“Lilith.”
“What you say is folly,” Eoin’s father snapped, his temper suddenly rising. “I am ashamed that a son of mine should speak thus. Lilith is wedded, and there’s an end to’t. You must look elsewhere.”
“I have looked,” Eoin retorted hotly. “Do you think I have not? I have searched the marsh and Cathair Rua too, but Lilith is matchless. There are none to approach her. If I cannot have her, I shall have no one.”
“Then more fool you!” exclaimed Earnán, rising to his feet in ire and exasperation. “Do you think to languish alone and childless in your dotage? What manner of man are you?”
“How I choose to order my days is my business and none of yours!” shouted Eoin, leaping up. “I’ll have no man tell me how I must live!”
Frightened by the loud voices, the waterfowl took off again. Against the blossoming sky they looped around and vanished behind the trees.
“He who believes he is peerless builds himself a shaky tower,” quoted Earnán, “and to that I add, from which some day he will come crashing down.”
“Pray take your worn-out adages elsewhere,” said Eoin. “Do not insult me with them.”
Tight-lipped, Earnán strode from the staithe and leapt into his boat. In a trice he had untied the painter and was paddling away with vigorous strokes.
Eoin remained in his rocking chair until the sun had climbed high. Under the eaves of his house, a spiderweb hung spread-eagled, beaded with dew. A sun shaft caught it and tossed crushed diamonds in his eyes.
At noon he flung himself into his boat and rowed far afield.
Next day Eoin changed his house’s anchorage. The view across Willowlinn was no longer to his liking.
The journey through the deserts of Ashqalêth was an astonishing experience for Lilith and Jewel. Never had they beheld such a waterless place. Here the very bones of the world lay parched and exposed; the dusty plains seemed to gasp with thirst, the glaring sky to hammer down merciless strokes of heat.
To pass the time, Jarred and his comrades entertained everyone with anecdotes and boyhood reminiscences.
“There was never a dull instant when we were lads,” Yaadosh informed Lilith and Jewel. “Sometimes the very ground used to shake and split apart! One day a tremor opened a crack right along the main street, right in the middle of our game of football!”
“Very impressive, Yaadosh,” said Jarred, who had been trying, for the sake of his wife and daughter, to paint a picture of the desert as a safe and pleasant region. His sarcasm was lost on the big man, and his other companions failed him too.
“Ha ha!” guffawed Nasim. “Yaadosh almost toppled in! He performed a most admirable impression of a windmill while balancing on the edge!”
“There was no chance of his really falling in,” Gamliel said, “he was just showing off.”
Yaadosh joined in the laughter while Jarred privately rolled his eyes skyward, as if begging the firmament to take pity on him for having such tactless comrades. He could tell that Lilith was bemused by this alien environment, and as for Jewel, she was evidently displeased. Fervently, he hoped his beloved wife and daughter, born and raised in the water-rich marsh, would eventually come to perceive the wonders and the beauties of his homeland.
Along the way, they encountered a dust storm, easily visible from afar as it swept across the plains. Jarred and his comrades knew what kind of rock formations would provide the best shelter. In the lee of one such natural sculpture they pitched their tents, tethering the horses and ponies close beneath a shallow overhang. It seemed the animals sensed what danger approached, for they remained quiet and biddable. The travelers wrapped damp scarves around their own faces and the faces of their beasts to keep dust and fine sand out of their eyes and breathing passages. Fortunately it was only a mild storm and soon over.
“This place is too dry and hot, Áthair,” complained Jewel as they rode on their way after packing up the tents, “especially in the afternoons, when that boiling Fyrflaume wind comes blowing. It is not like the stories you were telling us. I have seen no animals, and hardly any birds. I do not know how anyone can live here. It is ugly and flat and horrible, with too much dust.”
“Ah,” said her father, whose pony was flanked by the steeds of Jewel and Lilith, “but you should see it after the Rains, a stór.” And he told his wife and daughter about the extraordinary transformation of the arid lands when the precious gift of water fell from the skies. He described the way the plains became a landscape of awe-inspiring loveliness: the shimmering sheets of flowing water that covered the entire ground; the sudden blooming of gardens so vast they stretched farther than the eye could see; the arresting explosions of scarlet desert pea, dusky desert rose, native buttercup, parakelia, pigface, and innumerable wildflowers in a riot of silken sunbursts.
“After the Rains you would see,” he said, gesturing expansively as if to embrace the whole desert, “flower meadows everywhere, pink, yellow and white, undulating in the breeze. Suddenly there are animals where no animals were before. Shield shrimp swim and swarm in the claypans. The air is full of flying insects. Huge flocks of birds arrive to gorge themselves on all this plentiful food. You would hear the music of their calls everywhere, and the whisper of their wings.”
“That would be a wonder,” said Jewel, gazing wide-eyed at her father.
“It is hard to credit that such barren-seeming lands could ever turn into a garden,” mused Lilith. “Yet it must be so.”
“Will it rain soon?” the little girl asked. “I want to see the garden now.”
“Alas,” said Jarred, laughing kindly at her artless bluntness, “no one can predict when the Rains will fall, except perhaps the weathermasters, and no such exalted personages dwell in Ashqalêth. Many years pass between the Rains. It is unlikely they will fall while we are here.”
“But not impossible, surely?” asked Lilith.
“You are forever optimistic, my love!” teased Jarred. “No, it is not impossible. There is always hope.”
Abruptly aware that these words held deeper potential, Jarred and Lilith exchanged glances. Her lips curved, and he returned the smile with a look of understanding. As so often, they communicated without the need for speech.
All the travelers carried with them the usual assortment of small bells, knives, staffs of ash and rowan wood, sprays of dried hypericum leaves tied with red ribbon, and talismans of amber. Protection against eldritch wights was as necessary in Ashqalêth as anywhere in Tir. At night, when they made their camp, the desert men warned Lilith and Jewel to ignore the strange sights and sounds of the nocturnal wights. Once, searching for a suitable campsite, they rode later than usual. The sun had already fallen, and the incredible stars of the desert swathed the enormous sky with hammocks of diamond netting. The riders passed by a claypan fringed by low clumps of mulga bush and creeping samphire from whence came the sound of hundreds of people, some crying and the rest laughing. The weird blend of misery and hilarity was unnerving. At first Lilith and Jewel believed they had stumbled upon a gathering of lunatics, but their companions cautioned them in low voices, “Those voices are not human. Beware. Take no notice and show no fear.” Their steeds shied and balked. Nervous tics tweaked at their hides and they laid their ears back, but the riders guided them with firm hands. After they had left the claypan behind, Jewel turned around and looked over her shoulder. Something walked down to the edge of the basin. At first the child took it for a dog, then she realized it was too big and strange looking. Her heart thumped painfully in her chest and she quickly averted her gaze.
The stars were bright, but there was no moon. The plains were rinsed with a wash of palest silver, merging at the outer limits into shadow. Later, after they had raised the tents and kindled a cooking fire, the travelers heard something come running from out in the desert. Nothing could be seen, but the sound of its feet pounding the ground was like the tattoo of the hooves of a deer. And when it passed close by them, they could still see nothing, but th
e drumming of the hooves swarmed in their heads. Rapidly it passed by and vanished from audibility.
“Wights are uncommonly active in this region,” muttered Yaadosh. “I will be glad when we reach home!”
Each day brought them closer to R’shael. From the first, the marsh-born travelers had marveled at the sparklingly lucidity of the desert nights, the hard brilliance of stars viewed through air that was not veiled and softened with vapor. Jewel, however, continued to complain about the dreariness of the parched plains, but Jarred patiently pointed out to his family aspects of the desert that newcomers often overlooked, such as the cunning methods employed by the flora and fauna to conserve moisture. “Do not believe that nothing lives in the desert,” he said. “Even during the dry years, the desert is as full of life as any region of Tir. Most creatures are nocturnal; they are sensible enough to avoid the day’s heat. Those that roam abroad during daylight hours are well camouflaged and good at concealing themselves. But you can find them if you know where and how to look.” He advised Lilith and Jewel how to discover certain secretive creatures and identified plants that would otherwise appear to the casual eye as nothing more than a blur of dusty gray-green foliage.
Jewel and her mother enjoyed learning about the animals of the arid lands, and Jarred was only too willing to teach them. The sand foxes, the lizards, the tiny, perfectly neat hopping-mice, the quick-moving bilbies, and clever scorpions intrigued the visitors.
“Not afraid of the scorpions, are you?” Yaadosh asked Jewel. “Their sting can kill a man, you know.”
Jarred gritted his teeth, silently wishing Yaadosh had approached the topic more discreetly.
“No, I am not afraid,” said the child. “My father has already told me about that. He said scorpions are frightened of people and prefer to run away rather than attack. All we have to do is shake out our bedding of an evening to make sure there are no scorpions inside, and shake out our clothes before we put them on. That way we won’t find one by accident and scare it into stinging us.”
“Well, aren’t you the wise little lady!” exclaimed Yaadosh in admiration.
“Anyway, why would I be frightened of any desert animals?” Jewel sternly asked him. “You grew up in the desert, Yaadosh, and you’re still alive. The animals cannot be all that dangerous.”
Nasim and Gamliel almost fell out of their saddles with laughter.
Through Jarred’s eyes, Lilith and Jewel came to see the desert in a new light and to understand that although it differed immeasurably from the wetlands, it was no less beautiful. By the time the rocky hills surrounding R’shael appeared on the horizon, Jarred’s wife and daughter were utterly smitten with the sweeping landscape, in love with its vivid colors and shy denizens.
Across the dunes and the baked red slabs of rock jogged the riders, eager to put on speed now that their destination was in view. Puffs of sand spurted from the hooves of their steeds as they passed among tussocks of spinifex and stunted bushes. Between earth and sky the first roseate spindrift of sunset was forming. A distant smudge—perhaps smoke from the glass furnaces of Jhallavad—teased itself out along the horizon.
All that could be heard above the muffled thump of hooves were the quiet percussions of desert insects and the sighing of the wind across the dunes. This altered when Jarred rode into the streets with his family and friends. Dogs barked, hens squawked as they scattered from the riders’ path, voices yelled excitedly.
The sons of R’shael looked about them in delight. It was all there; nothing had changed. Everything in the place still looked as if it had been either bleached or toasted by the scorching skies. Here was the cradle of their birth, the bread-dough village, cooked by the sun and sprinkled with baker’s flour.
Lilith and Jewel stared at the cream-colored adobe buildings, all of which seemed to lack windows. Smoke spiraled from some of the chimneys. The packed-dirt streets, the low roofs, the spindly windmills on their long legs, all appeared strange to the marsh daughters, and almost surreal. People in the streets were running toward them, waving, and more were dashing out of their houses to greet the prodigals.
After many joyous reunions, the travelers parted so that each might go to the home of his own family. The sun had gone down behind the stony hills, and the sky’s blue lacquer was darkening to richest purple, pasted all over with cutout foil stars.
Jarred’s mother was waiting in front of the door to her house. Already, she had heard the news of their arrival. Quietly she stood, her hands folded in front of her. Her dark eyes seemed large in her fine-boned countenance, and her cardamom hair was combed neatly back beneath the hood of her burnoose. She had been waiting for him, her face strained and as pale as lime dust. Shadows lurked beneath her eyes and cheekbones. As her son walked toward her, leading his pony by the reins, she gazed searchingly into his face, and her features relaxed.
As was her wont, she assumed a nonchalant mien and said only, “I am glad you are back. The meal is ready.” Then, reaching up, she touched the fine chain about his neck.
He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Yes, I still wear the talisman,” he said, smiling gently. “I keep my promise. Mother, this is my wife, Lilith, and my daughter, Jewel.” And to the daughters of the marsh, he said, “This is Sayareh, my mother.”
Overcome by amazement and delight, his mother greeted Jarred’s new family. She returned their polite bows, then quickly turned away to lead her guests into her house, averting her face so that they would not see the bright tears of joy that spilled from her eyes.
Inside the house, Aunt Shahla welcomed them, and when the guests had rinsed the dust from their hands and feet they all sat cross-legged on the mat around the coal-brazier in the main room, sharing the traditional cumin-flavored stew of barley, gourds, and beans. Jarred noted that the chamber had altered little while he had been away. It was as austerely furnished as ever, with the same low table and shelves. His old lyre hung from the two nails on one whitewashed wall. The same embroidered curtains screened the doorways to the sleeping quarters.
His mother and aunt were overjoyed to meet Lilith and Jewel. In particular, they were clearly captivated by Jewel. They could hardly take their eyes from the child, as if afraid she might turn into a spiral of airborne sand and blow away like a dust devil.
“What would you like to eat, Jewel?” Jarred’s mother asked, and “What did you think of the figs in syrup?” “Would you like to see the pottery workshop?” “Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
At first Jewel hung back, shyly, behind her mother’s skirts, unsure what to make of this person she had never seen before, who wore such outlandish clothes and lived in such a strange place. She peeped covertly at the women’s traditional ochre- and saffron-colored robes, and gazed at the brass rings that glinted, bright yellow, at their fingers and ears. But it was not long before Jewel took to her grandmother and great-aunt. Indeed no warmhearted child could have failed to respond to the love that was evident in her grandmother’s every tender look, and in the efforts she made to ensure the comfort of the whole family while courteously respecting their privacy and their wishes.
Having overcome her initial shyness, Jewel was eager for her parents to exhibit the gifts they had brought from the marsh. “Áthair, Máthair,” she said, “show them the presents!” The giving of the carefully chosen items excited the child more than anyone. She was delighted by the reactions of her grandmother and great-aunt, who made certain to exaggerate their honest astonishment and pleasure for her sake.
During the meal, and afterward, Jarred related all that had happened to him since he had left the village. The telling was punctuated by questions from his mother and aunt, who were interested in every detail. He revealed as much as he could without mentioning the sorcerer’s legacy and curse. As the hour grew late, Jewel fell asleep with her head on her mother’s knee, and Jarred picked her up in his arms and carried her to bed. Aunt Shahla, who had been nodding as she sat, retired to her couch also, leaving Jarred and Lilith free
to tell Jarred’s mother the rest of the news.
The desert woman was shocked to learn that the amulet Jarred wore, in keeping with his promise, was in fact useless. They told her about the sorcerer and the gift he had bestowed upon his heirs, and when she could not bring herself to believe their words, Jarred reached into the brazier and showed her that he could hold the glowing coals without taking harm. After her fright had subsided, Jarred’s mother stared for a long time into the crimson light of the embers, as if gathering together all her recollections of the past and fitting them together like a puzzle. At last she said, “It all falls into place now. Yes, I know that what you say must be true. In hindsight it seems obvious that my brave Jo was invulnerable, as you are, my son.” Then she directed her gaze across the fire to Jarred, and added, “All of my dreams have come true.” Lilith and Jarred could see, by the working of the sinews in her delicate face, that she was struggling to maintain composure in the face of this revelation. “All of my old dreams, that is,” added the desert woman, with a glance toward the room where Jewel was sleeping.
“Fear not,” said Lilith, “for she is protected in as great measure as her father.”
At that, the tears escaped from the eyes of Jarred’s mother and unrolled in silver trickles down her cheeks. Bowing her head, she pressed her face into her scarf. “Forgive me,” she gasped. “Forgive me,” In an instant Lilith was crouched beside her, holding her hand, while Jarred, on the other side, wrapped his arm about his mother’s shoulders and embraced her comfortingly.
“I could only ask the world for one more boon,” Jarred’s mother said at last, lifting her brimming eyes to meet Lilith’s compassionate look. “I hope you are protected too, dear child. It is clear you have brought great happiness to my son. Words cannot express my gladness that you are part of my family. Jarred has chosen well. You are a dear child, and I welcome you as my daughter.”
Lilith could only say, “Gramercie!”
“I wonder whether Jo knew about his own invulnerability. I daresay he did,” Jarred’s mother continued softly, as if musing aloud. “Perchance it is the reason he left here, or even the reason he chose to come to this remote location in the first place. I can hardly imagine what it must be to live in the world, knowing that your unique gifts can never be publicized for fear of prejudice, forever aware of the gulf that lies between you and other folk. In addition to all that, my Jo was forever tormented by the inner demons and nightmares that stemmed from his troubled childhood. It is no wonder he went away looking for answers.” She sat up straight and brushed her hair from her forehead, as if marshalling her thoughts. “But the hour is late and you are both weary after your long journey, so I will keep you from rest no longer.”
The Iron Tree: Book One of The Crowthistle Chronicles Page 35