Kallista

by David Bell

  The sun was ahead of them by the time they had crossed the bay and begun to follow the coast as it curved away in the direction of the sunset. A light wind was swelling the sail and the oarsmen pulled easily. Sharesh put away the water cask and ladle he had taken round the thirsty crew, picked up the captain’s jug and went to the foot of the short ladder that led up to the stern deck. He stopped. Potyr was facing the shore with head bowed and arms held out in the gesture of dedication. All that Sharesh could see was a cluster of rocks jutting up from a sandy beach. There was a white building near the rocks, but it was hardly bigger than a fisherman’s hut.

  “The old people say that when the Lady was born she came out of the sea near those rocks,” said a quiet voice.

  Sharesh turned to see an oarsman of the off-duty watch sitting with his back against the ship’s side and looking at him.

  “Skipper believes it, anyway,” said the man. “Best leave him for a bit. There’s a sanctuary near some caves up on a hill along the coast, near where we change course again. He’ll likely pull in there, but not for long, you’ll see. He won’t want to lose time with this wind.”

  Potyr proved him right – and wrong. The light wind that had carried them so far faded as the sun neared the horizon and, with oars held steady in the water, the ship coasted to a stop in a small bay where the lead weight read two knots on the line. Holding the rudder inline, Typhis turned her carefully about, using only the oars until she faced out to sea. Bow and stern anchors were lowered and Namun and Sharesh ordered to get ashore and start preparing food. To the pessimists among the crew, that meant yet another early start after a quick supper and a short sleep. They too were mistaken. Potyr knew that ahead of them lay four or five days on the open ocean out of sight of land. He needed a well-fed and well-rested crew at the oars before he put to sea again.

  While Namun and Sharesh went searching for firewood and water, other men brought ashore bags of coarse barley flour, olives and dates bought in Gubal and strings of fish that Sharesh’s trailing lines had caught on the way. Crew spirits rose at the prospect of a hearty meal and more so when they heard they could take blankets ashore if they wished. When Namun and Sharesh came back loaded with brushwood and a story of birds roosting not far inland from the beach, visions of a feast followed by a long lie-in meant all that back-aching work at the oars might have been worth it, for now at least.

  “They’re partridges and they won’t fly in this light,” whispered the archer to Sharesh. “My mate’s gone off round the other side and what you do is wait until I tell you and then you creep up, slow and not too noisy and they’ll hobble off along the sand away from you and towards him. Then he’ll throw the net. Wait. Now, off you go.”

  They took thirty plump birds back to the beach where barley cakes made by Namun were baking on flat stones over the embers of one fire, and fish impaled on long green sticks were grilling in front of another. Before long, thirty plucked and gutted partridges had joined them.

  “I’m not sure we should have eaten those partridges,” said one of the bow oarsmen to his mate as they lay under their blankets near the dying fire.

  “Why’s that?”

  “You haven’t sailed this coast before, have you? There’s a sanctuary up there, caves, sacred myrtle grove, priestesses, everything. Could have come out of the Lady’s grove, those birds could. Skipper didn’t like it, you could tell. He didn’t eat any.”

  “The lord did.”

  “I wonder about him. You never see him make any of the gestures, not like the skipper.”

  “When you say there’s priestesses, do you think they have any of those, you know, sacred servants, up there?”

  “This isn’t Kestera.”

  “I wouldn’t mind one of them serving me. It’s been a long time.”

  “Watch your mouth. If the skipper hears you –”

  “He’s not here. I saw him heading off to where you say that sanctuary is. He was carrying something.”

  Potyr stood by the altar and watched reverently as the silver star of evening climbed slowly up from where the sun had slipped below the horizon, its steady light a brighter disc within the glow the sun had left behind. At this time of the year, Potyr knew the star burned its fiercest, climbing to seek the embrace of the moon. The low soft sound of women chanting came from the cave and glimmering lights appeared in its depths. Potyr made no move; he knew men had no place in there. Two white-robed figures with silver crescents about their necks seemed to float from the dimness like wraiths and stood, one at each side of the entrance. The faint light grew brighter until its rays shone on altar and Potyr’s face. He stood with head bowed and eyes closed until the moon came its closest to the star and the light from the cave gradually dimmed. The wraith-like priestesses faded into the darkness and the chanting died away into silence, leaving only the sound of waves breaking on the shore below. Potyr placed his offering of three silver fishes on the altar, brought his hands together in the gestures of supplication and dedication and made his way to the path that led down to the beach.

  In the grove of myrtle bushes, two young bodies, aching from forced stillness, stood up and crept away towards the edge of the headland. They gazed at the twinkling silver path the moon was spreading across the sea towards them.

  “Why fishes?” whispered Namun.

  “The Lady came out of the sea.”

  “The same Lady as before?”

  “The Lady is the same everywhere, my mother says,” said Sharesh.

  “Ashatar,” murmured Namun under his breath. Then he said aloud with a giggle, “we’ll be gone before they miss the partridges.”

  Was it Potyr’s offering that had softened the Lady’s heart into giving them this safe, speedy passage across the empty ocean? Sharesh could not decide, and Namun was no help. Don’t ask questions, he had said, just take what you’re offered and be glad of it. They had had a sweet following wind, warm days and clear skies at night so that Potyr never lost sight of the stars, the sailors’ faithful star, yes, but others too, that would tell him where his course lay when they reached their highest.

  “The master gauged that height when we stood off the last point on Alasya,” said Kanesh to Sharesh, “and he knows if he keeps to it he will make the landfall on Keftiu that he wants. He need only use his eye but you can do the same, by sighting with your arm raised towards the star.”

  “Or with two straight wands held at one end, one level and the other lifted to the height!” Sharesh burst out as the picture flashed into his mind.

  “Indeed!” laughed Kanesh. “Who would have thought of that?”

  “I expect Naudok has, but he never goes to sea.”

  “You’d still need a lookout,” said Namun later, when Sharesh told him his idea. “Stars don’t tell you where the reefs are.”

  Sharesh had to agree with that. There must be a way of knowing how the stars could always remind you where the reefs were. But he could not think of one.

  At mid-morning on the fifth day out from Alisya, Namun sighted land, fine on the starboard bow. Potyr offered up a silent prayer of thanks. It was the mountains of Kapera rising from the sea. The crew ate their roasted fish, beans and olives that night on the sands of Keftiu, in the very cove where they had slept before sailing for Gubal all that time ago. There was no need for the measure of wine that Potyr allowed them to rouse the men to dancing and singing; relief at being safe home was enough to do that, but it did help, all the same.

  The ten who had joined the crew in Gubal and four others who had homes on Keftiu watched the ship pull away fom the cove and disappear in the dawn mist. One or two would soon ship out again, on the Black Land run from the Itana or Eruta, but those with wives and farmsteads on their mind slung their sacks over their shoulders and set out on the long walk home. The lambs and kids would have been born by now and it was time for sowing the seed. Come early summer and it would be time to put to sea again, for one last run, or two, before the bad weather set in.

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nbsp; Kallista! One moment he was exultant at the thought, and the next, uncertain. Kallia! He could hardly wait to see her again, but would there be time and the chance? He had heard Potyr and Kanesh talking of as quick a turn round as possible. Tika! Who would look after her when he was gone? His mother, of course; he felt calmer at the thought of her. She had looked so sad when he sailed last time. What would she feel when he waved to her from the ship as they drew away from the quay and set sail for the Endless Ocean? Perhaps they would never return. What would she feel then? What would Kallia feel? Tears brimmed in his eyes at the thought of their despair. Stupid! He wiped his wet cheeks with his hand, hoping the mist hid his face. Kanesh said keep your thoughts of home in one locked room of your mind and take care in choosing the time to open it again. Home was one day distant. Think of other things! The burning pirate ship; the storm; Kanesh standing on the ramparts of Gubal; Keftiu had no ramparts; the things Namun had told him he did in Gubal the night before the ship sailed; Keftiu; the Palace; the dancing; the dark corridors; Pasipha! What would she feel when…

  “Keep your eyes skinned, and your ears open, you there on the bow!”

  With nothing to do yet but watch the wave line slant away from the ship’s side, Namun was content. Kallista was on his mind, too. He had managed to pick up quite a few small things in Gubal that should fetch good prices in the tavern near the harbour. Might there be a chance of getting Mara and Teptria into that hot pool again? If not, there was always work for a strong lad at the Lady’s House. On the way he must sneak in to see the Lady Akusha’s maid: he had a bag of dates from Gubal for her.

  The sail was sighted by the Mountain lookout soon after the dawn mists lifted. A boy was sent scampering down the mountainside to run to the town as fast as he could, with news that the first ship of the season was heading towards the port. When Dareka was told by the harbor master, he was certain that only the new ship could be making the passage from Gubal so early in the year. Word spread quickly. A ship, that mysterious new ship there had been so much rumour and argument about, was on its way. It meant winter was well and truly over and life, the life of the sea and trade, was about to start up again. When the ship entered the harbour it seemed as if the whole town had come running to greet her.

  Starboard-side oars were drawn in as she drew close to the jetty and, with an almost casual touch on the tiller, Typhis laid her alongside. Namun and Sharesh timed their leaps to perfection and snuggled her against the boards. Merida stood precariously on the edge of the jetty struggling to prevent the excited throng from pushing him into the water. His face shone with a mixture of astonishment and pride. He almost fell on board and clambered up the short ladder to the stern deck.

  “Thanks be to the Lord Potheidan! Am I glad to see you!”

  He looked quickly along the ship’s length and back again and up and down the mast, then cast an anxious, questioning look at Potyr.

  “No damage – no leaks – didn’t lose a sail, oars? What about the cargo? Is it dry? By the Lord Potheidan, Potyr, the Gubal run from Keftiu and then back at this time of the year! Nobody does that!”

  “No one has had a ship like this before.”

  “You’re right, Potyr, you’re right. You always are. I’m sorry. Just look at her! All my friends, if I have any left now, will turn green when they see her. Wait a minute. There is something wrong. Where’s the steering oar, lost at sea? Typhis, where’s the steering oar?”

  “Sold off in Gubal. Now don’t look like that. We didn’t need it any more after the rudder fittings were repaired in Gubal.”

  “Rudder? Fittings? You’re going to have to explain all that to me. It sounds expensive. Now, Potyr, between you and me, she looks beautiful but can she do the job? How does she sail?”

  “She flies across the waves like a seabird.”

  “Flies? Like a seabird, yes, well, that’s good,” stammered Merida, nonplussed. “Across the waves, you say, hmm, that’s good.”

  Dareka called from the jetty that he had asked the harbor master to clear a way through the crowd to let unloading begin.

  “Leave it a bit longer,” said Merida. “I want them all to have a good look. And I want my bee sewn on the sail, to let everybody know whose ship she is. Yours to sail, of course, captain,” he said, turning to Potyr, “but mine to pay for.”

  “Is the Lady Tuwea not here? It would be a pleasure to show her the ship,” said Kanesh.

  “She doesn’t like crowds. She’ll wait until it’s all cleaned up. She’s seen what a ship can look like after a long sea voyage. She’s sure to want to see it, don’t you mistake. She says if it hadn’t been for this ship and what it cost, her new house would have been built and paid for long ago. Great Diwonis, that reminds me. Did you bring the vines?”

  “She flies across the waves like a seabird, Mother.”

  “So I have heard, my son. Now, while Seta makes things ready, tell me what you have seen.” He told her of the temple on the hill above the great harbour where Kanesh said the ships set sail for the Black Land. He wondered why her eyes took on a faraway look. He told her of the storm and the fight with the pirate ship and the pig the archer shot that Kanesh said wasn’t a wild one. She laughed at that. He told her about the fountain in Gubal and the ramparts where you could stand and see the roads leading away to distant lands. He told her what he learned from the smith who had no tongue and talked with his hands and his eyes. Why did she draw in her breath at that and look so sad? Was it pity for a man who had no tongue? He told her of how Typhis had let him steer the ship with the new rudder and how light she was to steer. She laughed again and said one day he would be a captain. He told her of the sanctuary on Alisiya and how Potyr had made an offering to the Lady who came out of the sea, and how Kanesh had said he knew Alisiya to his cost. He saw tears in her eyes and stopped, wondering what he had said to distress her. It was nothing, she said; she was just happy to see him home again and that started his tears, and she put her arms round him.

  She had her own memories of Alisya. When the captain came to her and said they must put to sea, she told him to wait. He came again and said they must go, the lord had ordered him to leave with her if he did not return by this time. She cursed him for a coward and refused to go. She struggled and struck and bit them, but they bound her and carried her to the ship. She screamed and raved so they wrapped a cloth round her mouth and sailed on. They took the cloth from her mouth so that she could drink and she raved and tried to bite them again. They poured sweet syrup down her throat. She woke to find herself lying under her cloak on a grassy ledge above the beach. A jug of water and a basket of barley cakes were beside her. The sea was empty of ships. She smashed the jug on a rock and threw the cakes into the sea and followed them, swimming until she could swim no longer. The fisherman pulled a sodden bundle from the sea into his boat, thanking the Lady Mother for the gift of such a fine cloak. The woman wrapped in it was near death. He could push her back into the sea, keep the cloak and go to his fishing ground and no one would know. His wife would know something when she saw the cloak. This is a lady’s cloak, said his wife, and this silver crescent on her throat is of a kind only a princess would wear. The lady has come from the sea, said his wife. The priestess must be told. She sat in the sanctuary day and night, silent, eating nothing, drinking nothing. One day the priestesses came with donkeys and said she would go with them, many days’ journey, to the sanctuary of the Lady who came from the sea, as she had done. She would find peace there, they said. She said nothing, caring nothing. It was a peaceful place on a headland not far from a bay where ships rode at anchor. There was a grove of myrtle where the priestesses would sit with her when the sun was warm and speak of the Lady who came from the sea. For a moment, no more, now and then, the singing and soft words eased her grief. One day the priestess said she must eat and drink, a little at first, then more because she was not alone. When she was strong again, a ship in the bay would take her across the sea to a place fit for her, not like here. Th
ere was a great palace there and a temple where she would be safe in the service of the Lady, the Mother. She had surely heard of it, Keftiu, where many ships came and went. Perhaps, one day, a ship might carry there someone she had known, who could say. They would tell her when the ship was ready to sail. It would be soon.

  She held him away from her at arm’s length and looked at him. He had grown so tall and his hands with their long fingers, so quick yet careful with the stylus, were hard. Sailors let their hair grow. His reached almost to his shoulders. Sailors looked at the horizon, or the stars. His eyes now had that long, level look. He had lips that women might dream about, like those of…

  “Mother? Why do you look like that?”

  “Is there someone you wish to see, while you have the time?”

  “Oh, no, well, that is, no, or perhaps Lord Koreta, or the scribe. His voice tailed away.

  “She will be at the Lagoon House – that is what Merida now calls it – tomorrow. She spends time again with Lady Tuwea, now that I have explained certain matters.”