Remakkib's quiet words plunged Caldar into a torrent of doubt. The choice was all too clear and for the first time he began to see what it meant to take responsibility for his actions. When he had helped to save Rasscu and Hreshin, the old Hamna custom of being responsible for those he had saved had seemed almost a pleasant joke. He could intervene now to save the life of a murderer, but at what cost to innocent people he did not even know. Sweat rolled down his face as thought and feeling warred within; the Sarai waited in silence.
Finally the confused whirl subsided and left him with one unshakable certainty. Hatred would produce only hatred; whatever resulted from any other course of action, acting from hatred was going to perpetuate an unending cycle of evil. And from this certainty words arose unbidden and he found himself speaking, shakily at first, then with gathering strength.
"Can you kill this man without hatred?" He was facing Remakkib as he spoke and saw his words go home. Then he looked around at the other Sarai. "Can any of you raise a sword against him, truthfully without hatred of him and his people? Only someone who has no hate in his heart has the right to take his life."
There was a strange look on Remakkib's face, as one of the Sarai nearby shouted excitedly and translated Caldar's words to his companions.
"It is as the very words of the prophecy," the Sarab leader muttered." It is said, ‘One shall come among you bearing the symbol of greatness and he will speak to you the words of the Book of the Heart.'" He said it first in Sarai, joined by several other voices, and then repeated it in Shattun, his voice still husky with shock. "Forgive us, master, for testing you. There have been no Zeddayah among us in living memory. It is difficult to comprehend when one meets legend in the light of day."
Caldar was not sure what all this was about, but it was definitely getting out of hand. "I am no one's master, nor likely to be," he said firmly; then clinging inexorably to his point he added, "Tell me, what will you do with your prisoner?"
"He is yours," Remakkib replied simply. He gave a quiet order and one of the Sarai strode across, cut free the captive, and led him up to the group by the campfire.
"Do you understand Shattun?" the tall Sarab asked sternly. The man nodded. "Good. You have entered Sarai lands and made war here. For that your life is forfeit. We are releasing you and your life into the care of the young master here. If we find you again in our lands without his protection, you will die at once." With that, he said to Caldar, "We will talk again before we leave," and strode away towards one of the other camp circles.
Caldar turned and found the Borogoi's yellow eyes full on him. He could read nothing, or everything, in that flat stare and the impassive dark face. Gratitude? Contempt? Hatred? What had he done? Taken a scorpion into their midst and risked the lives of all his friends?
Two nights later the Borog stole a horse and vanished. He had not spoken a word since his capture, and his flat swart face had shown no emotion, even when he had been taunted and reviled by those who had lost relatives or friends in the raid. Idressin had neither applauded nor criticised Caldar's intercession for the prisoner, merely saying that it was necessary for him to learn about responsibility, and Rasscu had been pointedly silent on the matter. Made uneasy by the rider's complete lack of response, Caldar himself felt more and more unsure, and it was almost a relief when he heard that the man had gone.
It had not been an easy two days. The Sarai had left in mid-morning. Warned by Idressin of the need for secrecy, Remakkib had taken formal leave of the travellers out of sight of the caravan, extracting a promise from the tutor that they would come to the plateau once their business in the Empire was concluded.
"The coming of the amulet alone would be a wonder of wonders for my people. And the presence of a Zeddayah would be a double blessing. As for the other matter of which you speak," he eyed Idressin, the doubt clear in his face, "that would be beyond belief. It will be as God wills."
He turned away and led his band off to the north west at a swift loping stride that took them out of sight round the next corner of the cliffs in half an hour. How they were going to regain the plateau, not even Idressin knew. The caravan had stayed another night at the campsite. The dead had to be buried and mourned, while the corpses of the Borogoi were hitched to horses and dragged away to be left for the vultures, which had started to arrive with the dawn.
The travellers themselves were still shocked by the raid. Grand Caravans were considered safe, immune from bandit raids, and even the old hands had never experienced anything like this. There was some criticism of the Caravan Master for choosing this route, until the critics began to realise that it was only their proximity to the Sarai plateau which had saved them. The thought that the Borogoi might have caught them in the open desert of the other route cut short the complaints.
Caldar found himself beset with questions. Would their mission to find the Talisman really bring the Borogoi riders two thousand miles from their homelands to intercept them? No, that was crazy, just his own fears speaking. He’d heard it often enough, there was a war coming. And yet why had the horsemen pulled all the male youths out of the crowd? And then how had the Sarai known about the amulet? He instinctively trusted and liked the fierce-looking plateau dwellers, but he had only heard of them recently and was completely bewildered by their sudden reverence for him as a Zeddayah, whatever that was.
Restless with doubts, he had sought out his companions whenever he had time. Idressin had been especially busy and elusive all day, and to his dismay he found that Tariska had resumed her previous aloof manner towards him. She was smiling more now and ready enough to talk to the others, but she closed up at once when Caldar appeared. Berin was sympathetic, but seemed to be constantly running errands for S’Bissi and the tutor. Only Rasscu was available for him to talk to.
The Tesserit had come to adopt an almost avuncular role to both the youths. His amorous outings had slowed of late. Now he rose first every morning and ran all the camp chores with a nonchalant efficiency, which gave him plenty of time to lend a friendly ear when required.
"It's clear it was the amulet Ghabin recognised at the river, not the mark on your chest." Rasscu commented as the wagons rolled ponderously along at the foot of the cliffs next day. "I wonder how much the Sarai know about the Hamna. There must be some connection, or that little trinket hanging round your neck wouldn't be so valuable to them both."
"Maybe." Caldar replied. "They certainly got excited while I was telling them about the Hamna, but they were talking in Sarai all the time and I couldn't understand a word."
"Mmmm, I missed a lot of the words myself, but I caught the gist of it. Sarai’s not that far from Tesserit.”
"Well, dress you in black, Rass, and you could be a Sarab."
"No, dress them in white and they could be Tesseri." Rasscu smiled. "Get things in the right order."
"What happened when you went to the wagon?" Caldar was still curious about the night's events. "Did you know the Sarai were there outside the circle?"
"No. I didn't really have a plan. I just wanted to get to my bow, so if it got really dangerous, if they were going to kill you, at least I had a weapon. As soon as we got round the back of the wagon and I started to unfasten it, the Sarai simply knifed my escorts and beckoned me to follow them. I could only guess who they were, but they obviously had the right idea about the Borogoi, so I went with them and met Remakkib. They’d already killed all the riders beyond the wagons, but a lot of innocent people would get hurt if there was a fight inside the circle, so they used me to get a lot of the riders outside; a bit crude, but it worked."
As for Caldar's concern about Tariska's behaviour the driver found it difficult to treat it seriously. Women had simply provided him with a long series of pleasant and uncomplicated experiences, and the notion of suffering because one of them was treating him coldly appeared quite absurd. However, seeing that the boy did not respond to his jokes or to his advice to forget all about her for the moment, he did point out a little mor
e sympathetically that she had seemed out of sorts the whole trip so far and maybe she’d be her old self once they got out of the desert.
The Tesserit did not mention his encounter with her in Tarkus; her story had been a private confidence and had nothing to do with Caldar anyway. Even so the youth was impressed as usual by his friend's perspicacity and silently berated himself for not making allowances for Tariska's own problems. For his part Rasscu reflected how difficult life was likely to be for someone so naive and wondered if Caldar would always be burdened with such complicated emotional relationships.
As if by some unspoken mutual agreement, they resumed the archery practice that evening. At first Caldar feared that he had forgotten the most basic principles in the handling of the bow; then the feel of it returned and after a couple of hours he was beginning to experience the same confident flow of movement that he had achieved before Tarkus. For the first time Rasscu gave him an arrow: no target, just an arrow, to be notched, drawn and loosed correctly. When it flew askew, he laughed and asked the boy if he could not do better after practising hundreds of times.
"I can't understand it." Caldar exclaimed in exasperation. "I've gone through these motions time after time after time. I did it exactly the same way, and the arrow's gone sailing off to the right. Have I got to learn it differently all over again?"
"No, no." Rasscu assured him. "Your technique’s not at fault."
"Then what is it?"
"You."
There was a silence, as Caldar waited for Rasscu to go on.
"I don't understand."
"Do you remember when you started to handle the bow, it seemed awkward and stiff to draw? And how hard it was to stay in the point of aim? Well, what changed?"
"I just learned the right feel of it, I suppose." Caldar said hesitantly. "And I learned to relax more too."
"That was part of it. But you also shed your distractions."
"You mean my thoughts?"
"Mostly your thoughts, yes. Because of your thoughts your body was full of distractions too. Drawing the bow is really very simple if you allow it to be simple. Today I gave you an arrow. Just another simple object, but full of possibilities for distraction. An archer has to remain in touch with the essential simplicity of what he is doing, no matter what is trying to divert his attention. How do you think it is possible to loose an arrow perfectly when a lion is charging at you? Or a man? No, that's enough for today." He stopped Caldar from picking up another arrow. "The lesson is far more important than the achievement."
Caldar returned to camp more disconsolate than before. He had seized eagerly on the archery as something practical he could do to take his mind off all his uncertainties - and off Tariska. Now after weeks of practice he had failed at his first attempt to shoot an arrow, and without even having a target! Berin came by later, and the two friends talked late into the night.
Next morning the captive Borog was gone. His tracks on the stolen horse were plain to see. He had struck off to the north east, directly away from the plateau wall. The more knowledgeable desert hands shook their heads and said he was heading for trouble. "There's nothing out there but sand and shale for three hundred miles till you reach the forest. He'll never survive." Most seemed to feel more sympathy for the horse than the rider. And it was clear enough why he had gone that way. The distant sentinels were still watching them from the plateau rim, a silent reminder of the fate that awaited him at Sarai hands.
*
For two weeks they plodded on, seemingly destined to travel for ever along the join of these two stark planes. They were reassured now rather than threatened by the presence of the watchers above and the clear skies persisted. Twice they met small groups travelling towards Tarkus, but the contact was brief and it seemed that nothing could alleviate the sheer heat and monotony of this slow grinding desert journey. Despite her renewed chilliness towards him, Caldar often thought with sympathy of Tariska confined to S’Bissi's personal wagon on these baking days. Rasscu had it right. How could he expect her to be nice and reasonable imprisoned by the heat and the killing monotony? At least he could walk or ride as he pleased and he always had Rasscu or Berin to talk with freely.
And he was not the only person concerned about Tariska. From quite a different point of view S’Bissi frequently found the girl uppermost in his thoughts.
The merchant was a Trintzar. His people were the second most numerous in the Quezma Republic, settled mostly to the north of the river Xixa. Like many Trinta he was a born trader with an agile mind, always open to new opportunities and new ideas. He had been interested from the first by the Tinker's little expedition, increasingly so when he caught hints of serious efforts being made to frustrate it. Intrigue and profit were his life blood, and he sensed plenty of both in this mysterious affair.
He had agreed to look after the girl with uncharacteristic carelessness, his attention elsewhere. And for several weeks she had been quiet and withdrawn, very different from his own two lively daughters who had led him a merry dance the last time they had accompanied him on a Grand Caravan. It was understandable of course that she might be wary for a while among strangers. What he could not grasp was the reason for the sudden change in her behaviour since they had reached Tarkus.
On their first day in the city she had borrowed the housekeeper's clothes and made her way to the slave market. G'Shenni had followed her of course, acting on S’Bissi's instructions, and had reported her subsequent visits to the pens every day. She appeared to do nothing and to meet no one, until she had encountered Rasscu, the Tesserit driver, on the last day. To S’Bissi's suspicious mind such things did not happen by chance, but it quite defeated him to discover her purpose.
With each passing day her disposition was also shifting from her previous close defensiveness to something much more open and sociable. Her face was animated, her gestures less hesitant. Could she be having a liaison with somebody? If so, she gave not the least hint of such a thing, despite constant surveillance. In fact at the evening camps she seemed to make a point of talking happily to all who chanced by, even Nexi, the only exception being the boy Caldar who had evidently offended her.
With this increasing sociability had come a growing assertiveness. Each day brought a fresh tussle of wills, which S’Bissi invariably lost. He kept pointing out to his supposed niece that she was no longer acting in character as the demure bride-to-be and usually received a merry laugh by way of an answer. It was not at all certain that he would be able to keep this fledgling hawk under control much longer. No, the merchant thought, he had simply miscalculated, led astray by his own inattention and Tariska's early passivity. His instincts now warned him that this girl had been concealing a much more forceful character even than his own daughters and that she was capable of causing anyone who misjudged her a very great deal of trouble. S’Bissi's way of dealing with trouble was to use his wits to avoid it and he shivered at the thought that he might have entered blindly into a real confrontation with his deceptive young guest. He sincerely hoped that he would be well out of the way if this particular volcano ever exploded. For the present he could leave the handling of her to Idressin, to whom she listened with a kind of reluctant deference. Perhaps Idressin might even be able to explain the reason for her sudden change of character. He must remember to ask him sometime.
Meanwhile even as the girl recovered her spirits, most of the rest of the party grew weary of their endless crawl along the foot of the cliffs.
It was with relief therefore that one evening, when the heat waves of the afternoon subsided and the immense shadow of the cliffs crept across the desert to engulf them, they saw far to the west a row of low humps, standing black against the setting sun and stretching away to the north from the plateau wall. And as they drew nearer day by day, the humps rose to become the summits of a line of towering pinnacles which ran across the whole western horizon.
"That's where we turn north towards the forest." G'shenni said in reply to Rasscu's question; then un
characteristically he explained further, "The caravans are always happy to see the Pinnacles. It means the desert stretch is almost over: once we turn north, we'll reach grass and running water in ten days. But it's a hard crossing. Only two wells in the first five days. Then after we leave the Pinnacles, it's open desert without water or tracks for four days until we reach the desert rim. Look to your mules and your water-bags. No one else will have water to spare for you."
With this rather grim warning he strode off. Caldar was a little daunted; but like Tariska Rasscu had seemed to grow more cheerful every day and his mood was infectious. Caldar even caught enough of his friend's carefree attitude to leave all his thoughts and considerations aside when it came to the evening's archery practice, and to his delight everything went perfectly, almost as if in a dream. After his first shot without a target, Rasscu had silently given him another arrow and pointed wordlessly at a wooden stake he had stuck in the ground twenty paces away. Without a pause he had been able to draw and shoot, to see his arrow quivering in the centre of the wood.
The Tesserit's light-hearted compliment, "Perhaps we'll make an archer of you yet," was still warming him when Idressin and Berin joined them later that night. For once they had set their campfire apart from the other drivers so that they could talk more openly, and at last Caldar saw his opportunity to question the tutor.
The first word was in his mouth when Idressin said without raising his head, "One question only. Choose the one that's most important to you." He was struck dumb. All the things he wanted to ask tumbled round and round in his mind. What was so important to the Sarai about the amulet? Or about Caldar himself, this Zeddayah thing? Did the Borogoi raid have anything to do with them? And who could have traced them so far?
More and more words arose and churned on and on inside him unspoken, until he began to see the larger uncertainties and fears that lay underneath. He did not understand this business about the Talisman at all. It was easy to accept the fable: there were no consequences. But in his heart of hearts he was coming to believe that this legendary thing actually existed and he was afraid of the unknown reality which awaited him. In self-defence his attention was turning to every external question possible. He almost stopped there and then and asked the tutor to tell him what the Talisman really was. The words would not come. Even this question seemed pointless. He didn't want more explanation, he wanted to know, and he wanted to know first of all about himself.
The Tears of Sisme Page 36
