48: THE GOLDEN LILIES

The kilyett was drifting on down the Nordesh. The warmth of the early sun had not yet pierced the foliage or drawn out the humid vapors from the swamps. It was cool, even chilly, along the water under the green tunnel, through which could be glimpsed, here and there, patches of lightly cloudy sky. Off to the left, at the edge of a shallow among the bordering trees, a flock of ibis were stalking and stabbing in the splashy mud with their curved, dark-red bills.

Behind came two smaller kilyetts carrying Kram, his friend and four or five other young men from Lukrait. All were armed with fish-spears and light, fire-hardened wooden shields. Unlike Beklan soldiers, none had any body-armor. They could not afford it, Maia supposed, for Gelt iron was there for the buying and she remembered having heard tell that Kembri himself had once made unavailing attempts to stop Gelt selling to Terekenalt.

Green and blue dragonflies were hovering and darting across the water, and several times, from one side or another, came a sudden, light pattering, rather like hail. Maia, turning towards the sound, was never quick enough to spot what had made it; nor could she anticipate where it was likely to come from next.

After watching her for a while with some amusement, Nasada laid a hand on her arm and silently pointed ahead of them towards the mouth of a side-channel leading away between tall reeds. Looking along its length as they drew level she saw, all in a moment, the still surface come alive as a shoal of little silver fish leapt a foot or two clear of the water, falling back again with the pattering noise she had heard.

"Margets,we call them. You don't have them on Serrelind?"

"No, Nasada, not as I ever saw. They're pretty."

"They always jump like that at sunset and often in the early part of the morning, too: never in the heat of the day. They like still, narrow water."

"Oh, I remember now; Bayub-Otal was on about them once."

"A few years ago, when I was living away from Suba, I found I missed that noise. To me, it's the sound of traveling alone down these waterways. The sound of solitude— the sound of arriving in time for supper, too."

"You lived away from Suba? Where; in Bekla?"

"No; on an island called Quiso, in the Telthearna. That's up in the north, you know, beyond the Gelt mountains."

"What took you up there, then, Nasada?"

"Oh, I wanted to learn more about doctoring from a certain wise woman. There's a female priesthood on Quiso— it's part of the cult of Shardik, you know. I learned a lot from them—well, from the Tuginda, anyway."

They talked on for a time; about his wanderings up and down the marsh country, and of her life on the shores of Lake Serrelind. She found herself avoiding any mention of what he had told her the previous evening, and he for his part spoke no more of it. After a while, feeling drowsy, she went back to the stern and lay down on the smooth wood, listening to the lapping of the water, the splash of the paddles and the intermittent, raucous cries of the birds in the swamps.

The night before, she had soon fallen asleep, tired out with the day's journey and feeling quickly the effect of the drug. Their departure that morning had been hurried— breakfast, followed by thanks and farewells to Makron and Penyanis, with little or no time to ponder on what she had learned. She could not get the strange business sorted out in her mind; could not decide what she really thought about it.

Was she glad or sorry that she bore this extraordinary resemblance to the legendary Nokomis? Did she now feel any more sympathy for Bayub-Otal? And her freedom— she was supposed to be free: she was no longer a slave. Yet how free was she? As far as she could understand, they meant to make a sort of princess out of her—for their own purposes. She imagined herself telling Occula; and that young lady's reactions. "Princess of frogs, banzi? Hope you enjoy it. Personally, I'd rather take over from Nennaunir at six hundred meld a night." Free? Well, there's some might call it that, she thought. But if ever I had any least chance of getting out of Suba, I reckon this lot's going to make it next to impossible.

The truth was that Maia, inexperienced and living largely without reflection, through her senses and emotions, was not really capable of weighing one thing with another and reaching a considered view.

Such was her respect for Nasada that if only he had told her what she ought to think, she would most probably have found herself thinking it. But he had deliberately not done so. Life had so far afforded her virtually no practice in exercising the power of choice: nor was it doing so now. With her, things simply happened; and by a mixture of patience, cunning and pluck one made the best of them. Unconsciously (and quite un-like Occula) she had come to think of life in this way.

Yet also strong in her—and of a piece with her habit of responding impulsively and living in the immediate moment—was the peasant's quickly-injured pride and resentment of anything felt as condescension; "Who the hell do they think they are?" Poor Milvushina, for all her helplessness and misery, had been enough to spark it off, let alone Bayub-Otal. One thing Maia certainly felt now, more than all her confusion and perplexity, was tart annoyance that apparently she was not wanted for herself, but only on account of her random resemblance to this Nokomis, whom she had never seen and who had died more than sixteen years before. I don't care if she was the most wonderful dancer in the world, she thought. I'm not her, I'm me!

As they glided on downstream and the sun moved towards noon, the channel of the Nordesh gradually widened, entering at last a broad lake, smooth and dark-surfaced under an open sky. Out of its further side ran three or four different waterways, one disappearing into woodland, the others leading away through low-lying, spacious country; part fen, part tall-grassed meadowland where in the distance cattle could be seen grazing.

"Not far to Melvda now," said Nasada over his shoulder.

Maia, eager to learn more, scrambled down from the stern and went forward to sit beside him again. He pointed ahead. She could make out fences, barns, stockades and folds, with broad, green paths leading between them.

"Do you like the look of it?" he asked.

"Better 'n what we've left behind I do."

"We're quite a way down into lower Suba here. A lot of it's very open compared with the swamps further north, and there's more firm ground. Melvda's not really what you'd think of as a city: there's nothing built of stone or brick at all. Still, insofar as Suba has any towns, Melvda's the principal one. They mostly breed sheep and cattle. There are two big fairs every year: that's why it's called Melvda-Rain. The town's really just a lot of farms—those and the houses of people who live by the farmers—you know, wheelwrights, drovers, woodmen—people like that."

"You say King Karnat's here?"

"Oh, yes, he'll have been here for some days now. There must be thousands of soldiers camping and bivouacking: Katrians, Terekenalters; and a lot of our own people as well, coming in from all over. Anda-Nokomis told me he thought there'd be something like nine thousand altogether."

"Why, however do they all find enough to eat?" asked Maia.

"Well, that's it. They can't stay here for very long, you see. Once an army's been got together it has to be used or it starts melting away. There's a saying, 'Sun on the snow and hunger on an army.' Or sometimes it's 'Sickness on an army.' That's where I come in."

"Where are they going, then, Nasada?"

"I don't know," he replied. "That's not my business. I doubt anyone knows but Karnat and Anda-Nokomis. But if Subans are going to be wounded, that is my business; and I'll stick to it."

Soon they were among the grazing-meadows; watercress flowering white in the shallows, yellow water-lilies and patches of pink bogbean. Herd-boys called and waved to them and Kram and his friends called back, asking why they didn't leave their cattle and come and fight for Suba. Not far off, above the tall grass, Maia could now see acres of long, single-storied buildings like great sheds, roofed with shingles stained or painted in bright, contrasting colors. These formed patterns and in a few cases even pictures.

One roof that she saw depicted a green field with brown, black and white cows, all picked out in colored shingles. And then—oh, how unexpected and delightful!—-there on another roof was Lespa—Lespa herself, golden-haired, clouds drifting across her white nakedness, standing among her stars against a dark-blue sky.

The roofs stretched away into the distance. Among them were groves of trees, mostly willows and trailing zoans, and here and there gardens and pools with water-flowers. They passed a smithy fronting the water, where men were at work round a blazing forge, tapping and clanging so intently that none looked up as the kilyett slid past. At their feet lay a pile of sword-blades, some with the hilts already fixed.

There seemed to be no shops, but Maia saw a timber-yard, sawn planks piled one side, trimmed tree-trunks the other, all stamped in red with characters and brands which meant nothing to her—signs denoting their vendors or purchasers, perhaps, or their destinations. A little further on they came to a temple of Shakkarn, upon whose crimson roof was depicted the goat-god Himself, with shaggy hide and golden horns. She raised her hand in salutation. Ah! great-hoofed thruster, remember me, for I'm in sore need of good luck!

The buildings gave place to another stretch of fields. Yet these held no cattle, but an untidy camp of ramshackle huts, low tents and rough shelters of goatskin and cow-hide. Fires were smoking, men were cooking, lazing in the sun, rolling dice, fettling weapons. There were smells of trampled grass, ashes, excrement and the rotten-sweet odor of old vegetables and other such garbage. Not far ahead, a little crowd of young fellows were splashing naked in the water. Although it meant nothing to Maia, she thought it best to follow Luma first in averting her eyes and then in lying down on the floor of the boat as they passed.

"We'll be there directly," said Nasada, putting out a hand to help her up again. "Are you ready to meet Anda-Nokomis and the king?"

"The king?" cried Maia in panic. "But you never told me!"

"Well, I can't say for certain that he'll be at the landing-stage, but I wouldn't be at all surprised. Anda-Nokomis is bound to have told him. Stop a moment, Tescon, there's a good lad. We must give Maia a chance to get ready."

"But U-Nasada, how can I get ready?" cried poor Maia, nearly weeping as Tescon turned the kilyett and drove its bow six feet into a deep clump of rushes bordered by a bed of yellow water-lilies. "I've got no shoes, no jewels, not even a necklace—and now you say meet the king! It's like a bad dream! I haven't even got a decent dress! Look at this thing!"

"You could take it off, I suppose."

That was an idea! Maia looked quickly round to see whether he was serious; but he only smiled wryly, shaking his head.

"In Bekla, perhaps, Serrelinda: not in Suba, I'm afraid. We'll just have to do the best we can. Luma, will you help Maia, please?"

"Shagreh."

It was all Maia could do not to slap the girl, who was plainly completely insensitive to her predicament, let alone possessed of any suggestions for helping her. Miserably she washed her face, neck and arms in the water, combed her hair with her fingers and tidied it as best she could. Sitting on the bow, trying to pull to some sort of rights the smock which Gehta had given her, she was struck by a sudden thought.

That morning Penyanis's maid, sent to wake herself and Luma, had brought presents—a new shift for each of them. They were Palteshi work, of fine linen, beautifully embroidered. The kind-hearted Penyanis had ventured to hope that they would prove acceptable. Luma had become almost loquacious with pleasure. At breakfast Maia had thanked and kissed Penyanis, but inwardly had not really felt as much pleased to receive the gift as the old lady had evidently been to make it.

However, its possibilities now seemed rather greater. Pulling off her smock, she examined the shift carefully. It was brand-new and looked it: and it was still fresh and clean, for as yet she had scarcely begun to sweat. The embroidery was really much finer and prettier than she had noticed that morning, with a border of flying cranes in red and blue round the yoke and another, flying the other way, round the hem. It fitted her a shade closely, having probably been intended for a less buxom girl; but that might perhaps prove, if anything, a fault on the right side. It left her arms bare and fell to just above her knees.

Her arms weren't scratched or marked at all. Her shin was still rather badly bruised, of course, but that would have shown anyway.

"Luma," she said, "please pull me a whole lot of those yellow water-lilies. Just go on pulling them till I tell you to stop."

The long stems were hollow, pliant and fibrous, easy enough to pierce and thread through one another.

She took her time, carefully making a broad crown of bloom for her head, a double garland for her neck and a bracelet for each wrist. When she had finished and put them on she stood up, swayed back and forth a little to make sure they were firm and would not break or fall to pieces; then stepped carefully down the length of the boat to where Nasada and Tescon were waiting with their backs turned.

"This is the best I can manage, U-Nasada. D'you reckon it might do?"

He turned, and for several moments sat looking up at her without replying. At length he said, "To be young— as young as you are—as well as very beautiful—that's rather like being able to fly or disappear, you know. There aren't any rules for someone like you."

She was too flustered to grasp what he meant. "Is it all right, Tescon?" she asked with anxious impatience.

He answered simply "Yes," never taking his eyes off her as he backed the kilyett out of the rushes and turned the bow into open water. Then, with the other two boats following, he began paddling slowly downstream towards the buildings in the distance, beyond the camp.

As they drew closer, a sharp bend and a grove on either bank cut off their view ahead, but when at length they came floating out from among the trees Maia saw, about two hundred yards away, a wooden landing-stage which extended along the riparian side of a courtyard strewn with rushes. Round the other three sides stood the same kind of long, shed-like buildings that she had seen earlier; yet these were still more ornate, their walls decorated with stylized, brightly-colored likenesses of beasts and birds, their roofs painted blue, with yellow stars. Everything was constructed of unpolished wood; yet such was the trimness and quality of the workmanship that the place certainly did not lack dignity and even a certain grandeur. Whatever else they might or might not be, thought Maia, the Subans were clearly carpenters.

A number of boats were moored against the landing-stage, but apart from two or three sharp-featured, foreign-looking soldiers with spears and helmets, and a little group of Subans gathered about an upturned boat which they seemed to be repairing, there was no one in the courtyard. Suddenly a boy, happening to look up in the direction of the approaching kilyett, called out and pointed, whereupon they all turned, staring. Someone spoke to the boy, whereupon he ran across the courtyard and disappeared through an open doorway.

"Maia," said Nasada, "I think you ought to go and stand well forward on the bow. And Luma, you come back here, near me, will you?" He picked up a paddle and moved aft to sit beside Tescon. "Right up on the front, Maia: we'll keep it steady—we won't let you overbalance."

As she hesitated, she saw Bayub-Otal come out into the courtyard, followed by several soldiers. He was dressed in light armor, over which he was wearing a short, blue cloak, with a sword on his right hip.

As he raised his hand to her in greeting the soldiers broke into cheers. A few moments later a pair of double doors on the far side of the courtyard opened and through them, stooping under the lintel, appeared an immensely tall, broad-shouldered man, accompanied by a group of officers and a few women. All were dressed in uniforms and robes as fine as any to be seen in the upper city, though there were certain differences of style which Maia, though she vaguely noticed them, felt too much agitated to take in in detail. The big man spoke to one of his followers, shading his eyes to look at the boat. Then he, too, with an unhurried, easy gesture, raised his hand, though whether to Nasada or herself she could not tell, and thereupon strode across the courtyard to the edge of the landing-stage. Out of the doors behind, more men and women came pouring, so that soon the courtyard behind King Karnat—for it could be none other than he— was full of people, all plainly excited and eager to join in welcoming the newcomers.

As the warmth of spring draws a butterfly from its crevice—that is to say, without will or decision on its part-so Maia was affected by the spontaneous excitement of those gathering along the shore. To act on the inspiration of the moment—whether it was a matter of putting on the slave-traders' decoy gown, of gratifying the High Counselor at the Rains banquet or of responding to the inner certainty that Lespa was with her as she began the senguela—this was her nature. Even when, as now, she felt full of uncertainty and was far from clear what was required of her, still her instinct was to respond rather than to hang back.

She went forward to the raised, square bow—one corner was daubed with soft earth from the bank into which Tescon had driven it, but there was no time to bother with that now—and took up what she hoped was a gracious, courtly stance, her bare feet several inches above the gently rippling water, the flying cranes round the hem of her new, linen shift twirling slightly in the breeze of the boat's movement, the stems of the water-lilies cool and smooth round her wrists, her brow and neck.

In after years the tale of her arrival at Melvda was often told, both in Suba and in Terekenalt; how King Karnat, at the Star Court, upon hearing news of her approach, came down with his captains to the waterside to greet the miraculous girl who had crossed the Valderra by night with Lenkrit and Anda-Nokomis. True, not many people were actually in the courtyard at the time—perhaps fifty—though later, many more claimed that they had been. The tale grew in the telling, and some, as they grew older, would weave into it all manner of fancies born of later musings.

"What was she like?" younger men would ask some graybeard, when enough sour Suban wine had loosened tongues. "Tell us what you saw that day."

"Why, she was—well, d'ye see, she wasn't just like any lass that you'd catch sight of in the market, nor yet at a festival, and think "That's a pretty one: I wouldn't mind her.' Oh, no! She looked—well, I'll tell you now, she looked as though she'd come from some other world to put this one to rights for good and all. She looked like someone who could never grow old or die."

"But was she really as beautiful as they say?"

"She was more beautiful than I care to remember now, for when you're old it hurts, and that's the truth. But what I most recollect—there was a kind of a brightness about her, like. It was as though light was actually shining from her—or at least, that's just how it struck my fancy at the time, you know. It was mid-day, to be sure, but all the same she seemed brighter than anything round about her."

"But what was she wearing, granddad—how did she look?"

"Well, that's just it. She'd got no jewels nor nothing of that, but you felt you'd as soon go putting jewels on a rose or a goldfish. Her arms and legs were bare—I remember that—and her hair over her shoulders was all gold—shining in the sun, it was. She was wearing a kind of a short, white dress all embroidered with birds, and those golden lilies— real lilies, they were—round her neck and her head. They'd left drops of water on her arms and I remember as the boat tipped a bit, one of them twinkled a moment, you know, in my eyes."

"But wasn't there any show to it, then—no music or flags—nothing of that?"

"Well, I suppose it seems strange—yes, it would—if you weren't there—but no, there was nothing of that at all. It was really more the kind of startling of it, you see; unexpected, like waking up to snow. It was like you'd be out in the woods and then suddenly, before you've had time to think, there's some bird or creature you've never seen in your life—never knew there was such a thing. That's the part that's hardest to describe. In one way she was just like that—a flesh-and-blood creature, what you'd call arresting, like it might be a leopard or a humming-bird. But in another way there was something about her you couldn't pin down—as though we'd all been blest; and as though she could never be harmed or hurt. But the exact look of it all—in my mind's eye, you know—that's gone: that's like a tune that's vanished away out of my head. I wish it hadn't. All I know now is, it was the best one I've ever heard. I'd like to hear it just once again—ay, that I would."

"What did the king do?"

"Well, he was stood there waiting, d'ye see, as the boat came up to the landing-stage, and he was just about staring at her, too. Of course, everyone was staring at her, but then King Karnat was that tall—he was a big, fine man to look at, you know—he was head and shoulders above the rest, so they couldn't help but see how he never took his eyes off her. And then Anda-Nokomis stepped up beside him and U-Lenkrit and one or two of the other captains, they came crowding round so it was a wonder, really, as no one got pushed into the water. And then the king came forward and offered her his own hand out of the boat, and she smiled at him and bent her head and put her hand to her forehead. But then the king, if you'll believe me, he put his hand to his forehead! Well, so she blushed at that, right down to her shoulders, and he spoke to her—something or other—I don't know—in Beklan. Only King Kar-nat, he couldn't speak a great lot of Beklan, you see—no more than just a few words as he'd picked up. So then Anda-Nokomis spoke to her and said the king had said he was honored to meet her—I was quite near, y'know, I heard that much—and then they all got to laughing, because Anda-Nokomis could only speak a few words of Chistol, you see. So the king, he tells someone to go and fetch his young captain-fellow—very fine-looking, handsome young chap he was, too. What was his name, now? One of those Katrian names—ah, Zen-Kurel, that's it— only he was the king's interpreter, you see, as used to question the prisoners and so on. So while he was coming, the old doctor, U-Nasada, he followed the girl out of the boat on to the landing-stage and Anda-Nokomis presented him to the king. And the king said—in a kind of halting way, making a joke of his bad Beklan, you know—he said 'Oh, I've heard of you. You're the man who can keep my soldiers alive, aren't you?' And then the girl—it was the only thing I heard her say—I'd been wondering what her voice would be like. It was soft and kind of slow, like pouring cream—she came from somewhere over in the east, you know—she says, 'Oh,' she says, 'but I shall need him, your majesty, to keep me alive, too.' And the king answered—well, you know, some joking sort of thing— and then this young Captain Zen-Kurel came out and the king and all of them walked back up into the big hall, talking together."

"She began talking with the king then, did she?"

"I was surprised she seemed so much at ease with the king and the rest, but I reckon the way of it was, you see, it was almost same as though she'd been a first-rate huntsman, say, or a river pilot—something of that. You know how it is—those kind of people have their skills and their knowledge that the quality need and respect. I mean, when it comes to hunting, the huntsman knows more than the king, doesn't he? So sometimes the king acts like he's an equal—jokes with him, lets him take liberties and that. It was the same, really, with this golden lily girl. It wasn't so much that they'd have liked to have her, every one of them, but—well, there was kind of a sense in which they felt she really was above them by nature. They felt a kind of respect was due, like, to anyone as beautiful as she was. They wanted to keep her in their company—made them feel lucky, I reckon. It did me, any road, just to see her that day."

"But then there was a lot more than that to the business, grandpa, wasn't there? Later on?"

"Oh, ah, there was a whole lot more to it than that. Ay, that there was—"