by David Bell
He woke with dew covering him. He felt very stiff and cold. He sat up. There was no sign of life near the huts. It was just getting light. He must get back to the others before they realised he had been away all night. They may even have gone on ahead without him. He jumped up and started to run down the hillside, leaping over the bushes and sliding on the loose stones. The sacrifice to the Lord Potheidan lay where it had been placed on the stone, its feathers ruffled by the morning breeze.
As they were leading the horses by their reins up the last stretch of track towards the final col, he told Kanesh what he had seen.
“I suppose the child was lost in the earth shaking. These hill people bury their dead under the floor of their huts. They have their pride. They may offer a bird to a god but they will always keep their own to themselves. Ah, here we are at the top. We should find water for the horses on the lower ground; and the road again, I hope.”
They came to the road where it ran along the edge of a dry stream bed filled with boulders from floods long past. Lower down it crossed the watercourse on a bridge whose supports had collapsed, dropping the roadway timbers into a pool where the horses could drink. They made good progress after that and by midday the archer scouting ahead rode back to say the sacred Jaduktas was in sight, over the next rise.
Suddenly, the long crag-topped ridge spread its length before them and Sharesh felt the hair rise on the back of his neck at the sight. The sleeping form of the sacred giant lay there; the heavy brow, the sharp upturned nose, the long jaw, motionless and silent, yet seeming ready to rise from the earth at any moment. Involuntarily he reined back his horse. Kanesh turned in his saddle and called to him:
“It stirred in its sleep when the earth shook. Do you see where the landslides fell from the cliffs? Keep up close now. If we are to reach the Palace before nightfall we must find the road from Setuja and that is on the other side of the mountain. We will go round the lower slopes. We should pass by a temple. From there you can see the land in all directions, and out to sea as well. After that, it is only a short distance to the road.”
As they toiled along the slope towards the end of the mountain Sharesh looked up to see the black shapes of broad-winged birds circling in the clear blue sky ahead. He was about to tell Kanesh that he could see eagles but a thought gave him pause. Eagles flew faster and not in flocks like that. Those were vultures.
The Captain of Archers sat his horse on the skyline, waiting for the others to catch up. When they reached him his face was set grim.
“It’s the temple all right, a bit further on and up the slope. Something bad has happened.”
“Earth shaking?” asked Kanesh.
“Hm, not only that; best see for yourself.”
The temple was small, three chambers only and a corridor, as far as they could see. It had a doorway of finely cut stone and the walls were stoutly built, though not stout enough. The roof and upper walls had tumbled in and fire had broken out under the rubble, most likely from oil catching alight when lamps were shaken off their stands. What had attracted the vultures to the place was horribly clear. The body of a man lay face down across the entrance, his legs trapped under fallen stones. One hand reached towards a bronze vase lying on its side, its contents now a dry brown stain spilled across the gravel. The fingernails of his other hand had been ripped and scraped to the bone as he scrabbled and clawed in a vain effort to pull himself free. The upper parts of two more bodies protruded from the collapsed wreck of the roof. A young man, bent forward across the heaped rubble, his long hair spread out in a lank fan, had both arms behind him, the wrists tied with strips of leather. His naked back was splashed with dried blood from cuts and grazes caused by falling debris, but much more must have gushed from the deep slash across his throat. Close behind him, and buried up to the breast, was a young pale-skinned woman. Her richly coloured bodice was torn and covered in dust. Her head, lying on her breast, still wore its tapered cap embroidered with twisted snakes. Silver bracelets were on each arm and the hand that stretched out towards the body of the young man clutched a sharp-edged bronze knife.
“Revenge,” said the Captain of Archers. “He raped her. They got him here somehow, tied him up and she cut his throat. Probably cut his balls off as well, though you can’t see because he’s half-buried. The other one caught the blood in his jug. They were either going to drink it or make an offering of it somewhere. I’ve known it happen before.” One of the other archers nodded assent. “Never seen it here on Keftiu, though,” he added thoughtfully.
“Why choose the temple?” said Kanesh. “The woman is clearly a priestess.”
“The High Priestess will have to send officers to find out.”
“The Palace has too much to do nearer home,” said Kanesh. “And by the time we report this, if we do, the vultures will have done their work and no one will ever be sure what happened here.”
“Well whatever did happen, they didn’t get away with it. The Lord Potheidan saw to that.” Sharesh stayed behind for a few moments after the others rode off. He picked some yellow flowers and put them in the woman’s hand. He stroked the dust from her cold pale cheek. She had a pretty face. She couldn’t have killed the young man. There was no blood on the knife in her hand. Someone else had done it: the man in the doorway, perhaps, or another, now hidden under the rubble. She had tried to help the young man – was he her lover? – but she was too late. She could not be left like that for the vultures to rip and tear her soft flesh to shreds. He began lifting loose stones from the pile.
His gelding was snuffling about in the weeds searching for grass. He gazed out towards the sea. How could it look so peaceful when here, behind him, was such horror? He swung himself into the saddle and set off to find the others. He had seen enough blood and death on the voyage, and now this. He began to wonder when it would end.
“The channel is broken here as well,” said the Captain of Archers. “The water is running to waste.”
Kanesh looked down at the dislodged stone slabs and gaps in the paved bottom of the channel. He dismounted and walked slowly up the road, stopping here and there to examine the conduit.
“There is almost no flow,” he said, when he came back. “The tanks at Setuja must have been so damaged by the earth-shaking that they cannot hold the water from the spring. If they are not repaired soon, the Palace cisterns will run dry. I do not have to tell you what disruptions that will cause. Captain, take your men and see what has happened in Setuja. Go to the Governor, Sukare, if you have to. Bring news of what you find to the Lord Sekara as soon as you can. I will hasten there with Sharesh when he rejoins us and afterwards to the Palace.”
The archers were out of sight before Kanesh heard the sound of hooves approaching and Sharesh drew up his sweating horse beside him.
“Where have you been?
“I could not think of her as carrion for the vultures. I covered her with stones.”
Kanesh stared at him, saw the compassion behind the defiant look, and smiled. He leaned across and put a hand on Sharesh’s shoulder.
“That was well done,” he said. “Now we must ride.”
Koreta leaned back in his chair. He felt deathly tired. How long was it since it happened, the earth-shaking, the walls and roofs collapsing, the cries in the streets, the disaster as they were calling it now? His own quarters were the only parts of the Residence that had escaped without much damage. Apigoron had wanted him to leave, saying the stairs were unsafe. He had refused, of course. Was it two nights, three nights ago? He was angry with himself that he could not remember. And ever since then, he had had no rest, as one after another they came with their reports and their tales of devastation and went away with their orders: dig here; shore up there; put out fires, remember, storehouses first; commandeer gear and crewmen from the ships to help; find out what was left, food, tools, fodder for animals; seek out the women who know how to tend the injured, especially that midwife; keep the list of the dead up to date as they were found. Dorejo,
the Town Guardian had just left. Koreta had been surprised by his calm recital of the damage and loss and his deployment of the Men of the Watch and others to deal with the many calls for help. The man may have a reputation for fussing and being a busybody but he was proving capable of getting things done. Keftiu: word must be got to Sekara. He must send help from Keftiu. Despatches must be composed and a ship found to sail with them to the Palace without delay. He reached for the bell. Before he could lift it from the table, Apigoron entered the room.
“The fisherman is here, my Lord: Alaron, son of Pentar.”
“Have him come in. When he has left, send in the scribe.”
The fisherman stood in the way he had before, feet apart, thumbs in his belt but this time he looked straight at Koreta.
“You said I had to come, my Lord.”
“If you saw anything unusual; yes, I remember.”
“Well, I have; I’ve seen ships, two of them and strange they were, for these parts.”
“Strange in what way?”
“Pirates, I reckoned they were pirates when I saw first them. They didn’t see me; maybe it was too dark. They passed pretty close and I got a good look. They were black and both looked a lot like warships.”
“When was this?”
“Yesterday, before sun up. I’d have come sooner but I had things to do, put straight, see, where I live. It’s bad there, but not as bad as here.”
“What made you think they were warships?”
“Way they sailed: smart and straight. They had plenty of men who weren’t rowing and some of them wearing helmets. Pirates don’t wear helmets.”
“Alaron, son of Pentar, I thank you. Speak to no one of this until I give you leave. If you assure me that all is well at home for the present, I should like you to stay here for a few days. I have work for you. Apigoron will see to your needs. You have your boat with you?”
“Stowed away safely at Balloso, with my wife’s brother, my Lord.”
Koreta sat waiting for the scribe to be found. His tiredness seemed to have left him and to his further surprise, so had the pain that raked with its claws inside his chest. If there had been any Keftiu warships in Kallista waters, he would have known about them. It was regrettable that the Lady Akusha had sailed for Keftiu only four days ago, ostensibly for service in the sanctuary of Jaduktas but also for confidential discussions with Sekara. The despatches he was about to compose would have been safest in her hands. Now a ship’s captain would have to be trusted with them.
Sekara gripped Kanesh’s hand long and hard, staring into his face with narrowed eyes that sought answers. Then he gave out a great laugh, stood back and shouted for wine and beer.
“How can anyone ever know what you will do?” he cried. “You were supposed to sail back here in triumph on your sea horse, not canter in, calm as you please and unannounced, on a Paitoian nag. Ektan! Where is that wine?”
“Coming as quick as I can; no need to shout,” grumbled the old orderly as he hobbled in with flasks in one hand and a cluster of goblets in the other. He stopped short on seeing Kanesh and Sharesh, almost dropping the flasks. He quickly recovered himself, put the drink and goblets on a table, drew himself up and saluted.
“Good to have you back, sir, very good, ’specially now.”
Kanesh nodded in return. “As good as it is to see you again, old soldier.”
Ektan looked Sharesh up and down. “Grown, he has. Big as both of you two now.”
“Pour the wine, Ektan. These men are thirsty. Tell the boys to get the baths ready.”
“Not much water coming through. Hardly enough for a rub down.”
“Tell them to find some. Our friends have been at sea for moons; and on horseback for days, by the smell of them.”
“Do what I can; can’t do more than that.” Glancing at Kanesh, Ektan marched out more smartly than he had come in.
“The water started running low only today,” said Sekara. “All the Palace masons and labourers have been working hard to make the Palace safe, and help where people have been trapped in collapsed buildings in the town. They are tiring fast. It took some time to gather a few together and send them off to find out why the water ceased flowing. They have not reported back yet.”
“The channel is broken in several places. We can tell you where. I sent your archers to Setuja to see if the water tanks have been damaged. If so, masons must go immediately. The channel breaks can be quickly repaired; others can do that.”
“I have men out in the country bringing labourers in to work on the Palace and the harbour. It is not easy: their own houses need repair. But if we do not clear the wreckage here and get the magazines opened up again and supplies running once more, there will be unrest when the people become hungry.”
“You said something about the harbour. All being well, the Davina should make port in two, perhaps three days. Will she be able to unload?”
“By then, yes. The jetty wall was damaged. Masonry fell into the harbour and a barge was swamped and sank. It is being raised now and carpenters are putting in timber posts and rails that should suffice for a while. You have not said a word about the Davina and the voyage. Does she have the tin?”
“More than we could have hoped for.”
“Thank the Lord Potheidan for that. How the Powers work! First, He shakes the land almost to pieces and then he rewards us with the prized metal. What’s that you say?” he said turning to Sharesh.
“I said he tried very hard at times to stop us getting back with it.”
“Take care what you say, sir. We have enough results of his displeasure to deal with as it is.”
“The earth shakes. We suffer loss. Who knows why? What is important is that we recover,” said Kanesh smoothly. “The Palace, the harbour, the water channel: what else has suffered?”
“The ship that Naudok had almost ready for launch. She was shaken from her props and several of the starboard side strakes were caved in when she fell. With so few hands to help it was only today that she was righted on the launch way. It will be many days before she is repaired and then only if timber that satisfies Naudok can be found. I have a feeling that ship captains may be a little nervous in heading for Keftiu at present.”
“Will they not rather hasten here,” said Sharesh. “Seeing desperate need and so the chance of a greater price for their cargo?”
Sekara gave Sharesh a more appraising look. He was about to speak when Ektan reappeared to say that the Captain of Archers had arrived and wished to speak urgently with the Lord Sekara.
The Captain had clearly ridden hard; flecks of foam from the horse’s mouth still spattered his tunic and he was breathing fast. At a sign from Sekara, Ektan thrust a mug of beer into his hand. The Captain downed it in one gulp, belched, took a deep breath and blurted out his news.
“The tanks still stand: a few cracks, nothing serious. Water level is very low. No one’s doing anything about it. Governor is dead, and most of his staff: roof fell in on them. There’s been some looting: we shot three coming out of the Residence with silver bowls and wine jars in their hands.”
“The water,” said Kanesh. “If the tanks are sound, why is the water low?”
“Coming to that; this is the worst bit: the spring has run dry; no water going into the tanks.” A long silence followed the Captain’s gasped out words. Sekara was the first to break it.
“The wells are not enough,” he said slowly. “Without water from the spring, the Palace will die.”
“You went yourself to the spring, did you? You saw no flow of water from the rocks into the stone basin?” said Kanesh.
“We went. The basin is empty, sucked dry by people mad for water. It’s full of figurines, offerings, clay goddesses, shells, even bronze rings, but there’s not a drop of water. That’s why the fires are still burning.”
There was another long silence, broken at last by Sharesh. “Has the spring ever run dry before?”
“Never,” said Sekara. “It is sacred. Prieste
sses process there with offerings and prayers on the days when the sun stands still and on certain nights when the moon is new. The ceremonies are dedicated to Atana Potnia, that she favour the people by letting the spring continue its flow.”
He stared at the ground, deep in thought. Looking up again, he spoke quietly. “If it becomes suspected that Atana Potnia is deaf to the prayers and offerings of the priestesses, trust in the power of the Palace could be shaken.”
“Enough of this,” said Kanesh impatiently. “As well say Potheidan has deafened her with his earth shaking.”
“Some might say you go too far –”
“Listen. Have you not seen a dog shake himself on the beach when he comes out of the waves?”
Sharesh joined in. “Or the water ooze up when you paddle on the wet sand with your feet?”
“What are these riddles?” demanded Sekara crossly.
“Water goes where it is forced to go. The earth-shaking has blocked the flow from your sacred spring and sent its water elsewhere!”
Sekara regained his composure. He was the deputy commander, the man of decision once more.
“What is to be done?”
“Search for a new spring in the hills of Setuja, or a place where a deep well may be dug,” said Kanesh.
“Do you know this mystery?”
“I will need the help of this man,” said Kanesh, indicating Sharesh. “And one other.”
“Name him. He will be brought here immediately.”
“Unfortunately, my friend, even you cannot accomplish that. He is still at sea and will be so for two, perhaps three, more days.”
“In this season lack of water is a great hardship.”
“One that we have learned to live with at sea. Conserve what remains. Guard the cisterns against theft. Replace the broken slabs and pipes. Spread word that water is being sought and will be found. Give all the magicians and other tricksters freedom to wave their wands and chant their nonsense over the ground and let it be known that the wise women are being consulted: the people will be persuaded, at least for a while, that everything possible is being done to make the channel run full once more. Say what you wish, but find us the time we need for our work.”