Shardik (89 page)

At the moment when he reached Radu and Kelderek, Shouter came bursting out of the undergrowth. Looking wildly round, he ran up the path to where Genshed was standing, knife in hand.

‘The Ikats, Genshed, the Ikats!
Spread out in a line the
y are, coming through the wood!
‘Must have started looking for us soon as it got light!’

‘How soon will they be here?’ asked Genshed coolly.

‘Taking their time, searching the whole mucking place, beating the bushes; but they’ll be here soon enough, don’t worry!’

Genshed made no reply but, turning back to
Kelderek
and Radu, released them, at the same time unslinging the fire-pot, which he still carried in one hand, and blowing its smouldering sticks and moss to a glow. Into this he thrust the point of his knife.

‘Now, Radu,’ he said, ‘listen to me. First you’re going to put this knife into Mister Crendrik’s eyes - both of them. If you don’t, I’ll do the same for you, understand? After that, you’ll go down mere with me, unfasten the mooring-rope and then pitch that stone into the water. That’ll take care of the stock we’ve got to leave behind. After that you and me, and perhaps Shouter, if I don’t change my mind, can make a start. Time’s short, so hurry up.’

Gripping Kelderek’s shoulder, he forced him to his knees at Radu’s feet, Radu, still gagged with the rope, dropped the knife which Genshed thrust into his hand. It stuck in the ground, sending up a wisp of smoke from some transfixed and smouldering fragment. Genshed, having retrieved and again heated it, once more gave it to Radu, at the same time twisting his left arm behind his back, pulling out his gag and tossing it down into the water below.

‘For God’s sake!’ cried Shouter desperately, ‘I tell you there’s no
time
for this kind of sport, Genshed! Can’t you wait for a bit of fun till we get back to Terekenalt? The Ikats, the mucking Ikats are coming! Kill the bastard if you’re going to, only let’s get onl’

‘Kill the mucking lot!’ whispered Genshed ecstatically. ‘Come on, Radu, do it. Do it, Radu. I’ll guide your hand if you want, but you’re going to do it.’

As though entranced and bereft of will, Radu had already raised the knife, when suddenly,
with
a convulsive movement, he twisted himself out of Genshed’s grasp.

‘No!’ he cried. ‘Kelderek!’

As
though
wakened by the cry,
Kelderek
rose slowly to his feet. His mouth hung open and one hand, the split finger-nail covered with a bulbous, dirty scab, was held before him in a feeble posture of defence. After a moment, looking at Genshed but speaking uncertainly and as
though
to someone else, he said, ‘It must be as God wills, my lord. The matter is greater even than your knife.’

Snatching the knife from Radu, Genshed struck at him, and the blow opene
d a long gash in his forearm. H
e uttered no sound, but remained standing where he was.

‘Oh, Crendrik,’ said Genshed, gripping his wrist and raising the knife again, ‘Crendrik of
Bekla
-‘

‘My name is not Cren
drik, but Kelderek Play-with-the
-Children. Let the boy alone.’

Genshed struck him a second time. The point of the knife penetrated between the small bones of the elbow and dragged him once more to his knees, beating ineffectually at Genshed as he fell. At the same moment Shouter, with a cry, pointed back along the verge.

Half-way between the children chained to
the
stone and the higher point where Genshed stood above the centre of the inlet, the undergrowth parted and a great branch fell forward across the path, overbalanced and slid slowly into the water. A moment afterwards the gap, open
still
wider, disclosed the body of some enormous, shaggy creature. Then Shardik was standing on the bank, peering up at the four human beings above him.

Ah, Lord Shardik: supreme, divine, sent by God out of fire and water: Lord Shardik of
the
Ledges! Thou who didst wake among the trepsis in the woods of Ortelga, to fall prey to the greed and evil in the heart of Man! Shardik the victor, the prisoner of Bekla, lord of the bloody wounds: thou who didst cross the plain, who didst come alive from the Streel, Lord Shardik of forest and mountain, Shardik of the Telthearna! Hast thou, too, suffered unto death, like a child helpless in the hands of cruel men, and will death not come?

Lord Shardik, save us! By thy fi
ery and putrescent wounds, by th
y swimming of the deep river, by thy drugged trance and savage victory, by thy long imprisonment and weary journey in vain, by thy misery, pain and loss and the bitterness of thy sacred death; save thy children, who fear and know thee not! By fern and rock and river, by the beauty of the kynat and the wisdom of the Ledges,

O
hear us, defiled and lost, we who was
ted thy life and call upon thee!
Let us
the
, Lord Shardik, let us die with dice, only save diy children from this wicked man I

That the bear was close to death was plain enough. Its huge fram
e, deformed and lank with privati
on, was nothing but staring bones and mangy fur. One claw hung split and broken, and this evid
ently
formed part of some larger wound in the foot, for the paw was held awkwardly and lifted from the ground. The dry muzzle and lips were cracked and
the
face mis
shapen, suggesting a kind of melting or disintegration of the features. The gigantic frame, from which
the
life was so clearly ebbing, was like a ruined aviary from which the bright birds have flown, those few that remain serving only to heighten the sense of loss and grief in the hearts of
those
that
sec them.

The
bear appeared to have been startl
ed by some alarm in
the
forest behind it; for after turning i
ts head this way and that, it li
mped along the verge of the pool, as though to continue what had evid
ently
been a flight from intruders. As it approached
the
children they cowered away, wailing in terror, and at
this
it stopped, turned back, passed the spot where it had emerged and took a few hesitant, prowling steps up the slope. Shouter, frenzied with fear, began tearing at the thick creepers and thorns beside him, failed to force his way in and fell to the ground.

‘Bloody thing!’ said Genshed between his teeth. ‘It’s half-dead already, that is. Go on!’ he shouted, waving his arms as though driving cattie. ‘Go on! Get out of it!’ He took a step forward, but at this
the bear snarled and rose falte
ringly on its hind legs. Genshed fell back.

‘Why don’t we run?’ moaned Shouter. ‘Get us out of here, Genshed, for God’s sake!’

‘What, for that thing?’ said Genshed. ‘And leave the boat and any chance we’ve got? We’d run straight into the Ikats. We’re not going to be buggered up by that bloody thing, not at this time of day.

1
tell you, it’s half-dead now. We just got to kill it, that’s all.’

His bow still lay where he had put it down after shooting at
the
kynat and, picking it up, he drew an arrow from his belt.
Kelderek
, still on his knees, his arm streaming blood, caught him by the ankle.

‘Don’t!’
he
gasped. ‘It’ll charge - it’ll tear us all to pieces, believe me!’

Genshed struck him in the face and he fell on his side. At this moment there was a distant sound of voices in the forest - a man called an order and another answered.

‘Don’t be afraid,’ said Genshed. ‘Don’t worry, my lad, I’ll have three arrows in him before
he
can even think of charging. I know
a
trick or two, I’ll tell you.
He
won’t try to charge me.’

Without taking his eyes from the bear,
he
groped backwards and ripped a long strip from Radu’s rags. This he quickly knotted round the shaft of the heavy arrow a
little
above the head, leaving the two ends hanging like those of a garland or a ribbon in a girl’s hair.

At the sound of the voices the bear had dropped on all fours. For a few moments it ramped from side to side, but then, as though from weakness, ceased and once more stood still, facing the slave-trader on the path.

‘Shouter,’ said Genshed, ‘blow up that fire-pot.’

Shouter, realizing what he intended, blew the pot into a glow and held it up with trembling hands.

‘Keep it still,’ whispered Genshed.

The arrow was already fitted to the string and he lowered the bow so that one end of the rag fell across and into the open fire-pot
. It took instantl
y; and as the flame burned up, Genshed bent the bow and loosed. The flame streamed backwards and the whole shaft appeared to be burning as it flew.

The arrow pierced the bear deeply beneath the left eye, pinning the burning rag to its face. With an unnatural, wailing cry, it started back, clawing at its mask of fire. The dry, staring coat caught and burned - first the ears, then one flailing paw, then the chest, upon which fragments of the burning rag were clawed down. It beat at the flames, yelping Like a dog. As it staggered back Genshed shot it again, the second arrow entering the right shoulder close to the neck.

As though in a trance,
Kelderek
again rose to his feet Once more, as it seemed to him, he was standing on the battlefield of the Foothills, surrounded by the shouting of soldiers, the trampling of the fugitives, the smell of the trodden ground. Indeed, he could now plainly see before him the Beklan soldiers, and in his ears sounded the roaring of Shardik as he burst out from among the trees. Shardik was a blazing torch which would consume them all, a charging fire from which there was no escape. The wrath of Shardik filled
the
earth and sky, the revenge of Shardik would burn the enemy up and trample him down.
He
saw Genshed turn, run back down the path and force his body into the cleft of the rock. He saw Shouter hurled to one side and Radu flung on top of him. Leaping forward, he shouted, ‘ Shar
dik 1 Shardik the Power of God!
’

Shardik, the arrow jutting from his face, came to the rock into which Genshed had squeezed for refuge. Standing erect, he thrust one blackened paw into the cleft Genshed stabbed it and the bear, roaring, drew it back. Then he struck and split the rock itself.

The top of the rock cracked across like a nutshell and men, as Shardik struck it again, broke into three great fragments, which toppled and fell into the deep water below. Once more he struck -
a
dying blow, his claws raking his enemy’s head and shoulders. Then he faltered, clutched, shuddering, at the rock, and slowly collapsed across its splintered, broken base.

Watching,
Kelderek
and Radu saw
a
figure crawl out from the base of the cleft Radu screamed, and for
a
moment the figure turned towards him, as though it could hear. Perhaps it could: yet it had no eyes, no face - only
a
great wound,
a
pulp of bloody flesh, stuck here and there with teeth and splinters of bone, in which no human features could be discerned. Thin, wailing cries came from it like
a
cat’s, yet no words, for it had no mouth, no lips. It stumbled into
a
tree and shrieked aloud, recoiling with fragments of bark and twigs embedded in its soft, red mask. Blindly, it raised both hands before it, as though to ward off the blows of some cruel tormentor; yet there was no one near it
.
Then it took three blundering steps, tripped, and without
a
sound pitched over the verge. The splash of the fall came up from below. Radu crawled forward and looked over the edge, but nothing rose to the surface. The scabbard of his knife floating in blood on the water, and the fly-trap lying smashed beside the broken rock - these were all that remained of the wicked, cruel slave-trader, who had boasted that he could drive a child mad with fear worse than blows.

Kelderek dragged himself to the rock and knelt beside it, weeping and beating upon the stone. One enormous fore-paw, thick as a roof-beam, hung down beside his face. He took it between
his hands, crying, ‘O Shardik! Shardik, my lord, forgive me!
I would have entered the Streel for you!
Would to God I had died for you!
O Lord S
hardik, do not die, do not die!
’