She duck-dived a foot or two into the green gloom, swam on until she was breathless and came up through a surface glowing and reddened by the setting sun.
The splash and smack of the water filled her ears: there was no other sound. It was close, protective, a helmet of sound!-only herself and the water-like old days on Serrelind, with the evening light fading before supper-time. She swam a dozen strokes, then turned on her back and floated, looking up at the pink-tinged clouds.
Suddenly she became aware of a turmoil of high-pitched screeching coming from the bank. Luma and the other girls were gathered in a cluster, some clothed, some still undressed, but all waving at her, gesturing and calling shrilly. Since they were all shouting together-and in their Suban dialect, at that-she could make out very little, but what was clear enough was that they wanted her to come back at once. Whatever it was all about, it was evidently urgent and important to them. What a pity, she thought, just as she was enjoying herself. Still, she was in their hands: it wouldn't do to upset them.
She struck out for the bank and as she did so felt a sharp
little stab at the back of one knee, like a needle or the bite of a horsefly. This was followed, a moment later, by a similar pain in her ankle. Each, if there had not been two at once, might almost have been-ow! there was another, in her thigh-one of those little pangs that everybody feels at times, but which seem to have no perceptible cause. Reaching the bank, she stretched up her arms to pull herself out, but before she could do so two of the girls had caught her hands and hauled her bodily on to the grass. They were all chattering together.
"Why didn't you tell her?"
"How could I have known?"
"She's a foreigner, she wasn't to know-"
"Stupid thing to do-"
"Take her back quickly, Luma!"
Maia, sitting up on the grass and looking down at her ankle, saw, just above the heel, a glistening, liver-colored strip some three or four inches long and not quite as thick as a rat's tail. As it compressed and then extended itself with an oozing, undulant motion, she realized with horrified disgust that it was alive. And now that she could see it, she could also feel that it had pierced her skin and was sucking. Overcome with nausea, she was about to pluck at it when Luma caught her wrist.
"No, saiyett, no!"
"Let me go!" She struggled, retching and crying. She could now feel at least two more of the loathsome creatures on her legs and body. Why were the girls preventing her from pulling them off? It must be some horrible, crazy superstition: they were sacred; or else she, as a stranger, had to give them blood-something like that. She screamed, struggling in hysterical frenzy. Four girls were holding her down now, one to each arm and leg.
An older woman, swarthy, with discolored teeth, was bending over her, trying to speak. From sheer breathless-ness Maia became silent and listened.
"Akrebah, saiyett: akrebah only come in the deep water. You should have stayed in one of the pools by the bank. If you try to pull them off they break; the head stays fastened on, then it has to be cut out. You have to touch them with a smoldering twig, then they let go."
The woman's look was direct and down-to-earth, but at least there was nothing contemptuous or unkind in it. She
did not think her a fool for not knowing. Blinking back her tears, Maia did her best to pull herself together.
"You mean I got to go back to the village 'fore they can be took off?"
The woman nodded. "It's not much, really, long's you let them alone. But if you'd stayed out in that deep water, you'd have had thirty or forty-they're like flies. Then you'd have been real bad."
"How was I to know she didn't know?" Luma was indignant. "Even the children know about akrebah!"
Maia, determined to do what she could to recover the respect of these girls-one or two of whom clearly thought her either a born fool or else a spoiled lady too fine to blow her own nose-walked back to the huts uncomplaining and trying her best not to hurry. Clearly, she was just beginning to scratch the surface of Suba, a country where one had to beware of water, the natural blessing and plaything of mankind. No doubt she had more to discover. The air, of course (which she was drawing into her lungs), was tainted: that was common knowledge. How about the earth? It was difficult to see how fire could be, but perhaps burns turned putrid here.
As the woman had said, the removal of the leeches turned out to be a matter of no great difficulty. At the first hut they came to, behind which a fire was burning in an iron basket, matters were explained to the woman and her husband (who was eating his supper). The man, with a few perfunctory words of sympathy, broke off his meal and disappeared, Maia stripped yet again and the goodwife, taking a glowing twig, went to work so quickly and deftly that she felt almost nothing. About to dress again, she became aware that her hostess, who had slipped indoors, had brought something in a clay bowl which she was now offering to her.
"What is it?" she asked rather shrinkingly.
They all laughed. "Where's she from, then?" asked the woman. But on being told "Bekla," she said "Well, if they're all as pretty as she is, p'raps Bekla may be good for something after all. You haven't got no akrebah then, in Bekla?" she asked Maia.
"Dunno as we have," replied Maia, smiling. "Maybe you could spare us a few, could you?"
They laughed again, more kindly this time. Maia felt bold to ask once more what was in the jar.
"It's what we put on bites and that," said Luma. "To clean the place, like."
The woman dipped two fingers into the sharp-scented unguent, but then seemed restrained by a kind of doubt about actually touching Maia's naked body.
"Shagreh?" she asked rather hesitantly.
Maia nodded. "Shagreh."
A minute later she was dressed, the husband had come back and she was thanking them both, again silently regretting that she had nothing to give. However, they did not seem to expect anything. Everyone appeared pleased and clearly felt that the business of helping the poor, ignorant stranger had been adroitly handled.
Returning to her hut in the dusk, she and Luma were met by the old woman who, having greeted Maia palm to forehead, told her that Anda-Nokomis and Lenkrit had already left for Melvda-Rain.
"He couldn't wait, but said to give you his blessing, saiyett, and U-Nasada will go with you tomorrow."
"Thank you," replied Maia rather distantly. She was not sorry to have missed the departure of Bayub-Otal. Other things were on her mind; chiefly the business of self-preservation. She was as good as a prisoner: nor was there here a single man of wealth or standing whom she might set out to attract with a view to acquiring a protector. No, all she could do for the time being was devote her wits to the business of not getting struck down by any of the hundred and one plagues that stalked this swamp.
Turning to Luma, she took her by the shoulders.
"Listen," she said, speaking firmly and unsmiling, "make a fire, bring the biggest pot you have, fill it with water and boil it. Do you understand?"
It took her some time to convince the girl that she meant what she said. Apparently everything here was governed by the time of day, and this was neither the time for lighting fires nor for boiling water. Luma had not expected to be set to work at this time. What did the young saiyett want water for? Hadn't she just bathed? Finally Maia had to threaten to take the matter to U-Nasada and also to report it to Anda-Nokomis as soon as they reached Melvda. At this Luma sulkily fetched the old woman and together, grumbling, they lit a fire and boiled three or four gallons of water. This Maia made them carry up the ladder into
the hut. Although a good deal of it was spilled on the way, enough was left for her purposes.
As best she could, she washed herself (including her hair) from head to foot, and then her clothes and sandals. After this she put her wet clothes back on her wet body and felt a good deal better. She had already thought about the next problem-supper. She called Luma in from beside the fire, where she was sitting with the old woman. It was clear enough that sh
e had forfeited any liking the girl might originally have felt for her, but she was past caring.
"Luma," she said, "will you bring me some supper now, please?"
"Shagreh." Abruptly, the girl turned to go. Maia called her back.
"I want three hard-boiled eggs" (holding up three fingers) "and five tendrionas with the skins left on. Nothing else. Do you understand?"
"No eggs, saiyett." Explanations were clearly about to follow, but Maia checked them.
"If there are hens there are eggs. That man was eating eggs for his supper. You boil me three eggs. Shagreh?"
"Shagreh, saiyett."
Even in Suba, thought Maia, it would surely be difficult to contaminate shelled eggs and rinded fruit. It was a poor enough supper, but better than getting infection of the bowels.
She was finishing her meal by the dimmest and smokiest of lamplight when she heard someone on the ladder. "Luma?" she called. There was no immediate reply, but after a short pause a man's voice asked, "Can I come in?"
Maia, carrying the lamp over to the entrance, recognized Nasada. Putting out a hand, she helped him up into the room. As she did so she noticed, to her surprise, that he was now dressed like any Beklan, in a clean, if much mended, robe, and that the muddy smell which she had noticed that morning was no longer perceptible. The hand clasping hers, too, though rouph and hard, was dean.
She looked at him rather timidly in the flickering light, not sure how she should address him, for in spite of his short stature arid squat build he possessed a peculiar dignity which made her feel-as she certainly had not for many months past-younger than her sixteen years. She wondered why he had come; not, she felt intuitively, for the reason which would have brought many men. As this
thought crossed her mind it was followed by another and stranger one, namely that although the one thing she would have thought she would have leapt at was for some influential man to show himself attracted to her, for some reason she would have felt disappointed if this man had done so.
"Why, your dress is wet-wet through," he said, looking her up and down from under his bushy eyebrows. "Did you go in the water in it, or what?"
She laughed. "Oh, no, U-Nasada. I've just washed everything and I've nothing else to put on, see?"
"Well, then, we must get you something," said he decidedly. "It's not healthy to have wet clothes here, even though you mayn't feel uncomfortable. The girl should have lent you something."
He called to Luma, but neither she nor the old woman appeared to be within earshot.
"It doesn't matter, U-Nasada," said Maia. "I only washed them for fear of infection. They'll dry off soon enough."
"You're afraid of infection here?"
With anyone else, she would have been worried that he would think she was slighting his country or his people. But there was something reassuring in his plain directness. He had asked the question because he wanted a truthful answer.
"Very much, yes."
"I heard you'd been in the water. Well, you weren't to know: it must have been upsetting for you. Is that what's made you worry about infection?"
She nodded. "Well, yes-partly."
"I don't wonder. You'd better let me have a look at those leech-bites. It's not likely you've taken any harm, but it's best to be sure." He smiled. "I'm a sort of doctor, you see; the only sort there is here, anyway."
"I know. Bayub-Otal-Anda-Nokomis-told me."
"I'll get the girl to come in."
"What for, U-Nasada? I don't mind if you don't."
Suddenly she felt absurdly light-hearted. It was all so unexpected. With this man she could be her natural self. Not only was he not seeking anything from her; he would not, she felt sure, criticize or judge her-not even in his own mind-whatever she might say. In a word, she trusted him. She felt more at ease than at any time for days past- than at any time, indeed, since she had last been with
Occula. It was a reassuring feeling, a feeling of release; and being Maia, she acted on it with characteristic, impulsive gaiety.
"It's kind-it's very kind of you to have come," she went on. "Oh, this is so wet, I can't pull it off. D'you mind helping me?" She laughed. She couldn't help thinking it was funny that he should have supposed that she might want another girl to be present. It did not occur to her that perhaps he himself might have preferred it.
If so, he made no more of it, but helped her off with the damp, clinging dress and shift as smoothly as even Terebinthia could have done.
"You feel quite easy and natural with nothing on, do you?"
"Oh, that's what U-Lenkrit asked me on the river bank." She found herself pouring out to him the story of the Olmen crossing, for it still rankled.
"So that was all the thanks I got," she ended.
"Well," he said, "they were the ones who lost dignity there; not you."
"Lost dignity, U-Nasada? That seems a funny old way of looking at it."
"Well, maybe," he answered, smiling at her in the most relaxed way as she sat naked before him. "Anyway, I'd better have a look at the bites. How many were there, do you know?"
"Well, three for certain-the ankle here, and the back of the knee, and this thigh. But might be one or two more for all I know."
"None between your legs-I mean, in the private parts? Only that can be serious, especially if it goes unnoticed: we'd better make sure. You don't mind that, either? My hands, I mean?"
Lying down on the bed, she answered, "I shan't bite, U-Nasada."
"Bite? Like the akrebah, you mean?"
"No; like the Sacred Queen's dog." And while he examined her she told him the story of Fornis's unhesitant handling of the guard-hound which could have bitten either of her hands through.
"Well," he said at length, "I'm as good as certain you've got nothing to worry about, though it might be as well to make sure tomorrow. My eyes are every bit as old as I am, you see, and though doctors often have to work by
lamplight, it's not ideal. You're not to go putting those wet clothes back on: you're to get into bed now, Maia of Serrelind. That was my other reason for coming-to make sure you get a good night's sleep. Will you take a sleeping-draft if I make one? It's not very strong."
"Yes, I'll do whatever you say, U-Nasada." She drew up the ragged coverlet and put a cushion under her head.
"Comfortable?"
"I never noticed this morning-I was that tired-but it's a deal more comfortable than I reckoned. What's in this mattress, then?"
"Dried sedge and rushes are what they mostly use here. A few feathers, perhaps. Better than straw, I've always found."
He pulled up his sleeve, disclosing round his forearm a broad leather strap with six or seven small pockets, each of which contained a stoppered, bronze phial. Seeing Maia stare, he unbuckled it and handed it to her.
"Never seen anything like that before?"
"No, I never." Maia was fascinated by the novelty of the contrivance and the neatness of its workmanship.
"I made it myself. It comes in useful."
"You ought to make some more. You could sell them in Bekla: get rich."
He laughed. "Perhaps I will one day. Tell me about Bekla. Is that where you learned not to be ashamed of showing people that you're beautiful?"
She told him how she had been enslaved; about Occula, Lalloc, Terebinthia and the High Counselor. She found herself longing to tell him the truth about Kembri and her flight from Bekla, and with a little encouragement might even have done so. He listened silently, however, sitting hunched on the three-legged stool and scarcely moving except now and then to trim the smoking lamp.
"And are you tired of all your adventures?" he asked at length. "You're young to have had so many."
"Oh, U-Nasada, it's the danger I'm so tired of," she answered. "You can't imagine how tired! Danger-it scares you-it wears you out."
"You're not in danger now."
"No: but I wish I knew what was going to happen."
"I think I can help you there: we'll talk tomorrow evening. It's
too late now-time to sleep."
Searching, he found a clay cup, into which he poured
the contents of one of the phials, mixing it with water from the covered jar by the bed.
"This is just dried okra leaves, really. There's some tessik mixed in, but only a touch." He smiled. "You'll wake up in the morning, I promise."
She drank it down. It was bitter and sabulous, leaving grains on her tongue.
"Did you like being at the High Counselor's?" he asked.
Maia realized that if Bayub-Otal or Lenkrit had asked this question, she would unthinkingly have replied "I was a slave-girl." But for some reason that was not good enough for this man. He deserved a better answer-chiefly because he had not asked the question contemptuously, as they would have done. He knew very well, she thought, that there were some things about the High Counselor's which she had enjoyed; and he wasn't blaming her for it, either.
"I didn't like being shut up indoors so much." He waited. "Oh, but the clothes, U-Nasada, and the food! A girl like me, see, couldn't ever have expected to live like that. The upper city-you've no idea-oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"
He was not in the least offended. "And did you enjoy giving him pleasure?"
"Well, I did after Occula'd taught me the right way to look at it. It was work, see? I didn't get much real, bodily pleasure myself-well, you couldn't, could you?-but I did enjoy feeling he was rich and powerful and could have anything he liked, and that what he liked was me. He was. a brute, really-a filthy beast, everyone knew that. If I hadn't suited him, he'd just have got rid of me. But he didn't; that's the truth of it, U-Nasada. I mean, that was what I liked."
"Did you always live by Lake Serrelind-before Bekla, I mean?"
"Yes, all my life."
"You're quite sure?"
She frowned, puzzled. "Yes, of course. Why?" Then she laughed. "Dare say that's why I took to Bekla, d'you reckon? Country girl never been anywhere before?"
"And your father-he died when you were still quite a little girl?"
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