To get Kynrr back to his hut was a task which took far too long under the sunlight. Thin as the old man looked he was not a light weight, but somehow I managed to get his body over Murri’s back. The cub was smaller than his sire but I was able to take a good portion of the weight and the bleeding on my leg had stopped. Perhaps there was indeed some virtue in licking the hurt the beast gave to a wound.
But we were both winded when we reached our goal. Luckily the algae bed was not too far away and it did not require any climbing for me to reach it. When I had recovered my strength somewhat I crept down and plastered my hurt, bringing back a supply for Kynrr in turn.
Towards nightfall the old man roused from the restless sleep which had held him throughout the day. I managed to get him to eat some of the algae, feeding him with my own hands as if he were a child. Twice, though he did not open his eyes, he carried on broken conversations with those who were with him from memory.
The longest of those dealt with Vapala, and he spoke as if his words were caresses offered to some enshrined lover. These broken pictures he so drew for me were indeed of a land far removed from the rock isles and ever-encroaching sands of my own country. He spoke of countryside covered with growing green which was not always rooted in pools, of scented woods and rich stretches of grass where yaksen and oryxen grazed in peace, where there was no hunger, no fear of storms or failures of the pools which supplied our only chance of life.
He began to sing and his voice was full. The melody he shaped brought with it a peace I had never known before.
Perhaps it was his own voice in song which brought him awake, for now his eyes opened and he focused his full sight on me.
“Of your heart kindness, desert born, let me see the coming of the stars once again.” His desire to do that was very great as he levered himself up with more energy than I thought was left in his wasted body. So I hastened to help him to his favorite place on the roof of his hut and, because he always had it with him when he went so, I also brought his Kifongg to him.
He smoothed its arched sides back and forth with his hands. Then, with care, he tuned it, until he had tightened the last string and it lay across one bone-thin knee.
From his chosen place he could look out for limitless distance, if his clouded sight allowed. Now he began to point out the stars.
“There is Gurpan’s Necklace—and it points to the Tree of Avor. Beyond lies the Gourd of Hinder— Mark them well.” Some of the authority of the teacher returned to his voice.
“Follow the Sword, desert born—under it lies your fortune-He hesitated and then actually cackled with a laugh which left him coughing. “Your fortune, yes. There lies Vapala. You have yet a space of the Waste to cross and that will be a testing—but not such a testing as you shall know later.”
His eyes fell from the stars to me. It seemed that in the dusk they had a hint of glow, if only a hint, to be found in a sandcat.
“I do not seek Vapala.” For at his words there awoke in me an uneasiness which threatened, but why or how I did not understand.
“Some men do not seek fate, that comes seeking them. Try as you will, desert son, you will discover that Vapala awaits you, twist and turn though you strive to do.”
Once more he began to sing. Though the words could be understood one by one, their meaning was hidden when he fitted them together:
“Yellow bright, gold of the sun in glory. Black as foul as the breath of death the rats serve their prey. Mask of cat, jaw of rat—so shall it be. One and two—a hosting of small powers, joined. The path is set, the gate is passed—
His voice grew weaker, was gone. Then he spoke:
“We can carry nothing with us when we return to the greatest Essence of all, save what we have made of the gifts, doubts, fears, weaknesses, and strengths with which we came. What we take lies here—and here—” He touched his forehead and then his breast.
Then he took up the Kifongg with both hands. It might have been a child of his blood, cherished and much beloved the way he held it. This he offered to me.
“Take it, desert son, return it whence it came. And say to her who waits, that the meddling is well begun and there is no turning back now.”
I accepted the harp and then set it aside and took Kynrr into my arms, for he was coughing and from between his lips there dribbled a bead and then a flow of blood. As I eased him back his eyes once more sought the stars.
“There is a thought—Malquin said it once—that the stars mark other worlds. If that is true then on them men must live and die, be remembered, then forgot. Who was Kaland?” His voice grew stronger on that demand.
“I have not heard that name.”
“I have not heard that name,” he mimicked me. “Forgetting comes easily with the passing of seasons. Thus one who stood against the Great Dark has vanished from memory, as so she will, perhaps much faster, I lay this on you, desert son, by the Zancan and the Orb, by the Diamond and the Sword—
I could not stop those words and I shivered for I did know what lay upon me now—a geas! And by the old tales the geas of a dying man was a burden no one would willingly receive.
“Get you to Vapala.” His voice was fading again. “Tell—tell my lady that I have fulfilled my oath—let her see that she does likewise.” His head settled back against my shoulder and there came from his lips a single clean, high note of a song which would never now be sung.
I was alone with the dead, and upon me lay the burden I could not forestall. Go to Vapala I must.
Chapter 14
THERE WAS NO ESCAPING the sound throughout the city. The singing of the smaller mobiles was so much a part of our lives that we forgot they existed. But the beat and clash of the Emperor’s seemed to rock the very walls about us. There was no sleep for us this night and Ravinga was putting the time when that usually held us into labor.
Around the chamber the curtain fell into place and I doubted that any of the smallest glimmer of lamplight could be sighted without. Yet there were six lamps, three set along each end of the table, and in the brilliance those gave us, not the smallest detail could be hid from notice.
Ravinga’s fingers twisted and turned, handled needle, small soldering iron, tools so tiny that they were difficult to hold to their work. Beneath her hands the man doll took on shape and substance. As her last client had ordered she was busied with a mortuary doll—one of the Emperor himself.
To me she had given another task. I had never been set to work with those special chants to be spoken, those gestures to be used as I picked up one of the delicate tools or another. What I fashioned was not a man but a sandcat. The kottis of the household sat to one side watching with deep attention.
I had my guide unrolled on the table before me, each corner of that painted square held down by a carven weight. Those too were things of power. One was a replica of the Blue Leopard such as served always he who was Emperor, one was a yaksen herd cow, proud in the strength which made her guide and leader for her kind, then came a kotti carved of some very dense black stone, glassy smooth to the touch and unusually heavy for its size, the fourth a man doll, whose features were too well set to be aught but a portrait. And a likeness of one I knew—a trader about whom they whispered behind their hands—that he was so lacking in manhood that his own family gave him no proper position— Hynkkel of Kahulawe.
I was twice as slow as Ravinga, for this was the first time she had set me such a task to be done by myself. It was hot in the shrouded chamber and I slipped out of my overblouse and ran the heel of my hand across my forehead as I concentrated on the miniature sandcat.