Kallista

by David Bell

Luzar seemed not to hear. He pointed upwards, over the cliffs, towards the top of the hill. “Fire,” he said.

  As they watched, the blaze took hold and flames began to leap high, sending showers of sparks into the night sky.

  “Look!” cried Sharesh, “people, I can see people. They’re throwing more wood on the fire!” His voice dropped. “I think they’re dancing.”

  “You two, come with me!” snapped the Captain of Archers to his men. “Full quivers and swords. And you,” he said to Kerma, “bring your axe; we’ll soon make them pay for what they’ve done.”

  Luzar stood in front of them, blocking the way. “Too many,” he said, “only women.” The Captain of Archers raised his arm to push him aside. Luzar stood his ground. “Women told me where to find medicine.”

  “Stand down, Captain,” said Kanesh. “They know their island and you will only lose them in the forest. Luzar, you will go and speak to them. You know what to say.”

  Not for the first time Sharesh wondered how moonlight could be so bright that he could pick out every stone and leaf and blade of grass, every glittering ripple on the sea, and yet be so cool that nothing had a colour, was only grey or black. The fire was bright. It burned high and had warmth and colour. The figures were still dancing by it. He thought one of them might be Luzar, but was not sure enough to say so to Kanesh.

  “Who is that fellow, Luzar,” said the Captain of Archers, to no one in particular. “Are they all like him where he comes from?”

  Kanesh stood just beyond the reach of the waves as they chased one another up the beach, foamed and fell back, soaking into the sand. He watched the horizon pale, redden, and flare as the sun brought it back to life. The others still slept and his thoughts were far away but he knew that Luzar stood behind him.

  “Their eyes are closed and their hearts beat slowly. You have done well, Luzar.”

  “They are poor women with no men. They want us to stay and be with them.”

  “You told them we cannot do that.”

  “Yes. They send offering.”

  “Put it by the fire. See that there are no black berries in it. They did not show you where the plant with the white flower grows. You knew where to find it and what it can do. You wanted the women to come to no harm, so you misled the Captain of Archers. They are wreckers. They light their fires for their dancing but also as false beacons to entice ships onto their shores.”

  “They are poor women,” said Luzar stubbornly. “I know wreckers, always poor people. We come to their island and take away water and white earth. We pay nothing.”

  “We will leave payment. The Captain always pays what is due. Doubtless you too have paid them, in the way they wanted,” said Kanesh, turning round. Luzar looked away, his thoughts elsewhere. “One day they will have their own men again.”

  Typhis leaned on the tiller and the Davina swung gracefully to starboard, standing well clear of the blue grotto, and set off in pursuit of the sun. The four oarsmen who had been close to death the night before pulled steadily at their oars. Their heads were aching and their mouths were dry but they remembered nothing. A thin column of pale blue smoke rose lazily from the hilltop near the edge of the forest. The ship was now too far out for even Sharesh’s keen eyes to see the women throwing off their tattered shifts and wrapping about their bodies the lengths of gaily coloured cloth that they found in a sealed box, left on the beach.

  Potyr listened carefully to Kanesh’s account of the night’s events. When it was over, he was silent for a long time, looking back towards the island as it slowly blurred into the morning haze. “Do you suppose,” he said with one of his enigmatic smiles, “that it might be prudent to offer the boar’s haunch to the Lord Potheidan?”

  “A wise precaution, for more than one reason,” replied Kanesh. “I will see to it.”

  “Shardana, helmsman, hold fast for Shardana,” said Potyr.

  SHARDANA

  Dawn next day found the Davina alone on the ocean. The crew had been glad to get away from strange lands of steaming seas and storms that burst from mountains forcing people to flee for their lives, and a few of them from islands where dangerous women roamed but, as always when they had no sight of land, they were beset by other fears, most of them never seen but no less frightening for that: of monsters bigger than any ship that rose from the ocean deeps; giants who rushed from their caves to snatch up a man and bite off his head with a single snap of their jaws; lights that shone, and voices that sang, out of the darkness, drawing storm-driven ships onto hidden rocks; clammy fogs that blinded lookouts, chilled the flesh and muffled all sound of waves breaking on the waiting reefs. But the deepest dread of all was that the ship would never again sight land, but sail on and on until she became a ship of the dead, adrift on the ocean forever. Potyr knew the signs: the quietness, the remote look in the eyes, the bowed heads. Sharesh was told to put his pipes to his lips and play, first the wistful songs of home and then the tunes that set fingers beating on the loom and toes tapping on the deck. Mirtias joined in, playing the lower notes. Sharesh remembered Koreta once telling him that all true seamen had music in them. It was something to do with the rhythm of the waves and the movements of the ship. With some it came out in song, with others, dance. For the fortunate few, it came from the lyre, or the pipes they held.

  For the rest of the day, the wind was fair, light and fine on the larboard quarter, slackening as night fell and leaving the Davina to coast along to a slow count with half a watch at the oars. Potyr had set the height of the star on his gauge when they had left the island and now he used it to take a sight whenever the level of the oil in the cabin’s lamp had lowered to the next mark. When he stood down to rest in the stern cabin, Kanesh took over the task, occasionally giving the gauge to Sharesh who had shown a good eye and a steady hand. Typhis knew a sound navigator when he saw one and soon stopped clicking his teeth whenever Sharesh politely called for an alteration of course. Kerma, who now seconded Typhis on the tiller, treated him with exaggerated obedience, repeating his words and calling him ‘Captain’.

  Towards the end of the first watch Sharesh took another sight on the Sailor’s Star, high and bright on the starboard beam. The Hunter was close to the horizon ahead. He had not many nights more to shine before he slid below the horizon, no longer to be seen until he rose to take up the chase again through the clear nights of winter. Sharesh smiled to himself at the thought that he was pursuing the great spearman who shone so brightly, the red star at his shoulder very clear to see. For the past few nights he had not been so easy to find, so low down where the haze raised from the sea by the mild, moist wind was thicker. Yet there was hardly any wind now; the sail hung slack on its yard. He looked around the whole sky. Every star shone with a hard, glittering light. The moon had a sharp edge and the shadows on her face were as clear as new bruises. He took the star’s height again, as he had been taught to do, and told Typhis they were on course, adding something about how bright the stars were tonight.

  “I was thinking that. The wind’s dropped and it smells a bit different. We’re in for some sort of change but I’ve never sailed this sea before, so I don’t know what. At least we can see where we’re going. Best let the skipper know.”

  Potyr was in the stern cabin, deep in conversation with Kanesh but both came on deck immediately on hearing what Sharesh had to say. Potyr scanned the sky, sniffed the air and looked out to sea.

  “Shorten sail and have the riggers stand by to trim when I give the order. Out all oars.”

  The bow wave surged as the ship picked up speed with all thirty oars at work. Sensing a weather change on the way, Potyr knew the men needed something in their stomachs if they were to be long at the oars so Namun and Sharesh were sent round with food for the crew, sweetened barley cakes and watered wine.

  “Something’s up,” said one of the riggers. “We don’t get treated like this in the middle of the night unless we’re in for a long hard slog.”

  “Eat it while you can,”
said Tessias, “and just hope you keep it down.”

  When the wind came it was cool, dry and on the starboard beam, beginning with short light gusts that set the ship to rolling. It soon strengthened to a strong blustery breeze that whipped flecks of white foam from the tops of long grey-green waves. Kerma joined Typhis at the tiller to keep the ship on course but, as the wind continued to build up, they found themselves struggling to hold her. Dawn came, streaking the horizon astern with bands of livid red and the wind rose to gale force, scoring the sea with long lines of foam and flinging spindrift and torn-off wave tops on board, soaking the crew. As he watched the water swirl over the planks and out through the gaps cut in the strakes, Potyr gave silent thanks to Naudok for insisting on a camber for the deck. Wind screaming through the rigging and waves pounding against the hull made it impossible for the crew to hear orders shouted from the stern so hand signals were used. The ship rolled so heavily that sometimes, in a trough, her masthead was barely above the crest height and she pitched like a bucking beast. Potyr knew it could not go on. It was impossible to heave to; the men’s desperate looks showed they could never keep her bow above the waves and he had no idea how long the gale would last. He had to turn her and run free. The danger was in catching a sea on the starboard quarter that would slew her round so that she broached or even capsized. He shouted his orders into Typhis’s ear, pointing at the racing waves. When the tiller was put over, with both helmsmen straining against the flow, she shipped the top a huge wave and heeled over so far that it seemed she could never right herself, but she pulled herself up at the last moment like a frightened horse struggling to its feet and with the rudder hard over and the starboard oars digging in, her bow swung downwind. With the wind astern, she still pitched, but much less so and the rolling almost died away. Now was the moment to seize for furling sail and letting her run with a bare mast. The danger was not past. The wind and sea together had enough force to drive the ship on without need of sail, but the oars had to work to keep her in front of the waves and give her steerage. Constant control of the rudder was vital if she was to be angled down the front of the bigger wave and not slam her bow into the back of the one ahead.

  “It seems the Lord Potheidan was not impressed by our offering,” said Kanesh drily, during a brief lull in the gale.

  “Land! Land fine on the starboard bow!” yelled Namun.

  The wind had risen again and no one could hear him but they turned to look in the direction he was pointing. The air was so clear and the sun so bright that even the flying spray could not hide the unmistakeable thickening of the horizon that meant land lay there.

  “Shardana,” said Potyr, “it must be Shardana.”

  “We’ll not get her in there, Skipper,” gasped Typhis. It’s risky enough running like this. If we put on some rudder we could get a big one across the stern and then we’d know about it.”

  “Very well. Keep the oars working and let her scud.”

  “How long?” asked Kanesh. “We are passing Shardana by. Will this wind carry us onto the Libun shore?”

  “It may be. I do not know this cool wind that blows so strongly but brings clear blue skies and a bright sun. What I do know is that it gained strength as the sun climbed. If we can hold on until the sun sets, it may slacken and then we may have a chance to raise sail and alter course before Shardana is astern of us.”

  “Then, if you agree, I will go forward and order the oars to rest in turns. They will need all their strength when the time comes.”

  Potyr nodded and Kanesh climbed down from the stern deck. When he looked back he saw Potyr making the gesture of supplication towards the sea. Lady Mother of the Oceans, thought Kanesh. He smiled to himself. Perhaps she should have had the offering, rather than the Lord Potheidan.

  Potyr snapped out the orders. “Larboard oars full. Starboard half rudder. Half sail. Lively now. Hold that trim.”

  The wind slackened as the sun slipped below the horizon and the waves lost height. Typhis was tensed, ready to right the rudder if the Davina should begin to yaw but she held steady and, although she rolled more, with the wind filling the shortened sail and the oarsmen fresh after their rest, she thrust across the waves in the direction of Shardana. As dusk was falling they rounded a tiny island lying off a wooded cape and found themselves in the calm waters of a small inlet on a coast that stretched onwards and was lost in the darkness of approaching night. The whole crew were allowed ashore to feel the solid ground under their feet once more and calm their churning stomachs and eat and sleep, at last, to sleep.

  Sharesh poked at the black embers with a stick, saw a faint glow and blew on it gently, holding a tuft of dry grass ready to catch the flame. The sky had already brightened into the same hard blue of the day before. Out to sea the waves rolled and leapt to the wind, throwing white caps in the air, but in the inlet it was calm. Smoke began to rise and he carefully placed dry twigs in a cone over the smouldering grass. He looked up and saw Leptos and Leptos standing thigh deep in clear green water, casting their nets into the shoals of small silver fish. Further off, along the beach, he could see Namun digging furiously in the sand, trying to catch the long shells before they burrowed too deep. The sand shifted behind him and a fluttering bundle dropped at his feet: three partridges tied by the neck. Luzar looked at him calmly for a moment, snares swinging from one hand, turned and walked away with his strangely fluid stride and disappeared into the heath land above the beach. The fire was burning strongly when he returned with a roughly fashioned basket full of speckled brown eggs.

  “We have no idea where we are,” said the Captain of Archers. “We don’t even know if this land is Shardana. We could be on the shore of Sapanim.”

  “We were a day on the island of women. From setting the bronze smith ashore, we are four days out. Three days sail, we were told. Sapanim cannot be so close,” said Potyr.

  “The dry gale drove us far off course. From here you can now see the far coast of this gulf turns away from the sun’s path. It may be we have landed on Shardana but not at the landfall we sought. We need a guide.”

  “I’ll send a patrol out and see if anyone is living here,” said the Captain of Archers.

  “Rather send Luzar first,” Kanesh said. “But have your men follow him at a distance and stay unseen.”

  Luzar was standing apart from the others who were happily finishing off the unexpectedly hearty meal that Namun and Sharesh had prepared. He was facing out to sea with his head raised towards the sun. His eyes were closed and his lips moved in silent speech. A low sound like bees humming came from his throat. As Kanesh watched, he turned to face the direction the sun would follow, continuing his chant but with a higher tone. Kanesh waited for the sound to cease. He had seen the mountain people of Anadolus and the Deshret nomads stand and chant like this and he knew that Luzar was speaking to his own people in the same way. The humming died into silence.

  “I have seen the people you want,” said Luzar.

  “We must have a guide,” said Kanesh.

  “I will bring guides.”

  “Luzar,” said Kanesh, “you once landed on Shardana, I know; is this Shardana?”

  “Yes. Not where I was. This part I do not know.”

  “Go find the guides.”

  The crew waded back to the ship in groups to do the cleaning and inspection of gear and fittings that Potyr insisted on after any passage in heavy weather. He spent a long time with the carpenters and riggers looking at the mast and spars that had taken such strain when the Davina was changing course to run before the gale. The carpenter said every time that happened it weakened the mast a bit, and you never could tell in such a wind when it might shear off and go by the board before you do anything to stop it

  Kerma and Myrtias were coiling ropes. “That’s not a bad bit of stone there, on that little island,” said the quarryman. “Looks as hard as the Swenet stone from here; different colour, though. If it’s under this headland as well, there’d be enough for a workin
g. Swenet, that’s in the Black Lamd. You’ve never been there, have you?”

  “Who’d have a use for it round here?” said the Taphian, unimpressed.

  “There’s always somebody wanting good stone. You just have to find them and tell them they need the one you know about. I think it might have been worked once: that one there’s got a very straight edge.”

  “And plenty of moss on it.”

  “All right, maybe it was a long time ago. If we stay here long enough, maybe I’ll bang a bit off for a new anchor stone. Keep my hand in, eh?”

  “Not today, stone cracker; there’s our tattooed shipmate coming back and he’s got two folk with him. One looks like a woman, which doesn’t surprise me, knowing what he’s like. If there’s any around, he’ll find them. She’ll likely be the guide the skipper was going on about. It’ll be up anchors before long, you can be sure of that.”

  “From what Luzar says, she is glad to get away. Her man never came back from fishing one day and she and the boy were left with nothing. She is not from this place. She has not said, but I think she was brought here by force. Her own people live in a settlement at the head of the gulf so she is glad to guide us there. She thinks gods have come from the sea to save her.” Kanesh smiled. “That may be useful: Luzar says she claims her father is a chieftain of some standing in those parts.”

  “Let us hope that at least we will find out where in Shardana we are and where we should set our next course,” said Potyr.

  Early in the afternoon the ship reached the head of the gulf and entered quiet water in a bay sheltered from the wind. Kanesh went forward to stand by the woman who was scanning the shore, anxiously, he thought. Her son sat on the deck below, enthralled in a game of dice with Namun.

  “Taken when she was a girl. Not sure yet where we land,” said Luzar.

  The woman suddenly pointed towards the shore, jabbing her finger again and again. She swung round with a wide smile on her face, shouting in her excitement then fell abruptly silent when she saw Kanesh. She looked fearfully across at Luzar and whispered something.