Ketha's Daughter

Chapter two-1

Chapter two

Orlinir FlowThe Numen sits quietly by her fireplace, in an old rocking chair. Hieronymus stays with her, as he always does.

As he makes a little sound, she looks towards the door. Someone coming eh, Hieronymus? Who might it be?

Hieronymus blinks his golden eyes at the Numen.

* * * *

Arkady Svalbarad rode south, down a rutted and little used track. He urged his horse forward at the best speed the tired beast could manage. Ajax lifted her proud head and neighed, her chestnut flanks glossy with sweat in the late afternoon sun. The sand dunes on either side of the track sent up wobbling waves of heated air and blocked the cooling breeze from the ocean. Arkady retrieved a water skin from his saddle and took a long drink, and poured a little of the water over his head in a vain effort to keep cool. The heat of the southern summer bothered him now, though as a boy he had labored outside for hours on hotter days than this. But it was many years since his wanderings had taken him this close to the land of his birth.

Arkady had been traveling for many months — still he rode easily in the saddle. Once he had learned everything he could at the university in St. Ekaterina, he had taken the road as his companion and teacher. For four years he had been an itinerant scholar, and had seen much. Now, he felt called by his homeland, Beaumarais, and the desire to see his family again. He had written, ages ago, to say he was coming, but spring storms in the Gulf of Angar’et made it impossible to get passage down the coast on a trading vessel. But Arkady was nothing if not patient, and he bided his time on the coast working as a fisherman’s jack, hauling in nets and checking lobster pots. Such hard physical labor contented him, for his mind could roam freely where it desired, while at the end of the day his body was pleasantly ready for food and sleep.

Ajax stopped, having spied a patch of tempting looking grass off to the side of the track. “All right, girl,” he said, lightheartedly. “I am ready for a break too. How about if we set up camp, here, in this shady spot?” He dismounted in the lee of a high dune and stroked Ajax’s ears fondly. “Tomorrow we will rise before the sun, and make up the lost time in the cool hours of the early morning.”

In the distance he heard the whistling cries of sea birds, a familiar sound after so many days aboard ship. Arkady smiled ruefully, remembering how long it had taken him to get his sea legs. The blond sailors of the Dalvolk had laughed at him as he spent unhappy hours those first few days at sea with his head over the side of their wooden, two-masted Knar[iv] ship, his face pale and sweaty. Nevertheless, they quickly befriended him once they found he could speak their tongue. Arkady helped them make trades as they made their way down the coast, for he spoke five different languages well, and had a smattering of others. In the end they had been sorry to see him go, but he politely refused their offer of a full time position on the boat, wanting only to feel the steady land under his feet as he made his way home on Ajax.

He still had some distance to cover, another two weeks at least, before he would see the familiar high purple hills marking the boundary of Beaumarais. Then he would truly be home. The thought pleased him. His four brothers, all older than he, had wives and children, some born since he left on his travels. His younger sister would be a teenager now. Arkady liked children, and doted on his nieces and nephews. But he had no wife or child of his own, for the road had become his mistress, and he was satisfied with that.

His last teacher, Dawa Tinley, of the mountainous country of T’Shang, had taught him much about satisfaction and illusory yearnings. He had learned more from that wizened little man in a single year than all of his illustrious professors in St. Ekaterina taught him in his four years as a student there. All the hours spent sitting completely still, trying to silence the incessant chatter in his mind, had eventually paid off. Dawa had sent him on his way, saying laughingly he could teach him no more, and why did he not find a student of his own?

Arkady sat now on the warm sand, with his legs crossed and his hands resting lightly on his knees. Hunger fretted away inside him, but he ignored it, intent on having an hour’s meditation before giving way to his desire for food. Now, in the shade of the dune, he could feel a cool breeze, and he removed his sodden shirt, throwing it over the oat grass nodding in front of him. It would be dry by the time he finished his meditation. The sunlight, still bright in the late afternoon, made a red haze in front of his closed eyes. Arkady focused on the redness and began to repeat his mantra. Soon he slipped into a deep state of relaxation, and there were no more thoughts of hunger or home. Just the endless rushing sound of the blood in his ears, like the pounding waves of time in the universe. Arkady did not notice when a small sea bird passed almost right in front of him on the sand, hunting for tiny insects. The bird paused, completely unaware of the motionless figure before it. A second later, it flew away, frightened by the girl that had appeared from behind the nearest dune.

She stood and watched Arkady for a long time. His stillness confused her and she wondered if he slept, though she had never heard of anyone sleeping sitting up like that. Stepping softly back, she found a pebble and tossed it carefully. It hit him on the thigh. The girl ducked quickly out of sight behind a low hummock of sand and grass. Nothing happened. The man before her remained as unmoving and silent as a rock. Frustrated, she threw a larger pebble a little bit harder and was rewarded.

Arkady felt the pebble hit his leg, and unhurriedly brought himself back into the present moment. He felt no distress at this sudden interruption of his meditation. It seemed obvious someone was trying hard to gain his attention. He did not rise, just sat quietly, thinking perhaps some child was playing a game with him. A few seconds later, he heard a hastily smothered giggle from behind the dune. He saw blond hair mixed in with the strands of oat grass, just on the other side of the mound in front of him. A little girl then, perhaps belonging to one of the Dalvolk. But what was she doing here, five miles from the coast?

He spoke to her in their language, “Don’t be afraid, little one. Come out and say hello to me.”

She did not answer right away and Arkady wondered if she could be lost or frightened. Moving cautiously, he rose, and walked over to where he thought she was hiding in the grass. He saw only a depression in the sand and a trail of blurry footprints leading off between two larger dunes to his right. Arkady scratched his head, wondering if he should pursue the girl, or go back to his meditation. He called out once more, and received no reply. Hunger finally persuaded him to give up on both and he turned away.

Presently, a song drifted over the oat grass towards him. Arkady listened with growing interest, for the tune was a familiar one, and the words were in the patois of Beaumarais, his homeland.

Intrigued, he followed the girl’s singing along a winding path between the dunes. He had no doubt she meant the song as an invitation, for the words were too apropos to be a coincidence:

Where do you travel, where do you go?

Clever little bird, take me along.

Fly up high, fly down low,

Clever little bird, sing me a song.

I would travel too — I would like to go,

If I had wings to fly like you,

Fly up high, fly down low,

Clever little bird, up to the blue.

The path rounded a corner and he came upon the yellow-haired girl. She sang as she knelt before a small fire tending two skinned and gutted rabbits on a spit. Arkady stopped, not wishing to alarm her. He said reassuringly, “Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.”

She laughed merrily. “Why would I be afraid of you, pretty man?”

Her unexpectedly confident reply confused him. Obviously this was no young girl, wandering the dunes. Arkady studied her face. He thought her sixteen or perhaps seventeen years old. She had the bluest eyes he had ever seen, fringed with very dark lashes, despite her blond hair. They were set wide apart above her high cheekbones. Her nose was straight and fine, though not overly small, and nicely balanced by a generous mouth and strong jaw line.

He asked her, “Are you lost? Where are your companions?”

“I am not lost, nor do I have companions. But I have these rabbits and I would share them with you in return for a tale or two. Will you stay and sup with me?” He looked down at her in surprise. She acted as though she had been waiting for him to arrive.

Her eyes studied him with shameless curiosity as she asked, “How old are you? Your chest looks like a black bear but you have hair like a grandfather.” Arkady had inherited prematurely grey hair from his father. He had begun to go grey in his late teens and now his hair was almost completely silver. After his year in T’Shang, he had taken to wearing it in braids, woven with colored yarn and bits of turquoise. With his high cheekbones and light hazel eyes, it made him look quite exotic.

He said, smiling, “I am twenty-seven, and not yet a grandfather.” Then, prompted by her brazenness, he asked, “How old are you?”

“Eighteen,” she lied.

Arkady looked at her skeptically. “You should not be out here alone. The Fynära raiders use these dunes to stage attacks on the coastal villages. I would hate to think what would happen if they caught you. Have you not heard of them?”

She shrugged non-committally, so he told her what he knew of the Fynära[v].

The young woman, who had remained squatting by the fire during his talk, abruptly rose to her feet. She moved with agile grace. Arkady stepped back in surprise. He was tall, just over six feet, but this girl stood taller still, and her shoulders were broad and obviously well muscled. She was dressed in a linen tunic, leggings tied with thongs of leather, and boots. Across her back she carried a long sword on a baldric. He suddenly found the tip at his throat.

But if she meant to frighten him, she was disappointed. Death held no sway over Arkady, for Dawa Tinley had taught him of the endless wheel of existence. He stood still, waiting to see what unexpected thing she might do next.

“I am not afraid of the Fynära,” she said harshly. “When we meet it is they who will fear.” Slowly she lowered the sword and put it back in the scabbard. Her blue eyes gazed at him fearlessly, and he could see the flicker of interest there. Immediately embarrassed, he remembered he had left his shirt drying by his meditation spot and excused himself to retrieve it. Her merry laughter followed him back down the track.

Arkady returned a moment later, dressed, and leading Ajax by her halter. He said, “I would be pleased to share your food, Miss, and I have many tales I can tell in return.” He paused, looking a little discomfited. “But I still don’t know your name.”

“Do you not? Then I will tell you. But first you must tell me your name, and where you are bound,” she replied.

“My name is Arkady Svalbarad and I am going home to the City of Isle St. Valery in Beaumarais. Is that where you are from?”

She glanced away over the dunes before speaking and Arkady felt sure that whatever she answered him would not be the truth. “My name is Krikka, and I go now to my father’s homeland, Danica.”

Now he knew she was lying. Still, he smiled at her, determined to play along with her game. “Krikka is an unusual name for a girl, is it not?” In the language of the Dalvolk, her name meant “crow.”

She smiled back. Her very white teeth and sharp canines made the grin look feral, like an animal baring its fangs. Krikka said softly, “Oh, but I am a most unusual girl, Kadya.”