by Allan Cole
Safar felt his temper rise and quickly doused it. "But he has agreed to sponsor me at the university, hasn’t he?" he asked, indicating the letter.
"My Master said that was his intent," the major domo answered. "Funds will be deposited for your care. He has the Lord Coralean’s promise of repayment for any necessary expenses." The major domo paused for emphasis, then said, "But he said to warn you not to take advantage of his good nature and friendship with Lord Coralean. My Master’s charity will only extend so far. So do not return here for more. Do I make myself clear?"
Safar wanted to throw the letter into the man’s sneering face. But he’d made promises he couldn’t break and so he swallowed his pride and turned away without comment. The next day, after a night of angry teeth-grinding, he made his way to the Grand Temple Of Walaria.
The route took him through the heart of the great crossroads city and the sights and scents and sounds were enthralling. The crowds were thick, barely making room for cursing wagon drovers laden with market goods. Except for irritated grunts when he bumped into them, the people ignored him - keeping their heads low so as not to meet another’s eyes. The traffic flow carried him past beggars crying "alms, alms for the sake of the gods," and open windows framing scantily clad women who called for the "blushing boy" to come tarry in their arms. There were shops with luxurious carpets and rich jewelry mixed with coffee houses and opium stalls. Thieves of all ages and sexes darted in and out of the crowd, snatching at opportunity.
And all the while cart pushers sang out their wares and with the drums and bells and whistles of the street entertainers it made a thrilling song: "Pea-Nuts! Pea-Nuts, Salted And Hot! " Or, "Rose Pud-Ding! Rose Pud-Ding. Sweet As The Bud!" And, "Sher-Bet Iced So Nice! Sher-Bet Iced So Nice!"
The Grand Temple and University was so vast it made a walled city of its own. It had a wide gateless archway for an entrance with fearsome monsters carved in the stone. There were no guards and men dressed in priestly togas or rough student robes poured in and out with the single-minded purpose of bees tending a forest hive. Safar asked directions and soon was making his way through the confusion of temple buildings to the busy office of the High Clerk. There he presented his sponsor’s letter and was again commanded to wait.
This time he was ready. He’d brought food and drink and an old stargazer’s book to while away the hours. His supplies as well as the day were gone and he’d memorized the book by the time a skinny priest with prunish lips and a rushed manner returned with an answer.
"Come with me, come with me," he said. And he turned and raced away without waiting to see if Safar was following.
Safar had to hurry to catch him. "Have I been accepted, Master?" he asked.
"Don’t call me master. Don’t call me master," the priest chided. "Holy one will do. Holy one will..."
"Pardon my ignorance, Holy One," Safar broke in. "Have I been accepted to the school?"
"Yes, yes. This way, now. This way now."
Safar was led to a large empty dining hall with stone, food-encrusted floors.
The priest said, "Scrub it down. Scrub it down." He pointed at a wooden bucket of greasy water with a brush floating on top.
Safar looked and by the time he raised his head the priest had darted off. "Wait, Holy One!" he shouted after him. But the little priest had already gone out the door, slamming it behind him.
Safar fetched the bucket and brush and got on his knees and scrubbed. As a village lad he saw no shame in necessary labor, no matter how mean the task. He scrubbed for hours, making little headway because the water was as filthy as the floor. At spellsong an older acolyte came to take him to a huge dormitory, crammed with first-year students. He was given a blanket, a place to stretch out on the bare floor and a rusty metal pail containing a cold baked potato, a hard wheat roll and a boiled egg.
While he wolfed the food down the acolyte gave him a quick summery of his duties, most of which seemed to involve scrubbing dirty floors.
"When do my studies begin?" Safar asked.
The acolyte laughed. "They’ve already started," he said. And he left without further explanation.
Safar had learned long ago from Gubadan that teachers liked to make obscure points. Very well, he thought, if floor scrubbing is my first lesson, so be it. He scrubbed for a month, lingering as he toted buckets of water past foul-smelling workshops and lecture halls that echoed with the wise orations of master priests.
Then Umurhan summoned him and he never had to scrub another floor again.
* * *
Safar drifted out of his reverie. He rubbed his eyes, noting the view through the window had been replaced by glistening stars. He saw a comet tail just near the House Of The Jester and became absorbed in the astral meaning of the occurrence. Then he heard a sound - a scratching at his door. Through a fog of concentration it came to him that he’d heard this sound only a moment before. And he thought, Oh, yes... I was thinking about Umurhan and something interrupted me. And that something was a noise at my door.
He heard a voice call, "Safar? Are you awake?"
It was a young voice. Safar puzzled, then smiled as he realized who it was. "Come in," he said.
* * *
Chapter Ten
Nerisa
On the other side of the rough plank door Nerisa hastily combed fingers through her hair and straightened her clothes. She wore a short loose tunic that showed off her long legs, belted tightly about her small waist to draw attention away from her boyish figure. The gray tunic and pale leggings were castoffs, but the cloth was of such good quality that the patches barely showed.
"That is Nerisa, isn’t it?" came Safar’s voice. She heard him laugh. "If it’s some rogue instead, you’re wasting your energies, O friend of the night. For I’ve spent all my money on drink and other low pursuits."
Nerisa giggled and pushed the door open. Safar was grinning at her from the other side of the room, lolling on the windowsill, white student robes hiked up over his strong mountaineer’s legs. Nerisa thought she’d never seen such a handsome young man. He was tall and slender, with wide shoulders and a narrow waist, accented by his red acolyte’s belt. His skin was olive; his nose curved gracefully over full lips. His dark hair was cut close, with a stray curl dangling over eyes so blue they had melted her heart when she first looked into them.
He beckoned her to the window. "I’ve just sighted a comet," he said pointing out at the star-embedded heavens.
She came to him, leaning over his sprawled out legs so she could see.
"Right there," he said, directing her. "In Harle - the House Of The Jester."
She saw the long, narrow constellation of Harle, with its distinctive peaked hat and beaky-nosed face. Crossing at about chin level was the wide pale streak of a comet’s tail.
"I see it," she said, voice trembling from being so close to Safar. Troubled, she drew away, turning her head so he wouldn’t see her blush. "I hope I wasn’t bothering you," she said.
"Nonsense," Safar replied. "I’m lonely for my sisters. If you ever meet them don’t you dare say I told you that. They’d never let me forget it." He chuckled. "But I do miss them. There, I’ve said it. I grew up surrounded by my sisters and now I pine for them. I hope you don’t mind being a substitute."
Nerisa minded very much! She wasn’t quite sure exactly what reactions she wanted from Safar but she could say most definitely brotherly feelings were not among them.
She put a hand on her hip, trying to look as adult female as possible. "If you miss women so much, Safar Timura," she said, bold as she dared, "why don’t I ever see you with one? Except me, of course." She unconsciously touched her hair. "The other students spend all the time they can chasing women at the brothels."
To Nerisa’s enormous delight Safar blushed and attempted a stumbled answer - "I... uh... don’t go in for... that sort of thing." He recovered, saying, "I made a fool of myself once. I hope I know better now."
Nerisa nodded, thinking, I knew it was a wom
an! A bad experience, obviously. She hated the woman who’d made Safar suffer. But she was also delighted that her rival, although probably beautiful and certainly more mature, had made a bad job of things.
"What happened to her?" she asked.
"Who?"
"The woman in the bad experience."
Safar made a wry face. "I didn’t know I was being that obvious," he said. Then he shrugged, saying, "Her name was Astarias. A courtesan I was fool enough to fall in love with. But she made it plain she had no intention of making a life with a potter’s son. It seems she had grander plans which didn’t include me."
As Nerisa was mulling this over Safar motioned for her to sit on the pile of old pillows and rugs that were the room’s sole furnishings. She sank down and he joined her. She made herself look away as he sat, robes carelessly riding up over his long limbs.
"I suppose Katal gave you a bad time," Safar said, sliding away from the previous subject.
"What?" said Nerisa, in a bit in a daze.
Safar smiled saying, "After the, ah, large gentleman and his... friends left I believe you called the entire thing a, ah... ‘misunderstanding?’"
"Well it was!" Nerisa said. She saw with relief - and some disappointment - that his robes had been properly tucked over his lap. "I was trying to pay for it. But he thought I was a thief. Guess he didn’t see the money in my hand."
"You must admit, Nerisa," Safar said, "you have been known to engage in, shall we say, long term borrowing?"
Nerisa shrugged. "It’s how I live," she said. "I know old Katal can’t understand it. Maybe he thinks I’ve got a family someplace. And any day they’ll come back and I can stop sleeping at the Foolsmire and be with my family again. But that isn’t ever going to happen. So I steal. I’ll stop when I don’t have to anymore."
"I understand that," Safar said. "It wasn’t how I was raised, but I can see how things can be different in Walaria. I wish I could do something to help you. But I have a hard enough time helping myself."
"Oh, but you have helped me," Nerisa said with unintended passion. She calmed herself, took a breath, then, "I mean, you show me your books. And teach me things out of them. It’s almost like I’m a student myself. The only gir- I mean, woman student at the university."
Katal had given her reading and writing lessons, but her interest hadn’t really been sparked until Safar had taken her under his intellectual wing. Nerisa was so bright and eager to please that she quickly caught on to everything he introduced her to.
Safar sighed. "I’ve also tried to teach you logic," he said. "Let’s go back to your basic defense. Which was that as a poor orphan child you’re forced to steal in order to live."
"That’s true," she replied firmly.
"Very well," he said. "I’ll accept that. But pray tell me what did you find at that fat old knave’s stall that was so important?"
"This," Nerisa said, softly, shyly pushing forward a small paper wrapped package. "It’s for you. It’s a... present."
Safar’s eyebrows shot up. "A gift? You stole a gift?" There was an edge to his tone, indicating that such an act was anathema to someone of honest rearing. But he was unwrapping the package just the same, saying, "This isn’t right, Nerisa. You shouldn’t steal a gift. Hells, you shouldn’t steal at all. But to think that I was responsible for..."
His voice trailed off as the wrapping fell back and the object was revealed.
It was a small stone turtle, black with age, stumpy legs arching from its shell. Its head stretched to the end of a long wrinkled neck, beaked jaws open as if the turtle were chasing a fish. All in all a charming toy for a child in some long ago day.
Safar’s first jolt came as he realized the little object was no toy, but an ancient idol representing one of the turtle gods. Great care had been exercised in carving it - the detail so intricate the turtle seemed alive, as if it were in motion instead of a piece of stone at permanent rest. His second and decidedly greater jolt came when he saw the painting on the turtle’s back. It was of a large green island, a jagged line of blue surrounding it to mark the seas that washed its shores. On that island was a huge red mountain, with a monster’s face spewing painted flames from its mouth.
"Hadin," Safar breathed.
"You’re always going on about it," Nerisa said, pleased at the awe she saw in his face. "And you’ve shown me pictures in your books. When I spotted it I knew right away it was something you’d want." She shrugged. "So I got it."
Safar was smiling and nodding, but from the absent stare in his eyes she doubted he’d heard a word. She fell silent, watching in fascination as his hand seemed to be drawn to the turtle as if it were a powerful lodestone. He twitched when his fingers met the stone, and his eyes widened in surprise.
"It’s magical," he whispered.
He lifted the idol up, turning it about to study it from every angle. "I wonder where it came from," he mused "And how it got here."
Nerisa said nothing, realizing that Safar was only speaking his thoughts aloud. He was so absorbed in the turtle god she felt as if she were peeping through a window at a private moment.
His face cleared and he lit up the room with his smile. "Thank you, Nerisa," he said, quite simply. "I can never repay you for such a gift."
Then to her enormous, heart-stopping thrill he leaned over, put an arm about her shoulders and pulled her close. He kissed her lightly on the lips and she shuddered, excited and frightened at the same time. Then the moment ended and he drew away and she hated the tender brotherly look in his eyes.
To revenge herself she pointed at the turtle, saying, "I stole it, remember? Are you sure you want to dirty your hands with it?"
"It doesn’t matter," was all he said, voice so loving she forgave him.
And so she asked, "What’s it for?"
Safar shook his head. "I don’t know," he said. "Whatever its purpose, it’s definitely magical. I can feel it!" He hesitated, thinking, then went on, "I think it must be like a harp feels when a musician plucks a string. A sound resonates all through me."
"How do we find out what it does?" she asked, casually including herself.
Safar frowned. "I have to cast a spell to find out," he said, "and I really shouldn’t do anything with you here. Lord Umurhan doesn’t approve of his acolytes performing magic in public." Actually, the penalty for discovery was immediate dismissal, but Safar didn’t mention that.
"Oh, please! Please!" Nerisa said. "I’ve never seen magic done before."
Safar hesitated and she leaped into the gap. "If you really want to thank me," she said, "let me watch what you do. Please, it’s important to me. I see the spells and stuff in the books you show me. And sometimes you explain it to me. But if I could see it for myself I’d understand it better."
Her lips curled into a twisted little grin. "And you know I won’t tell anybody. There’s probably nobody in the world better at keeping their snapper snapped than me."
Safar was watching her closely the whole time she spoke. He’d liked her the first time they’d met at the Foolsmire nearly two years before. She’d have been ten summers old then, he thought. He’d been shocked to see a little girl living alone on the streets. Nothing like that would ever happen to any child in Kyrania. She was also amazingly bright. She had only to look at a page and she could turn away and recite every word exactly. Katal had told him she’d learned to read and write in less than two weeks. And whenever he corrected her speech she never made the same mistake again. Safar had not only found her easy to converse with but sometimes used her to test new ideas. No matter how complex the subject, he’d soon learned, if Nerisa didn’t understand the fault was either because he didn’t truly understand it himself or because he was putting the matter poorly.
To the Hells with Umurhan, he thought. He’s going to throw me out anyway. What do I have to lose?
So he said, quite formally, "Your wish, Ladyship," he said, "is my command."
Nerisa clapped her hands and cried, "Thank you, S
afar! You won’t be sorry. I promise."
Overcome with her delight she threw caution to the winds and hugged him and dared to kiss him on the lips. Then she pulled back, blushing furiously. She ducked her head and concentrated on a stray thread as if the task were one that required immense concentration. For the first time Safar noticed she wasn’t wearing her usual urchin rags. There was no sign of boyish pretense in the Nerisa sitting beside him. She was feminine through and through, from the tilt of her chin to the graceful arc of her wrist as she plucked at the thread. He saw she’d also dressed with care in a costume that set off her best womanly features - long legs beginning to find shape despite their slenderness. Soft slippers defining her small, well-formed feet. A narrow waist with a broad belt pulled tight over budding hips. From the experience of a large but close family he guessed her bosom - hidden under the loose material of her tunic - was just beginning to develop. He remembered his sisters’ embarrassment at Nerisa’s age. And how that embarrassment had quickly become something else entirely when they started looking at the village lads differently and the age of long romantic sighs began.
Nerisa recovered and raised her head to look at him. She was smiling, but her lower lip was trembling. Her eyes were unguarded and he could see emotion boiling just beneath their dark surfaces. He realized that if he said the wrong thing just now she’d burst into tears - and suddenly he knew the reason for those welling tears. Nerisa was in love with him.
He’d seen his sisters fall in love with much older lads and suffer the same torment. It was a quickly passing illness, he knew. A malady of the very young - although just as painful as anything an adult endured. It would be even harder on Nerisa, he thought, because she was so alone - so unloved. Safar, who still wore scars from his encounter with Astarias, knew that anything he did to hurt Nerisa would wound her deeply. He wondered what he ought to do about the situation. Then he thought, why do anything at all? Give her a chance to grow out of the crush, like his sisters had. He’d just have to tread carefully from now on.
