For three hours and more they drifted on with the stream. The river made many bends, and towards the end of the afternoon she realized that they must have travelled a considerably greater distance than the breadth of the forest. Never once had there been any break in the gloomy tangle of trees and creepers, and she supposed that after all there was no remedy but they would have to pass another night in Purn.
At that rate it was time to be looking out for a place to come to shore and get a fire going before sunset.
Just as she was about to put this to her companions, Meris laid a hand on her arm.
"Maia, listen! What's that noise?"
Maia pinched her nose and blew her ears. The sound, still distant but clearly audible between the trees, called to mind instantly her childhood; then, hard upon, a swift rush of fear. Who should recognize that sound if not she? It was the pouring of a fairly heavy waterfall.
91: THE SARKIDIAN CAMP
There was no time to be lost. Already she could feel the current growing swifter and, looking ahead, see the banks narrowing. In one way this was an advantage, for she could hope to get the rafts inshore more quickly. Which bank? she wondered. The left; yes, it must be the left, for they were a little nearer that side and even seconds might be vital. It looked nasty, though. At this time of year, with the river at its lowest, the bank was steep and high; four or five feet of dried-up earth and stones falling more-or-less sheer to the water, and nothing that she could see-- no overhanging bushes or branches--to catch hold of. That seemed strange: why weren't there any? Throughout the afternoon they had come down many reaches with similarly steep banks, but all, as far as she could remember, had been to some extent overgrown.
Anyway, there was no time to be thinking about it. The lip of the falls was only about a hundred yards away now, and since she couldn't see the river beyond, they must be high enough to be dangerous. She called back to Bayub-Otal.
"Anda-Nokomis, I'm going to drag this other raft over to the bank. Try to come in to the left. I'll only be a minute!"
In fact it took her something less than a minute to push Zen-Kurel and Meris into the slacker water under the bank, but already the second raft had drifted past her.
"I'll have to leave you!" she cried to Zen-Kurel. "Find something to hold on to--anything!"
He nodded with assumed unconcern. "We'll be all right: you get on."
Now she was swimming in a frenzy, desperately trying to overtake Zirek and Anda-Nokomis as they were swept on towards the lip of the falls. She could see the mist of spray and hear from the further side the ceaseless, plunging boom. The current had grown headlong: she felt as though she were falling. Gasping, she reached the stern of the raft, clutched it and swung it over to the left. As she did so she saw that the lashings at the forward end had at last worked loose. The raft was not responding as a single whole. Any strain and it would come to pieces.
If I was to swim for the bank on my own now, she thought, I'd get there in time. If I was to swim for the basting bank--
She swam to the front of the raft, pressed the logs together as hard as she could and then, turning on her back, began pulling it inshore behind her.
Everything was tumult, everything was spray and thunder and an appalling sensation of swift, uncontrollable gliding. The eyes of Anda-Nokomis and Zirek were staring into hers as she still struggled, throwing all her weight sideways against the current. She went under, swallowed water, came up and and kicked out once more.
Something jabbed her right shoulder: she was pivoting on it, pivoting to the left; something bending, pliant and rough, not so thick as her arm. She snatched at it, clutching, holding on.
"Grab it, Zirek!"
The stern of the raft was rotating. Her left arm was round Anda-Nokomis's neck and shoulder. She was looking down into seething water and white spume fifteen feet below. What was it she'd got hold of? She looked round and back at her right hand: something gray and gnarled, like a stiffened rope. It was the exposed root of a tree projecting from the earth of the bank; bending with their weight, yet enough to hold them as long as she herself could hold on. Then the raft broke up and spun away, turned back into two logs that hung a moment on the lip of the falls and toppled, gone, lost in the roaring smother below.
Anda-Nokomis was shouting in her ear. "It's too much for you! Let go!"
"No."
"Yes! Never mind me! Let go!"
"No!"
"--'bove you!"
Was it " 'bove you!" he had said? She could see almost nothing now. Her ears and nostrils were blocked with spray. She was hanging in a howling, spray-clouded trance. Her arm--her arm was giving way. She couldn't hold on any longer. Tharrin, Sphelthon, Randronoth--she could hear their voices, men's voices, calling, shouting to her, the dead.
Rough, dry hands caught her under the arms, heaving her upward.
"Let go of him, lass! Let go! We've got him!"
Her left arm was strengthless, numb. She let go of Anda-Nokomis. She was being dragged upward, earth and stones grating against her sodden tunic, pulled backward, heels slithering over grass, coming to rest on her back, looking up at leaves and the sky.
After a few moments of choking bewilderment she struggled to her knees. "Anda-Nokomis!"
"I'm here," his voice answered.
She looked about her. She was on the bank of the river, immediately above the falls. Anda-Nokomis, water streaming from his hair, shoulders and arms, was standing near-by. Further off, to her right, Zirek, on his hands and knees, was vomiting water. Something out in the stream caught her eye. It was the second raft, floating past and over the brink.
There were men all round her: forty, fifty, it looked like. She stared at them in amazement. Had Lespa sent them, or what? Some were armed. Others had axes, saws, scythes, heavy hacking knives. One of them spat on the ground. They were human, then: she was alive.
These were soldiers; they had pulled her and Zirek and Anda-Nokomis out of the river. And--and--?
Quickly she looked upstream. Meris and Zen-Kurel, also surrounded by soldiers, were limping towards her along the bank.
One of the men had spoken to her. She realized he had spoken, but had not caught what he said. She turned and looked at him.
He was perhaps twenty-five, of middle height, with a shock of short, brown hair and bushy eyebrows.
His gray eyes were rather small, his nose rather broad, and he had a strong chin. He looked a rugged, practical sort of man; resourceful if not clever; one not to be trifled with or turned aside. He was holding a drawn sword, and as he spoke again he leaned forward, pointing it upstream to emphasize his words.
"Who's up there? How many?"
"What? I don't--"
"Come on, no time to waste, that's it! Who's up there? How far off?"
Another, younger man laid a hand on his arm. "Steady, captain. We've only just got the poor lass out of the water, for Cran's sake!"
"No time to waste, Tolis," retorted the captain. He laid one hand on Maia's shoulder. "Come on now, you tell me--"
A gasping voice said "Just a moment." It was Zen-Kurel, with Meris hanging on his arm. He looked badly shaken, trying not to show it but unable to help himself. He hesitated a moment, closing his eyes and clenching one hand impatiently as he pulled himself together. Then he said, "Thank you for saving us. Lucky you were here. May I ask who you are?"
"No, you answer me," replied the shock-headed man peremptorily. "I've no time to waste."
"If you just listen to me for a moment--" began Zen-Kurel.
"There are more of us than you, that's it," said the captain. "So you just sit down and answer my questions."
Zen-Kurel shrugged his shoulders and sat down. Maia sat beside him. His sacking smock was ripped across and beneath it she saw a bleeding gash along his right thigh. She pointed to it.
"That ought to be seen to."
Zen-Kurel looked at it with surprise. "I never even felt it!"
"You wouldn't," she said. "It's the water--
softens your flesh. You can get badly cut in warm water and never feel it at all. That ought to be seen to!" she said to the captain.
He made an impatient gesture to one of his men, who went away, came back with a cloth and began binding up the wound with intent detachment, like a servant waiting at table.
"Where have you come from and who's upstream?" said the captain. "How many?"
"I'll answer you," replied Zen-Kurel firmly, "when you've told me who you are. Are you for Erketlis or the Leopards, or neither?"
"Look, if necessary we can torture you--"
"I know that. But you say you're in a hurry, so it'll be quicker to answer me. Are you for Erketlis or Kembri?"
"Why, they're from Sarkid!" said Meris suddenly. "Look at their corn sheaves!" She pointed.
The soldiers' clothes were rough, torn and anything but uniform. Several, however, were wearing the corn-sheaves emblem of Sarkid.
"We're with Elleroth of Sarkid," said the captain shortly. "Will that satisfy you?"
"Indeed it will," said Bayub-Otal, speaking for the first time. "In that case, you will be glad to know that my name is--"
"I'm not interested in your names," interrupted the captain. "I want to know who's upstream? How many and how close?"
"There's no armed force at all upstream," replied Zen-Kurel. "The forest's empty and as far as I know there's nothing between you and Bekla."