Читать книгу Ancestors of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley - Страница 12

Tiriki clawed her way out of a nightmare in which she was drowning. Reaching out to Micail for comfort in the dark, her fingers closed on cold wool. As she groped, the floor rolled and she tensed yet again, bracing herself for another earthquake; but no, this was too gentle, too regular a rocking to sustain her fear. Exhausted, she sank back limply upon the hard bed, thankful for woolen winter blankets, her eyes half closed again.

A dream, she assured herself, brought on by the cool breeze through the window…

For some reason, she had thought that it was spring already, and that the disaster had come – that somehow she and Micail had ended up on different boats. But here we are side by side, as we should be.

Smiling at the foolishness of dreams, she shifted position again, trying to stay comfortable despite a vaguely dizzy feeling and a persistent chill. Something hard through the blankets…And then, close by, someone began to weep.

Her own discomfort she could ignore, but not another’s pain. Tiriki forced her eyes to open and sat up, blinking at the dim, recumbent shapes all around her. Beyond them she could see a narrow railing, and the darkly heaving sea.

She was on a boat. It had not been a dream.

As she looked about, someone out of sight, toward the bow, began to sing—

‘Nar-Inabi, Star Shaper,

Dispense tonight thy bounty—’

As she listened, additional unseen voices joined the song.

‘Illuminate our wingsails

As we fly upon the waters.

The winds here are all strangers

And we are but sailors.

Nar-Inabi, Star Shaper,

This night reveal Thy glory…’

For a moment the beauty of the song lifted her spirit. The stars were hidden, but no matter what happened here they remained in the heavens, afloat in the sea of space as their ship floated on the sea below. Star father, Sea lord, protect us! her spirit cried, trying to feel in the uneasy rocking of the ship the comfort of mighty arms.

But whether or not the god was listening, Tiriki could still hear someone crying. Carefully, she peeled away enough of the woolen blankets about the curled-up figure beside her to recognize the youthful face of Elis, fast asleep, her dark hair tangled, her eyes wet with unhappy dreams.

Poor child – we have both lost our mates – Tiriki choked back her own grief before it could overwhelm her. No, she told herself sternly, though we shall surely never see Aldel again, Micail lives! I know it.

Tenderly, she soothed Elis into deeper sleep, and only then withdrew enough to stand up. Shivering in the stiff breeze, trying not to let the continual gentle swaying underfoot disturb her stomach, Tiriki tried to will away the lingering tensions of her unrestful sleep and strained her eyes toward the foggy seascape beyond the railing. The wake of the ship glinted redly in the bloody glow that pulsed along the horizon, illuminating a vast cloud of smoke and cinders that roiled the heavens and hid the stars.

It was not the sunrise, she realized abruptly. The raging light was from another source – it came from Ahtarrath, even in its final death throes unwilling to submit to the sea.

As the lurid dawn light grew she recognized Damisa standing by the railing, staring forlornly at the distant flames. Tiriki started toward her but Damisa turned away, her shoulders hunching defensively. Tiriki wondered if Damisa was one of those people who preferred to suffer in privacy, and then she wondered whether she wanted Damisa’s company for the girl’s sake or for her own.

Most of the other people huddled on the deck were strangers, but she could see Selast and Iriel not far away, lying curled together like kittens as Kalaran snored protectively beside them.

From amidships came a quiet voice giving orders; then Reidel appeared carrying a lantern, his bare feet almost silent on the wooden deck. She nodded in automatic greeting. Since yesterday he seemed to have aged ten years. For that matter, she thought, I wonder how much older I must look by now!

Reidel returned her greeting, rather anxiously, but before they could exchange words, he was beset by a pair of red-faced merchants wanting something to eat.

A man whom she recognized as Reidel’s sailor, Arcor, had been hovering nearby. ‘My lady,’ he said, as she finally turned to face him, ‘we hoped not to trouble you while you slept, but the captain wishes you to know, there be comfortable beds for you and the young folk below. The honored ones, the adept Alyssa and the priestess Liala, rest there already.’

Tiriki shook her head. ‘No – but I thank you—’ she looked at him inquiringly and he murmured his name, once more touching his brow in a gesture of reverence. Living at such close quarters during this voyage, she mused, how long will the old caste distinctions last?

‘I thank you, Arcor,’ she repeated, in more pleasant tones, ‘but so long as there is anything to see here—’ She broke off. ‘I must go,’ she murmured, and quickly made her way amidships, where she noticed Chedan standing alone, gazing at the waves and the troubled sky.

‘I am sorry. I meant to help keep watch over the Stone,’ she said, as she reached Chedan’s side. She intended to say more, but found herself coughing, and a sharp, growing ache in her chest reminded her that the very air they were breathing was poisoned with the ashes of Ahtarrath.

Chedan smiled at her fondly. ‘You needed rest,’ he said, ‘and should feel no shame for taking it. In truth, there has been nothing to see. The Stone is at peace, even if we are not.’ He gathered her against him, and for a moment she was content to rest within the steady support of his arms, but the mage’s sparkling eyes and ash-whitened beard could not conceal his worried frown.

‘No other ships?’ Her voice was a rasping whisper.

‘Earlier, I glimpsed a few sails, heading on other courses, but in this murk—’ He waved at the smoke and fog. ‘A hundred ships might pass unseen! Yet we can be confident that Micail will direct whatever boat he may be on toward the same destination as we—’

‘Then you agree he is alive?’ She gazed at him in appeal. ‘That my hope is not just – a delusion of love?’

The mage’s expression was solemn, but warm. ‘Being who you are and what you are, Tiriki – bound to Micail by karma, and more – you would surely have felt him pass.’ Chedan fell silent, then grimaced and let slip a muffled oath. Following his gaze, Tiriki saw the faraway glow of the dying land rapidly expanding in a swirl of flames.

‘Hold on!’ Reidel’s voice rang out behind them. ‘Everyone – grab something and hold on!’ He already had one arm around the mainmast, but he and Chedan barely had time to clasp Tiriki between them as the ship’s stern lifted, sending unsecured gear and sleepers sliding. With a scream, someone went over the side. The masts groaned, sails flapping desperately as the ship continued to lift until it hung poised on the very crest of the swell. Behind them a long slope of shining water stretched back toward the fires of Ahtarrath, perhaps ten miles away. Then the wave passed, and the stern tipped as the ship began a long slide back down. Further and further yet they plummeted until Tiriki thought the ravening sea meant to swallow them whole. The ship bucked, seeking balance on the water, but the overstressed mainmast cracked and came crashing down. The Crimson Serpent shuddered as waves whipped around it.

It seemed a long time before the ship came to rest again, rocking gently with the tide. Reidel’s lantern was nowhere to be seen. The faint phosphorescence that danced along the wave crests was the only light. There were no stars above, and the fires of Ahtarrath had sunk, finally and forever, beneath the sea.

The next morning Chedan jerked upright with a snort and realized that against all expectation, he had been fast asleep. It was day, and that too, he supposed, was more than any of them should have dared to expect after the violence of the night before. It was a daylight, however, in which very little could be seen. He could hear quite clearly the omnipresent creaking of wood as the ship rolled on the swell, the gurgle of water beneath her bows, and the cries of seabirds as they bobbed like corks all around. A clammy grey fog rested between the sea and sky. It felt as if they were sailing through another world.

Although Chedan had often enough found danger in his wanderings, he could not remember ever having been quite so uncomfortable. His back ached from the odd posture he’d slept in, and there was, he perceived, a splinter in his elbow. That’s what I get for not going below, he lectured himself as he plucked it out. He wished a lifetime of experience could help now to take him home.

With a sigh and a yawn, he drew in his feet as four sailors, sweating even in this chilly dawn, carried the top half of the mainmast past him. The sailors had unstepped the lower half of the mast from its base and cut chunks from both broken ends so that they could be fitted back together. Spliced and splinted with rope bindings the mast might be strong enough to support its sail.

If the winds stay moderate. If no natural disaster comes to finish what the magic of dead men started…Chedan sighed. Bah! Gloomy thoughts for a gloomy day! At least Reidel has the sense to keep his men busy. He hauled himself to a standing position, just long enough to sit down on one of the row of storage chests permanently bolted to the deck.

As he sat massaging his aching elbow, he saw Iriel moving with exaggerated caution through the broken crates and other odd items that littered the deck. Dark shadows beneath her eyes betrayed her strain, but she had put a brave face on. Indeed, her look of resolve warmed him more, he guessed, than would the bowl of steaming liquid that she carried so carefully in both hands.

She held it out to him, saying, ‘They have a fire going in the galley, and I thought you might like some tea.’

‘Dear girl, you are a lifesaver!’ A poor choice of phrase, he thought as he saw her blanch.

‘Are we lost?’ Her hands shook with the effort she was making to remain calm. ‘You can tell me the truth. Are we all going to die out here?’

‘My child,’ Chedan began, with a startled shake of his head.

‘I am not a child,’ Iriel interrupted, a little sharply, ‘you can tell me the truth.’

‘My dear – all here are like children to me,’ Chedan reminded her, and sipped gratefully at the hot tea. ‘More to the point, Iriel, you are asking the wrong question. We are all going to die – eventually. That is the meaning of mortality. But before that happens we must learn to live! So let’s not gloom about. You have made a good beginning by helping me.’ He looked around, and saw a torn meal sack lying on the deck, threatening to spill what remained of its contents.

‘See if you can round up the acolytes. We’ll make that meal into porridge and spare some sailor the trouble of cleaning it up.’

‘What a good idea,’ came a new voice. He turned and saw Tiriki shaking off the tangle of blankets in which she had passed the night. She rose and moved toward him, her steps somewhat uncertain on the gently rolling deck. ‘Good morning, Master Chedan. Good morning, Iriel.’

‘My lady.’ Iriel bowed in the customary greeting, and then again to Chedan, before running off in search of the other acolytes.

‘I don’t know how she does it,’ Tiriki commented, as they watched her go. ‘I can hardly keep my knees from knocking.’

‘Sit beside me,’ Chedan invited; ‘you look a bit green. Would you like some of this tea?’

‘Thank you,’ she said, and swiftly lowered herself onto the sea chest beside him. ‘But I don’t know about drinking anything. My stomach is uneasy this morning. It’s not surprising. I…have never cared much for the sea.’

‘The trick is not to focus on the horizon,’ Chedan advised. ‘Look beyond that – you just have to get used to it. Putting something in your belly will steady it, believe it or not.’

Her expression was dubious, but she accepted the tea bowl, and dutifully sipped. ‘I heard you talking to Iriel,’ she said, soberly. ‘How many more of us are gone?’

‘We have been lucky, all in all. Two or three persons went overboard when the wave hit, but only Alammos was not recovered. He was a warder in the library. I didn’t really know him, but—’ He forced his voice to steady. ‘Five of the acolytes made it to this ship. We must hope that the others are with Micail. And there are a few others of the priests’ caste – Liala has them all settled, or as well as can be expected. The crew is more of a problem. The greater number of them are from Alkonath and proud of it. In fact, Reidel had to break up a fistfight only a while ago.’ Chedan glanced at her and, seeing that her face was troubled, watched her closely as he went on.

‘Considering how difficult that broken mainmast will make everything, we must be thankful that the Crimson Serpent has a fully trained crew. When it comes to having little experience with the sea, well, that’s one thing the priests’ caste shares with the townsfolk – we are landlubbers all, although most, at least, are relatively young and strong. No, truly things could be much worse.’

Tiriki nodded, her features again almost as calm as Chedan hoped his were. Both of them might weep bitterly within, but for the sake of those who still depended on them, they must provide a steadfast appearance of hope.

Looking away, he caught sight of Reidel picking his way toward them through the debris on the deck.

‘Why isn’t this stowed away already?’ Reidel was muttering, with the fiercest of frowns. ‘The moment the mast is up – my apologies.’

‘No need,’ said Tiriki quickly. ‘Your first duty is the seaworthiness of the ship. We are comfortable enough—’

He gave her a startled look, and she thought again that he seemed overly stern for one so young. ‘With respect, my lady, it was not your pardon I asked. To see my vessel so disarrayed – my father would say it is bad luck.’

Ashamed, Tiriki blushed, and seeing it, Reidel shook his head and laughed. ‘Well, I’ve given offense again, I guess, which I didn’t intend either time. We must still learn how to work together, it seems.’

‘In regard to that—’ Chedan spoke to distract the other two from their embarrassment. ‘Can you tell us where we are?’

‘Yes and no.’ Reidel fumbled with a pouch at his belt and pulled out a rod of cloudy crystal about the thickness of his finger. ‘This can catch the light of the sun even in the fog, so we know fairly well where it is above us – and can roughly judge how far north or south we have sailed. But as for east and west – well, for that we await the pleasure of the Star Shaper, but he spurns us still.’ He returned the crystal to its pouch. ‘We set sail with provisions for a moon, and that should be enough, but still, if we have a chance to go ashore, it wouldn’t hurt to take on fresh supplies. All assuming that the mast…’ The words trailed off as he turned to watch his laboring crewmen.

‘Are we on a course toward the Hesperides?’ Tiriki blurted out. More calmly, she continued, ‘I know that many refugees from the islands of Tarisseda and Mormallor have already gone to Khem, where the ancient wisdom has long been welcome. And others, I think, intended to seek the western lands across the greater sea. But – Micail and I planned to go north—’

‘Yes, my lady, I know. The day before – before we left –I had a few minutes with the prince. With both of them, actually. Prince Tjalan told me—’ He broke off, biting his lip. ‘If all goes well—’ Reidel paused again as one of the sailors approached, touching hand to forehead in salute. ‘What is it, Cadis?’

‘The lads are done binding the mast; they wait only thy word.’

‘I will come – excuse me—’ Reidel inclined his head respectfully to Chedan and Tiriki, but his eyes and his attention had already returned to his ship and his crew.

The wind never left their sails, which allowed the Crimson Serpent to make good time, and though the spliced mainmast creaked alarmingly, it held fast. But the wind also played in the overcast sky, shaping weird cloud-creatures from the curtaining mists. Ahtarrath might lie broken in the deeps, but the smoke of its destruction remained in the sky, dimming the sun by day and shrouding the stars at night.

As agreed, Reidel had set a northerly course, but many days passed and they still had not seen land. They encountered no other ships either, but with the continual fog, it was possibly just as well. A collision would have been one disaster too many.

Tiriki made a point of spending a little while every day with the acolytes, particularly Damisa, who was still brooding over her failure to make it to the ship captained by Prince Tjalan; and Elis, whose grief for Aldel reminded Tiriki that at least she could hope that her own beloved survived. She could only counsel those who were still sunk in depression to follow the example of Kalaran and Selast, who were trying to make themselves useful, a suggestion often met with tears. Tiriki insisted, however, that they at least pursue their singing practice and other studies, even if they were not well enough to help with the chores.

She had hoped that Alyssa, as the next-most-senior priestess onboard, would be more helpful, but the seeress took full advantage of what was almost a private cabin to nurse her injured leg and meditate. Tiriki had begun to suspect her of malingering, but Liala assured her that the seeress’s leg had indeed been badly sprained during the melee of their escape.

One afternoon, as Tiriki sat in the foredeck, wondering what, if anything, she ought to do about the lesser priest Rendano’s repetitive, pointless quarreling with a small cheerful saji woman called Metia, the dreary skies darkened, and a storm whirled down upon them. If Tiriki had thought her first night at sea terrible, by the time the tempest had blotted out even the sight of the towering waves, she was actually wishing that she had stayed in the palace. There, at least, she might have drowned with dignity.

For an endless time of torment she clung to her bunk below deck, while the ship bucked and plunged. Selast, who had inherited at least the sea legs of the Cosarrath royal line, refilled her flask with fresh water. Mindful of Chedan’s advice, Tiriki sipped at it in the occasional gaps between upheaving seas, and tried not to watch the others merrily downing cheesebread and the last of the fresh fruit.

Sometimes, between the almost endless sobbing of the elder priestess Malaera and the complaints of the acolytes, there came a respite long enough for her to hear the sailors shouting on the deck above, and Reidel’s strong, clear voice responding; but always, just when she was beginning to hope the worst had passed, a rising wind would overwhelm every voice, and the ship would tilt until she expected they would go completely under. Reason told her that no vessel could survive such a battering. She did not know whether to pray that Micail’s ship was faring better, or that he was already dead and awaiting her on the other side.

Her misery faded into a stupor of endurance in which her soul retreated into an inner fastness so remote that she did not notice that the gusts were growing gentler, as the roll and pitch of the ship eased almost to normal. Exhaustion became a long-awaited, dreamless sleep; nor did she wake until morning.

The mended mainmast had not survived the storm, but the other two remained still intact, though tall enough to support only small sails. Still, as the weather held fair and the breeze steady, they were able to move slowly forward. Yet at every dimming of the cloudy light, Tiriki stiffened, fearing disaster.

What has become of my discipline? she scolded herself, sharply. I have been trained to face anything, even the very darkness beyond the reach of the gods, but here I sit frozen with terror while those children scuffle and chatter and hang off the railing.

The creak of the ship’s timbers, a sudden tilting of the deck, even the scent of burning charcoal from the galley, all had the power to set her heart pounding. Yet it was also a distraction from a deeper anxiety that had set in when the storm lifted and they found themselves the only ship on the calm blue sea. Chedan had said that the other boats, having departed earlier, could have used their sails to run ahead of the storm. Did he believe that? It did no good to tell herself that the acolytes would only be more frightened if their seniors let their own fears show. The fear was there, and it made her feel ashamed.

Tiriki took a deep breath and continued on toward the stern of the ship, where Chedan and the captain were taking sightings from the night sky. She was not alone, she reminded herself as she approached the two men. Reidel was an experienced sailor, and Chedan had traveled widely. Surely they would know how to find the way.

‘But that is just what I am saying,’ Reidel’s finger stabbed upward. ‘In the month of the Bull, the constellation of the Changer should have risen just after sunset. By this time, the pole star should be high.’

‘You forget, we are much farther north than you have ever come.’ Chedan lifted the scroll he held so that it caught the light. ‘The horizon is different in many small ways…Well no wonder you can’t find it, this is not the right scroll. Ardral prepared more recent charts for our use.’

‘So Prince Tjalan said, but they never reached us.’

‘What of the teaching scrolls?’ said Tiriki as she joined them. ‘I told Kalaran to fetch them from the chests—’

‘Yes, and I thank you for remembering them,’ said Chedan. ‘The problem is they are very old. See for yourself.’

She peered at the scroll, which concerned the movement of the zodiac. Unhappily, it no longer seemed to her half as detailed as it had when she was a student trying to commit it to memory – and that was the last time she had given any serious thought to the stars.

It just isn’t right, she thought angrily, as her stomach once more began to protest the unsteady movement of the sea. Of all of us, Reio-ta was the sailor! He and Deoris took that trip to Oranderis alone, only five years ago. Either one of them would be more use here than me!

Chedan drew a deep breath. ‘The chief polar star is Eltanin, of course, as shown in all our charts. But for generations now, the configuration of the stars has been changing—’

‘What?’ Reidel exclaimed in shock. ‘We know that land and sea can change their outlines, but the skies?’

The mage nodded solemnly. ‘I have many times verified it with a nightglass, and it only became more obvious with every hour. The heavens change just as we do, only more slowly. But over the centuries, the differences become clear. You must know something of the wandering stars—’

‘I know that they wander along a predictable path.’

‘Only because they have been observed for so many years. When the pole star upon which so many of our calculations are based suddenly moves – well, such a tremendous change is regarded as foreboding some equally great shift in the affairs of men—’

‘Yes. A disaster. As we have seen,’ observed Reidel.

Shielding her eyes from the glowing lanterns, Tiriki gazed upward. Mists veiled the horizon, but the moon was very new and had already set. Directly overhead the darkness was studded with stars in such profusion, it would be a wonder if she could make out any constellations at all.

‘Perhaps,’ Chedan was saying, ‘you may have heard old folks muttering that the days of spring and winter are not as they used to be. Well, they are not forgetful; they are right. Old Temple documents have proved it. The time of the planting season, the coming of the rains – all the cosmos is caught up in some unfathomable change – and we, too, must adapt, or perish.’

Tiriki wrenched her attention away from the confused splendor of the skies to try to make sense of his words. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Ever since the fall of the Ancient Land, the princes have ruled without restraint, forgetting their duty to serve as they pursued power. Perhaps we were saved so that we might revitalize the ancient wisdom in a new land. I am not speaking of Micail, of course, or Reio-ta. And Prince Tjalan, too, is – was – a great man. Or would have been—’

Seeing Chedan’s distress, she reached to comfort him.

‘No doubt you are right,’ Reidel said briskly, ‘but at the moment it is getting us to the new land that must be my concern.’

‘The stars may be unconstant,’ Tiriki said, ‘but nothing has happened to the sun and moon, has it? By them we can sail east until we find land. And if there is no land – we can take further counsel then.’

Chedan smiled at her approvingly and Reidel nodded, seeing the sense of what she said. She sat back and let her eyes drift up again toward the patch of stars. Cold and high, they mocked her and every mortal being. Rely on nothing, they seemed to say, for your hard-won knowledge will do you little good where you are going now.

Tiriki woke to the familiar sway of her hammock and groaned from the nausea that was becoming equally familiar within. It was the third day after the storm.

‘Here—’ said a quiet voice. ‘Use the basin.’

Tiriki opened her eyes and saw Damisa holding a brass bowl, and the sight of it intensified her need. After several painful moments she lay back and wiped her face with the damp cloth Damisa offered her.

‘Thank you. I have never been a good sailor, but I would have thought I’d be accustomed to the motion by now.’ Tiriki could not tell whether duty or liking had prompted her assistance, but she needed Damisa’s help too much to care. ‘How goes it with the ship?’

The girl shrugged. ‘The wind has come up, and every time the masts creak someone wonders whether they will crack, but without it we scarcely seem to move at all. If the wind blows contrary they complain that we’re lost, and when it dies they wail that we’ll all starve. Elis and I have cooked up a pot of gruel, by the way. You’ll feel better for a little fresh air and a bit of breakfast.’

Tiriki shuddered. ‘Not just yet, I think, but I will come on deck. I promised Chedan to help him work on revising the star maps, though the way I feel, I fear I’ll be able to do little more than make approving noises and hold his hand.’

‘He’s not the only one who needs his hand held,’ Damisa replied. ‘I’ve tried to keep the others too busy to get into mischief, but the deck pitches too much for the meditation postures, and we can only debate the sayings of the mages for so long. They may be young,’ she added from the vantage of her nineteen years, ‘but they were selected for intelligence, and they can see our danger.’

‘I suppose so,’ Tiriki sighed. ‘Very well. I will come.’

‘If you spend the morning with the others, I can do a thorough inventory of the supplies. With your permission, of course—’ she added reluctantly.

Tiriki realized just how much of an afterthought that request had been and suppressed a smile. She could remember feeling a similar disdain for the ignorance of her juniors and the weaknesses of her elders when she was that age.

‘Of course,’ she echoed blandly. ‘And Damisa – I am grateful to you for taking on this responsibility while I’ve been ill.’ In the dim light she could not see if the girl was blushing, but when Damisa replied her tone was calm.

‘I was a princess of Alkonath before I was an acolyte. To lead is what I was brought up to do.’

Damisa had spoken with confidence, but by the time she finished her survey of the supplies stored in the Crimson Serpent, she was beginning to wish she had not claimed so much responsibility. But facing unpleasant truths was also part of the job. She could only hope that Captain Reidel, though he was only a commoner, would be able to do the same.