The Tears of Sisme

by Peter Hutchinson

  “I never thought….”

  “Don’t alarm me by starting to think,” the tutor cut him off good-humouredly. “Don’t worry, I’ve started a few rumours myself, stories about desert oxen who’ve found people who were lost before - a nice touch that don’t you think - about how you exaggerated the distance you went, and so on. You’ll see, in a day or two you’ll still be heroes, but not supernatural ones. Now tell me what really happened.”

  Caldar told his story in more detail this time, describing even the intense pain he had felt at Tariska’s touch. Idressin looked at him closely at that point, but said nothing, so he continued.

  "You say that Tariska knew there was someone in trouble and roughly where they were?” the tutor queried when Caldar had finished.

  "That's how it seemed."

  "How exactly did she get this message or feeling or whatever?"

  "I don't know," Caldar replied. "You'd find out more by asking her yourself."

  "Mm, yes," the tutor mused. "I haven't had time yet. Quite a few people got injured on the day of the storm and the caravan doctor's rarely sober. Anyway, I think you handled that pretty well, all in all. Less impulse and more sense. But you do wear yourself out whenever you attempt something. It would be much better, as the Tinker told you, if you didn’t do things in this spectacular way; but if you do, then it's time you learned to save a little of the energy you throw away so liberally in all directions."

  "You mean I could do things like that more easily?"

  "Certainly you could. You know what Rass was always telling you about using the bow? Let go, don't interfere, and let your body do it? Once you got the hang of it, it went so much more easily. And do you remember with the baskets, I used to give you difficult things to keep your heads busy? And when you managed it correctly, you were almost tireless, weren't you? I had to stop you sometimes, long after dark.”

  “They’re not the same thing at all,” Caldar protested.

  “No, they’re not, but the secret’s the same. You already know how to do these things: now you must go deeper, you must understand.”

  “How? It’s just another of your impossible riddles. ”

  “A riddle’s a good teacher, an excellent place to start from.”

  "When you say 'start'," Caldar sighed, "I always feel a bit daunted. It implies there's a lot more to follow, and when you imply something, you usually mean it too."

  "What else is life for? This extraordinary business of being human is all about having the opportunity for discovery. The river we’re exploring, Caldar, has no end. Most people step ashore as soon as they can or stay in the shallows: for you it's too late, you're already in the main current. All you can do is go on and see what's waiting for you.”

  Caldar was silent for a long time. He was often touched by a kind of dread at Idressin's words, yet somehow satisfied at the same time, knowing that he was hearing the truth.

  At this point the valley they had been following opened out into a much broader one cradling a wide river. Beyond the river the forest started in earnest, a solid carpet of trees rolling back for many miles before disappearing unbroken over the distant valley rim. They camped where another track came in along the river bank from the east, and here for the first time since Tarkus they met other travellers.

  One large party heading for Dendria were in a sorry state. They had left Tarkus three weeks before the Grand Caravan, taking the northern route, and had been severely delayed by the rains. They had abandoned several wagons inextricably mired among the forests and had waited for days to cross little streams that had suddenly become raging torrents. Their food was beginning to run low and their relief at meeting the caravan was obvious.

  Two smaller groups had come in the other direction from Dendria and their experiences too were unhappy, although for quite different reasons.

  One family of six were Fisher people and it appeared that Idressin was particularly interested in their news. Caldar accompanied him as he went over to their camp, and he listened as the tutor skillfully drew out their story.

  They had lived in For Dendak for twenty years, running a small restaurant. There was a sizeable Fisher community in the city and they had been happy there. Two years ago new taxes on foreigners had made things much harder for them, and recently the authorities seemed to be deliberately creating an attitude of suspicion and hatred towards all aliens. The last straw came when a group of youths had entered the restaurant and viciously smashed everything in sight, watched from across the road by a patrol of local Dendrian police. Afterwards the ringleader of the young thugs had openly swaggered across the road to talk to the patrol commander, as if reporting.

  The family were leaving now to return to their home in Kohal, the easternmost of the Fisher Kingdoms, an immense journey which meant going almost to Pillimon Graxi before turning south to skirt the Great Desert. Looking at these small people with their dainty hands and beautiful green eyes, Caldar marvelled at their resolution. Four tiny round-eyed children stared at him over the back of their crude cart and returned his smile with shy pleasure.

  The other group Caldar heard about next day from Rasscu. They were a band of twenty or so tradesmen, also from For Dendak, but Dendrians themselves. They too were going east, to Tarkus or Suntoren or Graxi, anywhere where there was good work to be had. Carpenters, stonemasons, blacksmiths, they were first class tradesmen all, and they were not staying in a city which had no use for them.

  Apparently people with real skills were being put out of work by the new factory-made products: 'a table made by ten different people', as one carpenter contemptuously put it. There were few apprentices now: it took too long to learn a real trade. Children were encouraged - in some places, even ordered by the authorities - to go directly into the huge workshops where they worked for minimal wages. ‘And we know who’s making the profit from that’, the carpenter added darkly, going on to blame the For Dendak City Council, the Provincial Governor, and finally the Emperor himself. Views, he said, which he would not have dared to voice in For Dendak these days.

  Caldar found both stories depressing, in sharp contrast to the time he spent with Tariska and later with Tintrip's family. First the young pair met and walked by the river, talking about their own experiences during the storm. Neither fully understood the other, but it mattered little, as the warmth of feeling between them made up for a great deal of incomprehension. Then they moved naturally on to every other topic under the sun. They had never talked before as friends and they had their whole lives to discuss.

  It wasn’t long before Caldar was telling of things he had never mentioned to anyone but Berin. The petty cruelties of his ‘brother’ Pilatt, and the spiteful pleasure with which Riddigan had informed the five year old Caldar of his true status as an orphan. The endless kindness of Caran and Lazalis, who had provided a background of security and love against which he had fought out his private war with his half-brothers. His growing restlessness which had made it almost impossible to stay in school, however much trouble he got into for his truancy. His secret haunts in the wildest corners of the Rimber valley.

  “It must have been wonderful to be so free,” Tariska said wistfully.

  Caldar looked at her in surprise. He half expected censure or sympathy, but not envy. “It wasn’t wonderful at first, when I was little. I used to get really lonely and scared and cry a lot. Then I gradually came to like it, being alone with no one else for miles and miles.” He glanced at his companion. “You never did that?”

  “I never got the chance. The farm, Long School, Law School, all my life someone’s known where I am pretty well all day every day. Not that I had anything to run away from, but I’ve always had the feeling of being confined, that there were definite limits on how far they would let me go. Too late for that now. We’re all a very long way from home.”

  “Your friends will be missing you.” It was as near as Caldar could come to what he wanted to say.

  “Yes. I miss them too sometimes.�
��

  “Anyone special?” The words were out and he felt himself beginning to blush.

  The girl halted, forcing him to turn back and face her fierce glare.

  “That’s none of your damn business, Caldar Im-Taccen.” Then she gave an impish smile. “He can’t be so special, can he? I’ve left him behind.” And she would say no more on the subject.

  Later they went to the area where most of the entertainers were camping and sought out Tintrip. They themselves were spotted first by a lively young lad who bounced up to them and asked if they had come to see his father.

  "Probably," Caldar laughed. "What's your father's name?"

  "Dad," the lad grinned cheekily. "Or the Flying Fish or Tintrip. Take your pick."

  "Sounds like the right person," Caldar said seriously. "Now where can we find the Flying Fish?"

  "Follow me," said their diminutive guide and skittered off round half a dozen tents and donkeys. Tintrip rose from his campfire with a smile of welcome and from then on it had seemed like one continual party.

  The unending succession of introductions began with Hiwal, Tintrip's wife, as slender and graceful as her husband. Then Milaiya who peeped shyly from behind Hiwal's skirts and would not come out all evening. After that, when they were settled and asked to begin their tale, the audience grew and grew, with fresh greetings for every new arrival. And each time the story-telling would have to start again. In the end Tintrip stood up and announced formally that he at least intended to hear the whole tale at least once. Anyone who interrupted again would have to provide drink for the whole audience at the end. After a roar of approval, which brought even more listeners, the story was told from start to finish.

  Mindful of Idressin’s comments, Tariska and Caldar were deliberately vague when it came to the more unusual parts of the rescue and put much of their success down to the extraordinary instincts of the desert oxen. It was all heroic enough without enquiring too closely into the details. But Tariska noticed Tintrip's bright glance on them both at those moments of evasion and she had the uncomfortable feeling that they had not deceived or satisfied the little acrobat.

  At the end Hiwal came forward with two garlands of flowers she had freshly picked and embraced them both with tears in her eyes. Then Tintrip proclaimed them honorary members of the Entertainers Guild and said that his tent was for ever open to them. Many of the others had good-heartedly echoed his words, some joker adding that their offers would never be taken up, knowing the reputation of S’Bissi's cook. Thereupon the serious drinking had started, and the young pair had been able to say their goodbyes to the family and slip quietly away.

  *

  The caravan moved on into Dendria, following the river valley. When the river turned north, they went on to the west over rolling forested hills, encountering groups of travellers headed for Tarkus, but seeing no one else save a few trappers. Then beyond the hills the track fell into another river valley and the first farms began to appear.

  "Rich land," Rasscu commented, looking with the eye of the desert-born at the well-watered pastures. It seemed to be mostly cattle country, peaceful and prosperous. The beasts were fat and contented and the farm-folk very friendly. The broad highway was carefully fenced off, and as long as the travellers kept their animals from straying onto the inviting meadows on either hand, they were welcome visitors. Farmers and their families came to the edge of the road to barter for goods in exchange for fresh milk and eggs and beef, and in the evening the whole surrounding population seemed to descend on the campsite. News and entertainment were valued as highly as trade goods in these remote parts. It was all very pleasant as long as it lasted.

  At the confluence of two large rivers stood the first proper town they had come across since Tarkus: a couple of hundred houses grouped at each end of a stone bridge. It also provided their first sight of Dendrian officialdom. A barrier had been placed across the highway at one end of the bridge, and as the Caravan Master and the first wagons reached it, the whole caravan came to a stuttering halt.

  Full of curiosity Caldar hopped off the driving bench and joined the growing throng beside the barrier. The Caravan Master was arguing loudly with a small fat man in rather ludicrous dress: black leather trousers gave way at the knee to purple hose, while his fancy purple and yellow striped doublet was topped off by a large green hat.

  "Come on." The Caravan Master was shouting now, towering over his opponent. "You've no right to stop us. You know as well as I do that the Grand Caravans do all their Customs clearance in the bonded campground in For Dendak."

  "Not any more they don't," the small man obstinately replied. "You'll probably have to do that as well, that's none of my business. This is a special Customs post, established to screen all incoming foreigners and their goods."

  "Don't be ridiculous, man. That'll take for ever for a caravan this size. I just don't believe anyone could be crazy enough to set up such a system. How long have you been here?"

  "Twelve months now."

  "And what happened when the last Grand Caravan came through?"

  "They had to stop and be inspected, of course. It took a long time to do it properly: about three weeks altogether."

  "Three weeks?" The Caravan Master's voice almost cracked with incredulity. "That's impossible. Why we …."

  "What seems to be the trouble, Furtor?" A new voice, level, hard and authoritative cut across the argument. Caldar couldn't see the newcomer at first, but the effect of his arrival on Furtor was dramatic. The fat little man seemed to shrink visibly, a fleeting expression of fright was replaced by an attempt at an ingratiating smile, and the pompous voice had a definite quaver in it when he spoke.

  "I'm so sorry, lieutenant. I didn't see you. This gentleman is disputing our right to stop his caravan and carry out a proper . . ." The shaky voice tailed away, as the soldier made a brief gesture and turned to face the Caravan Master. Caldar could see him now. Middle height with a solid frame inside his brown uniform and a square, almost brutal face. His brown eyes viewed the Caravan Master with seeming indifference.

  "Disputing our rights? In our own country?" His voice carried a hint of menace, although the cold expression remained unchanged. "No one has rights here except the Emperor's subjects."

  "What about the Traders Conventions?" questioned the Caravan Master, standing his ground.

  "Abolished by Imperial decree." The words clearly dismayed many of the travellers. The lieutenant went on, "You merchants come to make profits from our people. Alright. We won’t stop you. But don’t expect the favoured existence you’ve had in our country before. Your 'rights'", he loaded the word with scorn, "consist of what we choose to allow."

  There was a silence, as the travellers digested the disturbing news, along with the threatening way in which it was delivered. Then the soldier resumed, in a completely different tone. "Come now, Furtor, I don't think it will be necessary to examine all these gentlemen's wagons." The Caravan Master brightened up at once. What was the man up to? Perhaps a little bribery would get them through. "I think a simple examination of all identity papers should be sufficient, and so much quicker too."

  "But half the caravan don't carry papers," the Caravan Master protested. This kind of bureaucracy you expected from the Quezmas, it was unheard of in the Empire.

  "Then they can buy them from our command post over there. Or they can simply turn around and go back where they came from. No papers, no entry.”

  That was how it ended, and everyone duly had to have their papers stamped or to buy an Alien Identity Card from the office. It took two whole days, and when the caravan finally crossed the bridge, the lieutenant was a good deal richer. The delay was not serious, but there had been a disquieting undertone to the whole incident which had clearly been felt by everyone and which was heightened by the sight of an army encampment just beyond the town. It seemed the Empire was preparing to defend its borders and it was with a new atmosphere of wariness that they rode on towards the Dendrian capital through the
rich farmland. Haymaking was in full swing, and as the land became progressively flatter huge fields of grain stood ripening for harvest.

  "Forget that unpleasant bully at the border," Tariska remarked one sunny day to Idressin who was riding beside the wagon, "and this could be a very nice place. I can't see anyone ever going hungry here."

  She insisted on riding all day on the driving seat beside G'Shenni now, shimsak unfastened, despite S’Bissi's protests that it was unseemly for a supposed bride-to-be."But there's something odd about this countryside,” she went on, “or rather about the people. A week or two back up the road, the farmers looked prosperous and their families looked happy and well-dressed. Here the farms are much bigger, but all I see are lots of rather miserable looking people in drab clothes."

  Idressin smiled at the girl. "You’ve a good eye. Yes, it's true. This isn’t the Dendria I remember; it used to be a happier place. I had a chat with some of the people we passed yesterday, and apparently new laws have forced a lot of farmers off their land, so they're working as labourers on fields which used to belong to them. It's not surprising they look glum. But Dendrians are not generally the brightest of the earth's inhabitants. They'll work hard and stay contented, as long as their lives are well-ordered and their bellies full." He paused, then went on, "I only hope that underneath it all this is the same kind and lazy country it’s always been."

  Two weeks later they came to the outskirts of For Dendak, two million people dwelt in For Dendak and to the boys it seemed as though the whole world had decided to live in one place. The suburbs alone seemed to stretch for ever, wretched housing giving way to factories and warehouses which in turn were followed by smart streets where every building had its own little garden. Twice they crossed a great strip hundreds of yards wide which cut right through the city: each strip was full of small plots of ground occupied by crops and animals of every kind, pigs, cows, vegetables, maize, fruit trees, even flowers.

  “Culbands,” the tutor explained. " You’ll see these in several Empire cities. Not all the Emperors in the past were crazy. They make food cheaper and they mean the cities won't starve in times of trouble.”