Jango (7 page)

I was willing to let a man die to save myself pain.

This was the most hateful thought of all.

She tried to push the thought away, but the feeling remained: the hard grip of a hand on her wrist and the hot flush of her own shame. All her life she had been happy,
because she had been able to push away the bad thoughts. Now she had become a bad thought herself. How do you push yourself away?

"You do something," she said aloud.

She had no idea what she meant by this, but oddly, she found it helped. It made the future possible.

"I won't run away," she said to herself. "I won't let them hurt the Glimmen. I'll do something."

So she made her way back across the night camp and into the tent, and she wrapped herself up once more in her bedroll. No one stirred. She believed she had not been seen.

She was wrong.

At sunrise next day, as the camp came alive and breakfast was being served, the Jahan stopped before her and said in a low voice, for her alone, "So you decided to stay with us after all."

Echo flushed.

"I don't know what you mean."

"You went for a walk last night."

"Did I?"

"I followed you. I thought you were running away."

"What would you have done if I had?"

"Sent a man after you."

"So I'm a prisoner?"

"But I didn't send a man after you."

"Because I came back of my own free will."

"So you're not a prisoner."

It was a curious exchange. To Echo's surprise, she found her spirits improved afterwards. The fact that she had shown independence by leaving, and had made her own choice in returning, gave her back some self-respect. Also she was much struck by the image of the Great Jahan following her across the camp. He must have moved quietly, and without an entourage, because she never spotted him. It made her feel odd to know he'd been there all along. It made her feel both trapped and protected. It also made her feel that she was special to him. She liked that.

"Would you have burned the forest if I'd got away?"

"Of course."

"Why do you care whether I stay or go?"

"What I have said I will do," he replied, "I will do."

"Then say I'm to go."

"You will marry one of my sons."

"I won't."

"I've not yet decided which one." He spoke as if her objection was of no importance at all. "I may make them compete for you."

"You can't force me to do it."

"But first you must be made fit for an Orlan prince."

"You'll have to kill me first."

"For that, you must learn to ride."

"Oh."

"Or do I have to kill you first?"

"No," said Echo. "I'll learn to ride."

The Jahan gave an order, and Kell was led up with a halter round his neck. It was the first time Echo had seen any kind of harness on any of the Caspians.

"He's strong," said the Jahan, taking the halter himself, "and he's fast, and he's not the easiest to control. If you prefer, we can start with a quieter animal."

"No," said Echo. "I like this one."

"Then you must let him get to know you and trust you."

"How do I do that?"

"Just as you would with anyone. Spend time with him. Show him respect. Don't be in a rush."

"So I'm not to ride him yet?"

"That will be the very last stage. By the time you mount him, you'll know all you need to know. The rest is easy."

Echo was disappointed, but she was also impressed. Much as she wanted to spring on the Caspian's back and fly across the land, as she saw the Orlans doing round her, she felt the rightness of this slow approach. So, as the tents were rolled up and the field kitchens stowed, she and Kell walked soberly up and down the riverbank, side by side, going nowhere and doing nothing.

Yesterday's rain had passed, but pale gray clouds still filled the sky, and the grass was heavy with moisture. The breath of men and horses misted in the early morning air. The wide river, swollen by the recent rain, rushed high and fast between its banks, churning into froth round fallen trees.

The river was too deep to ford. Scouts reported a bridge some twenty miles to the north, so it was northward that the army now turned. The horses that had grazed in herds as freely as if they were still wild had rejoined their riders, and every Orlan, from the lowliest kitchen-hand to the Great Jahan himself, was now mounted.

Only Echo walked, with Kell by her side. She held the halter in one hand, but the rope hung loose between them. Kell seemed to accept that he was to accompany her. They followed the river path, and the faster-moving mounted army streamed by them, until they found themselves falling behind. Echo hardly even noticed. All her attention was on the horse.

Improbable though it surely was, it seemed to her that she and Kell were conducting a conversation. There were no words involved. It was a conversation of nods and shakes and twitches. When the horse shook his head, making his mane flick away from his eyes, she shook her head in return. When she turned to glance at him, he flicked his ears. Sometimes Kell looked down and then up again, in one quick movement. When he did this, Echo gave a little jump as she strode along. Kell always kept pace with her. Once she stopped, wanting a short rest, and Kell stopped long before the rope of the halter tightened. He swung his long lovely head round to gaze at her, and she bowed her head in a small show of thanks, and he bowed back.

After that she removed the halter. They walked on, side by side, like two companions. Echo felt as if Kell had chosen her, and this made her feel glad and proud.

The army was now out of sight. The Jahan trusted her to follow alone. Only she wasn't alone. She had Kell.

The pale cloud-dimmed sun was high above when Echo saw a barge approaching on the river, riding low in the water, carried swiftly downstream by the current. It was crowded with people—men, women, and children. Seeing the girl with the horse plodding northward, they called out to her, waving their arms.

"Turn back! Killers ahead!"

"No, look! She's one of them! That's one of their beasts!"

"Then, curse you! May you rot and die in pain!"

They spat and made hateful gestures at her as they were swept on down the river.

Echo was shocked by their anger and wanted them to know she was not one of the invading army; but they were beyond the reach of her voice. Looking ahead, now fearful of what she would find, she saw thin trails of smoke climbing up into the winter sky. Then she saw a column of slow-moving people approaching down the river path. As they came nearer, she saw they were women and children. Some of the women were carrying babies.

The women avoided her eyes when they met. She knew it was because of Kell.

"So you'll be dancing now," hissed one woman, holding her baby close. "Now your killers have murdered our menfolk and burned our homes."

"No," said Echo, a sick feeling forming in her stomach. "I'm not one of them. I'm a—"

She was going to say "prisoner" but stopped herself in time. She was no prisoner.

"She's only young," said another of the women.

"And wasn't my boy young?" cried the one with the baby. "And did they show him mercy?" She spat furiously on the ground before Echo. "Murderers! Go and dance on the ashes of our lives!"

The sad little procession continued on its way. Echo stood still, her head bowed. Kell came up to her and nudged her chin with his nose. She put her arms round his neck and rested her cheek against his prickly-smooth hide and was grateful for his quietness.

"I want to go home, Kell," she whispered. "Shall we run away home to the forest?"

Kell turned his head round and butted her gently again.

"No. You're right. We can't."

They continued on their way.

In a little while they came up with the rear guard of the Orlan army, which had stopped to rest men and horses. The lines of warriors were now in the process of forming up again for the onward march. The men and riders circling round her were agile and graceful, the men smiling, their teeth bright in their tawny faces, the horses lithe and strong. Echo, passing through their midst, found it hard to believe that these handsome laughing beings were responsible for killing and destruction.

Then she reached the village.

There was very little of it left. Smoke was still rising from the burned houses, now reduced to fallen timbers and piles of ash. Bodies lay here and there, some still clutching the scythes and hoes with which they had tried to defend themselves. The immense army was riding in formation through the scene of devastation without a downward glance, the horses picking their way over the limbs of dead men as if they were tree roots.

Echo saw it all and felt a stinging in her eyes and thought: am I too a part of this?

"So, there you are!"

It was the Jahan, coming up behind her on horseback. She turned to him, and he saw the tears running down her cheeks.

"Why, what's the matter?"

She pointed silently at the burning houses and the dead men. The Jahan shrugged his broad shoulders and looked round with contemptuous indifference.

"They shouldn't have fought back," he said. "Those that stand in my way, I destroy."

"Did you have to burn the houses?"

"Houses? What houses? There were only shacks and hovels here. We'll sweep this garbage away and build a real town. You'll see."

His three sons came galloping up to their father, pretending not to race, but each one eager to be the first to come to a stop before him. The Jahan watched them, his face expressionless. His second son, Alva, was the winner, by a head. Sasha Jahan, his older brother, rode on past, as if to show he had been racing for a different goal, and so had not lost. He rode up to Echo.

"Why do you walk?" he said to her. His face was still contorted with anger at his brother.

"Because I haven't yet learned to ride," she replied.

"I could ride when I was three years old. What's wrong with you?"

He wheeled away and rejoined his father.

The army was now moving through the burning village in three long columns, heading up the west bank of the river towards the bridge, which Echo could see ahead. It was a broad timber roadway, carried on heavy piles and braces, strong enough to bear the weight of a convoy of loaded bullock wagons. The vanguard of the Orlan riders would shortly be clop-clopping onto its stout boards.

Echo felt sick and miserable. She would have turned away at once, and begun the long trudge home, but for this hateful itchy sensation that somehow she too was responsible for the killings and that she could not leave this monstrous army until—until what? There was nothing she could do. But still it persisted, this stubborn conviction.

"I shall do something," she said to herself. "I will. You'll see."

Voices called out from the far side of the river. She saw figures there, people from the village on the eastern bank. They were gathering at the end of the bridge, on the far bank, and shouting—though to what end it was impossible to see. If they tried to stop the Orlan army crossing the bridge, they would be slaughtered and their village burned.

It was one thing to weep for those already dead. But these people were still living, and in immediate danger. Echo thought no more. She set off at a run, and Kell trotted by her side. She ran between the columns of mounted Orlans, trying to overtake the Jahan before he reached the bridge.

The Jahan had now mounted his carriage, with its escort of drummers and trumpeters. The columns of riders in the vanguard had come to a standstill. Panting from her run, walking now, Echo passed through the ranks towards the Jahan. Round him she saw the mirror bearers taking up their positions, turning their gleaming discs this way and that to find the angle of the pale winter light. The drummers began to patter softly on their drums, creating the first rhythms of expectation that would soon burst forth as a driving martial beat. The Jahan swung a bright scarlet cape over his shoulders and, grasping the rail of the carriage, looked round with a proud gaze at the immense gathering mass of his men.

From the far side of the bridge there went up a sudden cheer. The crowd of villagers had grown to a hundred or so. They carried farm implements and kitchen knives, and a few swords, which they now raised defiantly above their heads as they cheered. Then from their midst stepped two men, who walked out onto the bridge and came to a stop halfway across.

They appeared not to be armed. They wore pale gray tunics and loose breeches, tied at the ankles, and they were barefoot. Over their heads they wore hoods of the same gray material. They stood quietly, side by side, their hands clasped before them, their gaze on the lead riders of the Orlan army. From the way in which they had positioned themselves, it seemed they meant to block the passage of the Orlans across the bridge—except that such a thing was clearly impossible. One mounted Orlan with his whip could lay them low without coming near them.

Amroth Jahan did not consider them worth even this much effort. He sent one of his junior officers to order the two men to give way. Echo watched as the officer trotted onto the bridge and then returned. She was near the Jahan's carriage now and heard the officer's report.

"They ask us not to cross the bridge unless we come in peace, Excellency."

The Jahan frowned.

"I will cross the bridge when and how I please. Tell them to give way immediately."

The officer rode back to the two hooded men. He spoke a little more with them, then returned.

"They say the same as before, Excellency."

The Jahan became angry.

"Then seize them!" he ordered. "Drag them before me on their knees!"

The officer beckoned to two of his men, and all three rode onto the bridge, unhitching their whips as they did so. Echo watched, dreading what would now follow. She saw the whips curl out, snapping in the air. But the two hooded men were just beyond the reach of the whips and were not touched. The three Orlans rode closer, and the whips cracked all round them but failed to connect with their targets. A murmur rose up from the ranks of mounted men, and some good-natured jibes were called out to the three on the bridge.