by Marc Secchia
“Somewhat like the practice of taking a holok?” I asked, and explained further.
Ordakay smiled. “Similar. After all, what warrior would want an inexperienced virgin for his partner? One who knows nought of the ways of caring for a man? But this idea you have of lifelong commitment … we often see this. But we make no formal vows. After all, life is hard in the desert, and short.”
My sigh was heartsick. I saw no way out of this mess. ‘P’dáronï’, I lamented silently, ‘must I betray you also?’ I asked, “And if I don’t … train … this girl?”
“She would suffer, yes. But you? We’d stake you out for the ants.”
Dear sweet Mata … who made me no warrior. Should I entertain this farce? Perhaps if She could grant me the strength and wisdom. And the ability to forgive … and be forgiven. I would never escape from the depths of a desert. El Shashi needed to live to have a chance to romance an Armittalese slave, if Mata one day allowed it.
“How am I supposed to teach this Shalima to be a good mate?”
Ordakay smacked me on the cheek, a sign of brotherly affection among the Benka, and said, slyly, “Start inside the tent.”
We exited the hide tent to find ourselves surrounded by stony faces. Many hands rested on swords, a sure danger-signal in the desert. One wrong word, doubt it not, and body-parts would be scattered upon the desert sands–mine, for the most part.
“I am my brother’s mouth,” Ordakay announced, drew breath, and proceeded to tell the most whopping pack of lies. “He is shy and knows not our mores and customs. You see, many seasons ago, El Shashi fought a great battle with a Sorceress. She cursed him with a terrible curse. She shrivelled his manhood to the size of a nut, such as which a mouse might make its play. So El Shashi travelled to the Eldrik lands, who all know are powerful in the ways of magic, and there, after much labour and striving, they did succeed in curing this ghastly malady.”
Already, the men around us were grinning. The Benka, I had learned, were inordinately proud of their male parts. The totem poles around which they worshipped Mata were realistic enough that I could not look upon one without blushing. There was an entire art and culture devoted to boasts about the size, prowess, and vigour of the desert warriors. Speaking as one with a certain amount of authority in the athocarial profession, their boasts were not without reason–but also, often not confined to the bounds of reality!
“So I asked him if he preferred the company of the four-footed kind.” He turned to wink at me, amidst general laughter. My cheeks glowed like hot beetroots. “He said to me, ‘But it has been many anna since I’ve had a companion!’ You see, he had no loving tribe to know his needs. Perhaps he was afraid his cobra had forgotten how to strike?” He made a suitably lewd gesture. “Now, El Shashi’s spear is the weapon of healing, and his sword, the ways of peace. We have crossed swords, and I know his measure–he can stand with the warriors, doubt it not. So I asked him, ‘What of Shalima? Is she not beautiful?’ And he said, ‘Brother, she has the grace of a gazelle and sweet melons ripe for the plucking … how can any man not desire such a prize? But she is taller than I!’”
I had a coughing-fit at his turn of phrase. Melons? Shalima was curvaceous, truly told … ay, for now I felt doubly guilty at harbouring any desire for this girl, when my heart belonged elsewhere. And the way she had waved her knife at me before her sister restrained her hand, Mata’s truth, told me she was quite capable of carving me up over the insult I had offered her. But the warriors slapped their knees and hooted as Ordakay mimed the plucking of melons for my benefit.
“So I said to him, ‘Brother, she does not sleep with her shilita drawn! Have no fear, I am certain she will speak softly to you within the tent’.” I glanced up. Shalima’s hands covered her mouth, but her eyes above them, darkly outlined with kohl, fairly sparkled with eagerness. “Now, I am his tent-brother and I have seen beneath his cloth. And I can assure you, between us as tribe and family–there is no cobra there.”
A shocked silence gripped the circle.
Shalima cried vehemently, “Father! How can you give me to this … this thing?”
And the father shouted at the same time, “What? He has no …?”
Ordakay smiled, “Yes, there’s no cobra–he has a python!”
Great were the celebrations that night, with dancing and music around a bonfire, and much laughter and teasing about the supposed proportions and talents of the python. As for Shalima’s charms, I will abide by the old desert adage, ‘what is spoken in the tent, stays in the tent’. Save for one matter. Several days later, we were speaking in our tent in the small makh of the night about the challenges facing the tribe, as the lake had stolen much of their lands and was still rising.
“It is valuable land,” Shalima whispered in my ear. She lay curled against me, her arm draped across my chest. “But it is flooded. And we desert people don’t like lakes and rivers.”
“No? Is that why you don’t cross the Nugar?”
“It is forbidden,” she said. “No, El Shashi. The problem is as old as time–there’s never enough food for all. Our tribes are always fighting over food.”
Curiously, to the Umarite ear, the Benka word for ‘food’ sounds remarkably similar to ‘fish’. Inspiration! Mark my words, here was a perfect solution to their problems. I kissed Shalima soundly on the lips, exclaiming, “You are a most wonderful girl!”
Shalima giggled. “Does the python never sleep?”
“Not when you deserve a reward,” said I, reaching for her in the darkness.
Ay, I had the last laugh. I taught the Benka how to build wood-frame boats covered in treated animal hide. I taught them how to swim. I taught them to be fishermen.
Some of my favourite memories are of tough Benka desert warriors wobbling about in boats, shrieking; of three Benka men thrashing about in knee-deep water claiming they were drowning. But they learned. And with their monopoly on the sleek, fat river salmon that washed through from the Nugar and found the new lake greatly to their liking, their future held much promise.
I taught Shalima the ways of the athocary. The tribe had much herb-lore, but I could teach them new ways to apply their knowledge, and better ways to increase the potency of their infusions and poultices, and much else besides. Shalima had a natural aptitude. She showed me how walk the desert, how to track gazelle, how to make rope from sisal plants, and how to find the water-bearing tubers that sustain life.
When the anna and a day were completed, we parted as friends. I was unable to give her my heart–and she understood that. But we were good for each other.
So among the Benka my praise-song names are these: I am He Who Speaks with the Lyrakosh; the Little Big Man; Voice of the Thundering Waters; Great Fisherman-Teacher, and apparently, Python Beneath Cloth, or by way of translation, owner of the largest male parts in all the Fiefdoms.
There are limits to my vanity.
But if I ever returned to the Benka, I intended to use every one of those boasts for my fireside praise-song boasting!
Chapter 26: Benok Holyhand
Upon that final day the old will be cast into the fires of Nethe,
And Mata will make new all life in Her image.
Phari al’Mahi kin Saymik, My Father the Yammarik
“Brother Benok,” said Father Yatak, making a steeple of his fingers. I shifted uncomfortably, despite his ever-kindly manner, and fixed my gaze on one of the simple wall-hangings depicting Mata holding the light of Doublesun in her cupped palms. Like all rooms at Solburn Monastery, his sitting-chamber was cold and small, barely fitting four simple chairs around a narrow table. “You came to us twelve anna ago, wishing to start afresh. You showed a talent for carpentry. We are now blessed with these new and wonderful buildings. We have rooms for the students and storehouses for our produce. I know you are not the most religious of men, but you have been an earnest and faithful seeker after Mata’s face all this time. Today, however, disturbing tidings did reach my ears. It is said that you lifte
d a beam that three men could not lift, off of Brother Soln, and healed his crushed legs with but a touch.”
I bowed my head. I had bidden him say nought!
But Father Yatak read my thoughts nevertheless. “Brother Soln sought to conceal this. But there were two others who saw what transpired. I will not reveal names.”
In the silence, I heard the sand running through the makh-glass mounted on the wall near Father Yatak’s head. What response should I make?
“You know I have talked with the Fathers many times in the past regarding the purpose and destiny of our Order here,” he added. “You’ll know it has always been the desire of my heart that Mata should use us for a work of great good in the world, and my sense has always been to wait for a sign, for Mata’s word; that we were always preparing for a day which was hidden from our sight?” I nodded without lifting my head. He said, “And what if I told you that I believe that day has come? That my heart is bursting within me? That I love you as a son, and must enjoin you now, if not to speak of the past, then at the very least, to give us a future? For I believe you hold that future in your hands.”
Unbidden, Janos’ dry tones echoed in my mind. ‘Learn patience, Arlak. Learn to use the eyes, ears, and skills of others. Any man on his own is vulnerable.’
Dear Gods. Mata had just granted the very boon I had so many times asked of her, and now I was too terrified to accept it? Mark my words, my response could kill every man in the monastery. From the halls of my memory, Jyla watched with insatiable eyes. But I had to balance their lives, and mine, against the enormous weight of what could be accomplished with such resources. After twelve anna, I knew the mettle of these men. Their potential was immense. Would I once more act the coward?
‘No way, Arlak!’ I screamed inwardly. ‘For once, make something greater of your life!’
And thus, make amends for Janos’ death.
There was a song in my heart, a dance in my mind. There were regrets and sorrows to match the song and the dance a thousandfold.
Twelve anna of being a Solburn Monk. An anna and a half’s travel before that, from the Benka tribe of the deserts, through the Frenjj lands, and up through Hakooi until my boots eventually trod the byways of Roymere. Restless, alone, and healing the sick quietly. Then I had come to Solburn, and discerned a way I could hide as Eliyan bade me.
Very slowly, I straightened my back, until I looked Father Yatak directly in the eye. In him I saw only kindness, and as truly as I searched my quoph, I felt this was a man who could be trusted to the uttermost. I felt as though I had cast off an old mantle. Truly told, it had never fit well. I was not a man made for solitude, for Order, for religion’s forms. But Mata had a grip on me this day. I shifted forward in my seat, until I fell to my knees before him. Many anna of tears welled up and overflowed.
“Forgive me!” I cried. “But I sought only to protect you! Do you not know my presence here is a terrible danger? Father Yatak, I beg you, what I say now must never leave the walls of this room. Will you swear this by Mata who you hold dearest?”
“Gladly,” said he.
“I am the man called El Shashi.”
“Dear sweet Mata!” whispered the good Father, suddenly looking every single one of his seventy-two anna. “I thought the tale a fabrication–”
“Truly told, I am El Shashi,” I repeated.
Father Yatak clicked his fingers. “Your visits to the infirmary to comfort the sick! You …”
“Ay, in the subtlest ways imaginable.”
His eyes filled with awe. “We haven’t had a death–”
“In twelve anna.”
“My God! El Shashi, here … who would have thought it? There has been talk, you know. The Brothers who travel this region say that strangers have travelled through, seeking to know what became of El Shashi. I heard he was killed in the southern deserts.”
“Lies.” I shook my head. “Father. Please, hear me. There is grave danger should my name become known. You do not know the enemies I have, enemies who seek only to glorify Ulim himself. They will come hunting me. If you’re thinking I should have a healing ministry … they would find me.”
The Father sat back in his chair with a sigh. “I was thinking precisely that. Get up, brother. I will order a hot drink to refresh us while we meditate upon this matter. Rest assured, your secret is safe in my hands.”
A nervous young acolyte served our chai. Once he had departed, closing the door, Father Yatak said, accusingly, “You introduced new herbs to our garden. You taught Father Term their usages. Ay, ay, nod your head. And the way Brother Larmak’s arthritis healed overnight by the miracle of prayer?”
I shrugged and said, shamefaced, “I did ask Mata for the power to heal him, beforehand.”
“Ye-e-e-s.” Father Yatak had a cunning look in his eye now. “You know how supplicants come here for holy water? And get a blessing from a priest?”
“Look, I cannot heal everyone; even I don’t have the power. I’ve thought this over. I cannot be everywhere at once.”
“Ay, but don’t you see? Awake, El Shashi, and look around you! We have here a ready-trained workforce. All we have to do is multiply your knowledge and experience into the Brothers who will serve the length and breadth of Roymere.” His voice waxed in passion. “How many people truly require the miracle cure, El Shashi? One in five? One in ten? How much sickness and pain could be alleviated, or cast into the dusty scrolls of history, if only the old practises were abolished, and athocaries properly trained?”
I nodded. “But there would still be those–”
“We bring them here to bathe in the holy water. We’ll build a pool for them. And then they receive a blessing, if needed, from brother Benok … Benok Holyhand.”
“Holyhand?”
Yatak made a soothing gesture. “Look, we can tease out the details later. Stories have a way of spreading, and, most usefully for our needs, this place has always been said to have powers.”
“Father, do you believe in magic?”
Father Yatak scowled at me. “Your powers were never given by Mata as a tool for evil. Do you discount faith?”
“No … but I cannot be seen.”
And the Father knew nought of Jyla’s curse. But had Mata, in the form of Her envoy the blue condor, turned that curse to other paths? I still fed her Wurm. She might still use the Wurm’s power for ill … but perhaps Mata had plans for that, too? It was hard to imagine Jyla’s evil might still be turned to good. Inconceivable from where I sat.
“Pah, you are but a puppy in the ways of the world.” Father Yatak was smiling with his eyes again. “Of course, the Holyhand sits behind a screen, so that only his hand is visible. You did not arrive yesteranna. We spread stories, rumours, whispers. Maybe you have been locked in a cave for ten anna, seeking Mata in solitary prayer. We will take on students, but the Brothers and Fathers will train them. You will deal only with our Order. And none will know you as El Shashi. To them, you will be but a Brother.”
Here was truth, I thought, allowing myself for the first time to open the door called hope. Few indeed required the miracle cure. What would have greater impact by far–impact the length and breadth of the Fiefdoms–would be improvements in matters of hygiene and sexual contact and conduct, the eradication of pests and vermin, changes to midwifery practices and the understanding of nutrition and … the list was endless! We would pick the low-hanging fruit first, as would any sensible farmer. With the right knowledge, athocaries could carry out many more tasks more effectively. Charlatans would soon be weeded out. I could introduce more controversial Eldrik techniques such as surgery … slowly. I’d make our progress appear natural. Ay …
I nodded. “With planning and preparation, Father, it might well work.”
“Thank you, El Shashi.”
I bowed in the full buskal of Mata’s mercy. “No, thank you, Father, for granting me the opportunity to expiate my past failures.”
The two anna following, I trained the Brothers intens
ively. I pored over my Eldrik writings makh upon makh, trying to extract what would be useful for us–for the Fiefdoms were woefully backward in matters athocarial. Father Yatak proved his worth many, many times over. He planted rumours. Carefully aged and prepared scrolleaves found their way into libraries. Ulules added new tales to their repertoire, not only about the Holyhand, but also educational pieces designed to address health and social issues. I plagiarised P’dáronï’s work shamelessly to turn it to our use. And, vastly better prepared and equipped than before, the Brothers of Solburn went forth into the world as they had always done.
With borrowed funding, we purchased new land alongside the monastery grounds and erected what I believe was the Fiefdoms’ first specialised athocarial chambers, a primitive hospital which followed the Eldrik model of care. We took on our first medical students.
I travelled as one of the Brothers–a few days here, a few days there–for appearances mattered, and our suspicions were aroused. Already, men had been sniffing around for word of the Holyhand. There were two intrusions at the hospital, and a sudden rise in the numbers of men applying to be Brothers in the Order. But the most rewarding aspect of all, judging by the meticulous records kept by the Brothers and the evidence of my own eyes, was the improvement we worked in the lives of ordinary Roymerians. When the plague broke out in Lorimere, we were barely touched. The numbers of children born healthy and well picked up by the anna. And the numbers of serious illnesses began to tail off.
Then one day, like a thunderbolt from a clear sky, everything changed.
It was the first Levantday of Springtide, Anna Teryak 1406. A day and a date emblazoned in my memory forever after. It was twenty anna since I had left Eldoran; since I had last seen Amal and Eliyan, and held a precious Armittalese woman in my arms. I still dreamed of her, but less often now. I despaired of ever hearing from the First Councillor again.
