The Merchant Hunter had already enquired if his passengers cared to accompany him into the yalg groves. Kerish had almost said yes before Forollkin could refuse with a frosty comment which made Galkian disapproval of the Gauza trade plain. Ibrogdiss had murmured a faint apology for offending them and tied on the last of his protective wrappings.
The Galkians withdrew to their tent during the tense minute in which lbrogdiss and his men slipped out from under the net, on to the riverbank.
"Do we disapprove of gauza?" asked Kerish. "I thought it was just used in sleeping potions."
Forollkin looked uncomfortable. "Well, that's one of its uses. Shall we go back on deck, it sounds as if they've gone now?"
Peering through the net, the Galkians could just see Ibrogdiss and his men moving slowly and clumsily among the dark trees. They could also hear a humming, louder and steadier than that of the usual marsh insects - the humming of the zzaga. It was like a suppressed murmur of anger, constantly threatening to rise into fury.
Kerish left Forollkin trying to talk to a group of nervous serfs and went down to the stern cabin. Sometime during the night Lilahnee had eaten every scrap of her food but she was no more disposed to be friendly. When Kerish came into the cabin she snarled and fluffed up her fur to make herself look bigger. The Prince choked an impulse to laugh, almost afraid that the animal would sense his mockery. He spoke to her in a low, gentle voice for a while and then replaced the empty bowl with a full one and locked the door behind him.
On deck Forollkin was still talking to the Frians but most of them hurried back to their tasks when Kerish-lo-Taan sat down beside his half-brother. Only Dau and one other serf remained squatting close to the Galkians' tent, as they plucked a brace of scrawny birds for Ibrogdiss' supper.
Forollkin had been asking Dau about the flood season but Kerish turned the conversation to the gods of Lan-Pin-Fria. "Who is the Green One? Why are cats his children?"
Dau answered as he plucked. "The Green One was the last of the gods. They laugh at him for his. . .I don't know the word, but he was green and he looked like that one."
Dau pointed to the Forgite, who sat close by in the shadow of the water kegs.
"Hideous," said the Forgite calmly.
"Hideous." Dau stored away the word and went on, "So the Green One made animals and they did not laugh at him but the other gods made men and they hurt the Green One's animals and sometimes killed them. So the Green One thought very hard and what he thought was a cat and the cat was like you, Lord." This time the Frian pointed to Kerish. "Men saw the cat and they wanted it to live with them but the cat did not care for the men. The more they gave, the less it took. The men were sad and the Green One laughed. Men kill animals but cats kill the hearts of men."
"That's very true," said Forollkin brightly. "Cats are ungrateful creatures."
"You are right, Dau, " murmured Kerish, "they show us how greedy we are to want something back for everything we give."
"And which of your gods made women?" asked Gidjabolgo.
Dau would have answered but his words were drowned by the alarm cry. Everyone on deck froze, all chatter ceased and the Galkians realized that the air was throbbing with a noise like the distant roar of an angry crowd.
"The zzaga," said Dau.
The half-plucked fowl slid to the deck as he ran to the ship's rail. The Galkians and Gidjabolgo followed.
Through a blur of netting they saw five green figures running towards the ship as fast as their cumbersome wrappings would allow. Their arms were filled with something mauve and golden: the gauza orchids. Kerish's head throbbed with the anger of the zzaga and before his eyes the darkness of the yalg grove fragmented into shadows, gashed with green, that swooped upon the Frians.
Ibrogdiss shielded his eyes with his free hand. The others copied him and they ran on, half-blind, towards the riverbank. Inevitably one of them stumbled and fell. The orchids tumbled from his arms and the zzaga hovered over him. Then they began to land on his body and within seconds he was hidden by a mass of insects.
"Why don't they help him?" demanded Forollkin. "Why don't the others go back for him?"
"His death gives the others time," said Dau calmly. "Go to your tent, Lords. There is danger."
There was a thin scream as a zzaga found its way under the veil of the fallen serf. The man contracted in agony as stings were plunged into his eyes and lips. Forollkin grabbed his brother's arm and pulled him towards the tent, yelling to Gidjabolgo to follow them. Already some of the zzaga were rising from the dying Frian to pursue the others.
Ibrogdiss had reached the riverbank and was climbing the rope ladder towards the deck. He was slow because of the orchids bundled under one arm, and his remaining serfs crouched, moaning prayers, at the bottom of the ladder.
Above, the crew were cautiously unfastening a section of the net and lifting it just enough for Ibrogdiss to get through. The Galkians and Gidjabolgo watched from the tent-flap as the Merchant Hunter was hauled over the rail. He stumbled across the deck, put the precious orchids on a pile of sacking and turned to shout muffled orders. His Frians were preparing to fasten the net down again but Ibrogdiss counted the remaining orchids worth the risk and ordered it raised.
The first of the serfs crawled over the rail and then the second but as the third struggled up the ladder Ibrogdiss reversed his orders. Already there were zzaga clinging to the man's back and he could not protect his face and climb. Obediently, Ibrogdiss' serfs held down the net, even when the Frian on the ladder shouted to them and tried to claw his way upwards. Then he felt the first zzaga tickling his forehead, screamed, flung himself from the ladder and rolled into the river.
The Galkians heard the cries of panic as a single zzaga that had got under the netting worked its way upwards. Ibrogdiss rapped out orders which were ignored in a stampede for the hatchway. The Master had the protection of the cloth wrappings, the crew did not. With a buzz of fury the zzaga appeared over the rail, flew upwards and banged into the net again. Frustrated it swooped low over the deck.
Gidjabolgo dived under his Masters' bedclothes, clutching a pillow to protect his face. Forollkin would have pushed his brother further in and closed the tent flap but Kerish shouted, "Dau!"
The Frian serf, Kerish's zel piece clutched in his hand, was the last in the queue of men struggling to get down the hatchway. The zzaga hovered above his naked shoulders. Forollkin dashed forward and, ripping off his cloak, threw it at the zzaga, knocking it to the deck. Before the insect could struggle free, Forollkin's booted foot had crushed it.
"No, do not touch it, the sting can still kill you," Ibrogdiss said as Dau knelt to kiss the foot that had saved him. Much embarrassed, Forollkin pushed the Frian away.
Already some of the other serfs had returned to the rail but a cloud of zzaga beat against the net and there was no sign of movement from the river.
Ibrogdiss unwound the green cloth from his face. "Two plants lost," he said, "but these three are good, eight flowers in all."
Forollkin stared at the Merchant Hunter, too sickened to speak and then strode over to his tent to drag out Gidjabolgo. Ibrogdiss ordered his men to the oars and by nightfall they were clear of the yalg groves and the threat of zzaga.
The Galkians ate supper in their tent and when Ibrogdiss sent a message to Kerish asking him to sing, the Prince angrily refused.
*****
After a restless night in the airless heat of their tent, Kerish woke at dawn. He dressed very quietly and left Forollkin sleeping. On the deck, he approached Dau and persuaded him to clean and chop for Lilahnee one of the fish intended for Ibrogdiss' breakfast.
Kerish saw that Dau and all the other serfs had painted green circles around their eyes and stained the palms of their hands. He asked if these were tokens of mourning but Dau did not know the word.
"Being sad for someone who is dead," explained Kerish.
"It is for the dead, yes," answered Dau as he deftly cut out the fish's backbone, "but no
t sad. The Marsh Gods care for those they kill."
The fish scales made glittering patterns on the Frian's hands. Kerish watched them as he spoke. "Do they care for all? Serfs and masters."
"No." Dau looked Kerish fully in the eyes for the first time. "No, only for the serfs."
"And the masters?" asked the Prince.
"You are free, Lord," said Dau. "I may not speak of it, even to you," and he handed Kerish the bowl of fish.
When Kerish reached the hatchway, he found it closed and two serfs squatting beside it, as if on guard. He asked them to open it but they refused to understand his Zindaric and merely bowed their heads. Impatiently, Kerish stooped to throw back the trapdoor himself.
One of the serfs burst into anxious Frian, the other attempted Zindaric.
"Lord, no. Master say."
"Your Master is paid to let me go where I wish."
The Prince stroked the purple jewel at his breast and stared directly at the Frians. They shrank back and let him pass without further protest.
As Kerish descended the ladder he began to cough and his first impression was that the hold was full of smoke. That was an illusion but there was a smell, so sweet and sickly that he clung to the ladder gasping for breath. Scent seemed to engulf him in a great wave and then ebb away. He knew it for the scent that had puzzled him before and now he recognized it for what it was: the scent of the gauza orchids.
His first thought was for Lilahnee and he hurried across the hold to unlock the stern cabin. Inside the scent was much fainter. Kerish held the door open for a moment too long and Lilahnee made a dash for freedom. He only just caught her and was badly scratched before he could close the door and put her down again.
Sucking his scratches, Kerish tried to tempt Lilahnee with the fresh fish but she leapt back into the rafters and spat at him. The Prince sat down on the cabin floor frowning intensely at the angry kitten. How could he reach her? Kerish thought of the chapter of the Book of the Emperors which told of the Poet Emperor and his cat. Tor-Koldin had understood his Lilahnee, people had even said that he could talk to her and she to him.
Understanding . . . Kerish's thoughts jerked back to the day of the or-gar-gee hunt. Several times he had been on the point of telling Forollkin what had really happened. He had held back, partly because he knew how angry he would be in Forollkin's place at such a violation of his privacy; partly so that he could comfort himself with the knowledge whenever Forollkin was irritating him.
The Power of the Godborn: the High Priest had praised the Emperor for forbidding his sons to be taught their ancient powers. Why? Because it was better to learn for oneself, or because of the harm such powers could do when used in anger or in spite? Kerish dismissed the second thought uncomfortably. After all, he had done nothing wrong, only helped Forollkin to save his own life. No, he would teach himself the limits of his own power and start with Lilahnee.
Kerish sat upright, in the traditional posture for zel meditation, closed his eyes and pictured Lilahnee, the slender body beneath the soft green fur, the lustrous golden eyes, the long sharply-pointed ears and feathery whiskers . . . a proud animal, not be bullied into submission.
He tried to imagine how she would have felt when he found her, alone, motherless, her fur bedraggled with mud, crouched beneath the thorn bushes, with an unknown danger crawling noisily towards her. Then he pictured himself as a full grown marsh cat, coming to comfort her. With an effort of will he covered his pale skin in green fur and lengthened his nails into claws. He grew whiskers and a tail and tried to purr but he didn't know how to begin. His concentration was broken by the thud of Lilahnee dropping down from her rafter.
Patiently he built up the image again and then replaced it with a picture of his own hands reaching out to feed and stroke the marsh kitten.
"Friend," he murmured, and a surge of affection for the lost, lonely creature spilled over into an attentive silence. Something cold touched Kerish's hand and his eyes flew open.
Lilahnee was cautiously sniffing his fingers. Kerish longed to pick her up but sat quite still. Lilahnee gave his little finger a cursory chew and then fell on her food, ignoring him totally. Feeling that he had made some progress, Kerish slipped out of the cabin.
He walked straight into the arms of Ibrogdiss. The captain's breath stank of the fetid sweetness of gauza and his face was dripping with sweat. Kerish tried to twist out of his grip but the Merchant Hunter was surprisingly strong.
"No-one must come here, no-one."
"I came down to feed the marsh kitten," said Kerish steadily.
His voice seemed to penetrate the Frian's stupor.
"Young Lord." Ibrogdiss' plump fingers reached up to trace the curve of the Prince's cheekbones and tug at his hair. "Little Lord, singer of dreams."
"Ibrogdiss, let me go now."
"Never. When your brother is gone, I will keep you safe and you shall sing to me."
"I will sing to you whenever you want," answered Kerish cautiously, "but we must journey northwards to the mountains."
"All journeys begin and end in the marshes," murmured Ibrogdiss. "There is nothing beyond them, nothing. You have dreamed the land of Galkis. It is a good dream, mine were good once. Now they are bad and the marshes cover Zindar. There is no escape from them."
Kerish stopped struggling.
"Galkis is real, I promise you. Not all lands are as cruel as Lan-Pin-Fria."
Ibrogdiss did not seem to hear.
"The marshes will take me soon. They always take more than they give and the gods mock my offerings."
"Then make them a new kind of offering," suggested Kerish. "Free your serfs; feed the poor; protect the weak; offer the gods joy."
"You do not understand," said Ibrogdiss sadly, as he released the Prince. "The marshes grow in our minds, they choke us, drown us, darken our dreams."
Through the half-open doorway to Ibrogdiss' cabin Kerish could see the brazier in which the gauza had been burned. The fumes were making his own head swim and suddenly Ibrogdiss' face crumpled into the petals of a lily. Liquid oozed from his mouth and eyes to trap Kerish, hold him struggling till he died.
Shaking, the Prince backed away as Ibrogdiss said, "When your brother and the ugly one are gone, you will sing for me and we will hide our dreams from the gods."
Kerish fled through the hold and up the ladder. Once on deck, he was violently sick over the rail.
Within moments Forollkin's arms were round him and Gidjabolgo was an interested spectator. Both of them helped him back to the tent.
"Close the flap," murmured Kerish.
"No, you need air," exclaimed Forollkin. "Now just lie here."
"He needs privacy," said Gidjabolgo and closed off the tent.
Forollkin poured his brother a cup of tepid wine and Kerish washed away the bitter taste in his mouth. There was scarcely room for the three of them inside the cramped tent but Kerish clearly wanted Gidjabolgo to stay.
"What is it?" asked Forollkin. "What's the matter?"
"Gauza."
The smell still clung to his hair and clothes.
Gidjabolgo nodded. "The whole ship stinks of it and Ibrogdiss worse than all."
"He takes it?" asked Forollkin. "But I thought it sapped the strength and drove men mad, and Ibrogdiss seems strong and sane enough."
"Gauza gives health and strength," answered the Forgite. "It kills only when the taker stops, and they usually do. The dreams it gives are pleasant at first, but they change. In Forgin we call gauza the root of despair. I saw a man beheaded once for murdering his wife and children. Gauza dreams had driven him to it. He thought the world too bad for them."
"Yes, Ibrogdiss is like that," agreed Kerish, and he told them what the Merchant Hunter had said.
"I see," murmured Gidjabolgo, "the kindly King of Ellerinonn has arranged for us to be stranded in the middle of the Frian marshes on the ship of a prospective murderer."
"I don't believe that Ibrogdiss thinks of himself as a thief, or a mur
derer," said Kerish. "He would much rather lead you both into accidental deaths than murder you."
"Well we won't give him a chance," declared Forollkin. "No more trips into the marshes."
"But then he'll know we're suspicious and that will force him to move now," protested Kerish. "If we can delay him, the further north we get the better our chances. Even if we could steal the reed boat, we'd have little hope of surviving alone in the marshes, but if we were right at their edge, close to the northern foothills . . ."
"Yes, then we could go out with a couple of serfs, overpower them, take the boat and go north," said Forollkin.
The Children of the Wind (Seven Citadels) Page 4