This time she did not answer him at once. “Yes.”
“Am I guarding an angel, unaware, as the priest told us in the parable?” He expected no answer and got none. “Not now, and not here, but before sunset, you have to tell me the rest of it, Surata. I can’t fight well for you unless I know what I’m defending.”
She shuddered. “Arkady-champion, I—”
“Arkady,” he corrected her. “We’re not fighting now. I am Arkady Todor Sól, and you are Surata. I am not your champion and you are not my slave.” He held her more tightly.
“Tonight I’ll tell you,” she said with difficulty.
“Good.” He bent and kissed the tip of her nose. “Come. It’s time we were on our way. If we can cross the big river ahead tomorrow, we will be making good time toward Sarai.”
“And if you do not like what I tell you tonight, what then?” she asked tenuously. “What will become of us?”
“We will not know that until tonight,” he reminded her as he released her. “Until then, I’m going to concentrate on going as many leagues as we can.”
Surata nodded. “Very well,” she said, taking his hand and permitting him to lead her back to the gelding and the ass.
The day passed quickly, and largely in silence. Twice they met traders on the road. One was a small party of Tartars carrying brasses. They were a jovial group, in no particular hurry, confident that they would have a good sale when they finally reached the country of Moldavia. The second band of travellers was smaller and less friendly. They carried bales of silk in two wagons and explained in a language that Surata barely understood that there had been fighting to the east.
“There is also fighting to the west,” she warned them.
One of the merchants exclaimed, making loud protests to the sky, while the others conferred.
“They might turn north, to Poland and Lithuania, if they are looking to sell carpets and textiles,” Arkady suggested, recalling how prized such items were.
“I’ll try to tell them,” Surata said and did her best to make this understood. She was met with a great outburst, and when there was a chance, she remarked to Arkady, “Two of them are very devout and afraid of the Christians. They think they will be made to suffer for their religion.”
“And you, I suspect,” Arkady said lightly, “are wording their objections more kindly than they did. By the way they carried on, they did more than simply say they were apprehensive.”
“They weren’t very moderate,” was as far as she would go, but her wry smile told him he had guessed right.
“Find out if there is still a way to cross the river,” he requested before the merchants moved on.
Surata did as he asked, then said, “There is a village on this side that has a ferry. They charge to carry passengers and goods over, but according to the merchants the charges are not unreasonable, and for travellers like us, it would not be much.”
Arkady tapped the leather sack containing their gold. “I doubt we have to concern ourselves with cost.”
“Don’t let it be known you have so much. We are not the only travellers on this road, and some of the others are more desperate than we are.” She gestured toward the merchants, saying a few words and making respectful gestures toward them. “They do not like speaking to women, but since you do not know their tongue, they will condescend to address me. However, they have made it clear that they want only your comments and none of mine.”
“Then tell them that is what you’ve done,” he said with a shrug. “Why won’t they listen to you?”
“Their religion is very strict about women,” she said carefully. “It is considered dangerous to speak to women.” This clearly annoyed her. “Among my people, we do not have such prejudices.”
Arkady thought back to the afternoon before, lying in their tent of blankets, adventuring in the other place. He bit back a jest he was afraid would offend her but could not keep himself from saying, “Not all religions are like yours, Surata.”
“Nor are they like yours,” she responded, then lowered her head, saying, “I did not mean to say you are wrong, Arkady-champion. You have brought me a long way, and you have accepted much and asked little. It isn’t good behavior on my part to speak to you this way.”
Arkady wanted to talk to her, but could not say what was on his mind while the merchants were still around them. “Tell them that we must be on our way and wish them good fortune, will you?”
“Of course.” She spoke to the leader of the merchants using words that were spiky to Arkady’s ears. Then she inclined her head as far as she could in the saddle and said to Arkady, “I’ve done as you asked, and they have told me to warn you once again of the fighting that we may encounter. I said that you are a soldier and prepared to do battle if you must. I hope that was what you’d want.”
“What is this submissive attitude, Surata?” he teased as he nudged his bay and pulled at the lead rein of the ass. “It isn’t like you.”
“I am troubled,” she said and would say little else until they stopped at sundown near a ruined stone building.
“This must have been a monastery,” Arkady decided after he had looked around the rubble and discovered a broken Russian crucifix and two smashed censers. “It’s been a while since any Brothers worshipped here.” He pulled his gelding into the center of the broken stone walls. “So we can spend the night in a chapel.”
“Is it safe?” Surata asked. “We can’t be the only ones who have seen this place.”
“Most of the Orthodox Christians believe that buildings of this sort are haunted by demons, and avoid them,” Arkady observed. “If there are others, we will deal with them when and if they come upon us.” He was kicking the rubble aside. “We can make a fire with the broken benches. There’s plenty of wood. We can stay warm all night. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Surata did not answer him at once. “Do you think there might be a well? We’re low on water.”
“If there is one, it’s probably poisoned. That’s what the monks do when they’re forced to leave a place.” He reached to lift her down but hesitated. “Are you displeased with this place, Surata?”
“No,” she said, sliding down into his arms. “I’m worried that you will not like what I tell you tonight. It isn’t the place that makes me nervous. Any place would make me uneasy this night.”
He smoothed a few loose strands of hair back off her face. “I don’t mean to make this an ordeal, Surata. If you cannot tell me, then I’ll do my best to—”
“No. You have the right to know. In the other place I couldn’t conceal it from you, if you were to look for it. I should not deceive you here, either.” She pushed away from him. “But do not be too quick to assume terrible things of me.” She tried to move away from Arkady but tripped on a broken stone and went down with a little whimper of dismay.
Arkady secured his horse and the ass, then went to her. She had managed to get to her feet, but her hands were cut and there was a scrape on her elbow that showed through the rent in her clothes. “You’re hurt,” Arkady said.
“Not badly,” she responded. “I’d like to wash my hands.”
There was not much water left, but both the horse and ass had drunk deeply at a stream not more than an hour before. “We can spare a little,” Arkady told her, holding up her hands to study them in the fading light. “There’s not much blood.”
“Good,” she said, pulling her hands away from him.
“After I get the pack and saddle off the animals, then…”
“That’s fine,” she said, making no attempt to be more forth-coming. “When you’re ready, tell me.” She turned her head slowly. “Where did they worship?”
“This was the chapel,” Arkady said.
“What direction did they face? Where was their altar? They had an altar, I suppose?” She turned slowly, then pointed north. “Was it there?”
He took hold of her wrist and pulled it slightly toward him, so that she was in line with
the walls of the ruin. “That way, Surata. There was an altar with a crucifix—God on the Cross—and icons of the saints and martyrs. That’s the way I’ve seen most Orthodox churches. This chapel was probably no different. They could not take the crucifix, but doubtless the icons went with them.” He released her.
“Where did they go?” She did not expect an answer and did not get one; Arkady began to set up their camp for the night, taking care to have his weapons where he could reach them.
By the time he had gotten a small fire kindled, it was dusk, and the broken walls appeared taller and more ominous than they had while the sun was up. He started a supper of cheese and a thick soup before he spoke to Surata again. “Are you hungry?”
There was no answer.
“Surata?” He looked around, expecting to find her still sitting on one of the tumbled stones, but there was no sign of her there, nor at any place the firelight reached. Arkady stood up. “Surata!”
Again his call was met with nothing but a few faint echos.
He turned back to the fire and pulled out the end of one of the burning lengths of wood, holding it up to serve as a torch.
The gelding brought his head around and whickered, his nosebag muffling the sound.
It was annoying to be unable to ask the bay what he had seen, if anything. Holding his torch high, Arkady began to search the ruins of the monastery, growing more concerned for Surata with every step he took. What could have happened to her, he asked himself as he went from the chapel toward the far side of the old courtyard. Had she gone away, feeling her way away from the monastery into the fields beyond? And why had she gone?
“Su-ra-ta!” he shouted, not entirely surprised at the anxiety he heard in his own voice. “Where are you?”
This time he heard a sound in answer. He was not sure it was her voice, and so he made sure he could reach his cinquedea before going toward the noise that had attracted his attention. For all his certainty that the deserted monastery would be empty, he could not believe it now. He went very cautiously, making as little sound as possible.
Surata was where the kitchen garden had once been, sitting in the shadow of the old bake-and-wash house, her face set in that strange and still way that made Arkady think that she was not actually there. Her hands were folded in her lap, and she was breathing so slowly that Arkady thought she might be deeply asleep.
“Surata?” He held the torch near as he dropped onto his knee beside her. “Surata?” He was tempted to shake her but could not bring himself to disturb her. “Surata.”
At this third repetition of her name, a change came over her. Her composed features moved and her eyelids fluttered. She sighed, then drew in a deep breath. “Arkady?”
“I’m here, Surata.” He wanted to know where she had been yet said nothing more.
“I think we’ll be safe for tonight. I found no trace of the men of the Bundhi, or any others, for that matter. I was afraid that they might have left staves along the way, to watch for them.” She reached out, almost striking his hand that held the torch. “There are only a few peasants nearby, and they do not venture out of doors once it is dark, no matter what may happen.”
“That’s usual,” Arkady said, taking hold of her arm with his free hand. “Come on; I’ll help you up.”
She accepted his offer in silence and made no objection when he led her back toward the chapel. “I’m…hungry,” she admitted to him as she caught the smell from his cookpot.
“So am I,” Arkady said, making sure she did not stumble on the uneven footing. “They probably have flagstones under all the wreckage. Monks usually had stone flooring in their buildings. I’ve never seen a monastery that didn’t have stone floors.” He wanted to keep her from worrying and said whatever came into his mind as he found her the end of a bench to sit on and then set about serving both of them their food.
“Thank you, Arkady-immai.”
He took his own bowl and sank down cross-legged beside her. “I was named for my great-grandfather. The Count of our district…his great-great grandfather, that is, hired my great-grandfather from one of the lords of Novgorod. That Arkady had the reputation of keeping order, and anyone who could keep order in Novgorod, they were certain could keep order in Sól. He must have done well, because we’re still the Marshalls there. Or we were, until the Margrave Fadey…” He stared down at his bowl, trying to think what his great-grandfather would say to him if he knew how his namesake had disgraced the family.
“I was named for…” She put her hand on his neck. “The feeling, the riding the wave? The bliss of being together, that is surata. For those who are trained as I am, it is a very good name.” She ate a few more bites. “Arkady-immai, what must you know?”
“Eventually, I must know all of it, if you want me to fight for you. Now, tell me as much as you are able.” He put his spoon into his food but did not eat.
“I’ve said I’m an alchemist, and that is the truth. All my life, I’ve been trained in the way of transformations.” She put her food aside. “That is what my father learned, and what his father before that, and so on back for nine generations. Men and women both have been trained, for the work cannot be done without both. Alchemy is the blending, and male and female are needed, and both must be skilled if the transformation is to take place.”
“Like being in the other place?” Arkady asked.
Surata nodded. “That is one thing, a relatively simple thing. Being in the other place is not difficult, and there are many with no training at all who stumble upon it. But they do not know how to use it, or how to shape it, and so it’s…not useless, but it is nothing more than an interesting event, without merit or lasting value.”
“And you? What does this have to do with you?” Arkady had turned so that he could see her face in the firelight.
“There will always be darkness and light. Each depends on the other. The teachers from Cathay call it yin-yang, and those from the Land of Snows call in yab-yum. Night depends on day, and day on night. You have two faces for your Great God, haven’t you—a face that is kind and one that is harsh?”
“God judges us all,” Arkady said, crossing himself.
“Not that face,” she said. “The other, the face called the Devil.” She rested her elbows on her knees and dropped her chin into her hands.
“The Devil is the adversary of God!” Arkady burst out.
“Yes. And each depends on the other. We see the difference as dark and light, and you see it as evil and good, but the underlying principle is the same.” She hesitated. “All my understanding comes from that teaching.”
“It is not the teaching of my Church,” Arkady declared. “Let’s not argue about it. I will do my best to follow what you say and not dispute with you.” Out of habit, he reached for his bowl once more and ate the rest of his meal.
“Your Church distorts much,” she began, then stopped. “I’ll try not to say such things, if I can.” This time she paused a little longer as she gathered her thoughts. “There are those who are born to families of the Great Teachers, the Bogar, who are especially skilled. It is our time on the Wheel to bring our experiences to the service of light. In another time, we have made great errors, and this is our way of…you would call it expiation.”
“What could a woman like you have done that would—”
“Not as I am now,” Surata interrupted him. “As I was in another life. Your Church does not teach this, does it?” She did not wait for him to explain but went on. “Here we know that each life is part of a greater chain of lives, and that the wrongs of one will be corrected in another.”
“If that’s so, then your Bundhi will be a very busy fellow later on,” Arkady quipped.
“And so he will. But there are those who do not wish to remain on the Wheel, but to extinguish themselves utterly through great destruction, and the Bundhi is one such. He has chosen the way of the total darkness, and no longer accepts the balance of light and dark, but desires the triumph of darkness over all.
” Tears gathered in her clouded eyes. “And for this, he causes much suffering. He does not seek the balance that governs all things, but works to end the balance forever. If he succeeds, then all is ended.”
“And you believe that you can change this?” He knew he could not keep his incredulity out of his voice. “You think that what you do, here or in the other place, can stop such things?”
“I believe that I must try to stop it. If I were one of the monks that lived here so long ago, and I had been asked to pray for the salvation of mankind, then no matter what I might think of my own worth, I would have to pray or I would not be a true monk.” She stood up abruptly. “You would not be a soldier if you were unwilling to fight.”
“Then I must not be a true soldier,” he snapped.
“You were not willing to be destroyed. That isn’t fighting, that’s stupidity. A good soldier retreats sometimes, doesn’t he?” She reached her hands up toward the darkness. “It is so huge, and it is vain, you think, for me or for anyone to believe what we do will change anything. But when you decided not to go into battle, your men lived instead of dying. You were willing to accept the wrath of your leader in exchange for their lives. What you did changed things. You made your decision because of your knowledge. I have to do the same thing. As you learned about weapons and war, I learned about the other place and the forces of balance. Arkady-immai, if you had an arrow in your arm, you would find your chirurgeon to take it out if you could, instead of asking a boot-boy, wouldn’t you?”
“The boot-boy might do a better job, knowing the chirurgeon in the Margrave Fadey’s company,” Arkady said. “But yes, I would try to find someone with the knowledge needed in order to do a thing. I would not ask a shepherd to make me a bridge.”
“Then understand that my skill has come from study and with it comes…obligation.” She reached out toward him, seeking his hand with her own. “I will show you what it was like to learn and to study, and you will…sympathize with what I must do.”
To the High Redoubt Page 15
