Kallista

by David Bell

  To Kanesh’s surprise, it was Ektan who came towards him leading the mare by her reins. She whinnied when she saw Kanesh and nuzzled his palm for the almonds he had picked up from a bowl in the kitchen.

  “You’re off into the hills, are you, sir? “Take a look round Setuja, will you? I seen that young fellow of yours on the road when I set off to come down here. Know what he was doing?”

  “I am sure you are about to tell me, master Ektan.”

  “Coming through the gates of the Commander’s mansion, he was, with a set of pipes at his lips, playing. Can you credit that? And he was wet as a water rat. Where he found the water, I don’t know. Hope you won’t mind me asking, sir, but did you send him there, to do something for you?”

  “He is his own man now, old soldier. He can decide for himself what he wants to do.”

  “Well, if you ask me, sir, he’d be far better off helping out with you and not spending too much time in that place. People might talk.” The old man tapped the side of his nose with his finger.

  “He grew up on the voyage, master Ektan and he will be of great help here, you may count on that. You and I both know that when we were young we may have been seen coming out of certain houses early in the morning, too caught up in the memory of what we had been doing for us to be aware of our appearance, or care much about it, for that matter. Am I right?”

  “Right you are, my Lord, right you are! I remember once in Telchina, oh well, never mind. Here she is, sir, all fed and watered and groomed like she ought to be. Here, use my hands for a lift up. You might come across that young fellow on the road. He looked as if a bit of a sleep might do him some good. Anything you ever want me to do, you let me know.”

  The road from the Palace to Setuja could easily be seen from the sanctuary on Jaduktas. Akusha watched two tiny shapes moving along it past the hill where the royal tombs lay in the City of the Dead. They were moving too quickly to be walkers. She wondered idly who the two riders might be. Putting them from her mind, she called to the girl.

  “Seftria, fetch me my loom and come and sit with me. I will show you how to bind in the silver threads.”

  In the late afternoon the mountain air was cooler. A tiny bird, invisible, high in the sky above her, was twittering sweet, busy notes. A gentle breeze carried the scents of thyme and lavender to her. The mountain was so peaceful now, its quietness soothing away the memory of those fearful moments when it shook and groaned like a wounded beast: but not her memories of those, her sister servants of the Mother, whose tomb she had made with a pile of rough stones. Dare she ask why they had to die, and not she? Weaving was good. It would help calm the girl’s fears and her own thoughts. She knew she must leave the sanctuary before much longer, but how could a young girl at the beginning of her life and an old priestess near the end of hers, be left the only ones to tend the shrine by themselves?

  It was not the homecoming he had once expected but it was almost the kind he preferred: no crowds, no cheering, no women and children trying to swarm aboard the instant she tied up. Potyr smiled to himself: not many people interested to see a ship come back from the end of the world. The jetty looked different: wooden posts topped with rough planking, barely hiding crumbling masonry. He cautioned Typhis to edge the ship in even more carefully than usual. Leptos and Leptos lowered the thick rope fenders over the side while Namun and Myrtias stood ready to throw the mooring lines ashore. Her side touched the posts as gently as a kiss; the lines tightened and held her fast. The whole crew sat or stood where they were, silent, not yet able to believe they were home.

  The painter took it all in with his keen, piercing eye: salt-streaked bow; faded sail, furled, but with one sheet half-loose; wind pennant hanging lifeless at the masthead; bronze rudder rings and pins green from the salt waves; oar blades feeling the water on the larboard side; strakes voyage-stained and worn, but still strong and graceful; a little low in the water with such a pregnant hold; tall captain on the stern with distance in his eyes, small bronze ring in his fingers; huge black sailor handing a jug to the helmsman: what a head to paint; lithe black fellow up forward, one of the boxing lads for sure, but grown up now; oarsmen blinking, rubbing hands together, stretching backs, one wiping his nose with the back of his hand, another yawning, an old one with wrinkled face champing his jaws; and not one of them saying a thing: all of them looking as if they were just waking from a long sleep. And the few there on the jetty to see the ship come in, just as silent: big, noble-looking bearded man who seems to be everywhere and that young one, the other boxer, with him, fine-looking eyes: strange their being ashore and not on the ship; look of the maryannu about the older one, can never hide that; archers, quivers full, archer captain dismounting from his horse, gang of dock labourers, heads jutting, shoulders hunched, holding their hooks and slings, ready for the unloading; port controller, nobody else; yes, tubby little owner running on his short legs, jerkin flapping, arms waving, shouting.

  “Hey, hey, Davina, Potyr, hey it’s me, Merida! Back at last! Let me on board. Have you got it; the tin? How much? I want to see the tin. Where’s Kanesh? What? Oh, sorry you’re there. Why aren’t you on the ship? Never mind. Here, you, help me get on board. I want to see the tin.”

  With one hand Kerma pushed a grey ingot into his arms. Merida staggered under the weight. Kerma took it back from him before it could slip from his hold.

  “Here,” he said. “I’ll hold it while you kiss it. And you can kiss all of us if you want, for bringing it all this way.”

  Merida gawped at him. “How much? He gasped.

  “Ask the man who killed the King of the Boars, him on the jetty there,” said Kerma, pointing. “Ship’s scribe. He’ll tell you.”

  “King of the… ship’s scribe; you mean Sharesh?”

  By this time the crew had begun to laugh and Potyr decided to call a halt to the tormenting. He said something to Typhis.

  “Hold your noise there! Let the captain speak and let the owner hear!”

  “Three hundred ingots,” said Potyr, looking down at Merida.

  “Three hundred, Lord Potheidan, he said three hundred ingots.”

  “And four hundred bars.”

  “Four hundred bars, Lord Potheidan, oh Lord Potheidan,”

  “And ten crates of the best picked tinstone.”

  Merida was speechless but his face told it all: astonishment, disbelief, greed, calculation.

  “Yes, and we dragged every bloody one out of the hold and lugged ’em all back again after we were grounded on that Deshret shore,” said a voice from somewhere. A murmur ran round the rest of the crew. Typhis hushed it with a wave of his arm.

  Kanesh glanced at Potyr and, receiving a slight nod, looked down from the jetty at Merida while he raised his voice and spoke to the crew.

  “Now be quiet, lads. Show the owner the respect he deserves. He had the horse’s head put on the bow for the Lord Potheidan and he now wants to show you how much he values what you have done, sailing his fine ship to the end of the world, and bringing her home again, all in one piece and full of the precious metal.”

  Merida looked round shiftily and then feeling Kanesh’s glare on his back, suddenly became reckless.

  “For every man, a bar of silver on top of his pay! Yes, and a sack of grain.”

  “The captain omitted to say the hold also contains five boxes of amber, the very best, from the frozen lands,” said Kanesh, meaningfully.

  “Two sacks of grain! And a bolt of fine cloth for his woman!”

  Without any sign from Kanesh, the crew gave out a great cheer. Kanesh let the sound die away and held up his hand again.

  “The captain wants her unloaded and everything into the warehouse as soon as possible. The archers will stand guard. Namun and Sharesh will do the counting. Everyone to it, lads, and then if there’s anything to drink left in this place, it’s yours for the asking. Is that not so, master Merida?”

  Merida was still feeling expansive. He readily agreed with Kanesh and went on
to say he wanted a meeting with some good wine to talk over the voyage and possible future trading. He said nothing about the disposal of the tin. He intended reserving the pleasure of all the bargaining about that to himself. Kanesh replied that the meeting would have to wait. He had more important matters to attend to. He left Merida avidly watching the first ingots being brought up from the hold and went to find Potyr.

  Potyr was watching the port controller on the jetty keeping count of the ingots and bars as the labourers carried them past him towards the warehouse. There was the little matter of taxes to be paid. Not even an earth-shaking could interfere with that.

  “You know,” he said to Kanesh. “The thing of most value that we now have is not the ingots being counted over there. It is knowing the way to Pherethan.”

  “And back again,” said Kanesh. “I take it you mean that as well. The knowledge is in our heads, yours and mine; the courses, the star sights, the reefs and headlands, the anchorages and sweet waters, the trading posts and settlements, the winds and currents, the standing stones and islands, so many islands; all in our heads, and on the tablets Sharesh kept.”

  “Yes, they may last longer than our memories. Now, to other matters: the ship is overdue for cleaning and repair. Tomorrow I want her in the bay where she was built and the work at least started before too many of the crew make off for their homes.”

  “Hold back some of their pay until the work is finished. In any case, if I know Merida his promises will be kept more tardily than they were made.”

  “He will keep them. I will see to that.”

  “I will join you when I can. I have work to do, in the hills near Setuja: more searching for water, if you want to know.”

  “You have found it before, remember?”

  “I do; with Luzar. Where is he?”

  “You know his ways. He was on the bow when we docked and when I looked again, he was nowhere to be seen.”

  Kanesh swung round. “Captain!” he called. “Horses, for me and Sharesh, if you please.”

  “Luzar, see who it is and say I am resting. Then come back here.”

  Kanesh was sitting on the mare just inside the gate of the mansion. Sharesh was out on the road, seated on the gelding and holding a mule by the reins.

  “Lady is resting.”

  “I expect so after her exertions,” said Kanesh. “It is you who are needed. Take the mule. A ride into the hills will be good for you.”

  “Lady said come back.”

  “Then of course you may. After the work is finished.”

  Again Akusha saw riders heading along the road towards Suteja. This time there were three.

  They found the gang of masons and labourers sent by Sekara sitting in the shade by the sacred spring, waiting to be told what to do. The stone basin was clogged with offerings of every size and kind, but the only sign that water had once flowed freely into it was a streak of dried yellow slime dangling from a crevice in the rock above. Kanesh spent a long time looking at this very intently. Luzar touched it and put the fingertip to his lips. Kanesh turned and looked upwards towards the hill slopes that rose above Suteja.

  “The valley, there, the nearest one, where the ground levels out. We will start there. Foreman, bring two men with water levels and lines. The others stay here until called.”

  Springtime torrents long ago had tumbled boulders along the gorge and spread them out at the foot of the slope. Time had covered them with moss and grass, now dry and dusty from the summer heat. Clambering over the hummocks the men came to the entrance to the gorge. It was blocked by a barrier of shattered stones and clods of reddish clay. On top of this lay an uprooted tree with limp leaves still clinging to its branches. Luzar pointed to the tree-covered hillside on each side of the gorge. Running across the slopes was a line of low cliffs, the rock left gleaming white where trees and turf had fallen away to lie in tangled swathes on the tops of other trees below.

  The men struggled over the piles of loose red-streaked boulders and slippery clay and entered the narrow valley. More debris choked the dry watercourse. They rested, panting to get their breath back. Luzar raised a finger for silence. Sharesh saw his nostrils widen, heard him breathe in. He could hear no other sound. Then he could: a pattering, skipping sound. He wanted to shout but found himself whispering.

  “Rock falling, keep back.”

  Kanesh shook his head. “Stay, listen, look.”

  “Wild goat,” said Luzar.

  “I see them!” shouted Sharesh. “There, two of them, one with big horns, and a kid!” The steep rock walls threw his voice from one side to the other, mixing up the words.

  “They come for drink,” said Luzar. “Only water make them come from hills.”

  The goats had fled by the time they reached the place where water was flowing from a red-stained gash in the valley wall into a deep pool dammed up by fallen rocks and clay. Sharesh tasted it. It was a little like his fingers had tasted after he had picked up that heavy lump of grey metal in the smith’s workshop in Gubal long ago. But it was sweet enough.

  “The spring has risen here,” said Kanesh, “where the earth-shaking broke open the mountain. Foreman, get you men up here as fast as you can and send to the Palace for more. You have a great deal of digging and stone laying to do. Take your levels for the fall down to the basin at Setuja and lay your lines ready for the pipes. If I am not mistaken, there is a more copious flow from this new spring than from that old sacred one.”

  “Lady is waiting,” said Luzar.

  “Of course. Everyone to his task. The foreman has no further need of us here. Sharesh will accompany me to the ship, eh, Sharesh? Set your stick to that mule’s backside, Luzar; you have some digging of your own to do.”

  “What is it, Apigoron? Is something wrong? What is all that noise in the harbour, all that shouting and running in the middle of the night? Out with it.”

  “My Lord, I have everything ready. We must leave at once.”

  “Listen to yourself, Apigoron. Where would I go?”

  “To safety, my Lord. The man is here, the fisherman.”

  “Safety, you say? Has the earth shaken again? I felt no movement. Wait. Listen. That is the sound of blade on blade.”

  Koreta held up his hand. “And orders, I can hear orders being called, not mindless shouts.” A lurid glow lit up the room.

  “Fire, Apigoron,” said Koreta, his voice calm again. “We are under attack.”

  “My Lord, pirates have taken the harbour. Two black ships, filled with fighting men. They are overunning the town. The Men of the Watch cannot hold them. They are setting fire to the houses, killing men where they stand, dragging the women out by their hair. They will be here at any moment. We must leave now. Please, my Lord.”

  “Calm yourself Apigoron, and hand me my sword. Help me to the door. Of course I will not leave. Who is there?”

  Alaron stood in the open doorway. A heavy sword of a form Koreta recognised straightaway hung from his hand, dripping blood on the polished stone floor.

  “Alaron, son of Pentos, your warning was well founded. Will you stand with me? We have a sword each.”

  “And I have shoulders strong enough to carry you, my Lord. I know the back alleys of this place and a path to the Lagoon that these dogs won’t find. It’ll be a bit rough getting you down the cliffs but my boat’s waiting on the beach ready to carry us across to Mitoia. This fellow can bring your things. No disrespect, my Lord, but you can do no good here, now. Once we’re safe in Mitoia we can start thinking about fighting back.”

  “If that is what you intend, then I will come with you. We must get word to Keftiu.”

  “Done already. My wife’s brother set sail after the pirates landed.”

  “He is a brave man to risk his life for us.”

  “He’s a good sailor. That’s what matters. Now, let me take hold of you, like this.”

  “My despatches. They must be sent.”

  “Too late; the boat has gone.”

&nb
sp; Agony stabbed through Koreta with searing savagery. Between gasps of pain he forced himself to speak.

  “Tell… me… how… many men… in… Mitoia… can… fight?”

  Getting through the streets had taken time. The work of clearing rubble from the main street was almost finished but there were still piles of smouldering wood and flapping cloth that make the horses shy, and Palacemen on duty, stopping strangers they did not recognise. Once they were free of the place, Kanesh and Sharesh gave the horses their heads and cantered along the path through the dunes towards the bay. Here and there they saw little groups of people sitting by cooking fires with children playing in the sand beside them, all still preferring the safety of open ground to shaky houses in some parts of the town.

  The Davina, free of her cargo, had been hauled up on the sand and propped upright. The carpenters were at work again on the repaired part of the hull and Namun was standing with a caulking tool in his hand, squinting for joints that needed re-filling. The old sail had been taken down and a new panelled linen spread lay on the deck, ready to to be looped to the spar. Kerma, Myrtias and several others were scouring and scraping the hull with pumice and chisels, cleaning away the weed and shells that encrusted her strakes. The rudder had been lifted free and Typhis was busy with file and pumice stone on the rings and pins.

  The new ship stood not far away on the launch way with carpenters and shipwrights swarming all over her. She was half as long again as the Davina, with a higher stern and even more raked bow. Sharesh watched as a kind of platform was being hauled up to the bow.

  “It’s a stand for archers,” said Kanesh. “Don’t forget, she’s a warship, not a cargo carrier like the Davina.”

  “Looks as if they’re mounting two masts,” said Sharesh. “Naudok said something to Namun about that. Surely the aft sail will take the wind from the foresail?”

  “Ask the Creator of Ships himself.”

  “She’s so big. Think what she weighs. How will they get her afloat?”

  “Ask the Creator. He will have thought of that.”