Shardik (94 page)

He knew neither his father nor his mother,

Among strangers he laboured as a slave,

An exile, in a country not his own,

The Lord Deparioth, God’s appointed sword.

The flag-officer stepped forward, holding the Corn-Sheaves banner before him, and was met from the opposite line by a villager carrying a fishing-net in his arms. Together they turned river-ward and walked towards Melathys, passed her on either side, waded into the shallows and placed their burdens on the raft. Radu, following
them
, laid his hand for a moment first on Shardik’s grey claws and then on Shara’s forehead. Returning up the shore, he drew a brand from the fire and stood waiting, holding it upright before him.

If I could meet thee, thou mighty Lord Deparioth,

If I could meet thee and clasp thy hand in mine,

I’d tell thee thy deeds are not forgotten in Yelda,

That the tears of Sarkid fall to honour thee still.

The chanting sank and died away. As it did so, Melathys raised her head with a long, ululating cry that recalled instandy to
Kelderek
the city of
Bekla
lying silent in sacred darkness, the weight of his heavy robes and the sudden, upward leap of flame into the night sky.

‘Shardik! Lord Shardik’s fire!’

‘Lord Shardik’s fire!’ responded the villagers.

Radu approached slowly across the stones and held out to
Kelderek
the burning brand.

For a few moments
Kelderek
, confused by the vividness of his memories, stood hesitant, unable to grasp what it was that he was being asked to do. Then, as his mind cleared, he started and took a step backwards, one hand raised as
though
in refusal. Radu dropped upon one knee, still offering the fire.

‘ ‘Seems they think you’re the one
that
‘s got to do it, sir,’ whispered the soldier. ‘Reckon you’re up to it?’

In the silence Kelderek could hear only the crackling of the flame and beyond, the lapping of the water. Fixing his eyes on
the
raft, he stepped forward, took the brand from Radu and so came down the shore to where Melathys still stood waiting, with bowed head.

Now he was standing alone in the water, none between him and the dead child, closer to Shardik than at any time since the day when he had come alive from the Streel. The bodies lay before him, the bear’s, massive as a mill-wheel seen against the wall of a mill, marked by the ropes with which it had been dragged into place and by the arrow’s gash in the starved, pinched mask.

He wondered whether they expected him to speak or to pray: then saw that he had no time, for the brand had burned low and must be used at once.

‘Senandril,
Lord Shardik!’ he cried. ‘Accept our lives, Lord Shardik Die-for-the-Children!’

Up to his waist in the water, steadying himself against the edge of the raft with his wounded left hand, he thrust the brand into the pile of twigs and shavings before him. It caught immediately, burning up in the opaque, yellow flames of kindling. Withdrawing the brand, he lit again and yet again among the logs and sticks. Finally, as the butt began to crumble and to scorch his fingers, he tossed it, in a shower of sparks, to the top of the pyre. It lodged, burning, a few feet above the spot where Shara lay.

The raft was pivoting slowly away from him. He let go of it clumsily, wincing to feel the pain shoot up his arm as he pushed himself upright. The soldiers behind him had released the mooring-ropes, which now trailed past
him
on either side, rippling but invisible in the lurid shallows. For now the whole shoreward side of the pyre was burning, blazing in a
wall of hot, translucent flames
, green, red and black-flecked orange. The fire ran back into the heart of the pyre, disclosing its depth as sunlight shows the distance between forest trees; and as it burned higher, up into the green branches and flowers where Shardik lay, a thick, white smoke began to fume and drift to the shore, almost blinding
Kelderek
and those behind him.

He choked, and gasped for breath. His eyes smarted, pouring water, but still he stood where he was. ‘Let it be so,’ he thought. ‘This is best, for I could not bear to see
the
bodies burn.’ Then, even as he felt himself about to faint in
the
smoth
er,
the
heavy raft began to turn more swiftly, so that the bodies and the whole of
the
side along which he had lit the fire faced upstream. Four or five of the young fishermen had fastened the upstream mooring-rope to a canoe and were drawing the raft out towards the centre of
the
river.

As it began to gathe
r way, a storm of flames poured backward through the pyre. The sound of crackling changed to a hot, windy roaring and sparks and cinders raced upward, wavering and dodging like escaping birds. Logs began to shift and fall, and here and
there
a burning fragment dropped hissing into
the
water. Pres
ently
, cleaving through the noise of dissolution like a ploughshare through heavy soil,
there
rose once again the sound of singing. The villagers upon the shore were encouraging and urging on the young men at the paddles, who were labouring now as
they
drew
further
out and began to be carried downstream with the current-borne raft.

At dawn we come to the shore and loose our boats.

If luck is with us none will be hungry tonight.

Who has his net and who has skill with a spear?

Poor men must live by any means
they
can.

The raft was half a bowshot from land now and as far downstream from where
Kelderek
stood, but still the paddlers dug rhythmically into
the
water and the plume of smoke blew shoreward as they toiled to pull it
further
out.

Buying wisdom dear is the lot of men,

And learning to make
the
most of what they’ve got.

What I call luck’s a fire and a bellyful,

A girl for your bed and children to learn your craft.

They clapped and stamped as they sang, in
the
rhythm of
the
paddles, and yet it was a grave and not unfitting sound; of a minor cadence, homely and shrewd,
the
single music of folk whose solemnity is but their wit turned inside out to serve the occasion and mood of
the
day. The raft was a l
ong way out now and far downstream, so far that the distant paddles could be seen striking behind
the
beat of the song. The young men had turned the bow half-upstream into the current, so that the raft was below
them
and the side on which the bodies had lain was once more turned towards the shore. Kelderek, gazing, could discern nothing on top of the burning pyre. It had fallen inwards at the centre, the two glowing halves spread on either side like
the
wings of a great butterfly. Shardik was no more.

‘Twice,’ he cried, ‘I followed you into the Telthearna, Lord Shardik. Now I can follow you no longer.’

Returning at dusk
we
see the fires on shore.

If one is yours then you’re a lucky man.

No one ought to be left alone in the dark.

If you die, brother, your children shall share my fire.

The paddlers cast off the rope and turned away, making for the shore downstream and an easy return in slack water under the bank. The raft could no longer be seen, but far-off, a point on the surface of
the
river it
self seemed to be burning, emitti
ng smoke and covering
the
watery expanse with a wide, drifting cloud.

We gut the fish and the children spit them to cook.

‘Hullo, my son, my tall young zoan tree!

What have you got to say to your dad tonight?’

‘When I’m a man, I’ll paddle a boat like you!’

The pouring smoke was gone. Trees hid it from view. Kelderek, closing his eyes as he turned away, found his soldier beside him, felt his arm under his shoulders and allowed himself to be lifted almost bodily through the shallows to the shore. Tan-Rion called up his men and turned them about to recover their arms. Then they marched away: and the villagers, too, began to disperse, two matronly women shepherding Radu and the other children with
them
. Yet several, before they went, came forward - some a little hesita
ntl
y, for they stood in awe of Kelderek - to kiss his hands and ask his blessing. Any holy man may have the power to confer good luck, and a chance is not to be missed. He stood hunched and silent as a heron, but nodded back at them and looked in the eye each one that passed before him - an old man with a withered arm, a tall young fellow who raised his palm to his forehead, a girl who smiled shyly at
the
priestess standing near by and gave her the flowers she was carrying. Last of all came a ragged old woman, with a child lying asleep in her arms. Kelderek started and almost backed away but she, showing neither hesitation nor surprise, took his hand in her own, kissed it, spoke a few words with a smile and was gone, hobbling away over the stones.

‘What did she say?’ he asked Melathys. ‘I couldn’t catch it.’ ‘She said, “Bless me, young sir, and accept my blessing in return.” ‘

He lay on his bed in th
e upper room, watching the elasti
c reflections widening, merging and closing among the roof-poles.
Melathys
sat beside him, holding his good hand in both her own. He was tired out and feverish again, shivering and numb-cold. There was nothing left remarkable in the world. All was empty and cold, stretching away to the horizon and the blank sky.

“Hope you didn’t find our singing out of keeping, sir,’ said Tan-Rion. ‘The priestess said it would be all to the good if we could manage a song, but
the
job was to think of something suitable that the lads could sing. They all know “The Tears”, of course.’

Kelderek found some words of thanks and praise, and after a
little
the officer, seeing that he was exhausted, took his leave. Pres
ently
Radu came, wrapped in
a
cloak from throat to ankles, and sat for
a
time opposite Melathys.

‘They say my father’s on his way,’ he said. ‘I’d hoped he might be here before this. If only he’d known, he’d have wished to be on the shore this afternoon.’

Kelderek smiled and nodded like an old man, only
partly
taking in what he said. But indeed Radu said
little
, sitting silent for long minutes and once biting on his hand to still the chattering of his teeth. Kelderek slipped into a half-doze and woke to hear him answering Melathys.

‘- but they’ll be all right, I think.’ And then, after
a
pause, ‘Shouter’s ill, you know - quite badly, they say.’

‘Shouter?’ asked Melathys, puzzled.

‘Is he?’ said
Kelderek
. ‘But I saw him on the shore.’

‘Yes, I dare say he thought he’d better be there at all costs - not that it makes any difference - but he’s in
a
bad way this evening. I believe it’s fear as much as anything. He’s terrified:
partly
of the other children; but
partly
of the villagers as well. They know who he is - or who he was - and they won’t do anything for him. He’s lying by himself in a shed, but I think he’d run away if he could.’

‘Who’s Shouter?’ asked Melathys again.

‘Will they kill him?’ said
Kelderek
. Radu did not answer at once and he pressed him. ‘What do
you
want to do with him?’

‘No one’s actually said anything; but what would be the good of killing him?’

‘Is that really what you feel - after all you’ve suffered?’

‘It’s what I feel I ought to feel, anyway.’ He was silent again for some time and then said, ‘No one’s going to kill
you.
Tan-Rion told me.’

‘I’ll - I’ll come and talk to Shouter,’ said
Kelderek
, groping to get up. ‘Where is the shed?’