The Tinker duly rode off as soon as the caravan got under way. Nexi worked Caldar hard, trying to wipe out the benefits of his supposed night’s sleep, but the youth was tireless, suffused with quiet inexhaustible energy. Even his hatred of the packer seemed to have evaporated; the man was simply a rather strange part of Caldar’s day. For his part Nexi was enraged by the youth’s good spirits and responded to each smile with a furious glare.
It was a long stretch to the next wells and it was late when they pitched camp in a rocky hollow. Caldar went to water the stock as usual. Then Rasscu asked his help to redistribute the load of goods, which he said was putting an uneven strain on the axles. Caldar thought the whole thing a waste of time; when they had finished, the wagon looked just the same as before. Of course there was a reason for this extra job, as he soon discovered.
They were just finishing when G’shenni appeared and summoned them to S’Bissi's tent. Wonder of wonders Nexi was to take Caldar’s watch for this night.
“Double watch,” G’shenni growled as he delivered the merchant’s message. “Won’t do him any harm for once.”
When they entered, Caldar stopped in surprise. The whole eating area was spread with sumptuous cloths and laid out on top was a positive feast, quite unlike the simple fare they had grown accustomed to on the journey. In front of all the others the merchant waved him to a place of honour between himself and Idressin, and then raised his glass in a toast.
"This is not a custom of my country, but I gives me pleasure to accede to Harden’s request and to observe it as best we can in this wilderness. I just wish I could entertain you all in a manner more fitting to the occasion. Good health and long life, Sitch." Everyone repeated the toast and tossed back their drinks.
Caldar looked in total confusion at Idressin. Had the tutor told them all about last night? This celebration seemed completely out of keeping, but then what else was it for?
Idressin smiled at his bewilderment. "You're sixteen today, Sitch. The day you come of age."
His Minzin Dakha! How could he have forgotten? Then he read in Idressin's eyes the added meaning behind the words, and something inside him relaxed. His ordinary life which he shared with his friends was inextricably bound up with the miraculous event which had just happened to him. So be it. His past and his future, the known and the mysterious, were not separate existences: they both connected in him and he had no need to feel divided.
He looked round them all with extraordinary affection. "Thank you, my friends. I would not wish to be anywhere else than with you at this moment." And he raised his glass to them all. It was fiery stuff, which S’Bissi said that he kept for special occasions. A few more glasses made for a merry meal. The only person who didn’t participate in the general conviviality was Tariska. She answered when spoken to. She even smiled. But they were automatic responses which seemed to leave her untouched, contemplating some inner prospect which no one else could see.
This air of distraction had been evident when she joined them in Sand City, and Caldar had seen little of her since. He was concerned to notice that nothing had changed during the days of their journey, and even more disturbed when he realised that of all the people present it was him in particular that she was avoiding. She would not look at him, nor even turn her face directly towards him. The distress he felt was quite unexpected and stayed with him, even after she excused herself early and went off to bed.
He was still wrapped up in his own thoughts, when he caught the end of something S’Bissi was saying to Idressin "...Sitch's birthday, because it really is a beautiful place. Can you imagine it? A river actually flowing in this accursed wilderness. We'll probably stop there a day or two, before we cross the dry stretch to Tarkus. If we could have postponed this little party for ten days or so, we could have done it properly."
"Don't worry," the tutor replied. "This is the right day and it’s been celebrated in the best possible manner. I think Sitch will remember it for the rest of his life."
The fat merchant eyed him suspiciously. "I'm never quite sure when you're joking, my esteemed partner. You're too much like our mutual friend who departed this morning: too subtle for a simple merchant and too clever for his own good, I often feel. Although," he drew the word out on a sigh, "I have to admit, I'm now almost as wealthy as my dreams, and much as I hate it when he reminds me, I do owe most of it to him. Now I think it's time for one last round of my special Bonfire concoction." He giggled. "Guaranteed to make a Quezma Tax Inspector smile, this stuff."
Soon afterwards Rasscu and Caldar wove an unsteady path back to the wagon and fell asleep as soon as they tumbled to the ground. Caldar woke to the sound of his companion's groans. He was kneeling in the dawn light, going through the excruciatingly difficult exercise of rolling up his blankets. The youth would have laughed, but for the pounding in his own skull and the wave of nausea which accompanied every movement. Hitching up the mules to Rasscu’s wagon involved both of them in a performance which would have reduced any onlooker to hysterics. And after that for Caldar it just got worse.
*
It became clear at once that Nexi was affronted by his exclusion from the feast, the insult made all the more stinging because the affair had been in Sitch’s honour. As soon as the wagons got under way and left the pair of them in the hollow loading up the mule string, he began to play on the youth’s obvious malaise, cursing him obscenely for his slowness and shoving him roughly this way and that, until Caldar’s stomach at last rebelled and sent him to his knees retching uncontrollably.
He began to straighten, head thundering, but distinctly less queasy, when a heavy blow on his back sent him sprawling on his face.
“Careful, boy! Don’t let them mules kick you.”
The words were followed by a tremendous kick in the side. Then another, and another. Caldar felt something give way with a sharp stab of pain which made him gasp. He rolled clumsily away from the kicks and found Nexi’s contorted face hanging over him.
“S’Bissi’s pet, eh. There’s no one here to protect you now. You going to beg me to stop? Or do I go on and kick you to bits?”
Caldar was bewildered. The pain had cleared his wits, but he felt as weak as a kitten. Although he’d had more than his share of knocks from Pilatt, he had never faced such a venomous and overwhelming assault. He should resist, but he couldn’t. It was as simple as that. He couldn’t even run away.
What to do? Nothing had prepared him for this. Begging never entered his head: all he felt for the figure above him was loathing and scorn. His thoughts splintered as the heavy desert boot began to smash into his side again and again. Nexi’s face had lost all its usual moroseness and showed an almost maniacal pleasure in what he was doing. He might, Caldar realised, actually kick him to death.
At that moment he felt something come alive in him. Untouched, powerful, it occupied his cringing pain-filled body and waited, gathering force even as he became aware of it. Waiting for what? For him. This was his power to command if he wished, growing so fast he could hardly contain it. Another smashing impact on his bruised body. And suddenly all his hatred and fear focused on the crazed face above him. Intent and power flashed together in a fusion which would destroy this evil thing.
At the very last instant he held them apart, just. “Power is not a plaything”, he could hear the Tinker’s words clearly, even though he had barely listened at the time. He was in no state to reason out if this was the right time to use it, but instinct said not and with a shuddering gasp he let the power go. If he kept it alive, he did not trust himself to hold back the next time.
To his surprise he found himself on his feet with the packer backing away from him. Nexi couldn’t get away fast enough. This was sorcery. One minute the lad was cowering on the ground, the next he was standing up giving him a real scary look, right at him. It had happened bang, just like that, it wasn’t natural, and he wanted no part of it. He mounted quickly, snatched up the lead rope of the string and rode off.
&nbs
p; The next two days were agony for Caldar. He told his friends he had fallen from his horse and made a point of staying away from them as much as possible, so he could wince and moan in private. As the worst of the pain subsided, he turned into one big sore and he would yelp at the least touch. Mornings were the worst; he hardly dared to move, everything hurt so much, and he tried to make sure that no one was near enough to hear him whimper as he got up. The only fortunate thing was that Nexi still seemed to be scared of him. He sent Caldar on errands when he had to, though he was careful not to come too close even then; generally he kept well clear.
On the tenth night out from the White Oasis, they came to the Green River camp which S’Bissi had mentioned. The water issued from a deep canyon into a wide shallow valley that curved away into the desert to the south. The valley flats had been irrigated for centuries and they flourished with an exuberant growth of trees and crops. The greenery stretched downriver as far as they could see and there were clearly several settlements here. They crossed and camped on the far side, where crude corrals and long water troughs had been built to make it easy to take care of the animals.
The next day the caravan stayed in camp, while the stock was rested in preparation for the long thirsty haul to come. In the morning S’Bissi, Idressin and Berin bathed in the river with Caldar and G'shenni in attendance. Caldar was disgusted; he had to sit sweltering in his flowing robe with the shimsak securely across his face, while Berin floated by and surreptitiously stuck out his tongue. He had a strong urge to jump into the water and drown his taunting friend, but he managed to maintain at least the semblance of Tesseri patience and impassivity.
In the afternoon it was the turn of the servants. They went some way upstream, as Caldar wanted to be away from the main camp before he took off his birawi. At last he was able to plunge into the cool flow and let himself drift with the slow current.
He was lying on the bank later, dozing in the sun, when he sensed a shadow fall on him. Squinting up against the light, he could make out nothing except a dark silhouette leaning over him.
"Rasscu?" he said tentatively, even as he registered that the figure was clothed in a black birawi; the Tesserit wore white. He sat up. His puzzlement at the stranger's interest in him was becoming the first stirrings of alarm, when the man turned without a word and strode away downriver.
"What did he want?" Rasscu had emerged from the river in time to see the stranger's departure.
"I don't know. When I woke up he was leaning over me; but he didn't do or say anything. He just went off as soon as I sat up. D'you think Kulkin’s men are still after us? I don't want to . . ." Caldar's words died away. "What are you staring at?" Involuntarily he followed the line of Rasscu's gaze and looked down at himself.
“Some fall,” the Tesserit said quietly. Down both sides of the youth’s chest the huge bruises merged into a livid mass of yellow and black. The driver walked slowly round him, noting the marks on his back and outer arms as well.
This was too much. Idressin had told him he must leave Caldar to deal with Nexi by himself. Well Caldar couldn’t, that was plain. Next time the maniac might kill him. This was as savage a beating as Rasscu had seen in a long time. He’d speak to Idressin first, but whatever the tutor said it was past time to have a word with the packer.
Then to distract Caldar’s attention from the anger he knew he had allowed to flash across his face, the Tesserit pointed to another mark in the middle of the youth’s chest, right under the Hamna amulet.
"How long have you had that?"
"I haven't. I mean I've never noticed it before." Caldar rubbed at the pale patch, as if to make it disappear.
"It's not dirt or anything, you won't rub it away. It's like a leaf with three round sections joined in the middle. You know what, I think it’s that triple birthmark Idressin was joking about: remember, he had us all looking the day we left Sand City. How could Berin and I have missed something that size?”
“But I've never had a birthmark anywhere and nothing on my . . ." Once again Caldar stopped in mid-sentence. The bird. Less than two weeks and he'd completely forgotten. He remembered now the fire in his chest and the final white-hot eruption of light. It wasn't surprising if it had left some mark on him.
Rasscu looked at him curiously. The youth certainly knew something he wasn’t telling: nothing new in that, he’d always seemed to be one for keeping parts of himself very private. But what was there about this mark on his chest that would make him close up so suddenly? For himself he didn’t place much importance on this birthmark business, but it would serve as a reason to go back to camp. It made him too angry to stay by the river staring at the youth’s bruised body. He would have to use a little persuasion on Nexi, S’Bissi’s relation or not.
He broke into Caldar’s reflections. "Well, whether you had a triple birthmark before or not, you've got something that looks like one now, and that fellow must have seen it when he stooped over you. Perhaps he was just a thief; you've got the Hamna amulet hung round your neck. But there’s a chance he recognised that mark. I think we should get back to the camp and tell Harden.”
They made their way back swiftly, seeing several men in black Birawis on the way. Caldar explained to Idressin what had happened, feeling a little foolish that so trivial an incident had sent them scurrying back to camp. The tutor was more interested in the mark on Caldar's chest than in the stranger and insisted on examining it. He made no comment whatsoever about the youth’s bruises, while the mark seemed to put him in excellent spirits, pointing out jovially that this gave Caldar the perfect excuse for not bathing.
Rasscu’s reaction was different. To his mind it was high time Caldar learned to defend himself. First Nexi a few days ago and now another possible enemy. He broached it that evening as they settled down to sleep by the wagon under a hazy net of stars.
“The clans have a warlike history, Caldar, but the Lake’s a peaceful place these days, so I guess it’s normal that you’ve never learned to fight. Though I’m surprised Idr..., I mean Harden, taught you nothing about combat or weapons all that time in Norleng. He knew what you two were getting into. Here you are in dangerous lands, a pair of complete innocents. Suppose bandits attacked the caravan, you wouldn’t be able to defend yourselves, or help anyone else.”
“I’ve got a bow at home,” Caldar boasted. “I’ve shot plenty of rabbits.”
The Tesserit gave a brief snort of laughter. “If we’re attacked by rabbits, we’ll leave it to you. I meant real weapons, Caldar, that kill people, ‘cos that’s what you’ll be facing.”
Caldar chuckled. “Well, the one thing I’ve always been good at is running.”
“That’s a real asset, hang onto it. But sometimes it isn’t possible to run, you just have to fight. I’ll teach you to shoot my bow if you like, in the evenings after we’ve watered the stock. I’ll fix it with G’Shenni so you don’t get first watch. How about it?”
“Sounds good,” the youth replied drowsily, merely thankful to be settling down to a night’s sleep without the prospect of a double watch. He was unaware of the look his companion gave him, an equal mix of contrition and compassion. Rasscu had cursed himself for not realizing the strain his nighttime adventures were putting on the youth and he had already made other arrangements. When he had any trysts to keep in future, it would be a sullen Nexi who would stand the extra watch, the first small payment for his brutality.
As the caravan rolled out onto the road next morning, Caldar kept a suspicious eye at first on anyone dressed in black who passed anywhere near S’Bissi's wagons. As the hot tedious day unrolled and nothing remotely unusual happened, he began to relax into the semi-doze of the desert traveller. Nexi seemed even more cautious of him than usual and left him largely to himself. It was a shorter stage than usual followed by an early camp.
Once their chores were completed, Rasscu took the bow from its roll of cloth under the wagon seat. He led the way a little out from the camp and started to teach the youth about
the bow, holding, drawing and releasing without arrows. Despite what he had said about having his own bow, Caldar found the powerful Tesseri weapon surprisingly difficult to handle with any fluency and he tired quickly.
“This is the short bow we use from horseback,” Rasscu explained. “It’s made from Bessil wood, using a short thick bough which gives the bow an extremely strong pull. Don’t be discouraged, I expected you to find it hard.”
His pupil took heart and at each camp their nightly practice, still without arrows, became longer as his timing and endurance quickly improved. The Tesserit was amused to observe Berin’s disgust: ‘Tupar’ was Harden’s nephew and it might have caused comment for him to have joined servants in archery practice.
The hills to the north had been left behind and the wells grew further and further apart on the open desert, until the gap became too long for a slow caravan to cross in a single day. For the next stretch special water wagons had been hired to accompany the Grand Caravan, but with two dry camps in succession there was pitifully little for men or animals when it was shared out. The camels surveyed it all with supreme indifference, but the oxen and the mules let everyone know that they were unhappy. When they came to a well at the end of the third long day, the muddy unpleasant water seemed a delightful beverage.
Late that evening Caldar noticed Nexi deep in discussion with three massive guards from a nearby wagon train, each of them big enough to dwarf the bulky packer. They were three of the toughest looking characters Caldar had seen on the whole journey, positively bristling with well-used weapons. While he watched, some sort of bargain appeared to be struck and the giant trio went back to their own camp. Caldar had no illusions about the packer and as it grew dark his first impulse was to seek the sanctuary of S’Bissi’s tent. Then with a jolt he remembered that Rasscu was standing watch alone tonight on S’Bissi’s wagons, so he set off nervously to warn him.
The Tears of Sisme Page 30
