Samiha's Song

by Mary Victoria

  ‘No,’ observed his companion. ‘No, I don’t think it has.’

  ‘Well,’ Tymon answered, ‘I’ll talk to her, I promise. But now I have to go. Should I take Lai back to the Saffid?’

  ‘No,’ said the Oracle, again. ‘You won’t need to do that.’

  He glanced at her in puzzlement. She seemed oddly uncommunicative, even submissive compared to the day before. Her tone was preoccupied as she gazed out of the mine door. She stood quite still.

  ‘Have you seen Jedda?’ he asked.

  ‘I believe you’ll find her outside,’ she replied.

  Tymon stepped into the pool of sunshine in the doorway. He saw the girl from Marak standing on the opposite side of the well in the long grass. For some reason, she had piled up more of the dewy grass in one of the abandoned carts, and lit it: the smouldering heap caused a thick column of smoke to rise out of the well.

  ‘Jedda!’ he called, hurrying toward her. ‘I know where Laska is! He’s hurt — we have to be quick! Why are you wasting time with another campfire?’

  She turned to face him as he jogged up to her side, but did not seem disposed to move from the spot. The bruise on her temple had subsided to a sullen yellow. She took his news of Laska with absolute equanimity.

  ‘I’ve put in a word for you,’ she said, gazing at him steadily. ‘Don’t worry, you’re safe.’

  ‘Safe?’ he echoed, perplexed. ‘Is everything alright, Jedda? Didn’t you hear me? We have to leave.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘We have to leave. I’m sorry, Tymon.’

  He could make no sense of her words, or her solemn, sorrowful expression. It crossed his mind that the Reading might have left her in some form of shock. As he thought this, a shadow gradually cut off the light overhead. He peered upwards, puzzled as to what could be blocking the sun, and saw in surprise that a merchant’s dirigible hovered above them, floating almost silently above the well with its sails rolled up. He was reminded disturbingly of the Envoy’s ship, descending into Galliano’s ruined workshop during the attack on Sheb. But this vessel did not attempt to negotiate the narrow confines of the mine. It simply drifted over the open mouth of the well, a rope ladder hanging unfurled from its side.

  ‘Get out of here quick, Jedda!’ he cried, grabbing hold of her arm.

  Men dressed in black appeared on the deck of the ship, armed with a hedge of crossbows. They were clearly Lantrians, though Tymon could not identify their dark livery. They looked an unsavoury bunch, grinning down at the two young people in the well. With a stab of misgiving Tymon recognised the hulking form perched on the deck behind them under a piece of canvas. The Lyla was lashed securely to the main mast, its insect legs peeping out from beneath the covering.

  Although he tugged urgently at her elbow, Jedda did not budge.

  ‘You’re safe with me,’ she repeated.

  It was only then that understanding began to trickle into Tymon’s mind: a slow, unwelcome comprehension. ‘You knew?’ he gasped, staring at her. ‘You knew the ship was coming?’

  ‘I signalled it to come.’ She pointed to the smoke from the extinguished fire.

  ‘Green grace! Why?’ he cried. ‘They have the Lyla. They’re in league with the Governor, or worse. Why would you side with them?’

  ‘Because it can’t go on. Because she’s mad and must be stopped.’

  ‘She—?’

  A strangled cry echoed from the hall behind him, causing him to spin around.

  ‘The Oracle!’ he exclaimed.

  But it was a man that stepped from the shadows behind the door. His hair was long and unkempt, and he was dressed in what had once been the colours of the Argosian priesthood. The rest of him showed no trace of his former calling; his face was brutal and dissolute, the face of a hardened criminal. He bore an unsheathed knife. Tymon saw with horror that the blade was streaked with blood. The man wiped it nonchalantly across his trouser leg.

  ‘What have you done, Jedda?’ whispered Tymon, in horror.

  ‘She’s switched sides,’ answered the lapsed priest with an unpleasant laugh. ‘Haven’t you, Jedda, my dear?’

  ‘I’m not your “dear”.’ Jedda’s face was pale, her lips set. ‘Please try and understand,’ she said to Tymon, half beseeching, half defensive. ‘This is all the Oracle’s fault. Laska, the Saffid, all of us: she could have saved us, if she wanted to. I only called Gowron here because she left me no other choice. I wasn’t going to take the seminary’s offer, not if she treated me properly. The priests told me she’d never accept me. I gave her every chance to prove them wrong. But she hated me from the outset. She couldn’t control me and she hated me for it.’ She gave a shrill laugh. ‘At least in Argos I’ll learn something. You should come with us. They’ll give you a full pardon at home.’

  Tymon stared at her, aghast, and shook his head. The man named Gowron slipped his knife-blade into its sheath and sauntered up to Jedda.

  ‘We should go,’ he observed. ‘This runt is making us late.’ He dangled a bright object in front of the girl’s face. ‘I got something for you, doll,’ he leered.

  She gave him a withering glance but took the rod of orah.

  ‘No,’ Tymon pleaded, urgently. ‘Don’t take it. Don’t go with them, Jedda.’ He leapt forward and placed himself between her and Gowron. ‘Let her be,’ he growled to the other man. ‘She doesn’t know your lot like I do.’

  His anger had made him reckless. He did not care about the stranger’s knife or about the soldiers with their crossbows, grinning at them from above. ‘These people are liars and murderers,’ he insisted to Jedda. ‘This one isn’t even a real priest. He’s trying to trick you.’ He attempted to snatch the rod of orah away from her.

  ‘Easy,’ drawled Gowron. ‘Ea-sy!’

  He caught hold of Tymon’s arms and held him effortlessly at bay, smiling his broad, loose-lipped smile. His grip grew tighter, constricting. At last Tymon cried out in pain and Gowron dropped him. The young man rubbed the life back into his arms, scowling in fury at his adversary.

  ‘Good luck, Argosi,’ said Jedda. She slipped the pendant over her head and stepped onto the rope ladder that hung down from the dirigible. ‘Try not to think too badly of me.’

  ‘Didn’t you See anything in the Reading to make you change your mind?’ he asked her, despairingly. ‘Didn’t you See how much Laska needs us?’

  ‘Oh, I Saw enough during the Reading,’ she said as she mounted the ladder. ‘I Saw what happens to the Saffid once the Oracle has abandoned them, and it isn’t pretty. They’ll be slaves. Nothing you, or I, or anyone else does can change that now.’

  She continued climbing with swift, angry motions up to the dirigible’s deck. Gowron grinned one last, insolent time at Tymon and followed her. When they had both climbed over the rail a soldier pulled up the ladder, rolling it away. The ether sacks about the dirigible’s hull swelled in preparation for departure. Gowron disappeared into the cabin, but Jedda continued to stand by the deck rail near the covered form of the air-chariot, looking down at Tymon.

  ‘I know you hate the Oracle,’ he called to her. ‘But what if you’ve made the wrong choice about going to Argos, Jedda? Aren’t you worried you’ll regret it later?’

  ‘There is one thing I regret,’ she replied as the ship rose into the air. ‘I regret what happens to the Kion.’

  He stared up at her. ‘What happens, Jedda?’ he shouted, over the hiss of ether. ‘What do you know about the Kion? Jedda!’

  But she did not speak again. Her figure was a slim silhouette by the deck-rail. The ship’s hands cried out to each other in the dirigible’s rigging and the sails unfurled like scrolls. The vessel drifted away over the rim of the well, veering northwards until it disappeared from sight.

  Tymon watched the figure of Jedda till it grew small. Then he turned and walked stiffly back to the mine hall. Rainclouds were scudding high over the top of the well, making a ragged patchwork of the sunlight, and the wind blew sharp and cold. Just inside the door
of the mine lay a tiny, crumpled form. He knelt beside it remembering how the Oracle had imperiously sent Lai’s mother away before she could witness the death of her child.

  ‘You Saw it all coming, didn’t you?’ he murmured. ‘You Saw that she’d betray us. Why didn’t you tell me?’

  His question was met only with silence. The wind hit the back of his neck, and he shivered. He knew that he should tend to the fallen and leave the mine in some kind of order. Laska depended on him; the captain might yet be saved. But he felt numb with shock, unable to do anything except go over what had just happened in his mind. He stared at Lai. Things should not have ended like this, he thought. It was wrong. It was not as it should be.

  A slight sound distracted him from the dismal scene, and he glanced over his shoulder to see a speckled bird hopping across the dusty floor of the mine-hall. He watched as the creature stabbed and pecked at the cracks in the bark flags with merry disregard for the dead.

  ‘Go away,’ he said. The bird cocked its head at him. ‘I’m serious.’

  But the creature paid him no heed. He scrambled to his feet with an oath that caused the bird to launch itself out of the door again in a flurry of wings.

  And still peace escaped him in the hall. From behind, where Lai’s body lay crumpled on the floor, came a rustling, whispering noise like the scraping of dried leaves.

  ‘What now?’ he blurted, spinning about on his heel.

  The dead child stood upright. Her blue eyes were open and fixed on him, very much alive and very much the Oracle’s.

  ‘Loneliness,’ she remarked. ‘It’ll make you talk to yourself in the end. I should know.’

  Tymon felt a confused rush of joy and disbelief. He took an uncertain step forward. ‘Oracle?’ he breathed. ‘I thought that man killed you!’

  ‘He thought so, too,’ she replied. ‘Luckily, he was wrong.’

  ‘How … ? He examined her in perplexity. There was no sign of any knife-wound on her. ‘A Seeming?’ he asked, incredulous.

  ‘Yes. And a hard one to pull off, I assure you. That assassin had a mind like a trap. It’s just as well you went outside, I couldn’t have fooled both of you at the same time. I apologise for the deception. It was essential that you think I was dead.’

  ‘But you knew!’ he cried. ‘You knew Jedda would betray us! Why didn’t you stop her? Why let it all play out?’

  She scooped up the bag with the remains of the Saffid food cache, took hold of his arm and steered him out of the mine.

  ‘Why let it play out?’ she said. ‘First of all, in order to buy us time for your studies. Our enemies are many and strong. I couldn’t be fighting them off and teaching you at the same time. This way they think they’re rid of me for a while. That should give us some leeway. As to Jedda: I knew the priests had approached her in Marak. Oren knew it, too. That’s why he was so anxious that she come here, in case there was a chance …’ She sighed. ‘There’s always a chance things will turn out differently, Tymon. Sometimes people change their minds at the last minute and avoid the worst. We couldn’t judge her beforehand, no matter how much we Saw.’

  ‘That letter Oren wrote,’ Tymon mused. ‘It wasn’t about me at all, was it? It was about her and what would happen if she made the wrong choice. He wrote as if it was me, so she wouldn’t realise he knew.’

  The Oracle glanced up at the sky. The clouds were lowering over the mine-well and a few drops of rain stung their faces. ‘That sounds precisely like something Oren would do,’ she said, slinging the meagre bag over her shoulder. ‘Now, we should go. We must get back to Cherk Harbour. There are people there who need our help.’

  ‘Laska. Of course.’ Tymon hurried after her to the mouth of the chute that led to the city.

  ‘Among others,’ she answered, slipping into the grassy opening. ‘It’s the Saffid I’m most worried about. They defied the Argosian Envoy and his pirate accomplice, whom you met just now — the false priest. Those who oppose them are shown no mercy.’

  Tymon frowned to himself as he felt his way along the damp walls of the passage.

  ‘The Envoy? He’s linked with the pirates? I thought it was the Reaper giving them orders.’

  ‘The two are one and the same.’ The Oracle’s voice reverberated ahead of him. ‘The Envoy inhabits the mind of the Reaper through a form of Exchange, just as I inhabit Lai. I doubt his host welcomes him. Remember that a candidate for the Exchange lacks mental stability. The Envoy is not the sort to waste time finding a willing subject. The lunatic whose mind he overtook three years ago was a miserable creature, a wild man living on the fringes of society. But I fear his lot is now far worse.’

  Tymon considered this revelation with a sinking heart. Lace appeared to be unstoppable, working against them from afar. No wonder he dreamed ceaselessly of the Beast. The Envoy’s influence was everywhere.

  ‘Jedda foresaw the danger to the Saffid in her Reading,’ he remarked to the Oracle, after a moment. ‘But I thought the resettlers didn’t care for slaves infected by the Slow Death.’

  ‘The children show no signs of sickness,’ she answered sadly. ‘They have a few years’ hard labour in them yet. You should be prepared for ugly news when we get back, Tymon.’

  ‘Was there no way to avoid it?’ he asked, dismally. ‘No way to get them out of Cherk Harbour any earlier?’

  ‘Not unless I took them out before finding you. We stayed, we took the risk, in order to help you and to help Jedda. It’s the Saffid who’ll pay the price, unfortunately.’

  ‘What about Jedda?’ he demanded. ‘Will she get what she deserves? Oren thought the wrong choices would lead to disaster. I can’t help hoping they do.’

  ‘If I were you I wouldn’t concern yourself about anyone’s choices but your own,’ answered the Oracle, laying the subject to rest with finality.

  There was a further pause, an interval of trudging through the darkness, before Tymon spoke again. ‘I want very much to begin my studies, Ama, if you’ll have me,’ he resumed humbly. ‘I want to learn to Read the Tree. I want to help people — really help them, I mean, knowing the consequences. I’m not going to rush off to find Samiha like the Envoy obviously wants me to do. I’ll help her through the Grafting.’

  The Oracle’s voice piped through the gloom. ‘I was afraid you’d want to do that.’

  ‘What’s wrong with helping people through the Grafting?’

  ‘Do you think you know what’s best for other people?’

  She had said something similar to him during the trance, he remembered. ‘Of course not,’ he protested. ‘But I have to try to help them. What sort of friend would I be otherwise?’

  ‘How would you help?’

  ‘By finding out those aspects of the future that can be avoided, and warning people. By learning the difference between things that should and shouldn’t be.’

  She gave a grunt of approval. ‘In that case, the sooner we begin your studies the better,’ she observed. ‘It takes quite a bit of practice to work out that distinction.’

  10

  ‘This can’t be the only way up!’ said Tymon. He stood beside the Oracle on the platform where he had bumped his shins, earlier, and gazed in consternation at the fly-rope hanging from the galleries above.

  The depths of Cherk Harbour were shadowed and quiet. They had arrived to find the Saffid slum completely deserted, although whether that was due to Dawn and Nightside’s timely intervention or some worse possibility was unclear. A whiff of abandon rose from the dilapidated shacks along with the smell of garbage. The slum seemed even more wretched without its occupants.

  ‘It’s the way up, unless you have ladders like the Governor’s guards,’ answered the Oracle. ‘Tie me to your back and use the hook to secure yourself. There are knots at regular intervals along that rope there.’

  ‘This is mad,’ he grumbled. But he looped the sling section of the fly-rope about the Oracle’s legs and lifted her onto his back, over his cloak. ‘Surely there’s a better system.’


  ‘There is,’ she said dryly. ‘It’s called peace and prosperity.’

  He attached the hook and sling to the rope she had indicated, and hoisted them both onto the first knot, then the second, congratulating himself that the exercise was not as hard as it looked. Once he had mastered the art of balancing on one knot while sliding his hook up to the next, he made good progress. The Oracle was feather-light on his back.

  ‘Let’s see how much you remember of your lesson this morning,’ she breathed in his left ear.

  ‘Right now?’ he puffed with surprise.

  ‘There is only “now”. All creation exists in an instant. Define the Tree of Being and our place in it.’

  He tried to recall the basic tenets of Grafting she had taught him on the way back to the city. The concepts were so vast that their full meaning was difficult to grasp. He was obliged to repeat what she had told him without truly understanding it.

  ‘The Tree of Being is the universe from one end of time to the other,’ he recited dutifully, pulling himself up the rope. ‘We only think the physical world is real and solid, just as a dream seems real when we’re dreaming it. But wake up and the dream disappears. The world and all it contains is a strand of gossamer folded up inside the Tree. We’re all folded up in there. Our physical bodies are without thickness. We experience the illusion of time running forwards, or rather growing outwards, but in reality past and future are one thing …’

  He trailed off uncertainly at the end of this narrative. He instinctively shied away from such ideas, however true they might be. Gossamer or not, the world about him looked real enough, and felt real enough, to be taken as such. Tell the Saffid their suffering did not exist, he thought. Tell Solis that his death was only an illusion.

  ‘Are we nothing but fleeting shadows, then?’ she prompted, as if she sensed his doubts. ‘Have we no true or permanent existence?’

  ‘There is a permanent part of us,’ he sighed, regurgitating the morning’s lesson. ‘It exists outside time and space. Some people call it a spirit. With training a Grafter can use this aspect of himself to step out of the Tree. That’s how we find different branches of time and Read the future.’