Maia

by Richard Adams

  When Sessendris was gone and Ogma had brought in the lamps, Maia asked her to bring her needlework and sit with her for company. Yet although Ogma (who had never in her life been five miles from Bekla) did her best, talking of this and that and from time to time asking Maia to thread her needle-for her sight was poor-Maia herself was but indifferent company, preoccupied as she was with all that Sessendris had said. At last Ogma, perceiving that her mistress was not herself, but attributing it merely to fatigue and her state of health, suggested bed; and for some reason this homely proposal at last drew from Maia what was really in her heart.

  "Ogma, what's become of Occula? Have you heard anything about her?"

  Ogma, limping across the room with her work over her arm, stopped and turned.

  "No, not once, Miss Maia. Not since-well, not since that last evening, when you both went to the gardens with the High Counselor. But then they took her away to the temple, didn't they?"

  "Yes, but is she with the Sacred Queen now, 's far 's you know?"

  "With the Sacred Queen, miss?" Ogma was visibly surprised and agitated. "Oh, Cran! If she went to the Sacred Queen anything could have happened to her."

  Maia stared at her, frowning.

  "You didn't know, miss? The queen's got a terrible reputation that way."

  "I always thought there was some as was devoted to her," said Maia, remembering Ashaktis.

  "Maybe her own Palteshis," said Ogma, "and any as might just happen to suit her, like. But there's others as she's-well-got rid of, so they say."

  The realization that she had been several days in Bekla without making any inquiry about Occula showed Maia more plainly than anything else how weak and shocked she must really have been. She had been sleeping badly, troubled with pain as well as with anxiety about her scars (for she had four or five gashes altogether, though none so grievous as that on her thigh). Again and again she had woken from nightmares of fire in the dark, of roaring water and the boy Sphelthon crying on the blood-drenched ground. Protean they were, these fantasies, casting themselves like amorphous nets round her distressed mind; tormentors continually emerging in new and unexpected guises. The fire would dance before her, its flames murmuring "Sha-greh, shagreh," as they refused to cook her food. The water would become an insubstantial ladder on which she dared not set foot. Or she would be placidly swimming when the wretched boy, a weeping horror, would rise up out of deep water and fasten his bloody mouth on her flinching body. One night of full moon, having lain for two hours afraid to fall asleep again, she had resorted to her old solace, gone down to the Barb and, plunging in near the outfall of the Monju brook, swum half a mile to the Pool of Light, stepping out naked into the gardens before a gaping sentry of the Lapanese regiment. (Ogma had returned his cloak next morning, and this latest story of the Serrelinda lost nothing in the telling.)

  But yet another preoccupation she had, besides her own health and recovery. Incessantly she dwelt on the memory of Zen-Kurel, recalling over and over each moment of their brief hours together, from the king's supper table to the daggers lying discarded on the floor and the running footsteps receding into the moonlight. She longed for him; she missed him every hour. Where was he? What had happened to him in the fighting? Had she saved his life? Surely she must have! To have known for certain that she had saved his life would have meant more to her than the knowledge of having saved the army and the Tonildan detachment. Karnat's force had suffered no very heavy casualties in the fighting: Sendekar had told her as much before she left Rallur. The king himself, she knew, was not among the dead, and Zen-Kurel had been one of his personal aides. She imagined him wading into the water, helping to pull the king ashore as the last rope was cut, translating to the king the answers of the few Beklan pris-

  oners who had been taken back into Suba; then, perhaps, sent back across the Zhairgen with dispatches for Keril-Katria. Of course he would have distinguished himself. He would no doubt be promoted-though she knew nothing about such things or what he might realistically expect. One thing, however, she was sure of. Whatever his adventures, he would not have forgotten her, any more than she had forgotten him.

  The glaring inconsistency of her situation in regard to Zen-Kurel, which would naturally have been the first thing to occur to (for instance) Occula or Nennaunir if they had learned the whole story, did not strike Maia at all. It never once crossed her mind that her exploit must, of course, have come to the ears of all Suba, Katria and Terekenalt, or that Zen-Kurel-if he were still with King Kamat-had good cause not only to curse her very name and his own disclosure to her, but also, if he valued his life, to utter no word of their love to a living soul. Still more extraordinarily, if anyone (such as Occula) had pointed this out, Maia, while she would have been deeply grieved, would nevertheless have remained in no doubt that Zen-Kurel still loved her and had not renounced her in his own mind.

  She, for her part, was scarcely ever free from the thought of him. She knew herself to have remained deeply in love with him. How could this be? A man whom she had known and with whom she had made love for perhaps four hours altogether: and she a girl who had, to use her own words, been in and out of bed with half a dozen men, both in the upper and lower city. Yet she herself knew why. Alone of them all, Zen-Kurel had sincerely respected her womanhood'-yes, where even Elvair-ka-Virrion had not, for all his fine words and elegant ways. And then, she had not come to him as a slave-girl, but as the magic Suban princess of the golden lilies. "He asked me to marry him-he meant it-to marry him-" she whispered, swimming down the moonlit Barb.

  Yet it was not even this sincere asking that lay at the heart of the matter. Others, no doubt, given the opportunity, might well have asked as much. It was that she herself could, she knew, create so much by loving a man like Zen-Kurel. In the midst of all the danger, uncertainty and squalor of Suba, he had had the power to carry her with nun to a little island of security where they had dwelt together-for just how long was no matter. And thence

  had flowed into her a joy, a power and confidence which had enabled her to save thousands of lives. This, amazingly, was Maia's own, personal view of what had happened. Within herself she seemed to carry the seed of a great tree only waiting to grow and flourish, which now could not spring up for lack of soil-his presence. And this was frustration and torment.

  There had lain the promise-there for the picking up, like a jewel lying on the ground. For a few hours she had held it in her hand. And by her own deed-the deed that had made her fortune-she had cast it away from her, as she had thrown her clothes into the Valderra. "It's only the beginning, Maia-we'll meet again in Bekla." He had meant that. If she had chosen, she need have done nothing but await their reunion-whenever and wherever it might have taken place.

  Why had she, then, by her own deed, made it impossible? Not for luxury, wealth and fame; that much she knew. She would gladly forgo all that to lie once more in his arms in flea-bitten Suba. No, she had done what she did out of her own womanliness-because of Gehta and her dad, because of Sphelthon at the ford, because of the Tonildans downstream of Rallur. Yes, and for Zenka's own sake, too-poor, feather-brained boy, boasting that he'd kill twenty Beklans for her sake! She'd saved his life as surely as anyone else's in the whole silly, nasty business. He might be a bit disappointed now, but if only she could have him to herself for an hour or two she'd soon make him see it different; for a week or two; for a year or two: well, say a lifetime. She could do something, make something out of life with a lad like that, as she knew she never could with a showy gallant like Elvair-ka-Virrion.

  When Shend-Lador and his friends had come to see her, she had asked them what news they could give her about the Terekenalt prisoners taken in the fighting. They knew no more, however, than Sendekar had already told her; namely, that there were something like seventy prisoners altogether, Subans, Katrians and Terekenalters, foremost among whom was the traitor Bayub-Otal. All had been sent under guard to the fortress at Dari-Paltesh, where they were to remain until the Lord Gene
ral could spare time to consider what was to be done with them.

  "Some of them are bound to have ransom value, you see, Maia," explained Shend-Lador. "And anyway they've

  all got hostage and exchange value against our men who got collared and taken into Suba. The Lord General will sort it out as soon as he's finished off Erketlis."

  "But Anda-No-I mean, Bayub-Otal's a son of the High Baron of Urtah. Haven't the Urtans said anything about him?" she asked.

  Shend-Lador laughed. "Not much they can say, is there? He was taken red-handed fighting for Karnat against the empire. Oh, no, Maia, you needn't worry: his number's up if anyone's is-public execution in the Caravan Market, I should think. Soon as there's time to spare for it, that is."

  He knew the names of no other prisoners, and neither did Sarget or Nennaunir. Durakkon, of course, she had not presumed to question. Nor, lacking Occula, had she disclosed to anyone the true nature of her interest.

  During these days of her convalescence, her principal source of information was Ogma, who talked to hawkers at the door and brought back gossip with her shopping from the lower city. One day she returned so eager to talk that she came straight into the parlor and, clumping her way across the room with her basket still on her arm, came to a stop beside the couch on which Maia had been resting in the sunshine.

  "Oh, miss, I was buying some vegetables-only we're right out of brillions as well as beans, and they had some nice fruit, all sorts, so I thought well, as you'd given me the money and we're not short nowadays, are we? any more than we were at the High Counselor's, I might as well get some while they were there. And while I was buying them there was this woman come in as I know to talk to-I've met her two or three times in the shops, see- and she's married to a Tonildan, a man from east of Thet-tit, only they've been living here for quite a few years now, and she began telling me-"

  Maia got up and half-lowered the slatted blind against the mid-day sun. An air of inattention, she had found, often worked in bringing Ogma to the point.

  "Well, this man has friends down Thettit way, miss, and they sometimes come up here on business-buying glass, only that's what he makes and there's none at Thettit, you see-and these men said this woman, that's to say my friend in the shop as I was talking to, they asked her did

  she know why Lord Erketlis had declared against Bekla and started fighting?"

  "Why, has there been any fighting?" asked Maia. "I thought Lord Erketlis was lying low in Chalcon. He hasn't got all that many men, has he?"

  "Oh, well, that's right, miss-at least, I think so-but I mean the real reason why he's started making trouble and declaring against the Leopards an' that."

  Maia waited.

  "It only shows, miss, doesn't it, as there's justice above?" pronounced Ogma sententiously. "I mean, there's some as brings down judgement on their own heads. That wicked man-of course I know you and Miss Occula had to do what you did; you hadn't got no choice-well, we none of us had, had we? And Miss Dyphna-"

  "Ogma," said Maia, "what are you trying to tell me?"

  Ogma leant forward, round-eyed. "Miss Milvushina!"

  "Milvushina? What about her?"

  "Well, we all knew, didn't we, miss, why the High Counselor was at the trouble of getting Miss Milvushina for himself? Because she was what she was-a lady-that's why. And he persuaded the Lord General-it's my belief he did-to send those soldiers to kill her father and mother just so he could have her for-well, for his horrible ways and that. Only I was there in the house all that night when you and Miss Occula was at Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion's party- the night when the soldiers first brought Miss Milvushina; and even the tryzatt, he was that disgusted by what he'd been made to do, like, and Terebinthia told me I wasn't to say a word outside and if I did she'd have me whipped and sold-"

  "Ogma, what is it you want to tell me?"

  "That was his own death, miss," whispered Ogma, stabbing with her fore-finger, "what he done then, the High Counselor. This friend of mine in the market had it all from her husband's friends down in Thettit. Miss Milvushina, see, she was promised in marriage to Lord Santil-ke-Erketlis-"

  "Great Cran!" said Maia, startled at last into full attention. "Ogma, are you sure? She never said a word about it to me or Occula."

  "Well, no, miss, likely not," said Ogma. "I mean, Miss Milvushina wasn't never one for telling a great deal at all, was she, if you know what I mean? But now it seems as

  Lord Santil's made a proclamation down in Chalcon and Tonilda, telling everyone what he's doing and why, and all such things as that: and the chief of it is, he says that it was all arranged between him and Lord Enka-Mordet that he was to marry his daughter, and it was going to be a public thing as soon as the rains ended, only for what happened to poor Lord Enka-Mordet. And he says-that's to say, in the proclamation he says-that he was the one as had the High Counselor murdered, and that he'll never rest until he's revenged Lord Enka-Mordet and the dishonor that's been done to himself by Miss Milvushina being taken away."

  Maia, sitting in the sun-dappled window-seat, considered this in silent wonder.

  "It only shows, miss, doesn't it," resumed Ogma, "as the gods above-"

  "Where is Milvushina?" interrupted Maia. "I remember now-that's to say I heard-that after the murder Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion took her into his own household, although by law she ought to have gone to the temple. The Sacred Queen was very angry about it."

  "She's still with Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion," said Ogma. "He's said as he won't give her up. But that's not all, miss, either." She paused for effect.

  "Well?" asked Maia.

  "They say-that's to say, there's them as are saying, miss-that the Sacred Queen was for sending her back to Chalcon," said Ogma. "The rumor is that the Sacred Queen told General Kembri that Bekla had enough troubles as it was and to send the girl back and good riddance, But it seems Miss Milvushina said as she didn't want to go, and when the queen said she-was temple property and to be disposed of as such, Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion said no, because she shouldn't never have been enslaved in the first place, so by rights she wasn't a slave at all. So then Queen Fornis got very angry, but when she told General Kembri to see to it, he said he was too busy and anyway it wouldn't make any difference, because Lord Santil wouldn't want her back now she's been-you know. So that's it, you see, miss, and it only goes to show, doesn't it-"

  "Then you mean Milvushina's living with Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion now?"

  "Oh, yes, miss," said Ogma, "and what's more, they say he's going to command a special band of soldiers they're

  raising, to go to Chalcon and put down Lord Erketlis; that's as soon as they're ready. And Miss Milvushina, she's said all along that he's been that good to her in her trouble that she means to stay with him here in Bekla."

  And what did all this matter to herself? thought Maia, dismissing Ogma to go and set about cooking dinner. Once, there had been a time when she would have been wild with jealousy and full of resentment against Elvair-ka-Vir-rion. "You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen." "Thank you for my pleasure. It was much the best I've ever had." This was not disillusion on her part, however: it was sheer lack of interest. With her new understanding, her opened eyes, she knew that Elvair-ka-Virrion was no man for her. He had once bedded her; she had enjoyed it; it had been a step up. He was the son and heir of the Lord General, while she was now the most celebrated, acclaimed woman in the empire. And that was all-that was the size of it. What could she and Elvair-ka-Virrion possibly create together, apart from mere physical pleasure? Milvushina was welcome to him. She did not want him. She wanted her Zenka.

  She was in a situation of success and wealth such as she could never have dreamed of, and she had been warned that she had powerful enemies-potential enemies, at all events. She had betrayed the confidence of the man she loved, and by doing so had saved thousands of lives. She was revenged on Bayub-Otal as thoroughly as she or anyone could possibly have desired; yet now she only regretted it and pitied him. What a tangle of contradictions!<
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  Ah! she thought, if only I could go and tell it all to that old Nasada! She could see him so clearly in her mind's eye-his fish-skin robe, his bushy eyebrows, his kindly, penetrating stare, his way of really listening to what you told him and then answering something you'd never have thought of for yourself.

  "Oh, if only I could talk to Nasada!" she said aloud. "He'd make sense out of all this: he'd help me to know myself. Only I shaH never see him again, that's for sure. And Zenka? Never see Zenka again? Oh, nol"

  She burst into tears; but, as is so often the way, having given rein for a time she felt better, and was able to enjoy entertaining Nennaunir to dinner and showing off her new furniture and other possessions.

  Nennaunir's news was all of the forthcoming Chalcon expedition.

  "There won't be anyone left here, you know, to go to bed with," she said, shaking her head with mock concern and smiling mischievously at Maia across the table. "You've saved the city and ruined the shearnas, Maia. Soon ev-eryone'll be off to stick spears into Santil instead of zards into us."

  "But no one's got to go as doesn't want, surely?" asked Maia. "Not from the upper city, anyway?"

  "Well, the thing is," answered Nennaunir, "that Kem-bri's doing all he can to make them feel they ought to. As a matter of fact," she went on, dropping her voice and looking over her shoulder for a moment to make sure Ogma was not in the room, "I believe he's more worried than he cares to let people know. Galatalis-you don't know her, do you? A sweet girl, and so pretty; you'd like her, Maia-she was with him a few days ago and she told me he really didn't seem himself at all."

  "But he was going to lead the army on the Valderra, surely?" said Maia. "Isn't he going to now, then?"