It was not, of course, lost upon Clystis that the two of them were on bad terms and that Maia was unhappy. Yet she asked no questions, only letting Maia see that she felt sympathetic. Insofar as her own feelings could be inferred, they appeared to be that the quicker Zen-Kurel recovered his health, the quicker the trouble was likely to blow over (she could, of course, have no idea of its gravity) and to this end she applied herself with natural, unselfish kindli-ness.
After four or five days he was up and about, and almost at once began to show his natural force of character and those qualities of initiative and resourcefulness which had gained him his place on Karnat's staff. At first, while still not allowed to do much, he busied himself in shaping three rough but serviceable bows and then in cutting and fletching arrows. There was, of course, no metal for the tips, but he sharpened and fire-hardened the points so skillfully that they felt strong enough to penetrate not only flesh but any clothing lighter than leather. He then set to work to make three wooden spears.
"They'll be a lot better than nothing, Anda-Nokomis," he said, offering Bayub-Otal his choice, "and we may be able to come by some knives later on."
There was no dissuading him, a day or two later, from going out to reconnoiter beyond the bounds of the farm. He took Zirek, but would not let Bayub-Otal accompany them. "Three's really no better than two, Anda-No-komis," he said. "Not on a job like this. One of us ought to stay behind, and the Ban of Suba's more valuable than me."
Bayub-Otal smiled and gave in, only begging him not to exhaust himself. Maia, who had overheard their conversation while hanging out the washing, drew the conclusion that Bayub-Otal was not going to be able to stop Zen-Kurel from doing anything he had decided upon.
He returned that evening. Maia was at her needle, helping Clystis to patch and darn. Naturally, it was beneath her dignity to get up and leave, and she sat working silently while he and Zirek ate supper and talked to Bayub-Otal.
"You were right about the upper Zhairgen," he said. "We're only about eleven or twelve miles from it here."
"You didn't go that far today, I hope?" said Bayub-Otal.
"I would have," replied Zen-Kurel, "but it's not so easy as I've made it sound. Two or three miles from here you come to a forest stretching all the way down to the north bank. Eight or nine miles of deep forest, Anda-Nokomis-- Purn, they call it--dividing Bekla province from Lapan."
"I don't see any point in making for the Zhairgen unless there's some hope of getting hold of a boat," said Bayub-Otal. "How far does the forest extend along the river; did anyone tell you that?"
"I was told it goes as far as the Ikat road one way and the Herl-Belishba road the other," answered Zen-Kurel, "but I don't think we ought to risk being found on either of those roads, do you?"
"I agree about the Ikat road," said Bayub-Otal. "Kem-bri's army will almost certainly be somewhere near there. Anyhow, that's not the way we want to go. But the Herl road--"
"We could very well get into just as much trouble on that," said Zen-Kurel decisively. "What d'you think, Zi-rek?"
"Well, I doubt we could get there, sir, anyway," answered Zirek. "It must be nearly twenty miles, I'd guess, across dangerous country--robbers and that, I mean--to say nothing of the river."
"What river?" asked Bayub-Otal. "You don't mean the Zhairgen?"
"No, he means the one they call the Daulis," said Zen-Kurel. "It rises on Mount Crandor, you know, Anda-No-komis--actually inside the citadel, so I'm told--and then comes down in a chain of falls they call the White Girls. Down here it's not all that wide--we went and had a look at it today--but it's deep. There aren't any fords and I don't believe we could get across. I think," he added with a certain emphasis, "I think only an expert could hope to do that."
Maia gave no sign of having heard him. Zirek drew in his breath involuntarily, and it almost seemed as though Zen-Kurel himself half-regretted what he had said, for he went on rather hurriedly, "But going into the forest may be a bit risky--there seem to be no tracks at all, and apparently hardly anyone ever goes in."
"Ah, that's right," put in Clystis. "You don't want to get wandering about in there, sir, not in Purn you don't. Lose your way easy--there's them as has--an' you'd be lucky to get out again. 'Sides which there's all manner of wild beasts an' that--"
"But I think we are going in, all the same," continued Zen-Kurel, smiling at her. "You see, Anda-Nokomis," he resumed, "no one from Bekla's going to find us in there, are they? And once we've reached the Zhairgen, we'll be able to follow the bank down to some sort of town or village and then get hold of a boat. I was told today that there's a town about twenty miles below where the Daulis runs into the Zhairgen."
"Do you know anything about that, Clystis?" asked Ba-yub-Otal.
"Well, I've cert'nly heard tell of a town," she replied. "Nybril, they call it, but none of us has ever bin that far. It's--oh, right away beyond the other side of Purn, see." Looking up at Zen-Kurel in the candlelight, she shook her head. "There's no one goes into Purn, sir. You'd really best not try that, honest."
"Well, but we can't stay here for ever, Clystis," he said, "kind as you are."
"You're very welcome to stay as long as you like," she answered. "That's if you don't mind--"
Suddenly the door into the yard was flung open so violently that it crashed against the wall behind, and Meris came into the room. Her dress was torn at the shoulder, exposing one breast, her hair was dishevelled and she was bleeding from a graze on her arm. Without a word she went across to the tub and began to rinse her face and arms. Then, turning to Clystis, she said sharply, "Perhaps I could use your needle and thread, could I?"
"Why, Whatever's happened?" asked Clystis, staring.
Meris went over to her and plucked the needle from between her fingers.
"Oh, nothing but what you're quite used to here, I dare say," she replied; and thereupon sat down and began stitching up her ripped bodice.
At this moment Blarda entered. Everyone turned to look at him. The boy was plainly not himself. He had a hang-dog look, faltering and apprehensive, and his eyes wandered from one person to another. In the middle of the room he stopped uncertainly, as though awaiting he could not tell what.
"But what's happened?" asked Clystis, with more urgency.
Meris laid down the needle, put her hands in her lap in such a way that the bleeding graze showed more plainly in the candlelight, and gazed at Blarda with compressed lips.
"It's not my fault!" blurted Blarda. No one said anything and his voice rose hysterically. "It's not my fault, sis! I never done anything, honest!"
Meris, tapping the fingers of one hand on the opposite wrist, let out her breath and cast her eyes up to the ceiling. Clystis, her cheeks flaming, stood up and advanced on Blarda, who backed away, whimpering, "Are you going to tell me what's happened?" she said in a whisper like a passing arrow.
"I--I--that's to say--well, she got angry all on a sudden, like, didn't she?" said Blarda, now almost in tears.
"Why did she?" said Clystis. "What are you talking about?"
"It's not fair!" burst out Blarda. "The other day she says to me--she says'Let's go in the hay'--"
For two minutes he babbled on with the inability, typical of a youngster in trouble and under pressure, to do anything but come out with all the banal and embarrassing truth.
"But what's happened now?" interrupted Clystis at length. "Are you or aren't you going to tell me why she's--"
"She was in the shed, wasn't she?" muttered Blarda. "Up by the hay. So I says to her, 'Come on, then,' and I went to--to do like we done before, see. But then suddenly she comes over angry. She says 'Go away!' So I says 'No,' 'cos I thought she was only playing around. And I had my hand down inside the front of her clothes and she pulls away and then she says, 'Now look what you done,' she says, and I tried to stop her but she went off quick. Honest, sis, I never done anything 'ceptin' what--well, what--"
To an elder sibling, the emergent sexuality of the younger is often shak
y ground; sometimes a matter of sensitivity to the point of anger; a cryptic variant of the discomposure not uncommonly felt by parents.
Clystis, like most country folk, spoke and behaved to people according to her own personal opinion of them. Respectful towards Bayub-Otal and Zen-Kurel, she had already sized up Meris accurately enough.
She now turned and faced her, hands on hips.
"Perhaps you can tell me some more about what the lad's bin saying, can you?"
"Perhaps I can," replied Meris coolly. "What would you like to hear? He's coming on very well, really. He'll be ready to clear out of this place soon, I wouldn't wonder."
"What the devil d'you mean, coming on very well?" shouted Clystis. "Are you sayin'--"
"Yes, I am," answered Meris. "He is coming on very well. He just got a bit over-excited, that's all." She dabbed ostentatiously at the bleeding scratch. "He's much better than your husband already. Well, I dare say you do know about him. Anyway, I do if you don't."
"What did you say?" cried Clystis, staring.
"Not my fault," said Meris composedly. "Poor man, I feel sorry for him. I was just obliging him, really."
"You liar!" screamed Clystis, bursting into tears and stamping her foot. "You're lying, lying--"
"Lying?" said Meris, standing up and facing her. "How funny, then, isn't it, that I should know that Kerkol's got a mole at the bottom of his zard, just a bit on the right side? And how funny that I should know he's got a white scar on the other side, just at the top of his left thigh! In fact I'll tell you some more while I'm about it, if you like. He--"
"No, you won't," interjected Zen-Kurel suddenly. Hitherto none of the three men in the room had spoken, as though each felt that to try to intervene in an unhappy family affair of this kind would avail little and possibly even do more harm than good. Now, however, Zen-Ku-rel's manner was unhesitant and authoritative. He stood up and crossed the room, interposing himself between the two women.
"Go outside, Meris, please," he said.
"Outside? Where?" answered Meris insolently.
"I don't mind where," replied Zen-Kurel in the same quiet, controlled tone, "but don't come back until I send for you."
As Meris hesitated he gently raised his hand, as though if necessary to take her by the arm. Meris tossed her head, flung down the bone needle on the flags and went quickly out the door. After a moment Zirek followed her.
Clystis, sitting at the table with her face sunk on her arms, was weeping unrestrainedly. Maia put a hand on her shoulder.
"Look, dear, you mustn't take on like this. It's not the end of the world. There's lots of worse things--"
"You let me be!" cried Clystis. "You'll have to go now-- tomorrow--all of you. You can't stay here after this!"