Shardik

by Richard Adams

  "The flames of God?"

  "It's a kind of joke of my husband's. He calls the children 'the flames of God.' But I was speaking of the ceremony. They decorate a great wooden raft with flowers and green branches, and then it floats away down the river, burning. Sometimes there may be three or four rafts together. And the children make clay bears and stick them all full of flowers--trepsis and melikon, you know--and then at the end of the day they put them on flat pieces of wood and float them away downstream."

  "Is it some kind of commemoration?"

  "Why, yes--it commemorates Lord Shardik and Shara. This year an old and dear friend of ours is making the journey to be here--if all goes well, she'll be arriving in two or three days' time. She taught me, long ago, when I was a child--"

  "Not very long ago."

  "Thank you. I like compliments, particularly now I have two children of my own. If you've not been well, I'd certainly advise you to stay, for then you can ask her help. She's the greatest healer in all this country. Indeed, that's partly why she's coming--not only for the festival, but to see our sick children--we always have a number by the end of the winter."

  Siristrou was about to ask her more when the governor returned to the room. He had changed his rough clothes for a plain black robe, embroidered across the breast alone with the bear and corn sheaves in silver; and this, so severe by contrast with the brilliance of his wife's garment, emphasized his grave, lined features and almost mystic air of composure. Siristrou studied his face as he looked down to pour his wine. This, too, he realized suddenly, was a metaphysician by temperament, even though he might have no fluent speech, no articulate ideas. Curiously, there came into his mind those lines of the Zakalonian poet Mitran which are spoken by the hero Serat to his consort in the time after making love--"I desire nothing, I lack for nothing, I am at the center of the world, where sorrow is joy." In a moment, however, the governor looked up, the cups clattered and rang on the tray and the charm was snapped.

  Siristrou made a complimentary remark about the wine. The lady excused herself and left them, and the governor, inviting him to sit, began at once to speak of trade prospects as a betrothed might speak of his approaching marriage. If Siristrou had expected little or nothing from the hickory constable of a frontier town, he now found himself compelled to think again. The governor's questions fell like arrows. How far away was Zakalon? How many permanent camps or staging forts would be needed to service a regular trade route? How could Siristrou be sure that there were no hostile inhabitants of the wilderness? Given that the Telthearna might be used for downstream transport, what about upstream? The language problem--he could, if desired, send forty older children to Zakalon to be educated as guides and interpreters. Children learned more quickly than men; some of his would jump at such a chance. What goods could Zakalon offer? Horses--what exactly were they? He looked puzzled as Siristrou began to explain, and they both became confused over language and ended by laughing as Siristrou tried to draw a horse with his finger in spilled wine. Then he promised the governor that the very next day, on one side of the river or the other, he should see a man ride a horse more than twice as fast as he could run. If that were true, replied the governor, then Zakalon need look no further for wares to offer for some years to come. But what did Siristrou think, quite noncommittally, might be the trade value of these horses--making a fair allowance, of course, for the cost and effort of transporting them from Zakalon? They began trying to estimate the equivalent values of consignments of wine, of iron and of products of fine craftsmanship such as that of the robe which he had just admired.

  The governor called for more wine and the deranged girl served them, sensing their excitement and smiling like an old friend to see the governor busy and happy. Siristrou drank to Zeray. The governor drank to Zakalon. They congratulated one another on their propitious meeting and went on to envisage fancifully a future in which men would travel as freely as the birds of the air and goods would pass through Zeray from the ends of the earth. The governor obliged Siristrou with a verse of the song which the children had sung, explaining that the tongue was actually his own--Ortelgan--and that the lines were part of a singing game about a cat that caught a fish.

  "But as to your journey to Bekla," said the governor, coming back to reality with something of a bump, "the road between here and Kabin's not finished yet, you know. Twenty miles of it're sound enough, but the other twenty're still only a muddy track."

  "We shall manage it, don't worry. But I'd like to stay for your festival first--Shara's Day, I believe you call it? Your wife was speaking of it. She told me about the burning raft--for Lord Shardik, isn't it? Also, I think I should benefit by meeting your friend, the wise woman--I've not been well during the journey, and your wife says she's a great healer."

  "The Tuginda?"

  "I don't think I heard her--her name. Or is it a title?"

  "It's both, in her case."

  "Will she come by the half-finished road you were speaking of?"

  "No, by water. We're lucky in this town to have the river as a highway from the north. Much of the province is still half-wild, though not as wild as it was. We're making new settlements here and there, although we never risk children in the remoter parts. But there's a child village on the road to Kabin: you'll pass through it on your way to Bekla. It's not very big yet--ten old soldiers and their wives are looking after about a hundred children--but we mean to make it bigger as soon as the land's in any state to support more. It's in a safe place, you see."

  "I'm puzzled by the children," said Siristrou, "what little I've seen of them. Your town seems full of children--I saw them working at the landing stage and on your new warehouses. Two-thirds of the inhabitants seem to be children."

  "Two-thirds--that's about right."

  "They're not all the children of people here, then?"

  "Oh, no one's told you about the children?" said the governor. "No, of course, there's hardly been time. They come from many different places--Bekla, Ikat, Thettit, Dari, Ortelga--there are even a few from Terekenalt. They're all children who've lost parents or families for one reason or another. A lot of them have simply been deserted, I'm afraid. They're not compelled to come here, although for many it's better than destitution, I suppose. It's still a hard life, but at least they can feel that we need them and value them. That in itself helps them a great deal."

  "Who sends them?"

  "Well, I'm in touch with all manner cf people--people who worked for me and used to send me news and so on, in the days when I--er--lived in Bekla; and the Ban of Sarkid has helped us a great deal."

  Siristrou could not help feeling a certain distaste. Apparently this young governor, in his enthusiasm for trade, was developing his province and building up Zeray as a port through the labor of destitute children.

  "How long are they compelled to remain?" he asked.

  "They're not compelled. They're free to go if they want to, but most of them have nowhere to go."

  "Then you wouldn't say they were slaves?"

  "They're slaves when they come here--slaves of neglect, of desertion, sometimes of actual cruelty. We try to free them, but often it's anything but easy."

  Siristrou began to see a connection between this and certain things which the young woman had said to him in their earlier conversation.

  "Has it something to do with Lord Shardik?"

  "What have you heard, then, about Lord Shardik?" asked the governor with an air of surprise.'

  "Your wife spoke of him, and about the festival too. Besides, the ferrymen on the raft this morning had a chant--"Shardik gave his life for the children.' I should be interested to hear a little more, if you would care to tell me, about the cult of Shardik. I have an interest in such matters and in my own country I have been a--well, a teacher, I think you might say."

  The governor, who was gazing into his silver cup and swirling the wine in it, looked up and grinned.

  "That's more than I am, or ever shall be. I'm not p
articularly handy with words, though fortunately I don't need them to serve Lord Shardik. The teaching, as you call it, is simply that there isn't to be a deserted or unhappy child in the world. In the end, that's the world's only security: children are the future, you see. If there were no unhappy children, then the future would be secure."

  He spoke with a kind of unassuming assurance, as a mountain guide might speak to travelers of passes and peaks which, for all their lonely wildness, he knows well. Siristrou had not understood all that he said and, finding it difficult to formulate questions in the other's language, fell back on the repetition of words which he had heard him speak.

  "You said slaves of neglect and desertion? What does that mean?"

  The governor rose, paced slowly across to the window and stood looking out toward the harbor. His next words came hesitantly, and Siristrou realized with some surprise that apparently he had seldom or never had occasion to try to express himself on this subject before.

  "Children--they're born of mutual pleasure and joy--or they ought to be. And God means them to grow up--well, watertight, like a sound canoe; fit to work and play, buy and sell, laugh and cry. Slavery--real slavery's being robbed of any chance of becoming complete. The unwanted, the deprived and deserted--they're slaves all right--even if they don't know it themselves."

  Siristrou felt no wish to become too much involved. To show a polite interest in foreign beliefs and customs was one thing; to become a target for the fervor of an uncultivated man was another.

  "Well, well--perhaps there are some deserted children who don't mind too much."

  "Which one of them told you that?" asked the governor, with so droll a simulation of genuine interest that Siristrou could not help laughing. However, he was wondering, now, how best to bring this part of their conversation to an end. He had himself begun it by asking for information, and it would not be civil simply to change the subject. The better way would be first to move on to some other aspect of the matter and thence slide to less tricky ground. Diplomacy was largely a matter of not upsetting people.

  "Shardik--he was a bear, you say?"

  "Lord Shardik was a bear."

  "And he was--er--coming from God? I'm afraid I don't know the word."

  "Divine?"

  "Ah, yes. Thank you."

  "He was the Power of God, but he was an actual bear."

  "This was long ago?"

  "No--I myself was present when he died."

  "You?"

  The governor said no more and after a few moments Siristrou, now genuinely interested, hazarded, "A bear--and yet you speak of his teaching. How did he teach?"

  "He made plain to us, by his sacred death, the truth we had never understood."

  Siristrou, mildly irritated, refrained from shrugging his shoulders, but could not resist asking, though in a tone of careful sincerity and self-depreciation,

  "Wouldn't it be possible for some foolish person to try to argue--of course it would be foolish, but perhaps it might be said--that what took place was all a matter of chance and accident--that the bear was not sent by God--?"

  He broke off, somewhat dismayed. Certainly he had said more than he need. He really must be more careful.

  The governor was silent for so long that he feared he must have given offense. To have done so would be a nuisance and he would have to set to work to repair the damage. He was just about to speak again when the governor looked up, half-smiling, like one who knows his mind but must needs laugh at his own difficulty in expressing it. At length he said, "Those beasts of yours that you spoke of--the one's we're going to buy from you--you sit on their backs and they carry you swiftly--"

  "The horses. Yes?"

  "They must be intelligent--cleverer than oxen, I suppose?"

  "It's hard to say--perhaps a little more intelligent. Why?"

  "If music were played in their hearing and in ours, I suppose their ears would catch all the actual sounds that yours and mine would catch. Yet for all that, it's little they'd understand. You and I might weep; they wouldn't. The truth--those who hear it are in no doubt. Yet there are always others who know for a fact that nothing out of the ordinary took place."

  He stooped and threw a log on the fire. The afternoon light was beginning to fade. The wind had dropped and through the window Siristrou could glimpse that the river was now smooth inshore. Perhaps if tomorrow's crossing were to take place in the early morning it might be less hair-raising.

  "I've wandered very far," said the governor after a little. "I've seen the world blasphemed and ruined. But I've no time nowadays to dwell on that. The children, you see--they need our time. Once I used to pray, 'Accept my life, Lord Shardik'; but that prayer's been answered. He has accepted it."

  At this, Siristrou felt that at last he was on familiar ground. To remove the burden of guilt was in his experience the function of most, if not of all, religions.

  "You feel that Shardik takes away--er--that he forgives you?"

  "Well, I don't know about that," answered the governor. "But once you know what you have to do, forgiveness matters much less--the work's too important. God knows I've done much wrong, but it's all past now."

  He broke off at a sound of movement near the door of the darkening room. Ankray had entered and was waiting to speak. The governor called him over.

  "There's some of the children waiting to see you, sir," said the man. "One or two of them new ones that come in yesterday--Kavass brought them up here. And that young fellow down at the landing stage, that Shouter--"

  "Kominion?"

  "Well, there's some calls him that," conceded Ankray. "Now the Baron, he wouldn't have--"

  "Anyway, what does he want?"

  "Says he wants some orders for tomorrow, sir."

  "All right, I'll come and see him, and the rest of them too."

  As the governor turned toward the door, a little boy, aged perhaps six, came wandering uncertainly through it, looked around and came to a halt, staring gravely up at him. Siristrou watched in some amusement.

  "Hullo," said the governor, returning the child's gaze. "What are you after?"

  "I'm looking for the governor-man. The people outside said--"

  "Well, I'm the governor-man, and you can come with nie if you like." He swung the child up in his arms just as Melathys came back into the room. She shook her head, smiling.

  "Haven't you any dignity, my dearest Kelderek Play-with-the-Children? What will the ambassador think?"

  "He'll think I'm one of those swift animals he's going to sell us. Look!" And he ran out of the room with the child on his shoulders.

  "You'll dine with us, won't you?" said Melathys, turning to Siristrou. "It'll be about an hour, and there's no need to leave us. How can we entertain you until then?"

  "Why, madam, please don't trouble," answered Siristrou, happy to find himself once more in the company of this charming girl, whom privately he considered rather too good for her husband, however keen on trade he might be. "I have a letter to finish to the king of Zakalon. Now that we have really reached your country at last, I mean to send a messenger tomorrow, with an account of our arrival and of all that has befallen. It will be entirely convenient to me to occupy the time until dinner in finishing it. Our king will be anxious for news, you understand." He smiled. "I can sit anywhere you like and be in nobody's way."

  She looked surprised.

  "You're actually going to write the letter? You yourself?"

  "Well--yes, madam--if I may."

  "You may indeed--if we can find you anything to write on and with. And that I rather doubt. May I watch for a little while? The only people I ever saw write were the Tuginda and Elleroth, Ban of Sarkid. But where are we to find what you need?"

  "Don't put yourself out, madam. My man is here. He can go to my lodgings."

  "I'll see that he's sent in to you. It will be most comfortable for you to stay in this room, I think. It's turning cold outside and the only other fire's in the kitchen, though Zilthe will be lig
hting another later, in the far room. When there's company, you see, we can do quite as well as any old village elder. But you're going to make us all rich, aren't you?"--and again she smiled at him as though their lack of luxury were the best of jokes.

  "You have children, madam, you told me?"

  "Two--they're only babies yet. The eldest isn't three years old."

  "Will you not take me to see them, while my man is on his errand?"

  *

  --have been pleasantly surprised to find the young governor of the town most knowledgeable about our trade prospects. He assures me that the principal cities will be able to offer us several commodities: metals, certainly iron, and perhaps some gold also, if I have understood him correctly, together with their wine--which is excellent, if only it will travel--and, I rather think, some kinds of jewels, but whether precious or semiprecious, I cannot be sure. In return we should, in my opinion, offer principally horses. For these, I am in no doubt, they will pay well, since they have none and as yet know nothing of them. Indeed it will, I rather think, be necessary to consider how best to regulate such a trade, for it is bound to effect a profound change in their way of life and there will be, for the foreseeable future, an almost unlimited demand.

  "The people themselves, what little I have yet seen of them, I like rather than otherwise. They are, of course, semibarbaric, ignorant and illiterate. Yet their art, in some forms at all events, seems to me accomplished and striking. I have been told that Bekla has some fine buildings and this I can believe. Some of their artifacts--for example, the embroidered needlework which I have seen--would undoubtedly be in great demand if sold in Zakalon.

  "Your Majesty is aware of my interest in religious and metaphysical matters, and you will understand me when I go on to tell you that I am not a little intrigued to have come upon an odd cult which has undoubtedly had a great influence, not only on the life of this province but also, as far as I can ascertain, on that of the more metropolitan lands to the west. I can best describe it as a mixture of superstition and visionary humanitarianism, which I would certainly have discounted were it not for the results which it seems to have achieved. These people, if I understand the governor correctly, worship the memory of a gigantic bear, which they believe to have been divine. There is, of course, nothing unique about barbaric worship of any large and savage animal, whether bear, serpent, bull or other creature, nor yet in the concept of benefit from a divine death. In their belief, however, the death of this bear somehow availed--I have not yet learned how--to free certain enslaved children, and on this account they consider the security and happiness of all children to be of importance to the bear, and their well-being a sacred duty. One might say that they regard children as a ripening crop, of which no part ought to be wasted or lost. For parents to harm a child, for example by separation from one another, by deserting it or in any other way damaging its security and power to respond to life, is regarded as a wrong equivalent to selling it into slavery. All adherents of Shardik, as they call the bear, have the duty to care for homeless or deserted children wherever they may find them. In this town there are many such children, orphans or derelicts brought from the provinces farther west and more or less conscientiously looked after. The governor--a capable fellow on the whole, I think, though of no great standing in his country and perhaps a little strange in his ways--and his young wife are both very forward in the cult, and have in effect organized the town around the children, who actually outnumber the men and women by about two to one. They work under the supervision partly of grown men or women and partly of their own leaders, and although much of their work is, as one might expect, unskillfully, partially or clumsily performed, that matters little in a province such as this, where the great demand is for quick results and polish comes a long way behind utility and the meeting of immediate needs. No one could deny that this astonishingly benevolent cult demands generosity and self-sacrifice, in which the governor and his household certainly set an example, for they seem to live almost as plainly as the rest. Conditions for the children are rough and ready, but the governor shares the like and certainly seems to do a good deal to promote a sense of comradeship. I cannot help feeling that despite the superstitious worship of the bear, there may well be value in this idea. It is interesting to observe reason emerging from legend, just as this community is itself emerging from the forests that surround it into a state faintly approaching that of your Majesty's own country, the lack of whose civilized comforts your Majesty will, I am sure, understand that I feel most keenly."