Читать книгу Black Jade - David Zindell, David Zindell - Страница 7

The sun, at the breaking of the morning, reddened the green grasslands in the east like a great blister of flame. We rose at first light and ate a quick, cold breakfast of dried sagosk and battle biscuits. I pulled myself on top of my great, black warhorse, Altaru, as my friends did their mounts. The twelve Manslayers formed up behind us to cover our rear. Their captain was Karimah, a fat, jolly woman who was almost as quick with her knife as she was with her arrows, which she could fire with a deadly accuracy while turning in her saddle. Bajorak and his thirty warriors took their places on their lithe steppe ponies ahead of us, as a vanguard. If we were attacked from the rear, he and his men could quickly drop back to support Karimah and the Manslayers. But as he had told me the day before: ‘The danger in that direction is known, and I scorn the Zayak, even more the Crucifier’s knights. But who knows what lies ahead?’

As we pushed our horses to a quick trot and then a canter, I watched this young headman of the Tarun clan. Although he was not tall, as the Sarni headmen and chieftains usually are, he had an air of fierceness that might easily intimidate a larger man. His handsome face was thrice-scarred: an arrow wound and two saber cuts along his cheeks had the effect of pulling his lips into a sort of permanent scowl. Like his warriors, he wore much gold: around his thick, sunburned arms and wrists and encircling his neck. Unlike the men he led, however, the leather armor encasing his barrel chest was studded with gold instead of steel. A golden fillet, woven with bright blue lapis beads, held back his long, blond hair and shone from his forehead. His senses were as keen as a lion’s, and as we pounded across the grass, he turned to regard me with his bright blue eyes. I liked his eyes: they sparkled with intelligence and spirit. They seemed to say to me: ‘All right, Valashu Elahad, we’ll test these enemy knights – and you and yours, as well.’

For most of an hour, as the sun rose higher into a cobalt sky, we raced across the steppe. Bajorak and his warriors fanned out in a great V before us, like a flock of geese, while the Manslayers kept close behind us. Our horses’ hooves – and those of our remounts and our packhorses – drummed against the green grass and the pockets of bitterbrush. Meadowlarks added their songs to the noise of the world: the chittering of grasshoppers and snorting horses and lions roaring in the deeper grass. I felt beneath me my stallion’s great surging muscles and his great heart. He would run to his death, if I asked him to. Atara, to my right, easily guided her roan mare, Fire. It was one of those times when she could ‘see’ the hummocks and other features of the rolling ground before us. Then came Daj and Estrella, who were light burdens for their ponies. What they lacked in stamina, they made up for in determination and skill. Master Juwain and Liljana followed close behind, and Maram struggled along after them. His mounds of fat rippled and shook beneath his mail as he puffed and sweated and urged his huge gelding forward. Kane, on top of a bad-tempered mare named the Hell Witch, kept pace at the end of our short column. He seemed to be readying himself to stick the point of his sword into either Maram’s or his horse’s fat rump if they should lose courage and lag behind. But we all rode well and quickly – though not quite quickly enough to outdistance our enemy.

As we galloped along, I turned often to study these two dozen Red Knights, flanked by as many of the Zayak warriors. At times, a hummock blocked my line of sight, and they were lost to me, and I hoped that we might truly outride them. And then they would crest some swell of earth, and the sun would glint off their carmine-colored armor, giving the lie to my hope. They seemed always to keep about a mile’s span between us; I could not tell if they held this close pursuit easily or were hard put to keep up. Fear and hate, I sensed, drove them onward. I felt Morjin’s ire whipping at them, even as I imagined I heard the crack of their silver-tipped quirts bloodying their horse’s sides.

‘Damn him!’ I whispered to myself. ‘Damn him!’

After a while we slowed our pace, and so did our pursuers. Then we stopped by a winding stream to water our panting horses, and change them over with our remounts. Bajorak rode up to me, and so did Karimah and Atara. Bajorak nodded at Maram, and said, ‘You kradaks ride well, even the fat one, I’ll give you that.’

Maram’s face, red and sweaty from his exertions, now flushed with pride.

Then Bajorak turned to look farther down the stream where the Red Knights had also paused to change horses. ‘Well indeed, but not well enough, I think. The Crucifier’s men will not break chase. Their horses are as good as yours, and they have more remounts.’

It was Bajorak’s way, I thought, to speak the truth as plainly as he knew how.

‘We still might outrun them,’ I said.

‘No, you won’t. You’ll only ruin your horses.’

Bajorak dismounted and came over to lay his hand on Altaru’s sweating side. It amazed me that my ferocious stallion allowed him this bold touch. But then it is said that the Sarni warriors love horses more than they do women, and Altaru must have sensed this about him.

‘If all you kradaks had horses like him,’ Bajorak said, stroking Altaru, ‘it might be a different matter. I’ve never seen his like. You still haven’t told me where you found him.’

‘This isn’t the time for tales,’ I said. I shielded my eyes from the sun’s glare as I took in the red glint of our enemy’s armor a mile away.

Bajorak spat on the ground and said, ‘The cursed Red Knights won’t move unless we do. Why, I wonder, why?’

I said nothing as I continued studying the twenty-five knights and the Zayak warriors who stood by the stream to the east of us.

‘You haven’t told me, either,’ he went on, ‘why you wish to cross our lands and what you seek in the mountains?’

At this, Kane stepped up and growled at him: ‘Such knowledge would only burden you. We’ve paid you good gold that we might ride in silence, and that’s burden enough, eh?’

Bajorak’s blue eyes flashed, and so did the fillet of gold binding his hair and his heavy golden armlets. And he said, ‘The gold you gave us is only a weregild to pay for my men’s lives should there be battle between us and Morjin’s men – or anyone else. But it is not why we agreed to ride with you.’

I knew this, and so did Kane. I grasped his steely arm to restrain him. And Bajorak, whose blood was up, went on to state openly what had so far remained unspoken: ‘I owe a debt to the Manslayers, and debts must be repaid.’

He nodded at Karimah, and this stout, matronly woman gripped her bow as she nodded back.

‘When Karimah came to me,’ he said, looking at me, ‘and asked that we should escort your company across our lands, I thought she had fallen mad. Kradaks should be killed out of hand – or at least relieved of the burdens of their horses, weapons and goods. Hai, but these kradaks were different, she said. One of them was Valashu Elahad, who had ridden with Sajagax to the great conclave in Tria and would have made alliance against the Crucifier. The Elahad, who had taken the Lightstone out of Argattha and whom everyone was saying might be the Maitreya.’

As he had spoken, two of his captains had come over, bearing their strung bows. One of them, Pirraj, was about Bajorak’s height, but the other, whose name was Kashak, was a giant of a man and one of the largest Sarni warriors I had ever seen.

‘And with the Elahad,’ Bajorak went on, ‘rode Atara Manslayer, Sajagax’s own granddaughter, the great imakla warrior. She, the blind one, who has slain seventy-nine men! And so might become the only woman of her Society in living memory to gain her freedom.’

Here Bajorak’s sensual lips pulled back to reveal his straight white teeth. It was a smile meant to be charming, but due to the thick scars on his cheeks, seemed more of a leer. All the women of the Manslayers, when they entered their Society, took vows to slay a hundred of their enemy before they would be free to marry. Few, of course, ever did. But those who fulfilled this terrible vow had almost free choice of husbands among the Sarni men, who would be certain to sire out of them only the strongest and fiercest of sons. As Bajorak’s desire pulled at his blood, my own passion surged inside me: hot, angry, wild and pained. I glared at him as I gripped the hilt of my sword. Then it was Kane’s turn to wrap his hand around my arm and restrain me.

‘And so,’ Bajorak said, looking at Pirraj and Kashak, ‘my warriors and I agreed to Karimah’s strange request. We were curious. We wanted to see if all kradaks are like them.’

He pointed to the Red Knights down the stream. Then his clear blue eyes cut into me, testing me.

And I said, testing him, ‘Do you think we’re alike? The Red Knights are our enemies, as they are yours. What is strange is that you allow them to ride freely across your lands – the Zayak, too.’

‘You say,’ he muttered. He shot me a keen, knowing look. ‘I think you want us to attack them, yes?’

‘I have not said that, have I?’

‘You say it with your eyes,’ he told me.

I continued scanning the glints of red armor along the river, looking for a standard that might prove the presence of Morjin.

‘If we attacked them,’ I asked Bajorak, ‘would you join us?’

‘Nothing would please me more,’ he said, causing my hope to rise. And then my sudden elation plummeted like a bird shot with an arrow as he continued, ‘But we may not attack them.’

‘May not? They are crucifiers! They are Zayak, from across Jade River!’

‘They are,’ he said, turning to spit in their direction, ‘and Morjin has paid for their safe passage of our lands.’

This was news to us. We crowded closer to hear what Bajorak might say.

‘In the darkness of the last moon,’ he told us, ‘the Red Knights came to Garthax with gold. He is greedy, our new chieftain is. Greedy and afraid of Morjin. And so Garthax allowed the Crucifier’s knights to range freely across our country, from the Jade River to the Oro, from the Astu to the mountains in the west. They are not to be attacked, curse them! And curse Morjin for defiling the Danladi’s country!’

His warriors, savage-seeming men, with faces painted blue, braided blond hair and moustaches hanging down beneath their chins, nodded their heads in agreement with Bajorak’s sentiments.

‘Was it Morjin, himself, then,’ I asked Bajorak, ‘who paid this gold to Garthax? Does he lead the Red Knights?’

‘I have not heard that,’ he told me. ‘Were it so, we would attack them no matter if Morjin had paid Garthax a mountain of gold.’

‘It will come to that, in the end!’ Kashak barked out. Blue crosses gleamed on his sunburned cheeks to match the smoldering hue of his eyes. ‘Let us ride against them now, with these kradaks!’

‘And break our chieftain’s covenant?’

‘A chieftain who makes covenant with the Crucifier is no chieftain! Let us do as we please.’

Bajorak, too, shared Kashak’s zeal for battle. But he had a cool head as well as a fiery heart, and so to Kashak and his other men he called out: ‘Would you commit the Tarun clan to going against our chieftain? If we break the covenant, it will mean war with Garthax.’

‘War, yes, with him,’ Pirrax said, shaking his bow. ‘We’re warriors, aren’t we?’

Now Atara stepped forward, and her white blindfold gleamed in the strong sunlight. Her face was cold and stern as she addressed these fierce men of the Tarun clan: ‘It’s wrong for warriors to make war against their chieftain. Can not Garthax be persuaded to return this gold?’

Bajorak shook his head. ‘You do not know him.’

‘I know what my grandfather, Sajagax, said of Garthax’s father: that Artukan was a great chieftain who would never scrape before Morjin. Does a lion sire a snake?’

‘Garthax,’ Bajorak said, ‘is not his father’s son.’

‘Have you tried helping him to be?’

It was one of Atara’s graces, I thought, that she tried ever to remake men’s natures for the good.

‘Help him?’ Bajorak said. ‘You do not understand. Garthax quarreled with Artukan over the question of whether we should treat with Morjin. And two days later Artukan died while drinking his beer … of poison!’

‘Poison!’ Atara cried out. ‘That cannot be!’

‘No, no one wanted to believe it – certainly not I,’ Bajorak told her. ‘But it is said that upon taking the first sip of his beer, Artukan cried out that his throat was on fire. One of his wives offered him water, but Artukan said that this burned his lips. Everything … burned him. No one could touch him. It is said that he put out his own eyes so that he would not have to bear the torment of light. His skin turned blue and then black, like dried meat. He screamed, like a kradak burnt at the stake. It took him a whole day to die.’

Master Juwain’s face paled, and then he said to Bajorak, ‘If what you tell is true, then surely the poison was kirax.’

Surely it was, I thought as my heart pushed my flaming blood through my veins. And surely thus I would have died, too, if only the assassin sent by Morjin had managed to bury his arrow even a tenth of an inch into my flesh.

‘I do not know this poison, kirax,’ Bajorak said to Master Juwain.

And Master Juwain told him, ‘It is used only by the Red Priests of the Kallimun. And by Morjin.’

Bajorak’s gaze flashed from Master Juwain to Kashak and Pirraj, and he made a warding sign with his finger as he cried out, ‘Treachery! Abomination! If Garthax really was in league with the Red Priests, if he is, then …’

‘Then his eyelids should be cut off, and he should be staked out in the sun for the ants and the yellowjackets to eat!’

These terrible words came from Atara, and I felt my heart nearly break against my chest bones to hear her pronounce the age-old punishment that the Sarni meted out to poisoners.

‘He should be unmanned,’ she added, ‘and his parts given to the vultures!’

It was one of Atara’s griefs, I knew, that when her hopes for men failed, she could fall icy cold and full of judgment, like a killer angel.

‘If true,’ Bajorak said, nodding his head, ‘what you say should be done. But we know not that it is true. Only that, from what we’ve learned of Garthax, it could be.’

‘Then until it is proved,’ Atara said, ‘he is still your chieftain. And so you must persuade him with words to break this covenant with Morjin, rather than with arrows and flaying knives.’

‘Words,’ Bajorak spat out. He looked from Atara to Kane and then at me. ‘Valashu Elahad, all of you, rode with Sajagax to Tria to unite the free peoples against Morjin, with words. And what befell? Alonia is in flames, and in the Morning Mountains, the Elahad’s own Valari make war with each other. And on the Wendrush! The Zayak ride openly into our country! It is said that the Marituk have allied with the Dragon, the Janjii, too! And so the Tukulak and the Usark, and other tribes, soon will. They think to choose the winning side before it is too late. They have no sense of themselves! Whatever side the Sarni choose will be victorious. And that is why we Tarun, and the other Danladi clans, must choose another chieftain, before it is too late. And we shall make our votes with these!’

So saying, he reached into his quiver and drew out a long, feathered shaft. With one smooth, quick motion, he nocked it to his bowstring, drew it back to his ear and loosed it toward the Red Knights and the Zayak warriors. His great horn bow unbent with a crack like thunder. The arrow whined through the air and buried itself in the grass a few hundred yards away. Not even Sajagax, I thought, could shoot an arrow a mile.

Bajorak’s eyes gleamed, but he sighed. ‘Atara Manslayer is right,’ he said. ‘Until Garthax’s treachery is proven, he is still our chieftain. And so his cursed covenant will be honored.’

Much of what he had told me we had learned while in winter camp with Karimah and the Manslayers, for the Wendrush is Ea’s crossroads, and news flows as freely as the great sagosk herds over its windswept plains. I had not, however, known about the Marituk’s alliance with Morjin. They were a great tribe, and so this was evil tidings – but no surprise. In Tria, I had nearly claimed the Lightstone for myself; I had spoken a lie and slain a man, and as with a stone cast into a black water, these evil deeds had rippled outward to touch many peoples and many lands.

‘And so,’ Bajorak continued, looking from the Red Knights back at me, ‘we shall not attack our enemy. They know this. It is why they ride so impudently.’

‘But what if they attack us?’ Maram wanted to know. It was a question that he could not stop asking Bajorak – and himself.

‘They won’t,’ Bajorak told him. ‘They haven’t the numbers … yet.’

‘Yet?’ Maram called out. ‘Ah, I don’t like the sound of that, not at all. What do you mean, yet?’

‘I believe,’ Bajorak said, ‘that these are not the only companies of Red Knights or Zayak that Garthax has allowed into our country.’

At this Maram craned his neck about, scanning the horizon. And all the while he muttered, ‘Oh, too bad, too bad!’

Bajorak ignored him and looked straight at me. He said, ‘Until Karimah came to me asking us to escort you, I could not imagine what these companies were seeking in our lands.’

I said nothing as I watched the Red Knights, who seemed to be waiting for us to remount so that they might renew the chase.

‘But I do not understand,’ he went on, ‘why they are seeking you.’

‘Surely that is simple,’ I told him. ‘We are Morjin’s enemies. Surely he would pay much gold to anyone who brings him our heads.’

I rested my hand on the hilt of my sword; I looked into Bajorak’s eyes to see if he desired this gold badly enough to betray us. But I saw there only a blazing hatred of Morjin and a fierce pride.

Then Bajorak looked away from me toward our enemy. ‘Perhaps they do want to kill you. But perhaps they are seeking the same thing as you.’

His perceptiveness vexed me, and I told him, ‘We have not said that we are seeking anything.’

He smiled as best he could and said, ‘No, you say little, with your lips, Valashu Elahad. But your eyes sing like the minstrels. I have never seen a man who desires as you do.’

‘Perhaps,’ I told him, ‘we desire nothing more than to cross your lands.’

He pointed at the snowy peaks in the west. ‘To go into the wild mountains where no one dwells?’

‘Perhaps we wish to dwell there.’

He held out his hand toward Estrella and Daj. ‘It is strange that you take children with you on such a journey.’

‘Is it strange to want to find a place where they might come of age in peace?’

Bajorak’s face softened as he said, ‘No, that is not strange – if any such place exists. But if it did exist, surely you would not seek it in the Sarni’s lands so close to Sakai.’

‘We go where we must,’ I told him. ‘Will you help us?’

‘We would help you better if you helped us.’

‘We ride together,’ I said. ‘If our enemy attacks you, we will fight them.’

‘That is good. But it would be even better if you trusted us.’

‘We’ve trusted you with our lives.’

‘Yes, but not with that which impels you to risk your lives.’

‘As Kane has told you, that would be an unnecessary burden.’

‘You say. But the greater burden is not knowing where we are going or why. It puts my men at risk. And I do not spend their lives as readily as I do gold.’

As the sun’s light broke upon the fillet binding his forehead, I pressed my finger hard into the little zags of the scar that cut mine like a lightning bolt. And I said, ‘You have pledged to ride with us, even so. Will you keep your pledge?’

Bajorak looked back and forth between Pirraj and Kashak as anger clouded his eyes. He shook his bow at me and snapped out: ‘We Tarun are no pledge-breakers! Hai, but you are a hard man, Valashu Elahad. And a willful one! Let us ride then, if that is your wish!’

And with that, he jumped back on his horse, and with Pirraj and Kashak, galloped back to the bend in the river where most of his warriors were gathered.

Liljana stood with her arms thrown protectively around Daj and Estrella. And she scolded me: ‘You were barely cordial to him. I’ve never seen you be so hard.’

I watched as Karimah returned to the Manslayers, who were getting ready to ride again. And I said, ‘We know little of this Bajorak and his true intentions. And you’ve been able to tell me little.’

She clapped her hand to her pocket where she had secreted her blue gelstei. ‘Would you have me try to tell you?’

‘As you tried with the Red Knights?’

Liljana’s heavy eyebrows pulled into a frown. ‘You’re hard with me, too – cruel hard. What have I done to make you so?’

The hurt in her eyes stabbed straight into me. I took her hand in mine and said, ‘My apologies, Liljana. You’ve done nothing. Now why don’t we see if we can lose these damn knights before the sun reaches noon?’

After that we set out as before and continued our race across the Wendrush. We drove our remounts too hard; I felt fire in the lungs of these great beasts and spreading out along their blood to torment their bunching muscles and straining joints. It grew hot, not quite so sweltering as in Marud or Soal, but too hot for early Ashte. The sun rose higher and shot its golden flames at us. I sweated beneath layers of wool, mail and leather underpadding. The wind in my face carried some of this moisture away, but did little to cool my sodden body. I turned to see the others working hard as well. Maram, on top of his bounding brown gelding, puffed and grunted and sweated like a pig. Kane sweated, too, for he was attired no differently. As always, though, he made no complaint. His black eyes seemed to say to me that the Red Knights following us in their thicker armor suffered even worse than we.

The riding quickly became a misery. Biting black flies buzzed around our eyes and ears. I watched Bajorak leading his more lightly-clad warriors ahead of us. Would he honor his word, I wondered? Or did he hope to use us as bait, inviting an attack by other companies of Red Knights and Zayak who would join our pursuers? Perhaps, I thought, Bajorak would then call down a host of Tarun warriors that he might have secreted somewhere among the steppe’s long grasses. He would annihilate his enemy and use this incident as a reason to mount a rebellion against Garthax. And he would not care if my friends and I – kradaks, all, except for Atara – happened to be annihilated, too.

My father had once told me that a king should strive to dwell inside others’ skins and perceive the world as they did. It should have been easy for me to know the truth about Bajorak, easier than it was for Liljana. But it was harder. In the shallows of the Great Northern Ocean, I had once seen an oyster which closed itself inside its shell when disturbed. So it was with me and my gift. All my life I had avoided the harsh touch of others’ passions. And why? Because, like grit in the eyes, it hurt. And even more, because I was afraid. Bajorak had said that Garthax was not his father’s equal. Neither, I thought, was I mine.

And so I rode on and on, watching the glints of gold about Bajorak ahead of me and turning to gaze at the red smear of Morjin’s knights and the Zayak warriors on their ponies pounding after us across the sunlit plain. We did not escape them all that long day. We were only three miles from the mountains when at last we stopped to make camp by a stream that flowed down from these heights. And, as with the night before, our enemy set up their tents only a mile away.

We were all tired and sore from the cruel day’s work, and so none of us had much enthusiasm for tending the horses, gathering wood and water, making the fire, and other such things. As usual when the sun went down, Liljana took charge. She insisted on preparing us a hot meal, and it was good to sit down with our bowls of bloody sagosk meat, whose juices we mopped up with fresh rushk cakes. These Liljana made herself, for she had excused both Daj and Estrella from their chores. The children were so weary and worn that they could hardly hold their bowls to eat their dinners. The sun had burnt their faces, and dust dirtied their hair. Although Daj would not allow himself to whine as other children did, much less to weep, I knew that the hard riding had chafed him, nearly flaying the flesh from his legs. Estrella was in even worse condition. She sat very still, fighting to keep her eyes open. Even the slightest motion caused her to wince in pain.

‘Ah, that was a day!’ Maram sighed out as he worked at a piece of hastily roasted meat. ‘The hardest ride we’ve had since Count Ulanu chased us to Khaisham.’

I remembered that day too well. It had ended with an arrow shot through Atara’s lung and the death of our friend, Alphanderry. I suddenly could not bear the iron tang of my meat, and I put down my knife and bowl.

‘Ah, oh – oh, my poor, poor aching body!’ Maram groaned. He moved stiffly to bring out his brandy bottle, and he caught Master Juwain’s eye. ‘Surely, sir, this is a night for prescribing a little restorative drink?’

‘Surely it is not,’ Master Juwain told him, taking the bottle and putting it away. ‘At least, not that kind of drink. I shall make us all a tea that will soothe rather than numb us.’

So saying, he found some herbs in his medicine chest and brewed up a pot of tea. The hot drink, sweetened with honey, stole some of the hurt from our limbs. Upon sipping it, Daj and Estrella almost immediately lay down upon their furs. Liljana sat between them, stroking their hair and singing them to sleep. After a while her dulcet voice murmured out above the crackle of the fire as she said to me: ‘We cannot travel tomorrow as we did today. They’re children, Val.’

Because her words disturbed me, I stood up to walk by the stream. I paused beneath a huge old cottonwood tree as I looked out at our enemy’s campfires. Across the stream Karimah had posted sentinels who would sit on their horses all night guarding us from attack. Kane found me there, staring at their dark, ghostly forms as I listened to the water gurgling over rounded rocks.

‘You shouldn’t be alone here,’ he told me as he stood with his hand on the hilt of his sword. His eyes searched the grass for stalking lions, no less Zayak warriors.

‘I shouldn’t have brought Daj and Estrella with us,’ I told him. ‘All on such a narrow chance.’

‘You know the need,’ he growled out. ‘You did the right thing.’

‘Did I? Or have I only stolen from them the few days of peace they might have had before … before there is no peace, for anyone?’

‘You take too much upon yourself.’

‘No, too little,’ I said. ‘Daj is as tough as a diamond, but Estrella suffers. Inside, even more than out. I … cannot tell you. She sees too deeply inside of things. There are places she’s terrified to go. And it’s as if I am taking her into the worst of these places, back into a black tunnel that has no end.’

‘Is it her suffering that grieves you or your own?’

‘But there is no difference!’ I said. ‘Especially with her, it is one.’

‘She is a radiant child,’ he told me. ‘I have seen many moments when her joy, too, became your own.’

‘Even then,’ I said, listening to the stream, ‘it is like drinking too much wine too quickly.’

Kane stared up at the stars, and his voice grew strange and deep as he told me, ‘The valarda is the gift of the One. You have yet to learn how to use it.’

‘It is a curse!’ I said, shaking my head. ‘It is an affliction, like a pox upon the skin, like a rupture of the heart.’

At this, he grabbed my arm and shook me as a lion might a lamb. And he growled out, ‘You might as well complain that life is a curse. And that light is an affliction because it carries into your eyes all the ugliness and evil of the world!’

‘Yes,’ I said, feeling the fire inside me. ‘It must have been like that for Artukan when the kirax made him gouge out his own eyes.’

Now Kane squeezed my arm so hard I thought my bones might break. ‘Tell that to Atara, why don’t you? Let her hear you damn your eyes, and hers, and see what she will say!’

I pulled away from him, and looked past the cottonwood’s dark, fluttering leaves at the sky. I found the Seven Sisters and the Dragon and other twinkling constellations. The stars there were so bright, so beautiful. Which ones, I wondered, burned with the light of my father and my mother and all the rest of my slaughtered family?

‘You saw!’ I said to Kane. ‘In Tria, you stood and saw with your own eyes as I struck down Ravik with my “gift”!’

‘So – so I did. The valarda is a double-edged sword, eh?’

It was bad enough that others’ dreads and exaltations should flood into me. But why, I wondered, should my passions strike into them when I lost my head – especially my killing passions?

‘I murdered a man!’ I shouted at him.

‘No, you killed a Kallimun priest who would have killed Atara.’

‘You don’t understand!’

‘Don’t I? So, I’ve seen you kill rabbits and rock goats for food, and how many of our enemy have you sent on with that sword you wear? Killing is only killing, eh? It doesn’t matter how we kill, only who.’

The stream purled in darkness, and the wind rustled the steppe’s grasses, and the whispering inside me told me that Kane was wrong.

‘It must matter,’ I said. ‘Just as everything we do matters.’

‘These are hard times, Val. So, we must do hard things.’

‘Hard things, yes.’

‘Would it be so hard for you to tell Bajorak that we seek a great treasure in the mountains beyond the Oro River? And that in finding it, we would fight Morjin’s gold with our own? Is that not close to the truth?’

I smiled at this as I listened to my heart drumming inside me. I said, ‘I have learned … that the smallest of lies can grow, like a rat’s bite beginning a plague of death.’

‘We need Bajorak on our side, you know.’

‘I will not lie to him.’

‘But you cannot tell him the truth about our purpose! What if he is captured, eh? What if he sells our secrets for gold?’

‘I trust him no more than you do.’

‘Do you trust him to fight, if it comes to that? So, it would not take much, at need, for you to push him into battle.’

I ground my teeth at the fury I felt for Morjin seething inside me. How hard would it be to touch Bajorak – or anyone – with a little of this flame?

‘No, I will not,’ I said to Kane.

‘No? No matter what befalls? No matter which of your friends is threatened? What else won’t you do, then?’

I drew in a deep breath and held it until my lungs burned. And then I said, ‘I will not torture. I will not sacrifice innocents, not to save you or me, or even the children. I will not use the valarda … as I would my sword, to strike terror or maim. And never again to kill.’

As Kane glared at me through the near-darkness, I drew Alkaladur and watched the play of starlight along its length.

‘So,’ he said, gazing at it, ‘in such goodness, in such purity of truth, you think to fight Morjin and all his evil deeds?’

I smiled sadly as I shook my head. ‘I am neither good, nor pure, nor am I renowned as an exemplar of the truth. Who, then, am I to fight evil?’

‘Ha – is that not itself an evil question?’

I said to him, ‘I don’t understand you! Once, on top of a mountain, you told me that I could not fight Morjin your way without losing my soul!’

‘So – perhaps I lied.’

‘No, you did not!’

His voice softened then as he told me, ‘Listen to me, my young friend: we do what we have to do, eh? Just don’t be so sure it’s always easy to know what is evil and what is not.’

And with that, he stalked off back toward our encampment.

I waited with my drawn sword, watching the world turn into darkness.

I breathed in the smells of grass and woodfire and the fresh blood of a lion’s kill wafting on the wind. I sensed many things. The horses standing in their small herd nearby were all exhausted and would have a hard time when morning came. I quivered with the fear of the field mice as they looked for the owls who hunted them, and my heart leaped with the gladness of the wolves as they followed the scent of their prey. And in all this immense anguish and zest, I thought, in all this incessant struggle and striving there was no evil but only the terrible beauty of life. It was too much for me to take in, too much for any man. And yet I must, for the stars, too, had a kind of life: deeper and wilder and infinite in duration. How, I wondered, would I ever feel my mother’s breath upon my face or hear Asaru laughing again if I could not open myself to this eternal flame?

Just then Atara appeared out of the glare of our campfire and walked closer to me. Then she called out: ‘Val, your face – your sword!’

To be open to love, I knew, is to be vulnerable to hate.

‘Morjin is out there,’ I said to her. My sword glowed red like an ember as I pointed it toward our enemy. ‘Can you “see” him?’

Atara drew out her scryer’s crystal and stood rolling it between her hands. She said, ‘Everywhere I look now, Morjin is there. It is why I am loath to look.’

‘Your gift,’ I told her, ‘is a curse. As is mine.’

I went on to relate my conversation with Kane. She came up close to me and grasped my hand. ‘No, it is just the opposite. Kane was right: you have yet to learn how to use the valarda.’

I wrenched free my hand and said, ‘If I could, I would cut it out of me, the way I’ve cut off others’ hands and carved out their hearts.’

‘No – please don’t say that!’

‘Such terrible things I have done! And what is yet to come?’

I stared at the Red Knights’ campfires, then Atara touched my cheek to turn my face toward her. And she said to me, ‘I don’t know what is to come, strange though you might think it. But I know what has been. And I know where I have been, with my gift.’

She held up her gelstei: a little white sphere gleaming beneath the white circle of the moon. ‘I’ve tried to tell you what it is like to see as I have seen. To live. Such glory! So much light! Truly, there are infinite possibilities, the dreams of the stars waiting to be made real. I’ve seen them all, inside this crystal. And here, for too long, I have dwelled. It is splendid, beyond the beating of a butterfly’s wings or the sun rising over the sea. But it is cold. It is like being frozen in ice at the top of a mountain as high as the stars. And all the time, I am so utterly, utterly alone.’

‘A curse,’ I said softly as I covered her crystal with my hand.

‘No! You don’t see! The price of such beauty has been such terrible isolation – almost too terrible to bear. But I have borne it, even gloried in it, because of you. Your gift. You are such a gift, Valashu. You have a heart of fire, and it is so brilliantly, brilliantly beautiful! Is there any ice it could not melt? No, I know – only you. You bring me back into the world, where everything is warm and sweet. I don’t want to know what it would be like to live without you. You are the one being with whom I do not feel alone.’

Her hand was warm against mine. Because she had no eyes, she could not weep. And so I wept for her instead.

‘Kane has suggested,’ I finally told her, ‘that I should use the valarda to manipulate Bajorak. Like a puppeteer pulling on strings.’

She smiled sadly and shook her head. ‘Kane is so knowing. But sometimes, so willfully blind.’

‘How should I use the valarda, then?’

‘You know,’ she said to me. Her voice was as cool and gentle as the wind. ‘You’ve always known, and you always will know, when the time comes.’

I looked out at the millions of stars shimmering through the night. The black sky could hold their splendor, but how could any man?

‘And now,’ she said to me, ‘you should get some rest. Tomorrow will be a long day, and a bad one, I think. Come to bed, Val.’

She pulled at my hand to lead me back to our camp. But I let go of her to grip my sword, and I told her, ‘In a moment.’

I watched her walk back to the fire as she had come, and I marvelled yet again that she could find her way without the use of her eyes. I wondered then how I would ever find my own way to whatever end awaited me. I gazed at Alkaladur, whose silustria glistered with dark reds and violets. The Sword of Fate, men called it. How should I point it, I wondered, toward all that was good, beautiful and true? I wondered, too, if I would ever be free of the valarda. I had spoken of using my sword to make a brutal surgery upon myself, but I might as well try to cut away my face, my limbs and all my flesh – no less my memories and dreams – and hope to remain Valashu Elahad.

‘So, just so,’ I whispered.

And with this sudden affirmation, my heart opened, and my sword filled with the light of the stars. Then, to my astonishment, its substance began radiating a pure and deep glorre. This was the secret color inside all others, the true color that was their source. It flared with all the fire of red and shone as numinously as midnight blue, and yet these essences – and those of the other colors it contained – were not just multiple and distinct but somehow one. Kane called it the color of the angels, and said that it belonged far away across the heavens, in the splendor of the constellations near the Golden Band, but not yet here on earth. For most men had neither the eyes nor the heart to behold it.

‘So bright,’ I whispered. ‘Too bright.’

I, too, could not bear the beauty of this color for very long. And so as the world continued its journey into night and carried the brilliant stars into the west, I watched as the glorre bled away, and the radiance of my sword dimmed and died.

I returned to the fire after that and lay down on my furs to sleep. But I could not. As my sword remained within its sheath, waiting to be drawn, I knew that the glorre abided somewhere inside me. But would I ever find the grace to call upon it?