The Asutra (5 page)

"Be on the lookout for habitation, or even better, a riverboat," Ifness told Etzwane. "We now require local information."

"How will you understand? The folk of Caraz speak an outlandish yammer."

"Nonetheless, we will manage, or so I believe," said Ifness in his most didactic drawl. "The Burnoun and the Keba Basin are linguistically uniform. The folk use a dialect derived from the language of Shant."

Etzwane looked sidewise in disbelief. "How can this be? Shant is far distant."

The circumstance derives from the Third Palasedran War. Cantons Maseach, Gorgach, and Parthe collaborated with the Eagle Dukes, and many folk, dreading Pandamon vengeance, fled Shant. They made their way up the Keba and imposed their language on the Sorukhs, who ultimately enslaved them. The history of Caraz is far from cheerful. " Ifness leaned over the gunwales and pointed to a straggle of huts on the riverbank, hardly to be seen behind a covert of tall reeds. "A village, where we can gain information, even if only negative. " He reflected. "We will employ a harmless hoax to facilitate the matter. These people are indomitably superstitious and will enjoy a demonstration of their beliefs. " He adjusted a dial; the boat slowed and hung motionless in mid-air. "Let us now ship the mast and raise the sail, then make a change or two in our costume."

Down from the sky floated the boat, sail billowing, with Etzwane at the tiller ostensibly steering. Both he and Ifness wore white turbans and carried themselves in a portentous manner. The boat settled upon the flat before the huts, still puddled from the rainstorm of two days before. A half-dozen men stood stock-still; as many slatternly women peered from the doorways; naked children crawling in the mud froze in place or backed whimpering away to shelter. Stepping from the boat, Ifness sprinkled a handful of blue and green glass gems upon the ground. He pointed to a portly elder who stood dumbfounded at hand. "Approach, if you please," spoke Ifness in a coarse dialect barely intelligible to Etzwane. "We are benevolent wizards and intend you no harm; we want information in regard to our enemies."

The old man's chin trembled, agitating his dirty whiskers; he clutched his ragged homespun tunic about his belly and essayed a few steps forward. "What information do you require? We are only clam-diggers, no more; we know nothing beyond the flow of the river. " "Just so," intoned Ifness. "Still, you are witness to comings and goings, and I notice a shed yonder for the storage of trade goods."

"Yes, we have modest dealings in clam cake, clam wine, and crushed clamshell of good quality. But for knowledge of loot or precious things you must ask elsewhere. Even the slavers pass us by."

"We seek news of a tribe of invading warriors: large, red-skinned demons who slaughter men and copulate with the women to notorious degree These are the Roguskhoi. Have you had news regarding these folk?"

"They have not troubled us, the Sacred Eel be thanked. The traders tell us of fighting and an epic battle, but in all my life I have heard nothing else, and no one has used the name 'Roguskhoi! "

"Where then was the fighting?"

The clamdigger pointed south. "The Sorukh regions are still far: it is ten days' sail to the Plain of Blue Flowers, though your magic boat will speed you there in half the time. . . . Are you permitted to teach the lore which propels your craft? It would be a great convenience for me."

"Such a question best had not be asked," said Ifness. "We now proceed to the Plain of Blue Flowers."

"May the Eel expedite your passage."

Ifness stepped back into the boat, gave Etzwane a formal signal. Etzwane worked the rudder and adjusted the sheets, while Ifness touched his controls. The boat rose, the sails caught the wind; the boat sailed off across the river. The men ran down to the water's edge to stare after them, followed by the children and women from the huts. Ifness chuckled. "We have made memorable at least one day of their lives, and fractured a dozen rules of the Institute."

"Ten days' journey," mused Etzwane. "The barges move two or three miles an hour: fifty miles a day, more or less. Ten days' journey would be five hundred miles."

"By just such a degree are Kreposkin's charts inaccurate. " Standing up in the cockpit Ifness raised his arm in a final flourish of benign farewell to the gaping folk of the village. A grove of waterwood trees hid them from sight. Ifness spoke over his shoulder to Etzwane: "Lower the sail; unship the mast."

Etzwane silently obeyed the command, reflecting that Ifness seemed to enjoy the role of wandering magician. The boat moved south up the river. Silver-trunked almacks lined the bank, their silver-purple fronds glinting green to the motion of the breeze. To right and left flatlands disappeared into, the dove-gray haze of distance, and always the great Keba reached out ahead.

Afternoon waned; and the banks remained desolate of life, to Ifness' muttered disgust. The sun sank; twilight fell across the landscape. Ifness stood precariously on the foredeck, peering down into the dark. At last an array of flickering red sparks appeared on the riverbank. Ifness swung the boat around and down; the sparks became a dozen leaping campfires, arrayed in a rough circle, twenty or thirty yards in diameter.

"Ship the mast," said Ifness. "Hoist the sail."

Etzwane thoughtfully appraised the fires and the folk who worked within the circle of light. Beyond he glimpsed large carts with crooked eight-foot wheels and leather hoods; they had come upon a band of nomads, of a temperament presumably more edgy and truculent than the placid clamdiggers. Etzwane looked dubiously toward Ifness, who stood like a statue. Very well, thought Etzwane, he would indulge Ifness in his mad Jokes, even at the risk of flowing blood. He set up the mast, lifted the great square sail, then adjusting his turban, went back to the tiller.

The boat settled into the circle of firelight. Ifness called down, "Beware below; move aside."

The tribesmen looked up; jumping and cursing they sprang back. An old man tripped and spilled a tub of water upon a group of women, who screamed in fury.

The boat landed; Ifness with a stern mien held up his hand. "Quiet! We are only two wizards of the night. Have you never seen magic before? Where is the chief of the clan?"

No one spoke. The men, in loose white shirts, baggy black breeches and black boots, stood back, uncertain whether to flee or attack. The women, in loose patterned gowns, wailed and showed the whites of their eyes.

"Who is the chief? " bawled Ifness. "Can he not hear? Can he not walk forward?"

A hulking, black-browed man with black mustaches came slowly forward. "I am Rastipol, chief of the Ripchiks. What do you want of me?"

"Why are you here and not fighting the Roguskhoi?"

"'Roguskhoi?' " Rastipol blinked. "Who are they? We fight no one at this moment "

"The Roguskhoi are red demon-warriors. They are only half human, though they show enthusiasm for human women."

"I have heard of them. They fight the Sorukh; it is none of our affair. We are not Sorukh; we are out of the Melch race."

"And if they destroy the Sorukh, what next?"

Rastipol scratched his chin. "I have not considered the matter."

"Exactly where has the fighting occurred?"

"Somewhere to the south, out on the Plain of Blue Flowers, or so I suppose."

"How far is this?"

"Four days to the south is Shillinsk Town, at the edge of the Plain. Can you not learn this by magic?"

Ifness raised a finger toward Etzwane. 'Transform Rastipol into a sick ahulph."

"No, no," cried Rastipol. "You have misjudged me. I meant no harm."

Ifness gave a distant nod. "Guard your tongue; you allow it a dangerous freedom. " He signaled Etzwane. "Sail on."

Etzwane worked the tiller and waved his hand toward the sail, while Ifness moved his dials. The boat lifted into the night sky, showing its keel to the firelight. The Ripchiks watched silently from below.

During the night the boat drifted slowly south. Etzwane slept on one of the narrow berths; he was not aware whether or not Ifness did the same. In the morning, cold and cramped, he went out into the cockpit to find Ifness looking out over the gunwale. A mist concealed the land below, the boat floated alone between "gray mist and lavender sky.

For an hour the two sat in dour silence, drinking tea. At last the three suns rolled high and the mist began to dissipate, swirling and drifting, revealing irregular districts of land and river. Below them, the Keba made a mighty swing to the west, where it was joined from the east by a tributary, the Shill. On the west bank three docks thrust out into the Keba, marking a settlement of fifty or sixty huts and a half-dozen larger structures. Ifness exclaimed in satisfaction. "Shillinsk at last! It exists in spite of Kreposkin! " He lowered the boat to the face of the water. Etzwane stepped the mast and hoisted the sail; the boat proceeded across the water to the docks. Ifness brought the boat up the water-steps; Etzwane jumped ashore with a line; Ifness followed more deliberately. Etzwane payed out the line; the boat drifted downstream and took a place among a dozen fishing smacks, not notably different from itself. Ifness and Etzwane turned toward Shillinsk Town,

The cabins and sheds of Shillinsk were built from gray stone quarried from a nearby ledge and rough-laid between balks of driftwood. Directly behind the docks stood the Shillinsk Inn, a relatively imposing structure of three stories. Lavender suns' light glared on gray stone and black timber; the shadows, by some ocular accommodation, appeared green, the color of old water in a barrel.

Shillinsk Town seemed quiet, only half alive. No sound could be heard except the lap of waves along the shore. Two women walked slowly along the riverside trail; they wore baggy black breeches, blouses of dark purple, head-kerchiefs of rich rust-orange. Three barges lay alongside the docks, one empty and two partially laden. Several barge-tenders were bound for the tavern; Ifness and Etzwane followed a few paces to the rear.

The barge-tenders pushed through the driftwood doors, with Ifness and Etzwane behind them, into a common room considerably more comfortable than the rude exterior suggested. A fire of sea-coal blazed in a huge fireplace; the walls had been plastered, whitewashed, and decorated with festoons and rosettes of carved wood. A group of barge-tenders sat before the fire eating a stew of fish and reed root. To the side, half in the shadows, two men of the district sat hunched over their wooden mugs. Firelight molded their slab-sided faces; they spoke little and peered distrustfully sidewise, watching the barge-tenders. One displayed a black mustache bushy as a dust brush, the other wore both a chin beard and a two-inch copper nose ring. With fascination Etzwane saw him knock up the ring with the rim of his mug and drink. They wore the Sorukh costume: black breeches, loose shirts embroidered with fetish signs, and from their waists hung scimitars of the white metal
ghisim,
an alloy of silver, platinum, tin, and copper, forged and hardened by a secret process.

Ifness and Etzwane settled at a table near the fire. The innkeeper, a man bald and flat-faced, with a deformed leg and a hard stare, hobbled over to learn their wants. Ifness spoke for lodging and the best meal available. The innkeeper announced that he could serve clam soup, herbs, and sweet beetles; grilled meat with water-greens, bread, blue-flower marmalade, and vervain tea: a meal which Ifness had not expected and which he pronounced satisfactory.

"I must discuss my recompense," said the innkeeper. "What do you have to trade?"

Ifness brought forth one of his glass jewels. "This."

The innkeeper drew back and showed the palm of his hand in disdain. "What do you take me for? This is no more than coarse glass, a bauble for children."

Indeed then," said Ifness. "What is its color?"

"It is the color of old grass, verging toward river water."

"Look. " Ifness closed the gem in his hand, then opened it. "What color now? ".

"A clear crimson! "

"And now? " Ifness exposed the gem to the warmth of the fire and it glinted green as an emerald. "Now— take it into the dark and tell me what you see."

The innkeeper went off to a closet, and presently returned. "It shines blue and sends off rays of several colors."

'The object is a starstone," said Ifness. "Such are occasionally taken from the center of meteorites. It is in fact too valuable to exchange for mere food and lodging, but we have nothing else."

"It will suffice, or so I suppose," stated the landlord in a pompous voice. "How long does your barge remain at Shillinsk?"

"Several days, until we conclude our business. We deal in exotic goods, and at this moment we require the neck bones of dead Roguskhoi, which have a medicinal efficacy."

" 'Roguskhoi? What are they?"

"You call them differently. I refer to the red, half-human warriors which have pillaged the Plain of Blue Flowers."

"Ah! We call them the Tied Devils.' They are of value after all?"

"I make no such assertions; I merely traffic in bones. Who would be the local dealer in such merchandise?"

The innkeeper uttered a coarse bark of laughter, which he quickly stifled, and turned a look toward the two Sorukh, who had been attending the conversation.

"In these parts," said the innkeeper, "bones are so common as to be worthless, and a man's life is at little greater price. Observe this leg, which my mother maimed to protect me from the slave-takers. They were then the Esche from the Murd Mountains across the Shill. Now the Esche are gone and Hulkas have come, and all is as before, or worse. Never turn your back to a Hulka, or you'll find a chain around your neck. Four from Shillinsk have been taken during this last year. Hulka or Red Devil—which is worse? Take your choice."