Maia (Beklan Empire 1)

Two fires were burning on either side of a ramshackle, open-fronted shed made of poles and branches.

Beyond lay the river, a good fifty yards wide, turbid and running strongly, its main current closer to the nearer bank. This ford, which had never been one favored by regular travelers, was in fact little more than a spot where it was more-or-less practicable to wade across in summer. Once it had been marked by posts driven into the bed, but some of these had carried away in the winter floods and most of the rest had been broken or pulled out by the Beklans to hinder any possible crossing. The nearer bank was open, running rather steeply down to the water, but the far side had no definable margin, the river losing itself in a wilderness of marsh, tall grass, pools and clumps of trees.

Maia, of course, took in virtually nothing of all this, being prevented not only by the darkness, haste and confusion, but also by her own pain and terror. Before she had taken ten steps into the clearing, however, another and even more dreadful distraction lay before her eyes.

On the ground, drenched with blood, were sprawled the bodies of three men. One, with the crescent badges of a tryzatt, wore a leather helmet and iron-ringed corselet. The other two, no more than youths, lay in their shirts and breeches, having evidently been caught unawares-- asleep, perhaps, in the hut. One of these, on his back close beside the fire, glared up into her face with fixed and terrible eyes. His hands were clutched over a gash in his chest, and blood was still oozing between his fingers.

The Subans had already plunged into the ford. From beyond the firelight she could hear splashes and shouting, and glimpse here and there the glint of broken water. Pillan had let go of her wrist and was striding ahead of her, but as she faltered, recoiling from the bodies, he turned quickly.

"Don't stop there! Them as run won't be gone far."

Suddenly another, faint but appalling voice spoke from close by.

"Oh, mother! Mother!"

Maia stopped dead, looking about her. Close by, just beyond the light of the fire, lay a boy little older than herself. He was stretched on his stomach, his hands beneath him, and as he moaned his head twisted from side to side.

"Mother! Mother!"

The accent was unmistakably Tonildan. Maia dropped to her knees beside him. Putting her hands under his shoulders, she tried to turn him on his back, but at this he gave a cry, wrenched himself from her grasp and fell back on his face. The sand beneath him was sodden and there was a smell like that of a slaughtered beast. Bending down, she put her mouth against his ear.

"I'm from Tonilda. What's your name?"

His lip were moving. Stooping still lower, she could just catch his answer. "Sph--Sphelthon. Sphelthon."

"Sphelthon. Where's your home?"

But now it seemed as though he could no longer open his lips. For a moment only a low, humming sound came through them.

"M'mmm--M'mmm--Meerzaaa--"

She was jerked to her feet. Someone had her by the arm, someone was speaking in a curious, distorted voice.

"Maia, come on, before we're all killed!"

It was Bayub-Otal, dripping wet, his dagger clenched between his teeth.

Out of the firelight: stumbling down the steepness of the bank. Water over her feet, ankles, knees. Now she was struggling in the river for a foothold, clutching at Bayub-Otal as she tried to keep her balance in the current, ankles turning, stones moving under her sandals, firelight receding behind them as they pushed their legs forward into the deeper water. Here's a broken post--clinging to it--stones grinding in the river-bed beneath--giving way--tilting-- toppling over--gone; another; now none; only the chattering, swirling pressure round thighs and waist, a cold demon trying to sweep her legs from under her. Somewhere in the darkness Lenkrit was shouting.

"Thel's gone! Don't stop--fatal!"

Another step. Another. Which way--which way were the others? Nothing to be seen, no one, no mark to make towards. Only the swirling water in the dark. Don't stop! One foot sliding forward, groping along the uneven stones. Leaning into the current, her body at an angle, the flowing water nearly up to her shoulders.

Bayub-Otal's voice shouted "Maia!"

"Help!" she answered. "Help me!"

He was beside her. He had her by the hand. Again she was lurching forward, forcing one leg and then the other through the heavy, wavering pressure of the water.

"Another yard!" he shouted.

With a cry she lost her footing; but he had stayed beside her, downstream; the current swept her against him. He steadied her, leaning against her, keeping his balance, straddle-legged, until she could stand again. Another step and the water--surely--was shallower--slacker? Yes, it was slacker. She could walk. She took three slow yet steady steps. Bayub-Otal, stepping past her, took her hand and thrust it into his belt.

"Keep hold!"

He himself was holding Lenkrit's belt, but there were no others.

A minute later they stopped, knee-deep in stiller water, swamp-grass high all round them, trees overhead forming a cave from which they looked back at the turbulent river and the watch-fires burning on the other bank. Men were bending over the dead and a voice was shouting angrily.

Pillan appeared out of the swamp behind them. Lenkrit turned to him.

"Tescon?"

Pillan jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Leg's hurt, though."

"Badly?"

"Can't say."

His own forearm was gashed and bleeding. His head hung forward, gaping, grinning for air: a froth of saliva covered his chin. And now before Maia's eyes his bearded face, in the gloom, seemed floating bodiless. Ah! and she was floating too--surrounded--dear Cran! by men tall as trees, their lips moving, speaking without sound, all swirling, spiraling together in a slow vortex.

The next moment she had pitched forward in a faint. Pillan and Lenkrit, grabbing, were just in time to catch her.

Followed by Bayub-Otal and the limping Tescon, they carried her along the muddy track through the swamp, laying her down on the first dry ground they came to. It was almost morning, and in the gray light they could make out, not far off, a group of Suban huts raised on stilts above the mud. Two or three of the villagers had already seen them and were approaching.

46: SUBA

Coming to herself, Maia's first sensation was of a humid, fenny odor of mud and old leaves, and a damp air so heavy as to seem hard to breathe. She could feel soft ground beneath her, warm and molded by the pressure of her body; and then the throbbing of her wounded shin. It must be daylight now, for there was red behind her closed eyelids. Recalling the crossing, she realized that they must have carried her out of the river: so now she was on the other side of the Valderra--in Suba. This knowledge came flooding into her like icy water, bringing with it a sense less of danger than of being utterly adrift, beyond all possible benefit of past experience or common sense. Had Kembri envisaged that she might be taken into Suba? Probably he had supposed that if Bayub-Otal had any intention of crossing the Valderra, he would find it impossible because of the watch on the fords.

Not even at Puhra, when Occula had revealed to her that she had been sold into slavery, had she felt so helpless to envisage how she stood or what was likely to befall her. What sort of a place was this?

Would the Subans be friendly, or would she be entirely dependent on the protection of Bayub-Otal? This King Kamat--the arch-enemy of Bekla-- was she likely to cross his path?

She knew the answers to none of these questions. The prospect of opening her eyes--of showing that she had regained consciousness and thereby returning once more to all the stress and anxiety of the past few days--frightened her. As long as she remained unmoving, with closed eyes, she had a respite. She lay still; but listened intently.

Some sort of movement was going on near-by. A shadow fell across her eyelids. Then it seemed that two people were kneeling--or sitting, or crouching---beside her. Someone felt her pulse; she was careful to keep her wrist limp and let it drop when it was released. A voice she did not know, b

ut could now recognize as Suban, said, "And how did she come by that burn on her shoulder, Anda-Nokomis?"

Bayub-Otal's voice replied, "Oh, in Bekla, too. That's what their priests call questioning."

"I don't think she's in any danger," said the first voice. "Pulse is steady--breathing's easy--no recent injuries ex-cept the shin there. Fine-looking girl, isn't she? And the resemblance--as you say, it's amazing. How was she on the journey?"

"Like a falcon," replied Bayub-Otal. "She never complained, either."

"You say you lost poor young Thel in the river?"

"I'm afraid so."

There was a pause.

"Well, you'd better put her to bed, Anda-Nokomis: I think she's nothing more than tired out; certain amount of fear and strain, too, I suppose."

"She can't have been free from fear for days," said Bayub-Otal.