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-Nasada. 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?"
She laughed. "I don't reckon old Sencho'd have given fifteen thousand meld for me at that rate, do you?"
"You're proud of that, aren't you?"
She nodded.
"I'm not surprised. Why shouldn't you be? And Bayub-Otal?"
"Well, then he kind of cut Lenkrit off short. But I was that upset and moithered with everything-you ever had
a knife held at your throat, Nasada, have you?-tell you the truth I wasn't really taking in all that much of it."
"What do you know about Bayub-Otal? Do you know about his father and mother, and how he grew up?"
"Oh, he told me all about that, yes: how his mother was sent to Urtah as a dancing-girl, and how the King-High Baron-whatever 'twas-fell in love with her and hid her away in Suba to save her from his wife. And about the fire-why, Whatever's the matter, U-Nasada?"
To her horror, she saw tears running down his rough, wrinkled cheeks. For an instant he actually sobbed.
"You're very young, Maia: young people are often unfeeling-until they've learned through suffering themselves. It wasn't really so very long ago. Nokomis-she was like moonlight on a lake! No one who saw her dance ever forgot her for the rest of his life. All Suba worshipped her, even those who never actually saw her. When she died, the luck ran out of Suba like sand out of a broken hour-glass. You never saw Nokomis-"
"Well, how could I?" she answered petulantly. "I wasn't even born when she died."
"As far as any of us here can make out, you were born more or less exactly when she died. The night of the tenth Sallek?"
Maia stared. "What do you mean, my lord? Why do you say it like that?"
He drank off his wine and put the cup down on the table. "And then," he said, as if continuing, "last night I asked you whether you were sure about your father. You were." He paused. "So that just leaves us with the will and power of the gods, doesn't it?"
"The gods? I don't know what you're on about, U-Nasada, honest I don't."
"Arid you say Sencho paid fifteen thousand meld?" he went on. "Well, for what it's worth, that's what Nor-Zavin, the Baron of southern Suba, paid her parents for the daughter they'd called Astara. I happen to know that. I'm not sure who first nicknamed her Nokomis, but I suppose that doesn't really matter."
It may seem incredible that no inkling had dawned earlier in Maia's mind. Yet just so will a person often fail to perceive-resist, even, and set aside-the personal implications of a dream plain enough to friends to whom it is told.
"U-Nasada, are you saying that I look tike Nokomis?"
He paused, choosing his words. At length he answered, "To someone like myself, who remembers her well, it would be quite unbelievable-" he smiled-"if it weren't here before my eyes."
She reflected. "Then why doesn't everybody see it? Tes-con, say, or Luma?"
&nb
sp; "Because they're too young. It's more than sixteen years, you see, since Nokomis died. But as well as that, you have to realize that Suba isn't Bekla. This is a wild, marshy country and most people seldom travel far. Everyone in Suba knew the fame of Nokomis-she was a legend-but thousands never actually saw her. No one in that little village we left this morning, for instance, had ever seen Nokomis. But Penyanis, Makron's wife-she saw her more than once. How did she take it when she met you this evening?"
"She seemed-well, kind of mazed, like."
"And Makron-well, did you think it strange that they didn't ask you to have supper with them?"
"I never really thought."
"Anda-Nokomis had already told them what to expect, you see. They have some old servants, some of whom would also remember Nokomis, and they thought it better not to set the whole place buzzing with tales of witchcraft and magic and so on. I suppose-"
She blazed out, interrupting him. "But why didn't Ba-yub-Otal himself tell me all this in Bekla? Why? Or Eud-Ecachlon, come to that? Cran and Airtha! I went to bed with Eud-Ecachlon! I-"
"I doubt whether Eud-Ecachlon ever saw a great deal of Nokomis. In fact he may quite possibly never have seen her at all. Younger boys are brought up rather secluded in Urtah, you know. He'd have been-let me see-scarcely nine when Nokomis left Kendron-Urtah in fear of her life, so in any case he wouldn't have a very clear memory of what she looked like. As for Bayub-Otal, this is really what I came to talk to you about." He paused. "What do you think of Bayub-Otal?"
She said nothing.
"You can trust me, Maia."
"Well, tell you the truth, not a great lot."
He took her hand. "I think I know why, but I'd like you to tell me."
"Well, I can't make him out, U-Nasada, and that's the truth. He's not like any ordinary man. In Bekla he didn't want to make love to me and yet he wouldn't let me alone. And then he kept on saying sort of spiteful things-nasty, contemptuous things-about-well, about me being a bed-girl," (she was crying now) "as if I could help that! And about me being with Sencho and taking lygols and all such things as that. As if all the girls didn't take lygols! That's the real reason why I was what you called-what was it?- defensive just now, when we were talking about basting. He was always so sort of scornful and sneering in his talk, like. And then, when he'd as good as ordered me to dance the senguela in the Barons' Palace-I couldn't never have done it if he hadn't made me, but afterwards everyone thought the world of me-and I wanted to show him how grateful I was and I as good as told him I'd like him to make love to me, he-he just said-" And here poor Maia rolled over on the bed, sobbing with the recollection of that humiliating mortification and beating her fists on the pillow.
"How very disappointing," said Nasada, "for an ardent, warm-hearted girl like you! Anda-Nokomis really is a fool sometimes. Obviously you must have felt very upset. But he had his reasons, hadn't he? as you can no doubt see now."
Maia was half-expecting him to go on to say something like "I wonder, at that rate, that you went straight to him when you'd escaped from the temple." But he did not.
"Bayub-Otal," he continued at length, "he's had enough to make him feel bitter, if ever a man had. His mother a renowned beauty, the most famous and idolized dancer in the empire, his father the High Baron of Urtah. When he's ten his mother dies-murdered, so most people believe-and he himself's maimed so that he can never hope to be a warrior or try to compete normally with other lads. But his beloved father doesn't disown him: no., just the reverse. He gives him everything to live for. He promises him the rule of Suba-something at which he can hope to succeed, for he's got a gift of authority and a good head on his shoulders. The boy starts as he means to go on. He puts everything into learning about the province he's going to rule. And then Fornis-with no legal right in the work!- trades it off to Karnat while she seizes Bekla."
"But what's all this got to do with me, U-Nasada?"
"He's not even worth murdering," went on Nasada, ignoring her. "That wouldn't be politic, would it?-it'd only antagonize his aging father, and the Leopards aren't too sure of Urtah anyway. So he's left to moon about between Urtah and Bekla. With any luck he'll go to the bad with drink or women or something, and then the Leop-ards'll be able to say 'Look at the former heir of Suba lying there in the gutter!' "
"What's that to me, U-Nasada?"
"However, he doesn't go to the bad. He puts on an act of being at a loose end, under cover of which he manages to enter into secret negotiations with King Karnat. And then one day the gods send him a sign. Quite unexpectedly-and it's an enormous shock, of course-he comes upon a girl who looks almost exactly like his fabled mother as he remembers her. Only as it happens she's enslaved- to the most disgusting libertine in Bekla. She's loaned out to be basted for money, too. He finds this-well, a trifle distasteful, shall we say? But when, in his rather diffident, prickly way-for naturally, after all he's been through, he's become distinctly stand-offish and sensitive-he does his best to get to know her better, this is-oh, very naturally: no one's to blame-misunderstood and taken the wrong _way. The poor girl's looking for money to buy her freedom, but of course this isn't at all what Bayub-Otal has in mind. How can he explain? March up to her and say 'It's most peculiar, but do you know, you look exactly like my mother?' Would that go down well, I wonder?"
For the first time since they had begun talking, Maia laughed.
"But that's not his only problem," went on Nasada. "The resemblance is so uncanny that doubts and questions begin to arise in his mind. Surely the only possible explanation is that he and she must be related in some way? This is something he obviously can't set aside, but of course it doesn't alter-oh, no, it only strengthens-his determination to get her out of Bekla if he can, and make her a free and honored woman."
There was a long silence. Nasada got up, filled Maia's cup and his own with the last of the wine, sat down again and drank deeply. "Well, it's made me quite dry-saying all that."
"U-Nasada," said Maia at length, "are you telling me that Bayub-Otal loves me?"
"Certainly not. He's the only person who could say anything like that."
"Well, then, do you know whether that's what he feels? Has he said anything to you?"
"No, he hasn't-nothing of that kind at all. But as I keep on telling you, Maia, he's a very reticent, diffident sort of man; reserved and constrained-with good reason."
"Then how do you know all this as you've been telling me?"
"Well, partly because he's told me a certain amount himself, and partly because I know him and I know Suba. And then again, you see, I'm old, and when you're old, if you'll believe me, you often find that you see quite a lot of things without actually being told, because of all you've learned and experienced yourself."
As she remained silent, perplexed, he added, "I'm not talking about love. That's nothing to do with me and I'm not trying to give you any advice one way or the other. I can't say whether or not it comes into the business at all. All I've tried to do is explain to you how you're situated here in Suba and the reason for what you've very naturally seen as Anda-Nokomis's strange behavior towards you."
"I can't hardly take it in at all."
"I'm not surprised. I can't myself; yet here you are, before my eyes."
After a little she asked, "Where are we going?"
"To Melvda-Rain. 'Rain' means a meeting-place, you know."
"What for?"
"You may well ask. Karnat's there, with his army from Terekenalt. And Anda-Nokomis has promised him the help of three thousand Subans, to be commanded by himself and Lenkrit. They're assembling now."
"What for?"
"I don't know," he answered. "But I should imagine to cross the Valderra and defeat the Beklan army, wouldn't you? What else?"
"But why are we going to Melvda-Rain, then, you and me?"
"I, because I'm a doctor. You, because of what I've just told you. Anda-Nokomis thinks that the mere sight of you at Melvda is bound to have a tremendous effect."
"You mean they'll think I'm Nokomis come back?"
"Some of them may really think that. They're simple folk, most of them. But they'll think you're magic, anyway. Perhaps you are-how would I know?"
"You mean I'll be made to go where there's fighting?"
"Oh, Lespa, no! They wouldn't take you across the Valderra: not at first, anyway; you're far too precious. It'll be quite enough for them to see you at Melvda. You'll be their magic luck."
Maia said no more. Her heart was surging with excitement and fear, dismay and wonder. After some time Na-sada said, "The agreement between Karnat and Anda-Nokomis is that if Karnat takes Bekla with the help of the Subans-and he can hardly hope to do it without-he'll give back the rule of Suba to Anda-Nokomis. Such things don't really concern me, but I do know that much."
"Then what does concern you in all this, U-Nasada?"
He looked surprised. "Why, there's going to be a lot of work for me, of course. People are going to get hurt."
"Oh, U-Nasada! Like-like on the river bank? Oh, no! No!"
"On the river bank? When you came over the Valderra, you mean, the night before last?"
"Yes; then. There was a boy-one of the soldiers-he came from near my home in Tonilda. Lenkrit killed him- he was crying for his mother on the bank! The blood- the smell-oh, I can't tell you how dreadful it was!"
She began to weep again. He stroked her cheek gently.
"I hate war as much as you do: but there's no stopping this, I'm afraid. Go to sleep now, Serrelinda. A good night's sleep makes everything look better. Would you like another of my night-drinks?"
"Yes, please."
As he was preparing it she asked, "U-Nasada, what are their clothes made of here? I've never seen anything like them anywhere else."
"They're the cured, treated skins of a fish called ephrit- stitched together, you know. Same idea as leather, really, except that it's fish-skin; comfortable enough once you're used to it."
"Is that why they all smell?"
He laughed. "Yes. So do I, when I'm traveling and working among them. After all, I'm Suban and it helps ordinary people to trust me and feel I'm one of them- which I am. But I changed into a robe for you-I. even
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