Maia

by Richard Adams

  earth quake, the rocks be rent, the Temple of Cran fall? Not for nothing, then, after all, had Lespa set her great light to burn in the northern sky.

  As the sunset-a brilliant, glowing chiaroscuro of saffron, crimson and green-faded and dusk darkened the terraces below, the two sentinels at the eastern door of the palace, new-levied peasant strangers to Bekla, their nerves already shredded by rumor and speculation, but most of all by the unconcealed alarm and dismay of their superiors, were suddenly stricken aghast to see the shadowy form of the goddess Lespa walking intently towards them in the failing light. There could be no mistaking the apparition. Very beautiful she was, with a more than earthly beauty, a matchless young girl immune to age or death; quite naked but, goddess-like, without the least air of self-consciousness or shame. Her superb body was glistening with drops of water from the clouds through which she must have descended, while her long hair, also damp, fell in a golden drift about her shoulders. Her bare feet made no sound. Despite its marvelous beauty her face-and what else would you expect?-was very sorrowful, grave and absorbed, yet with a purposeful look, as though she well knew her divine intention, whatever it might be.

  Letting fall their spears, the sentries fled into the palace.

  Maia, having entered under the portico, looked about for someone to guide her. There was no one to be seen, however, and she climbed the first staircase she came to, which brought her out on an open landing hung with tapestries. Yet here, too, all was deserted.

  In this shady, eastward-facing place she felt, for the first time since setting out, a touch of cold. She had not seen the sentries run, but now it occurred to her that her nakedness might hinder her mission. Eud-Ecachlon, who was presumably somewhere in the palace, might have her apprehended, or perhaps some rougher man, a soldier or servant, might molest her. As she stood in perplexity she remembered the night of the senguela, when she had pulled down one of Sarget's wall-hangings to dress up as the prying old woman. Opposite her was a window, with curtains of green and blue silk. Scrambling up into the embrasure, she found that she could lift down the pole and slide them off. One would be enough. As a Tonildan peasant girl she had learned two or three different ways of draping and knotting a rectangle of woven cloth into a garment. Those

  who possessed such things had been lucky: most wore sacking or homespun. In less than two minutes Maia was at least presentably clothed and making her way down the upper corridor.

  Rounding the next corner she saw coming towards her a girl carrying a bundle of clothes.

  "The lady Milvushina," she said. "Where can I find her?"

  "The lady Milvushina, saiyett?" answered the girl. "They say she's very ill-"

  "I know that!" said Maia. "Just tell me where she is."

  Turning, the girl guided her down the corridor, climbed a staircase and in silence pointed to a closed door a few yards further on. Maia thanked her with a nod, tapped on the door and entered.

  Four women, one of whom was Lokris, were gathered about a bed on the opposite side of the big, luxurious room. With them was an elderly, gray-bearded man, his bare arms streaked with blood. All five looked round at her and the old man, staring severely, seemed about to speak.

  "I'm Maia Serrelinda, doctor," she said, before he could do so. "I've come because I was sent for."

  Silently, he laid one hand on hers and, looking into her eyes, shook his head. One of the women was silently weeping. Suddenly, Maia caught her breath in an involuntary spasm of fear and horror. That smell-that terrible smell- when had it last overcome her, where had she known it before? Next moment she knew. She was back in the darkness and firelight on the banks of the Valderra, kneeling beside Sphelthon, the dying Tonildan boy. For a moment she actually seemed to hear his voice. Then the doctor's hand was gripping her wrist and she was turning with him towards the bed.

  Milvushina, very pale, her forehead and chin beaded with sweat, lay covered only with a sweat-damp, crumpled sheet. Her long, black hair was tumbled about her. One bare arm was stretched across the bed. Her breathing was labored and uneven. Her mouth was open, as were her great, dark eyes, yet it seemed as though she saw nothing, for they were staring fixedly upward toward the ceiling. Maia's immediate impression was of a being isolated beyond reach of anyone round her. She looked partly like an animal caught in a trap and partly like someone com-

  pelted to expend, upon some immense labor, nothing less than every scrap of energy at her command.

  Maia took her hand.

  "Milva," she said. "Milva? It's Maia: I'm here."

  Slowly, Milvushina seemed to return from a great distance. Her head rolled, her eyes found Maia's and she gave the faintest trace of a smile.

  "Maia," she whispered.

  "Yes. You must rest, darling," answered Maia. "I won't leave you. It'll be all right, you'll see."

  Very slightly, as though even this was an effort, Milvushina shook her head. "I'm dying.",

  "No, you're not, dearest."

  Milvushina's hand clenched weakly on Maia's. After a few seconds, having gathered strength to speak again, she murmured, "Don't-don't-I need you-" She broke off, shutting her eyes and biting her lower lip, apparently seized once more with pain.

  Maia bent her head to her ear.

  "I won't go away."

  It seemed doubtful whether Milvushina had heard her. Her hand lost its grip and she began once more her heavy, intermittent panting.

  Maia stood back from the bed. "What's happened?" she asked Lokris. "What's gone wrong?"

  "It was the news, saiyett," answered Lokris, "and then Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion refusing to see her or speak to her. She went into premature labor this morning, but she's only bled ever since and we can't get the baby born."

  "Can't you cut her?" asked Maia, turning to the doctor.

  "I have cut her, saiyett. I'm very sorry. Believe me, I've done all I can-all anyone could. These cases are always dangerous. No doctor can ever be sure-"

  "You mean she's dying?"

  "Saiyett, the loss of blood-"

  "There's no hope?"

  He shook his head. "The internal bleeding can't be stanched, you see. I've given her a drug for the pain. There's nothing more I can do."

  Maia, falling on her knees beside the bed, laid her cheek against Milvushina's shoulder. She did not move as the women drew off the sheet and once more began changing the blood-drenched dressings. When they had finished the room seemed very silent and dim. Later, Maia became

  vaguely aware that someone had brought more lamps. Later still, Milvushina stirred, moaned and spoke without opening her eyes.

  "Maia?"

  "Yes, dear; I'm here."

  "Tell Elvair-tell-"

  "Yes, Milva?"

  "I love him. I-don't-blame-" Suddenly, startlingly, her utterance became clear and lucid. "He's being silly. No blame. I love him, say."

  "I'll tell him."

  "Promise?"

  "Yes, Milva: I promise."

  Milvushina's hand pressed hers once more. She seemed to be trying to say something, but no words came.

  Someone brought a stool and Maia sat on and on beside the bed, holding Milvushina's hand and watching in the lamplight the slight movements- of her lips and eyelids. They ceased. After a long time-as though, having resisted to the last, she had finally been compelled, against every spark of her will, to acquiesce-she knew that Milvushina was dead.

  She stood up, gazing down at the body. Milvushina looked unbelievably young-about twelve-a child with enormous eyes that stared and stared unblinkingly, as though in accusation. It was the eyes that were staring, not Milvushina. She had gone, leaving this sorry likeness behind.

  Maia realized that she was very thirsty. She turned to Lokris. "Bring me some water, Lokris, please."

  "You mean, to drink, saiyett?"

  When Maia had drunk the water she said, "You say Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion's here in the palace?"

  "Yes, saiyett."

  "Take me to him, please."

&n
bsp; Another woman might perhaps have asked questions or argued, but it had no doubt occurred to Lokris that she could not be blamed for doing as she was told and also that in the circumstances that would be the least troublesome thing to do as far as she herself was concerned. Picking up a lamp, she walked half-way to the door and turned, waiting for Maia to join her.

  The doctor touched Maia's arm. "I trust you won't lay blame on me, saiyett. I assure you I did all that was possible."

  "No," she replied, shaking her head. "No, you needn't worry."

  Making their way down the passage, neither she nor Lokris spoke. Maia had little awareness of their surroundings. Once a middle-aged woman-seemingly some kind of upper servant-coming out of a doorway, stopped short and cried in a low voice, "Oh, Lokris, what's happened?" Lokris caught her eye, shook her head and walked on.

  On the landing where Maia had taken down the curtains a lamp was now burning. Lokris picked it up and handed it to Maia.

  "I think you may need this, saiyett." ›

  "Shall I? Why?"

  But Lokris only nodded, leading her up the staircase to the second story. Maia could hear a murmur of voices behind a door, but this they passed, entering a colonnade like the one in Kembri's house where she had attended the Rains banquet. At its far end they came to another closed door, ornately carved, with recessed panels and a great latch of bronze, the stop cast to resemble a hound and the fall-bar a bone clenched in its jaws. Here Lokris stood to one side, inclining her head.

  "Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion, saiyett."

  In the terrible distress and grief consuming her, Maia's self-possession was like a frail raft on a swirling flood. In imminent danger of being overwhelmed, it still remained afloat, though barely.

  "But I must see him alone, Lokris. Are you sure there's no one with him?"

  "Yes, saiyett."

  "How can you be sure?"

  "I am sure, saiyett."

  "Well, then, will you please go in and tell him as I'm here?"

  For a moment Lokris hesitated. Then she said, "Saiyett, I think it'll be better if you simply go in yourself; and take the lamp with you."

  Maia stared, but Lokris merely averted her eyes, looking down. After a moment Maia raised the latch, putting her shoulder to the heavy door. It yielded and she stepped inside.

  The room was not quite in darkness, for it faced west and was still faintly twilit. One would not have expected to find anyone in it, however, unless they were either asleep

  or making love. Yet this was not a bedroom. No; this, with its profusion of stools and small tables, its sideboard covered with silver dishes and goblets and its trophies hung on the walls, had the appearance of some kind of anteroom, perhaps adjoining a hall next door. Holding up her lamp, she looked round her in perplexity.

  "Elvair?" she said timidly; but there was no reply.

  She turned this way and that, looking round the big, shadowy room in apprehension, and was just going to hurry out again when she realized that someone)-a motionless figure-was sitting on a tall, armless chair by the window. The back of the chair was towards her and its occupant seemed gazing out towards the darkling west. Maia, carrying her lamp, crossed the room and stood beside the chair. The figure was, indeed, Elvair-ka-Virrion.

  He looked as a man might who had spent days in prison. He was hollow-cheeked, pallid and unwashed and his hair and beard were unkempt. She could smell his stale sweat. His torn, travel-stained clothes must be those in which he had come back from Lapan. One of his boot-straps was broken and trailing on the floor. Beside him stood a tray on which were plates and the remains of untouched food. She saw mouse-droppings and a fretted, nibbled crust.

  He did not move as she touched his shoulder.

  "Elvair? Elvair, it's Maia."

  He looked up for a moment. "Maia. Oh, yes." Dropping his chin on his hands, he resumed his abstracted staring towards the west.

  She knelt beside his chair and put her hand on his wrist.

  "Elvair, I'm so sorry-I'm very sorry that I've only come to add to your troubles. I wouldn't do it if I hadn't got to, honest."

  It would be easier, she thought, if only he would ask her what her news was and she could answer him. But as she waited he put aside her hand, stood up, took two or three steps across to the window and continued gazing out into the near-darkness.

  Maia, still kneeling on the floor, began to cry-for Mil-vushina, for Tharrin, for Sphelthon, for her own terror of death, for the loss of Zenka, the fallen darkness and the hopelessness of the entire world.

  He seemed unaware of her weeping; but she was weeping from the heart, and for some little time continued without any attempt to control herself or to speak again;

  while he stood silently, his back turned, both of them as it were isolated in separate cells of suffering. At last Maia recalled that she had come in fulfillment of the promise she had made to Milvushina.

  "Elvair? Elvair, I've brought bad news; but you must hear it."

  For all the response he made he might not have heard her. In a sudden passion she jumped up and ran across to him, tugging at his arm and beating her fist on his chest.

  "She's dead, Elvair; Milva's dead! She told me I was to come and tell you she loved you and she didn't blame you for anything. She didn't blame you for anything!" As he still said nothing she stood in front of him, put her two hands on his shoulders and cried, "Do you hear me? Milva's dead, I tell you! The baby's dead and Milva's dead!"

  For a moment he looked coldly into her eyes, much as he might have looked at a servant who had had the temerity to interrupt him while absorbed in some complicated matter. Then, once more staring over her shoulder, he muttered just audibly, "I don't care. Go away."

  As though he had struck her, Maia started back. As though he had struck her she drew in her breath and raised one hand to her cheek. Then, like one suddenly perceiving in the room the presence of something monstrous and appalling, she snatched up the lamp and ran stumblingly to the door.

  Lokris was seated on a bench about twenty yards up the colonnade. As Maia came out she stood up, but if she had not caught her arm Maia would have run past her.

  "Let me help you, saiyett: these corridors can be a little treacherous after dark. I wouldn't want you to fall. Please take my arm."

  They walked on together, Maia with the one lamp held in her left hand, Lokris with the other in her right. As they reached the landing on the first floor Lokris asked, "Will you wish to leave the palace now, saiyett?"

  "Yes," she answered. "Yes, I'll go now, Lokris. Only I shall need some shoes-sandals-anything wiH do."

  "Take mine, saiyett: I think they'll fit you well enough."

  Lokris took off her sandals, knelt and strapped them on for her.

  "Will you be needing anything else, saiyett? A jekzha?"

  Maia had, of course, no money with her, and in her

  shocked and broken state of mind could not face the embarrassment of asking Lokris to go and get her some and waiting while she did so.

  "No, Lokris, thank you: I'll walk on the terrace for a little while."

  Lokris accompanied her as far as the north door of the palace, and here they parted without having spoken of what had taken place.

  84: MAIA GOES HOME

  It did not matter where she went, she thought. It didn't matter what happened. The gods, who had done this to Milva, could now do whatever they liked with her. She would go home, and Randronoth could kill her if he wanted. Go home-yes, that would surprise the gods. The gods would not be expecting that.

  Slowly she descended the road down the Leopard Hill into the upper city. Although many people passed her, hurrying in both directions, it did not really strike home to her that any upheaval was taking place. The barracks of the upper city-a square, gloomy building-lay about a quarter of a mile ahead, and here she could see torches and hear noise and commotion. But she merely walked on, stumbling once or twice in Lokris's sandals, which were not in fact a very good fit.

  She t
hought of the handsome, dashing young man who had spoken so charmingly to Occula and herself in the Khalkoornil on that first afternoon in Bekla, when they were being taken to Lalloc's. She remembered the sound of Milvushina's weeping on the night when she and Occula had returned from Sarget's party-that same night when she had cursed Bayub-Otal and vowed to harm him if she could. She thought of the good-natured, sympathetic El-vair-ka-Virrion, who had made love with her and later had been so ready to help her with his notion of the auction at the barrarz; and again, of Milvushina smiling as she sat on the couch in the Sacred Queen's supper-room. Behind all sounded old Nasada's thin, dry voice, "Get out of Bekla. It's a devils' playground."

  Once or twice, as she made her half-shuffling, ungainly way along the road in the elf-light of moonrise, men spoke

  to her; but she did not even hear them, passing on in a trance of wretchedness which communicated itself without the need for any reply on her part. It was a night, however, when few in the upper city were of a mind to be accosting girls. So far as property owners and their servants were concerned (and most dwellers in the upper city were either one or the other) all thoughts were centered upon Santil-ke-Erketlis and the defeated Leopard force in the south. If Erketlis and his heldril were indeed to take the city, as he had said he intended, what was the prospect for merchants-and especially for slave-traders? And beyond these material fears lay the deep, superstitious anxiety engendered by the news of Durak-kon's death at the hands of Fornis. There was a general, intuitive feeling that that business was neither conclusive nor concluded; it must inevitably have some further outcome; and though no one could guess what that might be, the prospect gave rise to uncertainty and dread.