Maia (146 page)

"Here, let me take over, Maia," said Bayub-Otal from behind her. "You go and steer for a bit."

At that moment the bow struck full tilt against something hard and unyielding. There was a shuddering thump of wood against wood,.

Zen-Kurel, first to collect himself, stood up and went forward.

"We've hit the bank!"

"But that's impossible! The bank's here on my left," called back Bayub-Otal.

"I can't help it. It can only be the bank. It's revetted with wooden stakes."

Maia felt herself giving way to bewilderment and near-desperation. The darkness and rain were like a curse, destroying whatever they tried to do. The bilge water was inexhaustible. She was aching in every muscle. Now, to crown it all, the bank had apparently become bewitched and altered its position in the dark. Another knock like that would probably stave in the bow. I must keep my head and think straight, else we're going to drown and that bitch Terebinthia'U have been proved right.

"Zenka!" she called. "Is there soft ground behind the stakes?"

"Too soft! It's all mud."

"Hook the anchor in behind the stakes, then, and hitch the rope as short as you can. We'll just have to wait for daylight. We can't risk another bang like that."

Zen-Kurel did as she had said. Once more the boat pivoted, the stern swung over to fetch up against the bank and sure enough Maia found at her left hand a line of thick, wooden stakes, driven side by side into the bed of

the river. Their tops were only an inch or two clear of the surface. She plumbed again with the oar, but this time could find no bottom. So the stakes-which were stout and firm-must be something like ten or twelve feet long at least. Each one was nearly as broad across the top as the width of her hand: a stout structure, whatever it might be.

This was something altogether outside Maia's experience. She could only suppose that they must have run into some sort of mole or jetty projecting into the stream. But why would there be such a thing in this solitude, with no lights, no voices, no signs of a village or even a house? At a loss, she felt afraid. Yet she was still more' afraid of her own fear. Once I lose my head we're finished! Having dug in the stern anchor in the same way that she had told Zenka to secure the other, she went back to bailing, helped by Bayub-Otal.

"Maia," said Zen-Kurel, "I'm going to find out what sort of place this is."

"No, don't, Zenka!" she cried. "You'll never find your way back and anyway, what good can it do when all we want's to get away as soon as we can?"

But as usual there was no stopping Zen-Kurel. Clambering over the side, he vanished into the dark. After a few minutes she shouted, "Zenka! Can you hear me?"

"I'm here," he replied, so close that she jumped. The beating of the rain had prevented them from hearing him returning. A moment later he was back on board and had taken the bailer from her.

"This is an island," he said, "and as far as I can make out, it's no more than eight or nine yards across. There's nothing on it at all, and yet it's revetted right the way round with these stakes."

"I can't believe it!" she said. "We'll wake up in a minute and find ourselves back in-Anda-Nokomis, where would you like to find yourself back in?"

"Melvda-Rain," he answered, still bailing.

He'd never had any basting tact, she thought. Not that this was much of a time or place for it. She said no more.

Little by little, half-light began to creep into the cloud-thick eastern sky, disclosing as dreary a prospect as could well have been found in all the world, and immediate surroundings as strange as any to be imagined.

At this relatively early period in its history, there were throughout the empire very few bridges; none of wide span and only one of any real solidity-that eighteen miles south of Bekla, which carried the Ikat highway. (This was the bridge which the seceding Ta-Kominion had found too strongly held against him.) To transport the stone from Crandor and construct it, some seventy years before, had been an immense labor in which, needless to say, the great Fleitil had been instrumental. There were two wooden bridges across the Serrelind, a relatively small river; one south of Kabin and one north of Thettit; and a similar bridge across a narrow reach of the upper Here, between Ikat and Herl. The Herl-Dari highway, however (where Meris had been so active), was dependent upon a ferry across the Zhairgen.

Had it not been for a most singular exception to this primitive absence of bridges, Belishba could not have formed part of the empire at all, for it could have had neither direct trade communication with Bekla nor any reliance on Beklan military protection against Terekenalt and Ka-tria. At the point equidistant between Bekla and Herl-Belishba, the River Zhairgen was a good hundred and fifty yards wide and all of twelve to fourteen feet deep, with a fairly strong midstream current even in summer. Here, however, lay the phenomenon known as the Narboi, a scattering of islets varying in diameter from a few feet to about ten yards, between which the river ran in channels differing in width to about the same extent.

An irregular, zig-zag chain of these islets had been strengthened and made firm against erosion by stakes driven into the river bed round their circumference. The Renda-Narboi-the Bridge of Islands-consisted of horizontal, traversing lengths of beams and stout planking, some seven or eight feet wide, extending from one islet across to the next. There were thirteen of these in all, so solidly constructed that each could bear the weight of an ox-cart. They were kept in repair and renewed as often as necessary, but each year, before the onset of the rains, were raised by means of block and tackle-no light undertaking-and brought in to the banks, to prevent them being smashed or carried away by the flooded river.

It was the staked side of one of the larger Narboi-that nearest to the left bank-which the boat had rammed in the dark. The slow coming of light revealed the bow dented and splintered, though not dangerously. All around lay a scene to strike dejection into the stoutest heart. The river, beneath the rain pouring from the mass of low cloud overhead, was turbulent and already very high. One or two of the islets had by this time vanished under the spate, while others were only partly visible, covered by a dirty, ochreous foam that lapped about their bushes and long grass. The central current, checked by the islets filling about a third of the total breadth of the river, funnelled at the gaps in midstream, gushing through with the speed of a mill-race. On either bank, as far as eye could see, extended a dismal, flat plain, across which wound the deserted stone-and-mud line of the highway. About a mile away on the southern, Belishban side, the huts of a village were just visible.

There were wooden huts at each end of the bridge also: in summer these were occupied by the toll-collectors, but now they were empty. Downstream theriver, extending still wider, flowed away through a countryside already streaked in the lower ground with broad flashes and seasonal lakes of flood water, their surf aces mottled by the rain.

Maia sat tugging at her soaking tunic, which she had managed with some difficulty to put back on the button. Her long hair clung to her back like weed to a wet rock. She was feeling chilled through and slightly feverish. She had managed to eat some food, but would have given a hundred meld for a hot drink.

"Maia," said Bayub-Otal, "surely this is where we have to decide, isn't it, whether to go on or not? We could leave the boat here and make for Herl, though whether that would be any safer there's no telling. The country's known to be full of fugitives and outlaws,"

"Suppose we're right in thinking it's a matter of fifty or sixty miles down to the Katrian border," said Zen-Kurel, "how long will that take, Maia?"

"Well," she answered, "if the boat'U stand up to it and nothing goes wrong, we might get there by tonight, I suppose, in a current like this. We've got all of twelve hours and more. Just be a matter of staying afloat and keeping going."

"But is it safe?" asked Bayub-Otal, staring out across the seething flood-stream. "It looks-"

"Oh, don't be so damn' silly, Anda-Nokomis," she answered angrily. "Of
course
it's not safe! Honest, I sometimes wonder whether-"

"I really meant, is it possible?"

"Y-es, I think it just about might be," she said, "but only if we get on now, 'fore the river gets much worse. I can steer the boat ail right, and as long as we keep in midstream and nothing hits us, I reckon we ought to stay afloat. How we come to shore'll be another matter, though, Anda-Nokomis. Have to think about that when we get there."

"What do you
want
to do, Maia?" asked Zen-Kurel.

"If
you
still want to go back to.Katria, I'll do what I can to get you there," she said.

"I believe you can and will," replied Zen-Kurel. "The gods are with you. They've been with you al! the way from Bekia."

Before she could reply there came the sound of a voice hailing them from some way off.

"You, there! You in the boat!"

They looked up. Four men were approaching from the direction of the distant village. One, walking by himself slightly ahead, seemed to have a certain air of authority. The others, wearing cloaks and leather helmets and carrying javelins, were evidently soldiers.

The strangers reached the bank of the river about eight yards away from the islet to which the boat was secured. The leader, looking from Bayub-Otal to Zen-Kurel with an unfriendly expression, said sharply, "What are you doing here?"

Bayub-Otal stared haughtily back at the man. He was of average height, sharp-faced and rather slightly built, with the look of a steward or some similar minor official. His manner suggested a kind of energetic, unthinking obstinacy, rather like a good dog which nothing is going to stop doing what it has been told.

"I said, 'What are you doing here?' " repeated this personage impatiently.

"I heard you," replied Bayub-Otal.

"If it comes to that," asked Zen-Kurel, "what are
you
doing here?"

"I'm the supervisor of this bridge," replied the man, "come to check the river level since last night. That's what I'm doing here. Now will you
answer
me? Who are you?"

"What's that to you?"

"Well, you've badly damaged three of those stakes, for a start. But what I want to know is why you're trying to take that boat down the river in these conditions. You must be up to no good or you wouldn't be doing it. Either you're fugitive criminals or you've got stolen goods on board-both, very likely. You'll just bring the boat over here to be searched, and give me an account of yourselves."

"Do you know who I am?" asked Bayub-Otal in freezing tones. "I am the Ban of Suba."

"I don't care who you say you are," replied the man. He gestured towards the soldiers standing behind him. "Are you going to do as I tell you or not?"

As he snapped his fingers all three of the men raised their javelins.

Bayub-Otal made no least move. "I've no doubt you're only trying to do what you believe to be your duty, my good man, but I must tell you-"

"And
I
must tell you to damn' well baste off, you interfering bastard!" cried Zen-Kurel. "Go on, that's the way; over there!"

Maia had never heard him swear before. Evidently the man's manner, following upon the danger and strain of the long, sleepless night, had proved too much for him.

At this one of the soldiers, without waiting for orders, flung his javelin at Zen-Kurel. He swayed aside just in time. It grazed the right side of his neck, drawing an immediate spurt of blood, and stuck in one of the stakes lining the bank behind him. On the instant he turned, pulled it out and hurled it back. It hit the man full in the chest, piercing through his sodden cloak. He fell to the ground, clutching at the protruding shaft and screaming horribly. Zen-Kurel grabbed up his sword-belt from the deck, drew his sword and brandished it above his head.

There was no reason why the other two men should not have flung their javelins and killed him on the spot, but they did not. Probably neither they nor their master had ever before seen someone badly wounded in anger: it is a notoriously demoralizing experience, particularly if the victim is noisy in his agony. As the wretched man continued to writhe and scream in the mud-which was turning bloody round him-they took to their heels, followed a moment after by the supervisor.

"We'd better go across, I suppose," said Zen-Kurel coolly, "and see whether there's anything to be done." The wound in his neck was bleeding freely, though the rain was washing the blood away as fast as it flowed.

He pulled out the forward anchor from behind the stakes of the islet and then, before the current could take the boat, threw it across to catch in the bank as a grapnel. It held, and as Maia released the stern anchor also the two men hauled the boat across the narrow gap.

The soldier, however, was dead: the javelin had pierced his heart. Zen-Kurel drew it out and dropped it in the mud beside him. '

"I'm sorry," he said to Bayub-Otal, "but you must admit he asked for it."

"Well, at least that resolves any remaining doubts we may have had," replied Bayub-Otal. "Obviously we can't stay here now."

They cast off. Maia allowed the boat to drift stern forward through the channel between the shore and the islet and then ported the helm to turn the bow and take them out into midstream.

The swift, turbid current was undulant, suggesting an uneven bed below. Certainly, she thought, in such a flood as this the bed itself might be no danger, but could there be rocks? If they struck anything at this speed there would be no hope for them. Standing precariously up, she scanned the river ahead. She could see no breaking water or any other signs of rocks or shoals. Probably every fixed obstacle was many feet under by now.

Having explained to her companions what to look out for, she left them to take turn and turn about in the bow, equipped with an oar to fend off floating timber or any other heavy debris they might encounter.

The task of steering grew increasingly harrowing; the worst strain she'd ever known, she began at last to feel, for she could never relax or let her attention wander for a moment. The boat veered and yawed continually, thrown this way and that by the current, and she was for ever having to alter course to turn the head back downstream. There was no least abatement of the undulant, rocking swell; and the irregular swoop and pitch of the boat, which jolted every time it fell, began to make her feel giddy and sick.

The rain filled her eyes, her ears and nostrils. She seemed to be breathing as much rain as air. But whereas the rain

desired only their suffering, she thought, the river desired their death. Both the men seemed to be feeling the strain hardly less than herself. Notsurprising, she thought: they'd had no sleep all night. Bailing had to be kept up continuously. All morning the unending scoop and fling, scoop and fling went on in front of her as she sat hugging the tiller between arm and body and clenching her teeth to stop them chattering.

They passed many inflowing tributaries. All were in spate, chattering like apes or roaring like wild beasts. The noise in itself was frightening, but some, entering the river directly at right angles, took and spun the boat uncontrollably, so that she sat terrified.fully expecting it to fill and founder as it rolled and tossed like a dead cat in a weir.

And yet it did not. Terebinthia had been honest that far. It was as sound a boat as ever she'd known. Again and again it righted itself, answered the tiller and resumed its headlong course downstream.

It's the speed, she thought: I'm not used to this rocking speed. Who could be? Usually in a boat, if you see something ahead there's time to think what you're going to do: but this is more like falling. Dear Lespa, I'll never keep it up! If only I could have a rest! But there's nowhere we can hope to pull in and stop. Anyway, we've
got
to get down to Katria 'fore nightfall, else we're done for.

The sun, of course, was invisible. She wondered whether it was yet afternoon. She had no idea how far they might have come; twenty miles? Thirty miles? The flooded, featureless landscape, the unremitting rain beating from astern, and above all the gray solitude, had a stupefying effect. No landmarks, no people, no birds, no sun in the sky. It was like a ghost world from one of old Drigga's tales.

No time, she thought, there's no time in the ghosts' world. Ghosts got nothing to look forward to, that's why. Stop it, Maia! You're going to get Zenka to Katria, remember? They're relying on you, they mustn't see you feeling down.

I don't mind about my house in the upper city-not really. Or all the people cheering, or the clothes and presents an' that. But I do wish I could sit and listen to old Fordil just once more. I never knew anything could be so beautiful.

A poignant, falling phrase from one of Fordil's Yelda-shay
teviasalas
came into her head, expressing an infinity

of sorrow, the whole world's beauty dying like a sunset. For all she could do, her tears began to fall. Don't make no odds, she thoughtpjvon't be noticed in the rain.

But she was wrong. Zen-Kurel, a strip from his cloak bound round his wounded neck, looked up, bailer in hand.

"Maia, what's the matter?"

His voice was full of plainly sincere concern.

"I'm all right," she said.

"Are you cold?"

"No; not really. Just don't feel quite myself, that's all; bit feverish. It'll pass off. Has your neck stopped bleeding?"

"It must have. That was hours ago."

"Take that off, then, and give me Anda-Nokomis's flask there. I'll clean it up."