“I'm ready, Sire. But please excuse me if I hesitate. My tale is painful.” Menish nodded then, realising that was no reply for her, spoke his acknowledgement. There was that clarity in her voice again. She sounded as though she were reciting poetry.
“My name is Keashil and I'm from Moshanir, in the country of Golshuz. It was a country often forgotten in the struggles of war. We were a peaceful folk, when left alone. Relanor all but forgot us, the Invaders didn't know us and Anthor, I suppose, considered us part of Relanor.”
“That's true, Golshuz has always been part of Relanor.”
“Yes, but our association is a loose thing. A fire tower stands in our midst, a Drinol presides over us when one can be found to travel from Relanor, nothing more. We always thought of ourselves as Golshuz, not Relanor.”
“But you speak Relanese.”
“As you do, Sire. We worship Aton and take frequent baths as well. Our men folk, including my father, were Sons of Gilish. But there were also Vorthenki folk in our midst. Not pirates or wayfarers, they were happy folk who blended with our people easily and lived among us.
“We heard, of course, of the invasion. But the Vorthenki, the Invaders, did not come to Golshuz. We were forgotten for a time. But only for a time. In the year 913 Thealum and his hordes descended upon us.” Here she paused for a moment. It seemed to Menish she groped for words, or courage.
“One of the worst days of my life began when we heard that Monilen was laid waste. I was fifteen years old at the time, espoused to a wealthy merchant who dealt in rich fabrics that were delightful to caress. For my family it was to be a good marriage. I believe he must have been a kind man, for you who have sight regard us who have it not as inferior. He had only one other wife and she was much older than I.” Here Hrangil stirred uneasily. Menish, too, was uncomfortable with Relanese polygamy.
“Thealum’s horde were on the heels of the messenger. There was barely time to hide away the children before they fell on us. I need not describe the horror of it. At the end of the day I and a few other children who had reached a place of safety picked over the ruins of our city.
“We fled to the hills, I and the other children. I was one of the oldest and, therefore, to me fell the responsibility of the youngest ones. We spent six years living as outlaws in the hills, hiding from Vorthenki raiding parties in caves and makeshift forest dwellings.”
“And all this time you were blind?” asked an incredulous Drinagish. She smiled in the direction of the voice.
“Yes, I was born without sight. I've never known it, therefore I ask no pity on that account. I don't desire what I don't know.
“Those years were very hard. Many of the youngest children died in the first winter, which grieved me, I had a little brother… but that's past. There was never enough to eat, the winters were cold and often we dared not light a fire lest we were discovered. But I didn't notice my lot was much different to my fellows. I couldn't hunt, but we women left that to the men, for our boys quickly grew to men.
“One thing I found did make me different. I'm not sure how it came into our possession but, from the first, our small company owned a harp. My family had always prized music. My earliest memories are of playing and singing with my mother. So it often fell to me, when we were safe from discovery and a warm fire was lit, to play and sing away cold winter evenings.
“After six years of this life our small band was reduced to a dozen sorry starvelings. The Vorthenki hordes ebbed away at that time, I learned later that they were recalled south. Thealum was pressed to defend Relanor from the attacks of the Emperor, and yourself, Sire. For that you have my undying gratitude.
“There was little left of Golshuz. The high folk were obliterated, the peasants massacred. Only the Vorthenki that had lived in our midst were spared, and for them we were thankful. They sheltered us when we felt it safe to return from the wilderness. They listened to my songs and my harp and gave us gold for them. Once more we slept indoors with full bellies.
“Our fame grew and we travelled the length and breadth of Golshuz. No longer did we hide ourselves, messengers were sent before us announcing our imminent arrival. We were received with welcome and delight wherever we performed. I say ‘we’ because, while some of our original company left us, most could not bear to put away our deep friendships. If our bread was to be earned by singing songs then they resolved to help me earn it. I taught them what I could with my little harp, we used our gold to buy another, and they had always sung with me by the fire. Some danced and performed strange tricks but, while I could hear the delight of the crowd, I could not understand them.
“I married one of our company. His name was Aramish but he called himself ‘Rith’ and told the crowd that he was a great magician. For the first time I envied your gift of sight. I would hear him speaking, sounding deep and mysterious, then I would hear gasps of wonder from our audience. He explained to me what he did but I never understood their wonder. He would tell me that ‘the hand is quicker than the eye’ but that was no use to me.”
Suddenly she checked herself.
“I'm sorry, Sire. I ramble on like an old crone. But my Aramish was dear to me and those were happy times.” Menish noticed her lower lip had begun to tremble. “I bore him two children, a girl and this boy, Olcish, here.
“Now the saddest part of my tale begins.
“Our own Vorthenki of Golshuz delighted to hear us. But there were some who disliked us. Perhaps they took offence at some of our Relanese songs of Gilish, or perhaps they did not think my husband’s calling himself Rith was seemly. I don't know. We heard rumours that something evil was brewing, we had warnings not to travel too far north, but we laughed at them. Did the people not love us? So we paid them no heed and travelled north.
“We were on the coast north of Deenar two years ago when they attacked us. I can't tell you much of it. Olcish, here, can tell you more. I remember the clash of steel and the cries of those I loved. I clung to Olcish and we survived. Olcish tells me they killed Aramish but he does not know what happened to Falia, my daughter. Some of my friends survived, mostly women, and we were loaded into boats and taken much further north than we had ever wanted to travel.
“For two years I was in their power. I was traded for and sold more times than I can remember, though I always contrived to keep Olcish near me. They degraded me and made me sing for them, though they broke my old harp…” here her voice faltered and her shoulders shook with pain.
Althak placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“Enough. I believe we know the rest, and you're rescued now.”
She nodded, covering her face with her hands and pulling away from Althak as if she feared the touch of another Vorthenki. She let herself weep. Young Olcish clung to her arm, whispering comfort to her.
Menish was at a loss to deal with this hurt. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably and glanced at Althak. The Vorthenki was smiling.
“I think I can ease your loss a little.” He turned and rummaged in one of the packs that lay behind him. Menish was puzzled. Althak muttered some Vorthenki curse when he could not find what he wanted. He left his seat and searched further. Finally he returned, his smile broader than ever. Olcish saw what he had but Althak put his finger to his lips before the boy spoke. Then, carefully, he placed his harp on the woman’s lap.
Her sobs abated. She choked them back to make way for her confusion. Carefully, delicately she felt the object in her lap. Her fingers glided across it, almost caressing it. She felt the strings as if she dared not pluck them.
Then she lifted it and returned it to Althak.
“You are kind, but I can't play it. It's not my own.”
“It is your own,” said Althak placing it firmly back on her lap. “I give it to you.”
She was unused to kindness. She tried to protest but her voice broke into weeping again. Althak drew her close to him, enfolded her in his great arms and rocked her gently. At first she rejected his comfort but he persisted. Pre
sently she wept into his shirt.
Menish looked away, embarrassed. It was innocent enough but Althak's extravagant comfort reminded him of Vorthenki orgies. His own folk would never behave this way. Yet Menish's natural compassion approved. Should he have done this with Thalissa when he met her on the dock? Instead he had taken away the only things she cared about and left her weeping. Unable to resolve these conflicts he rose, left the circle of lamplight and walked into the darkness.
*
In the darkness lay Azkun.
As consciousness slowly returned to him he stirred. The pain in his forehead, and also his neck, which had taken some of the shock of the blow, was intense. But his main discomfort was that he was sick with horror. He could still smell blood on the decks, he could still hear the screams of dying men, and he could still see that darkness of oblivion they had been dragged into.
Death. He remembered the death of the pig only vaguely now. It had appalled him at the time, but it paled into insignificance before the death of a man. This afternoon he had felt many men die.
The horror writhed inside him. The darkness was no longer a thing that had opened and shut for the pig. It had opened, gorged itself, and now it lay in wait for its next victim. There was a foul availability about it, like the stench of drying blood. He moaned quietly and opened his eyes.
At first the darkness confused him. The moving yellow light of the lamp was unfocussed and mysterious. He did not know how much time had passed. Had he, also, passed into the darkness? Was there something on the other side? But his vision cleared. He recognised the lamps for what they were, the part of the deck he lay on was shrouded in shadow. He could only just make out the figure of Tenari beside him. She still sat dumbly staring at him.
Someone had placed something soft beneath his head but his body lay on the hard deck. He sat up, feeling his bones stiff and sore. Something had dug into his ribs while he lay prone and they now ached painfully. He felt out the irritating object with his fingers and lifted it to the light so that he could see it.
It was a man’s finger.
For a moment the horror of the battle rushed back at him. The gouging of swords, the hacking of flesh, the jaws of oblivion. Menish had attacked him, he knew why for he had perceived Menish’s intention. Menish had attacked him to save him. The paradox knotted itself in his mind. It suddenly seemed absurdly funny that Menish could rescue him by crashing his shield down on his head.
He giggled.
He held a man’s finger in his hand. It looked quite normal. He could bend it at the joints. Only the sticky wetness at the severed end hinted at its owner’s demise.
The man was dead.
Dead.
The darkness had swallowed him.
Menish had hacked at his hand as it reached over the gunwale. Azkun had felt his horror as he fell into the water below, his heavy armour dragging him under.
The finger was the same size as his own, as if he had six fingers on that hand. A wind was blowing through him. A numbing wind from the Chasm, but still he giggled at the finger, at the paradox, at the wind. He rolled on the deck, hugging the finger, cackling insanely as his mind was blown away by the wind.
Suddenly firm hands gripped him. He tried to fight them off but they overcame him. The shape of Tenari bent over him and slapped his face. She wrenched the finger from his grasp and tossed it into the sea.
The madness left him cold, shaking and frightened. By the time Menish, who had heard the commotion, arrived Tenari had resumed her blank stare.
“Azkun, what happened?” He shook him until his teeth rattled.
“Nothing, nothing, an evil dream, I think. It has passed.”
Azkun saw Menish look pointedly at Tenari for a moment then he picked up a flask of ambroth and offered it to him.
“How do you feel now? Would you like some of this?”
“No, no, thank you. I am… no, I am not well, but I am better. My head-”
“I'm sorry. You took a fit and were in danger from the pirates. If I'd been less pressed I'd have simply moved you to a place of safety.”
“I know, you did what you had to.” He smiled. “My head is sore, but I am alive still. So far.”
“Are you sure you'll take no ambroth? It's good for hurts.”
“I am determined not to.”
“Some water then?”
“No.”
“Then you'd best sleep at least. A blow to the head can addle the brain. One’s thoughts become twisted. The time is best passed in sleep, besides it's night.”
Chapter 10: The Dolphin
When Azkun next awoke the sun shone in his face. He was aware of Keashil. Her grief penetrated his perception acutely. Even comforted she left shadows of sorrow in his mind, reminding him of the old woman at Lianar, the one who had claimed that Tenari was her daughter.
Tenari still sat blankly at his side like a ministering angel who had forgotten her purpose. He remembered the finger, or was that a dream? His memories of the day before were mercifully muddled. He did not want to look at that darkness again.
Keashil’s pain ached in him. He could see her from where he lay. She sat curled against Althak, her blind eyes still weeping the tears she had refused in her captivity. Azkun knew that she was blind. The fact was stamped indelibly on her mind. Her eyes were darkness, yet they were not darkness. They did not see darkness, they did not see anything. Althak held her and stroked her hair. Azkun felt his compassion and it eased the hurt that he had taken as his own.
His head still throbbed, especially when he moved, but he could not remain where he was. This blind woman’s pain stirred him. Althak’s care for her challenged him. It made him wonder about answers to anguish, answers to darkness. When he stood up shafts of pain raced through his head and neck, the deck appeared to spin about him and rock more than the motion of the waves justified. He stumbled. A red haze clouded his vision. Tenari had stood when he had. He grasped at her shoulder, missed and tumbled to the deck.
He was not hurt. The red haze cleared and he slowly rose to his feet again. Tenari made no move to help him. She had made no move to catch him when he had fallen. She was a blank wall.
This time he caught her shoulder before the dizziness could return. He turned her so that she faced him and looked into her blank stare, trying to touch his mind to hers.
“Tenari.” But he could think of nothing to say to her, her mind was as blank as her stare. Again there was a hint of something that slipped away from him, like a door closing behind his back just before he turned. A door in the nothingness.
Keashil’s grief was more real. Holding Tenari’s shoulder and walking carefully on the gently rolling deck he reached Althak and the woman. Menish, Hrangil and Drinagish lay on skins nearby in the rough shelter of the sailcloth windbreak. They still slept. A small boy, unnoticed before by Azkun, lay on the other side of Althak. He too was asleep.
Althak looked weary. He had fought hard yesterday and he looked as though he had not let himself sleep all night. Azkun sat down near him and remembered how the Vorthenki had given him garments and food when they had met, how he had tried to help him through his moments of darkness.
Keashil had stopped weeping. She had woken from a fitful sleep not long before Azkun, it seemed, and the memory of where she was had brought back her sorrow.
“Good morning,” said Althak with a serious smile, not his usual grin. “How's your head?”
“Not too painful. Dizzy still, but I am well enough.”
“And your arm, and the other hurts from the river?”
“Oh, I had not noticed them. My arm is no longer painful.” He looked at Keashil.
“You haven't met,” said Althak. “This is Keashil, we rescued her from the pirates, and her son Olcish. She has suffered much and-”
“Yes I know, she is blind.”
He looked puzzled for a moment, obviously wondering how Azkun knew so easily. Then he turned to Keashil.
“This is Azkun. He is a fellow
traveller, one of our company. He was hurt yesterday by a blow on the head, which is why you didn't meet him then.”
Keashil had shifted herself to a more dignified position when Althak had greeted Azkun. She now sat beside him, composed but with reddened eyes.
“You are perceptive,” she said. “Few people can tell my condition so easily. I'm told I appear normal to the sighted until I walk.”
Azkun hesitated, wondering if perhaps she could sense his mind the way he could sense hers.
“I am… perceptive.” The channels of her thoughts were strange, lacking any hint of vision. But, as far as he could tell, she had only a quick mind and a ready ear.
“Who's the other, the one with you? I heard a step.”
“That's Tenari,” said Althak, “a woman who also accompanies us. She doesn't speak.”
“Why not?”
“She was found at the mouth of the Chasm of Kelerish a few days ago. No doubt she suffered great harm there.”
“From the Chasm?” Keashil shuddered as if she knew something of the horror of the place. “Then it's little wonder she cannot speak. I've never heard of anyone escaping that place. How old is she?”
“Young, she's full grown, but she's young. Perhaps sixteen or seventeen years. Sometimes she appears older. I think that if the layers of dirt were removed she'd show her age better.”
“Come here, child,” said Keashil. “Let me touch you.”
Tenari, of course, did not move.
“She follows Azkun as faithfully as a hound, but she obeys no commands. She does nothing, says nothing.”
Azkun remembered the episode with the dead finger.
Keashil was determined. She felt her way across the space between herself and where she had heard Tenari sit down and delicately touched her face. She ran her fingers down her dark hair and across her cheeks. Tenari ignored her, except that she closed her eyes when Keashil touched her eyelids. Keashil sighed and returned to her place beside Althak.
“I wondered. My daughter would have been only a little younger than her and when the pirates took us I never knew what happened to her. But this is not my Falia.”
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