blarda complied.
"Well," said Zen-Kurel, smiling and taking his hand, "so you and Meris have been amusing yourselves in the barn; and I'm sure no one's going to blame you for that. A handy young fellow like you--why on earth wouldn't you? As far as I'm concerned you can go with all the girls between her and Bekla--probably will, I dare say."
This produced from Blarda the ghost of a smile.
"Now look," went on Zen-Kurel, "answer me this like a good lad and don't be ashamed, because I'll tell you now, I've done the same kind of thing myself, and that's no more than the truth. When you've been with Meris-- you know, afterwards, when you were talking and so on-- did you ever tell her what Kerkol looks like with no clothes on? You know what I mean, don't you?"
"Yes," whispered Blarda. "Yes, sir, I did."
Zen-Kurel nodded. "But that was only because she asked you, wasn't it?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do you think Kerkol could ever have done the same with Meris as you did?"
Blarda shook his head. "I'm quite sure he couldn't, sir."
"Why?"
" 'Cos he don't like her. He's said so to me--oh, three four times."
"Thank you," said Zen-Kurel. "I'm very glad, Blarda, that you had the guts and honesty to tell me that. Now would you please go and ask Meris to come back in here?"
Meris returned almost at once, shut the door, put her back against it and stood waiting with a look of sulky disdain.
"Meris," said Zen-Kurel, "we're leaving here tomorrow. I'm afraid you'll have to stay behind, but I thought you'd probably want to know all the same."
"Stay behind?" said Meris, visibly startled.
Zen-Kurel said nothing.
"Stay behind?" cried Meris. "What the basting hell do you mean? Why?"
"Because Lord Anda-Nokomis and I have decided that that would be best," replied Zen-Kurel.
"Besides, since you have this attachment to Kerkol--"
"Kerkol?" said Meris. "I've no more had anything to do with Kerkol than Maia there!"
"How very strange!" said Zen-Kurel. "Well, then, it must all be a mistake, but Clystis very unfortunately got the idea from somewhere that you had. I'm afraid you may quite accidentally have upset her. So I'm sure you'll want to reassure her and beg her pardon."
"Sorry!" snapped Meris, as though she were spitting in the gutter.
"Oh, in proper words and a proper voice," said Zen-Kurel a shade more sharply. "But if you prefer, you can leave it over until the rest of us have gone tomorrow."
There was a pause. Zen-Kurel picked up the bone needle from the floor and began idly examining it in the candlelight.
Suddenly Meris, pushing herself forward with a thrust of her shoulders against the door, went quickly over to Clystis.
"The truth is I've never had anything at all to do with Kerkol," she said. "I'm very sorry and I beg your pardon."
"Why did you try to make me think you had, then?" asked Clystis.
"I don't know. Like I say, I'm sorry."
"And you found out those things by asking Blarda?"
"Yes."
"He didn't tell you first: you asked him?"
"Yes."
"But why?"
"I don't know."
"She--er--she did kill Sencho," murmured Bayub-Otal. He had not spoken since Meris's first entry, and Blarda and the three girls all looked round at him.
"Yes, she did kill Sencho," replied Zen-Kurel, not taking his eyes off Meris, "and that shows how courageous and useful she can be when she likes. Well, do you want to come with us tomorrow, Meris, or not?"
"Yes, please," said Meris, like a child. Suddenly she snatched up Clystis's two hands and kissed them.
"I'm sorry! I'm really sorry! Oh, if only--"
The door from the yard opened again and Kerkol came in, followed by Zirek.
"Sorry I'm late in, lass," he said to Clystis. "Had a bit of trouble with two goats got out down the bottom. I was on gettin' 'em back and then I had to
mend the gap they'd bin through, see?"
He stopped to rinse his head and shoulders in the tub.
"I'm afraid we've got to leave you tomorrow, Kerkol," said Zen-Kurel. "It's a pity, but there it is. I'm fit enough now, you see, and we've got important business elsewhere. We're going to miss you all, and that's a fact."
Kerkol nodded stolidly, dried his face and sat down at the table.
"Ah, well, that's it, then." He paused. "Place won't seem the same, will it, lass?" Then, to Bayub-Otal, "Reckon we'd best have a bit of a drink on it, sir, while she's gett'n' us some supper. Fetch a drop of djebbah up, Blarda lad, so's we c'ri drink good luck to 'em all."
89: INTO THE FOREST
Later Bayub-Otal asked Maia, Meris and Zirek to accompany him down to the stream. The night was clear and star-lit, with a faint breeze from the east and a scent of planella from Clystis's little patch of garden. Of the comet there was no longer the least trace. Maia, who ever since her childhood had been alive to the progress of the seasons with an apprehension almost as unconscious as that of birds, felt sure that it could not now be much longer until the rains.
Bayub-Otal sat down on the ground, looking from one to another as he spoke.
"What we have to get clear now, I think, is where we're making for: I mean, where each of us wants to go. As you know, Zen-Kurel wants to get back to Terekenalt and I mean to return to Suba. What about you, Zirek? You're a Tonildan, aren't you?"
"Well, I don't know as that really comes into it, sir," he answered. "Specially just at present, when no one knows what's going to come out of all the fighting. I'll take my chance with you; as far as Lapan anyway. Then if Lord Santil's still in business, I'll go and join him--that's if you agree. Only I've got a notion he might be quite pleased to see them as killed Sencho; he's got a reputation, you know, for not being mean to people who've done him a good turn."