And that’s what S’Bissi was, he was sure of it. He’d seen the pimps in Shinshin Xibou, lardy, affected and dripping with jewels. Maybe the little turkey did trade in diamonds as well - not that Nexi had ever seen them - but this was what he had suspected all along. The flesh trade. The girl, and probably the boys too. Pimps would deal in anything on two legs, probably on four as well. Anything for money.
He frowned. The money didn’t add up. He was no wizard with figures like the merchant, but he still didn’t see how transporting the girl all the way to Razimir - which was months away, so he’d been told - could be made to pay. She must be worth a great deal. And now he wanted to see this valuable piece of merchandise for himself.
Nexi was attracted to women, any woman if he was drunk enough to be honest, and he had been feeling unusually frustrated since Sand City. He’d invested a ridiculous amount of time, weeks of the journey from Graxi, lining up a trader’s daughter from further down the caravan, a saucy little flirt, whose smile promised everything and meant nothing. Nexi preferred to believe the promise. And then these people had joined at Sand City, and the little bitch had taken one look at the driver, Rasscu, and that was that. She’d never had more than a toss of her head for him since; too busy performing under the wagon every night.
He’d faced up to Rasscu once, or started to. The packer was a big man and could look intimidating with his bushy black eyebrows drawn together in a fierce scowl. It was with confidence that he tapped the slim driver on the shoulder. A few threats would settle the matter, and if it came to a fight, well, the fellow looked like a girl. No problem. That was until Rasscu had turned to face him. The expression was polite, but the black eyes were cold and dangerous. There was something so uncompromising there that the planned words had never left his mouth.
But there were other ways to skin a rabbit. The boy Sitch might be valuable cargo to S’Bissi, but he was travelling as an ostler and that gave Nexi some authority over him. The packer liked that. Better still the little runt was a friend of Rasscu’s: that much became obvious when he began covering for the driver's amorous games and standing double guard duty on the wagons most nights. Next morning he was often out on his feet which suited Nexi just fine. Fetching water, packing up the small travelling tents, rounding up and harnessing all the animals, loading up: Sitch was kept in the thick of it. Then the whole process in reverse at the night stop, along with the slow process of watering all the stock.
The lad tried to sleep it off on the back of one of S’Bissi’s wagons in the daytime. But Nexi saw to it that a stream of little jobs were routed his way so that he never got more than a few minutes peace. A loose wheel? “I’ll get Sitch to warn the wheelwright you’ll be needing him tonight.” S’Bissi had a question for the Caravan Master? “Sitch’ll have the answer for you right away.” Anything Nexi could intercept or dream up became an excuse for jerking the ostler from his leaden slumber. In the end he had persuaded S’Bissi that Sitch should ride the mule string with him as a permanent messenger. No sleep now or he’d fall and get hurt.
A fancy lad, the packer had seen that straight away, and condescending too. The ceaseless demands would wear down a tough hand: to this soft youth it must seem like a nightmare. Rasscu would have to stand his own watches soon or the lad would break. He wouldn’t last much longer. He’d just gone off to deliver another trivial message to the Caravan Master and Nexi had seen the effort it took to straighten his slumped shoulders and wake up before he rode away.
The packer had come up behind the large wagon now, and he drew forward alongside the driver’s bench where he had seen the girl. Damn! She was wearing that veil again and that long robe. Impossible to see much of her. His imagination rose hot and strong to supply the details, and he decided it was time to push things a bit further. He gave what he thought was an attractive smile accompanied by a masterful stare, a signal of his interest along with the message that he was a real man, to be taken seriously. The grey eyes regarded him for a moment without the slightest change, then turned to look ahead again.
Nothing. The little trollop had looked right through him. He was furious, put down by a piece of trash. Heedless of the driver’s presence he urged his horse closer to tell her that he knew what she was, that flesh going to market shouldn’t be so choosy.
“Good morning, Nexi. Some kind of trouble?”
S’Bissi was riding the same wagon today! His anger turned cold. He had been within seconds of unleashing a tirade which would have exposed the Nexi he believed he hid so well. He began to sweat. Of course he wasn’t afraid of the merchant; in fact he despised the fat little toad. But he had witnessed S’Bissi’s ruthlessness before and the least he could expect if he crossed his relative would be to be dumped penniless in this cursed wasteland to fend for himself.
The lie came easily, a trivial question from one of the front drivers, and moments later he was on his way, congratulating himself on his quick wits. He would catch that jumped-up tart on her own sometime: then she wouldn’t be so stand-offish. He was totally unaware of the thoughtful look the merchant gave him as he rode off, thoughtful and very cold.
If Berin’s main problem was boredom, Caldar’s was Nexi. It was a strange reversal of their younger lives: the older boy forbidden, to his mounting frustration, to do any manual work: the younger utterly exhausted by his unceasing tasks. The whole thing had fallen on Caldar without warning. He had offered to cover for Rasscu almost as a joke, not realising how wholeheartedly the Tesserit would enter into this affair. Then he had suddenly found himself the object of Nexi’s victimisation without knowing the cause of it.
However the situation had arisen, he was determined to see it through by himself. He was no one’s idea of a prize physical specimen, he knew that, and his friends sometimes made allowances for him. Not this time. He’d kept right with Berin in the long hard days in Norleng, and he needed no one’s help now. He could have asked Rasscu to slow down. He could have spoken to Idressin to rein Nexi in. But he was going to fight this battle on his own, not least because his dislike of the packer was turning to hatred, strong enough to fuel his resistance and to fill his daydreams with schemes of revenge.
The hardest thing was actually to stay awake on the long night watches. Nothing happened, but thievery was common in the caravan and he owed it to S’Bissi to keep a proper guard. So he gritted his teeth and went on, doing his best to hide the depth of his exhaustion from his friends.
The only light-hearted moments of his day were often provided by the Tinker, who appeared shortly after their departure from Sand City astride a horse positively festooned with pots and pans and other bits of metalware of every description.
"Why are you laughing at an honest Tinker, my friend? I may clang a bit as I ride, but all these wares will be sold in a few days and the only thing left jingling will be my purse."
When he rode up the next day, he did indeed have less pans. He had acquired in their place an enormous floppy-brimmed hat and a couple of live hens, which he thankfully handed over to S’Bissi's cook. One day it was an empty scabbard, another a kite, and yet another a kitten, which Tariska adopted as soon as she saw it and carried off into the privacy of one of S’Bissi's wagons. And so it went on, until Caldar realised that the bizarreness of these exchanges constituted for the Tinker one of the most pleasurable parts of his trade. He also noticed that the old man spent his entire days ranging up and down the slow-moving train, able to move naturally among people of every type by reason of his profession.
"What will you do when all your pots are sold, Tinker?" Caldar asked one night, when the Tinker had come to their campfire as if by chance.
"Oh, I'll probably ride ahead to Pillimon Tarkus. It's a wonderful place for news and business, and I've got good contacts there already."
"Keep a cold beer for me, will you?" one of S’Bissi's drivers called out. "If it was me, mate, I'd be off to Tarkus right now, not plodding along in the dust and the heat with these cranky old wagons."
"Yes indeed. Tarkus has everything a man needs to keep him happy." The drivers laughed in agreement. "I'm just waiting to sell the last of my stuff. I should be free and clear by the time we get to the White Oasis tomorrow night, so I'll probably go ahead from there. How many cold beers did you say, lads? Just one?"
Caldar found no chance the next day to talk to any of his friends about the Tinker's intentions and it was with some apprehension that he helped set up the camp that evening, only half noticing the beauty of his surroundings. The White Oasis was unlike any of their previous halts. The underground water had come to the surface here in a long string of natural pools rimmed with smooth sheets of brilliant white limestone. Extraordinary coloured birds flitted among the palms and flowering bushes, while little water channels rippled away in all directions to feed crops stretching for a mile and more. It was clearly a popular stopping place and several of the fast pack-trains were camped there, with more coming in by the hour.
There was a settlement too: a couple of large stone-built inns which catered to the travellers and surrounding them a cluster of smaller dwellings which housed a blacksmith and other tradesmen. Some distance away at the edge of the desert Caldar could just make out a huddle of low huts, the brown mud walls blending into the sands beyond.
"Dilheen," G’shenni explained, spitting vigorously in contempt. "Flea-bitten beggars. Find them round the edge of the desert. Thieves too, rob you blind if you give them half a chance. The settlement people here won't let them live any closer."
With one last curious look Caldar turned away and found a ruined fort staring haughtily down at him from a rocky spur high above the other side of the road. It spoke of a troubled history, but G’shenni moved away before he could ask about it.
He tried to find someone to talk to about the Tinker's departure, but without luck. Idressin was being entertained by another merchant and had taken Berin and Tariska with him. Rasscu was off on the chase as usual, while the Tinker himself was nowhere to be seen. S’Bissi's wagons and animals were all inside a small stockade for the night where the guards could watch them easily, so for once Caldar was completely free and also quite at a loss.
Earlier he had been ready to drop, almost in tears at the prospect of a long unbroken sleep at last. But now he had the chance, sleep would not come. The evening was hot and airless, building up to one of the summer storms, all thunder and lightning with no rain. After an hour of restless tossing, he got up and wandered up the hill above the oasis, feeling lonely and a touch sorry for himself, and found himself for the first time absorbing the full beauty of the place. It wasn't just the lovely trees and the green crops fading into the dusk, surrounded by the winking lights of hundreds of camp fires. Where he stood, the sand and shale and shattered rock seemed an austere denial of life, yet their very harshness breathed an added delight into the springing greenery below.
Feeling impacted on thought and for a fleeting moment he understood the need for opposites and how futile it was to try to rearrange the world one-sidedly in line with what pleased him most. Then it passed and he clambered slowly on up the hill humming softly to himself in a lighter mood than he had felt for days.
The slope levelled off as he reached the rocky platform that held the ruins of the fort. The walls were breached in many places and it was easy to step into the small courtyard. Warmth from the heat of the day still flowed from the white stone, which reflected palely the hazy light of the rising moon. There were denser clouds gathering also as night came on, but Caldar felt strangely elated and paid them no mind.
He sat down with his back to a large leaning stone and waited. Waited for what, he could not have said. For once his questioning brain seemed to have gone to sleep and left him in possession of unvoiced certainties. He had wandered aimlessly up this hill, yet he knew now that he was exactly where he was meant to be at this time. Something important was about to happen, and he was to be part of it.
The night grew darker for a while, the moon completely obscured by thick clouds. Then slowly the light returned. Caldar realised that the source of it was now to his left. He turned his head and was transfixed by the sight of a great bird perched on the ruined wall. Its fearsome eyes glared above a savage hooked beak and golden radiance flowing from its body. It towered above him, so big and so utterly still as it gazed unwinkingly at him that he was terrified.
How long he sat there, he could never remember, one suspended moment that went on and on, while the fear grew in him that this creature had a purpose: it had come for him. The feeling intensified until it became a burning sensation in his chest. He had been asked a question. Later, when he tried to recall the encounter, he couldn't formulate the question in words; it fell somewhere between "Are you willing?" and "Do you will it?" And bare as it was, without explanation, he knew exactly what was being asked. What arose to contest his answer were not words, but emotions and attitudes: inadequacy, laziness, unworthiness, self pity and even rage at the blind workings of destiny. Riding above them all was a vision of terrible loneliness, intensifying all his hidden sorrow for his lost parents and stretching it out into a limitless aching future.
He realised that it was no use calling to the Tinker for help this time; the choice was his alone. He could truly answer as he pleased. But answer he must; the great unblinking eyes pinned him to the question without release and he felt the fire in his chest burn ever hotter as he struggled with his own demons.
He knew the answer he wished to give, but he could not find the strength to raise it above the internal storm which was consuming him. He threw everything he possessed into the fray. He must win through for the sake of his friends, his teachers, his home, his country, even his own life. The fire within took them all and burned them to ashes. Now he had nothing left. Everything, which he valued and which made him what he was, had been called up and expended. His unyielding stubbornness held him to his purpose, but it could not give him the power to make his choice.
At last Caldar realised that he could fight no more. If he stayed at this spot for the rest of his life, he would not overcome the strength of his inner denial. All at once it was as if exhaustion washed away some inner distortion, and he saw his inner struggle, friend and foe, affirmation and denial, as an eternal dance without beginning or end. And in that moment, when he was able to accept them both, he knew that he, who was neither, had given his answer.
He felt the fire inside flare up in one great searing burst, and then stream out of his chest as a flaming blade of light that pierced the great feathered breast before him and vanished. There was a moment of utter stillness, when it seemed to Caldar that even the clouds ceased to move in the sky. Then the bird shook out two huge wings which flamed with fantastic colours, russet and gold and purple and pure white, glowing brighter and unimaginably brighter. Just when it became unbearable to face, there was a stunning thunderclap and the bird was gone.
Standing in the empty courtyard, Caldar experienced some moments of utter clarity. He knew that his life had just started again: everything would be as before and yet he had been changed to the very roots of his being. His feelings were completely new: the sudden pain of separation when the bird left, an unbounded love for all that he had recently committed to the flames, and a new-found strength that seemed to emanate from some point of stillness within his breast.
He walked through a breach in the wall and came upon the Tinker and Idressin sitting near the edge of the platform, looking down on the oasis. The space between them drew him forward, and he sat down there, knowing that at this moment it was his place. He was immediately aware of each of them as never before: the Tinker was a massive presence, mysterious, full of darkness as well as light, and old, unbelievably old: Idressin was hard and shining as a new sword, clear
through and through. A long time passed. Caldar was content simply to be present and felt that somehow this moment might stretch on forever.
"Semmil istar, mithalkin." The Tinker's deep voice broke the silence in a greeting which seemed vaguely familiar to Caldar.
"I wish you wouldn't use that archaic speech of yours," Idressin complained. "You think it impresses people, but you're the only old fart left who understands it."
The words seemed so incongruous to Caldar, so contrary to his feelings and perceptions, that he was about to protest. Instead he burst out laughing. Once started, he couldn’t stop, and waves of laughter shook him, as the two men sat silently by and watched.
When he quietened again, wiping away his tears with the back of his hand, Idressin leaned over and patted him on the back. "Good. It's better to let the energy go. But have no fear, what happened tonight is done forever: it can’t be changed or lost."
Caldar was beginning to feel that he had already lost something, as his awareness seemed to have contracted to its normal level. He still felt calm and strong, and he could remember everything that had occurred; but the clarity and insight he had possessed earlier were fading.
"What did happen tonight?" he asked quietly.
"You had to make a choice," the Tinker replied. "Or rather you had to show that you were willing to make it. The real choice will come later. Tonight was about lining up your will with your destiny."
"And that bird?"
"Let's say that bird represents your destiny. Yes, for you that's the Bird of Destiny."
"What d’you mean, 'for you'?"
"That bird is what it is. The only way you'll ever understand is to comprehend its whole being directly and you can't do that yet. It's also quite true to say that it represents your destiny, so for the moment let’s leave it at that." The Tinker rose to his feet in one swift movement. "Come, it's time we returned to the camp. Dawn is close and I must leave for Tarkus this morning."
The Tears of Sisme Page 29
