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Kallista

Page 65

by David Bell


  “Where now?” said Namun.

  “Up there, to the top, where that deer went; there’s a track.”

  It was windy on the ridge. They looked back to the coastline the ship had followed for the past days, glad to feel fresh air cool their faces. Overhead, great black birds sat the wind, their hooked beaks pointing in the same direction, their broad wings with the frayed ends holding them motionless in the sky.

  “Flat clouds coming this way,” said Namun, pointing. “The lord will want to know that.”

  “You can see two oceans from here,” said Sharesh. He almost had to shout above the noise of the wind. “Ours and…”

  “It’s too cold to stand about here,” said Namun. “We’ve seen what the lord sent us up to see. Let’s get back down.”

  It was warmer again on the sheltered side, even in a little breeze that seemed to be coming up the slope.

  “See that, out there, in the strait?” said Sharesh. “Like waves in the sea, curving down wind. That’s the way we have to go.”

  “You tell him that,” shouted Namun, “I’m off.”

  Sharesh watched him speeding down a long chute of flat stones towards the line of shrub thicket, then turned to look back towards the ridge, wondering what was making deep croaking calls; ravens, perhaps, warning off the soaring hawks. Trails of white mist were gathering below the line of the ridge, twisting and falling back as they rose. The sun stood overhead now, dazzling him. He turned away and looked out to sea. The whole strait lay there before his eyes, beyond the bay and between those two cliffs that stared at each other across the blue water that divided one land, of which he now knew a little from another of which he knew nothing save what Kanesh had told him. And it led the way from one ocean of which he knew a little to another, far greater, of which neither he nor anyone else on the ship but Luzar knew anything. The Endless Ocean. He could see no end to it, at least not from where he was standing.

  The ravens were still croaking but he could no longer see the wind-hovering hawks. A white cloud streaming down wind from the ridge crest hid them from view. The banner cloud, of course; Kanesh must have seen it but that was no reason for not getting back to the ship as fast as he could go. He set off after Namun.

  In the middle of the afternoon, Leptos and Leptos gathered up their nets and pulled in their fixed lines. An offshore wind was a sure sign that no more fish would be biting or shoaling in these shallow waters. The banner cloud was now flowing away from the mountaintop, clear for everyone to see.

  “I swear by the sweet Lord Diwonis, that was Halaba wine,” sighed Kerma.

  “If it was, it was wasted on you,” said the chief rigger. “You throw it down your throat as if all it was good for was washing away quarry dust.”

  “Heave to there, shipmate, before I use your own rope to give you a tight collar.”

  “Wine and roasted partridge and sesame cakes; we’re in for it, you can be sure of that,” said a young oarsman from Kydona, picking his teeth.

  “Dismal bugger,” said Kerma. “Live for now I say, and tomorrow may be better still. What do you say, Taphian? Thinking of that brother of yours making ready for the Festival in Keftiu? Must be soon, or is it past now? I lose track of the days.”

  “I’ll tell you what I think,” said Tessias. “I think you never know what the sea is going to do next so all you can do is follow the skipper and you won’t go far wrong.” He grinned. “Even if he gets you drowned you can always say you followed a real seafaring man.”

  “That’s the spirit! What about you, young man, and while you’re thinking about it, pass me that last cake there. I’m getting hungry again.”

  Kerma’s ‘young man’ was the oldest seaman in the crew; a grandfather, rumour had it. He scratched his head with broken blackened nails and added more wrinkles to his forehead as he knitted his eyebrows in thought.

  “I saw a fish out there in the middle of the channel,” he said. “Long as this ship he was when he lifted right out of the water and come down smacking the waves with his tail, hard enough to capsize a ship. He was fair running in that current like he had legs.”

  “There you are, then. If he can pass the strait, so can we.”

  “He wasn’t going the way we’re going,” said the grandfather. There was a silence after that. Then Sharesh spoke up.

  “From up the hillside I could see waves going our way.”

  “Not real waves,” said the old seaman. “Deep down, maybe, you can get waves deep down, but not waves as a ship can ride on.”

  “What about the wind? That’s blowing the way we want it.”

  “Offshore this afternoon. That might help.”

  “It was getting rough out there, last thing,” said a Kallista man who sometimes stood lookout on the bow. “I saw a lot of those little black birds, you know, the ones without legs that skitter along the wave tops? With them about there’s a storm in the offing, sure enough.”

  Typhis dropped down beside them. “I heard that,” he said. “If the wind does get up, it’ll blow us through. The skipper says we’re to keep close to this shore and not get out into mid channel. And if there is a bit of offshore, it’ll keep us clear of any reefs. Trust the helmsman, lads. And the skipper, of course. Anything left in that wineskin? No? Time to go then. Same drill. Be ready to row at sunrise. Kick some sand over that fire.”

  Potyr looked down at the upraised faces of the crew, all tensed with their hands gripping the oars. Kanesh stood at his side, cloak slung over his shoulders and sword hanging at his side. Potyr spoke.

  “I put it to you straight. You will be the first men to sail a Keftiu ship over the Endless Ocean and, if the Lady Mother sees us safely home to Keftiu, the storytellers will see that you are remembered. And remember this: nothing will stop us passing this strait except our own fear that we cannot pass it. Helmsman, double the lookouts and keep close to this shore. Take her out.”

  As the light of evening thickened, the Davina lay at anchor off a sandspit that almost enclosed a deep sheltered harbour on the Endless Ocean coast of Sapanim. Potyr let fall another bronze ring into the water.

  PASIPHA

  Pasipha was content, in fact, rather pleased with herself. The morning had been hectic. Seeing the Commander off with his entourage on a tour of the estates of the great landowners was a duty, but tiresome: such a clatter of hooves and shouting of orders, dust and the smell of horses, and men, sweating in the heat. Now they were gone and it was cool and quiet in the white-walled room with the shutters closed against the sun’s glare. She lay back on the silk sheet and stretched her arms and legs wide, luxuriating in the thought of a whole moon of freedom. Now she had time to think over the events since the ship had sailed. The circumstances of that had been rather awkward, she had to admit, and not what she had planned, but self-confidence and some quick thinking had dealt with the problem. A pity about the troop commander, such a handsome man, but there you are. Since then, all had gone well. Her portrait was finished and she was pleased with it, although it would not do to let the painter think she was entirely satisfied. She smiled at the thought. He must not be allowed to think he ever achieved that. Then there was the triumph of Thyras, her champion, at the Games. No one came near his skill with the bulls now that Dissias had returned home to Taphis. Why, after he had brought off the highest and most graceful leap of the day, the bull had turned back towards him while he was facing the crowd and charged. And what had he done? Simply spun round when he heard the hooves, sprung onto the bull’s back and ridden it round the courtyard, waving to the people and leaped down when it was below her place, to deliver her the deepest of bows. Some had thought it too ostentatious, even a slight against the High Priestess, but she had won too many wagers with her champion to care anything for tongues that might wag. After the ceremonies and devotions, what a night of celebration there had been. Despite the demands of the afternoon, Thyras seemed to have no limit to his energy and he did have that fascinating scar. The girls had helped, of course,
in their feral Taphian ways.

  She heard the harsh cry of the peacock. The boy, Sharesh, the chosen one, had said to her that he had been dreaming of the orbs on the peacock’s feathers when she had wakened him in the garden that time. Such a sweet boy. She remembered his innocent eagerness. Well, he had escaped her, but where was he now? A ship had come in some time ago with news of a sighting off, what was the place, the Pelos cape? She was not sure where that was but it sounded far away and her husband had told her that Sekara had said their next landfall should be somewhere called Alefisia but there had been no further word. The Endless Ocean. She repeated the words out loud: Endless Ocean. She shivered a little and frowned. Had the room grown cold? She reached out and struck the little silver gong at her bedside. When the maid came she told her to open the shutters to let in some warm air and then dress her in her yellow house gown. When this had been done, Pasipha went to the window and looked down to the garden. The almond blossom was long gone from the branches but she had ordered the fallen circles of petals to be left on the grass. Circles and almonds were shapes that gave her strange feelings. The pale green husks with their soft furry skins were swelling on the twigs. The crop would be heavy this year. It was time to go to the pool. Thyras must be summoned. She turned to reach for the gong and found the maid still in the room.

  “What is it?”

  “Messages, my lady, two messages.”

  “Go on.”

  “From the Palace, my lady…”

  “I know about the Palace. I have already ordered my chair.”

  “My lady is asked to attend on the Presence earlier, before sunset.”

  “Very well. Have the steward told. Why are you waiting?”

  “The other message, my lady. The Lord Sekara says –”

  “The Lord Sekara has left with the Commander and his Company.”

  “The Company passed by the harbour, my lady. The Lord Sekara saw a ship from far away had just dropped anchor. She had come in from Sikelia loaded with copper ingots. The captain had spoken with Captain Potyr and the Lord Kanesh many days before. He said they were headed for,” here the girl stumbled over the name, “for, I think he said Shardia, my lady.”

  “Shardana. I have heard there is a land with that name.”

  “The Lord Sekara’s message said my lady would wish to have this news and also know who else should be told of it.”

  “How thoughtful of the Lord Sekara. You may go. And find Thyras. Instruct him that it is my wish that he stop what he is doing now and do what he knows he must do next. Do you have that?”

  “Yes, my lady. ‘What he must do next’.”

  As she walked slowly towards the pool, Pasipha went over in her mind what she should say and do when she was in the Presence. The command to enter sooner could have only one meaning. Then there was the message to be passed on. A meeting with the Lady Akusha would have to be arranged. That should prove interesting too. But first, the captain of the ship from Sikelia or Shardana, or wherever, would have to be pressed for other information about the Davina.

  “Ah, Thyras, there you are. You almost startled me, creeping up like that. Look, I am trembling.”

  Akusha sat in her low chair with the loom lying flat in front of her. The far end bar that held the warp threads was firmly attached to its hook. The cord that held the near end bar of the loom in front of her ran round her back and she leaned away from it so as to tighten the threads. The slotted bars that lifted and separated the threads were in place and her slender, pointed juniper wood shuttle thickly wrapped with the finest silk thread lay near her right hand. The blue band that had taken her ten days to weave was now complete and she was ready for the change to yellow. She had spun the silk thread herself because she loved the feel of the soft, fluffy cocoons and the sheen of the fibre as it twirled up and down the shaft of the spool, spinning in its little bowl. She had learned the skill under the fierce eye of her mother who had also told her how the yarn was dyed but, of course, had left the task to the dyer. Saffron was used for the delicate yellow; for the blue, a liquid distilled from the plant with the shiny green leaves and yellow flower. There were those who saw something sinister in weaving: treachery and deception, hidden messages in the patterns. Akusha smiled at the thought. Perhaps it was something to do with the movements of the shuttle, in and out, under and over, that confused and frightened the simple mind.

  It occurred to Akusha that perhaps a thin band of silver might enhance the contrast between the yellow and the blue. Yes, the silversmith must be told to draw out his metal as fine as if it were for a spider’s web. She loosened the cord from her back, let the loom rest on the floor and rose from her seat. She looked down at her work. The length of cloth grew slowly, its pattern changing as her fingers decided; as the child had grown in her womb slowly, his limbs and features shaped and nourished by the secret actions of her body. She had a sudden strange feeling that perhaps she did not want the weaving to end; that so long as the cloth kept growing slowly on the loom, Sharesh would be safe, as he had been safe, all those years ago, within her. She pushed the thought away impatiently: such tricks would find no favour with the Lady Mother. She would decide. The light was fading and it was time to prepare for the devotions at the setting of the sun.

  “My lady?”

  The girl in the white smock who acted as her maid was one of the Chosen Children. She showed promise in the dance and was dutiful in learning the rites that Akusha taught her. Akusha knew her family on Kallista and had given the girl’s name when asked whom she wished to serve her needs.

  “What is it, Saftria?”

  “A man, my lady; he would not come close to the Sanctuary. He was very breathless and in a great hurry. He left a message for you.”

  “His name?”

  “Thyras, my lady.”

  “Once more Victor of the Games, no less, and so bearing a message from the lady Pasipha. When does she wish to meet with me?”

  “Tomorrow, in the afternoon, my lady.”

  “In the garden at the Commander’s residence, I suppose?”

  “The man said the Lady Pasipha would come to the Sanctuary, my lady.”

  Akusha recalled that last meeting in Pasipha’s garden and the hint she had given about visiting the sacred Jaduktas. It must be a matter of some importance, some delicacy, that had persuaded Pasipha finally to make that visit.

  “Did the man have anything else to say?”

  “Something about a captain just arrived in port who brought news from a far distant land. I did not hear clearly because the man was hurrying away and called out over his shoulder. I am sorry, my lady.”

  So, there was more than one matter to be disclosed, thought Akusha. She smiled at the girl who was looking anxious, wondering if the lady were vexed with her.

  “No matter, Saftria. Look, I have finished my weaving for the day and the sun is getting low. It is time we were making ready for the devotions. Are you sure you know where to find the correct oil?

  Speed was essential, Naudok had been told. She must be able to run down any pirate, take any enemy by surprise with a sudden turn of speed and to do that she had to be faster than other vessels, any vessels. They talked of more oarsmen, bigger sails. That was not the answer although it was true he had once done some drawings of a ship with two masts and another with a taller mast with two sails, the smaller above the larger. They did not understand that the water tries to stop a ship moving through it so, if you want it to go faster, you have to give it a shape that keeps as much of it out of the water as possible. The shape of the warship on the launch way in front of him was the best he had so far worked out to give greater speed. She had a narrow raked bow to slice through the water and then she widened aft, not too much, to a fairly wide stern that rose smoothly up from the keel so that the water would flow past smoothly, not roughen up and drag her back.

  Naudok ran his hand along one of the strakes and quickly drew it back with a sharp cry of pain. In the moonlight he was horrified
to see a dark spot on the ball of his thumb. He stumbled towards the workshop panting with dread. Leilia was sitting at the table shaping barley loaves for the morning meal. Naudok approached her with his hand extended, his face pale and tight with despair.

  “If all the blood runs out I will die.”

  “Let me see,” she said, getting up from her stool and wiping her hands on her apron. He allowed her to take his hand.

  “Come closer to the light. Look, a tiny splinter. Look the other way while I take it out with my pin. There, now dab it with this white cloth.”

  “Give it to me,” he said. “I will keep my blood on this cloth. I must drink some water now.”

  “Has the pain gone?”

  “Almost,” he said. “They must use fine pumice again on the strakes to make them smooth so that the ship sails faster.”

  “They are here, my Lord,” said Apigoron.

  Koreta signed for the visitors to be brought into the room. Merida almost burst in impatiently only to be brought up short by the sharp glance of Koreta’s single eye. Dareka entered quietly. Both stood silent, waiting for the Governor to speak.

  “Will you take a little wine?”

  “Wine? What news, er, wine?” stammered Merida.

  “Yes, wine. You have heard of it?”

  “Yes, well, I have, yes, thank you, my Lord, it would be, er, very…” said Merida, his words trailing away.

  “Forgive me. I should not play on your anxieties. Take the wine first, and then we will talk. Apigoron?” Koreta gestured to the wine flask and then to the visitors.

  “Halaba: no doubt you recognise it, master Merida, since it is some of the gift you so kindly gave me some time ago. I understand you have had Halaba stock brought here for planting near your new mansion. I hope the soil proves kind to them. There is news of your ship, and of the crew,” said Koreta, looking at Dareka.

 

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