"I suggest all three of us go together," said Zen-Kurel.
Meris burned at nightfall, her pyre surrounded by hundreds of pitying onlookers, for the women and children had been brought back from the other side of the river and many of the Ortelgans, more than content with Ta-Kominion's news of his negotiations with Elleroth, had already come over to the Sarkidian camp to fraternize. Untimely death, of course, was nothing out of the ordinary either to the soldiers or the ex-slaves, but throughout the camp there had been much talk of the beautiful girl, a guest of the commander, who had succeeded in a desperate exploit for the heldril and been on her way to Santil-ke-Erketlis to receive her reward. Fanned by hearsay, indignation had spread against the men responsible for her death,
until Mollo obtained Elleroth's consent to assemble his own company-the culprits' comrades-and tell them the rights of the matter before having the punishment inflicted (for, as he had guessed, both declined discharge and even accepted the alternative with some relief, since the possibility of being hanged for murder had been doing nothing for their peace of mind).
As the ceremony of the burning began-four soldiers, each with a resinous torch, standing to the corners of the pyre to set light to it simultaneously-Zirek moved quietly away from the group round Elleroth and stood apart, gazing intently as the blaze spread inward. Maia, overcome with grief and by the majesty and solemnity of the occasion, did not notice that he had left her side. It was only later, after Elleroth had stepped forward to throw the appointed grain, salt and wine upon the embers; after the people had begun to disperse and Bayub-Otal and Zen-Kurel had taken their places on either side of the commander as part of his recessional escort, that she caught sight of him standing solitary, with bowed head and folded arms.
She made her way to him and stood unspeaking by his side. They were alone, for Elleroth's officers, in accordance with custom, had formed two files behind him as he made his departure.
After a little Zirek said, "She had more courage than anyone I've ever known-except for Occula. She never flinched that night, never hesitated, never showed any fear e: her before or after. I couldn't have done it without her, you know."
"And I couldn't have done what she did: I know that."
"Killing Sencho-that was vital, you see. The Leopards' whole intelligence system fell to pieces. I wonder whether anyone in years to come will remember her name and what she did."
"The gods will remember."
"The gods? You'd wonder sometimes, wouldn't you? She's forfeited everything; and who-what-drove her to that but the gods?"
"You know, Zirek, somehow I feel Meris would have undone herself one way or another, even if she'd been given a fortune."
"Maybe; but there she is now. Forty-two meld and a bonfire. Not even a tarpli-not from these strangers."
"I never thought of the tarpli," said Maia. "Do they have them in Belishba same as we do in Tonilda?"
"Of course."
The tarpli, though not universal throughout the Beklan empire, was a tribute of obsequy rendered throughout Tonilda and certain other provinces. A poem or verse mourning the dead person and recalling his or her life and character would be composed by some relative or friend and sung or declaimed as the pyre burned low. Often, among simple people in the country villages, it would be rough doggerel enough, but nevertheless might well have taken the maker a deal of trouble and be offered with sincere feeling. Maia had composed one in her own mind for Tharrin, though only Lespa had been permitted to hear it.
"I made one up for her," said Zirek, "but no one said anything about a tarpli and I didn't care to put myself forward among these officers with their fine ways."
She took him by the hand and led him up to the edge of the pyre, until the heat forced them to a halt.
"Now sing it."
He hesitated. "It's not like a real tarpli-not like they generally are. But-I don't know-some god put it into my mind."
"Then he must have done it for Meris. Give it to her, go on. I'm stood here: I won't let anyone stop you."
Zirek, raising his arms as in prayer, began to sing. His voice was true and sure and after the first line or two rang out with a confidence which carried its own authority. Before the close many of the dispersing onlookers had turned back to listen and he, perceiving this, repeated his threnody from the beginning.
"The swift, black river withers in its banks, Buried in gaunt trees, blind to the sun. Only a deep chattering of stones Tells where the cold fingers of current run.
And faint ghosts of bones that lie in the wood Flicker and cackle together among the branches. Two green eyes move silently to drink, Crouching on huge, imagined haunches.
A noise of running, and startled birds fly up
In the distance. What was that, that suddenly cried?
Footsteps… Only the river pouring down
And the dumb, warlock forest stretched beside. Now I remember how, in that still town, They told of a girl wandering till she died."
In the succeeding silence, Maia stood for some moments as unstirring as though it had indeed been a god who had devised the words. Then, turning to Zirek, she flung her arms round his neck, clinging to him and weeping. This strange, oblique lament had pierced her as no conventional elegy for Meris could have done. He stood quietly, suffering her thus to reciprocate what he had offered. The people went away once more and they werejeft alone.
At length, looking up, she saw Anda-Nokomis beside them. He took Zirek's hand in his own.
"The tarpli, was it?"
"Yes, sir."
"That's well done. I'm to blame: I overlooked it. But you didn't, so all's as it should be."
He waited without impatience while Maia recovered herself and dried her eyes. Then he said, "Elleroth wants to see the four of us. There's no hurry; whenever you're ready."
"I'm ready, Anda-Nokomis," said Maia.
95: DESTINATIONS
Elleroth, having nodded to the servant to leave them, looked up at his four guests.
"The dead are at peace," he said. "We have to believe that." No one spoke and he went on, "I can't imagine the gods being very hard on that poor girl, can you? It's been a miserable business; I hope that at least you're able to feel that everything's been done decently and properly."
"Yes," replied Bayub-Otal. "We're all well satisfied as far as that goes. It was most good of you, with so much else on your hands."
"No, we're the people who feel under an obligation," said Elleroth, "and as far as we're concerned it's not discharged yet. I need to know what you want to do now, so that we can help you to do it. But before we come to that, may I ask you, Serrelinda, to do me the honor of accepting this little keepsake on behalf of me and my men?"
It was his own neck-chain, with the silver corn-sheaves emblem.
Maia's lips trembled. Yet as one might have expected, the Serrelinda, who had been presented to King Karnat dressed in golden lilies and given a tress of her own hair to Durakkon in the Caravan Market, was equal to this moment also. Having returned the Sarkid commander's smiling gaze for a moment, she bowed her head in a silent gesture of recognition and gratitude as demure as any virgin acolyte of the Thlela. As she did so he bent forward, placed the chain round her neck and centered the emblem at her bosom. '
"He knew neither his father nor his mother," murmured Elleroth.
"Among strangers he labored as a slave, An exile in a country not his own, The Lord Deparioth, God's appointed sword."
This was part of the traditional lament for the hero Deparioth, known as "The Tears of Sarkid." Maia could only guess that Anda-Nokomis must have told him her story.
She raised her head. "Thank you, my lord." Running her fingers down the chain, she closed her hand on the corn-sheaves emblem. "It's just over my heart: I reckon that's the right place for it, don't you?"