At the last Caldar recognised that he was back where he had been before, and he felt a strange contentment. At least he knew what he wanted to know, he thought wryly, and there was no question he could ask Idressin that would help him.
"Why are you not still teaching us?" He was surprised to hear his own voice, calmly speaking words which had not been in his mind at all.
"Oh, but I am, I am." The tutor laughed softly. "At the start it’s sufficient that you don’t run away from your teacher. I know you would have liked to at times, but you didn’t. Later there comes a point when, to continue, the pupil must be sure for himself that he wants to be taught. That is now your decision." He looked quizzically at Caldar. Then turning to Berin he added, "Yours too."
Caldar did not hesitate. "I’m sure."
"And so am I," Berin added, more slowly; he had come to the campfire to relax with his friends and the serious turn things had taken caught him by surprise. Then as he reflected that something vital had indeed seemed to be missing ever since their sudden departure from Norleng, he realised what was being offered. It was like waking up from a deep sleep, and he smiled as he said again more firmly, "So am I.”
"Good." Idressin said briskly. "Now tell me, Caldar, what have you learnt from Rasscu about archery?" Again the words caught Caldar off guard, but he explained about the long practices to acquire the feel of the bow and then about his latest struggle to avoid distracting thoughts and let his body work unhindered.
"Good, good." the tutor repeated. Then cocking a bright eye at the Tesserit, he said, "And what do you think of your pupil, Rasscu? What is he learning?"
The slightly odd questions made the driver hesitate a moment, then he replied evenly, "He's actually been learning very fast. Among the Tesseri we reckon it often takes years to train young men to shoot properly. They achieve it in the end by sheer length of practice, but Caldar's coming to understand the secret of it very quickly. Then when he can shoot, he'll be able to defend himself." He stopped. He had been about to voice his criticism, to say that it was past time for the boys to be learning such things; but with a mental shrug he decided it was not really his business.
"Ah yes, defence," Idressin said, as if musing on a problem. "You are, of course, correct in what you’re telling Caldar. The body does indeed function almost perfectly when unhindered by the mind. Perfect function, perfect shot, perfect defence. But can it be that the mind only knows how to interfere? What if the mind could help? What could the body achieve with the mind's help? But the shot’s already perfect, isn’t it? And the defence also? So what can be added to something perfect?"
He lapsed into silence. No one answered the questions. Rasscu's expression was baffled, but his eyes were bright with curiosity. Without a word he handed Idressin his bow and quiver of arrows.
The tutor smiled at him. "Your instincts guide you well. Now take your stake and walk into the desert behind me for a hundred paces and fix it in the sand."
Without a word the Tesserit walked off into the darkness. Idressin sat quite still, looking into the fire, and neither of the boys plucked up the courage to ask him what he intended. A chill little breeze had arisen and a strange feeling, almost of dread, crept over the young pair as they waited. As one, they started nervously when Rasscu reappeared from the gloom and sat down across the fire from the tutor. No one moved. The tension rose as the silence lengthened. Just as the boys thought they could stand it no longer, Idressin stirred.
Afterwards Caldar was never sure what he had seen. He saw Idressin's hands take up the bow and the arrow; he saw him turn, raise the bow, draw and loose. All this in the blink of an eye, although every action was as clear and precise as a slow dance. And yet Idressin never moved. Berin and Rasscu also had the same impossible double image.
Caldar was still grappling with his own confusion, when he thought he heard a sound like a gasp or a stifled cry of pain from the darkness beyond Idressin. In an instant he was on his feet and running blindly into the night. By evil luck the arrow must have struck someone wandering out in the desert. Having just come from the fireside, he could see nothing and after his first rush he stopped, straining eyes and ears for some sign. Nothing. And then over the slight whisper of the wind he thought he could hear a panting breath coming from his left. He walked slowly towards it over the flat sand, and gradually something white took form in the darkness ahead of him.
The realization of what had happened hit him with sickening force. It was Tariska. She must have been watching them secretly from the desert, perhaps going curiously to look at the stake Rasscu had planted, and now the great arrow held her impaled to the wooden target. He lurched forward, his breath coming in great sobbing gasps, and stood looking stupidly down at the fluttering piece of white cloth pinned to the stake by the arrow. His knees gave way and he sat down, blinking away his tears, until his labouring heart subsided. Then feeling strangely detached, he picked up the stake with the arrow and the cloth still in place and walked slowly back to the fire.
The others were waiting for him. Rasscu's eyes went very wide when he saw the arrow embedded deep in the narrow stake.
"I have witnessed the impossible." he said thickly.
Idressin laughed. "Well, that's at least halfway better than this pair, who always say that everything they don't understand actually is impossible. Let's just say you witnessed something you haven't learned about yet."
Rasscu's eyes gleamed in response. "And I could learn this from you?"
The tutor studied him. "In time you will understand this, yes. Maybe not from me, but we’ll see." He turned to Caldar. "Now, how is your defence?"
"I have none," Caldar answered quietly, ignoring the puzzled looks of his friends.
Idressin nodded approvingly. "The strongest defence which ignores its own vulnerability isn't worth spit. What's the use of being the best fighter in the world, when the forces within you can break you in pieces in a moment? Go on with the archery, Caldar. There's much to learn from it and Rasscu's a good teacher. But never forget that for you the arrow must fly inward as well as out. You are the hunter and the quarry."
*
The next day brought them to the foot of the Pinnacles, and the caravan swung abruptly to the north. As they moved away from the plateau, the days grew harder and longer. The distances from well to well were considerable with dry camps between and the going was becoming steadily softer. After five days they reached the last Pinnacle and the last well.
The youths walked past the final outcropping of rock and stared in disbelief; a few paces ahead the wagon tracks disappeared completely. All the thousands of travellers who passed this way each year had left not a trace on the surface of the desert. It was like looking at the open sea from the end of a harbour wall. In contrast to the gravel flats they had been crossing, low dunes flowed across the whole landscape and a searching little wind kept the sand in constant motion, shifting and trickling and piling up.
They went back to the drivers' fire and found the desert crossing the main topic of conversation.
"….s’alright for the camels, but the oxes and mules and 'orses are going to find it real 'ard."
"Yer always were a scared little twillop, Migwa. Why don't yer shut up, an' let them as knows tell 'ow it really is."
"Meanin' you?"
"Well, I've bin 'ere before, which is more'n you 'ave. But Pugrashi there's made this crossin' eleven times, so why don't yer let 'im speak. No sweat, is it, Pug?"
After a moment's silence an old driver seated across the fire removed his pipe and said in a husky voice, "Can be. Can be. Yer can never tell with the desert. Most times it's just been a bit of 'ard work and a thirsty day at the end of it."
"There. I told yer. Nothin' to it." the previous voice interrupted.
Pugrashi paused and then resumed. "But sometimes the goin's softer than others and then it's a real bastard for the 'eavy laden ones. 'Ad to double the teams up one year, go back over for some of the wagons we'd left, and abandon
the rest." He took a couple of pulls at his pipe. "Then there's the Feereehan too."
"What's that?" Migwa asked fearfully.
"Big 'airy spider the size of a camel," chipped in a new voice. "Eats 'orses, mules and loves 'umans."
Pugrashi waited till the general laughter had died down, then said quietly, "Aye, yer'd wish that's all it were, an' it ever catches yer in the open desert." He paused again for effect, knowing that his audience were hanging on every word now. "It'll blind yer, choke yer and flay yer alive, an' yer give it the chance. Feereehan. It's a sandstorm, like yer've never seen before. Only 'it us once in all me eleven crossins. Next morning 'alf the caravan 'ad gone, wagons, people, the lot. Blown away, buried, wandered off. We never found 'em." He stopped, then gave a wheezy chuckle. "Big 'airy spider! That's a good 'un, that is."
Not sure how much to believe of the drivers' talk, the boys faced the coming stretch with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. They were almost disappointed when they spent the next three days in the slogging, back-breaking, boring work of getting wagons through the sand.
They travelled north, mostly along the gaps between the dunes. Some of them gave good firm running. Some were composed of awful soft sand, and then the scouts would come back and tell them they must cross the line of dunes to reach a harder surface again. The dunes were low at the start, but grew higher the further they penetrated the desert, until by the third day they were four times the height of the tallest wagons. Crossing them meant stopping, hitching three teams together, putting special flat runners under the wagons, and hauling them one by one over to the next gap.
It was hot, hard, brutal work; but they kept going without mishap and by the third evening they emerged from the dunes onto level sands that stretched away north without apparent obstacle. They were running low on water now and many eyes gazed eagerly northwards, trying to discern the welcoming green line of the forest. But there was nothing to be seen; just the wind-riffled sand at their feet and a lovely blue-green sky where the sun was fading to the west.
The caravan made an early start next morning, spread out in several parallel columns, and the word was passed to make all haste, bad weather was expected. It was hard to believe in the beautiful clear dawn, but by mid-morning a haze was spreading over the sky and a hot wind blew in fits and starts. An opaque yellow glow gradually spread from horizon to horizon, then as the haze thickened, the border between earth and sky disappeared. The drivers needed no urging, and animals and men sweated in the stifling heat to propel the wagons ever nearer to the desert rim. In preparation for what was to come, each team was joined by a lead rope to the wagon in front, so the caravan had become a series of long wriggling snakes, all straining forward in a desperate attempt to escape.
A breath of hot air passed over them as if someone had just opened the door of an oven. Then another. Then with a roar like some enormous animal, the storm came at them over the desert from the west and engulfed them. Fortunately for the travellers, the Caravan Master knew his business. The front wagons were a scant half mile from shelter when the storm broke, and with the help of his scouts he kept the columns moving blindly ahead. That short distance seemed an eternity of noise, battering wind and blinding whirling sand. Some lighter wagons were blown over: they were dragged if possible: if not, they were cut loose and left behind. No one stopped.
The pace was painfully slow, but they inched forward, until they began to notice the wind slackening and the tearing needles of the driven sand losing their sting. They had entered the mouth of the pass which led through the low hills at the desert's edge. The wagons drew in chaotically, just as they could, under the lee of the rocks on the west side. Everyone fastened themselves tight inside, taking aboard any of the foot-travellers who were nearby, and settled down to let the storm blow itself out.
Among the hunched figures crowded into S’Bissi's travelling wagon, Tariska felt sick. Or was it fear? She wasn't sure. Since there was nothing to be particularly afraid of, she must be ill, she concluded logically, and she sat there doing her best to control it. But it simply got worse, until she realised that this was no stomach upset. Something was wrong. Not with her. Not even in the wagon, something was wrong outside, out there in the storm.
Now that she knew where to look, she opened herself to the impressions which had touched her from outside and was immediately flooded with despair, loneliness and fear. She cut it off instantly, unable to bear the first impact, and sat in misery wondering what to do. Someone was lost out in the storm, more than one of them, in terrible trouble, but how could anyone find them? Even if anyone believed her enough to set out in search, they would be just as much at risk themselves. Idressin was the only person who might be able to do anything. She must tell Idressin.
Groping her way forward in near-darkness, she found S’Bissi, who said that Idressin had already passed by on his way to set some broken limbs in another wagon. "Further along, that way," he said with a vague wave. "No, no, my dear. You really can't go outside."
He made an ineffectual grab at Tariska's arm, but she had already wriggled under the canopy and dropped lightly to the ground, trying not to breathe too much of the sand which filled the air even in the shelter of the rocks. She had just started to make her way unsteadily from wagon to wagon, when she bumped into a figure coming in the opposite direction and saw to her surprise that it was Caldar. He crouched down below the wagon they were passing and motioned her to join him. They could just make themselves heard by shouting over the roar of the storm and the drumming of the canvas above them.
"I was coming to find you."
"Why?" Tariska looked at him curiously.
"I felt you were in trouble."
"No. I'm not."
"Why are you outside in the storm?"
"I'm looking for Idressin."
"Why?"
Tariska was about to say it was none of his business, when she relented. Here he was, come out in the storm to see if she needed help and she was all set to bite his head off. Oh well, telling him the truth wouldn't take much effort, except that he might laugh at her feeling that someone was in trouble, saying it was just imagination, and she couldn't bear that. Reminding herself that maybe someone out there really did need help, she took a deep breath and told her story.
Caldar didn't laugh. He looked at her searchingly and said, "Can you tell where they are?"
"You believe me?" Tariska was incredulous. She only half believed herself.
"Of course. Do you know where they are?"
"No, I don't. But let me try." She shut her eyes and cautiously set out to make contact again with the anguish she had felt before. There it was, perhaps even more despairing than the last time. She experimented, imagining that it came from the left or the right or straight ahead. There was no doubt, it was real and it came from the right, straight out in the open desert.
"They’re somewhere out there, in the direction we came from. I don't know how far."
"Alright. Let's move along to the last wagon in the line and try again."
Both fastened their shimsaks tight across their faces, then hand in hand fought their way down to the end wagon. It was just in the shelter of the first rock outcrop and they watched in awe as beyond the tailgate great whirling columns of sand howled past in the half-light.
"Nobody could live out there," Caldar shouted.
"Well, there's someone there and they're still alive,” the girl shouted back. “I can still feel it, though it’s fading. That way, not far." Tariska pointed into the whirlwind.
Caldar’s instinct was to jump to his feet and run out to the rescue, but for almost the first time in his life, he reined back his impulses. He looked out at the storm in despair and strained with gritty eyes to see anything in the whirling maelstrom beyond the rocks. The wind was stronger now than when they had arrived, and he could tell that he could never keep his feet. He was too light. The oxen! The wagon that sheltered them had a team of the specially-bred desert oxen, still in h
arness and standing unhappily, heads down by the rocks.
"We've got to unhitch the oxen,” he yelled in the girl’s ear. “Then I’ll go search.”
‘Not without me, you won't', Tariska said to herself grimly. But she simply nodded and set to to help.
It was difficult to see anything or even to keep eyes open in the swirling sand, so it was a long fumbling job to unhitch the lead pair and to turn the unwilling animals, still yoked together, towards the storm-torn desert. Caldar tied himself by the wrist to one of the huge beasts, and when he saw that his companion was determined to come too, he motioned to her to do the same. Then when Tariska pointed firmly in the direction they had to go, he realized that without her he would have no chance of finding their quarry.
Even though they were prepared for it, the force of the storm staggered them. The oxen stopped dead, while the young pair cowered, blinded and breathless behind them wondering what to do. Without thinking, Caldar reached inward into himself and then tried to make contact with the oxen, just as he had learned with the Tinker, and almost at once he was in communication with them. They were slow, without the clear thoughts he had felt from the wolves, but they were simple and responded to simple stimuli. It was impossible for him to persuade them; he knew nothing about oxen. But he found that he could command them to go on, with the promise of a speedy return to food and shelter, and they obeyed.
The Tears of Sisme Page 37