Authors: Kathryn Lance
Gradually her eyes grew darker until they were searing points of black, and her face became cruel, with the sharp lines and glowing white teeth of the Principal. The crystal vase cracked with a sound which he felt rather than heard, and hot sand poured into his mouth and throat, choking him.
He could not breathe. He was drowning now, and every gasping breath brought pain so intense all he wished was to die.
“The outside wound is nothing; it is already healing. But if he doesn’t heal on the inside he will die. Give me the herbs and a flame.”
Zach felt the warmth of a nearby fire but could see nothing. There was a scent of smoke as sharp as the feeling of bare feet on wet grass.
Something touched his face, then his mouth.
“Breathe it in, breathe deeply. It will hurt at first, but then it will help.”
The smoke streamed into his lungs. He choked, then quite suddenly coughed deeply. He felt everything within his body leave with the cough. When he had stopped the pain was so much less that his breathing came almost easily. He slept.
He was inside a large tent. Above him stood a hunched figure with a misshapen face: one blue eye and one brown eye squinting above a twisted and deformed mouth, the skin mottled red and white. The face was looking beyond him, and he became aware of a low, monotonous sound, as if many voices were chanting the same words over and over. The misshapen lips moved with the chanting and then fell still; the figure looked down at him and the strange eyes opened wide in surprise. Then the figure stood and walked quickly away, long white hair streaming behind.
The chanting continued and grew in intensity. Zach felt that it was a part of him, that it had entered him and had always been there.
Zach awoke. His eyes were filmed and each breath hurt, but he knew for certain that he was alive and that he was not dreaming. He was inside a round tent made of animal skins. A large wooden pole held up the center with smaller stakes at intervals along the sides. It was dark, but he could see the open mouth of the tent, beyond which all was green and light.
He was not alone. Behind him, voices were murmuring, but he could not hear what they were saying and didn’t really care.
His mind worked through a fog of confusion. He could not hope to know where he was until he understood how he had come here; his clearest memories were of the dreams or hallucinations he had had in the night. Or was it more than one night?
He tried to sit up and the intense pain returned. He fell back, groaning.
“He’s awake.” It was a woman’s voice, strangely familiar.
There was a sound of feet shuffling, then two faces appeared above him. One of them was the monstrous misshapen face from his dream; the other that of a very young, beautiful man with a sparse pale beard and tangled, curling yellow hair falling to his shoulders. Around his neck a carved wooden spiral hung from a leather thong. His eyes were pale green, and his face was calm and welcoming.
“How do you feel?” the young man asked.
“Better.” Zach was not sure if the young man had heard him, but he smiled, revealing dimples, and turned his face. “Jonna, you’ve worked a miracle,” he said.
“It was the herbs,” said the monster, and Zach realized from her voice that it was a woman.
“Who are you?” said the young man.
“Don’t tire him, Yosh,” said the woman.
“Yes, of course,” said the man. “We didn’t think you’d live.” His smile was open, his eyes so clear and intense that for a moment he reminded Zach of the Principal. With every bit of strength he could draw, Zach spoke again. “I am Zach . . . delegate of the Principal.”
Again, he wasn’t certain that he had been heard, but the man and woman looked at each other instantly. Zach knew that he had said too much or that he should say more, but his strength was gone, and again he slept.
The dreams returned, and the pain, but less biting. The young girl returned to him, with her crystal vase of water, and sometimes the Principal, his face a mask of hatred. Once the face that appeared was that of the misshapen woman, Jonna. He felt her hand on his face, and more than once scented the pungent smoke which brought relief.
The next time Zach was fully conscious could have been a few hours after the woman and man had first spoken to him, or days later. He saw clearly that he was still in the tent and that it was night. Beyond the tent flames danced and dark shapes moved about. A low murmur of chanting came from beyond the tent, but Zach could see no one from where he lay. He did not dare to turn his head for fear of reviving the pain. Presently he became aware of an intense need to cough, and fought it as long as possible, knowing the agony it would bring. When it did come, it was bearable, giving proof that he was indeed healing and that he would live. He could not remember why, but he knew that it was important for him to continue living, and with that one thought in mind, he closed his eyes, exhausted, and drifted back into the dreams that had kept him company for what seemed his whole life.
The voices were talking again. For a moment Zach imagined that he was back in the Capital, half dozing as the Principal and his generals argued policy.
“He said he was a delegate of the Principal—”
“Then where is his seal ring? He was so sick he didn’t know what he was saying.”
“We must find out what he knows.”
“Give him time to heal, Galen.”
“I tell you, Yosh, there have been patrols by the border. What was he doing there? The Principal knows something. I will question him when he next wakes up.”
“No.” The voice which Zach now recognized as belonging to the young blond man was firm. “There’s no need for that. I will find out what we need to know.”
“Yes, Yosh.”
Zach opened his eyes to slits and looked in the direction of the voices. His eyes were met by the clear gaze of the young man. His face did not change expression, but Zach understood that Yosh had known he was awake and that he had been intended to overhear the conversation. After a moment Yosh turned back to the others and resumed talking, but Zach no longer listened: what he had overheard had brought back to him all that had happened, from the day he rode into the brewer’s yard until the final fight with Ermil. He knew now that he had been stabbed in the chest by the little man’s knife, that his lung had been pierced, and that it was a miracle he was alive. It was hard not to believe he was being kept alive for a purpose.
His heart thumped heavily as he remembered what his purpose had been: to deliver Evvy safely to the Garden. What had happened to her? No one had mentioned a young girl. And what about Orin? He had gone after Evvy, on the mount. . . . For a moment Zach thought he would be sick. There was nothing he could do for Evvy now, but as soon as he was able he would get away and find her, or avenge her if it came to that.
In the meantime, he must be cautious and discover who these people were who had saved his life. The young man, Yosh, seemed to wish him well, but there was something else going on beneath the surface. It seemed from the conversation that he was opposed somehow to the Principal. Surely he couldn’t still be loyal to the President, who had been deposed many years ago? Zach had heard talk of a ragged empire in the west, but in all these years there had been no contact with any westerners but occasional nomadic traders.
He concentrated again on the murmuring voices, but before he could learn more, the need to cough overtook him. When he had finished he groaned weakly, and almost immediately a hand was on his forehead.
“I believe our guest is awake.” The young man, Yosh, was smiling down at him. “Jonna, do you think he needs to breathe the smoking herbs again?”
“Perhaps,” said the woman. “But he’ll be very sleepy afterward.”
“Then after we talk,” said Yosh. “Do you think you can talk?”
Zach nodded. Then, with effort: “I owe you my life.”
“The body, in its natural wisdom, heals,” said the young man. “All we have done is help.”
“Thank you nevertheless,” said Zach. “Why—” He stopped. He had been about to ask why they had saved him, but wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
“I’m sure you have many questions,” said Yosh. “And so do we. We won’t tire you. Only, tell us who you are and where you are from.”
“My name is Zach, son of Ilona. I’m from the Capital. You’ve heard of it?”
“We’ve heard of the Capital,” said Yosh. His face changed subtly.
“The Capital is a long way from here, friend,” said the voice belonging to the man Yosh had called Galen. “What are you doing so far from home?”
The man approached, and Zach could see that his face held a look the opposite of Yosh’s – guarded, unfriendly, and suspicious. Around his neck he wore a double spiral identical to those worn by Yosh and Jonna.
“I was on business,” said Zach. He hadn’t the strength to think of a lie.
“As we thought,” said the man. “On business, perhaps, for the Principal?”
Zach groaned deliberately. The effort of talking had tired him, and he wanted to know more before he spoke again.
“Answer me!” said Galen.
Yosh put his hand on Galen’s arm. “Wait,” he said. “Zach is exhausted, and sick. We’ll talk with him later.” Then, to Zach: “I think it will be best if Jonna treats you now and you sleep. Perhaps you will find answers to some of your own questions in the morning, when we have our services.”
Zach nodded, grateful. He sensed that there was danger here, but for now he wanted only to rest.
Galen turned away, but not without an unguarded, hostile glance, as if to say that he would get the information he wanted. Then the woman came over, indifferently, and began to prepare the burning herbs. Zach watched with interest as she mixed a small bundle of green leaves in a bowl, added a pinch of some dark powder, then crushed all together with a stone pestle. There must be new-plants of some sort, that promoted healing. He must find out what they were and deliver the information to the Garden, so they could study it and perhaps learn to use the plants to help all the people of the District.
The memory of the Garden stabbed through him like the pain in his chest, reminding him again of Evvy, and of the old woman, and the Principal, and all he had left undone. When the woman had the herbs smoking and asked him to breathe, he welcomed the sharp fumes, knowing they would soon blot out his frustration and guilt.
After a few moments the woman left with Yosh and Galen. Zach tried to think, but his mind was tired.
He fell asleep to the sound of many voices chanting.
C
RUDELY HEWN LOGS AND DRIED
evergreen branches were piled at the base of a large, flat rock on which Yosh stood. Surrounding him, sitting, kneeling, some standing, were perhaps forty shabbily dressed people, the men bearded, the few women with long, loose, unkempt hair.
Zach lay propped on soft branches laid against the side of the tent, facing the rising sun behind the altar. The effort of being moved outside the tent had exhausted him, but he found his breathing was easier in this position, and that the air outside the tent was fresh and invigorating, as it had always been in this part of the country when he was a child.
Yosh was leading the group in a low, monotonous chant. The words were murmured, almost mumbled, and Zach found it difficult to understand what was being said. Something about sheep, pastures, and a valley, which sounded vaguely familiar. The words did not seem coherently arranged, and Zach soon lost interest. Instead he inspected the people who were gathered in this early morning ritual.
They called themselves Traders. Beyond this, Zach knew little. Religion, like almost all forms of civilization, had broken down after the Change and survived only in very small pockets of the old Christianity, Islam, and Judaism. Most citizens of the District used the forms of ancient rituals for marriage and burial, but there was little sense of religion as an underlying force in life. It was as if mankind had felt itself so let down by all of its leaders and gods that it had finally decided to rely on itself alone. There was a terrible void in most lives, Zach knew; and he and Will had both been expecting a revival of religious forms.
Perhaps it had finally happened, with these Traders. Perhaps a new religion would be good for the people of the District, adding a sense of stability to their precarious lives.
The chanting seemed endless. The Traders were more shabbily dressed than the general population of the District and much less kempt; this was understandable, however, given their obviously nomadic way of life.
Since he himself could never return to the Capital, Zach thought, perhaps someday he would be able to receive news of Will through the Traders, and perhaps too the kindly-seeming Yosh could help him discover what had happened to Evvy.
As the sun fully topped the mountain, the chanting abruptly stopped, and Zach turned back to watch. Now Yosh began to speak to his congregation in low, urgent tones. Most of what he said was lost in the cool morning breeze, but Zach was startled to hear the word
science
several times. A group of men near the front of the congregation stood together, then laid a colored box on the pile of branches and wood beneath Yosh’s platform. Now Yosh stepped down and, taking a burning limb from Jonna, reverently held the fire to the branches. “In the name of God, I trade this artifact of science for the clean smoke of nature!” he shouted. “God’s will be done!” replied the others. As the fire began to blaze up, Zach suddenly realized what this ceremony was about: the object which was beginning to char and then flame up on the pyre was a book.
Late that afternoon, after Jonna gave Zach his treatment, Yosh came in to sit with him.
“Jonna tells me that you are all but healed,” he said. “Now it’s just a matter of getting back your strength.”
“Yes,” said Zach. “I thank you again. Both of you. I would have died.”
“You very nearly did.”
“Tell me, Yosh. When you found me . . . was there anyone else nearby?”
“The body of a man we knew as Ermil.”
That surprised Zach. He wondered what dealings Ermil could have had with the Traders. When Yosh didn’t speak again, Zach continued, tying to sound casual. “Was there anyone else? A young girl, perhaps?”