The Children of the Wind (Seven Citadels)

by Geraldine Harris

  "Yes, but it's over now and you must sleep."

  Forollkin sighed and murmured something. His limp hand slipped from Kerish's grasp.

  Eamey knelt to feel Forollkin's forehead.

  "He is cooler now, the fever is dying already."

  "Then surely he will live!" said Gwerath.

  Eamey was watching Kerish.

  "Kinsman, you should rest, we will need you again soon."

  Kerish let himself be led to a bed-roll at the back of the tent.

  He slept through a visit from Tayeb, about to lead his warriors in a second attack on the Geshaka, When he woke it was evening and Forollkin was conscious.

  Gwerath had just fed him some broth.

  Kerish approached the bed like a man walking on to a sword.

  "Are you in pain, Forollkin?"

  "A little. Kerish, what happened?"

  The Prince's composure broke. "Forollkin, I wish I'd died first. How can you ever forgive me?"

  "Forgive you what? I can't remember. There was the raid. I didn't think I'd been hurt, the blood wasn't mine. . ."

  Kerish saw his brother's face change as memory returned, and waited. Forollkin thought over what had happened until Kerish, unable to bear the continuing silence, stumbled back, ready to run, to hide where he need never see his brother again.

  "Kerish come back!" Feebly Forollkin tried to get up but Gwerath sprang forward to push him back. He ignored her.

  "Kerish!"

  The Prince turned to face him.

  "Kerish, I can't understand, not yet, but please don't look like that."

  Kerish threw himself down by Forollkin.

  "I swear I'll be better. I swear I'll never lose my temper again. I'll do whatever you tell me . . ."

  At that Forollkin even managed a smile. "Not you, Kerish, not ever."

  "I will!"

  "It doesn't matter now," said Forollkin wearily. "It doesn't matter."

  Neither of them noticed Gwerath leave the tent.

  *****

  Though the wound healed cleanly Forollkin was slow to recover his strength. During the next move, after being jolted all day in a litter, the wound re-opened and Forollkin lost more blood. Eamey nursed him with gentle firmness but Gwerath no longer came near the Galkians.

  Now it was clear that Forollkin would recover, Tayeb was not displeased with Kerish and pressed him to join a third raid on the Geshaka, the last before their circles ceased to interlock. It was Eamey who answered for him and Tayeb did not argue with her.

  Each day Kerish sat at the end of Forollkin's bed, with a bored Lilahnee sprawled across his knees. Often Gidjabolgo was with them, crouched in the tent flap, watching the life of the camp.

  As if by mutual consent, the brothers talked only of the distant past. In the privacy of High Galkian, they recovered together forgotten events and feelings from the placid pools of memory.

  "Do you remember," said Kerish, one blustery morning two weeks after their combat, "when we went to Hildimarn? You wanted to meet that pretty musician after the temple gates were shut."

  "And you waited up till three in the morning to help me climb back in through the Dawn Window."

  "When the temple guard came along I had to pretend I was studying the stars for an astronomy lesson. The sky was thick with clouds but they never noticed."

  "I remember. Kerish, I have been thinking. In Lan-Pin-Fria, I feigned sickness to help us escape. Surely we can do the same again. Tayeb can't still be guarding us."

  "No, he thinks there is no danger while you're so weak."

  "Good, then I shall go on letting him think me weak."

  "My uncle is a hard man to deceive," warned Kerish.

  "We have to do something!" said Forollkin. "We have to get away from Sheyasa."

  Kerish fiddled with the coverlet.

  "Do you hate them so much? I thought you liked it here."

  "There is a part of me that could be happy here," answered Forollkin, "the worst part. I should have told you about the raid, but I felt if once I had to describe what happened, I'd never forget it . . . I hadn't thought I could feel like this about a battle. Zeldin knows I've killed before but . . . The Geshaka were guarding their herds when they saw us. They ran and galloped closer to get within spear's distance. The men I'd trained were shooting them before they could cast a spear. They were so stupidly surprised about it. We speared the survivors. They say I killed more than anybody. It was better than sitting there watching the expression on their faces as the arrows struck. Then there were the children..."

  "Forollkin, you don't have to tell me."

  "Kerish, I killed one of the children. He snatched up a dagger and tried to stab me in the leg. I put a spear right through him. I couldn't bear to pull it out again. Tayeb did that. He said the boy was the Chieftain's son so I'd avenged your mother. I didn't want you to know."

  "Did you think I would condemn you?" asked Kerish.

  "No, but I would have seen the revulsion in your face."

  "I wouldn't have cared. You mean more to me than a dead child."

  "You would have cared, Kerish, you see things more clearly than I do, you see things whole. We won't talk about it again, or what happened afterwards. We must concentrate on getting to Seld."

  Shaken as he was, Kerish related some useful information.

  "In two days' time the tribe starts its journey to the Great Gathering. They'll join with other tribes on the route. I'm sure we can escape in the confusion and Tayeb can't follow us very far without breaking circle. Rest Forollkin, we'll need your strength."

  *****

  On the day of the Great Move, Tayeb visited Forollkin and found him still unable to ride. Eamey confirmed that Gift-bringer was not recovering as quickly as she had hoped. Tayeb leaned over the bed.

  "Well, kinsman, you must heal yourself soon, you have the esteem of the tribe to win back. In the meantime, my daughter shall keep you company on the Move. If you like a woman who talks, she talks well."

  Forollkin's litter was slung between the two horses. Gidjabolgo led them and Kerish rode one of the pack ponies. In the middle of the morning, Gwerath joined them at the centre of the moving mass of the Sheyasa. It was a noisy progress but above the beat of hooves, the braying of Irollga, the creaking of carts and the shouts of the herdsmen, Gwerath described the Great Gathering. She spoke only to Forollkin.

  "I was only ten years old at the last Gathering but I remember it well. I was not a full Torga then but since I was marked for the Goddess I went with the Torgi, high up into the Mountain. We looked down on the plains and sang a blessing over all the Sheyasa. I walked on the snows which never melt. I saw my footprints on the Holy Mountain and I wished I could always stay in the High Places, where the Goddess is close."

  "How long does the Gathering last?"

  Gwerath would not look at Kerish but she did answer his question.

  "The tribes camp on the lower slopes till the eldest Torgu of the Sheyasa casts down his spear from the summit of the Mountain. Then each tribe returns to its circle and the peace of the Great Gathering is over."

  "You are at peace during the journey?" asked Forollkin. "Even with the

  Geshaka?"

  Gwerath nodded.

  "A good custom," continued Forollkin, "you have told us a great deal about the Erandachi, perhaps you would like to hear about the Galkis."

  "Yes please cousin, tell me."

  Forollkin shifted among the cushions, trying to make himself more comfortable.

  "Oh, Kerish can do it better than me. Tell Gwerath about the nine cities."

  "Gladly, if. . ." began the Prince but Gwerath broke in, "I do not have time now, I must look after the Tent of the Goddess."

  She pulled round her Irollga's head, rather too sharply and rode off.

  "There's one lady not beguiled by our Prince's charm," murmured Gidjabolgo.

  "I don't understand her," said Forollkin blankly. "Kerish, the scab's itching again, do you have any of Eamey's oin
tment with you?"

  *****

  They stopped to rest and eat at noon. Sitting cross-legged beside Forollkin's litter, scraping out a bowl of curds, Kerish suddenly heard the raised voices of Tayeb and his daughter.

  After a few moments Gwerath came towards them, past the groups of seated women and restless pack animals.

  "I'm sorry," she said. She was looking at Gidjabolgo as if she'd never seen him before. "I've tried but my father will not listen. The Torgu of the Hunter is coming for your servant."

  Forollkin raised himself on one elbow. "Coming? Why?"

  "My father says the Votaries of the Hunter must be pacified and that this will do it at little cost."

  "What will do it?" said Forollkin impatiently. "Tell us!"

  The shadow of the Torgu fell across the litter. Beside the old man were two warriors with ropes of hide in their hands. The Torgu of the Hunter touched Gidjabolgo with the spear in his left hand. "Bind him."

  The Forgite tried to run but the warriors seized him and dragged his arms behind his back for binding.

  "Stop" cried Kerish, "how dare you touch my servant!"

  "It was agreed," said the Torgu of the Hunter calmly, "on the day you entered the tribe. He belongs to the Hunter and I shall keep him safe, till we reach the foot of the mountain."

  "He belongs to no-one," protested Forollkin.

  The Torgu turned to his warriors: "Take the slave to the Tent of the Hunter."

  "I forbid you to take him," shouted Kerish.

  "It was agreed by the tribe, Torgu of the Goddess, and ordered by the Chieftain. Save your anger for him."

  "By Zeldin I will."

  *****

  Kerish found his uncle among the calf herders, settling an argument.

  "I must speak to you. The Torgu of the Hunter has..."

  "Not here." Tayeb took Kerish's arm and led him amongst a group of tethered Irollga, where they could not be overheard.

  "Now, sister-son, I know you are angry and I will not say that it is a slight thing to let your slave die on the spear of the Hunter, but try to understand that I act for the good of the tribe."

  "Your tribe!"

  "No, ours."

  Tayeb seized the Prince's hands, awkwardly, as if touch was not natural to him. "Ours. All my life I have dreaded the day when my strength will weaken and I may die on the horns of the Bull of the Tribe, while others choose my successor. Now the Goddess has sent me back my sister's child and it is not unknown for a warrior Torgu to take a chieftainship."

  Kerish could not bring himself to wrench away his hands but he said coldly, "That is deep in the future, but Gidjabolgo . . ."

  "Talvek, for twenty years I have struggled against the return of the old ways but the followers of the Hunter have loud voices in the councils of the Sheyasa. I cannot always defy them or in fighting every battle I may lose the war. Can you not believe that I serve the Goddess?"

  Kerish stared past his uncle at the russet flanks of the Irollga, placidly cropping the grass.

  "I think, I believe, that you meant to serve her but this cannot be right."

  "Would you rather I gave the Hunter a woman or a child?"

  "What will they do to him?"

  Tayeb's hands dropped. "I have never attended their rites. I do not know, Talvek, but it is only one death in seven years. In the dark times, the spear of the Hunter was never dry."

  "And you are setting the tribe back on that path, if you permit this murder," said Kerish harshly. "Your guilt will be as great as theirs."

  "They are not murderers, Talvek; they only seek to honour the Hunter. Enecko loves the Sheyasa as much as I do. We struggle to serve the tribe in different ways."

  "But you are giving up the struggle!" protested Kerish.

  The hem of Tayeb's cloak was a pool of scarlet among the trampled windflowers. He stared down at it as he spoke.

  "Sister-son, men are not perfect, as you would make them. All of us must yield part of our dreams or die of the world's harshness. My daughter will not understand this and wounds me with every word she speaks. Surely you can see that much must be painfully sacrificed to achieve a little."

  "Painfully? You sacrifice lives on the altar of your power, but I have never seen you weep," said Kerish. "What of the children of the Geshaka . . .?"

  "That is war, a different thing."

  "It is not different to those who die! Their blood..."

  "Blood? Are your hands so clean that you can condemn me? At least I have never tried to kill a kinsman."

  Kerish stepped back as if he were evading a blow.

  "Is that different, Talvek?" demanded Tayeb.

  "No."

  At the sight of Kerish's stricken face, Tayeb seemed to soften.

  "You are young, you speak as Taana used to do, but you have a man's courage." He took something white from the breast of his tunic. "Here is your dagger, wear it like a warrior. Don't flinch, sister-son. Wear it," said Tayeb ruthlessly, "as a reminder of the blood you have shed, till you draw it in a better cause."

  "You are just."

  Kerish took the dagger and tucked it in his belt. Through the thin leather his fingers felt the golden chain at his waist.

  "I can do nothing for your slave," continued Tayeb. "I am sorry that one whose life cannot have been happy should die so cruelly, but the Hunter will take him into his own circle and the tribe will keep his name alive. Be brave, sister-son.”

  Tayeb kissed Kerish on the forehead and quickly walked away.

  *****

  That afternoon another tribe was sighted on the horizon. Within an hour it was possible to make out the symbols on the banner carried by the first riders. Tayeb gathered an escort and rode out to greet the Chieftain of the Beshgoreen. A peace was sworn, gifts were exchanged and the tribes made a temporary camp, side by side. They would travel together to the Holy Mountain.

  To escape the confusion and excitement, Kerish slipped away to the hastily erected Tent of the Goddess, leaving Eamey to make Forollkin comfortable. Only one of the tapestries had been unrolled, the rest of the furnishings were still in their cart, and the Torga of the Goddess sat sobbing on the ground, her lap full of windflowers. After a moment she sensed that someone was watching her and looked up.

  "Cousin, should I leave, or can you share your grief?"

  "Why did you come here?" Gwerath scrubbed the tears from her eyes and tossed back her hair.

  "To think," answered Kerish simply.

  "What did my father say about your slave?"

  "A great deal," Kerish came a little closer, "but the kernel of it was that Gidjabolgo must die."

  "Father will never listen to me, never. I hate him."

  "Gwerath, you can't hate someone who loves you. Not all the time."

  "I hate him."

  She was sobbing again. Kerish knelt beside her but he dared not touch her.

  "He doesn't love me," said Gwerath. "I am no use to him. I cannot be a Chieftain and I cannot make men fear the Goddess."

  "Your father loves you as a daughter, not a Torga."

  "He didn't love my mother." Gwerath tore the petals from a windflower. "She died because he didn't love her and he never even speaks of it."

  "Silence often covers grief," said Kerish. "Cousin, thank you for caring about Gidjabolgo."

  "Of course I care! You think the Sheyasa are barbarous, don't you? Perhaps we are. "

  "The Sheyasa are afraid of the dark. So am I," admitted Kerish. "It is only wrong to try to appease it."

  Gwerath attempted to stop crying. "What will you do about your servant?"

  Kerish risked the truth. "We will try to rescue him and then escape together. We have to get to Seld."

  "But Forollkin can't ride yet!"

  "He is stronger than he looks. Gwerath, you won't tell your father?"

  "I would never betray Forollkin!"

  Kerish was abruptly reminded that his cousin had not forgiven him. He got to his feet. The windflowers spilled from Gwerath's lap
as she followed him across the tent.

  "How do you mean to rescue your servant?"