Where The Ni-Lach

by Marcia J. Bennell

  “Dead how?” Dhal asked.

  “Come, let’s head back to the camp. I’ll tell you on the way.”

  As they left the beach and entered the woods, Dhal thought about Efan. “Haradan, what are you going to tell the boy?”

  “He’s been told the truth. There was no other way.”

  Haradan walked in front of Dhal on the narrow path. The very calmness in Haradan’s voice told Dhal that his foster father was greatly disturbed and was trying hard to cover it up. “What happened, Father?” he asked softly.

  Haradan stopped and turned. “You know, there were moments these past few weeks when I was sure I would never hear that word or your voice again. I know what’s going through Efan’s mind right now, the emptiness, the pain. Only for him there will be no return of the dead to life.”

  “You’re sure Saan Drambe is dead?”

  Haradan started walking again. “I’m sure. It took me a full day to reach the docks and another half day to find my friend Entl sar Vlame. I’ve not seen him for almost ten years but he remembered me. We used to do some trading together. Entl knew I lived in the Deep and he knows I have a son, but that’s all. When I asked him about the rumor of an escaped Ni, he willingly told me all he knew.” Haradan took a deep breath. “According to Entl, Saan Drambe died within hours of our leaving the city. Following our departure, he tried to speak with several influential friends, probably hoping to forestall his arrest, but before he could make any headway, the Guard came for him. A short time later he heard himself accused of being a traitor.

  “When Saan Drambe refused to confess, the regent ordered him to be taken to the torture cells. He tried to escape, and led his guards a chase through the warrens that Entl said would be remembered for many years. Finally they cornered him on the Trading Arc. Some witnesses say he was pushed from the edge, others claimed that he jumped. Whatever the truth, he didn’t live to betray Efan or us.”

  “What are we going to do with Efan?”

  “We’ll have to take him with us.”

  “To Letsia?”

  “The boat is too small for us to sail directly to Port Sulta. I think our best chance lies in sailing to Port Bhalvar and from there across the sea to Port Cestar, then on to Sulta.”

  “I remember hearing Saan Drambe speak of friends in Port Bhalvar, Haradan. The boy might be better off there than going with us to Port Sulta. After all, he is Sarissa.”

  “We’ll ask him. The choice will have to be his.”

  “Agreed.”

  “While I was gone, did you have a chance to see what was wrong with Efan’s legs?”

  “No, he wouldn’t let me touch him until his father was here. I think he’s afraid of me.”

  “Damn,” Haradan swore softly. “There’s nothing for him to be afraid of! Do you think you can help him?”

  “I don’t honestly know, but I’ll try as soon as he’ll let me.”

  Upon reaching camp, Haradan ordered Dhal to ready the boat. The sound of muffled sobbing followed them down to the water’s edge. By the time Gi and Dhal had managed to get the boat all the way into the water, Haradan had made two trips from camp bringing supplies. “Load them in the back under the seat,” he said. “Make a place for Efan in front. I’ll go get him.”

  “We’re leaving now?” Dhal asked, lifting the first of the food pouches.

  “Yes. By the time we clear the inlet it will be getting dark. Until we’re closer to Port Bhalvar, we’ll do most of our traveling by night to avoid Sarissa ships. It will be more dangerous than sailing during the day, but we have little choice. According to Entl, the regent has ordered a search of all small boats in Sarissa waters.”

  “Then they know about Saan Drambe’s boat.”

  “Probably. There’s nothing we can do about it but move as quickly as we can.”

  “Haradan, you said that we’ll head for Port Sulta. Tell me truthfully, how do the Letsians feel about the Ni-lach? Will I be welcomed there?”

  “I don’t know, Dhal. But surely the Letsians can’t be any worse than the Sarissa.”

  Gi and Dhal had almost finished packing everything away when Haradan returned carrying Efan. Wading into thigh-deep water, Haradan laid the boy down on the bottom of the boat on a pile of blankets Dhal had prepared. Efan was silent now, his eyes closed, his face puffy and red.

  Morning found their boat tied to a half-submerged log in a small river inlet. The great aban trees that overshadowed the river provided them with perfect cover.

  Walking the length of the log with the last of their food pouches, Dhal jumped across to the riverbank and climbed the rise to the spot Haradan had chosen for their campsite. As he moved through the knee-length ferns and wild grass, he was reminded of home in the Deep. Would he ever see it again? Would he ever call any place home again?

  Upon his return Haradan put a finger to his lips, cautioning him to silence. He then pointed to Efan who lay flat on his back, his eyes closed to the beauty around him.

  “Asleep already?” Dhal asked, moving away from the youth.

  Haradan nodded. “Probably the best thing for him. That was a long haul last night and he did a damn fine job considering the circumstances. Crippled or not, that boy is going to make a fine sailor one day.”

  Looking out over the river inlet, Dhal voiced an inner fear. “Haradan, do you think Efan blames me for his father’s death?”

  “Do you blame yourself, Dhal?”

  Dhal turned. “Yes and no. Everything just seemed to happen. I didn’t wish Saan Drambe dead. Others yes, but not him. Yet he was the one who died.”

  “He died trying to protect his son, Dhal, and all that he did for you he did with a goal in mind. He hoped you could grant him a miracle. He wanted Efan to walk again and he was willing to take chances to get what he wanted.”

  “But what about Efan? Does he understand all that?”

  “If he doesn’t now, he will—when he has time to think about it. Come on, rest. After last night we all should get some steep. If we’re going to continue sailing at night, we’ll have to do our sleeping during the day.”

  Chapter 12

  SINCE THEIR DEPARTURE FROM ANNAROTH THEY HAD SEEN ONLY three ships, and those only at a distance. Sitting beside Haradan, Dhal was conscious of Efan’s eyes on the back of his neck. Not one word had Efan spoken to him since learning of his father’s death. Dhal tried to pretend that the boy’s continued silence didn’t bother him.

  When they beached the boat on the fourth morning of their journey, Haradan was the first over the side, splashing into hip-deep water. After fastening the tow line to a convenient tree, he returned and began grabbing up their supply pouches, throwing them onto dry land. Dhal had just finished securing the sail and bent to help him. “Never mind,” Haradan said. “I’ll get these. You help Efan ashore.” Without a backward glance Haradan turned and waded ashore. After a moment or two Dhal stepped over the side and into the water. He gave Gi a lift to dry land, then returned and pulled the end of the boat around until he could reach Efan. Leaning over, he put his arm around the boy. Efan stiffened, then relaxed as he felt Dhal’s other arm slip under his legs. Efan was tall but thin; Dhal carried the boy’s weight easily as he and Gi-arobi followed Haradan’s path into the woods.

  Haradan passed them on his way back. “Just a little farther,” he said, pointing. “Go ahead, I’ll bring the rest of the packs.”

  When they reached the place Haradan had chosen, Dhal put Efan down next to the pile of pouches. Still the boy’s eyes avoided his. Afraid that Haradan’s tactic had not worked, Dhal stood and took a step away, thinking to go after Efan’s crutches.

  But Efan reached up and caught Dhal’s hand. “Please,” he said, dark eyes lifting. “I’m sorry. I’ve been acting like a child. Forgive me.”

  Squatting, Dhal squeezed the boy’s hand. “Is all well between us then?”

  Efan nodded. “It wasn’t your fault—my father’s death. It was a mistake to think so. You and Haradan have been nothing
but kind to me and I’m ashamed of the way I’ve been acting.”

  “You need not be ashamed, Efan. I understand.”

  “I’m forgiven?” The silent plea in the boy’s eyes touched Dhalvad deeply, reminding him of his first meeting with Gi, and the delicate balance between wariness and trust.

  “Forgiven,” Dhal said. “Friends?”

  There was only a moment’s hesitation, then Efan smiled. “Friends.”

  When it was Dhal’s turn to stand watch, Haradan woke him. It was midaftemoon. Ra-shun was moving to the west, Ra-gar was still overhead. Before he lay down to sleep, Haradan told Dhal that he had counted five ships passing, the gold and red sails marking them as Sarissa.

  “You think they’re still searching for Saan Drambe’s boat?” Dhal asked, carefully keeping his voice lowered so as not to wake Efan.

  “I don’t know. Regent Lasca is a very unpredictable man. It may be that he’s already forgotten all about us, or it may be that he has even broadened his search. We won’t know until we reach Port Bhalvar. We should be able to pick up some news there. Until then we’ll just have to keep watch as best we can and pray that Regent Lasca has other things to take his interest. Personally, I can’t see him worrying about one lone Ni very long, not with an entire nation to rule.”

  Leaving Haradan to get some rest, Dhal and Gi-arobi walked down to the shore where they searched the shallows for edible mollusks. As Dhal watched Gi wash the grit from several of the shellfish, he wondered if the olvaar regretted his decision to leave the Deep and follow them. Was Gi’s sense of home less strong than his own?

  Gi splashed up out of the water and deposited his offering on the pile. Reaching out, Dhal gently pulled at the fur on the back of Gi’s neck. Instantly golden eyes locked on his. “Dhal wants?” the olvaar whistled.

  “Gi, would you like to go back to the Deep?”

  “Dhal going back?”

  “No, I can’t. It’s too much Sarissa territory and they have named me enemy. Not so with you though. It’s not too late for you to return home if you want to.”

  Gi cocked his head to one side. “Dhal unhappy Gi come?”

  “No, little friend. Never that,” Dhal answered, switching to Gi’s native speech. “Dhal thought you like to go home now, before too late for turning back.”

  “Gi stay with Dhal, yes. Happy see new lands. Lar-aval knows.”

  “Lar-aval knows what?” Dhal asked.

  “Gi with Dhal. Gi promise to take care of Dhal.”

  “Oh,” Dhal said, smiling. “I didn’t realize.”

  Ra-shun slipped below the horizon and Ra-gar was falling to the west as Gi and Dhal returned to camp. In a few hours’ time darkness would begin to filter in from the east. Then it would be time to set sail once more.

  All was quiet in camp. Haradan and Efan lay sprawled asleep on their blankets, Haradan in the shade, Efan in a pool of spotted sunlight.

  Moving over to the boy, Dhal stood quietly a moment, then knelt beside him. With his eyes closed and his face relaxed in sleep, Efan looked much younger than his fifteen years. Sun-light accented the hollow of his cheeks and the soft curve of his lower lip. While letting his gaze stray from Efan’s face down the length of his still-growing body, Dhal reached out and gently laid his right hand on the boy’s forehead. Not until he actually touched Efan did he realize his own intentions.

  Dhal wanted to enter the crippled body with that part of him that was a healing force, to seek out the injury, to heal. Up until that moment he had been forestalled, first by his own weakness, then by Efan’s silent hostility. But now all that was changed. Dhal’s strength had long since returned, and he and Efan had taken the first tentative steps toward friendship.

  Should he try to heal Efan without his permission? In that moment of indecision, Dhal saw Saan Drambe as he last remembered him: dark eyes on his son as Haradan stepped into the dark tunnel. How he had loved his son and had wanted him to walk again.

  Looking down at the boy, Dhal felt a sense of rightness touch him. You’ve not given your permission, young friend, he thought, but your father has.

  Suddenly Efan’s breathing changed. As the boy’s eyelids fluttered open, Dhal laid his fingertips on Efan’s forehead, willing him back to sleep.

  There was a moment when Efan fought against that return to sleep, his lips moving soundlessly in protest. Then he relaxed and lay still.

  Once assured Efan was deep in a dream state, Dhal gently turned him over onto his stomach, carefully positioning his head to the side so Efan could breathe freely. He was aware of Gi taking a position on the other side of Efan. Gi had seen him work before, so Dhal knew he would not interrupt or try to interfere. As a recipient of Dhal’s healing gift, Gi would never deny that gift to another.

  Dhal pulled the boy’s tunic up and out of the way, and moved his hands gently over Efan’s back, following the contour of the spine. He then slipped down Efan’s pants and continued his search. As his fingers moved to Efan’s lower back, down over the buttocks to his legs, Dhal sensed the “wrongness.” There were several partially crushed bone pieces in the spine, two of them pinching the life cable. Dhal did not know the medical terms to describe Efan’s injuries, but in his mind there was a picture of the tissues, muscles, nerves, and bones that were there—he could “see” what was and knew what should be. It was only a matter of rebuilding.

  Closing his eyes to better picture the healthy body he would gift Efan, Dhal concentrated on becoming one with the boy, giving him of his energy in the only way he knew how.

  Slowly, carefully, Dhal tried to undo the damage, but the injuries were old, the body cells slow in responding. Closing his mind to the fear that Efan was beyond his help, Dhal tried even harder. Time lost all meaning. He became deaf and blind to the living world around him. Bathed in an aura of green, Dhal moved into a gray and boundless world where he had no voice, no hands, no body. All was energy, flowing around him as freely as the air he breathed. Come fight with me, Efan. Together we can make you whole.

  Dhal woke to semidarkness and the rolling motion of a boat upon water. The stars above were fading quickly in the haze of green light that edged into the sky. Morning?

  The last he remembered was Efan. Lifting his head, he looked back along the length of the boat. First he saw the shadowed and bulky form of Haradan, and beyond him, Efan sitting at the tiller. Both were intent upon their jobs, and judging from their low murmured conversation, Dhal guessed they were headed inland again.

  His eyes were heavy and the effort to keep them open was too much. Letting his head down, Dhal relaxed back on the mound of blankets and pouches beneath him. Each thought or movement was countered by an overpowering wave of drowsiness. Sleep claimed him once more.

  The motion of the boat had quieted when Dhal stirred to full wakefulness. The sky above was mint green; the stars and the darkness were gone. Pushing himself to his elbows, he was surprised to find himself alone on the boat. Then he heard the splash of water. “Haradan?”

  The splashing sound grew louder. “Dhal, you awake?” A moment later Haradan’s head and shoulders appeared. When he saw Dhal’s eyes open, he smiled. “About time you woke. You had me—us—worried.” Reaching down, he took Dhal’s arm and pulled him to a sitting position. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I think so. The last I remember is sitting down by Efan. Haradan, how is Efan?”

  “He’s fine. Whatever you did to him, it worked. His legs are weak and it’ll be some time before his muscles return to normal, but he’s walking. When I found you lying beside him yesterday, I knew what you’d tried to do. I was angry at first. You should have wakened me. Someone should have been on watch.”

  “I’m sorry. You’re right. I thought about waking you but everything just happened. I couldn’t seem to stop myself.”

  Haradan shrugged. “Well, no harm done anyway.”

  “Haradan, is Efan happy?”

  “Happy isn’t word enough, Dhal. You should have seen his face
when he woke and found he could move his legs. He was ecstatic. When I helped him up and steadied him while he walked, he began to cry. I don’t think he’ll ever look upon you as enemy again—you or any other Ni.”

  Chapter 13

  TWO DAYS SUPPED INTO FOUR, THEN SIX. BEFORE THEY SET SAIL once more. Dhal was pleased to see Efan happy again— the boy’s smiles and laughter were more than adequate reward for the quiet days Dhal spent trying to regain his strength. Four days later, they docked at Port Bhalvar in the early afternoon. They hoped to buy supplies here and leave for Port Cestar by nightfall. “You stay with the boat, Dhal,” Haradan said. “Keep your head covered. One look at that head of hair and anyone with eyes will know you for Ni.”

  “How long will you be gone?”

  Haradan stepped up onto the dock. “We shouldn’t be gone more than several hours. Efan wants to try to find a friend of his father’s, an old merchant who’s done business with his father.”

  Gi and Dhal watched Haradan and Efan head down a side street. Their pace was slow, as Efan was still getting used to his legs; day by day there was a marked improvement. Haradan had easily convinced the boy to stay with them for a while.

  With his father gone and his position among his own kind in doubt, Efan had turned to the only people who seemed to care what became of him: one old dockworker turned wilder, one very small olvaar, and one member of the dreaded Ni-lach.

  Dhal glanced around the wharf. A good number of boats had already returned with their morning catches and buyers were beginning to arrive.

  Port Bhalvar lay nestled between two hills at the base of an inlet. Cutting the city in half was the river Argan. The seven bridges that spanned the deep, narrow ravine between one portion of the city and the other were marvelous to see, their metal and wood structures painted bright red and yellow.

  From the old wharf Gi and Dhal could see the clusters of slate-roofed buildings as they rose, tier upon tier, up the hillsides. Here and there, among the rows of buildings, they could see open gardens and parks with bushes and trees blooming in great abundance.