"Now why is the amulet giving you the information," the Tinker complained, "when I'm the one who’s interested? So, Nyokhen gave you the token of a great Hamna warrior, did he! Wishful thinking! I see Patamo's hand at work in this. Still, who knows, …” Then after a brief pause, “Put it on Caldar, and you too Berin. These tokens may stand you in good stead some day."
The boys were not at all sure what he meant, but they hung the amulets around their necks with care.
Some hours later pounding hooves announced the arrival of Doldivar, come in a hurry to see why the fire was alight in the empty cabin. His pleasure at seeing Rasscu was matched by his astonishment at their tale. There were parts, such as his conversing with the wolves, which Caldar found himself omitting without quite knowing why, but there was enough without that. Not long afterwards Tresmar and Bittin came back and the whole process was repeated.
Later at a convivial meal that lasted well into the night, the Tinker held them all spellbound with his stories. It seemed to the boys that he had changed from the wise commanding figure he had been among the Hamna into a jolly well-travelled old tradesman. It was a little disturbing, but he seemed to know what they were thinking, and gave them a wink and a wry smile when no one else was looking.
Quezma Republic, Chigwa Territory
The burly man whimpered in the darkness and tried to wipe the tears from his face with his forearms rather than his broken hands. A tough Chigwa logger, he had held out all through the first day out of sheer stubbornness. When the strangers had come to his isolated cabin, he had taken an instant dislike to them and had told them what they could do with their questions. He had enjoyed himself in the ensuing fight, cracking heads and loosening a few teeth, until he suddenly found himself with a sword at his throat.
The tall swordsman in the red and black robe had then set about destroying the logger’s courage. They had tied him up and asked him again where his son was. When he replied with a string of swearwords, they had simply left him alone. An hour later three of them came back, forced his left hand down onto a tree stump and smashed it with his own hammer. Where was his son? Two hours later it was his other hand. The same question again. Then just before dark his left foot. That he had still not told them his son’s whereabouts was testimony to his strength and fighting spirit. That he was still conscious in his ocean of pain was due to the fine judgement of his interrogators: they desperately wanted to get the answer before morning.
Arriving with the dawn, Kulkin was annoyed to find that he had to wait, but he agreed with the swordsman that it would not be for long. For a body already weakened by pain, fire was hard to resist. Normally he would have gained some pleasure from the spectacle of such agony, but he was frankly growing tired of the whole business.
For many years this search had been his whole life. At first the sheer scope of it and the powers put at his disposal had intoxicated him. At the Minatou’s command he had been the invisible arbiter of death across the world, operating in secret to eliminate one by one a list of children, even to obliterate whole communities when necessary.
Then his orders had changed. Capture, not killing, was the requirement now and that meant a whole new level of verification, which he had to attend to personally with his own team. He shuddered to think of his master’s reaction if he returned with the wrong prize. But everything was taking so long. He badly wanted to go back to Metzal Hold and that was impossible until he could take his quarry, the correct quarry, with him.
So many false leads! Inside the Republic the Search team had picked up several potential targets from the Quezma Department of Information, a huge sprawling organization that pulled in an unbelievable amount of data which it was quite unable to digest: it was no surprise that much of what came out was erroneous. What a useless and hateful collection of peoples they were in this vaunted country, so arrogant in their assumed superiority!
The logger had broken now and was answering their questions in a hoarse whisper. Kulkin listened for a few minutes, then condemned him to death with a quick nod as he turned away.
There was nothing of value here. The man’s son was a recruit in a Chigwa infantry battalion stationed not far away. He would have to check on him, but instinct told him this was not the one he sought. So it was back to the dwindling list of boys supplied by the Search team. Sometime soon he would have to go back to Esparan and take a closer look at the lad in the Rimber valley near Misaloren. A farmer’s boy, but there had been something interesting about him. Not what he was expecting to find, but something.
Esparan, The Rails
The next day brought the next parting. Rasscu was staying at Far End, expecting to be back herding cattle in a few days, and the boys suddenly realised that they might not see him again. Once they had gone home to the Rimber valley, their paths would be unlikely to cross, and the chances of them meeting up at the Rails again another year seemed distant.
In contrast to their sombre mood Rasscu smiled gaily. "D'you remember the Hamna custom Nyokhen talked about at the feast? When you save someone's life, they owe you a debt; but you're responsible for them for the rest of their life. I like that. It means that you two and the Tinker and quite a number of the Hamna will all have to look after me from now on. My future’s assured."
"It doesn't quite work that way, Rasscu." the Tinker chuckled. "Our responsibility’s to see that you pay the debt you owe us." His face grew serious. "And you will. You will."
Not even this veiled warning from the Tinker could dampen Rasscu's spirits. He turned again to the boys. "You don't understand why I'm so happy, I can see it in your faces. After being more than half dead - I can still remember exactly what it was like - I'm overjoyed to be alive. Down that hole in the glacier, I knew my life was over before it had properly begun. I’d let my anger eat away at me for years and wasted the most precious thing I possessed. Now thanks to you I've got a second chance. And more than that, there's something absolutely right about that Hamna custom, it’s not just a joke: I'm going to meet both of you again, I know it, our lives are connected now. If fate doesn't bring us together soon, I'll just have to come and find you."
The young herdsman's evident happiness and vitality almost convinced the boys that it was true, they were bound to meet again soon. Later, when they had set off walking down the valley track, the doubts and the sadness returned. It seemed like the end of a whole episode in their lives, which was slipping rapidly into the past hour by hour. They had been talking to each other in this gloomy vein for some time, when the Tinker rounded on them.
"End of an episode;" he snorted. "Sad leave-taking. You sound like a couple of moon-struck young girls discussing their latest romances."
He stopped in the middle of the track. Fifty yards ahead it vanished round the corner of a clump of trees. "See that corner. You’ve no idea what’s waiting for you round the bend. Take a tip from Rasscu and see every step of the future as a new opportunity. Fussing over yesterday’s even more stupid than fantasising about tomorrow. Take what comes and concern yourselves with that. You’ll find it exciting enough, I promise you." With that he started walking again, the chastened youths trailing along ten yards behind.
The Tinker was right of course, Caldar thought. But he was irritated by the old man's habit of turning everything into some kind of lesson. It wasn't as if they were completely stupid, in need of constant improvement...... Caldar caught himself and smiled wryly. On this trip to the Rails he had found himself several times wrapped up in resentment and indignation. Maybe it was because he was meeting some extraordinary people and he wasn't used to being made to feel so inferior and useless. His usual solution of running away from people or situations he disliked was no help to him here. Well, once he got back to Taccen's farm, he wasn't likely to meet anyone like the Tinker anyway.
The realisation followed like a blow. Taccen's farm. Back to school. Back to mucking out the cowsheds. For years. Maybe for ever. He hadn't even thought about it like this before. All at once he
knew that he would never be content with such a life. Inside he felt an overwhelming refusal even to return to what he had always looked on as home. It had nothing to do with Pilatt’s malice: he just wanted so much more now. Then he thought of Lazalis, the only mother he had ever known; he couldn't just walk away - he didn't have the least idea where to go anyway.
Feeling that he had little choice, he made a kind of decision: for now he would have to go back to those who had always loved and cared for him. But he sensed at the same time that a deeper and quite different resolve had been born in him which he would be unable to refuse. He was not the same boy who had walked out of Taccen's yard a few short weeks before.
Hamdrim was just coming out of the Rails farmhouse when they walked up. He was surprised to see the boys and even more surprised to see who was with them.
"Hello lads, I didn't know you were due today. It's good to see the pair of you back in one piece. I'll chew you into little bits for disobeying everyone later. Hello Tinker, it’s good to see you too. It’s been a few years since you came by Rimberford. How on earth did you get mixed up with this pair? Oh I see, you were with the Hamna. Come on in and have a drink. Yes, you two as well. I want to hear your excuses and the Tinker can tell me when you’re lying.”
Berin was amused at his brother's unusual volubility, realising with affection that it was a measure of his concern.
They sat in the empty dining room, drinking cider, while the boys told their story yet again. They were already falling into a set version which mentioned all the main events while omitting anything unflattering to themselves or too personal. They had been very satisfied with the effect of their tale on their previous listeners, and Hamdrim was no exception. His amazement showed clearly at times on his face, and he was openly envious of their stay with the Hamna, whom he had never even met. He glanced at the Tinker at several points, but made no comment. Later the two men talked long into the night, and next morning the Tinker had gone.
This abrupt departure, without even a farewell, upset the boys, until Hamdrim passed on the old man’s promise that he would see them again at Winterturn. Their lives soon fell back into the routine of the Rails and their recent adventures faded further away day by day. Occasionally something would remind them sharply, like Rasscu's visit one day from Far End. But Hamdrim kept them hard at work close by the farm until at last the days began to shorten, the nights grew colder, and everyone prepared to leave.
They went back by the direct road to Rimberford passing well north of Kirpar's farm. As they came closer to the Rimber valley, the feelings of a lifetime reasserted themselves and covered them like a cloak. Walking into the door at Taccen's farm was a surprisingly joyful homecoming for Caldar. It took him all evening to recount his tale to the best audience he had had yet, even Pilatt staying to listen in the big kitchen. It was late when he went to bed in his own room, feeling the security of his home enfold him.
The shock which awaited him the next day came from an unexpected quarter. Taccen sought him out in mid-morning and brought him into the kitchen where Lazalis sat waiting, looking distinctly unhappy.
"The Tinker called here some weeks ago." Taccen began, clearly uncomfortable with what he had to say. "Scholar Rondan came over too and we discussed you and your future at some length. They both say it’s time you started to learn a trade, so the Tinker’s found someone to give you some special tuition for the next year or two. You go next month.”
“Go?” Caldar looked from one to the other.
“It’s not here in Rimberford. It’ll be at my cousin Hasban’s place in Norleng." Then seeing Caldar's face Taccen added gently, "And Berin will be going too."
Chapter 9
From earliest times the third arm of the Lake, the Norleng, has been known for its remoteness and for its harsh, even rude, way of life. By southern standards this reputation is still justified today, and apart from the scattering of aboriginal Ainu villages, settlement remains sparse.
Judged on an economic basis, the region is not without its merits. There is a plentiful fish harvest in the autumn and winter months. High grade iron is shipped out every week from Meott on the North Shore, and the fleece of the Norleng Burben sheep is much prized all round the Lake. The mountains are heavily forested and the Felanca pine, the universal favourite of all Lake shipwrights, is unique to this area.
Yet the main impediment to both trade and social activity remains exactly as it has always been, the weather. Winters are long, dark and severe. The most northerly parts of the reach are reputed to freeze solid one year in four, so that supplies must be hauled in over the ice to the North Shore towns. Rainfall in spring and early summer is the highest in the Lake States. And at all times of the year the north-west wind is liable to bring down sudden storms of such violence that even the largest ferries are obliged to run for shelter. Back in 429 a hundred and forty three people were drowned in just such a storm. The memory of this disaster is still fresh enough for most masters to exercise great caution when sailing in these waters.
A Brief History of The Lake States - Entan Dirr
Esparan, Norleng
Caldar and Berin were the only passengers out on the deck of the large ferry. The raw winds of Tenmonth, which made them fasten their fleece jerkins tightly, were enough to keep all but the crew under cover. It was their fifth day aboard and they were going over the same ground they had been examining for four long days already.
"Didn't Pedran give you any clues at all, Berin? I mean I can understand Taccen taking me out of school ….”
“Out of school?” Berin scoffed. “You’ve never been there.”
“… and sending me off to learn a trade. People have been telling him to do that for years.” Caldar remembered all too well Gilliser’s drunken comments a few months ago and he was only the most recent of many. “But you've finished and I thought you were going to help Ham run the farm now."
"So did I." Berin’s tone was precise, a clear signal to Caldar that he had touched a nerve. Few things disturbed the tall youth’s equable temperament as much as the thought of failing in his duty. Although visions of Tilanya dancing with someone else at the Winterturn festival had been bad enough, it was his feeling of irresponsibility at leaving the farm with his father ill which sat so heavily on Berin, even though Pedran himself and Senya had both insisted that he should go. "No, I still say it’s the Tinker. He sold this idea to our parents. Don’t know how; I don’t think they can really see the sense of it themselves.”
"You’re right, the whole thing’s weird, just like the Tinker. Taccen kept saying we'd be safer at Hasban's; but he wouldn't say any more, so, safer from what, I don't know and I’ve a feeling he doesn’t either. He wouldn’t even tell me where we’re going till we were getting on the boat. It’s not like him to be that secretive." Caldar pulled a face. "Norleng certainly should be safe; everyone says it's the back of beyond and the winters are awful. But come on, Berin, they’re not sending us all this way just ‘cos it’s safe, this tutor’s got to be special as well."
"I hope he is, poor man,” his friend replied with a tight grin. ”He doesn’t know who’s sailing into his life. Caldar, the Easterleng’s champion truant.” He ducked a mock blow from Caldar. “No, the champion of all Esparan.”
They scuffled unsatisfactorily on the pitching deck and quickly gave it up to go back to the rail.
“You’re probably right about the tutor,” Berin conceded. “It’s going to cost plenty, and it wouldn't be worth it unless we’re going to learn from a proper tradesman. They said ‘tutor’, so he’s probably really good. Does he work for Hasban?"
"No idea.” Caldar shook his head. “In fact I can hardly believe how little I do know. Taccen gave me some last-minute warnings about Hasban, even though they’re cousins. You know, tight-fisted, narrow-minded, stuff like that, nothing too bad. But he didn’t know who the tutor is, not even his name. Said it was someone the Tinker had recommended."
At this point the conversation v
eered off and they fell to discussing this strange old man, who had not only figured largely in their adventures of the past summer, but who was reaching out even now to alter their futures as well.
The ship had made frequent landfalls on the first two days out from Misaloren. Then, as they neared the promontory which marked the beginning of the Norleng, the shores became craggy and inhospitable, with mountains crowding close, and the towns and settlements thinned out quickly. They turned north late on the third day, and since then they had been beating up against a bitter north wind over rougher water than either of the boys had seen before.
They braved the deck in short spells, excited at the wildness of the waves and a little awed at the sombre magnificence of the mountains and fjords which passed in a slow, seemingly endless array. The mountains carried a layer of fresh snow, which came down well below the scudding clouds. It was wonderful to look at, but in the end the wind and the scenery combined to chill them thoroughly and they scuttled below, marvelling at the hardiness of sailors. The ferry was one of the largest vessels on the Lake and rode the short angry waves with ease, but the fishing boats they passed were rolling and tossing wildly.
In the afternoon the wind fell and the waters quietened at once. By evening the ship was gliding over a silken mirror, which reflected the clearing skies and the steep wooded hills which now lined the shore. A crewman had warned them that they would soon be at their destination, and as the ship drifted to a stop opposite the mouth of a large inlet, they saw a boat waiting for them in the dusk. They clambered awkwardly down a rope ladder thrown over the ship's side and stepped into the rowing boat manned by a small dull-looking man, who smiled at them absently and made no reply when they asked if he was there to take them to Hasban's. A couple of packages were lowered from the ferry, then they set off for the shore.
The Tears of Sisme Page 17
