A Dirge for Sabis

by C. J. Cherryh

  Boat, rushes, slow water, and hot mist were all that could be seen or heard of the world. The solitude and peace were unbelievable.

  Sulun sat up and rubbed kinks out of his back, wondering what he should do next. There seemed to be no reason for activity; food, water, warmth, and safety were here in abundance, and the war might as well have been on the far side of the moon. For the first time in more moons than he could remember, Sulun had no pressing duties. He felt as light-headed as a pearl diver coming up from too long in the depths.

  "What time is it?" he asked Doshi, simply for need of something to say.

  "Midafternoon." The youth shrugged. "The fog won't lift today. Nothing much to do but rest, fish, hunt ducks—and shovel up after these damned mules."

  Sulun nodded acknowledgment more than understanding, and went to sit beside Omis. After a moment the blacksmith looked up, smiled, and handed Sulun a newly made reed fishing pole. The string, Sulun noted, was some of the heavier thread that Vari had squirreled away moons ago, and the hook was one of the lot Omis had cast from brass scraps a few days before. He looked about for some bait, and Omis obligingly handed him a fat caterpillar from a small basketful. Sulun shrugged, stuck the caterpillar on the hook, and dropped it overside. Why not fish? he thought, bemused. One quarter hour's walk downstream a city is dying, but that no longer has anything to do with me.

  As if it were a gods sign of approval, the line promptly tugged with a snagged fish. Sulun smiled to himself, gave the line the proper jerk to set the hook, and began hauling in his prize.

  * * *

  Ziya, Arizun, and Yanados came back a little before sundown, carrying a good bag of ducks, grebes, and a single, good-sized goose. Vari made a fire in a large pot set on a flat stone on the deck, and a good assortment of filleted fish toasted on a grill above it. The birds and the other fish were carefully skinned, gutted, patted with salt, and set to dry in the smoky air above the cookfire.

  Dinner was slow and leisurely, as pleasant a feast as any Sulun could remember, though the conversation afterward turned to serious matters.

  "Should we smother that fire once it's dark?" Omis asked, wiping grease off his mouth. "Or can't it be seen from the east bank?"

  "No one will see a potful of coals," Vari said. "And we'll need some heat when the night chill comes."

  "We shouldn't sleep then, but sail on," Yanados recommended. "Now, should we turn a ways down one of the other forks and hide here in this lovely delta for a few days more? Or should we press on northward as soon as we can?"

  "How much food do we have stored?" Zeren countered. "There seems to be plenty here. The gods know when we'll get more, once we draw close to the Ancar holdings."

  "Hmm . . ." Vari surveyed the day's catch. "Another day like this, and we'll have enough to last us half a moon, do we eat lightly."

  "Then I'm for staying another day at least."

  "But consider," Eloti added, "that soon enough the delta will be filling with refugees from the city, also hunting food. The gods know when the Ancar will come, but I doubt they'll wait long."

  "Upriver, up the Dawnstream as I recall . . ." Doshi furrowed his brow, searching for old memories. "We'll find fewer reed beds and less mist, even in this weather. The river's wide, but we'll have to go hastily to escape the Ancar."

  "They're no sailors," Yanados sneered, spitting a bone into the water.

  "But they've long-reaching bows," Zeren reminded her. "We'll want to pass them by in darkness, quietly as may be."

  "How will we keep the mules quiet?" Doshi asked, throwing a nervous glance toward the drowsing beasts.

  "Put nosebags full of grain on their heads." Eloti smiled. "A mule would rather eat than bray, so long as he's not hurt."

  "The hard part will be passing Lutegh," Zeren considered. "We'll have to plan our passage carefully to come by there in the dark."

  "We've a long stretch yet between here and there," Eloti said. "Even after we leave the delta, there'll be reeds and mists aplenty. Time enough for planning when we reach the Mother Stone on the west bank. Lutegh will then be half a day's sail upstream."

  The others stared at her in surprise. "You know these waters, then?" Arizun piped up. "You've sailed here before?"

  "Oh, yes, many times." Eloti nibbled delicately at a fish fillet. "Still, I would recommend leaving this delightful spot before the wine gives out. The water's unwholesome to drink unless well boiled, and there's a shortage of firewood hereabouts."

  The others looked at each other, shrugged, and resumed eating. Without discussion, they understood that Lady Eloti would tell them more when she chose to, and no sooner.

  * * *

  They spent a second day on the delta, catching more fish and birds, smoking the meat over dried reed fires. The third day brought the distant sound of drums through the mist, though from what direction no one could properly tell. They took the sound for an omen, set the sails at evening, and drove upriver on the night wind from the sea.

  Once the boat was under way, Yanados became master. She held the sweep, ordered sail adjustments, suggested load shiftings, and the others hastened to obey. Zeren remarked on the phenomenon of shifting command as he, Sulun, and Omis sat huddled around the firepot warming their hands and some herbal tea.

  "Not so surprising," Sulun replied. "Omis and I often took turns being master of the shop, depending upon what work was done and who had most experience and knowledge therewith. Likewise, Yanados knows sailing better than any of us; therefore, when the ship sails, she commands."

  "And when the ship is still? Who commands then?"

  Sulun scratched at his scruffy growth of beard. He'd neglected to shave lately, saving the soap for more pressing needs. Should he continue to let it grow? "The question hasn't really come up," he said. "I suppose Vari rules on matters of food, which are not to be belittled. In knowledge of the river, the Lady appears to have the last word." He glanced to the little shelter of blankets hung from the wagon that Eloti and Vari had set up as a sleeping place for themselves and the children. "On matters of warfare, I suppose you'd be the authority, Zeren."

  "On matters of craftsmanship, we've nothing to do." Omis nudged Sulun with an elbow and a wry grin. "Still, our mannerly apprentices treat us as if we still had some wisdom to impart."

  "Wait till we're on land and can set up our tools again," Sulun said, smiling back. "Then our apprentices' obedience will be more than mere courtesy. How is the bombard, by the way?"

  "The inside needs more polishing, never mind the outside." Omis shrugged. "And we've yet to drill the fuse hole. And where could we test it?"

  "Doubtless we'll find some empty land, where the Ancar have passed."

  "Unbelievable," Zeren muttered, casting a long glance over the boat and its inhabitants. "Such excellent logic, such a sensible method of rule. Yet no army has ever run thus, nor city, nor kingdom, nor empire. What manner of world would it be, did they so?"

  "A more efficient one, at any rate," said Eloti, padding silently up to the fire. "I think the coals could do with some more dried reeds. Friend Zeren, is the tea ready?"

  "I think so." Zeren dipped a cup of the infusion for Eloti, and one for himself. He seemed to have forgotten that the other two existed.

  Omis and Sulun looked at each other, smiled, and doled out cups for themselves.

  * * *

  The boat worked steadily upriver, and dawn found her safely hidden in another bed of reeds.

  The crew slept until late afternoon, waking to find the sky dangerously cool and clear. They scanned the visible western bank nervously while they fished and smoked their catches over the dried reed fire, but no sign of humanity appeared. Still, everyone remained subdued and quiet, even the mules. They ate dinner early, intending to sail on again after dark.

  "The Ancar must be on the east bank now," Zeren noted, around a mouthful of smoked goose. "We'll have to be careful. How much grain is left for the mules?"

  "Another dozen nosebags apiece," murmu
red Eloti. "Enough to keep them quiet when need be. Still, they grow restless for lack of exercise."

  "Once past Lutegh—" Zeren stopped, then shrugged.

  No one else said anything. It was not wise, it was tempting the gods, to make any plans before encountering Lutegh. They finished dinner quickly, bedded the children below with the supplies and gear, and set sail as soon as darkness came.

  * * *

  Near dawn, Eloti sighted the Mother Stone: a great solitary pier of rock nudging out into the river from the west bank. Someone, long in the mists of the past, had carved a huge likeness of a woman's face at the top, and two enormous boulders somewhat lower made good representations of breasts.

  "There's a reed bank right beyond her," Eloti added. "We can pull in there for a day. I believe there's still a small channel wide enough to accommodate us."

  Yanados nodded, but swore as she hauled on the tiller. Crosscurrents were thick here, and treacherous, and the sea wind was no longer strong or reliable.

  It was full daylight when the boat was finally ensconced in the little channel, surrounded by reeds and cattails, masked in the rising mist.

  One of the mules brayed petulantly, and everyone jumped half out of their skins. Eloti, quick as a cat, leaped to the mule's head and pinched its nostrils, stifling the noise and neatly avoiding an indignant kick with a forehoof. Doshi helped her tie on the nosebags with their bribe of grain and dried peas, while the others listened for any sign of discovery.

  Zeren considered a moment, then tapped Arizun and Yanados on the shoulders. "Bring your bows," he whispered. "We'd best go see if anyone's about who might have heard the brute."

  A few moments later, the silent trio slipped overboard—legs bare, tunics kilted up above the knee, bows in hand, and quivers filled with arrows—and waded quietly off into the reeds. The others crouched down along the gunwales, assorted weapons in hand, wondering what on earth they'd do if their best steersman, soldier, and archer never came back.

  * * *

  Zeren led the way through the reeds until the ground firmed underfoot and the Mother Stone loomed ahead. He studied the land about him as far as the mist would allow, looked closely at the ancient monument, then signalled the others forward.

  Yanados caught his look immediately. "Up there?" she whispered, pointing toward the ancient goddess's head.

  Zeren nodded, and slung his bow on his back. Yanados did likewise, and stepped after him. Arizun nocked an arrow and crouched at the foot of the stone, below the track the others climbed, to make sure they weren't followed or disturbed.

  The climb was long, but not difficult until the end, where Zeren and Yanados were obliged to climb around to the back of the Mother's head to find foothold in her rough stone hair. Her crown, though, was surprisingly level and smooth, as if generations of pious (or impious) picnickers had worn a comfortable platform there. Zeren and Yanados turned carefully to all sides, peering for signs of life below.

  To the landward side, the mist thinned below them, showing unbroken meadow gone rough with neglect. No cattle grazed there now, only a flock of deer and another of wild goats off in the distance. The weed-grown land might have been abandoned for ages instead of mere months.

  "Kula of the Wild Things reclaims land quickly," Zeren noted, unamused. "I'll wager those fields haven't been grazed, let alone farmed, since last autumn. The country folk knew the Ancar were coming, long before Lutegh fell—long before we knew, in the city."

  "It could be they simply knew the war would come," Yanados said with a shrug, "and they chose to draw their cattle inland, away from the gracious attentions of any army coming along the river."

  "Hmm. Think you the landsmen still thrive, back out of sight of the river?"

  "Most probably, but they'll suffer soundly enough when the Ancar come down the west bank—which they'll do, sooner or later."

  "Oh, aye." Zeren turned back to the river and the lands beyond it.

  Below them the mist rose, pearling in the fresh sunlight, masking the water. From this height, it looked like a shining carpet that stretched almost to the edge of sight. Beyond it rose only the blue silhouettes of distant hills.

  Through it came smells of smoke, dung, food cooking: faint sounds of clanking metal and wood being chopped, occasional voices: sullen glowing of orange lights amid the pearly grey, countless numbers of them, just across the river.

  "Vozai," Zeren breathed, "it's a major Ancar camp! Countless thousands of them . . ."

  Yanados wriggled closer to him on the rock. "Should we try to sneak past them while the mist holds?"

  "No. Never trust to mist, not once the sun's up; it could burn off at any time."

  "We might get past them first."

  "We don't know how many there are. They could line the bank for the next several miles." Zeren shivered in the burning sunlight. "So many of them, always so unbelievably many, stripping the land like locusts as they go. Thank the gods you've never seen an Ancar horde coming toward you! No, our chances are better if we stay put."

  "Speak of sleeping in the lion's den," Yanados muttered. "Well, best go tell the others. We'll do no hunting this day."

  "Nor cooking, either," Zeren agreed. "Let's go."

  * * *

  Sulun woke suddenly to low sunlight, a clear blue sky shining between the reedtops, and a huge, undefinable sound filling the air. A quick glance showed the others awake, crouched silently under the gunwales, a few clearly praying, the rest just listening. He crawled to Ziya, who was nearest.

  "What is it?" he whispered, gesturing vaguely toward the sound.

  It seemed to come from the river, or beyond: rumbling, clanking, grinding, somewhat like the noise of a looting mob back in the city, but more vast and slow.

  "Ancar. On the march," Ziya whispered back, flicking a strange-eyed look at him. "Be quiet till they're gone."

  "Gods." Sulun shivered, reached for his blanket, and drew it up around him. "How many?"

  "Don't know. Zeren said a whole army. Hush."

  Sulun hushed, trying to think of how great an army would make a noise like that, how long it would take them to pass. The mist, he saw, had burned away in the full daylight. If he wanted, he might crawl through the reeds and take a peek, actually see the enemy on the march, see the plague of this age that had ruined Sabis and was on its way to destroy his city. Surely they wouldn't see him peering through reeds on the opposite side of the wide river; he could watch to his hearts content.

  Sulun decided he didn't want to look. Leave the ravaging hordes as a symbol, a shadow, something—pray the gods—he would never have to deal with directly. Look not upon the basilisk. He huddled down in his blanket, prepared to wait out the day.

  Even the mules kept their heads down, and munched their reeds quietly.

  The sound went on until dark, when it changed to more rattling and shouting: noises of camp being set up for the night. All day marching, and the horde had not yet passed.

  Sulun's little tribe huddled in their blankets under the wagon, all but Eloti, who went about fetching drinkable water for the mules, currying them with sacking, and throwing down fresh reeds, just as if the enemy weren't dining in the uncounted thousands just across the water. Dinner was smoked fish, waybread, and wine cut with chilled herb tea. Everyone ate slowly, putting off the inevitable—and necessary—departure.

  At length, Eloti pointed out, "We can't wait too long before leaving. We must get past Lutegh before dawn."

  Everyone shivered, but nobody argued with her logic.

  They waited less than an hour after dark for dinner to settle—and, hopefully, the unseen enemy to sleep—before setting out.

  * * *

  This time they raised no sail. Everyone took an oar, though they began with poles to slide the boat out of its safe niche in the reeds. The treacherously clear sky at least gave them good starlight for reckoning, though they clung to the shore and the banks of reeds to at least disguise their silhouette.

  On the far
bank, campfires glimmered like malevolent yellow stars—countless thousands of them. One look sufficed. The refugees shivered, looked no more, and bent to the oars.

  The mules, muzzles occupied with well-filled nosebags, stamped and grumbled quietly. The noise was slight, but it made the rowers wince.

  Omis and Zeren, matched on the two foremost oars, bent their backs with the stoic concentration of workmen at a long, hard task. Vari and Eloti, next, hauled with distinctly different styles: Vari's angular and fierce, puffing for breath to every upstroke, Eloti swaying quietly, smoothly, her gloved hands seeming to grip casually, as if this too were just another passing amusement. Arizun and Ziya, on the third pair, lifted and hauled doggedly in tight-lipped determination to do their share. Doshi and Sulun tacitly worked out a rowing cycle that gave them an acceptable weight on the oars with the best economy of motion, Yanados crouched at the sweep, holding it with her weight, hollow eyes peering at the dark water ahead.

  "Stroke . . . stroke . . . stroke . . ." she half-whispered, until everyone's rhythm matched.

  The black water growled and gurgled under the hull. The boat moved slowly upstream.

  In the muttering darkness the rhythmic labor grew hypnotic. Sulun found himself sinking into an oar-paced reverie, thoughts rolling in stately cadences like the phrases of a holy-day chant. Who else escaped from Sabis? he wondered. Where will they settle? What will they do? Mez, in the end, would benefit. The refugees who fled there were not all unskilled and penniless; the craftsmen and merchants and even the clerks would put their trades to good use. No doubt many would leave the city, work their way south and east through Esha, set up in the lesser cities and even backwater towns where they'd find less rivalry for their skills and wares. Soon enough the lands of the southern shore would find themselves gemmed with cities of wealth, knowledge, and trade. Give them a generation or two undisturbed, which the Ancar, having taken all the north and east, just might be content to do . . .

  And what of the poorer refugees who fled across the Baiz into the swamps of the delta? Surely they couldn't all stay there, hiding in the reeds, living on fish and water birds. Soon enough they'd march west, into the wild lands of marsh and forest, to find some means of living among the thick foliage and wild beasts. Perhaps they'd become hunters, trappers, woodcutters—trading occasionally, resentfully, with the new masters of their old city. Or perhaps they'd go far enough west, into the unknown lands, to find someplace fit to build another city. Give them time, give them time . . .