by Andre Norton
The doll things answered—that is, all did save the rat and that which stood by it. The Queens raised their arms and held forth their scepters, the Emperor took one step forward but only that, for Shank-ji strode about until he faced his father, his head up arrogantly. Now the Chancellor moved in from one side and the Ministers from the other, all of them turned so they faced Hynkkel and the Emperor’s son.
Ravinga’s voice soared and quickened until I found it hard to match her word for word. I saw her hands knot in the folds of her robe as she leaned forward, as if she would bring about some other movement in the small people she watched so intently. But those now were frozen in place.
What did move was the rat. From lying on its side it scrambled up, baring fangs and moving at Hynkkel. Shank-ji stepped back to make room for its coming. The doll Hynkkel swung his cat-topped staff and the rat withdrew step by step. Then that muffled thing which had shared the creature’s stand shifted awkwardly and the rat came to it and lay down at its feet (if feet were hidden there). Hidden one and rat were still and as I watched, that illusion of life left all the dolls.
There came an instant dawning of weariness to Ravinga’s face. Her hands were now clasped loosely in her lap.
“So be it,” she said and there was deep unhappiness in her voice. “One can only do the best that one can. It rests now upon the land and those who dwell here. We must have strength against what comes. But the strength must declare itself and that I cannot force.”
She raised her eyes from the dolls. They trembled as if all strength had been removed from their small bodies, then they tumbled to lie face up or away as they had fallen.
“You have seen, Allitta?”
“I have seen, Caller of Shadows.” I made the proper answer.
“And in your time you shall see more.” As so often before, she ended some ritual with the same words.
Did I want to see more? Did I want to drink of all the knowledge this woman could offer me? Yes—for I had a purpose of my own. In spite of all of Ravinga’s warnings I would seek that purpose in the end and that I knew past all doubting.
That which was in the brazier had nearly burned away but Ravinga made no attempt to gather up the dolls. I knew that her energy was now at a very low ebb, yet I could not help her, for with these dolls only her hands could deal. I went to the nearest window to draw aside those muffling curtains, to let in fresh air to banish the last scent of the burning spice wood.
At that moment there came a chime from overhead. Someone in the shop? But at this hour? The curtain twisted in my hand and I saw that there was sun without—what had begun in the proper darkness which would nourish the power had finished with the coming of day.
Ravinga paid no attention to that summons but I went swiftly. Our servant, Mancol, would have opened the shop for the day and usually all simple sales could be left to his management. He got around very spryly for one of his manifest age and he treasured the dolls with a fervor, taking delight in showing off the most clever and beautiful of them.
However, when I entered the shop room I found that there was a customer, or a prospective one, who would indeed not deign to deal with any underling, though she would with me, as I would not disturb Ravinga for this one.
The First Maiden of the Household of the Lady Yevena stood there, her sandaled foot tapping an impatient tattoo which echoed the lighter sound of her long fingernails as they ticked against the counter which ran across one side of the shop. Above were the cases of dolls, new-conceived ones directly in a middle one. Mancol had come from behind the counter, was dragging a cushioned chair intended for our most profitable visitors towards the Maiden, though she had so far not taken any note of that suggested comfort.
In the doorway lounged two shield men, an escort for which there was certainly no need here except for purpose of display.
I bowed my head in courtesy as I would to any except Ravinga—for her I would have made the bended-knee salute if she had ever allowed me to. That curtailed gesture I knew would irritate our caller. She was frowning and there was a flush of red under her clear skin. She gave a little toss of her head which sent a-tinkling the nodding, stemmed jewels of her headband.
“Where is Ravinga?” she demanded harshly.
“This morning she is indisposed,” I returned. “Does the lady desire some new treasure for her collection?”
I took Mancol’s place behind the counter and pointed to the glass-fronted shelves in the prime place. “There is, as you see, a new Topaz Queen, she who ruled in the days of the Emperor Tampor and was accredited the most beautiful woman wearing a crown in that time. And here is a fanciful one of Ravinga’s own dream design—” I indicated a very lifelike (in miniature) Sand Cat, but this one wore a necklet of rubies and opal agates and had emeralds for eyes. Also, it was sitting up and between its forepaws it held a Kifongg harp. I snapped open the case to take forth this temptation and touched a small button at the cat’s back. Straightway it began to play and there was a thin yet pleasing music to be heard.
The Maiden’s attention was taken for a moment. When I set the small wonder down she put a finger to its head and I knew she could feel the outer covering of fur which made it seem all the more lifelike.
Then she snatched her hand back and once more there was anger in her face. “Behold this,” she was sneering now. From a wrapping band in her hands she shook out with no care a doll, but one which had lost its head, though the head rolled out with it.
Though it was not as perfect a resemblance to Shank-ji as the one I had just seen Ravinga put away, it did look close to that arrogant young warrior, fully clad in all his trapping, from fuzzed-out silver wig to small, perfectly fashioned sword.
“Broken. Three days only has my lady had this in her hands and when she would bring it forth to show his lordship she found it broken! An ill omen and if he sees or hears that it has happened so—” She drew a deep breath—“My lady is not one to be made to look foolish or worse!”
She glanced across her shoulder at the two guards who had accompanied her here. “Those of the Six Families have their ways of attending to such problems.”
Her suggestion might be one of pique. Only one who could recall certain events in the past would understand just what a person of the Lady Yevena’s type might be moved to do. The old families were jealous of their distinction and city-backed power. They sometimes held themselves even above the Emperor, chosen as he was by chance, in family and breeding.
“Maiden, I shall take this straightway to my mistress and let her see what is—”
“Let this maker of dolls come to me!” That was almost a snarl. Again there was the sign of that touchy need for difference which was ever a part of one of close intimacy with the Six Families.
“I am here.” Ravinga did not address this messenger with any honorifics. She was outwardly her usual self and I hoped that inwardly she had recovered from the ritual.
I moved away to let her see fully what lay there. Because I knew Ravinga so well, had been ever alert to the small changes in her features, even the little tension of her hands when she was deeply aroused about anything, I now could read that she was moved.
She touched the head and then picked it up and surveyed carefully where it had broken away of the neck. In turn she examined the body closely.
“The Lady Yevena was warned that these must be carefully handled,” she said. “These are not dolls for the pleasure of children such as those,” she waved to the right-hand case, “but things, one each of their kind, and to be kept carefully. This cannot be repaired—for a treasure once damaged loses its value to all. The Lady Yevena is collector enough not to wish any repaired piece in her display. We can offer to make another—”
“She wishes to have the saying of that! She has ordered that you attend her at the fourth hour.”
Turning her back on us, she walked out with as near a stamp as her flat sandals would allow.
Ravinga nodded to Mancol and he hurried to draw
the door shut. She was already bending closely over the doll, running her finger back and forth across the broken neck, then she gathered it up quickly and went off to her workroom.
When I would have followed to give what aid I could, comfort even, for her dolls were indeed treasures to Ravinga, she made a quick gesture for me to remain where I was.
It was true that no two portrait dolls were ever made alike. Some of them were fashioned as copies of deceased members of the House. There were even several past Emperors on display in the palace. Some were made for love gifts—had the Lady Yevena intended this to be such a one?
Mostly they were made to order, unless they were historical like the famous Queens on the shelf above, or as some fantastical object such as the Sand Cat who played its harp.
I put this back in the case and snapped the lock. But I was thinking more of Ravinga and knew some uneasiness over the whole affair. Little troubles could lead to disaster, just as it had for me when I was so small I could not have seen the top of this counter. Ravinga saved me then. But could there be anyone to step in and speak for us if the House lady wanted to cause trouble? A merchant said to sell imperfect goods got short shift in any market.
7
A raging furred body sprang over the rocks. Beside me the female cat took up position. The rush attack I waited for did not come. Nor did the cat make any effort to go seeking it. Instead she backed against her mate, though she did not relax at once. I could no longer hear the scrabble of nails after her war cry died away. Then there arose a second squall. But not from either of the cats which were with me.
Sounds of battle and that too died away. The female snarled and turned her head to wipe her tongue across her mate’s ears as if in assurance. He was growling deep in his throat, still facing outward, trying to rise to his feet although the female, flanking him, threw out a huge paw and, as she might to some disobedient kitten, rested that on his shoulders, pushing him down once again. From her now issued a series of small sounds much like the “talking” of the kottis, as if she was reassuring him.
Then she faced outward. It would seem that I was wrong in hoping our ordeal was past, for both cats were alert. I reached for my sling and the supply of the rocks I had garnered as ammunition. At least I might be able to take out one or two before they reached close enough for staff work.
However, what crossed the rocks towards us now was no wave of rats, but rather another Sand Cat. Open jaws showed that one of this male’s great fangs was broken off. His fur was clay-colored and ragged. There was a bloody tear on his flank where one of the rats must have bitten him.
The male beside me roared a challenge and again struggled to get to his feet. I realized that what we confronted now was a “rogue” who had been driven from his own holding and wished to fight both for this rock isle and the female. Against my companion he might well triumph, for he was at least steady on all four feet and the rock ruler was still weak from his wound.
Once more the cat beside me challenged. Now he was answered with a deep-throated roar of pure rage. I whirled my sling and sent the stone flying, aiming as best I could.
My missile thudded home not as I had planned, for the great rogue had flattened in preparation for a leap. Instead the stone struck on the beast’s shoulder and he snarled, turning his head to bite at his own flesh where the blow had fallen.
Then a newcomer went into action. The female stalked stiff-legged towards the rogue, a beginning hiss rising into a screamed threat. He hissed in turn. She leaped, bowling him over so his body struck against a spur of rock and he yowled in pain and fury. The surprise must have been great, for among their kind the females and the males do not fight each other. It appeared that she was intent on taking on the battle in place of her wounded mate.
The rogue squalled and appeared to be trying to withdraw from battle. Claws had raked him viciously and now he shook himself free and ran, the female hounding after him. Her mate was still growling deeply and had completely arisen as if wanting to follow—while that plaster I had put on him shifted.
“Great One. Warrior of Might.” I went down on one knee beside him, “Not yet are you healed enough to do battle. Let me tend your wound again.”
That I speedily did as he lay down and stretched out the injured leg as if he understood perfectly what must be done.
The rest of the night I stayed on guard, having dragged the rat bodies within reach to one side. The air was foul with the stench of blood and the natural stink of the creatures. However, I felt that I could not take them out of sight lest some of their kind still lingered below the rocks waiting for our watchfulness to falter.
I had expected the female to return and began to worry. Could it be that the rogue, once he had gotten over his astonishment at her attack, had turned on her with the full ferocity of which he was capable? Yet there was nothing I could do, except hope that we would see her again and soon.
It was near dawn and I again made my way down to the pool and harvested for the day’s food, restored my rough camp. The soothing aid of the dressings I had applied to my own sand-scored skin had done its purpose. I kept on exercising, so that the new skin forming there would stretch fully. I fed my companion and brought two of the corpses from the night’s battle that he might also restore himself with the flesh his kind craved. There were the skins to be taken and worked upon.
Certainly I had never expected to settle on this isle but I could not walk away until I was sure that the cat was able to care for himself. At least he had the female—but now there was a rogue ready to do battle, and that was another thing.
I slept away much of the day. Again before I awoke at the sun’s descent I dreamed. It is said that in the very ancient days, before our five countries drew together under the Emperor, there were those born with certain powers and talents. Yet these had been hunted down, and their whole family lines wiped out after the last great battle so that no one might again arise to use such gifts—or curses—in the name of some leader.
The last and greatest of these had been driven into the Plain of Desolation and that was so many generations ago that only the keepers of the records could count them. Nor were any ever welcomed to even study those ancient accounts, they being under seal.
So, though there were vague stories of such things, powers and dreams, even those tales were not the subject for any bard, nor teacher, to mention.
Yet this night I dreamed.
There was a darkened room where a single lamp gave light to what lay on a table. There was a pair of hands which came out of the shadows beyond the tight focus of that lamp, handling, with delicate fingers, what the light showed very clearly. It was a manikin or a doll, and it lay in two pieces, the head snapped off at the shoulders.
It was the head which interested those hands the most. With a knife hardly thicker than a large needle, the puffy silver wig was worked loose to display the coiled hair beneath. That also yielded to the probing of the knife point, and the top of the skull, if one might deem that so, came off.
Now the knife was set aside for a pair of fine pincers such as my sister used for her most important work of setting the smallest stone. Those were inserted into the cavity of the head, to emerge holding a tiny ball which flashed like a diamond in the light. One of the hands disappeared and returned in a moment with a small metal box into which this bead was dropped and the lid clamped down with a force which seemed to say that this was a very precious thing, perhaps one to be kept secret.
Swiftly the doll head was restored to what it had been, and the hands withdrew, leaving the broken warrior lying where he was, still headless.
So strange was that dream that it remained vivid in my mind and I was surprised when I opened my eyes to find that I lay in my rude tent. What had it meant? I had nothing to do with dolls—no, those were Ravinga’s. But never had I seen among the stock she had brought into the market any such fine product as this, smashed though it was. That was no lifeless doll face which had been turned up when the
hands were busy with the head—rather I might have been looking at the small figure of one who was alive, or had been so. I remembered that other dream which had been of Ravinga and her apprentice, and another doll.
I put my head in my hands and tried to think clearly. Certainly I was caught in that which I did not understand. The very fact that I had been able to establish a fleeting relationship with a Sand Cat and his mate was something I had never heard of and many strange things are always eagerly told and listened to in the marketplaces. Sand Cats were deadly enemies—yet I no longer saw them as so. Last night I had even known something of pity for the rogue—like me he had been driven from his proper place and sought his old life again. Would I come to seek my own return after this venture? That thought I pushed sharply away as I crawled from my shelter to welcome the cool of the night and see to my charge.
I was greeted with a throaty sound from the Sand Cat, who was clearly awake, instantly aware of me. However, though I had expected to find her there, his mate was still missing. And I felt uneasy. Though a male might not attack a female, yet when she had carried war to the rogue, it might well be that he had turned on her and she lay somewhere on the uneven surface of the isle in pain and torment just as her mate had earlier done.
“Great One,” I had gone to my companion to examine the dressing on his wound, “is there trouble in this place which has taken your lady?” I tried to open my mind, to sense if there was any uneasiness in the male, even as I had done when I served as herdsman and had striven to seek out some disaster among the beasts for whom I was responsible.
There was nothing of tension about him. When I uncovered his now closed but still tender wound, he set to licking it after the manner of his kind when they tended their own hurts. I left him to his own treatment and once more went to the pool.
A shadow moved, took on a slinking form. No rat but the rogue, one ear half gone, a visible tear along his shoulder, was slipping down to the pool on the opposite side. I saw a lift of lips, heard a rumbling growl. Then he looked to me no more but pulled himself forward to the moist edge of the algae bed and mouthed torn masses of the stuff as if his belly was completely empty.