'I don't think we should concern ourselves with the rites of these Hesperuks,' Master Juwain said. 'No blood, a goat's or a virgin's, is going to do very much toward healing Maram's wound. But the Maitreya might. Let us see if we can find out more about this Bemossed.'
Toward this end, we returned to the village and set up in the square for a show. We waited some hours for the word of our performance to spread to the outlying farms, and even to the nearby village of Nur. At dusk, with many curious people packing the square, we donned our costumes as we had a dozen times before. Kane broke his chain, and Alphanderry sang. Atara told several young women that they would find love and happiness. And Maram made the women, men and children laugh. Afterwards, a fletcher and a barber vied for the dubious honor of sharing conversation and spirits with Garath the Fool. Maram matched these men in a drinkfest, one cup of brandy following another until tongues loosened and words began to flow. But Maram, being Maram, kept his wits about him while the two men spoke much more freely than they should have. It was nearly midnight when Maram staggered back to where we had made camp in a fallow wheatfield at the edge of the village. Despite the late hour we gathered around a little fire to sip some tea and compare stories.
'Ah, perhaps Bemossed is the one we've been seeking,' Maram said to us. He belched up a burble of brandy. 'The very, very one.'
From what Maram had learned from his inebriated new "friends, and Atara during her fortune telling - and the rest of us in various conversations with seamstresses, cobblers and the like - we pieced together a little about Bemossed: He had been born in the north near Avrian and separated from his parents at an early age. After being sold and resold numerous times, he had finally run away from a cruel master, a leather-seller named Chadu. But Chadu had recaptured him, and despite custom, had whipped him, nearly stripping the meat from his bones. Alter that Bemossed would not do any work for Chadu, refusing even to lift a broom to sweep the floors of Chadus house. Chadu threatened to strangle him, but Bemossed told him that he would not carry out any more of Chadu's commands. And so in disgust, Chadu had journeyed to Jhamrul, where he had heard that a healer had need of a Hajarim to dispose of bandages, amputated limbs and perform other filthy tasks. And so, seven years previously, Mangus had bought Bemossed and put him to work.
'I heard,' Atara said, 'that a great lord brought his dying daughter here. That the girl was coughing out her lungs with consumption. I don't think Mangus could have cured that with his medicines. Perhaps Bemossed -'
'The barber also told me of that lord and his child,' Maram said, interrupting her. 'Apparently, the lord wouldn't leave her alone with an old man and a Hajarim. So he must have
seen
Bemossed laying his hands upon her. But no one speaks of it openly.'
Bemossed's talent for healing, it seemed, was a secret that was no real secret.
'But they
do
speak of it,' Maram said. 'They call
Mangus
"The Master", but they know the truth. And it can't be long, I think, before others outside the village will know, too. The barber told me that only a few months ago, the Kallimun sent a man down from Kharun to question Mangus. I'm sure that damn priest went away with his purse full of gold - they say that no one is more faithful in paying the weregild than Mangus.'
I laid my hand on Maram's shoulder. I can only hope that the villagers will come to speak of how Mangus healed Garath the Fool. 'Is your wound any better?'
'All
of my wounds, inside and out, are better when I've had a little drink,' Maram said, rubbing his chest. 'Who needs the Maitreya when you have brandy, eh? But no, it's not
really
better - not as when Master Juwain healed Atara with his crystal.'
Master Juwain sat holding his mug of tea in both hands; he had long since put away his emerald varistei - I hoped not forever.
'I can only pray your wound will heal now, too,' Master Juwain said to Maram. 'But if it doesn't, that is no proof that Bemossed is not the Maitreya. As we say: "Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence,'"
I thought about all that had befallen since I had mistakenly claimed to be who I could never be. Then I said, 'Proof that he is not the Maitreya might be neither pleasant nor easy to come by.'
'I'm more interested in proof that he is the Maitreya,' Master Juwain said. 'Or at least good evidence.'
At this, I looked at Estrella, and so did Kane and Maram. She sat gazing at the fire as if she hadn't heard a word we had spoken. Her face fairly gleamed with a deep and splendid light.
'What better evidence than
that?'
I asked Master Juwain.
'Perhaps no
better
evidence,' Master Juwain admitted as he looked at her. 'But I should like some
objective
evidence.'
I nodded my head at this. Once, I had been wrong in this matter, and must never be again.
'If only,' Master Juwain said, 'we could discover exactly where Bemossed was born, and when.'
I thought about this too, and then I said, 'I doubt if any of the villagers can tell us that. But Bemossed himself might know. Why don't I try to talk to him tomorrow?'
'Ah, and what then?' Maram asked. 'Suppose that he confirms Master Matai's calculations, down to the minute of his birth? What shall we do then?'
I gazed at the orange flames of the fire, and I said, 'Everyone wants to join a traveling troupe, yes? Why don't we invite Bemossed to run off with us?'
We went to bed after that, but I couldn't sleep. I kept going over in my mind all that I wanted to ask Bemossed, and more, all that my heart most deeply desired from him. Could he
truly
be the one we sought, I wondered? For more than a year, I had schemed and fought to reach this place, but never with a very good idea of what might happen next. My last thought before trying to meditate was that we had met the Maitreya - perhaps -and now we must keep him. from the Kallimun and Morjin.
In the morning, I took up my flute and went for a hike in the hills above the village. As I had hoped, I found Bemossed tending his goats in the meadow not very far from Mangus's house. He sat on a large rock, and appeared to be watching the sun pouring off the petals of some pink and white wildflowers -I did not know their names. The grass here grew a lighter green than that of Mesh, and seemed strange to me, too, as did Bemossed himself. When I drew within a few yards of him, he leaped up from his rock and turned toward me. He called out, 'Master Musician! I did not hear you approaching me.'
I sat down on the grass across from the rock, and invited him to sit back down, too. I smiled and said, 'Why don't you call me Arajun?'
'All right - Master Arajun, then. Where is Garath? Is it time to change his dressing?'
I looked down the hill toward the field where we had stopped our cart. I said, 'He'll be along in a while. I wanted to take a walk before the sun grew too high.'
Bemossed nodded his head at this. He pointed at my flute and said, 'To walk and play to the birds? I heard you last night in the square, playing to the people.'
'You did? I didn't see you there.'
'I stood near the almond trees.'
'So far away? But you couldn't have heard very much.'
'I couldn't come any closer.' He shrugged his shoulders and said simply, 'I am Hajarim.'
I sat looking at his finely-made head, his deep eyes and long eyelashes. His hands, long and expressive, moved while he spoke as if to music. In manner, he seemed thoughtful and polite. I felt that he had a keen sense of himself that he tried to keep hidden from others. But a certain grace and natural nobility shone out from within him, even so. Except for the black cross tattooed into his skin, it would have been impossible to guess at his lowly birth. 'My companions and I,' I told .him, 'have journeyed to many kingdoms. In other places, there are no Hajarim, nor slaves either.'
'No Hajarim?' he said, touching the mark on his forehead. 'No slaves? But what lands are these?'
'The Free Kingdoms, in the north.'
'Do you mean, the Dark Lands? It is said that men mate with animals there, and eat their own dead.'
'Do you believe that?'
Bemossed hesitated as he dared a deep look at me. I felt within him a bright, burning awareness and an incredibly strong will toward the truth. But other things dwelled there, too, and he quickly broke off the meeting of our eyes. And he stammered out, 'It. . . is said.'
He gazed at the dozen goats spread out below us tearing up the grass. I could sense him choosing his words with great care, in Hesperu, speaking bluntly could earn a visit from the Crucifiers and a tearing out of the tongue with hot pincers so that one would never speak the wrong words again.
'It is a lovely day,' he finally said. He looked farther up the pasture at a grove of cherry trees where a pair of bluebirds sat on a branch singing. 'It will rain this afternoon, though, I think.'
'Bemossed,' I murmured into the soft breeze.
This young man who seemed of an age with me forced himself to look at me again, and this time he held the gaze. His eyes shone warm and sweet, and seemed inextinguishable. Something incredibly bright there burned into me like lightning. I felt him trying to turn away from this thing, but one might as well try to keep the earth from turning and stop the rising of the sun. I had a strange sense that he knew exactly what I was about, and wanted to trust me, as I did him.
'Yes, Master Musician?' he said to me.
I held my flute up to the sun's onstreaming rays. I said, 'I can play a few melodies, but I'm hardly a master.'
'All free men are masters to such as I.'
'I'm hardly free,' I told him. The memory of my family's slaughter, I knew, bound me in a dark prison as surely as any chain. 'Who is free any more? It is said that a Lord Olum is now master of all traveling troupes, and others as well.'
Bemossed looked at a hawk soaring high on the wind above us. He said, 'The birds are free. People's hearts are free.'
This, I thought, was a dangerous half-quote from the
Darakul Elu:
there, it was written that people's hearts were free when they beat in time to the heart of the Red Dragon.
'A man should always follow his own heart,' I said to him.
'I heard you following yours last night. In your music. The way you played. I heard such a longing for freedom,'
Bemossed dared a great deal in what he said to me and the way that he said it. He didn't appear to mind. There was steel inside him, and more, something as brilliant and adamantine as diamond. It was as if he had long since willed himself to act with little concern for what might befall himself. His courage shone out like that of my brothers.
'You must know what it is like to long for freedom,' I told him. 'They say you ran away from your master when you were younger.'
'Chedu,' he said, rubbing at the scars on the back of his neck. A darkness fell over his face like a dust-cloud covering the sun, 'He made me do ... evil things.'
'But you do not complain that he did evil things to you?'
He shrugged his shoulders again. His gaze took in the white flowers nearby, Mangus's house and the village below us, and the hills and sky beyond that. Something inside him flowed all golden like melting honey. Life, I thought, had treated him cruelly, and yet he seemed to have great affection for every part of the world that he beheld or contemplated - almost every part.
'Chedu,' he said again, 'wanted me to flay a piglet alive. So that he could sell a living skin to rejuvenate the flesh of a great lord, he told me. But I knew he really wanted to grieve me by making me torture a helpless animal, and so I couldn't. After that, I kept thinking about flaying
Chedu.
So I ran away.'
'And when he recaptured you, it's said, you refused to obey him.'
'I would rather have died.'
'And so he whipped you - nearly to death?'
Bemossed smiled sadly as he said, 'With a Dragon's Scourge. Have you seen one at work? The Crucifiers tie bits of steel to thongs,
and
call them the Dragon's Teeth. Chedu wanted to use it to strip the skin off me.'
'What stopped him, then?'
The Crucifiers did. A priest, Ra Amru, came along in time to save me.' Now Bemossed's smile grew bright with irony. 'You see, he reminded Chedu that I was Hajarim.'
The blood of the Hajarim, I remembered, was thought to be so unclean that even the priests of the Kallimun were forbidden to spill it. And so Hajarim were usually burnt, or racked in correction for their errors, or if condemned to death, strangled. The black cross signified that, like animals, the Hajarim weren't even worthy of being crucified. I said to Bemossed, 'You had other masters before Chedu, yes?' He nodded his head. 'Chedu was the worst of them, but not
the first.'
'And who would that be?'
'Lord Kullian. My father served him, and I was born on his estate.'
The story that Bemossed now told me made me grit my teeth against all the madness and hurts of the world. It seemed that for the first years of his childhood, Bemossed had lived quietly with both his father and mother, in the expectation that he would learn his father's trade of butchering. But then, in one of the wars of the north, Lord Kullian had joined a rebellion against the young King Arsu. King Arsu's soldiers finally came to kill Lord Kullian and confiscate his lands. Bemossed's father died trying to protect Lord Kullian. and Bemossed's mother suffered a broken mouth trying to protect Bemossed. The blood from this wound had defiled the cut fist of one of the soldiers, and his captain immediately ordered Bemossed's mother to be buried alive. Bemossed himself they made to help dig the grave. After that, he was sold as a gong farmer cleaning out the latrines of local notables. And then resold to a succession of masters, ending with Chedu and Mangus.
I did not know what to say upon hearing of these terrible things. And so I forced out, 'That is war.'
Bemossed shrugged his shoulders. 'Others have suffered much worse than I.'