"What do you want us to do now, Maia?" asked Anda-Nokomis from the bow.
"We've got to get across to the other bank, without drifting down no more 'n what we can help. If we get into that stew out in the middle below the town, we're finished."
"How's it to be done?"
"Row across as quick as we can and hope the current in the center doesn't turn us downstream too hard."
"I'm afraid rowing isn't my strong point, Maia."
O Lespa! she thought. She'd forgotten that; his hand! Of course she could row, but if they weren't to be swept down in midstream the steering was going to be important and she'd rather have had the doing of that herself. Still, there were no two ways about it, and no sense, either, in making him feel worse than he must already. She got up and went forward to the rowing-seats amidships.
"Zenka," she said--it had slipped out before she'd thought about it--"give me one of those oars and take the other yourself. You go that side, 'cos you'll pull stronger n' me, and that'll help to keep her head from turning downstream. Anda-Nokomis, you take the tiller and keep her pointing half-upstream as steady as you can."
"The trouble is," he said, having stumbled to his seat in the stern, "I can't see anything out there."
"You'll just have to go best you can, by the light from the house behind. But you'll be able to tell when we've got across, near enough, 'cos the current'll slacken. Any-way, you ought to be able to make out the bank, just about, before we get to it. Here, wait, Zenka! Careful! Let me put that rowlock in for you! If that was to fall overboard we'd really be in trouble. Right; now you pull how you like, only hard: I'll work in with you, don't worry."
It was a heavy boat to get under way, but Zen-Kurel handled his oar better than she'd dared to hope.
Pulling her own, she kept her eyes on the light from Terebinthia's house and within half a minute saw it swing over to her right. Good; the bow was heading upstream.
"Fine, Anda-Nokomis!" she panted. "Keep it like that!"
Even as she spoke the port bow began to meet the midstream current. The lights swung back again until they were once more astern; then until they were almost directly on her left. The water gurgled and knocked against the side, racing down in the dark. They were being swept downstream fast.
"Right, Anda-Nokomis, right!" she cried. "Hard over to your right!"
It was very frightening. She had never imagined they would go down so fast. At this rate they would be well below Nybril in a matter of minutes and into the central boil of the confluence. She could see the speckled lights of the town rushing past on her left. The rain was blowing straight into her face from astern.
"Harder, Zenka!" She herself had never pulled so hard. As she well knew, she was pulling for her life.
Ah, but they were gradually forcing their way across the current! She could feel it; and besides, the lights, even as they fell so fast behind, were gradually moving over towards her right until at length she was looking straight at them. Then, slowly--very slowly it seemed--the current began to slacken and the chattering of the water against the side below her grew less until it had almost died away. They were drifting down, but far more gently and in smooth water.
She slumped over her oar, drawing deep, shuddering breaths. The sweat was pouring off her and her heart was thumping. She retched, but nothing came. Zenka had stopped rowing too, and seemed to be waiting to be told what to do. She wiped the rain out of her eyes and sat up straight.
"Anda-Nokomis, can you--can you see the bank?"
"I'm not sure," he answered, "but there's something ahead; rushes, perhaps."
They took a few more cautious strokes.
"At least it's answering now," said Anda-Nokomis. "It didn't, out there."
"It did, only you couldn't feel it; hadn't, we wouldn't be here."
She thrust her oar straight down into the water and at the full extent of her arm touched bottom. At the same moment the low moon, breaking for a moment through a rift in the clouds, showed them the left bank about twenty yards away. Turning to look astern before the moon disappeared again, she could see--or thought she could see--that they were about four or five hundred yards below Nybril, with the confluence, already become a terrifying, foaming caldron, lying between. Now that she was no longer rowing, she could hear the noise of it; a deep, sullen thunder, not loud but continuous, like the rolling of agreatdrum.
"I'm sorry," she said, "but I got to rest for a bit: I'm tot'lly all in. Anda-Nokomis, try to keep her drifting gently close to the bank. And Zenka, you go up in the bow with that oar and just keep on feeling ahead for rocks or shoals an' that. There's anchors fore and aft: keep them ready to throw out. Give a shout if you want me. I won't be very long, honest."
And with this poor Maia crawled into the cubby-hole and lay down, utterly spent. But the big, soft mattress, on which so many jolly jinks must have been enacted, afforded her little solace. Already the rain, blowing in from astern, had soaked it. Miserably, she crawled as far forward as she could and curled up, knees to chin. It made little difference. She could almost have wrung out her cloak, while her sopping tunic and shift clung round her like warm slime. She could feel the shape of her diamonds and of Randronoth's casket pressing against her body.
After an unavailing wriggle or two she tugged off her tunic and, having felt carefully round the seams of the pockets to make sure they were still holding, dumped it beside her and drew up her wet cloak for a blanket.
She had one consolation, however. They were moving smoothly, without listing or checking. Terebinthia had charged her somewhere between two and three times its value, but at least she had spoken no more than the truth when she had told her the boat was a good one.
Now and then, without distinguishing what was said, she could catch Zenka's voice speaking to Anda-Nokomis and feel the boat slightly changing course. But there were no sudden thuds or alarms and after a while her tension--for she had been fully expecting them to hit something or other in the dark--gradually diminished. She had not meant to sleep, yet soon, lacking all power to resist, she was dead to the world; and for some three or four hours the exhausted girl remained unstirring.
Meanwhile their progress was slow, for both Bayub-Otal and Zen-Kurel were only too well aware of their own lack of skill and experience. Offshore, to their right, the current was swifter--they could hear it and could just make out, too, the froth of broken water in midstream--but they were unwilling either to disturb Maia or to run any risks which they might not be able to handle themselves. The inshore water seemed blessedly free of obstacles and for this they were content to settle. The need for continuous vigilance was strain enough in itself.
At some uncertain time during the long night Bayub-Otal dropped the stern anchor, went forward to Zen-Kurel and suggested a rest and a bite. Having lowered the bow anchor as well, they sat down side by side, legs stretched out, backs against the forward wall of the cubby--little shelter from the relentless rain--and ate a few mouthfuls of bread and cheese.
"How long till morning, do you suppose?" asked Zen-Kurel in a whisper.
"Three hours, perhaps."
"Is Maia still asleep?"
"I think so."
"She deserves it: we ought to let her sleep as long as she can."
For a time they were silent. Bayub-Otal pulled out his flask and they each took a mouthful of djebbah.
At length he said, "She's saved us again and again since Bekla. Without her we'd have died in the forest."
"That or been killed by the Ortelgans."
"We wouldn't have this boat, either. And that brothel woman--Maia had to overpay her; I'm certain of that-- they took so long over it. First and last, she's spared herself nothing whatever on our account, that's about what it comes to."
"It's like Deparioth and the Silver Flower," said Zen-Kurel.
"Oh, do they know that in Katria, too?"
"Oh, yes, naturally. Well, it was in the Blue Forest that the traitors abandoned Deparioth, of course--left h
im to die--and the magic girl came to save him. I kept thinking about that while we were in Purn."
"But Zenka, you said you hated her. You wanted to kill her."
For some time Zen-Kurel made no reply. At last he replied, "What I know now is that I've never really stopped loving her: I only thought I had. Oh, yes, I wanted to stop loving her; of course I've hated her for what she did in Suba. I still don't understand it, but now I don't think any more that it was just deliberate, cold-hearted deceit and treachery. There was something--something behind it that I don't understand. O Cran, how I've hated her! But what I've discovered is that you can hate someone like poison and still not be able to stop being in love with them."
Bayub-Otal said nothing and after a few moments Zen-Kurel went on, "Her beauty--her courage--what she is-- they're too strong for my hatred, I suppose, if you like to put it that way. I've never known a girl like her--never dreamt there could be one. Whatever she thought she was doing that night in Suba, there must have been some good reason. It's like the gods, really: in my mind, I mean."
"Like the gods? What do you mean?"
"Well, the gods often inflict terrible, even shameful suffering on us, don't they? And there's no accounting for it. But people still go on worshipping them because of things like sunsets and music. She's like that: or I am, whichever way you like to put it. I couldn't stop loving her--I mean, admiring and longing for her--not if she were to cut my throat."
"She still--she still loves you, you know," said Bayub-Otal rather falteringly, after a pause.
"Why, did she say so? I can't believe that."
"No, but the night you took those men back to Elleroth I thought she was going to go out of her mind; and it was entirely on your account. In fact I told you as much when you got back; you remember?"