Shardik (71 page)

‘Better. I think she’s begun to recover.’

Now she smiled, and at once he perceived that her natural anxiety, her alarm at the sound of the scuffle outside, her impulse to anger with him, had been no more than clouds across the sun. ‘So have you,’ he thought, looking at her. Her presence was instinct with a new quality at once natural, complementary and enhancing, like that imparted by snow to a mountain peak or a dove to a myrtle tree. Where
another
might have noticed nothing, to him the change was as plain and entire as that of spring branches misted green with the first appearing leaves. Her face no longer looked drawn. Her bearing and movements, the very cadence of her voice, were smoother,
gentle
r and more assured. Looking at her now, he had no need to call upon his memories of the beautiful priestess of Quiso.

‘She woke
this
afternoon and we talked together for a time. The fever was lower and she was able to eat a
little
. She’s sleeping again now, more peacefully.’

‘It’s good news,’ replied
Kelderek
. ‘I was afraid she must have taken some infection - some pestilence. Now I believe it was no more than shock and exhaustion.’

‘She’s still weak. She’ll need rest and quiet for some time; and fresh food she must have; but that, I hope, we can get Are you a sorcerer, Kelderek, to catch trout in Zeray? They’re almost the first I’ve ever seen. How was it done?’

‘By knowing where to look and how to go about it.’

‘It’
s a foretaste of good luck. Believe that, won’t you, for I do. But stay here tomorrow - don’t go out again - for Ankray’s off to Lak. If he’s to get back before nightfall he’ll need all day.’

‘Lak? Where is Lak?’

‘Lak’s the village I told you of, about eight or nine miles to the north. The Baron used to call it his secret cupboard. Glabron once robbed Lak and murdered a man there, so when the Baron had killed him I took care that they should learn of it. He promised them they should never again be troubled from Zeray and later, when he’d got control - or as much control as we ever had - he used to send them a few men at harvest and in
the
hut-building season - any he felt he could trust. In the end, one or t
wo were actually allowed to settl
e in Lak. It was part of anothe
r scheme of the Baron’s for settl
ing men from Zeray
through
out the province. Like so many of our schemes, it never got far for lack of material; but at least it achieved something - it gave us a private larder. Bel-ka-Trazet never asked for anything from Lak, but we traded, as I told you, and the elder thought it prudent to send him gifts from time to time. Since he died, though, they must have been waiting on events, for we’ve had no message, and while I was alone I was afraid to send Ankray so far. Now you’re here, he can go and try our luck. I’ve got a
little
money I can give him. He’s known in Lak, of course, and they might let us have some fresh food for the sake of old times.’

‘Wouldn’t we be safer there than in Zeray - all four of us?’

‘Why, yes - if they would suffer us. If Ankray gets the chance tomorrow, he’s going to tell the chief about the flight of Farrass and Thrild and about the Tuginda and yourself. But Kelderek, you know
the
minds of village elders - half ox, half fox, as they say. Their old fear of Zeray will have returned; and if we show them that we are in haste to leave it, they will wonder why and fear the more. If we could take refuge in Lak, we might yet find a way out of this trap: but everything depends on showing no haste. Besides, we can’t go until the Tuginda has recovered. The most that Ankray will be able to do tomorrow is to see how the land Kes. Are your fish ready? Good. I’ll cook three of them and put the other two by. We’ll feast tonight, for to tell you the truth -‘ she dropped her voice in a pretence of secrecy and leaned towards him, smiling and speaking behind her hand - ‘neither Ankray nor the Baron ever
had the knack of catching fish!’

When they had eaten and Ankray, after drinking to the fisherman’s skill in the sharp wine, had gone to watch by
the
Tuginda while he wove a fresh length of line out of thread from an old cloak and a strand of Melathys’ hair, Kelderek, sitting close to the girl so that he could keep his voice low, recounted all that had happened since the day in Bekla when Zelda had first told him of his belief that
Erketlis
could not be defeated. Those things which had all but destroyed him, those things of which he was most ashamed - the elder who had
thought
him a slave-trader, the Stree
ls of Urtah, the breaking of his mind upon the battlefield,
Elleroth
‘s mercy, the reason for it and the manner of his leaving Kabin - these he told without concealment, looking into
the
fire as though alone, but never for a moment losing his sense of the sympathy of
this
listener, to whom defilement, regret and shame had long been as familiar as they had become to himself. As he spoke of
the
Tuginda’s expla
nati
on of what had happened at the Streels and of
the
ordained and now inevitable death of Shardik, he felt Melathys’ hand laid g
ently
upon his arm. He covered it with his own, and it was as though his longing for her broke in upon and quenched the flow of his story. He fell silent, and at length she said, ‘And Lord Shardik - where is he now?’

‘No one knows. He crossed the Vrako, but I believe he may be already dead. I have wished myself dead many times, but now -‘ ‘Why then did you come to Zeray?’

‘Why indeed? For
the
same reason as any other crimi
nal. To the Yeldashay I’m an outl
awed slave-trader. I was driven across the Vrako; and once across it, where else can a man go but Zeray? Besides, as you know, I fell in with the Tuginda. Yet there is another reason, or so I believe. I have disgraced and perverted
the
divine power of Shardik, so that all that now remains to God is his death. That disgrace and death will be required of me, and where should I wait but in Zeray ?’

‘Yet you have been speaking of saving our lives by going to Lak?’

‘Yes, and if I can I will. A man on the earth is but an animal and what animal will not try to save its life while there remains a chance?’

G
ently
she withdrew her hand. ‘Now listen to
the
wisdom of a coward, a murderer’s woman, a defiled priestess of Quiso. If you try to save your life you will lose it. Either you can accept the truth of what you have told me and wait humbly and pati
ently
upon the outcome - or else you can run up and down this land, this rats’ cage, like any other fugitive, never admitting to what is past and using a little more fraud to gain a
little
more time, until both run out.’

‘The outcome?*

‘An outcome there will surely be. Since I turned and saw the Tuginda standing at the Baron’s grave, I have come to understand a great deal - more than I can put into words. But that is why I am here with you and not with Farrass and Thrild. In
the
sight of God there is only one time and only one story, of which all days on earth and all human events are parts. But that can only be discovered - it cannot be taught’

Puzzled
and daunted by her words, he neverthe
less felt comforted that she should think him worth her solicitude, even while he grasped - or thought he grasped - that she was advising him to resign himself to deat
h. Presently, to prolong the time of sitti
ng
thus
close beside her, he asked, ‘If the Yeldashay come, they may well help the Tuginda to return to Quiso. Shall you return
with
her?’

‘I am - what you know. I can never set foot on Quiso again. It would be sacrilege.’

‘What will you do?’

‘I told you - wait upon the outcome.
Kelderek
, you must have faith in life. I have been restored to faith in life. If only
they
would understand it, the task of the disgraced and guilty is not to struggle to redeem themselves but simply to wait, never to cease to wait, in the hope and expectation of redemption. Many err in setting that hope aside, in losing belief
that
they
are
still sons and daughters.’

He shook his head, gazing into her smiling, wine-flushed face with such a look of bewilderment that she burst out laughing; and then, leaning forward to stir the fire, half-murmured, half-sang
the
refrain of an Ortelgan lullaby which he had long forgotten.

Where does the moon go every month

And where have the old years fled?

Don’t trouble your poor old head, my dear,

Don’t trouble your poor old head.

‘You didn’t know I knew
that
, did you?’ ‘You’re happy,’ he said, feeling envy.

‘And you will be,’ she answered, taking his hands in her own. ‘Yes, even though
we
die. There, that’s enough of riddling for one night; it’s time to
sleep. But I’ll tell you someth
ing easier, and
this
you
can
understand and bel
ieve’ He looked at her expectantl
y, and she said with emphasis, ‘That was the best fish I’ve ever eaten in
Zeray. Catch some more!
’

46
The
Kynat

Opening his eyes next morning,
Kelderek
knew at once that he had been woken by some unusual sound. Uncertain, he lay as still as though in wait for
a
beast. Suddenly the sound came again, so close that he started. It was the call of the
k
ynat -
two smooth, fluting notes, the second higher than the first, followed by a chirring trill cut suddenly short. On the instant he was back in Ortelga, with the gleam from the Telthearna reflected on the inside of the hut roof, the smell of green wood-smoke a
nd his father whistl
ing as he sharpened his knife on a stone. The beautiful, gold-and-purple bird came to the Telthearna in spring but seldom remained, continuing its passage northward. Despite its marvellous plumage, to kill it was unlucky and ill-omened, for it brought the summer and bestowed blessing, announcing its good news to all - ‘KynatI Kynat churrrrr - ak!’ (‘Kynat, Kynat will tell!’) Welcome and propitious hero of many songs and tales, it would be heard and blest for
a
month and then be gone, leaving behind it, like a gift, the best season of the year. Biting his lower lip in his stealth, Kelderek crept to the window, noiselessly lifted the stout bar, opened the shutter
a
crack and looked out.

The kynat, not thirty feet away, was perched on
the
roof-ridge on the opposite side of
the
little courtyard. The vivid purple of its breast and back glowed in the first sunlight, more magnificent than an emperor’s banner. The crest, purple interplumed with gold, was erect, and the broad flange of the tail, each feather bordered with gold, lay open upon the grey slope of the tiles, brilliant as a butterfly on a stone. Seen
thus
at close quarters, it was inexpressibly beautiful, with a splendour beyond description to those who had never seen it. The river sunset, the orchid pendent in mossy shade, the translucent, coloured flames of temple incenses and gums wavering in their copper bowls - none could surpass this bird, displayed in the morning silence like a testament, a visible exemplar of the beauty and humility of God. As
Kelderek
gazed, it suddenly spread its wings, displaying the soft, saffron-coloured down of the under-sides. It opened its bill and called again, ‘Kynat! Kynat will tell!’ Then it was gone, eastward towards the river.

Kelderek
flung back the shutter and stood dazzled in the sun that had just cleared the wall. As he did so, another shutter opened on his left and Melathys, in her shift, her arms bare and her long hair loose, leaned out, as though trying to follow with her eyes the flight of the kynat. She caught sight of him, started for a moment and
then
, smiling, pointed sil
ently
after the bird, like a child to whom gestures come more naturally than words. Kelderek nodded and raised one hand in the sign used by Ortelgan messengers and returning hunters to signify good news. He realized that she, like him, felt the accident of his seeing her half-naked simply as something acceptable between them; not that it was no matter, as it might have been in the commotion of a fire or some other disaster, but rather that its significance was altered, as though in a time of festival, from immodesty to a happy extravagance becoming the occasion. To use plain terms, he thought, the kynat had taken her out of herself, because that was the kind of lass she was. And as this thought crossed his mind, he realized also that he
had ceased to think of her as e
ither the one-time priestess of Quiso or the consort of Bel-ka-Trazet His understanding of her had outgrown these images, which had now opened, like doors, to admit him to a warmer,
undissembling reality
within
. Henceforth, in his mind, Melathys would be a woman whom he knew, and whatever front she might present to the world he, like herself, would look through it from the inside, aware of much, if not all, that it concealed from others. He found that he was trembling. He laughed and sat down on the bed.