"I'm not surprised. I can't myself; yet here you are, before my eyes."
After a little she asked, "Where are we going?"
"To Melvda-Rain. 'Rain' means a meeting-place, you know."
"What for?"
"You may well ask. Karnat's there, with his army from Terekenalt. And Anda-Nokomis has promised him the help of three thousand Subans, to be commanded by himself and Lenkrit. They're assembling now."
"What for?"
"I don't know," he answered. "But I should imagine to cross the Valderra and defeat the Beklan army, wouldn't you? What else?"
"But why are we going to Melvda-Rain, then, you and me?"
"I, because I'm a doctor. You, because of what I've just told you. Anda-Nokomis thinks that the mere sight of you at Melvda is bound to have a tremendous effect."
"You mean they'll think I'm Nokomis come back?"
"Some of them may really think that. They're simple folk, most of them. But they'll think you're magic, anyway. Perhaps you are--how would I know?"
"You mean I'll be made to go where there's fighting?"
"Oh, Lespa, no! They wouldn't take you across the Valderra: not at first, anyway; you're far too precious. It'll be quite enough for them to see you at Melvda. You'll be their magic luck."
Maia said no more. Her heart was surging with excitement and fear, dismay and wonder. After some time Nasada said, "The agreement between Karnat and Anda-Nokomis is that if Karnat takes Bekla with the help of the Subans--and he can hardly hope to do it without--he'll give back the rule of Suba to Anda-Nokomis. Such things don't really concern me, but I do know that much."
"Then what does concern you in all this, U-Nasada?"
He looked surprised. "Why, there's going to be a lot of work for me, of course. People are going to get hurt."
"Oh, U-Nasada! Like--like on the river bank? Oh, no! No!"
"On the river bank? When you came over the Valderra, you mean, the night before last?"
"Yes; then. There was a boy--one of the soldiers--he came from near my home in Tonilda. Lenkrit killed him-- he was crying for his mother on the bank! The blood-- the smell--oh, I can't tell you how dreadful it was!"
She began to weep again. He stroked her cheek gently.
"I hate war as much as you do: but there's no stopping this, I'm afraid. Go to sleep now, Serrelinda. A good night's sleep makes everything look better. Would you like another of my night-drinks?"
"Yes, please."
As he was preparing it she asked, "U-Nasada, what are their clothes made of here? I've never seen anything like them anywhere else."
"They're the cured, treated skins of a fish called ephrit -- stitched together, you know. Same idea as leather, really, except that it's fish-skin; comfortable enough once you're used to it."
"Is that why they all smell?"
He laughed. "Yes. So do I, when I'm traveling and working among them. After all, I'm Suban and it helps ordinary people to trust me and feel I'm one of them-- which I am. But I changed into a robe for you--I. even washed!--for the same reason, I suppose. Here you are, now. Drink it up, and I'll call Luma. Do you think you'll be all right?"
"As long as I can count on you, U-Nasada, I'm sure I will."
48: THE GOLDEN LILIES
The kilyett was drifting on down the Nordesh. The warmth of the early sun had not yet pierced the foliage or drawn out the humid vapors from the swamps. It was cool, even chilly, along the water under the green tunnel, through which could be glimpsed, here and there, patches of lightly cloudy sky. Off to the left, at the edge of a shallow among the bordering trees, a flock of ibis were stalking and stabbing in the splashy mud with their curved, dark-red bills.
Behind came two smaller kilyetts carrying Kram, his friend and four or five other young men from Lukrait. All were armed with fish-spears and light, fire-hardened wooden shields. Unlike Beklan soldiers, none had any body-armor. They could not afford it, Maia supposed, for Gelt iron was there for the buying and she remembered having heard tell that Kembri himself had once made unavailing attempts to stop Gelt selling to Terekenalt.
Green and blue dragonflies were hovering and darting across the water, and several times, from one side or another, came a sudden, light pattering, rather like hail. Maia, turning towards the sound, was never quick enough to spot what had made it; nor could she anticipate where it was likely to come from next.
After watching her for a while with some amusement, Nasada laid a hand on her arm and silently pointed ahead of them towards the mouth of a side-channel leading away between tall reeds. Looking along its length as they drew level she saw, all in a moment, the still surface come alive as a shoal of little silver fish leapt a foot or two clear of the water, falling back again with the pattering noise she had heard.
"Margets,we call them. You don't have them on Serrelind?"
"No, Nasada, not as I ever saw. They're pretty."
"They always jump like that at sunset and often in the early part of the morning, too: never in the heat of the day. They like still, narrow water."
"Oh, I remember now; Bayub-Otal was on about them once."
"A few years ago, when I was living away from Suba, I found I missed that noise. To me, it's the sound of traveling alone down these waterways. The sound of solitude-- the sound of arriving in time for supper, too."
"You lived away from Suba? Where; in Bekla?"
"No; on an island called Quiso, in the Telthearna. That's up in the north, you know, beyond the Gelt mountains."
"What took you up there, then, Nasada?"
"Oh, I wanted to learn more about doctoring from a certain wise woman. There's a female priesthood on Quiso-- it's part of the cult of Shardik, you know. I learned a lot from them--well, from the Tuginda, anyway."
They talked on for a time; about his wanderings up and down the marsh country, and of her life on the shores of Lake Serrelind. She found herself avoiding any mention of what he had told her the previous evening, and h
e for his part spoke no more of it. After a while, feeling drowsy, she went back to the stern and lay down on the smooth wood, listening to the lapping of the water, the splash of the paddles and the intermittent, raucous cries of the birds in the swamps.
The night before, she had soon fallen asleep, tired out with the day's journey and feeling quickly the effect of the drug. Their departure that morning had been hurried-- breakfast, followed by thanks and farewells to Makron and Penyanis, with little or no time to ponder on what she had learned. She could not get the strange business sorted out in her mind; could not decide what she really thought about it.
Was she glad or sorry that she bore this extraordinary resemblance to the legendary Nokomis? Did she now feel any more sympathy for Bayub-Otal? And her freedom-- she was supposed to be free: she was no longer a slave. Yet how free was she? As far as she could understand, they meant to make a sort of princess out of her--for their own purposes. She imagined herself telling Occula; and that young lady's reactions. "Princess of frogs, banzi? Hope you enjoy it. Personally, I'd rather take over from Nennaunir at six hundred meld a night." Free? Well, there's some might call it that, she thought. But if ever I had any least chance of getting out of Suba, I reckon this lot's going to make it next to impossible.
The truth was that Maia, inexperienced and living largely without reflection, through her senses and emotions, was not really capable of weighing one thing with another and reaching a considered view.
Such was her respect for Nasada that if only he had told her what she ought to think, she would most probably have found herself thinking it. But he had deliberately not done so. Life had so far afforded her virtually no practice in exercising the power of choice: nor was it doing so now. With her, things simply happened; and by a mixture of patience, cunning and pluck one made the best of them. Unconsciously (and quite un-like Occula) she had come to think of life in this way.
Yet also strong in her--and of a piece with her habit of responding impulsively and living in the immediate moment--was the peasant's quickly-injured pride and resentment of anything felt as condescension; "Who the hell do they think they are?" Poor Milvushina, for all her helplessness and misery, had been enough to spark it off, let alone Bayub-Otal. One thing Maia certainly felt now, more than all her confusion and perplexity, was tart annoyance that apparently she was not wanted for herself, but only on account of her random resemblance to this Nokomis, whom she had never seen and who had died more than sixteen years before. I don't care if she was the most wonderful dancer in the world, she thought. I'm not her, I'm me!