by J. S. Bangs
“Come closer,” the man said.
They moved closer to him, but he hissed, raised his knife, and scampered back a few steps. “Only one!” he said. “You in front.”
Khinda raised his hands and stepped forward slowly, as if approaching a frightened ewe. “No harm meant, sir.”
The man raised his lamp and studied Khinda’s face. “You’re Amuran,” he said with audible relief. “Not Kaleksha.”
“You couldn’t tell we were Amuran by our voices?” Khinda said. “We don’t speak like Kaleksha.”
“We thought it best to be sure,” the man said. “Kaleksha pirates come by here often. Their lair isn’t far off.”
“We met them on the seas,” Patara said. “Just before the storm arose.”
“And a woman—” Ashturma began. Patara elbowed him in the ribs and he fell silent.
“Ah, the storm,” the man said. “But if you were running from them, then you are not pirates or slavers.”
“Traders,” Patara said. “We just returned from Kalignas with a hold full of tin.”
“Forgive us for hiding, then. Sometimes the Kaleksha take slaves here, so when we saw you approach we hid in the woods. I’m Sunda, elder of Dasnaya village.”
“Patara, captain of the dhow that ran ashore, by Ashti’s mercy. Though now that the Lady has brought us ashore, we’re seeking Thikram’s blessing.”
“Thikram’s blessing on both of us,” the old man said with a pious bow. “How many are you?”
“Six in total. No, seven. I miscounted.” He had almost forgotten about the woman.
“I’ll tell the others. Meet us back in the village.”
They returned to the other sailors, who had started a fire in the shade of the beached dhow and stood in a loose ring around it. The noise of their chatter mingled with the hissing of the waves and the warbling of birds in the evening air, and for a moment Patara’s mood rose at the sound. It could have been a pleasant night on the beach. Then he saw a shape leaning against a palm tree a little way off from the circle of sailors, and his rising heart stuttered and fell.
“She woke up,” Ashturma said, stealing the words from Patara’s mouth. But his tone was elated.
“Quiet,” Patara said. “We don’t want the villagers knowing what we’ve brought in.”
“She never harmed us—” Ashturma started, and Patara cut him off with a hiss.
“A woman who walks on waves and speaks to storms is not someone to be taken in lightly, either as friend or foe. You may be dazzled by her, but I have to think about our safety.”
In the gloom Patara could not see Ashturma’s face, but the silence that followed radiated a hostility of its own.
They approached the fire. Khinda shouted, “Ho, sailors! Good news!”
Jauda saluted Khinda back. “We have another member with us, Captain.”
“So I see,” Patara said. “Has she said anything?”
“Eh, a bit. I told her to stay out of our way and keep quiet until you came.”
“Good.” Patara put a hand on Ashturma shoulder and whispered, “Go to her. Keep her quiet.” Ashturma ran ahead, his feet making sloppy, muddy sounds in the soft shore, and he knelt next to the thin figure.
Then Patara said to the others, “We found the elder of the village and talked to him. Once I convinced him we were not Kaleksha pirates, they agreed to bring us into the village. We may get hot food and a roof to sleep under.”
“Thikram’s blessing on them,” Jauda said, and the sailors cheered.
“Khinda, you take the men into the village. Ashturma and I will take a few minutes to talk to our guest. Leave the fire, boys—we’ll put it out when we join you.”
The men picked up the baggage strewn about the fire and hoisted it to their shoulders. Patara clasped Khinda’s hand for a moment and said, “This should only take a minute. But I don’t want her speaking in the middle of the village if I don’t have to.”
“I understand.” Khinda glanced towards the silhouettes of Ashturma and the woman. “What are you afraid of? She must be a thikratta.”
“Isn’t that something to be afraid of?”
“I’ve never heard that thikratta were dangerous. Especially not the ones who look like grandmothers.”
“Anyone who can do what that woman did is dangerous. I won’t have her disturbing the boat. Bad luck to take one woman aboard, and we’ve had enough of that already.”
“Are you regretting that we didn’t give her to Ashti?”
Patara made a noise of annoyance. “I might not want a water-walking thikratta in my boat, but I’m not about to throw her overboard, either. Hopefully I’ll be able to send her walking away.”
“On land, you mean? Or should she walk to Kalignas?”
Patara laughed and slapped the back of Khinda’s head. “Keep talking that way and I’ll make you walk to Kalignas. See if you make it as far as she does.”
“Yes, Captain,” Khinda said with a grin. He bowed and turned away.
Ashturma stood with his head crooked close to the woman. Patara swallowed a breath and marched towards them, then dropped into a crouch next to the fire.
The woman lifted her head. She had small black eyes, heavily enfolded by sunbaked wrinkles, and her stare was like an obsidian knife. Patara’s words fled from him, and he stared, unable to look away.
“You find me acceptable, dear Captain?” the woman asked.
His tongue loosened. “Who are you and how did you come to us?”
The woman cackled. “I was just telling your son. He speaks to me with much more respect than you.”
“I’m the captain, and he’s a junior crewman. You ride on my ship, you respect me.”
The woman bowed and said something that Patara could not understand. “As you wish, dear Captain. My name is Idhaji.”
“And how did you come to us?”
“I walked.”
Patara’s eyes narrowed. “You mock me.”
Ashturma finally found his tongue. “Father, be kind. She’s alone and helpless—”
“A woman who walks on a storm-ridden sea is not helpless.”
“But she’s an old woman!”
“Be still, Ashturma,” Idhaji said, and to Patara’s surprise Ashturma actually quieted. “Your father is more right than you. I’m not helpless, but neither am I as terrible as he fears.”
She folded her hands together, straightened her back, and assumed a formal teaching pose. “Captain Patara, you ask how I came to you. Better you ask why I came to you. Since this is the question you should have asked, I will answer it: I need help, because I am fleeing from enemies who can follow me across the land, and because yours was the first ship I found. And because I regret the damage I caused you.”
“You regret the damage? The men wanted to give you to Lady Ashti. Tell me why I shouldn’t have listened to them.”
The woman smiled. “The Lady is my friend. She allows me to walk in her hands, and she would not have been sad to take me to her side. But I have a mission which I cannot complete at the bottom of the sea.”
“Quit talking in riddles—”
“Father—” Ashturma broke in.
“Quiet!” Patara snapped. “What is your obsession with this woman?”
“She’s a thikratta from the colony at Davrakhanda!” Ashturma spat. His shout echoed suddenly across the shore and the whispering waves. Patara glanced over his shoulder, worried that someone from the village had heard. Lights had kindled in the windows a mile distant, but with no indication that someone listened.
“We all guessed that she’s a thikratta,” Patara said quietly. “Is that your only excuse?”
“I’ve never met a thikratta before.”
“Neither have I. Nor have I met a tiger, but I’m not eager to make a first acquaintance.”
“Are you afraid of my claws?” the woman asked, spreading her fingers with an impish smile.
“I’m afraid—” Patara began, then swallowed the rest of his s
entence. He attempted to speak with a quiet, even voice. “Idhaji, I pulled you from the water and saved you from Ashti’s bosom. Answer me directly. Who were you running from?”
“The Red Men,” the woman said calmly.
“Who are the Red Men?”
The woman cocked her head. “How long have you been at sea?”
“Four months ago we sailed out of Davrakhanda going to Kalignas.”
The woman counted on her fingers for a moment. “Then perhaps you haven’t heard of them. The Red Men are the new guards for the new Emperor. Aidasa-dar has named himself Emperor—”
“I’ve been gone for four months, not four years,” Patara said with annoyance.
“So you know our Aidasa-dar. He has named his own guard, loyal only to himself, who wear the colors and emblems of Lord Am. We call them the Red Men. They came to Davrakhanda four days ago and attempted to destroy the colony of thikratta.”
“And that’s why we have to help her,” Ashturma said. “She’s innocent—”
“Let her finish,” Patara said.
“On the contrary,” Idhaji said, “I’m quite guilty of the crime which the Emperor accuses me of. The Red Men demanded that the thikratta of the colony submit to Am and Ashti. We refused.”
“You said you were friends with Ashti.”
“To be friends with the Powers is not to be their servant. In Davrakhanda we follow Khaldi’s path. We befriend the Powers and purge our bodies to become like them.”
“And so you refused the Emperor’s order?”
“We took council amongst ourselves, and I was chosen to leave with the treasures of the colony while the others stayed and resisted. I assume they are now dead.”
Patara swore. “So you’re a fugitive from the Emperor?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t understand,” Ashturma said. “Why does the Emperor care about the thikratta?”
“Why does the Emperor make the other kings his vassals? Why does he persecute the Uluriya? Why does he make the dhorsha submit to Am? He is jealous of all authority in Amur, and he wants to bring every power of earth and of spirit under the dominion of himself and Am, his patron.”
“And I am inclined to let him,” Patara said, rising to his feet. “I have no need of the Emperor’s interest.”
“Father, you can’t be serious,” Ashturma said, jumping up to look Patara in the eye. “She’s innocent. We have to help her.”
“By her own words, she’s guilty.”
“But the Emperor—”
“If you value your blood,” Patara said harshly, “you’ll stay out of the affairs of kings. Especially those kings who rise to call themselves emperors.”
“Your father is right,” Idhaji said. “But my mission is more valuable than my blood. My purpose is not to save myself, but to save these.”
She pulled out the leather satchel which had been strapped to her back. It had nestled between her body and the grassy hummock for their entire conversation. Patara had forgotten entirely about it until he saw the woman hold it like a baby, caressing the water-logged leather and gently pulling at the laces. She sighed heavily as she withdrew the first of the items inside.
“A little water has got in. These will have to be copied before they rot. But there will be time in Ternas.”
“What are those?” Patara asked.
“Books, dear Captain.”
In the firelight she withdrew a long, narrow, wooden case made of polished teak worn smooth by decades of fingers, reflecting the firelight with a warm glow. A cunning copper hasp closed one side of the case together, while black leather hinges closed the other. Idhaji pulled the pin out of the hasp and opened the case, revealing the threaded folds of palm-leaf pages within. Ashturma’s breath caught in his throat.
“This is a book of the teachings of Khaldi,” Idhaji said, gently peeling apart two pages stuck together due to the damp. “Oh, dear. The water is worse than I thought. I shall have to dry them thoroughly now, before I go any further. In Ternas it’ll be too late.”
“Can I touch it?” Ashturma asked. He extended a hand towards the brittle page.
“I rather you didn’t,” Idhaji said, pulling the book away. “It’s very fragile.” Ashturma bit his lip, his hand hovering near the books.
“Leave them alone,” Patara said. He settled himself down on the grass by the thikratta woman and peered into her leather pack. “How many books do you have in there?”
“Eighteen,” Idhaji said. “The treasures of the thikratta of Davrakhanda.”
Books were valuable. The contents of that woman’s pack were worth as much as the tin that Patara had thrown overboard. Idhaji caught his eye and cackled.
“Dear Captain, did you finally find something that you like about me? While you beg Thikram’s blessing, will you go out stealing from the Lady’s friend?”
Patara stiffened. “I haven’t stolen anything.”
Idhaji put the book back into the pack and laced the throat closed again. “You haven’t, and if you’re a man of honor you’ll leave the books where they are. I must dry the ones that have gotten damp, and I will be very vexed if they were damaged further.”
“You ask a lot for a woman who called up the storm that nearly sank my boat.”
“Ah, but I also drove off the pirates who were chasing you.”
“I never said anything about pirates.”
Idhaji laughed and clapped her hands. “True enough, you didn’t. And I never admitted to calling up the storm, except that now I have, so I suppose we’re even. You’re not in my debt. But I may be in yours, if you’ll carry me to Ternas.”
Ashturma looked from Patara to Idhaji with excitement. “We could sail to Ternas.”
“First,” Patara barked with annoyance, “she’ll have to tell me where Ternas is, as I’ve never heard of the place.”
“It’s well known to us thikratta,” Idhaji said. “It is a monastery in the mountains, balanced atop peaks of stone. The Emperor has chosen to spare it, and it’s become a refuge for the thikratta driven out of other colonies.”
“The mountains are on the other side of Amur, and I can hardly sail there.”
“There is a harbor in the north, Pukasra, from which the monastery can be reached. I would sail that far.”
“Father, we could—” Ashturma began.
“No, we couldn’t. We are carrying tin, and we have to sell it in Davrakhanda, and we have to do it before the end of the month or the creditors will be at our family. If we can possibly make it there.” He realized, as he said this, that he couldn’t possibly make it to Davrakhanda, not with the boat in its current shape with its current cargo. But far less could he sail around the cape and across the north shore of Amur to some port he had never heard of.
“Still,” Idhaji said, “for Thikram’s blessing, I beg the protection of you and your crew until I have found a way to continue my journey to the west.”
Patara growled in annoyance. “Fine. You stay with us, and you repair your books, and when we set sail again you leave us alone.”
Idhaji jumped to her feet with a nimble skip like a little girl, tossed her hair back, and put the pack full of books to her shoulders. “That is fair. Now we go to the village? I should like to find a place where I can go to sleep rather than listening to men talk.”
“Ask when we get there,” Patara said begrudgingly.
Lamps were lit in the windows of the village, and a few torches had been planted in the mud between the houses. Ashturma followed Idhaji like a moon-struck sheep, his eyes going repeatedly to her pack. Her steps were light and jaunty, and she gave no appearance of tiredness, despite her claim to want sleep.
Patara grunted. “Aren’t you thikratta supposed to become like the Powers? I thought you were grave and serious, weak from meditation and fasting.”
“Some of us are,” Idhaji said.
“And you?”
“When you sail out of Davrakhanda, do you ever see the dolphins that come dancin
g and laughing out of the sea? Are they not the children of Ashti?”
“It’s bad luck to kill a dolphin,” Ashturma put in.
“Yes, yes,” Idhaji said. “Very bad luck. And as the dolphins show, there’s more than one way to become like the Powers.”
They reached the edge of the village. A carpet of palm leaves had been laid out in a broad space between the houses, which passed for a square in the tiny settlement. Torches burned at the edge of the palm-leaf floor, lighting up the modest feast the village could provide: a few platters of steamed fish, raw clams in salt water, some baskets of boiled rice, and a little dish of gray sea salt. Upon seeing Patara and the others approach, the elder, Sunda, rose to his feet.
“Captain!” he cried. “Your men bring Thikram’s blessing down on us. Sit and eat. Who is this with you?”
“This is my son Ashturma,” Patara said, patting the boy on the shoulder. Ashturma bowed to the elder and sat. A village woman set a leaf before him piled with a few handfuls of rice and a fish.
“And this woman,” Patara went on, “is Idhaji. She is our guest as we are yours.”
Idhaji bowed to Sunda with great flourish, then rose straight and clapped her hands together. “Thikram’s blessing! And the smiles of the Lady, and perhaps even the old grouch Am will join us tonight.”
Laughter sounded around the circle, and several of the villagers clapped and called out blessings in return. Idhaji folded herself to the ground and accepted a palm leaf from a village woman, eliciting a laugh with a joke that Patara couldn’t hear.
Sunda took Patara’s hand. “Captain Patara. Come sit next to me?”
They sat together atop the cool palm leaves. A woman placed a portion of rice and clams in front of Patara. Patara accepted it with a murmur of thanks and began to eat. Hunger took him with the force of a forge hammer. The plain rice and steamed fish weren’t especially elaborate, but after weeks of eating on the seas it was luxury. He had cleared off his leaf before he realized it, and was rewarded by an old woman who pushed another steamed fish onto his leaf.
