The Children of the Wind (Seven Citadels)

by Geraldine Harris

  To his amazement Kerish saw tears in Gwerath's eyes.

  "Don't cry cousin, please, not just for a picture."

  "You don't understand, " said Gwerath. "I want so much to be able to make something beautiful but my hands are clumsy, and so is my tongue. I see marvellous things in my mind, but I can't show them to anyone else, and it hurts so much!"

  For Kerish it was as if she had struck a sudden blow at a gate he had always kept barred, and he was forced to let her in.

  "Don't cry." He took her hands into his. "You will find a way of giving the images in your mind to others. I'll help you. Look, I'll teach you writing and music and..."

  Forollkin walked into the tent, his tunic spattered with blood, and Gwerath leapt up to greet him.

  "Are you hurt, cousin?"

  "No, it is Irollga blood, not mine."

  He could not quite keep the satisfaction out of his voice. "I killed the wild bull."

  `How strange', thought Kerish, `Forollkin must have been in danger, and I never felt it.`

  Gwerath was already asking about the hunt and the number of wild Irollga captured.

  "A dozen or so," said Forollkin, smiling down at her, "but one of our party was injured, a man named Atheg."

  "I must go to him then," said Gwerath.

  She glanced back at Kerish, who was still holding the piece of vellum.

  "I will come back later for another lesson."

  "What lesson is this?" asked Forollkin when Gwerath had gone.

  "I am teaching her to write," said Kerish, rolling up the vellum.

  Forollkin laughed. "Well, why not? The Sheyasa are teaching me a thing or two. On the way back I saw where the horses and our baggage ponies are tethered. It may not be impossible to get out of here. I can't stay, I've promised to give Tayeb an archery lesson. It will help to gain his trust. Do you want to come?"

  Kerish shook his head. When his brother had left, he searched out Gidjabolgo, who had found a quiet, shadowy corner between tents, and sat with him until Gwerath returned.

  Forollkin demonstrated archery to a group of picked men through most of the long light evening. He shot as well as he could ever remember at a variety of targets and afterwards discussed how best to make twenty sets of bows and arrows, from bone, gut, stiffened grasses and the Sheyasa's precious supply of wood. He could hardly have guessed that his brother's thoughts were also fixed on instruments of death.

  In her spacious tent, Gwerath taught her cousin the art of fighting with a dagger, while Gidjabolgo crouched as a sentinel in the tent flap. If Kerish had been surprised at the quickness of Gwerath's intellect, she was astonished at his agility and the speed of his reactions.

  *****

  The next morning Kerish and Forollkin went with Gwerath to the pens to watch the Chieftain of the Sheyasa garland the Bull of the Tribe. Gwerath had woven the garland and Tayeb took it from her hands. He strode calmly into the pen and the great bull came forwards to meet him. Tayeb slid the old garland over the long horns. Then he spoke a few words in the language of the Erandachi and Igeshu bowed his head.

  "I'll swear he wasn't that tame when I was in the pen with him," muttered Forollkin.

  "He is not tame," said Gwerath sombrely, "but he knows the Chieftain of the Sheyasa. He also knows when leadership has gone from a man."

  Tayeb eased the new garland over the massive head and then used it as a halter to lead the Bull of the Herd from his pen. It was the signal to break camp.

  Every tent was folded and bound to the broad back of an Irollga cow. The patient beasts were then loaded with all the owner's possessions: rugs, furs, lamps, bowls, everything that could not be worn or tied to the saddle of a riding beast. The furnishings of the Tents of the Goddess and the Hunter, the Chieftain and the Torgi, were carried in two ancient, cumbersome carts.

  The tribe travelled northwards for three days. Children rode behind their mothers or noisily helped to drive the great herd. Since they were moving into the territory of the Geshaka a large body of warriors rode ahead of the tribe and scouts constantly circled the moving mass of men and animals.

  Forollkin's hopes of escaping during the confusion were quickly dashed. The Galkians were never watched by less than half a dozen warriors, and firmly encouraged to ride in the centre of the tribe. Forollkin treated his guards as if they were chance companions, talking cheerfully and persuading them to speak about past hunts and battles. Gwerath, riding astride like a boy, was usually close beside him and Gidjabolgo, struggling to lead all three pack ponies, listened with real or simulated interest.

  Kerish, however, sought out Eamey. He found her close to the lumbering carts riding a plump Irollga whose harness was hung with bone rattles, and flowers of many-coloured felt. It shied at the scent of the marsh cat but Eamey kept her seat and soothed the Irollga by scratching its ears and whispering endearments.

  Kerish reined in his horse to keep pace with Eamey's slow mount. She straightened, smiled and said, "What is your earliest memory of her?"

  Kerish responded hesitantly at first. He was uncertain how much he should say of his royal birth and the life of the Inner Palace. But did it really matter?

  `What is the Emperor of the Godborn to the Sheyasa?' thought Kerish. `Just a name. I am Taana's son, Tayeb's nephew and I am not a warrior, that is all that matters here.'

  Even so, there was little he could tell Eamey. His recollections were too thickly covered by his father's extravagant grief.

  "So your father loved her the best of all the women of his tent?"

  "He loved only her," answered Kerish, "that is his nature."

  "It was Taana's too," said Eamey, "she was worthy of being loved so deeply. I cannot praise her more but perhaps it is fortunate that she died young, before love faded."

  "My father would have loved her always," insisted Kerish.

  "But not as much as he loves her dead. You shake your head, kinsman. Well, your mother always said that I saw the world too darkly. We were not alike, but that was the heart of our friendship."

  She spoke for a time of her childhood with Taana until Kerish asked, "And my uncle, did he love her too?"

  "Very much, though they were always quarrelling, for they were both strong-willed. They had great plans for the Sheyasa. Taana, I remember, wanted to journey to the northern mountains and seek out the Goddess herself. Tayeb thought that an impious wish. He was very devout as a young man and nothing horrified him more than the thought of breaking circle."

  "Does he ever think of anything beyond the tribes' circle?" demanded Kerish, his fingers plaiting and unravelling his horse's mane. "He has never asked me about Galkis, or about our journey. I might as well not have existed before I entered Erandachu!"

  "It is not only Tayeb who would feel so."

  Eamey looked round at the slowly moving tribe: the warriors in the vanguard; the women and the old men riding side-saddle; children and slaves running beside the overladen pack beasts and, to either side, the great herd.

  "Kinsman, you think of our circle as narrow, almost a prison. It is not so to us. It is a world. Each man has a circle of kin, interlocking with the circles of his tribe. The territory of each tribe joins with three others. They, each in turn, are joined to a different three. There is room for all in the circles drawn by the Hunter's spear, and all the Children of the Wind are linked. Each man knows that he is part of the great circle and there is comfort in that, Kerish-lo-Taan, under such empty skies."

  The Prince looked up for a moment at the cloudless sky and the featureless horizon.

  "And when my mother was wrenched from her circle, did Tayeb try to get her back?"

  "He was newly made Chieftain then and the Geshaka asked a ransom in Irollga that would have beggared the tribe. He had only two days before our circles ceased to interlock," said Eamey. "He decided an attack was too dangerous. He would certainly have lost many men and still might not have saved her. I hated him for a while and refused to share his tent, so he was forced to choose an
other. Gradually, I came to see how much he had been hurt by Taana's loss and I knew that he was right to think only of the Sheyasa."

  "And his own power," murmured Kerish.

  "He has been a good Chieftain, kinsman. I remember that when he grieves me. Do not think that because he uses you, he does not love you. He acts as he does for the sake of the tribe. I understand that. Gwerath's mother did not."

  "She is dead?"

  "Yes, she died nine years ago, in another man's tent. Tayeb has carried more than his load of sorrows."

  "But he has you to share them, and Gwerath."

  "He has me, " agreed Eamey.

  She paused and then said, “Tell me, kinsman, when you visited the tent of the Goddess, did Gwerath show you both the tapestries that hang there?"

  "She praised one," said Kerish, a little puzzled, "that showed the Goddess and the mountains."

  Eamey nodded, as if this was what she had expected.

  "The other shows the Goddess and the Hunter. Do you know the story of their meeting? He saw her when first she came down to the plains, and hunted her. She fled light-footed and the frost-stars that fell from her hair sprang up as windflowers. For all his long strides the Hunter of Souls could not catch up with her, until she slowed her steps, just as the Holy Mountain was in sight. The Hunter caught her by her silver hair and raised his spear to strike. She did not struggle but turned her face to him. Her eyes pierced him deeper than any spear and in submission was her victory. I have heard Gwerath chant the tale many times, but she does not understand it."

  *****

  After three days on the move, the Sheyasa pitched camp again. The travellers found themselves almost the only people without a specific task and the encampment seemed to rise around them with incredible speed.

  That night Gwerath sat with them in Kerish's tent and sang and interpreted the chants of the Goddess to them. Her voice was dry and small and to the Galkians the chants seemed monotonous and unmusical but they listened intently to her translations. The next day was the Feast of the Spring Calving and Kerish's Testing.

  "You must climb the Mountains of the Goddess," was all that Gwerath would say about the Testing.

  Kerish's sleep was feverish with nightmares but he woke without remembering how Gidjabolgo had squatted beside him for hours, trying to soothe him. It was still very early when Tayeb entered the tent and ordered Gidjabolgo out. The Forgite crept into the cold greyness of morning but listened at the tent flap.

  Tayeb watched his nephew dress in the robes of the Torgu. The Chieftain held a drinking horn and murmured over it in the language of the Sheyasa. Beside the bed-roll Lilahnee arched her back and growled softly. Kerish leaned over to stroke her.

  When he straightened Tayeb was offering him the horn. "Drink, sister-son, this will help you in the Testing."

  "Not unless you give me your word that you will let us leave the tribe. Uncle, I have tried to tell you, we cannot stay with you. I am on a mission of the greatest importance to my people . . ."

  "We are your people. You are my sister's only child."

  "I am my father's son," said Kerish. "My duty is to him."

  "That is not so," insisted Tayeb. "It is the uncle who cares for the child, not the sharers of his mother's tent."

  "Not in my country..."

  Tayeb gripped Kerish by the shoulder.

  "But you are in my country now, and I claim your obedience if you will not give me your trust. You were sent here by the Mountain Goddess, do you deny it? She has heard my long lament. She knows that I have no heirs, no-one to help me fight the returning darkness. Can you help your father's people as surely or as much as you can help mine, you and your brother? I say again, the Goddess sent you. She has sent me Taana's son, with her smile, with just her trick of tossing back the hair from the brow. Drink Talvek!"

  Shaken, Kerish lifted the horn to his lips. It was filled with a liquid that looked like milk but smelled like blood. Tayeb knelt and stroked Lilahnee's green flanks.

  "Sister-son, I cannot make you drink, but I beg you not to shame me before my tribe by refusing the Test."

  Kerish drained the horn, though the contents almost made him retch. Tayeb smiled at him.

  "Come, first we must visit the Tent of the Hunter. Your brother will be there, and Gwerath. This is a glad day for our circle and I know you will not fail."

  Kerish wished his uncle would not speak so confidently. Almost instinctively his hand went to the jewel of Zeldin, beneath his robe. As he touched it, he realized that the liquid in the horn reminded him of irandaan, the juice of starflowers, too strong for ordinary men and dangerous even for the Godborn.

  "Come, sister-son."

  Still smiling, Tayeb led his nephew from the tent and across the camp. Gidjabolgo followed, uninvited and unnoticed.

  The whole tribe seemed to be gathered round the black and scarlet tent of the Hunter and their chatter drowned the music of the wind-harps. Forollkin was honoured by a place among the warriors inside the tent. From where he stood he had a clear view of the Torgu of the Hunter, masked like an Irollga with scarlet horns. Gwerath was beside him, a wreath of windflowers crowning her silver hair.

  Behind them, faintly seen in the flickering light, hung a tapestry. It showed a tall man, naked except for his scarlet cloak, and horned like an Irollga. In each hand he gripped a bloody spear. `The Hunter of Souls', thought Forollkin, `and a merciless hunter by the expression on his face.'

  Then the chanting began, and beating of drums and the wailing of bone-flutes. Forollkin found himself beating time. Absorbed in the music, he hardly noticed Kerish and Tayeb enter and take their places beside Gwerath. As the chanting rose to a climax, Forollkin heard the crowd outside shouting and crying, as if they were lamenting the beloved dead, or those about to die.

  Three warriors entered the tent. The first carried an Irollga calf, no more than a few hours old. Enecko and a second man stood behind the first warrior with basins of bronze. The Torgu of the Hunter stepped forward, casting a grotesque shadow. The first warrior held the calf still, the others knelt beside him. The Torgu turned to face the tapestry and, his cracked voice magnified by some trick of the mask, chanted the gratitude of the Sheyasa for the priceless gift of the Irollga.

  The Warriors in the tent took up the chant and Enecko's voice soared above them, exalting in the fierce, ancient rhythms. The Torgu of the Hunter lifted the barbed spear in his left hand and thrust it into the calf s throat. He jerked it back, pulling out a lump of flesh, and blood gushed into the bronze basins as he stabbed the struggling calf again and again. Its small body was a red mass of wounds.

  Then the Torgu thrust his bloody spear into the ground, where it quivered before the image of the Hunter of Souls. He raised the spear in his right hand and Tayeb knelt before him. The Torgu scratched the Chieftain's hand with the point of the spear and a few drops of Tayeb's blood fell into one of the basins. The Hunter's Torgu dipped an already crimsoned hand into the basin and drew a circle on the Chieftain's forehead.

  Next Gwerath came forward and she did not flinch as the spear cut her palm. Nor did Kerish. He had begun to feel strangely detached and did not protest when the bloody circle was smeared on his forehead.

  Still singing, all the warriors in the tent, including a reluctant Forollkin, gave their blood and received the mark of the Hunter. Then the basins were borne outside and the crowds jostled enthusiastically to reach the spear of the Torgu.

  Kerish waited for what seemed like many hours, while children shrieked with excitement; laughing mothers held their babies to the Torgu and even slaves clamoured to be anointed. When the basin was nearly empty, the rest of the blood was thrown wildly on tents and clothes and grass, with shouts of praise to the Hunter.

  Enecko knelt to drink the dregs, his face ecstatic.

  Then Kerish was led to the Tent of the Goddess. The floor was thickly strewn with windflowers but Kerish crushed them indifferently underfoot. It suddenly seemed to him that everything th
at was happening was some vast and ludicrous trick, played to hide the truth. Someone tied Kerish's hands behind his back with bright cords. He moved because he knew he must but it was like walking through water. He couldn't feel the ground under his feet. He struggled against unseen pressures, surrounded by shadowy figures. Gwerath, Tayeb, Gidjabolgo - none of them seemed real, not even the man who cried out a name he knew that he should recognize. Suddenly frightened, Kerish tried to move towards this man but other shadows thrust between them.

  Kerish did not know he was falling but Tayeb caught him and laid him on a pile of furs beneath the image of the Goddess. Now the tent was full of shadows, whispering, staring. With a great effort Kerish moved his head. The crowned woman staring down at him seemed more real than anything else in his suddenly contracted world. In a moment he would remember her name. `Sendaaka!' He tried to say it. `Sendaaka, help me.' The star in the Goddess' hand pulsed with light. `She has lit her lamp to guide me home', thought Kerish, `but it's so high, so far!'