Nightpool

by Murphy, Shirley Rousseau

  The jackals were stirring and snuffling.

  A door banged suddenly, and Teb watched Blaggen come across from the scullery. He could smell eggs cooking, and ham, and could hear the din of men eating in the common room.

  Blaggen pushed the jackals aside and knelt stiffly to remove Teb’s chain. There was a stain of egg on his tunic, and his hair was uncombed. He dropped the chain into his pocket and stood up, took a slab of dry bread and cheese from his pocket, and handed them to Teb.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Put it in your pocket, then. Could be your last meal.”

  Teb wadded the food in his fist and shoved it in his pocket.

  Blaggen pushed him across the shadowed, echoing hall and down the steps to the courtyard, then out among the milling horses and warriors. The two jackals kept so close now that he could hardly move. When they began to sniff his pocket for the bread and cheese, slavering and growling, Teb turned his back, slipped the food out, and gulped it. He hoped it would stay down. He worked his way to the water trough, falling over the jackals, stumbling between horses and men.

  He drank. The water tasted like metal. He turned away, feeling awful, pushing between two big war-horses and wondering if he was going to throw up. Then when he looked above him toward the tower, Camery was there at the window.

  She stood very still, looking down at him. Her face was so white, as if the sun of Tirror never reached her; yet watery sun caught her now from low in the east, tangled in her pale hair. She was hugging herself as if she were cold. They looked at each other across that impossible distance. They could not speak. Neither could know what the other was thinking. Neither could know the fate of the other. Camery did not know, at the moment, that they would likely never see each other again. She would guess it when he rode away. And he thought, as he watched her, I won’t die! I won’t!

  But their father had died. Their mother had died—neither had wanted to die or had gone to death willingly.

  What would become of Camery?

  He felt so sick for her. He could only look at her and look as she stared down at him. It started to rain again in hard little needles, as the warriors began to mount up.

  Blaggen jerked Teb around, took him by his collar and the seat of his pants, and flung him into the saddle of a big bay gelding, then tied Teb’s hands behind him and laced his feet together under the horse’s belly.

  The gelding’s halter was tied to the horn of Blaggen’s saddle. Blaggen mounted, and his horse snorted and lunged, jerking Teb’s mount and sending him humping along behind the black’s rump, nearly unseating Teb. He felt clumsy with his hands tied behind him and no reins to hold to help him know the horse’s intentions and communicate his own.

  All around him jackals began to crowd in among the horses and mounting men, and some of the horses snorted at them and reared. The hump-shouldered, low-bellied jackals paid no attention to the soldiers’ commands, but only snarled insolently. Teb began to watch the frightened horses, for they were new and young, and unused to the winged jackals. New horses—where had they come from? He stared around at the mounted men until he spied a thatch of red beard and red hair all running together in a great mane. Garit! Garit was back. He had brought the trained colts from the coast, two- and three-year-olds, still young and skittish, but ready to be ridden. Teb watched Garit dismount in fury and lash at the jackals with a heavy strap.

  Sivich shouted with anger and spurred his horse at Garit. “Put down your strap. I command the jackals.”

  “Get them away, then. They’re frightening the colts.”

  “Settle your colts! What kind of training are they getting if they can’t abide the palace guard?”

  Garit took two rearing young horses by the reins, ignoring the efforts of their riders, and held them gently and firmly as he stared up at Sivich. “They are young and afraid. I will not have them ruined. They need to get used to the jackals slowly, not have the stinking things crowding them at first sight. The smell alone is enough to drive a horse mad. Get them away or I will have every colt back in the stables, and you can ride the damned jackals.”

  Sivich looked as if he would come right off his horse and take sword to Garit. Teb held his breath. There was a long silence as the two stared at each other. Then Sivich backed off, glowering, and motioned to Blaggen. “Send the jackals across the courtyard. Bring only three with us, to guard the boy. And keep them away from the precious babies.” His voice was clipped with fury, and Teb was amazed that he had let Garit boss him.

  Well, but there was no one else in Tirror who could serve as horsemaster with half the skill and knowledge of Garit. Sivich knew quite well that if he wanted reliable mounts, he could not afford to lose Garit. Sivich spat, kicked his horse around savagely as an insult to Garit, and galloped to the head of the troops. As he started out through the gate, the rain softened to a fine mist, dimming the courtyard and clinging to the horses’ manes. Teb turned to look back at the tower. Camery had not moved. He wished with all his soul he could speak to her.

  He wished he could have left a written message with Desma, to be hidden in Camery’s food tray, but even had he had the chance, he could not read or write, could put little more than his own name to paper.

  His mother had started to teach him, before she went away. He supposed she had thought Camery would continue the teaching, but neither had felt much like lessons. And then suddenly it was too late.

  Had his mother meant to return to them? Her last words to them were so strange. She had talked, not about herself and her journey or if she meant to come back, but only about how it would be to be grown up one day and have to make decisions they didn’t like. She had shown them a small sphere the size of a plum, made of gold threads that wound through it crossing and recrossing in an endless and complicated trail. She had said that was what life was like, all paths crossing and linked. Teb didn’t understand. She had said the sphere stood for the old civilization that once had reigned on Tirror, when all creatures, human and speaking animal, all individual beings, trod paths linked to other lives in a harmony that did not exist anymore. Teb didn’t understand her words with any kind of reason, though he felt a deep sense of something true in them. She had said the sphere stood for something more, too, but did not tell them what. She said they would know one day. She had worn it on a golden chain when she went away.

  As the horses moved up the hills in the rain, Teb looked back once more at the receding palace, then hunched down, shivering, and lost himself in a dream of the old days, that time his mother called the age of brightness. There had been many small busy cities then—most lay in ruins now. They had been rich with little shops and small industries. All manner of craftsmen and husbandrymen and farmers had worked happily side by side, trading back and forth in a rich and complicated bartering. His mother said it was a time when all humans and speaking animals were filled with the joy of being alive, of being themselves in some special way that Teb could grasp only as a feeling of excitement.

  In that time, because of the harmony she spoke of, children could often gather the strains of a simple magic together in their crafting—to create, for instance, sails made of butterfly wings to carry a feather-light boat along the rough rivers. Or to create special places—a bedchamber woven of spider gauze and dew of new leaves. Children apprenticed as they chose, to craftsman or hunter or farmer. And if the finest in the craft was a speaking animal—which was often the case with hunting—then, of course, the child would apprentice to him and go to live among the foxes or wolves or great cats. In the mountains, the dwarfs and animals mined together for silver and gold. In the valleys of snow, the unicorns worked side by side with men to find and gather the candlemaking berries and to harvest the skeins of silk from giant snow spiders, the unicorns winding the silk on their horns so the men could spin and weave cloth.

  There had been more traveling in the old times, happy journeys when craftsmen of all kinds made long, leisurely trips to exchange goods and ideas wit
h those in other countries. Many children went on such journeys, groups of them stopping at night at the temples that stood on all the traveled routes welcoming animal and human, giving shelter.

  Governing had been done by council in all the small city-nations, these coming together in larger groups when there was need to vote on issues that affected many countries. The few wars that occurred had been with the far northern peoples, wars fought bravely—speaking animals and humans side by side. His mother had said it was the northern tribes of Habek and Zembethen that had brought evil into the land, turning their good magic awry with their own greed until it produced only evil. They had changed the weather so the crops would not grow in the south; they had taken children into slavery and the speaking animals to perform in circuses. It was their greed and growing evil that had at last rent a hole in the fabric of the world, and had allowed the dark to enter. Because of the changes they had wrought, the small, individual freeholds had vanished, and many of the bigger, impersonal kingdoms were ruled by jealous despots. Now, more folk worked for others or in the service of kings, doing as they were bid rather than as they themselves chose. His mother seemed filled with anger for the loss of that earlier time and would pace sometimes when she talked of it, as if by her very energy, she could bring back some of its magic.

  He remembered his mother best in the walled garden, for it was there the children could be alone with her away from her duties in the palace. She wore red often, and he could see her in his mind sitting before the bright flowers of the flame tree. They often had tea there, with seedcakes and fruit. It was here she would sometimes sing to them songs that filled them with wonder, songs that seemed more than songs, that made scenes from the past come vividly alive. After she sang, though, she was quieter and seemed sad. Sometimes she seemed to Teb as if she did not quite belong—to the palace, or even to them as a family. Her other great pleasure was when she rode out across the hills on one of Garit’s new skittish colts, a pleasure she looked forward to eagerly when training began in the spring. At those times, the children’s own ponies would trail behind her snorting mount as she directed, and she would seem gone in a wildness and freedom where they could never follow. Something seemed to call to her then, and when they returned to the palace, Teb’s father would kiss her as if she had been away a long time, as if he saw something wild in her that was reluctant to return at all.

  It had been a fall morning, very cold, when their mother rode out for the last time on her bay mare, leading a provisioned packhorse. The children had stood amazed and silent, filled with her brief good-bye. They had waited for a long, long time there at the palace gate, but she did not turn back. Then their father came to get them, locking the great iron gates in silence.

  Had their mother and father quarreled? Was that what made her go away? They hadn’t quarreled often, or severely. But before she left, Teb and Camery had heard the rise and fall of their voices late into the night. Whether in argument or only in grown-up talk, they could not tell.

  After she went, their father was preoccupied and restless. Then months later the sheep farmer came, telling of her drowning and bringing her cape and her boot. Somehow her death seemed a twin horror now, with the threat of war increasing violently as new fighting broke out in many countries. An even greater evil seemed to take hold across Tirror, too, for returning soldiers spoke of dark warriors without expression on their faces, with only darkness reflected in their eyes, warriors they called the unliving. It was with the coming of the unliving that the last traces of magic, the small, bright remains of a once-great power, began to vanish from Tirror. The soldiers spoke of simple pleasures turning to evil, simple folk embracing evil ways. The unliving took great numbers of slaves, and their treatment of the slaves was terrifying.

  The tapestries in the palace showed scenes of past wars and enslavements. The tapestries hung in the hall and private chambers, intricate pictures made of embroidered silk, once as brilliant as color could be.

  They were filled with other scenes, too, besides war, scenes of the speaking animals and of places the children could only dream of. The tapestries had been their mother’s dowry when she married their father. They warmed the palace both by holding real warmth against the stone walls and by warming, with their rich and intricate pictures, the mind and spirit of all who looked upon them.

  After Sivich had killed Teb’s father and brought new troops from the northern countries to mingle with those of the old palace guard, Sivich’s warriors had defiled the tapestries, stained and torn them, knocking one another against them, spilling ale against them as they jostled, and even urinating on them. Palace windows were left unshuttered, so rain came to soak them and wind to lash them until now they were dull and ragged. This hurt Teb, because there was something of his mother there, something secret and touched with wonder.

  A horse nickered, Teb’s mount answered, and ahead of the troops, grazing sheep moved away at their approach. The three jackals rose, flapping, to lunge at them, but Blaggen called them back. A colt shied at the heavy flying creatures, and Blaggen sent the jackals to the rear of the troops with a shout and a lash of his whip. His horse pressed against Teb’s, bruising Teb’s leg. Teb turned in the saddle to look behind him, clumsy with his hands and feet tied. He watched the pack horses and servants that made up the rear of the long line. There were ten great draft horses, led by grooms and loaded with bundles of chain from the river barges, for the dragon trap. Two horses carried crosscut saws and building tools, axes and sledges and spikes.

  Down the hills on his left, to the south and west of Auric Palace, lay the roofs of the fishing and commercial towns of Bleven and Cursty and Rye, brown thatched roofs dotted between green garden patches, the harbors thick with little fishing boats and with the barges that plied the two rivers and the inland sea. Teb thought, No one there knows I am to be killed. Would anyone even care? They are all slaves to Sivich now. Sivich’s warriors walk their streets and give them orders, and take the riches of trade they earn, and kill them if they don’t do as they’re told. They haven’t any king anymore. He felt within himself a betrayal of Auric’s people. His father had loved Auric’s families as equals, and had always felt a duty to them, to keep the land safe, to keep it free of men like Sivich. Teb knew that if he died, he would betray that heritage. A heavy sadness rode with him, and anger stirred him as well as fear.

  He listened to the slop, slop of hooves in the mud and shivered in his wet clothes. The trail was rising steeply, the horses moving up the highest slope of Auric’s stony hills. Above rose the bare spine of raw granite that marked the border between Auric and Mithlan.

  Beyond this spine they would ford two rivers—two rivers where men and horses would be floundering across, lines broken, the colts balking amid shouting and confusion. Could he find a way to escape there?

  Oh, yes, he thought bitterly, why not fall off his horse, for instance? With his hands and feet tied, he could be drowned at once and escape the dragon forever. Though he could not be much wetter than he was. His clothes were soaked through, and the horse was dark from the rain that had at last moved off northward.

  It was not until they had crossed the divide and forded both rivers, and were climbing again, up the steep mountain pass toward Shemmia, that Garit turned out of the mass of horses ahead and moved back along the troops, reining in his sorrel mare beside Blaggen. “Sivich wants you, Blaggen. I’ll take the boy if you like.”

  Blaggen nodded sullenly, untied the halter rope that led to Teb’s mount, and handed it to Garit. Teb remained silent and watching, surprised that Sivich would send Garit to lead him, for surely their friendship had been suspect. When Garit was sent to the coast to train the colts there, young Lervey had been sent, too, and Teb thought it was because they had all three been friends.

  Now Garit’s face was tight, impatient. “Listen well,” he said softly, reining his mount close to Teb’s. “Be ready tonight. We’ll get you away if we can. Pakkna, Lervey, and I. Be ready for wha
tever we tell you. . . .” They could see Blaggen galloping back, scowling. Garit moved his horse away, handed the rope to Blaggen. Teb felt happier and began to look around him with interest as he imagined his escape.

  The stony mountain flanked them now on their left, and several hours’ ride ahead, inside that rocky ledge, lay the ruins of Nison-Serth, the old broken walls and the caves and secret pathways. Teb thought if he could escape to Nison-Serth, he could hide there nearly forever.

  Nison-Serth had been a temple-shelter in the old civilization. The speaking animals had used it as much as humans had, taking shelter in their travels, coming together there for song and camaraderie, all the species and humans mingling happily. Now, though the speaking animals still existed, they kept to themselves and secret, and stayed hidden from humans. Of all the speaking animals, it was the kit foxes who had most often visited the sacred caves as they traveled across the land in their big, restless family groups.

  Teb’s family had picnicked in Nison-Serth sometimes, the king and queen and the children leaving the palace at dawn and galloping out, followed by old Pakkna and a pony laden with hampers and rugs. That was before the dark raiders began their attacks, before anyone thought of war.

  After they had explored the caves, they would come together to picnic in the vast central cave. Its stone walls were blazoned with an immense and ancient painting that showed a fierce black unicorn, a herd of pale unicorns, and moving among them, the badgers and great cats and maned wolves, the sleek, dark otters, the winged owls, and the pale silver kit foxes. Here in the great cave Pakkna would lay out a delicious meal of roast chicken and smoked trout, fresh baked bread, and the special white cheese Auric was famous for, fruits from the orchards and hot spiced mint brew and pastries filled with honey and nuts. Teb grew ravenous, thinking of those picnics. His mother had loved the caves. She had explored deep into them, eagerly touching the ancient faded wall paintings and the carvings.