Tanith Lee - Claidi Journals 01 (11 page)

Then Blurn appeared and said that there was a mule for me to ride.

Only after I’d managed to get onto the mule—nearly fell off both sides twice—did I think to demand, “Is this mule
Argul’s
?”

“Nope,” said Blurn, “my aunt’s.”

“Then doesn’t your aunt—”

“She’s got plenty more,” said Blurn, as if we were discussing pairs of slippers.

The mule is a pain.

It has an adorable face and wonderful eyelashes, but it kicks out at things and
wriggles
. Nemian says a mule doesn’t wriggle. It does, it does. I’ve tried to feed it and groom it to show it I’m worthwhile and it ought to like me. But it takes no notice, just tries to kick me as I turn my back, and then wriggles as I try to swing gracefully into its saddle.

Needless to say, passing bandits, men and women both, find this exquisite fun.

“There goes Claidibaa again,” they say as I plummet off in the dust. And that’s another thing. They keep calling me by a Sheeper version of my name. After what the Sheepers did, I find that extra aggravating.

==========

Tonight there was a Hulta council.

We all gathered about the huge central fire, from which the cook-pots had been removed, though some vegetables and loaves went on baking in the hot ashes.

Argul strode out of his tent. He looked… astonishing.

I mean, he did look the way a leader should. A young king. Polished black hair and eyes, tall and lean and tawny. He was covered in gold fringes and coins, and silver rings and things. Barbaric, I’m sure the House would have said. A “barbarian.” Nemian was smiling a little. But then, one of the prettiest bandit girls was sitting next to Nemian, as she always seems to be now.

The council was because we were all going to Peshamba. The bandits hadn’t been there before, or not for generations, although they knew of the city. (At first I’d been confused and thought Peshamba was Nemian’s city, but it isn’t. I’d thought
all
cities had crumbled or been blown over. Wrong, obviously.

The House told so many lies to us. Or else the House was extremely ignorant. Both?) Anyway, the route to Peshamba is long and passes through this dust desert, or there’s another way, across something called the Rain Gardens. The council was to decide, by vote, which way we would go.

 

I’m impressed, but skeptical. If Argul is leader, doesn’t he ever lead? What’s the point of having a leader if everyone has a hand in every decision?

(Blurn said they’d voted on rescuing me. I assumed they all must have been in favor, but apparently only half had. Now when I talk to them, I wonder which ones didn’t think I was worth the trouble. I don’t blame them. But yuk. In the end only five bandits went after the Featherers.) I didn’t have the nerve to ask Blurn, Why
did
Argul bother? Afraid of what the answer will be. Oh, were going to sell you as a mule acrobat in Peshamba or something.

They talked about the Rain Gardens. It was vague. None of them are sure quite what happens there, although travelers tend to avoid the place. It does rain.

Personally, anything rather than this dust bowl.

But I didn’t get a vote, nor Nemian.

He didn’t seem put out. Princes are above such things? I’m only a pretend princess, aren’t I? Or was it less interesting than the bandit girl combing his hair? Hmm.

The vote was for the Gardens.

Afterward, the bandits sat on, drinking. Some of them talked and played with their dogs. Several had stolen female dogs from the Featherer village. I was really glad, because already these dogs are being cared for and looking healthier and more calm.

This in mind, I went to see my mule. Also so as not to have to look at Nemian as the girl plaited blue beads into his golden lions mane. Come on, Nemian. That’s what the Sheepers did with the sheep.

The mule, of course, wasn’t pleased to see me.

I stood over it, rubbing its nose—it does have a nice nose— and offering it some mule food.

“It’s Claidi,” I said firmly. “Dear Claidi that you know and love. Giving you a delicious snack you don’t deserve.”

“You expect too much of it,” said someone. “With a horse, you’d have a better chance.” It wasn’t Blurn, whom I halfway trust—must remember I mustn’t—so I turned.

There stood Argul the Bandit Leader, gleaming from the distant fire and lamps at his back, as if rimmed in gold.

What should I do? Grovel because I owe him my life? Or be rude because I know I’m being used?

You’ll have guessed.

“Well, since I don’t have a horse, that’s such a help, isn’t it?”

“I’m surprised you haven’t taken one,” said Argul. “Just bite someone’s nose off and steal his mount.

Why not?”

“You’re the practiced bandits, not me.”

“You could learn.”

 

I thought, I’m Princess Claidissa Star. My mother was called Twilight Star. I raised my head.

“Why did you save my life?”

“Why did I?”

Inside my raised head I thought,
Yes, and I spent my days as a slave
.

I
looked down.

Argul said, “You can have a horse instead of a mule. Starting to ride will be uncomfortable at your age, but it’ll be worth it. Want to try?”

Seeing me slipping and rolling off the mule wasn’t fun enough. Off a horse might really be a laugh.

“No, thank
you
.”

“Tronking hell,” said Argul.

He turned his back and strode away. His hair swung like a wave. The cloak swung, and gold disks chimed on it. Musical.

I wish I’d said yes. And what did he mean, my
age
, as if I were thirty or something.

==========

A long time has gone by since I wrote that. A lots been happening, in all kinds of ways.

Something needs to be said about the bandits and the Hulta.

Its awkward.

The House depended on life being carved in stone, and the rules of life were iron. You couldn’t make changes. You couldn’t change your mind about anything important.

But I think life isn’t about that. It’s
about
changing. If you grow, you change—don’t you? A kid becomes an adult. A puppy becomes a dog. You cant stay still, and you can’t stay always thinking one thing only, especially when you see it wasn’t right. It was a mistake.

But you know all this. I bet you do.

Its just… I didn’t. Or did I?

==========

First of all, I have to describe a morning, still in the floury desert, and me coming along to the fire, and there’s Blurn, stuffing himself with the nut porridge the bandits often have. And Mehmed the knife-thrower yells, “Kill it, Blurn!” And another man, Ro, shouts, “Make sure it’s dead!” And Claidi stands there, seeing for the first time that what she heard through a window wasn’t something horrible, but just a
joke
.

They were joking about Blums method of eating. And then Blurn turned and made other appalling comments on Mehmed’s and Ro’s methods of eating (which, admittedly, are worse).

So, you don’t always learn the hard way. You can learn a silly, funny way.

 

Which, too, is another lesson.

I’m getting tangled up.

For example. Since leaving As wagon, I’ve slept each night in the open on a pillow with a blanket, supplied to me by the woman who’d come by with the food.

She must have seen I was nervous.

She said, “There aren’t many insects here.” Then, noting I was still unnerved, “No lions. But if they come around, the lookout will know.”
Then
, seeing me
still
worried, she added, “If you don’t want a man friend, no one will disturb you.” “
Ok”
I said. She looked me up and down and said, “Where you come from must have been a bad place. People don’t creep up on people here. Were not leopards. If you like someone, tell him. If not, you can be private.”

Did I believe her? No.

I was panicky and couldn’t sleep.

I
had
a man friend. I had Nemian.

Correction. I didn’t have a man friend. Or a friend.?

In the House, people had fallen for each other (never me). But you had to be so careful. (My parents, for instance—exiled for being in love and having a child.)

One heard such stories about the Waste. And
bandits
…

They’re all right. No one intrudes.

Probably they just don’t notice me. I’m so bad-tempered, boring, jealous, tacky.

I saw Nemian one evening, one
twilight
, talking to the bandit girl. They were gazing into each other’s eyes. I felt a sort of pain, sharp and cold-hot. I slunk off.

Next day, a horse arrived. Blurn brought it.

Can’t help this. I like Blurn. It isn’t just that he rescued me, he’s just… I just
like
him. And he’s with Argul a lot. So… I don’t know. Somehow it helps. (Blurn, by the way, has a girlfriend. She’s terrific.

Anyway I don’t mean I like Blurn
that
way.)

The horse. Let me tell you about the horse. It was blue-black, like the sky that night. And it had thinking black eyes. It stood there, thoughtful and beautiful, its silk tail swishing faintly, and Blurn said, “He says, for you.”

“Who says?” As if I didn’t know.

“Him. Argul. This is a female horse, a mare. She’s bred down from”—couldn’t follow—“something of something-somethino- line. She can run like the wind, but she’s gentle as honey.” Naturally I was about to refuse, but the horse, the mare, made a soft noise down her nose. I went up to her and stroked her face.

“Not scared, are you?” approved Blurn.

 

“She’s wonderful.”

“Hey, Claidi,” said Blurn. He gave me his huge white smile. I felt happy.
I’d
done something right, at last.

And the horse—she’s called Sirree—is a dream.

She’s so patient with me. You can tell she knows I’m learning, finding out. But when I feed her or talk to her, she
listens
. Absolute agony, though. I might as well be thirty. The bandit woman—she also has a name, Teil—explained that it will be awful for a while. Your body has to get used to getting into, and holding, this position. It isn’t too bad during the day. But when I totter off, and in the morning—Ow!

Ow! Ow!

Don’t care.

That mule gave me a look. Blurn said mules always do. They have Mule Ideas. But horses understand people, as dogs and wolves do, and often cats and birds.

Then we came across some travelers in the desert.

In a valley, about five low-slung carts, and some
thing
under lots of sacks, being pulled by dogs.

When Argul’s outriders spotted this, and we (me) heard and rode along the line of wagons to see, I thought, Oh, now As bandits will tear down and rob and murder everyone.

However, the bandits just went down and helped put a wheel back on one of the carts.

The dog teams were in fine tail-wagging condition. The bandits laughed and mucked about among the other travelers. Sounds of this jollity drifted up the valley.

They came to supper.

Speech was a problem. Hardly anyone spoke their language. Argul did a bit.

Among the sacks they had a big stone statue. They were taking it somewhere, for some reason.

No one was robbed.

Argul
gave
them supplies: bread and dried oranges, rice and beer.

The Hulta do rob people. They came after Nemian and me and the Sheeper, and wanted money.

(Although A said he couldn’t use it and gave it back. And they were following us to see if I was going to be sacrificed…) They
do
kill people. Unless they just frightened the Featherers off.

Dawn broke, and the travelers went away with their statue, which was of a huge bear. (Blurn said it was a bear.)

Under the pink sky, we all saw a wash of land sweeping up and up, and beyond something was giving off fumes, pushing redness into the pink.

“Gardens,” said Mehmed. (Did I say, Mehmed’s really all right too?) I’ve lost touch with Nemian. He hasn’t been anywhere near where I am.

“The Rain Gardens?” I inquired.

“Yup.”

 

We stared at red melting in pink.

It’s unknown, to me, to Nemian, and to the Hulta.

Just like life. No one knows what’s around the next bend, over the next hill. It could be heaven-on-earth or death. We can only go on and find out.

Nemian appeared at this moment. He rode up on his smart horse, and the bandit girl was on a horse beside him.

He shot me a loving smile.

I glared.

“Ah, Claidi… how are you?”

“I haven’t thought about it. How do I seem?”

“Fantastic,” enthused my absent-now-present “friend.”

“We must talk,” said Nemian.

“Oh, talk.”

“Save it,” said Mehmed. “We have to get through
there
first.” Just then soft rain began to fall. It was pale, yet it smelled sooty, like old fires.

Nemian’s hair was flattened. Dark gold. Something hurt in me, and worse when the bandit girl, whose name I don’t even know, handed him her scarf to wipe his face.

As they rode off, he sent back a stare that seemed full of yearning, as if it was me he wanted to be with.

As I say, as he rode off.

I can’t trust Nemian either, and I never could.

So on over the next hill, around the next bend.

I decided to go back to the wagon to write this. All right, Argul’s wagon—but he’d be out there in the rain, planning, and if he turned up here I’d be off like a shot. And I’d only borrowed Sirree. A borrowed friends better than none. I could feel my face getting very long.

When I was outside again, Mehmed said vaguely, “Still wondering which half of us didn’t want to rescue you?”

My head jerked up. He grinned at my defiance.

“You’re a bit slow, Claidibaari.”

“Thank you.”

“It was a
joke
, Claidi.”

I wanted to hit his dark face. Was too sensible to do so.

Mehmed said, “I
told
Blurn you’d believe it, take it to heart, get all miserable. We didn’t
vote
, Claidibaabaa. There wasn’t time, anyway. When Argul found out, he just picked four of us who weren’t doing anything, and we rode after you. He is
leader
, you duppy girl.”
NIGHTMARES BY DAY