‘Tsong Tsong,’ said Paul gently, ‘you were telling me about the warriors.’
‘Yes, lord … The warriors came … They made the woman leave the house. She was angry and there were many loud words … I—I stood back, lord, because it is known that the warriors of Enka Ne are impatient men. So, being unworthy of their consideration, and also much afraid, I drew back … My lord understands that it would perhaps not have been good for me to remain?’
‘Yes, I understand. Tell me what happened.’
‘The warriors said they must burn the house, and this I could not understand, because it is known that Poul Mer Lo is of some importance … It was very strange, lord. When the woman, Mylai Tui, saw them make fire she became as one touched by Oruri. She shook and spoke in a loud voice and wept … She tried to run into the burning house, shouting words that I could not understand. But a warrior held her. It was very frightening, lord … And the house made great noisy flames. And then she seized a trident and wounded the man who held her … And then—and then she died.’
Paul was amazed that he could still find no tears, no pain.
He knelt down and rested his hand on the small boy’s shoulder. ‘How did she die, Tsong Tsong?’ he asked calmly.
The boy seemed surprised at the question. ‘A warrior struck her.’
‘It was—it was quick?’
“Lord, the warriors of Enka Ne do not need to strike twice … I have been very hungry since then. There was some kappa, but it was black and had the taste of fire about it. My stomach was unhappy … Forgive me, lord, but do you have any food?’
Paul thought for a moment or two. Then he said: ‘Listen carefully, Tsong Tsong. There is something that you must do, then you shall have much food … Do you think you can walk?’
‘Yes, lord, but it not a thing I gready desire to do.’
‘I am sorry, Tsong Tsong. It is necessary to walk to get to the food. I have left Shon Hu, the hunter, and your comrades Zu Shan and Nemo in the barge some distance from here along the Canal of Life. You must go to them. Tell them what you have told me. Also tell them that Poul Mer Lo desires that they and you shall remain in the forest for as many days as there are fingers on both hands. Can you remember that?’
‘Yes, lord … Do they have much food?’
‘Enough to fill you up, little one. Shon Hu is a good hunter. You will not starve. Now go—and say to them also that when they leave the forest they must be careful how they come to Baya Nor, and careful how they enquire after me.’
The child stretched his limbs and gave a deep sigh. ‘I will remember, Lord … You are not angry with me?’
‘No, Tsong Tsong, I am not angry. Go, now, and soon you will eat.’
He watched the small boy trot unsteadily down to the Canal of Life and along its bank. Then he turned to look at the steaming ashes once more.
He thought of Mylai Tui, so proud of the son she would never bear, and of Ann, enduring patiently in the heart of the forest until she could keep an appointment in Samara, and of the Aru Re, Bird of Mars, standing in its icy fastness through the passing millennia—a lofty, enigmatic sentinel waiting for the maturation of the seed.
So much had happened that he was drunk with privation and with grief and with wonder. The sun had not yet reached its zenith, but he was desperately tired.
He sat down on the small and relatively dry patch of earth that Tsong Tsong had vacated. For a while, he stared blankly at the ashes as if he expected Mylai Tui, phoenix-wise, to rise from them. But there was nothing but silence and stillness.
After a time, he closed his aching eyes and immediately fell asleep—sitting up. Presently he toppled over, but he did not wake.
He did not wake until shortly before sunset. He was stiff and lonely and still filled with a great emptiness.
He looked around him and blinked. Then he sat up suddenly, oblivious of the throbbing in his head.
He was surrounded by a ring of tridents, and a ring of blank black faces of the warriors of the royal guard.
For a moment or two, unmoving, he tried to collect his thoughts. Obviously the warriors did not mean to kill him, for they could have accomplished that task quite easily while he was still sleeping. They looked, oddly, as if they were waiting for something.
He was debating in his mind what to say to them when he saw, through the descending twilight, a vehicle coming jerkily along the Road of Travail. At first he thought it was a cart. But then he saw that it was a palanquin, carried by eight muscular young girls. The equipage left the Road of Travail and came directly towards the ring of warriors.
Paul stood up, gazing at it in perplexity. He remembered the first time he had seen the shrouded palanquin that contained the oracle of Baya Nor. It had been on a barge on the Canal of Life, when Enka Ne, otherwise Shah Shan, was taking him to the temple of Baya Sur to witness the first of three sacrifices of girl children.
As if at a signal, the girls carrying the palanquin stopped and set it gently down. The curtains shrouding it did not move. But from inside there came a wild bird cry.
Then a thin and withered arm poked out from between the curtains, pointing unwaveringly at Paul. And an incredibly old yet firm voice said clearly: ‘He is the one! ’
Dazed and exhausted still, Paul was aware of a great roaring in his ears. He felt the hands of the Bayani warriors catch him as he fell.
THIRTY-SEVEN
He was in a darkened room, lit only by a few flickering oil lamps. A man with a white hood over his face peered at him through narrow eye-slits.
‘Who are you?’ The words came like gun-shot.
‘I am Poul Mer Lo,’ Paul managed to say, ‘a stranger, now and always.’
The man in the white hood stared at him intently. ‘Drink this.’ He held out a small calabash.
Obediently, Paul took the calabash and raised it to his lips. The liquid was like fire—fire that consumed rather than burned.
Something exploded in his head, and then he felt as if he were being dragged down into a maelstrom. And then he felt as if he were floating freely in space.
When he became conscious again, he realized vaguely that he was being supported by two guards.
‘Who are you?’ shouted the man in the white hood.
Paul felt an almost Olympian detachment. The situation was curious, but amusing. For all his aggressiveness, the man in the white hood was definitely dull-witted.
‘I am Poul Mer Lo,’ repeated Paul carefully and with a little difficulty, ‘a stranger, now and always.’
‘Drink this,’ commanded the inquisitor. He held out the calabash.
Once more Paul took it and raised it to his lips. The fire flowed through his body, roaring and all-consuming. His thoughts became tongues of flame. A curtain of flame danced and drifted before his eyes, slowly burning itself away to reveal a great bird, covered in brilliant plumage, with iridescent feathers of blue and red and green and gold.
But the bird did not move. It had no head.
Once more the maelstrom dragged him down. Once more he felt as if he were floating freely in space. This time there were stars. They whirled about him as if he were the still pivot of a turning universe. The stars were whispering, and their message was important, but he could not hear the words. All he could do was to watch the speeding gyrations, the beautiful cosmic merry-go-round, until time itself drowned in the broad black ocean of eternity…