The boy froze for a moment then he stepped protectively in front of his mother.
“Stay away from her,” he snarled at Althak, holding a long knife he had snatched from the body of a pirate. Althak was three times his size and fully armed. The boy had pluck.
“Come, lad. I've no wish to harm her. But we must carry her across to the other ship.” He smiled at them kindly. It was painfully obvious that the boy had seen his mother abused. He held his ground but his knees were shaking. Althak crouched down beside him so that their eyes were on a level.
“I'll make a bargain with you,” he said gently, a faint gleam in his eye. “I'll give you my own sword,” he drew it and presented the hilt to the boy, “which leaves me unarmed. I even put down my shield, see? Now you may guard me and see that no harm comes to your mother. I must, however, pick her up and carry her.”
The boy was astonished to receive the sword. His hands could barely grip it so he posed no danger to Althak. But the significance of the Vorthenki’s gesture was not lost. It was a token of trust, of responsibility. The boy nodded slowly.
“I will guard you then.”
“Woman,” said Althak, turning to her, “I'm afraid I'm filthy with battle but I must carry you to the other ship. I'm sure footed so you need not fear, besides I risk the wrath of your son should anything happen to us.”
“Do what you must,” she said resignedly.
Althak lifted her, she was almost like a doll against his big frame, and carried her across to the other ship. He set her down by Menish, placing her hand on the gunwale so that she could steady herself against the roll of the ship.
Menish felt heavy and weary now that the battle was over, he was still breathing heavily. The sea retch began to stir again in his stomach.
Nevertheless this woman kindled his interest. She had spoken Relanese and her manner showed that she was no common slave. But she looked as ragged as a beggar. Her robe was torn and dirty, Althak had left his own contribution there, and her face was lined with care. Her hair might once have been yellow or brown but now it was quite white. In contrast her mouth was as firm as iron. A determination to survive was written across it.
Yet what caught Menish’s attention most were her eyes. Menish had seen blindness before, it was a thing the Relanese and the Vorthenki sometimes did as a punishment. But these eyes were whole and, at first, appeared quite normal. They were blue eyes, not the piercing blue of the Vorthenki but a milder colour. And there was no spark of life in them. They were flat, dull things that did not return his gaze.
“You're safe now.”
Her head turned in that odd, twitching motion that the blind sometimes affect, for they must use their ears to find the position of the speaker.
“You are the King? Are we alone?”
Menish was surprised at her second question, but he replied that none was near enough to overhear them for the present.
“Then tell me the secret name of Gilish.”
“The secret name? That's not a thing for women to know.”
“Nevertheless I know it. If you are truly the King you too will know it. If you don't then I'll know if you are false.”
It was a secret, something he had been told at his initiation long ago. Something he was to share with none save other initiates, something he no longer valued. He admired her quickness of mind. A true initiate would not claim he was king of Anthor unless it were true.
“He is known as the Two Handed.”
“And why is he called so?”
“Because he brought both good from one hand and evil from the other.” She seemed to relax a little.
“Thank you, Sire. I'm sure you understand my caution.”
Althak returned with the boy and set him down beside his mother. Her hand reached unerringly for his head. The boy’s eyes were alight, unlike his mother’s, as he clutched Althak’s sword.
“Mother, are you unharmed?” he demanded.
“Yes, Olcish. This is, indeed, the King of Anthor.” Her voice shook as she spoke. “We are rescued.” Tears brimmed in her sightless eyes, but she held herself rigidly in check. Denying herself an unseemly display of relief.
Olcish turned to Althak and offered him back his sword. “Please excuse me, I misjudged you.”
“One cannot excuse valour, my lad,” Althak said as he sheathed the sword. “But look to your mother. She has need of you. M’Lord,” he turned to Menish, “they both look half starved-”
“Yes, of course, Althak. I've questions to ask but they must wait. Provide them with food and drink and see if we have better clothing for them. See to the other slaves too, they'll be no better off.”
Althak led them away and Menish, left alone for a moment, watched them carefully. They were a pathetic pair, a small boy and a blind woman, especially beside Althak in his armour. He turned and looked at the still unconscious form of Azkun. Tenari sat beside him, staring at him blankly. He wondered how many more misfits he would acquire on this journey.
Omoth and Shelim carried a small barrel of seal fat over to the pirate vessel and poured it over a mound of sailcloth they had piled on the deck.
When all was ready they unfurled their own sails, the burned ones had been replaced, and cut the lines securing the two ships. Omoth tossed a flaming torch onto the pirate’s deck. The sailcloth burst into flame and fire licked all over the deck where the seal fat had run. The crackling and snapping of the flames could be heard over the sound of the waves.
The two ships drew apart, one borne swiftly across the water by a good wind, the other burning, its flames fanned by that same wind. Menish watched it for a long while. It served as a beacon, a warning to other pirates. When evening came, he knew, it would still be ablaze, visible for many miles.
The thought of fire reminded him of Azkun. He still lay prone on the deck. Menish called one of the sailors to bring water then he knelt beside Azkun and checked him for injury. Apart from a swelling around a new cut on his forehead, obviously Menish’s own work, he was whole. His injuries from the river showed no sign now. One arm lay in a pool of blood that was not his own and he was speckled with dark red. Menish cleaned him as best he could. He straightened his limbs and made a pillow of some spare garments for his head. Taking a flask of ambroth he cleaned his forehead. Azkun did not stir.
He was not seriously hurt. His heart beat firmly. Menish left him in the care of Omoth, who had brought the water, and went to clean himself.
Battle is a disgusting business, he resolved, as he always did, while he washed his spattered arms and body. Sticky, red droplets had clung to his hair and it took some effort to rid himself of these. By the time he had completed his ablutions he had removed his battle jerkin and changed his tunic. The sun had set and the lamps were lit, casting a yellow light across the decks. Finally clean and considerably refreshed, he made his way to the base of the main mast. There the rest of the company, except Azkun and Tenari, had gathered. Althak had managed to find time to remove his armour and helmet. He still wore his greaves but he had washed himself. Drinagish was spotless and was now helping Hrangil, who was hurt, to replace his shirt.
The blind woman and her son had been provided with food, some dried fish and a bowl of mein. Menish was touched by the way the boy watched over his mother, feeding her with his own hand. She still appeared frightened, as though there were too many things she could not know without sight. Her voice, he recalled from their brief conversation earlier, had a strange clarity to it, as if she used it for more than just speaking.
Althak sat beside them, the boy made him look like a giant. He seemed no taller than the Vorthenki’s knees.
“Here is the King,” he announced and she turned her sightless eyes towards him. “M’Lord, are you hungry?”
“No, not yet, Althak.” He still saw men dying on the decks in his mind’s eye, besides the sea retch was stirring in his guts again. He sat down on a barrel beside the boy. A chill wind swept across the decks but someone had arranged a piece of sail cloth to shelter them from the worst of it. Just above their heads a lamp hung from the mast. It rocked with the motion of the ship, making the shadows move, accentuating the roll of the waves. The yellow light caught the woman’s hair making it seem Vorthenki blond.
“I would hear your story, Woman, if you're ready to tell it.”
“I'm ready, Sire. But please excuse me if I hesitate. My tale is painful.” Menish nodded then, realising that was no reply for her, spoke his acknowledgement. There was that clarity in her voice again. She sounded as though she were reciting poetry.
“My name is Keashil and I'm from Moshanir, in the country of Golshuz. It was a country often forgotten in the struggles of war. We were a peaceful folk, when left alone. Relanor all but forgot us, the Invaders didn't know us and Anthor, I suppose, considered us part of Relanor.”
“That's true, Golshuz has always been part of Relanor.”
“Yes, but our association is a loose thing. A fire tower stands in our midst, a Drinol presides over us when one can be found to travel from Relanor, nothing more. We always thought of ourselves as Golshuz, not Relanor.”
“But you speak Relanese.”
“As you do, Sire. We worship Aton and take frequent baths as well. Our men folk, including my father, were Sons of Gilish. But there were also Vorthenki folk in our midst. Not pirates or wayfarers, they were happy folk who blended with our people easily and lived among us.
“We heard, of course, of the invasion. But the Vorthenki, the Invaders, did not come to Golshuz. We were forgotten for a time. But only for a time. In the year 913 Thealum and his hordes descended upon us.” Here she paused for a moment. It seemed to Menish she groped for words, or courage.
“One of the worst days of my life began when we heard that Monilen was laid waste. I was fifteen years old at the time, espoused to a wealthy merchant who dealt in rich fabrics that were delightful to caress. For my family it was to be a good marriage. I believe he must have been a kind man, for you who have sight regard us who have it not as inferior. He had only one other wife and she was much older than I.” Here Hrangil stirred uneasily. Menish, too, was uncomfortable with Relanese polygamy.
“Thealum’s horde were on the heels of the messenger. There was barely time to hide away the children before they fell on us. I need not describe the horror of it. At the end of the day I and a few other children who had reached a place of safety picked over the ruins of our city.
“We fled to the hills, I and the other children. I was one of the oldest and, therefore, to me fell the responsibility of the youngest ones. We spent six years living as outlaws in the hills, hiding from Vorthenki raiding parties in caves and makeshift forest dwellings.”
“And all this time you were blind?” asked an incredulous Drinagish. She smiled in the direction of the voice.
“Yes, I was born without sight. I've never known it, therefore I ask no pity on that account. I don't desire what I don't know.
“Those years were very hard. Many of the youngest children died in the first winter, which grieved me, I had a little brother… but that's past. There was never enough to eat, the winters were cold and often we dared not light a fire lest we were discovered. But I didn't notice my lot was much different to my fellows. I couldn't hunt, but we women left that to the men, for our boys quickly grew to men.
“One thing I found did make me different. I'm not sure how it came into our possession but, from the first, our small company owned a harp. My family had always prized music. My earliest memories are of playing and singing with my mother. So it often fell to me, when we were safe from discovery and a warm fire was lit, to play and sing away cold winter evenings.
“After six years of this life our small band was reduced to a dozen sorry starvelings. The Vorthenki hordes ebbed away at that time, I learned later that they were recalled south. Thealum was pressed to defend Relanor from the attacks of the Emperor, and yourself, Sire. For that you have my undying gratitude.
“There was little left of Golshuz. The high folk were obliterated, the peasants massacred. Only the Vorthenki that had lived in our midst were spared, and for them we were thankful. They sheltered us when we felt it safe to return from the wilderness. They listened to my songs and my harp and gave us gold for them. Once more we slept indoors with full bellies.
“Our fame grew and we travelled the length and breadth of Golshuz. No longer did we hide ourselves, messengers were sent before us announcing our imminent arrival. We were received with welcome and delight wherever we performed. I say ‘we’ because, while some of our original company left us, most could not bear to put away our deep friendships. If our bread was to be earned by singing songs then they resolved to help me earn it. I taught them what I could with my little harp, we used our gold to buy another, and they had always sung with me by the fire. Some danced and performed strange tricks but, while I could hear the delight of the crowd, I could not understand them.
“I married one of our company. His name was Aramish but he called himself ‘Rith’ and told the crowd that he was a great magician. For the first time I envied your gift of sight. I would hear him speaking, sounding deep and mysterious, then I would hear gasps of wonder from our audience. He explained to me what he did but I never understood their wonder. He would tell me that ‘the hand is quicker than the eye’ but that was no use to me.”
Suddenly she checked herself.
“I'm sorry, Sire. I ramble on like an old crone. But my Aramish was dear to me and those were happy times.” Menish noticed her lower lip had begun to tremble. “I bore him two children, a girl and this boy, Olcish, here.
“Now the saddest part of my tale begins.
“Our own Vorthenki of Golshuz delighted to hear us. But there were some who disliked us. Perhaps they took offence at some of our Relanese songs of Gilish, or perhaps they did not think my husband’s calling himself Rith was seemly. I don't know. We heard rumours that something evil was brewing, we had warnings not to travel too far north, but we laughed at them. Did the people not love us? So we paid them no heed and travelled north.
“We were on the coast north of Deenar two years ago when they attacked us. I can't tell you much of it. Olcish, here, can tell you more. I remember the clash of steel and the cries of those I loved. I clung to Olcish and we survived. Olcish tells me they killed Aramish but he does not know what happened to Falia, my daughter. Some of my friends survived, mostly women, and we were loaded into boats and taken much further north than we had ever wanted to travel.
“For two years I was in their power. I was traded for and sold more times than I can remember, though I always contrived to keep Olcish near me. They degraded me and made me sing for them, though they broke my old harp…” here her voice faltered and her shoulders shook with pain.
Althak placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“Enough. I believe we know the rest, and you're rescued now.”
She nodded, covering her face with her hands and pulling away from Althak as if she feared the touch of another Vorthenki. She let herself weep. Young Olcish clung to her arm, whispering comfort to her.
Menish was at a loss to deal with this hurt. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably and glanced at Althak. The Vorthenki was smiling.
“I think I can ease your loss a little.” He turned and rummaged in one of the packs that lay behind him. Menish was puzzled. Althak muttered some Vorthenki curse when he could not find what he wanted. He left his seat and searched further. Finally he returned, his smile broader than ever. Olcish saw what he had but Althak put his finger to his lips before the boy spoke. Then, carefully, he placed his harp on the woman’s lap.
Her sobs abated. She choked them back to make way for her confusion. Carefully, delicately she felt the object in her lap. Her fingers glided across it, almost caressing it. She felt the strings as if she dared not pluck them.
Then she lifted it and returned it to Althak.
“You are kind, but I can't play it. It's not my own.”
“It is your own,” said Althak placing it firmly back on her lap. “I give it to you.”
She was unused to kindness. She tried to protest but her voice broke into weeping again. Althak drew her close to him, enfolded her in his great arms and rocked her gently. At first she rejected his comfort but he persisted. Presently she wept into his shirt.
Menish looked away, embarrassed. It was innocent enough but Althak's extravagant comfort reminded him of Vorthenki orgies. His own folk would never behave this way. Yet Menish's natural compassion approved. Should he have done this with Thalissa when he met her on the dock? Instead he had taken away the only things she cared about and left her weeping. Unable to resolve these conflicts he rose, left the circle of lamplight and walked into the darkness.
*
In the darkness lay Azkun.
As consciousness slowly returned to him he stirred. The pain in his forehead, and also his neck, which had taken some of the shock of the blow, was intense. But his main discomfort was that he was sick with horror. He could still smell blood on the decks, he could still hear the screams of dying men, and he could still see that darkness of oblivion they had been dragged into.
Death. He remembered the death of the pig only vaguely now. It had appalled him at the time, but it paled into insignificance before the death of a man. This afternoon he had felt many men die.
The horror writhed inside him. The darkness was no longer a thing that had opened and shut for the pig. It had opened, gorged itself, and now it lay in wait for its next victim. There was a foul availability about it, like the stench of drying blood. He moaned quietly and opened his eyes.
At first the darkness confused him. The moving yellow light of the lamp was unfocussed and mysterious. He did not know how much time had passed. Had he, also, passed into the darkness? Was there something on the other side? But his vision cleared. He recognised the lamps for what they were, the part of the deck he lay on was shrouded in shadow. He could only just make out the figure of Tenari beside him. She still sat dumbly staring at him.
Someone had placed something soft beneath his head but his body lay on the hard deck. He sat up, feeling his bones stiff and sore. Something had dug into his ribs while he lay prone and they now ached painfully. He felt out the irritating object with his fingers and lifted it to the light so that he could see it.
It was a man’s finger.
For a moment the horror of the battle rushed back at him. The gouging of swords, the hacking of flesh, the jaws of oblivion. Menish had attacked him, he knew why for he had perceived Menish’s intention. Menish had attacked him to save him. The paradox knotted itself in his mind. It suddenly seemed absurdly funny that Menish could rescue him by crashing his shield down on his head.
He giggled.
He held a man’s finger in his hand. It looked quite normal. He could bend it at the joints. Only the sticky wetness at the severed end hinted at its owner’s demise.
The man was dead.
Dead.
The darkness had swallowed him.
Menish had hacked at his hand as it reached over the gunwale. Azkun had felt his horror as he fell into the water below, his heavy armour dragging him under.
The finger was the same size as his own, as if he had six fingers on that hand. A wind was blowing through him. A numbing wind from the Chasm, but still he giggled at the finger, at the paradox, at the wind. He rolled on the deck, hugging the finger, cackling insanely as his mind was blown away by the wind.
Suddenly firm hands gripped him. He tried to fight them off but they overcame him. The shape of Tenari bent over him and slapped his face. She wrenched the finger from his grasp and tossed it into the sea.
The madness left him cold, shaking and frightened. By the time Menish, who had heard the commotion, arrived Tenari had resumed her blank stare.
“Azkun, what happened?” He shook him until his teeth rattled.
“Nothing, nothing, an evil dream, I think. It has passed.”
Azkun saw Menish look pointedly at Tenari for a moment then he picked up a flask of ambroth and offered it to him.
“How do you feel now? Would you like some of this?”
“No, no, thank you. I am… no, I am not well, but I am better. My head-”
“I'm sorry. You took a fit and were in danger from the pirates. If I'd been less pressed I'd have simply moved you to a place of safety.”
“I know, you did what you had to.” He smiled. “My head is sore, but I am alive still. So far.”
“Are you sure you'll take no ambroth? It's good for hurts.”
“I am determined not to.”
“Some water then?”
“No.”
“Then you'd best sleep at least. A blow to the head can addle the brain. One’s thoughts become twisted. The time is best passed in sleep, besides it's night.”