by David Bell
It was different in some places on the island where there was no need for temples or altars but only the glitter of the moon in the night sky and some of the ancient liquor for the women to drink; and the prey to course and the old men to cover the bodies of the women against the cold after the rout was over and they lay, senseless and sated on the hilltop where the chase ended, where it had always ended. All other men kept away. A new year had begun and their time would come in another season.
The dream came to Sharesh again: the dream of the great stone circle in Pherethan where Luzar and Ardana danced along the lintels on midsummer night. But now in his dream it was midwinter and the greatest stone of all in the inner circle would feel the cold midwinter sun touch its smoothed face at sunset.
The first kid was born during the night. The woman heard its stammering bleat and lamp in hand went to the pen to find its mother licking it clean. The woman turned instinctively towards where the Temple on the Hill once stood and made the gesture of gratitude for a new life safely delivered. She would tell her neighbours in the morning. No, wait. The winter may be passing but hunger still ruled everybody’s thoughts. Better to keep this birth secret until more should come to light. They came soon; more kids, then lambs in the farmsteads on the slopes of the mountain. Amaia knew her work as midwife would also begin before long. It was past eight moons since the pirates had sacked the town. It would be a painful time. Women who were too old and others who were far too young carried the heavy fruit of their own ravishing; some would not survive the birth of a child; some might not wish to do so. Amaia put a few fresh yellow spring flowers in front of the effigy of the Mother Eileitheiya who was called upon during childbirth, and made a plea for her aid for the mother and mercy for the unwanted newborn put out on the hillside, that its cries would be heard. Lady Akusha would do all she could as well: Amaia was sure of that.
Spring carpeted the fields and hills with flowers: iris, crocus, daisy, asphodel and poppy. Almond trees in the gardens of Merida’s mansion blossomed for the first time and, not long afterwards, the first green shoots appeared on vines and olive trees. Dusty pink spread along the drooping branches of tamarisks and the air bore the scent of fresh sage and thyme and the hum of bees about their work. It was time to plant and sow. There were few animals left to do the work but there were prisoners and they were set to hauling the plough and scattering the seed. Some of those who had come to pillage the town now saw it as the place where they would spend the rest of their days, and were no less content for that. They were the ones who worked the hardest, as recompense for their crimes and in the hope eventually of forgiveness, even acceptance. After all, some of the women now giving birth would have need of a man to provide for them and their children: might that not count for something? Others regarded these as traitors and bided their time, waiting for a chance to strike again.
Every night the Hunter stood a little lower in the corner of the sky where the sun had gone down. He would soon disappear altogether. His intended prey, the blue sister stars, were hardly to be seen and the Charioteer flagged in the chase. Soon, Potyr thought, it would be time to summon Kerma, Namun and the rest of the crew to make the Davina ready for sea. The sea lanes would fill with ships again and his would be among them. Merida had spoken to him and Kanesh of a second voyage to Pherethan. His attempts to prise out of them the secrets of the passage had yet to meet with success. But Koreta now knew them. As they were recounted during the winter nights by Kanesh and Potyr, and at times by Sharesh too, they filled his mind with wonder and his heart with longing. He asked countless questions, querying them about winds and currents, and sailing times. He surprised them by saying he had heard a legend about the rise and fall of the sea in the Endless Ocean and telling them he had once seen the burning mountain of Sikelia. One night, after Sharesh had been telling him of the boiling pools of Akynthos where the black blood rose, and of the Keeper of the Beacon at Alefisia, father of the Water People, who had left the pipes for him, and many other marvels, Koreta put a bandaged hand on his arm and looked long into his eyes.
“You have brought life back to me, singer of songs and perhaps a great poet will one day make you and your companions live for ever when he sings of you and and your deeds.”
“That’s the very place where I found Kanesh,” said Sharesh, pointing down to the red sandy beach. “Well, it was really Tika who found him first, washed up on the shore and nearly dead.”
They had spent a silent time looking at the ruins of the Temple on the Hill and then made their way down the steep slope to the edge of the cliffs. Huge jagged blocks of red stone had fallen away during the shaking of the earth and tumbled into the sea, forming a barrier between the edge of the town and the bay.
“Do you miss her, your dog?” said Kallia.
“I feel I deserted her,” said Sharesh. “When I went to sea, I was told I could not have her on the ship. ‘Only cats on ships,’ they said; ‘cats get rid of the rats.’ I never saw a cat on the Davina. She was here when we got back from Pherethan; in the house. I found her under the rubble. She was dead. She must have died when the roof collapsed. I dug a hole on that hill where she used to chase the hares and buried her in it.”
“You do miss her; I can tell.” She took his hand.
“Namun says you should never let a dog make its home in your heart. And he said she may be dead but there must be some of her pups alive somewhere in the town. I expect he’s right but I haven’t found one yet.”
“Make a song for her,” said Kallia.
“I have,” he said. “It was one of those I played the night of the festival; do you remember it? I tried to get the sound of the little yelps she used to make when she was excited.”
“And I thought it was about me, for winning the hill race again!” She poked him painfully in the ribs and laughed.
“You don’t yelp,” he said. Then he grinned. “Well, sometimes you do.” She kicked him hard on the shin.
A BROKEN PITCHER
Luzar was speaking to the bull; not in words anyone in the packed Great Courtyard could hear but soundlessly and with graceful movements of his hands. Thyras, the reigning Victor of the Games, had chosen to leap first and stake the contest on a single round. The applause for what everyone present judged to be a faultless leap was still echoing from the high walls.
“I am intrigued to know, my lady,” said the wife of the Governor of Siurita. “How you can divide your favour between your two champions.”
“My dear,” said Pasipha with a sweet smile. “I do not divide it. Each one receives full measure, in his turn.”
Luzar stood motionless, his dark eyes fixed on those of the bull, his mind empty. The bull now knew what he had to do. When the crowd fell silent, he would charge. Now.
The great head swung up. Luzar let go of the gilded horns and saw sand, faces, walls, all whirl over before his eyes as his body completed the circle above the ridged back. Surely, the bull would be past him before his feet came down and he would land on the sanded flagstones without another touch on its body? But no, it was perfectly done: a second somersault as the balls of his feet felt the root of the bull’s tail and he came down clasping the hands of the Taphian girls waiting to steady his fall.
“Two turns, each with a touch, over a bull charging at full speed; if I hadn’t seen it done, I wouldn’t have believed it!”
“A Taphian was bad enough. Now we have a barbarian Victor of the Games. It shouldn’t be allowed. I tell you, no good can come of it.”
“I’d like to put my finger on every one of those blue marks on his face, wouldn’t you?”
“When he looked round, did you feel he was looking straight at you, deep down inside? I did.”
“He is a savage,” said the High Priestess quietly, as if to herself. “And they say once he was a slave. Yet if there is nobility in the land whence he comes, he is surely part of it. I find that interesting.” She spoke louder to the senior acolyte. “It seems this gardener of the Lady P
asipha must wear the chaplet. Send word to her that I wish to congratulate her personally at an audience tomorrow.” She felt an unaccustomed pain that made her gasp. “Send for the priestess of the Temple of Eileitheiya and say she is to bring with her the women we have talked about. I will stand here in full view of the people and offer the devotions to the sacred Jaduktas, then retire. The Commander is to be asked to present the chaplet to our new Victor of the Games in my stead. There is a nice irony in that.”
“Luzar,” said Pasipha. “The chaplet suits you. It goes well with the colour of your hair. Now, my new Victor, wait for me by the pool. Thyras is in need of a little consolation. It will not take long. You are sure my husband said he is resting in his quarters at the Palace tonight?”
“Message for Lady from Palace; audience tomorrow.”
“Ah. I think I know what that means. Now, remember: by the pool, and have the flask of sardana oil ready, my daring Victor. We will play such games.”
They stood on the hard sand, Kerma, Sharesh, Namun and a score of other men, panting after their efforts and with sweat pouring off them.
“That’s where she belongs,” gasped Kerma, as they all looked at the Davina, floating peacefully offshore in placid blue water. Let’s get out there. Skipper’ll want her in the harbour quick as we can. Then everything will be just about back to normal.”
Sekara listened carefully as the agent reported that a Palace messenger had been seen entering the temple of Eileitheiya and that, shortly afterwards, a carriage with passengers had departed in the direction of the Palace road. Interesting. So was the fact that the Commander had stepped in at the last moment to award the chaplet at the games, and making a rather inept performance of it in Sekara’s opinion. He dismissed the man and called for Ektan.
“My compliments to the Captain of Archers and would he call on me at first light tomorrow.”
Summer was not yet at its height but the evening was very warm and still. Koreta sat near the window, facing into the room. Kanesh accepted more wine from the pitcher carried round by Apigoron. Potyr shook his head.
“Halaba, Potyr,” said Merida. “Brought in on the ship from Gubal that docked last night.”
“Perhaps the Captain prefers the honey wine of Pherethan,” suggested Koreta.
Potyr smiled but said nothing.
“There’d be plenty waiting for him if only he made up his mind to go back there,” said Merida.
The smile left Potyr’s face and Kanesh cut in quickly.
“I counted six ships in the harbour today, five waiting outside and at least three sails out to sea. Trade is almost back to normal. From what has been said, I think we are all agreed that another voyage to Pherethan may be contemplated but the season is now too far advanced. That, however, leaves us with ample time to make plans for next year, plans that would allow for other trading on the way. I am thinking particularly of the mines of Taretissia in Sapanim, a day’s sail from the Strait, that we were unable to visit on our return voyage.”
“Be a lot better if we sent two ships, the Davina and the new one Naudok is building. She’s all but ready to launch, I’m told.”
“Merida, Sekara is certain not to sanction that. She is a warship, the first of several he plans for protection, as he would put it, of Keftiu’s trade interests in our own sea. If the Davina were to have a companion vessel, you would have to find her.”
“With the profit made on the first voyage to Pherethan, that should not be too difficult,” observed Potyr, drily.
“I think there we have it,” said Koreta. “Your ships, master Merida, have ample opportunity to build up trade in our own seas in what remains of the season. The reputation established by the Davina should greatly help with that. As for Pherethan, we look forward to next year. Now, in our state of renewed prosperity, I can offer you a reasonable dinner. If you would hand me that bell, Captain.”
Before he could sound the silver bell, the door opened and Apigoron stepped into the room. He looked rather puzzled.
“The fisherman is here, my Lord. He says he has fish for you.”
“Alaron, bringing fish? What can this mean? Send him in. My guests will not object.” The fisherman from Mitoia held a basket covered with leaves in his hand.
“We are just about to sit at table, Alaron,” said Koreta. “Your fish will go well with our barley cakes and olives. I thank you. Fresh from the Lagoon, I suppose?”
Kanesh lifted some of the leaves that covered the fish. “Does your wife always cook the fish in salt water?” he said.
“No, and they weren’t cooked by her. I netted them in the Lagoon. The sea’s covered with them.”
Kanesh took a fish from the basket and held it close to his nose. Scales and flesh flaked away under his fingers.
“How far off Korus did you net these fish?”
The fisherman’s eyebrows wrinkled as he thought. “If I threw a stone I wouldn’t reach it,” he said. “Not even halfway. But they’d floated out from it. I paddled in until the water started getting hot. It was bubbling like a pot on the hearth in many places and all of them smelling bad.”
Kanesh looked at Potyr. “How soon can we collect a crew and put to sea?”
“As soon as Typhis and Namun can find them. We have a good moon tonight.”
“Midnight, then, so that we can be close by first light. We shall need a boat, no, two, for getting ashore.”
“You will land on Korus?” said Koreta.
“If we are to find out who is cooking these fish, we must.” Kanesh gave Koreta an amused look. “Since there is no High Priestess to give permission, I appeal to you.”
“I have half a mind to come myself but perhaps there are other matters I should attend to here. Apigoron, send word to the helmsman of the Davina that the captain orders the crew to be called and the ship made ready to sail. Now, my friends, there is no reason to let the food grow cold. Master Merida, pour the wine if you please.”
“There’s my boat and my wife’s brother’s boat at Balloso,” said the fisherman.
“Good,” said Potyr. “You are now part of the crew of the Davina. Go stow your kit on board.”
The Davina passed through the narrow Strait between the two headlands and into the Lagoon in the early hours of the morning and turned starboard to range the rocky coast towards Balloso. Bright moonlight made it easy to find the few stone huts that made up the fishing settlement and when the ship came to a stop a few lengths off the small bay, Alaron dived overboard and swam ashore. He was back very quickly in one small boat and leading a second paddled by another fisherman, his wife’s brother, long since recovered from his single-handed voyage to Keftiu with the news of the pirates’ attack on Kallista. Once the two men were on board, starboard-side oars dug in and the Davina’s bow swung onto a heading towards the far end of the Lagoon. Moonlight shimmered on the water and the bow waves hissed as they swept away from the ship’s sides. At that hour of the night there were no lights to be seen on shore except from Merida’s mansion, high on the rim of the cliffs that enclosed the Lagoon. Before long Namun called from the bow that the little bay on Korus that they sought was in sight, fine on the larboard bow. Potyr ordered slow ahead and the ship drifted forward, making no more speed than was needed to stay on course. Potyr intended to be close to Korus when dawn came, but not too close.
There were only a few dead fish in the waters off Korus. Alaron said the masses that he had seen must have floated farther out and been eaten by other hungry hunters from the depths.
“Take her closer in, helmsman,” said Potyr. “Easy now.”
“Starboard bow, two lengths!” shouted Namun. He pointed, spluttering words, not knowing how to describe what he saw.
A few ship lengths off shore the water was choppy and frothing. Kanesh caught a sharp smell in the light breeze and felt it reach his throat. Some of the oarsmen began to cough. Potyr felt it too.
“Lie off there, Helmsman. Bring her about.”
The Davina turned
and pulled away from the troubled patches of water until she was in cleaner air.
“Lie on your oars,” said Potyr to Typhis. The ship stopped. The sun rose above the rim of the cliffs far astern of them revealing Korus in all its black, jagged menace. From the stern deck Kanesh scanned its whole mass, carefully, from one side to the other, from the shoreline to the summit, almost every rock, it seemed. Finally he turned and looked at Potyr.
“There have been changes,” he said. “The hills there,” he pointed. “Have split. You can see the red slopes as they were when we were here last, but the gouges in the hillsides are yellow, like the earths I gathered when we went ashore and found the body of the man from Lemaka.”
Potyr nodded slowly. “There is something I do not understand,” he said. “We are standing in about the same place as we stood out that time before, but now I cannot see the cliffs on the far side of the Lagoon as I could then.”
“Your sailor’s eye is not playing you false, my friend. Korus has grown. Look there: the brown stain that runs in a line along the cliff. It marks the height of the sea as it used to be and now it stands more than the height of a man above the tops of the waves.”
