‘Yes. But now you are alive once more.’
For a moment she was silent, then she looked up at him. ‘I would like to learn to swim,’ she told him.
Talisman smiled. ‘Then I shall teach you – but not today.’
The sun was setting, and already it was cooler. Talisman rose and fetched the bag of wood. When he returned Zhusai had dressed in a blue tunic and leggings, and was now washing the dust from their travel-stained clothes. In a wide niche in the rock wall Talisman lit a fire above the ashes of a previous blaze. Zhusai joined him, and together they sat for some time in comfortable silence.
‘Are you a student of history, like your grandfather?’ he asked her.
‘I have assisted him since I was eight years old, and many times since I have travelled with him to the sacred sites.’
‘You have been to Oshikai’s Shrine?’
‘Yes, twice. It was once a temple. My grandfather believes it is by far the oldest building in all the Gothir lands. Oshikai is said to have been carried there after the Battle of the Vale. His wife was with him when he died; thereafter they named it the Valley of Shul-sen’s Tears. Some visitors claim you can still hear her weeping, if you sit close to the Shrine on cold winter nights. Did you hear her weeping, Lord Talisman?’
‘I have never been there,’ admitted the warrior.
‘Forgive me, Lord,’ she said swiftly, bowing and closing her eyes. ‘I fear my words, which were intended lightly, have caused offence.’
‘Not at all, Zhusai. Now tell me of the Shrine. Describe it for me.’
She glanced up. ‘It is three years since last I was there. I was fourteen and my grandfather gave me my woman-name, Zhusai.’
‘What was your child name?’
‘Voni. It means Chittering Rat in the Chiatze tongue.’
Talisman chuckled. ‘It has a . . . similar . . . meaning in Nadir.’
‘In Nadir it means Windy Goat,’ she said, tilting her head and giving a smile so dazzling that it struck him between the eyes with the power of a fist. He blinked and took a deep breath. Before that smile her beauty had seemed cold and distant, leaving Talisman untroubled by their journeying together. But now? He felt curiously short of breath. When he had saved her from drowning he had not been unduly affected by her nakedness. Now, however, the memory of her golden skin shone in his mind, the curve of her hips and belly, the large dark nipples on her small breasts. He realized Zhusai was speaking to him. ‘Are you well, Lord?’
‘Yes,’ he replied, more tersely than he had intended. Rising, he walked away from the bemused girl, moving up the trail to sit on a rock close to the crest. Her smile shone in his mind, and his body ached for her. It was as if a spell had been cast. Nervously he glanced back down to the fire where Zhusai was sitting quietly. She is not a witch, he thought; no, far from it. She was simply the most beautiful woman Talisman had ever known.
And he was honour bound to take her to another man.
Chorin-Tsu had spoken of sacrifice.
Talisman knew now what it meant. . .
Zhusai sat quietly by the small fire, a multi-coloured blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Talisman slept nearby, his breathing deep and steady. When one of the ponies moved in its sleep, hoof scraping on stone, Talisman stirred but did not wake. She gazed down on his face in the moonlight. He was not a handsome man, nor an ugly one. Yet you are attractive, thought Zhusai, remembering the gentle touch as he laid the blanket around her shoulders, and the concern in his eyes as she had recovered from the terrifying experience in the water. During her seven years in the company of her grandfather Zhusai had met many Nadir tribesmen. Some she had liked, others she had loathed. But all were frightening, for there was a ferocity lurking close to the surface of the Nadir personality, a terrible hunger for blood and violence. Talisman was different. He had strength, and a power not often found in one so young. But she sensed he had no love of cruelty, no lust for blood letting.