Kerish was amused but tried not to show it.
"Well, the walls of the Inner City are covered with sheets of gold, so men call it Golden Galkis."
"You've seen it, you've really been there?"
"I have lived there all my life," Kerish assured her, "until we began this journey."
"Oh cousin, there is so much I want to ask you, but there's no time now. Here are the clothes you must wear."
She picked up a soft white and blue robe, a leather tabard and a fillet sewn with horn beads.
"Shall I knot your hair for you? I can never do mine without help."
Kerish gently refused.
"Then I'll help you dress," offered Gwerath.
"No! I thank you, no."
Gwerath still showed no sign of leaving, so Kerish asked, "Do you not have to robe for the Testing?"
"Oh yes, I suppose I must, or I will be late and my father will be angry. My tent is opposite yours, cousin, if you need me.
When she had gone Kerish struggled to tie the fillet round his unruly hair, stripped off his travelling clothes and put on the robes of a Torgu of the Sheyasa.
*****
Weapons were offered to Forollkin but he preferred to keep his own sword, knife and bow. He resisted attempts to braid his hair, drank a bowl of Irollga milk, wished he hadn't and sat worrying about Kerish until three warriors were sent to fetch him.
Forollkin was taken to the edge of the camp where the fiercest young bulls were penned, bellowing and stamping and rolling their small yellow eyes at the noisy crowd. Round the pens were gathered almost all of the tribe; scarlet-cloaked warriors leaning on their spears, black-robed elders, women with young children tugging at their broad skirts, collared slaves. Above them all hung the banner of the Sheyasa, embroidered with a spear impaling a Windflower, and suspended between two poles of precious wood from distant Seld.
The Chieftain of the Sheyasa was seated on the only stool in the whole encampment, surrounded by the Council of warriors and elders. Among them Forollkin noted a girl with a mass of braided silver hair that pulled back her shapely head and seemed too heavy a weight for her slender neck. A girl robed in blue with a kind of restless energy about her, rare in a woman. Beside her was Kerish.
Returning the stranger's gaze, Gwerath saw a young man who was taller than any warrior in the tribe, whose brown skin was only a shade lighter than his long loose hair, and whose eyes darkened suddenly from grey to violet. Nothing of the tension Forollkin felt showed in his strong hands or calm face, except in a slight throbbing of the white scar on his cheek.
Tayeb, who had been talking to a group of elders, suddenly rose, took Kerish's arm and led him forward. The crowd jostled to get a better view of the strangers, and children were lifted to their parents' shoulders. The Chieftain signed for quiet.
"Tribesmen, here is Talvek-Kerish, my sister-son. Here is a new Torgu for the Sheyasa. Give him a welcome!"
There were some shouts of welcome, mainly from the women, but also murmurs of doubt and here and there the harsh sound of open hostility.
Enecko stepped forward.
"We welcome your kinsman, Tribe-leader, but how may we know that he is indeed a Torgu?"
"Have you changed eyes with your Irollga, tribesman? Can you not see the mark of the Goddess?"
"I see it, Tribe-leader, but surely he should not be acknowledged as a Torgu until he has been tested. Is that not the old way, Torgu of the Hunter?"
He spoke to the frailest of the elders, an old man bowed by the weight of his black and scarlet robes and leaning on two spears.
"The old ways are dead, kinsman," muttered the Torgu, "but if the tribe will not acknowledge him, he should be tested."
"What does the Torga of the Goddess say?" asked Tayeb.
"Let him be tested at the festival of the Spring Calving," answered Gwerath calmly. "Do you agree, kinsman?"
"Yes, " said Kerish helplessly, unaware of what the argument was about but sensing Tayeb's anger.
"Now bring forward the other," ordered Tayeb. "Kinsman, do you still wish to claim the status of a warrior of the tribe?"
"I do," answered Forollkin steadily.
"First you must be accepted by the Bull of the Herd. Then you must show us your skill with a spear and in combat with a warrior of the Torgu's choice. You will be taken to the pen. You must kneel to Igeshu, and it is forbidden to draw weapons against him. Good fortune, kinsman, and remember," said Tayeb, much more softly, "keep very still."
The warriors led Forollkin into an empty pen and secured the gate behind him. He knelt with head bowed, concentrating on a brief, formal prayer to Imarko.The Sheyasa crowded up to the hide ropes, silent now with expectation. Forollkin heard the gate at the far end of the pen open and the sudden whisper of reverence and fear. Moving only his eyes Forollkin looked up.
The massive Irollga bull stood some twenty feet away, sniffing suspiciously. Its weak eyes only saw Forollkin dimly but it smelled him strongly. The bull pawed irritably at the ground and lowered its great head.
Forollkin shut his eyes, realizing that the important thing was to control the physical signs of fear which might provoke an attack. He heard the heavy tread of the animal as it moved towards him and sweat trickled down the hollow of his back. It was worse not to know how close death might be.
Forollkin opened his eyes and through lowered lashes saw the huge head of the bull only a few feet away. Close enough to see the flaking paint overlaid with darker stains on the long, cruel, horns; close enough to count the flowers in the incongruous garland around the creature's neck; close enough, after another moment, to feel the bull's hot breath on his face. Forollkin closed his eyes again and tried vainly to relax the angles of his tensed body.
Ponderously, the creature circled him. Once the thick fur brushed against Forollkin's shoulder but he did not move. Once the bull nudged him, almost gently, and the tip of one horn dug into his back. After a moment the pressure was released.
Forollkin clenched his hands, trying to stop them trembling and then Tayeb was calling to him. He looked up.
The bull had wandered away and stood in a corner of the pen, ignoring him. The gate seemed a very long way off and it was not easy to turn his back on the bull and walk calmly towards it. Forollkin fumbled with the latch, then the gate was open and he was through.
Tayeb smiled at him. "You are honoured, kinsman, Igeshu accepts you as his own."
Forollkin tried to catch his brother's eye and share his relief, but Kerish's face was impassive. For a moment Forollkin was gripped by the absurd idea that he was looking at an empty shell, that there was nothing behind the glittering eyes. He tried to shake off the sensation and attend to what Tayeb was saying.
"You must strike the target between the lips."
The crowd had drawn back and the Chieftain was pointing to a hide shield fastened to a distant post and painted with a grotesque face. Tayeb took a bone spear from the Torgu of the Hunter, who muttered a brief blessing over it.
"You have only one cast, " he said and offered it to Forollkin.
The young Galkian remembered the last time he had needed to throw a spear accurately. It had nearly cost him his life.
"Tayeb, I am clumsy with the spear . . ."
"Clumsy! What is a warrior without his spears? You cannot kill a wild Irollga with a knife, unless it is already wounded . . ."
"I would kill it with this, " said Forollkin loudly. He unslung his bow and drew out one of his precious store of arrows.
"You could strike the target from here with this weapon?" demanded the Chieftain.
"From twice the distance," declared Forollkin rashly.
Enecko's voice rose over the murmur of astonishment. "This weapon is strange to our tribe and to the way of the Hunter; he should not use it."
"That is for the Council to decide," snapped Tayeb.
Elders and warriors surrounded the Chieftain, talking rapidly while the crowd grew restive and Forollkin nervously plucked at
his bow-string.
"It is agreed," said Tayeb finally, "you may use your feathered sticks, from twice the distance, as you boasted."
Forollkin walked back to the edge of the pens, and turned to face the target. His bow was light and small, with a range of some hundred yards and even the best of arrows might not fly true.
As Forollkin fitted an arrow to the string, Kerish's body tensed with the bow, his whole mind willing Forollkin to succeed. With graceful strength the Galkian drew back the bow and loosed a well judged shot. The arrow sank deep into the target, between the grinning lips. Within seconds he had put another arrow beside it and scarlet-cloaked warriors were crowding round the shield.
"Your weapon is good," said Tayeb. "Could you teach us how to use it, how to make such weapons?"
"Why yes," agreed Forollkin, "if you have the wood."
Tayeb laughed and clapped Forollkin on the shoulder.
"Do you hear, tribesmen? The Goddess has sent us a gift and Gift-bringer shall be your name, Tribesman."
"He must fight before he is proved a man."
It was the dry voice of the Torgu of the Hunter.
Tayeb nodded. "Kinsman, if you are victorious in this combat you shall sleep in the tents of the warriors and receive the warrior's portion. If you die, you shall have a warrior's funeral. Torgu of the Hunter, name his opponent."
There was an eager movement at the Torgu's side and the old man murmured, "Enecko."
"Kinsman," said Tayeb, "you may fight with spear, with dagger or with your hands: the choice is yours."
"With my hands," answered Forollkin immediately.
"You have chosen bravely," rasped the Torgu. "Enecko is the best wrestler of the tribe."
'With my stars he would be,' thought Forollkin and began stripping off his tunic.
Chapter 7
The Book of the Emperors: Promises
You have been taught always to think of your fellows and to help them and this is good; yet I tell you that we must not weave the lives of others, saying "This pattern is better than another". Each man must weave his own pattern from the threads that are offered him and in each man there is a place where Zeldin himself does not enter unbidden.
Forollkin and Enecko laid their weapons in a heap at Tayeb's feet. The Torgu of the Hunter briefly touched both men with the spear in his right hand.
"Offer to the Hunter of Souls his own gifts of strength and courage."
Enecko bowed to the Torgu and to the banner of the tribe and Forollkin copied him.
"What are the rules of this combat?" he asked.
"Defeat your opponent," answered Tayeb grimly. "Begin."
Forollkin had the advantage of height but, now they were both stripped to boots and breeches, he saw that Enecko was thickly built with hands that looked as if they could crush stone.
"Begin," repeated Tayeb and the Erandachi warrior attacked, kicking Forollkin on the shin with one booted foot.
Swearing as he hopped back, Forollkin finally realized that this was no stately contest played to royal rules. To win he would have to forget about courtesy. He had just time to wish that Kerish wasn't watching before Enecko attacked again. Forollkin tried to back-heel his opponent, but Enecko snatched at the Galkian's hair and pulled him off balance for a second, while trying to knee him in the groin. Forollkin twisted round, caught the blow on his thigh and grunted as his arms locked around Enecko's ribs. The Erandachi didn’t try to remove the squeezing hands. Gasping for breath he concentrated on trying to kick Forollkin off balance again but the Galkian was in command now and with one swift, unexpected move, he dragged his opponent off his feet.
They fell together, with Forollkin on top, maintaining his cruel embrace. Then Enecko's thumb almost gouged out the Galkian's eye. Gasping from a simultaneous kick in the stomach, Forollkin turned his head and bit Enecko's hand but his grip was broken. Enecko's muscles convulsed for a new attack and the watchers saw the two men roll over and over, struggling to do as much damage as possible to each other's close-pressed bodies.
It soon seemed that Forollkin's strength and will were failing. For a long moment he lay trapped beneath Enecko, his knuckles white with effort as he pushed vainly upwards. Then Enecko grabbed at the Galkian's hair again to jerk up his head and strike it against the ground.
With a surge of strength, Forollkin arched his body, thrust upwards and wrenched himself away from Enecko's hold. He had somersaulted backwards out of reach and sprung to his feet before the Erandachi could rise. Forollkin leapt on him, slamming his opponent into the ground with the whole weight of his body and fastening his hands around Enecko's throat.
Pinned down by Forollkin, Enecko could only wriggle like a speared fish and dig his nails into the Galkian's hands. Within a few seconds he realized that such defences were useless. Forollkin was inexorably forcing his opponent's head towards his chest, knowing that the pressure would break the man's neck.
Frantically Enecko beat his hands on the ground and Tayeb stepped forward.
"Kinsman, he asks for mercy!"
The look of fierce concentration on Forollkin's face did not alter and at any moment Tayeb expected the sickening snap of bone.
"Kinsman!"
Abruptly Forollkin drew back his hands, though he still knelt over his opponent.
"In the name of the tribe I desire you to yield," said Tayeb, "and preserve for us your life."
"I yield," whispered Enecko.
Forollkin sat back on his haunches, looking dazed. Enecko got unsteadily to his feet, rubbing his bruised throat.
"Tribesman, you will take your place behind the new warrior in hunt and in battle," said Tayeb, his face impassive, but it was a long moment before Enecko bowed to his Chieftain.
"Gift-bringer," Tayeb touched Forollkin's shoulder and the Galkian scrambled up to face him. "Gift-bringer, you are welcome as a warrior, to the Sheyasa."
The Torgu of the Hunter nodded to one of his attendants who brought forward a scarlet cloak and wrapped it round Forollkin's shoulders. A second attendant lifted a scarlet fillet but the silver-haired girl suddenly snatched it from him.
"I will crown him," she declared. "He is a warrior for the Goddess."
Forollkin had to stoop for her to tie the fillet round his head.
"Welcome, kinsman," she whispered and stepped back.
"Warriors," called Tayeb, "welcome your brother."
Forollkin found himself embraced by every warrior of the Sheyasa, and last of all by Enecko. "Welcome, Tribesman."
"Now your brother warriors will escort you to your tent," said Tayeb, "and at moonrise we shall feast you."
"Thank you, but first I must speak to my brother."
Kerish was standing very quiet and still, not looking at Forollkin.
"Later, kinsman," answered Tayeb, smiling but implacable and Forollkin was led away to the scarlet tents of the warriors.
It soon became clear that by defeating Enecko he had gained as many friends as enemies. Forollkin downed another bowl of Irollga milk, explained the working of his bow several times, exchanged boasts and eventually persuaded one of the warriors to take him to the tent of the new Torgu.
Kerish was lying on his back with his arm around Lilahnee. The Prince languidly turned his head as Forollkin entered the tent. His eyes were dark with weariness and seemed larger than ever in his pale, taut face.
"Welcome, warrior," he said softly.
Forollkin laughed. "Don't you start!" He glanced round the bare tent. "Not a chair in the whole camp! I'm sick of squatting on the floor and as for those bowls of stinking milk they keep giving me, I've a headache already, without the pleasure of feeling drunk first. Well, what did Tayeb say to you, and what by Imarko, is a Torgu?"
"A kind of priest, an interpreter of dreams I think. Tayeb said . . . Tayeb is my uncle."
"Your uncle!"
Forollkin sat down on the pallet beside his brother.
"I'm glad for you then, Kerish."
"Glad?"
/> "Surely you must be happy to have found him. He can tell you so much about your mother."
"Yes. He has a daughter, Gwerath, my cousin. The girl who crowned you. She is the Torga of the Mountain Goddess. You know who the Goddess is?"
The Children of the Wind (Seven Citadels) Page 13