Maia

  Her other need was simpler and deeper. She wanted a man. Ever since Tharrin, she had hardly been without one for more than a few days. She remembered how once she had been cross with Occula for taking her up short when she had talked about randy goats in the upper city who couldn't go without.

  "Banzi, you think men are randy and you're not? Doan' you know it goes far deeper with girls? Men--they talk and boast about it and we doan': and you take all that at face value. But men have a sort of silly notion there's somethin' clever about doin' without. Food, drink, sleep, women--oh, doan' they just love to boast that they're brave, brave soldiers who can go without if they're put to it? So can we. But when did you ever hear a girl boastin' about goin' without? Girls who have to go without bastin' just feel sorry, not proud. One day you'll find out that I'm right."

  She'd found out now, she thought. On and off for hours she'd been tormented, not by any longing for this man or that--not for the devouring potency of Kembri, the elegant style of Elvair-ka-Virrion, the lewdness of Sencho--but simply for the thing itself. Her mind kept dwelling on the actual physical sensations, like that of a near-starving per-son obsessed with food; and the recollection of her sufferings--the river crossing, her wounded shin, the leeches-- only seemed to sharpen it, as Sencho had once told her that girls were often sharpened by a good whipping. Oh, I'd take just about any man! she thought; that I would!

  Lying prone on the raised, flat stern and trying to turn her mind to something else, she began considering the strangeness of coming, in this wilderness, upon so unexpected a person as Nasada. He puzzled her.

  It was nothing to do with his having no sexual interest in her. After all, neither had Zuno; nor had Sarget on the night of the senguela, whatever might have been his private feelings. Maia had no general objection to men not showing desire for her. Her dislike of Bayub-Otal stemmed not from this, but from his actual rejection of her advances--that and the contemptuous way in which he had spoken of what he regarded as her degradation in the High Counselor's household. Nasada, on the other hand, she not only liked--and wanted him to like her--but also intuitively trusted as she had never trusted anyone else. This was not simply a matter of his being a doctor and having taken the trouble to come to see her last night.

  No, it was an attraction the nature of which she could not really explain to herself. He was wise, yet he didn't talk down to her. He made her feel secure. She wanted to get to know him better, to talk to him, to tell him more about herself, ask him all manner of questions and hear what he had to say in reply; to be--well, to be his friend. He made her feel she was valuable as a person, not just as an expensive and beautiful concubine. She didn't desire him--oh, no, the very idea was out of the question; that would spoil it all; nor did she entertain any hope that he would help her to escape from Suba. Yet he had put new heart into her, and a feeling that she could face the future. If he had not been with her now--if there had been no one but Luma and Tescon--she was not sure but what she mightn't have been driven to some desperate turn.

  She came out of these reflections as Tescon spoke.

  "Well, Shakkarn be thanked, that's the worst of it, U-Nasada. Here's Dark Entry at last."

  For some time they had been paddling cautiously through a watery grove of huge trees stretching out invasive roots under the shallow water, many of which extended for yards and were like submerged rocks on which a boat could ground or even hole itself. As Tescon spoke he made two quick strokes on each side and the kilyett, immediately gaining speed and thrusting its bow into a kind of deep cavern of overhanging branches, came out beyond into slow-moving, open water--the first flowing water Maia had seen since they started. The breadth across to the opposite side--another line of trees and reeds--was about thirty yards. Looking one way and the other as Tescon, back-paddling, turned the boat through a right-angle and headed it into the current, she saw the vista of a long channel, for all the world like a track through a forest, extending away in each direction.

  Tescon glanced at her. "This is the Nordesh. Runs clear all the way to Melvda."

  She smiled and nodded. He settled back silently, letting the boat drift with the current and using his paddle merely to keep it on course. Luma, further forward, fell once again into the same monotonous drone which Maia had heard the day before. Proper high-spirited bunch, aren't they? she thought.

  Wonder where we're going to stop for the night? As she looked up into the green gloom, they approached and passed beneath a great, black turtle, motionless on a branch overhanging the stream.

  She fell to wondering how they mated and whether they enjoyed it.

  All that afternoon, at the speed of a man strolling, they traveled on down the Nordesh. What with the humidity, the unvarying sameness of the stream and the tunnel of trees above, the journey became almost like a trance. Su-bans, Maia felt, seemed no more conscious of tedium than the water-fowl among which they lived; nor, for the moment, was she disposed to blame them. To her, one part of Suba seemed as monotonous as another and she was in no particular haste to arrive at any destination-Luma, for her part, showed less interest than an animal in what lay around them, sitting with bowed head for half an hour at a stretch, and merely nodding, or murmuring "Shagreh," when anyone spoke to her. Maia wondered why she couldn't go to sleep and be done with it.

  The light--such as it was--was at last beginning to fade when, as they drifted round the curve of a long, regular bend, they saw ahead of them another kilyett, smaller than their own, moored against the right bank. At first it seemed to be empty, but on coming closer they saw two youths stretched out in the bottom, either asleep or dozing, Tescon hailed them and they both sat up quickly, one calling out "U-Nasada?"

  Nasada answered, whereupon they untied their boat and took up their paddles.

  "We're from Lukrait," said one, palm to forehead, as Tescon, who could steer the heavy kilyett to an inch, slid alongside. "Our elder sent us to wait here and guide you in when you came."

  "That's still U-Makron, I hope?" asked Nasada and, as the lad nodded, "It must be--oh, two years, I suppose, since I was last at Lukrait."

  "And two months and three days," replied the lad, smiling. "You don't remember me, then, U-Nasada?"

  The old man frowned, thrust forward his head and stared piercingly at him, making a comical act of it.

  Then he smiled and put a hand on the lad's shoulder.

  "Yes, I do--you're Bread or Crumb or something, aren't you?"

  "Kram." He looked delighted.

  "That's it; Kram. I scratched your arm for you, didn't I? But I had to leave before I knew what came of it. Did it work?"

  "Yes, it did. For about three days after you'd gone I felt terrible. Everyone said you'd poisoned me--"

  "I had."

  "My mother was ready to kill you. Then I got well and I've never had a day's fever since."

  Nasada nodded. "I thought it would probably suit you. It doesn't suit everybody."

  "You mean I'll never have the fever again?"

  "Well, that I can't promise," said Nasada. "But if I scratch you again in about another three years, you ought to be safe for a good long time."

  Following Kram's boat in the failing light, they now began another bumping, winding course through the swampland.

  "Have you seen Anda-Nokomis, then?" asked Tescon. "Was it he who told you we were coming?"

  "He and U-Lenkrit arrived late last night," replied Kram. "Too late to try to get through here, I'd have thought, but they managed it. U-Makron saw them, but they left again soon after dawn this morning."

  After a pause while they negotiated a wide, reedy mudbank, he added, "We're coming down to Melvda with you tomorrow; and one or two more as well."

  "Aren't you too young?" asked Nasada.

  "No one's too young to strike a blow for Suba, U-Na-sada," said the second youth. "Besides, Anda-Nokomis told U-Makron that everyone--every single man--who goes will get his reward." He laughed. "So we're not going to miss ours!"

 
Emerging at length from among the trees, they saw ahead of them the outskirts of a village which to Maia looked much like the one they had left that morning. By the waterside were moored boats, nets spread to, dry, a rickety-looking watch-tower and two fish-breeding ponds closed off by means of wicker hatches. A path led up through trees to the village itself, about two hundred yards away on slightly higher ground.

  Nasada told Kram to take the girls straight to their sleeping-quarters while he went to pay his respects to Makron. The lad led them up the path to the village, which Maia could now see was not only larger than the other but also somewhat more prosperous-looking--though that wasn't saying much, she thought. Still, at least there seemed to be fewer sores and rags and more cheerful children. One little girl, aged about nine, ran up to them of her own accord and asked smilingly, "Who are you?" Maia smiled back, but thought it best to leave Luma to answer her in their own dialect.

  Their hut, too, was a pleasant change for the better. It was quite spacious, and had been fumigated by burning some sort of herb which had left a clean, sharp smell. The ladder was new and firm, and the floor had been covered with fresh rushes. As they entered, an elderly woman sitting by the window stood up, put a quick question to Kram and, having learned that they were whom she had thought, came forward to greet them. She seemed to have put on her best clothes for the occasion, being dressed not in the usual sheath-like smock, but in a faded, blue, woolen dress a little too large, which could only have come from somewhere beyond Suba. Her gracious, unhurried manner suggested that she was--or felt herself to be--a lady of some standing. Maia hoped she would not converse for long, since all she herself wanted was to wash, eat and sleep.

  "My dear," said the old lady, taking her hands, "Anda-Nokomis told us--we were most pleased--that you--"

  Suddenly she stopped, catching her breath. "Oh!" Still holding Maia's hands, she stared at her intently, with an air of amazement. "Anda-Nokomis told us, but I never imagined--of course, it's more than sixteen years now--"

  "Excuse me, saiyett," said Tescon, who had followed them into the hut, "but U-Nasada asked me to explain to you that Maia hasn't been told anything about this yet. He's going to have a talk with her later this evening."

  "Oh, I see." The lady, who in any case had recovered herself almost at once, took this smoothly in her stride. Still gazing at Maia, however, with a kind of mannerly-controlled wonder, she went on, "We're very glad you'll be staying with us tonight. You too, my dear," she added politely to Luma, who put her palm to her forehead but made no reply. "One of my girls will bring you some hot water" (I can't believe it! thought Maia), "and then she'll get your supper. Please don't hesitate to ask for anything else you want. My name's Penyanis, by the way," she added smilingly. "I'm U-Makron's wife. I hope you're not too tired after your journey?"

  Although her Suban accent would have marked her out instantly in Bekla, Maia could nevertheless understand her well enough--better than she could understand Luma-- and guessed that in years gone by she must have spent some time in one of the cities of the empire. She herself, of course, had virtually no experience of talking to ladies of consequence, but for the few minutes until the hot water arrived she did her best and felt she had come out of it at least passably; perhaps because the old lady seemed almost bemused merely by looking at her, and on that account hardly concerned to pay any very close attention to anything she actually said. Soon she took her leave, hoping they would be comfortable and once more begging Maia to ask for anything she lacked.

  An hour later Maia was feeling, if not altogether at ease, at least less uncomfortable than at any time since leaving Bekla. Her shin seemed almost to have stopped hurting. She had washed from head to foot with soap, combed her hair and cleaned her teeth with a frayed stick. The supper, though nothing more than fish, eggs, and fruit, had been good and Penyanis's maid had served it well. The wine, too, had been a delightful surprise, for it was Yeldashay-- even Sencho might have appreciated it--and there was plenty of it. Having thanked and dismissed the maid, she refilled her cup and stood at the window looking out into the twilight, where supper fires were burning behind the huts and lamps shone from windows. In the cool, mud-smelling mist beyond, the frogs were rarking far and near, and a belated heron flew slowly over, with backbent neck and trailing legs. "Go on--fly to Serrelind," she said aloud.

  "Tell Kelsi her sister's in a mess and needs her." And oh! wouldn't she just about be glad, she thought, to see Kelsi come walking up through the village now, in her sacking smock and bare feet?

  Whom she actually saw a moment later was Nasada, deep in conversation with an even older man who was walking beside him, leaning on a stick. At once she waved, called out "U-Nasada!" and then, mischievously, "Shagreh?"

  He looked up and raised his hand. "We're coming to see you."

  "Luma, help U-Nasada and the other gentleman up the ladder."

  "Shagreh."

  A minute later they were in the room and Luma, at a few murmured words from Nasada, had left it.

  Nasada smiled at Maia, nodding approvingly.

  "Well, you don't look as if you'd come twenty miles down the Nordesh. You look as if you'd just come from your upper city in a litter."

  She curtseyed, tossing back her combed hair.

  " Tisn't true, U-Nasada, and I reckon you know that; but it's nice to have anyone say it, specially you."

  Nasada turned to his companion. "Were you ever in the upper city, Makron? It must be a dangerous place, don't you think, with girls like this about?"

  "I've never been to Bekla, Nasada," answered the old man. "But now I've seen her I don't think I need to."

  "Well, I suppose we shouldn't go on talking about her like this, us two old storks," said Nasada. "I'd better introduce you. This is U-Makron, elder of Lukrait--Maia of Serrelind."

  Maia curtseyed again and raised a palm to her forehead. "Thank you very much for the beautiful wine, U-Makron."

  "Oh,, you liked it?" he said. "That's good. King Karnat sent it to me a year or two back, but we're not really expert in such things here, you know. I'm glad to have been able to give it to someone who appreciates it. Still, I dare say you've been used to better in Bekla?"

  She shook her head and smiled. "None better, sir."

  There were several stools in the room. She motioned to them to sit down, rinsed two cups and poured more of the wine. The elder inquired about her escape from Bekla and the dangerous Valderra crossing, and went on to deplore the discomfort of Suba to anyone not used to its mists and marshes. To all of this she replied as she hoped he would wish.

  "And--er--you grew up in Tonilda?" he asked at length. "On Lake Serrelind? That's near Thettit, isn't it? You've really lived there all your life?"

  "Almost all sixteen years of it, U-Makron!" she smiled.

  "Something over sixteen years since you were born?" said he, sipping his wine with a thoughtful air.

  "Well, I myself never saw Nokomis, you see, though my wife did." He paused. "She tells me it's more than strange. I'm glad to have had this chance of seeing you. I wish you luck: but I must leave you now. I've got to talk to the young men before they go to Melvda tomorrow." She stood up, and he took her hands. "We shall meet again before you go. I feel honored to have met you, Maia of Serrelind, bringer of good fortune--as I'm sure you are."

  "Good-night, U-Makron." (And I wonder what he'd call me if he knew how I lived in Bekla?) As Makron went down the ladder Nasada picked up one of the lamps and put it down by Maia's bed.

  "You've had a long day: why don't you lie down? You'll be more comfortable."

  She did so. He remained standing, sipping his Yeldashay and looking down at her.

  "You'd like a man in that bed, wouldn't you?"

  She looked up quickly, angry for a moment; but his tone was entirely matter-of-fact and there was no mockery in his eyes.

  "Yes, I would."

  "Natural enough, wouldn't you say, for someone who's lonely and anxious in a strange place? Who likes being
alone in the dark?"

  "I never thought of it that way, U-Nasada: I just like-- oh, well, I just enjoy basting, I suppose."

  "Great Shakkarn!" he said. "Any reason why you shouldn't? People do, or none of us would be here, if you come to think of it."

  "Well, that's one thing, U-Nasada, but--" She stopped.

  "Well, what's another thing?" He sat down beside the bed. She pondered, and as she did so realized with delight that he was in no hurry and glad for her, too, to take her time.

  "Well," she said at length, "I suppose I meant that in Bekla men just used me, really, same as they might use a hawk or a dog, for sport; and I enjoyed it--or a lot of it I did--'cos it meant they admired me and wanted me. It was a sight better 'n working in a kitchen, too, wasn't it? But some of them despise you as well--for what you are, I mean--even though it's none of your own choosing; and that just about makes me mad. It's crazy, really, U-Na-sada. You're supposed to like it, because that's what they want--to think they've made the girl enjoy it: but then there's some people, if you act natural they just despise you, like Lenkrit and the others that night when I took my clothes off to cross the river."

  "Well, I don't despise you," he said. "In fact, if you want to know, I very much admire the way you seem to be able to stand up to anything and still keep your spirits up. But Lenkrit, yes; I'm glad you reminded me of him. Can you remember what Lenkrit said when he first saw you? I'd be interested to know."

  "Let me think. Only I was that frightened that morning-- Far as I can remember, Bayub-Otal said to Lenkrit as he must be forgetful--something like that--and to look at me again. And then Lenkrit said something about he wondered he hadn't seen it before, only the light was that bad."

  "And that's all?"

  "Far's I can recollect. No, wait! I remember now, he asked Bayub-Otal whether I was his sister; that's right."

  "But you don't look much like him, do you?"