The Fire of the White Fountain. Part two.
The journey was not all that long. The passageway led down into a labyrinth of caves and passages, mostly natural, although the hand of man had improved them in many places. The walls were lined with dark obsidian and other volcanic materials, which reflected the torch light so that they seemed to walk within a pool of light afloat in a shimmering darkness. Cutter lost track after the third or fourth choice of passage, and was acutely aware that without their guide he would have quickly become lost in the maze of space and tunnels. They moved downward fairly steadily, occasionally moving back on their path but at a lower level. It might have been an oppressive journey, but the caves were dry and the air oddly fresh; the echoing magnificence of the caverns added a sense of unexpected openness to their surroundings. It was a stark contrast to the humid and engulfing jungle that lay above them, and it felt as if they had stepped into yet another world again.
Bon Chance led them without comment, saving his strength for the simple effort of walking. His limp had grown more pronounced and he occasionally had to pause for breath, disguising the need by looking around as if checking his bearings. Cutter refrained from comment. He didn't know how badly his friend might be hurt, but he undoubtedly had his reasons for making light of the matter. Perhaps it was merely pride, but the pilot suspected it had to be more than that. Even after twenty years a man might still be a stranger in a tightly knit community, needing to constantly prove himself in order to maintain respect.
Whatever the reasons, the warrior returned home with determined dignity. They descended a final twist of sloping passage and walked into a dazzlement of light. Not daylight, not even the oddly silvered luminescence of the world above, but a bright, reflected brilliance that was as sharp as diamonds.
The Hall of the White Fountain was a vast underground bubble, lined with innumerable crystals that sparkled and flared in an iridescence of colour. Huge natural pillars supported ledges and platforms within its contours, off some of which tunnels led in all directions; it was on one such ledge that they had arrived, set some thirty feet above the lowest floor level. In the very centre was the source of the unexpected light; the White Fountain itself, an incandescence of bubbling water that boiled up from below and spilled out to form a natural pool some twenty feet across. It was an impossible, overwhelmingly beautiful sight, and their guide stepped aside so that they could take it all in, smiling a little as if he recalled the first time he had been privileged to see what they now confronted.
There were people moving about among the crystals; people dressed in simple pale coloured robes or wearing the patterned leathers that were such effective camouflage in the world above. It was hard to say how many there might be, although they were clearly not a numerous tribe. Their hair was silver white, and their skins ivory pale, a stark contrast to the bob of Jakka's dark hair as he ran towards the new arrivals, bounding down a twist of steps from the ledge above. Behind him came a smaller figure, a child, also dark haired, although his was shot with streaks of silver white. Someone reached out and lifted the torch from Cutter's hand. He looked round, meeting the pale blue eyes of a stranger, the man was wearing a long white over robe and tight pants of the patterned leather.
"Thank you," the pilot offered, along with what he hoped was a friendly smile. The man did not answer him, merely stared at him stonily before turning to extinguish the torch in a nearby jar of water.
"Ke lanasa te doura fusa," he said as he turned back, addressing the Frenchman rather than his companions. The man's tone was dour and carried a hint of anger. Cutter tensed ever so slightly, recalling Jakka's earlier words concerning being out without permission, and Bon Chance's easy agreement to them.
"Choudaga," the wounded warrior answered the implied accusation without apparent concern. "Hafarn ne marsa - Fein rasag Tulern. Be sootha Ku-a-Naga - ka da."
"Da?" The man's eyes widened considerably, reaching to almost touch the Frenchman's bloodied arm before drawing his hand away in startled respect. "Ke dougara da?"
Bon Chance laughed, holding up a single finger with authority. "Oush," he grinned, then jabbed the same finger in Cutter's direction. "Sa dougara utta oush. Sa soulanga AtaJake." His smile widened further as his son dropped the last few steps to his side. "Sa soulassa AtaJakka."
"Chour?" The man looked impressed, his eyes darting across the assembled group, then suddenly looked down at Jack, who had come to sit patiently at his master's feet. "Te taturna?" he asked, a little sharply.
"Kekatch solar," Bon Chance explained, with a perfectly straight face. The man blanched, and even Jakka looked surprised.
Sarah had been torn between watching this exchange and studying the vista of the cavern that lay in front of them. Several of the figures who had been walking or working on other ledges had ceased their industry to identify the new arrivals. By the time the Frenchman was announcing Jack's identity practically every eye in the place was fixed on their small group. No words were exchanged, or even looks - the people simply stared with patient curiosity. The singer swallowed nervously and stepped back a little in response to this intense scrutiny. She nearly collided with the second figure that had come to greet them; the boy had slowed his earlier pace to a wary step and a cautious consideration of strangers.
"Sorry," she gulped, annoyed at her instinctive jerk of reaction. The child stared at her for a moment, then smiled a little shyly. His eyes darted in the direction of the bemused doorkeeper as if assessing what his behaviour might be expected to be; after a pause for thought he winked conspiratorially in Sarah's direction.
"Ku founa kalas du na?" Jakka was demanding, frowning at the silver haired man while glancing at his father with concern. The doorkeeper shook his head.
"Chou ne gelae. AtaKeth akara, pasa limouna." He shrugged. Jakka's frown deepened considerably.
"Ke nito shava salanaja..." he began to say with some heat, but was silenced by the touch of his father's hand.
"C'est ne pas necessaire," Bon Chance murmured reassuringly. "Halath is right," he explained, including his friends in his consideration. "You cannot be admitted, nor even acknowledged until one of the warriors has spoken for you. I," he smiled a little wryly, "do not count."
"After twenty years?" Cutter looked taken aback. He was tense, half expecting the injured man to collapse on him at any minute. The Frenchman's face was stark and his eyes strained despite the casual veneer that he had chosen to adopt. Jakka clearly expected something similar. He was hovering at his father's shoulder and his face was creased and anxious.
"I have respect - but no authority," Bon Chance explained, a hint of self mockery in the words.
"Au contraire," a new voice contradicted him with stern affection. "Halath, ke dunura ajak shelous. Gana esha sha." A figure stepped out onto the ledge from the same tunnel through which they had arrived; he was a small man, like the rest of his people, his silvered hair cut into a ragged tumble that was held back by an embroidered band. He too was clad in the patterned leather, the same type of sleeveless jacket and tight pants that the Frenchman and his son were wearing. He was also draped in silver jewellery, much more so than the injured man, whose collar, necklace and arm bands were simple and discreet. The new arrival wore bracelets from wrist to elbow, and a whole series of chains and amulets fought for space on his chest. He looked to be in his mid thirties, although the white hair added a deceiving hint of age; older than the doorwarden certainly, who didn't appear to be much over twenty one.
Halath bobbed his head in acknowledgement of the firm command, looking slightly resentful as he did so. There was an undercurrent in all of this that made Cutter feel uncomfortable. The commanding figure stepped closer to Bon Chance and held out his left hand, palm extended and his fingers pointing upwards. The Frenchman smiled, repeating the gesture. Their palms touched and then their hands clasped together with firm affirmation of comradeship. A brief surge of irrational jealousy rose in the pilot's heart; it was a simple action, carried out with ritual familiarity, but it conveyed the unmistakable intimacy of a long and firm friendship. Cutter pushed the reaction away angrily. He had known Bon Chance for scarcely a year, and had no claim to exclusivity, however reluctant the man might be to affirm friendship over mere acquaintance. The Frenchman had been forced to forge an entirely new life for himself in this strange place and in a society where danger was an ever present threat to everyday living the closeness of fellow warriors would come to be almost an inevitability. When the latest arrival turned and repeated the gesture in his direction he had re-centred himself sufficiently to add a smile to his response.
The stranger's palm was smooth and warm to the touch. The grip that enclosed his hand was strong and certain, and the eyes that met his above it were pale blue and intense. "Keth," Bon Chance murmured softly, "this is my friend, Jake Cutter. There is a life between us. Yet again," he added, winking at Sarah, who giggled despite her uncertainty in the situation.
"And between he and I," Jakka interjected, then grimaced, obviously regretting his impetuosity. Keth looked impressed.
"Then you are doubly welcome," he decided, his English carrying an odd combination of accents, "for my joy in my grandson, as well as that I have for AtaLouie."
His grandson? Cutter glanced at Jakka and blinked. Keth did not look old enough to have a grown child, let alone be grandfather to the young man who stood beside him now. "Thanks," he extemporised, thrown by this revelation. "You're welcome, I guess."
There was a thoughtful pause, and then Keth laughed, shaking the still clasped hands before loosening his grip. "Young men," he grinned in Bon Chance's direction, who started to chuckle, but ended it with an indrawn breath and a wince.
"We have our moments," he muttered, leaning on the offered support of his son, who had reacted with alarm. Keth frowned at him anxiously.
"Te kagada?" he queried, then reached out to touch the tears in the injured man's jerkin. His fingers came back red with blood. Fresh blood, Cutter realised with alarm. Beside him, Sarah bit her lower lip with anxious reaction. The younger boy's eyes widened in dismay.
"Papa?" he questioned, hastily squirming past both Sarah and the doorwarden. Keth reached down and caught his shoulders almost absently, his eyes still on the wounded man.
"Sha telaga," he muttered at the child before refocusing his frown on Bon Chance. "How many?" he demanded tightly. The Frenchman found a wry smile.
"Trois," he announced. "But the third was Jake's, not mine. And Jakka killed the first one."
Keth's eyes widened into perfect orbs of surprise, a reaction echoed by the younger boy under his hand. "So," the man breathed, "Te soulanga AtaJakka."
Jakka squirmed visibly. "It came for my kill," he muttered. "And it was only a little one."
"You should not have been hunting at all," Keth frowned. "You will be judged later. For now..." He pushed the child towards the rising steps. "Cha fassa Ka-Tesh. Chen arda Shanalour."
"Sha dakkan," Jakka interrupted. "Sheda lagaraness."
Keth nodded, but completed the directing of the child. "Sho masar ti gar." He told him and the boy nodded quickly, bounding away up the side of the cavern. He glanced back once, earning himself a wry shake of the head from the Frenchman; Cutter had already deduced that the youngster was Bon Chance's second son, since the resemblance was unmistakable. The pilot wasn't entirely sure what was happening around him, but he knew that the longer the conversation continued the worse his friend was going to get. He touched Sarah's arm in brief reassurance and then stepped forward, drawing Keth's attention with his other hand.
"Listen," he said, "I don't want to offend anybody, but can't explanations wait until after we make sure Louie here isn't going to bleed to death on your doorstep?"
The Twilight warrior threw him an odd glance and then broke into a broad grin. "Cho," he agreed with a vigorous nod. Jakka laughed, trying to smother the reaction and earning himself a warning look from his father. His grandfather echoed the frown. "Menassa," he commanded sharply, jerking his head in the direction the younger boy had already taken. The youngster acquiesced with a tilt of his head, considering the injured man at his side. Bon Chance drew in a careful breath, nodded with determination, then turned and began a careful ascent of the steps, Jakka hovering anxiously behind him. Keth reached out and halted Cutter's instinctive move to follow.
"If he needs help he will ask for it," the warrior murmured quietly, glancing back at Halath who was staring at the departing figures with distinct sourness. "Word has already gone to ears that will welcome his pain. Do not seek to add weakness to the tale."
The pilot turned to regard the speaker with wary puzzlement. The undercurrent of unspoken tension was evident in Keth's face; despite the youthful lines of the man's features his eyes revealed the kind of unquestionable wisdom that only comes with age. Cutter found himself wondering just what he had managed to walk into the middle of.
"Jake?" Sarah had stepped up to join him, her expression strained. "What do we do now?"
"Be welcome," Keth decided, shaking the moment of concern from his face and turning to her with the barest of bows. "Daughter of the sun, your presence honours us. Do not let the pride of warriors dim your smile. Before you we are pale shadows whose lives are nothing next to your priceless fire."
Sarah blinked, opening her mouth and then shutting it again as she floundered for a suitable response. "Ah - thank you," she managed, more than a little thrown by the sudden compliment. The Warrior widened his grin.
"We are not worthy of your blessing," he went on, waving the two of them towards the waiting steps. "Yet, were you not spoken for, a hundred warriors would blood each other in combat just for the chance of your smile."
"Spoken for?" she echoed, glancing at Cutter, who had caught the wink that Keth had thrown him.
"Ah - right," he acknowledged, deliberately putting his arm around her shoulders. Sarah bristled briefly and then realised that Keth was being literal, not poetic.
"I'm flattered," she decided, "but not available."
"Our loss is your chosen one's gain," the man sighed. "For only a fool would challenge the slayer of Ku-a-Naga."
"And such fools exist?" Cutter guessed, glancing up their chosen route towards the waiting cavern mouth that had swallowed Bon Chance and his son ahead of them.
"Alas, so," Keth agreed. "But they do not remain fools for long. It is a pity that enmity is not lost as quickly as sense is gained. Life in the Twilight is hard enough without that."
The stairway lead up to an arch and beyond that a torch lit tunnel. The light from the white fountain did not penetrate far into the labyrinth that surrounded it. The smooth cut walls were painted with scenes of hunting and other aspects of daily life within the caverns. The image of the fountain, stylised but unmistakable, appeared again and again. They passed a working artist, his white hair dappled with ochre paint as he dabbed colour into a lumbering animal. Keth greeted him; he dipped his head with clear respect then rose to his feet to stare at the unexpected visitors. His hand went to his hair as Sarah found him a wary smile and his eyes were wide with fascination.
"Sheleth will wish to record your arrival," the warrior who now walked beside them said softly. "He will need a whole wall when I tell him the tale."
"I guess you don't get visitors every day," Sarah remarked, glancing back at the artist who was still staring after them. Keth laughed.
"You are only the second in living memory," he told them. His grin was wide. "With us that is long indeed."
Other tunnels twisted off the main route they followed, the tunnel curving round and down in a gentle slope. At the fifth such junction Keth motioned them into a side passage, a narrow slice in the rock that led into a high ceilinged cave, whose interior was partitioned by curtains of patterned leather and screens of carved wood. A wide fire pit smouldered at its centre, smoke drifting up to disappear into darkness; a long spit was stretched across it, carrying a heavy joint of meat. Jack pattered over to sniff hopefully at the rich aroma that sizzled out of the carcass, making the dark haired child who was basting the joint jump in alarm. "Jack," Cutter summoned him with stern intent, and the girl spun to identify the source of the voice. Seeing Keth in the company of total strangers she gave a little gasp of surprise.
"Sa dousha, Jeonvie." the warrior said reassuringly. "They are your father's friends."
The girl's eyes widened a little more and she dipped respectfully in their combined direction, her hands crossed just below her throat with practised formality. "You are welcome to our given spaces," she managed, her voice sounding slightly strangled.
"And to all they contain," Jakka added, stepping out from around one partition and greeting them with a smile. His sister, who from her looks was barely six years old, sought refuge behind him and stared worriedly at Jack who had decided to settle beside the fire. The young man laughed, ruffling the tumble of her hair with familiar affection. "Ke fiasha canar," he teased. "Sho Kekatch Solar."
"Nin," she reacted, stepping back with a worried shake of her head. Keth echoed Jakka's laugh with one of his own.
"Cho," he confirmed, striding into the cave with comfortable steps and sweeping the child into his arms. She sat there and considered the strangers with wary eyes. Cutter offered her what he hoped was a reassuring smile as he crossed the open space. Sarah followed more slowly, taking in the unexpected richness of the cavern with fascinated glances. The walls were not rough stone, like those of the outer passages or the larger cave that contained the fountain. They were carved and chiselled into vaulting arches and smooth curves of polished rock. Painted images, similar to those in the passageway, occupied every available space, creating sweeping landscapes populated by unfamiliar animals and plants. The floor was spread with woven rugs in subtle colours, and the screens that divided the area were carved with intricate detail, their wood polished to a dark sheen. Even the patterned leather curtains added a riot of colour and form to the overall impression, each textured skin artfully arranged to complement the next. "Shalanour iska?" Keth was asking Jakka, who nodded in reply.
As he spoke, a young woman emerged from behind the same partition that Jakka had. She was small, barely five feet in height, and her hair was a waterfall of soft gold that tumbled around a slender face. She was not a classic beauty but her looks were striking, aided by an impression of youth and an alabaster skin that practically glowed from within. She had an almost elfin quality about her, a delicate fragility that matched the shyness of the smile she found to greet her visitors. One hand fluttered to her breast bone in repetition of the gesture the younger child had offered. The other she lay protectively over the unmistakable distension of her pregnancy. Cutter blinked in brief surprise. She did not look old enough to be burdened with child, but the radiance it gave to her added an almost Madonna like presence to her appearance.
"You are welcome," she offered, staring shyly at the floor rather than her guests. "For the lives of those who are my life, I thank you. I am not worthy of your presence."
"Na, Ka-Tesh," Keth scolded gently. He brought the back of his hand to his lips then reached to stroke the woman's cheek with it. She intercepted his hand as it reached her shoulder and coloured a little, turning away from him. He glanced at Cutter and smiled indulgently. "How can a woman who has borne two children and carries a third be unworthy of anything?" he asked with the hint of a tease in his voice. The pilot grinned back warily, sensing the rhetorical question was more important than it might first appear. His head was spinning a little. This was Ka-Tesh? Bon Chance's wife? She didn't look much older than fifteen at first guess.
"I have to fetch water..." The woman said hesitantly. Sarah, who had been watching her doubtfully, stepped forward with a hopeful smile.
"Couldn't I do that?" she asked brightly. Ka-Tesh's eyes widened in startled alarm.
"Cho," Keth agreed warmly, dropping the child in his arms back to the ground. "Jenovie, limaran da syni chava, sis ka? Sko para de muttra, eshen...?." He hesitated, turning towards the American woman, his expression questioning.
"Sarah," she supplied helpfully. He smiled his thanks and turned back to Jenovie.
"... eshen Sarah. Munan cukska. Okay?"
The girl nodded warily, and extended her hand towards the singer. Sarah smiled and took it, letting herself be led past the fire pit and around another of the carved partitions. Jakka hesitated, then took off after the pair of them, catching up just as they were swallowed by the curtaining. Ka-Tesh stared after them, her bottom lip bit back with obvious worry. She looked as if she were about to burst into tears. Keth put a comforting arm around her shoulders and turned her back in the direction she had appeared from.
"Savavris na shalon," he said with mock severity. "Come through," he invited back as he propelled his company towards the curtaining. "Shalanour will wish to meet you."
Cutter had clear expectations of Shalanour, eldest of the Twilight people and Voice of the White Fountain. There had been something, in the way Bon Chance had spoken her name, that implied power and wisdom, along with veneration and respect. He had pictured an elderly woman, undoubtedly white haired, probably bent with age and possibly a little deaf. Shalanour was none of these.
He had followed Keth and Ka-Tesh through the weight of the leather curtain, moving from one pool of torch light to another. Jack had decided to patter at his heels since the temptation of the meat was remaining just that - a temptation. Behind the partition the wall of the cave bowed away to form a lower roofed chamber, which was dominated by the large low bed in one corner. That was occupied, a little to Cutter's relief, by Bon Chance, who was sitting propped up among a tumble of cushions and hide blankets. Without the tight laced jerkin the angled claw tracks of Ku-a-Naga were revealed as angry slashes that had cut deep into skin and muscle alike. Beside him, perched on the edge of the bed, her hands wrapped with disconcerting intimacy around the nakedness of his upper thigh, was the most striking woman Cutter had ever seen.
She was not breath takingly beautiful - her face was too angular for that, her high cheekbones adding a layer of severity to the sculpturing of her features - but she carried an impact that was unquestionable, her hair caught up behind her in waves of brilliant gold, her body carved from warm ivory in subtle curves that were completely under control. She looked up as the three of them entered, and it was the sleek movement of a leopard, lazily regarding potential prey. Her eyes were pools of shimmering blue, offset by the drape of white that clung to her shoulders and cascaded down the line of her body. Her face was ageless, unmarked in any way, and she radiated power in the way that Princess Kogi liked to think she did and never quite managed completely.
"My water?" she demanded, her voice low and commanding.
"Haz naderun," Keth answered, looking at his fellow warrior and not the woman who tended him. He let go of Ka-Tesh and strode across, drawing in a sharp breath as he took stock of the damage. Bon Chance lifted his head from among the pillows and flashed him a wry grin.
"It looks worse than it is," he remarked, including Cutter in the consideration, then winced as probing fingers tightened on injured flesh.
"I will judge that, " Shalanour decided sternly, withdrawing her hands from their intimate contact and running her palm up his hip and side instead. "How did you manage to walk so far on this?"
"I wondered that," the pilot remarked dryly, moving to tower over the hovering warrior. The Frenchman frowned at him with familiar affection.
"I did not want to worry Jakka," he decided softly. His doctor harumphed with distinct scepticism.
"Worry Jakka?" she asked, finally deigning to turn her head and study Cutter's wary expression. "Or relinquish your stubborn pride?" She glanced around the room, frowning briefly as her eyes identified Ka-Tesh's tearful demeanour. "You push yourself too hard, AtaLouie." The emphasis she placed on the honorific was sharply sarcastic. "You have nothing to prove to those who deserve your respect. And no need to prove anything to those who don't."
"Mon dieu," Bon Chance muttered in mock surprise, "A compliment. I am honoured."
Shalanour frowned at him fiercely. "You shouldn't be," she growled. "Just because Jakka is a young fool does not excuse his Father's behaviour. Ku-a-Naga once is bad enough. Twice was tempting fate. Three times..."
"Should I have let them tear my son to pieces?" he interrupted with a hint of mild reproach. The wise woman's brow knitted together in momentary anger, clearly not used to being interrupted in mid harangue; then her face relaxed and she laughed softly.
"Non, " she agreed. "I suppose not. But I am the one who has to put you back together - again," she concluded, sharing her exasperation with Keth, who chuckled.
"Better that than singing his death to the Fountain," he said amenably. "Or Jakka's for that matter."
"Dumoursha," she agreed, turning to reach out and catch Ka-Tesh's hand and pull her forward. "Come, child. Hold his hand for a while. You are not going to lose him just yet."
The pregnant woman sat where she was told with co-operative obedience, her eyes avoiding those of the figure that commanded her, her face creased with wary anxiety. Bon Chance stretched out his arm and brushed her cheek with the back of his hand, the same formal gesture of intimacy that Keth had used earlier. Ka-Tesh responded with a shy shift of her head, turning towards her husband and smiling sadly. He frowned at her with good natured admonition.
"Eh bien, ma esprit follet - qu'est que tu nes pas heureux? Je suis ici. Il tres faire tous la monde." His voice was gently teasing; after a moment a hint of colour crept into her cheek and her smile lost a little of its uncertainty.
"Si tu dit," she murmured deferentially. Her hand crept across the hide blankets and curled into his; Cutter had the distinct impression that, were it not for their company, she would have thrown herself into his arms and wept with relief. The interchange amused him, if only for the sudden glimpse of unexpected tenderness this shy waif brought out in his friend. Ka-Tesh clearly adored her husband, worshipped him, with an intentness that would have been uncomfortable in anyone of a more strident character. That Bon Chance regarded her with genuine affection was also obvious; somehow the pilot had never pictured the Frenchman as someone content to settle with a dutiful wife. He'd always thought him to be driven more by passion than domesticity, but then, twenty years was a long time, after all.
The trouble was, he realised with a growing frown of confusion, Ka-Tesh didn't appear to be any older than Jakka, and Bon Chance did not appear to have aged at all. Then there was Keth, claiming to be a Grandfather, and as for Shalanour... He considered the wise woman doubtfully as she completed her careful examination of the injured man. Casual estimation would place her in her late thirties, although she radiated the kind of self certainty that only came with experience. Keth echoed a little of that; he possessed wise eyes in his otherwise young face.
The curtain at the partition entrance lifted, and the second of Bon Chance's sons slipped into the chamber. He walked very carefully, cradling a dark pottery jug from the mouth of which spilled a faint but definite light. Shalanour looked up as he entered and rose to intercept him with elegant steps. "You took your time," she accused and the boy look vaguely surprised.
"Halana das dit tikalaf," he protested, carefully handing over his burden. He craned his neck a little to look past her as he did so, and Cutter saw her hide a momentary smile.
"He'll live," she snapped. "You will not, unless you pay attention to your own business."
"Cho, shuna a Shanalour," the boy responded, shuffling his feet and sounding contrite. She harumphed and turned back to her patient, carrying the jug with obvious care. Keth beckoned to the boy who sidled over, staring up at the lanky height of the pilot as if he had only just realised how tall the man was.
The wise woman sank back to her place on the edge of the bed and stared down at the contents of the jug. It was definitely glowing, Cutter decided with some bemusement. He was beginning to wonder just what Shalanour was up to, since she gave no sign of intending to even bandage the wounds which, from his limited experience, showed distinct need of stitches. Bon Chance caught his expression and grinned.
"Che na calakash, shoba AtaJake de fenich pra utterlain," he said, with a hint of amusement in his voice. Shalanour looked up at the pilot with obvious astonishment.
"Deshun?" she reacted. "Na chakii, dokourun."
"Cho," the Frenchman assured her, wincing as involuntary movement reawakened the protests of his damaged flesh. Shalanour frowned at him, attention refocused by the reminders of his distress.
"Then you must explain," she decided. "But later. This comes first." She lifted the jug, her hand drifting in a complicated gesture over its rim. Ka-Tesh, Keth, and the boy all turned their heads away with ritual response, echoing the whisper of words that she intoned into the vessel. Bon Chance released his wife's hand and solemnly accepted the bowl as it was offered to him. Shalanour did not release her own grip upon it but held it as he tipped it up to drink. Cutter was aware of a sudden tension in the room; he did not expect what happened next.
The bowl drained to its dregs, Bon Chance closed his eyes and leant his head back, taking three long careful breaths as he did so. Shalanour tossed the abandoned pottery to one side, placing her hands on his shoulders instead. She was in time to hold him as violent convulsion arched his back in sudden reaction. He did not scream, but let out a brief gasp of pain, his body tensing into a quiver of endurance, fighting for breath in tight determination. Cutter lunged forward with automatic response, only to find himself held back by Keth, who shook his head at the pilot's distressed expression.
"It passes quickly," the warrior assured him. "The Fire of the White Fountain burns deep, but it burns well."
The words made no sense. As far as the pilot could determine he had just witnessed a deliberate infliction of unnecessary pain, in which its victim had apparently been a willing participant. He pulled free of Keth's hand and glared at the two women on the bed, his anger dying as he identified that his friend's distress had, indeed, passed as quickly as it had come. Ka-Tesh was wiping away the sweat that had beaded his face; Shalanour pulled back from her constraining crouch, her hands sliding down the bloodstained flesh as she did so. Bloodstained, Cutter perceived in shocked astonishment, but practically unblemished. Where Ku-a-Naga's claws had raked their way deep into skin and muscle, leaving weeping tracks behind, there was now no more than faint weals of angry red, which faded into the white lines of scars even as he watched. The wise woman gathered up a handful of hides and wrapped them over her patient; he was shivering, his breath still shallow and effort filled. After a moment his eyes slowly opened, focusing on the anxious face of his wife, bent barely inches from his own.
"Sometimes," he murmured weakly, "I think Ku-a-Naga is kinder in his dealing with me."
Ka-Tesh choked on an involuntary giggle; Shalanour merely arched an eyebrow upwards. "Delirium," she decided briskly, shaking her head and rising to her feet. "Clean him up child, and then he should sleep. And you," she added, frowning warningly at her patient, "should favour that leg for a while. Even with the White Fire healing is a delicate matter and should not be forced. "
"Je connais," Bon Chance protested mildly, then, in a more serious tone added, "Te garou. Gatana gar."
"You're welcome," Shalanour smiled, the expression transforming her face into benevolent radiance. "Just remember your promise to me, when the time comes."
"We will not forget," Ka-Tesh answered hastily, one hand curling over the swelling of her belly. "It is an honour that you ask of us."
"An honour for all of us," Keth added quietly. The Wise Woman shook her head.
"Merely an inevitability," she said. She turned and looked hard at Cutter's wary expression. "You will see. Welcome, son of the sun. I have heard much about you."
The pilot blinked, not sure how to take this comment. He reached up and pulled the cap from his head, suddenly feeling awkward and uncertain under the intensity of her gaze. After a moment Shalanour nodded her satisfaction. "You live up to most of it, too," she decided, glancing back at her patient. "What took them so long?"
Bon Chance was smothering a yawn. "Two hours is no time at all," he considered wearily.
"Two...?" Shalanour turned back towards Cutter in momentary astonishment. Then she laughed. "So that is the way of it." She might have said more, but it was at that moment that Jakka lifted the outer curtain and guided Sarah into the chamber, her arms encumbered by a wide bowl filled with gently steaming water. The girl, Jenovie, slipped past her and ran to the edge of the bed, staring hopefully at its occupants. Her resemblance to Ka-Tesh was obvious, despite the darker tones of her hair.
"Papa?" she asked anxiously, and was rewarded by a warm smile from the man in question. Her younger brother reached out and pulled her to him with impatient remonstration, his head tilting in Shalanour's direction warningly. Jenovie's eyes went wide, just like her mother's and she slid behind the boy in embarrassed reaction, peering out from behind his shoulder cautiously.
Sarah laid her burden down on the box that Jakka dragged across to support it. She'd obviously taken a little time to freshen herself up, her hair neatly brushed back and her make-up in good repair. Cutter flashed her a reassuring grin as she straightened up and considered the occupants of the room with a wary smile. Shalanour considered her back, nodded thoughtfully to herself, then beckoned Jakka towards her with an imperious finger.
"Ke allano de rajsh cha priytan," she pronounced coldly, frowning at the youngster with clear disapproval. "Dour de lana kiyra," she went on, one hand indicating the bed and the man it supported. "Ke choura palla?"
"Cho," he answered, his voice clearly contrite. "Tusana firl de chouroon. Shanti Chooba, das adla Ku-a-Naga..." He tailed off under her disapproving glare, bowing his head to stare miserably at his bare feet.
"Do chai," the wise woman decided, reaching out to lift his chin with her finger. "Your father's fortune has served you well, little one," she said. "I trust the lesson was well learned?"
"Cho," he nodded, his expression still a guilty one.
"Bon." Her acknowledgement was wry. "Then you may grow a little older yet. You have many years in which to prove yourself. Those who think otherwise are fools and have no worth to you. Do not listen to them."
"Nin, da Shalanour," he promised. She pursed her lips and studied him a moment longer.
"Well, AtaJakka," she said at last, "you are worthy of your Mother's blood. But you are definitely your father's son."
That was meant as a joke, however true it might be, and Keth laughed softly from behind Cutter's shoulder. "Merresh would be the first to agree," he said, the words tinged with a hint of sadness. "Jakka, take your guests and offer them food and comfort. We shall speak again when the Twilight comes."
"Okay," Jakka acknowledged, dipping his head respectfully towards Shalanour and ushering the two Americans out into the outer cavern again. It was a dismissal that it would have been rude to ignore. As she went, Sarah flashed a smile at both Bon Chance and the two youngsters who hovered nervously at the end of the bed. Cutter clicked to Jack, and the dog pattered out ahead of them; the pilot glanced back, seeing Jenovie move to the steaming bowl and dip a clean cloth into it. His mind was spinning, still unable to comprehend what he had been witness too.
"Jake?" Sarah said for the third time, finally attracting his attention. "Are you okay?"
"Ah - yeah, I guess so. Sarah, is this place for real, do you think?"
She looked at him a little puzzledly. "It feels real enough to me," she answered, knocking her knuckles against the carved partition they had just passed. "This is a little weird, but it is happening. Is Louie okay?"
"Yeah," he affirmed, the doubt in his voice due to event rather than situation. "He's fine - just needs to rest."
"Oh. I see." She threw him an perturbed glance, but decided not to press matters just then. "So when do we go home?"
"I don't know," Cutter breathed, fixing his eyes on Jakka as the young man led them into another side chamber. "Tonight, maybe. Sarah," the thought crystallised before he could prevent it, and its implications were uncomfortable ones, "you do realise we might be going back alone, don't you?"
The possibility had clearly not occurred to her. She went a little pale, glancing at their guide as he turned to them with a friendly smile.
"Please," he requested, "sit, and I will bring you meat and fruit. Anything you may wish."
"Meat and fruit'll be fine," Cutter assured him, sinking into the nearest cushion filled chair. "And a bowl of water for Jack?"
Jakka nodded and headed back the way they had come, leaving Sarah staring after him with worried eyes. "This was going to be so easy, wasn't it," she said. "Just go in, find Louie, get out again as fast as we can. That's what you said. Only we didn't know it would take us twenty years... You know," she considered distantly, "Jenovie is a real nice kid. And Jakka - I like Jakka."
"Me too," the pilot decided glumly. "Hell, Sarah, I'm beginning to wish we'd never come. It must have been hard enough, making a new life here, without us turning up and making it really difficult. Those kids belong here - these are their people. We can't expect them to just abandon that, and Louie - Louie sure as hell won't want to leave without them. I wouldn't, if I were him. No-one should have to make that kind of choice."
"Perhaps he won't want to come home anyway," she suggested, trying to sound happy with that possibility and failing miserably. "This place isn't so bad. Once you get underground, that is."
Cutter snorted. "I don't think its that simple, somehow. There's something going on here. Something I can't quite put my finger on. And I'm not all that sure that I want to find out what it is..."
They ate well. Roast dinosaur didn't taste so bad once you'd steeled yourself to try it. It was remarkably tender, and there was a rough unleaven bread to contrast the richness of the flavour. Jakka brought them heaped bowls of fresh fruit and cups full of herb tea to help wash everything down. Jack appropriated what was probably the largest bone he was ever going to see in his life and retreated beneath the furniture to do it justice. This fascinated both Jakka, and his younger brother, who had helped carry in the dishes. The boy's name was Mikal and, once he had got over initial nervousness, proved to have as charming a smile as the rest of his family put together. He was of leaner build than Jakka, slight and almost fragile in some ways, an echo of Ka-Tesh's elfin looks. The streak of white that lay through the darkness of his hair added a note of what was going to be distinction when he reached his full maturity; he seemed unaware of how it marked him out. Jakka, Cutter decided after a while, had reached a point where he was about to start breaking hearts; Mikal, once he had grown a little more, was going to devastate them. Both boys had more than a hint of their father's easy charm and impish humour; both, he suspected, also possessed a fair share of the Frenchman's steel reserve and determination. He knew it ran in the family. He had spent too long with Genvieve not to be aware of that. Thinking of that particular sequence of events did not make the situation any easier in the pilot's mind. Bon Chance had been prepared to walk to the Guillotine in order to protect a daughter who didn't even know he was her father; how much more then, would he be prepared to sacrifice for these children he had raised? It wasn't a question in need of answering. If Cutter had not arrived when he did, then Shalanour would indeed have been singing death to the fountain. Perhaps twice: Jakka had too much of his father in him to let such a death go unavenged, and sufficient youthful impetuosity to attempt it there and then.
Mikal, perhaps, would have taken a colder approach. The pilot felt that, of the two, the younger boy had more cunning and patience than his elder brother. He thought more about what he said, and kept his words to discrete minimums that gave very little away. In that way he was more his father's son than Jakka would ever be; the older boy had an open honesty that made him hard to dislike, but would probably get him into trouble on regular occasions. Both begged him for a tale of their father before he had come to the Twilight and, after a wrestle with his conscience and an assessment of what Bon Chance might forgive him for revealing, he settled for telling them about the time Gandy Dancer had come to the islands and led them in search of King Solomon's diamonds. That involved a lot of explanation about why such things were valuable, and who King Solomon had been, and even what a King was, which was about the point that Sarah decided to leave him to it and went exploring on her own.
It wasn't just curiosity that led her to slip discretely from the partitioned alcove and begin a careful investigation of the rest of the cave, although that was probably the bulk of it. She also hoped that she might encounter the youngest member of the family, for whom she had quickly developed a liking, even in the short length of their acquaintance. Outside the curtained partition she could still hear Cutter's voice, interrupted by the eagerness of Mikal and Jakka's questioning. She smiled at the pilot's attempts to tell a coherent tale and, lifting a torch from a nearby stanchion, began to explore the maze of compartments created by the screens and curtains within the single cave. Behind the area they had been brought to was what looked like a cross between armoury and workshop, bundles of stone pointed spears stacked in wooden containers, and unstrung bows lying across rag fletched arrows. A pile of raw obsidian lay in one corner, and a low table carried a series of half finished arrow heads, each one a little finer shaped than the next. The workmanship was delicate and precise, similar to pieces she had seen her Father handle on one of his expeditions; a far cry from what most people considered prehistoric man capable of. The Twilight people were hardly prehistoric, but their raw materials were exactly the same; stone, wood, and simple fibres fashioned to make sophisticated weapons and tools. They did have some metal work, since the jewellery their warriors sported was clearly silver or platinum, but both of those were soft, pliable materials, not the hard heavy edge of iron or bronze.
It occurred to her, with an odd shiver, that the man who had fashioned these delicate messengers of death may not have been one of the Twilight people at all. Twenty years was long enough to perfect such a skill, should necessity demand it. Bon Chance had a family to feed, and in this peculiar piece of lost world that would mean hunting for the meat she had so recently enjoyed. The Frenchman always had had a delicate touch, whether handling precious bottles of spirit or extracting splinters with finesse. Couple that with determination to master any skill he pursued and these exquisite feathers of stone might well be the result. At the back of the work area, lovingly wrapped in an oiled hide, she found the man's revolver. There were two bullets still with it, she noted, and she wondered why he had gone in pursuit of Jakka's errant expedition without them. Perhaps there had been no time to collect a more certain weapon of death, or perhaps he had grown so accustomed to being without it that it had never occurred to him. Without means of replacing his precious ammunition he must have quickly learnt to use more replenishable protection. She wondered what had happened to the rest of the bullets he must have had on his arrival - a full clip at least, although knowing Bon Chance, he almost certainly carried more than that, if only out of habit rather than need. They had been lucky, stumbling on the uneven struggle and thereby meeting the subject of their quest, but perhaps he had been days in this place before even glimpsing any of the Twilight people, surviving in a hostile world he did not understand.
Somewhere, half obscured by the murmur of Cutter's familiar voice, she heard something else: the sound of quiet weeping. She replaced the layer of leather over the deadly shape it protected, picked her torch out of the holder she had found for it, and went in search of the distress, weaving her way through curtained passageways and chambers. The sound led her out into the entrance space, the central fire pit burning low, it's spit empty. One one side lay the bed chamber where she knew Bon Chance would be sleeping, on the other was the workroom where Jenovie had found the shallow water bowl and the jug that had enabled them to fetch its contents. The communal pool and its feeding hot spring that the child had taken her to had been at least one level below this cavern and Jakka had had to hover outside its cavern's narrow entrance, presumably because men were forbidden to enter where women bathed as well as washed clothes. She and Jenovie had garnered some cold stares, she remembered, wondering what it would be like to be part of a community where strangers never came.
The quiet sobbing seemed to originate from somewhere behind the workroom. She slipped past the racks of crockery and found the curtain that led into the space beyond. Her arrival was greeted by a startled intake of breath and a hasty dissemblance: Ka-Tesh huddled on a low stool, her robe unfastened to reveal the distension of her womb, and her eyes red rimmed with caught back tears. She scrambled to her feet as the light intruded in on her, gathering the fabric about herself hastily and wiping desperately at her face.
"Hey," Sarah exclaimed dropping the torch into the handy bracket and moving towards her with concern. "Are you all right?"
Ka-Tesh nodded fearfully, looking down at the floor with submissive embarrassment. "I did not mean to disturb anyone..." she began.
Sarah set her shoulders with determined exasperation. It would be obvious to anyone that the woman was upset and equally obvious that her condition was not one in which she should be enduring such distress. The singer pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, strode across the space between them and, gently encircling the woman's shoulders with her arm, guided her to a more comfortable seat on the hide piled chest against the back wall. "Blow," she commanded firmly, handing her the handkerchief. Ka-Tesh seemed to hesitate at her companion's determined frown, then meekly accepted the gift and used it, her fingers crumpling the fabric into a tight wad of dampness afterwards. "Now," Sarah said smartly. "Why don't you tell me all about it?"
The young woman's face fell. "It is nothing," she muttered. "Just foolishness..."
"Nonsense," Sarah insisted. "Something has upset you. Did Louie yell at you?"
"No!" The denial was vehement, a sudden spark of defiance from an otherwise submissive nature. Ka-Tesh seemed wounded at the very idea of it. "He never - never," she asserted firmly. "He is always kind to me. Always."
"Right," the singer acknowledged, a little relieved at the reassurance, even if taken aback by the strength of it. The suggestion had been a shot in the dark, since she didn't really rate Bon Chance as the kind of man who would treat his pregnant wife with anything other than respect and consideration. If she'd responded with a yes, Sarah would probably have felt justified in going to bawl him out about it - what ever the reason for the quarrel. As it was, Ka-Tesh's insistence on her husband's innocence in her distress was disconcertingly intense. "No yelling. So what's the matter? Are you in pain? Has someone else upset you?"
A wary shake of the head was all she got for that line of approach. Ka-Tesh sniffled into the handkerchief, not protesting the comfort of another's arm about her, but she seemed anxious and confused, almost afraid of something. "Something to do with the children?" the singer hazarded cautiously. Another shake of the head. "Something to do with Louie?"
A caught back sob answered that one. The woman's shoulders shook. "I am nothing without him," she admitted after a moment. "Less than nothing. And I am not worthy to be his wife...." She broke down, sobbing, and Sarah gathered her up in a comforting embrace.
"Don't be silly," she murmured, rocking the smaller figure as if she were a child. "He's not a saint you know. Far from it," she added with a reminiscent grin. Ka-Tesh snuffled into her shoulder.
"He is a true warrior," she choked. "The slayer of Ku-a-Naga. Not once, but three times now. He fought JalaHalan for Marresh - nobody wanted me. Nobody. I am less than nothing. And now, when he returns to the sun, I will be as nothing again...."
"Hey, hey - whoa," Sarah reacted, as much to the despair in the woman's voice as to her words. "I'm not hearing this, okay? You're a warm, human being, a mother - and a mother to be - and I don't call that nothing, all right? Now listen. Killing lizards doesn't make you anyone special - well, not that special, anyway. It just proves you're idiotically brave, that's all. That's no recommendation for respect - not in my book. There are a lot of things, other things, that make Louie a great guy - some of the time - but he's just as human as the rest of us, just as stubborn, and pig headed, and exasperating as every other lunkhead of a man that I've ever come across."
Ka-Tesh turned to her in some astonishment - then her lips twitched with the hint of a smile, and she chuckled a little hysterically through her tears. "That is what Shalanour calls him," she explained. "Exasperating. He's the only one who isn't afraid of her."
"Mmm," Sarah responded wryly. "I'm not surprised. I can't see any woman frightening Bon Chance. Earning his respect perhaps - but never frightening him."
"JalaHalan says he is dangerous. That he does not belong here."
"Sounds to me," the singer decided, "like this JalaHalan is scared of him. Who is he, anyway?"
"JalaHalan?" Ka-Tesh eased herself upright, settling her bulk more comfortably on their chosen perch. "He is the first among the fishers and divers. He won his honour title killing the dagger toothed fish that took his little finger. He still wears its teeth as his trophy."
Sarah thought that one over, trying to equate the words with her own limited knowledge of prehistory. "He killed a shark? Or something like it? I suppose that would be worthy of respect. Those things can be fast."
The corn blonde head nodded. "It is so," she agreed. "But the dagger toothed's reach is no longer than that of a man. They are not," and she shuddered expressively, "Ku-a-Naga."
The singer had had ample evidence of why these people considered the carnivorous lizard so dangerous and she had to nod her acceptance of that. "So this - JalaHalan - is jealous? Because he was upstaged?"
Ka-Tesh shook her head slowly. "Not because of Ku-a-Naga. At least - not so much because of that. Because of Marresh."
"And who, or what, is Marresh?"
The woman caught back the threat of resurgent tears. "She was - my sister."
"Was?" Sarah asked cautiously, reading in that simple statement a whole mess of emotional turmoil. Ka-Tesh was shivering inside the curve of her arms.
"She - died," the explanation came reluctantly. "After Jakka ... She was too weak for the white fire and so - she left us."
"After Jakka ...? Wait a minute. Are you saying Jakka is your sister's son?"
Ka-Tesh nodded reluctantly. "She was always first in his eyes," she said brokenly. "I was her shadow and he took me in because of that. No more than that. The day he came to us - when AtaKeth brought him to the caverns and named his honour title - she knew. She had never accepted the word of any man, never offered herself for choosing, but she knew. No living man but our Father had slain Ku-a-Naga; no one less was worthy of her. Not even JalaHalan."
Sarah frowned at the tale, reading more than perhaps Ka-Tesh intended, or even knew she revealed. Keth's daughter - proud and deliberately unattainable, aloof from the tribal warriors - had been attracted with inevitable predictability to the exotic stranger who's very presence was change in an unchanging world. That he had arrived with honour, the death of their tribal demon attributable to his hand, had only increased his attractiveness. It had helped, no doubt, that the man concerned was possessed of a fair degree of personal charm and magnetism, attributes which could be devastating when he directed them with intent. Sarah suspected that he had not, in the beginning at least, intended to take advantage of any situation that arose; stranded in a world of strangers, unaware of cultural taboos or customs, and denied communication by lack of a common language, he would have been defensive and wary in all his actions. But Bon Chance was a gentleman, and was never anything less than polite to all but his closest friends. It was one of those things that was so integral to his nature that to act otherwise would be impossible, and it might be that, in a tribal culture where men fought over their women, even common courtesy and consideration might be taken for something more than was first intended. Then again...
"Was she - beautiful, your sister?" the singer asked quietly. Ka-Tesh adopted the pale echo of a reminiscent smile.
"Like a flower among ferns," she answered sadly. "Her skin was as soft as the finest suede, and they said that her hair gleamed brighter than the white fire of the fountain. Many desired her, and JalaHalan had spoken of her to our Father many times after she came of age, but she would have none of them. I was nothing - I never have been. I am too thin, too childlike - and my eyes are ill-lucked."
Sarah leant forward at that: it was hard to be certain in the flicker of the single torch, but Ka-Tesh's eyes appeared to be pale green. She frowned her exasperation, identifying in the statement a sop to superstition. "Where I come from," she said dryly, "there are women who would kill for such distinctive looks. Don't run yourself down, kiddo. You've got a beauty all your own."
Her companion sniffled sorrowfully. "He tells me that - and sometimes, when he speaks, I have to believe him. But I am not Merresh. If it had not been for her he would never have even looked at me..."
The singer's exasperation deepened a little further. The voice of inner consolation with which Ka-Tesh fuelled her sorrow was evidence of a deep seated lack of self confidence that had nothing to do with the reality of the situation. Sarah seriously doubted that the Frenchman kept her with him purely out of pity; even had there been the necessity to present a fiction of fidelity, he would hardly have maintained the kind of intimacy that fathered three children if he did not feel something for this anxious waif. She also doubted that the woman was ready to hear such logic, so she tried a different tack. "Tell me about it," she suggested. "About Merresh, and - oh, everything."
Ka-Tesh blew her nose on the crumpled handkerchief and struggled for a little composure. The memories that rose in her eyes were not easy ones, but after a moment she found a shy smile and nodded her agreement to the tale. "When AtaLouie came to us," she began, her expression softening as she spoke her husband's name, "there were many who were afraid of what it might mean. But Shalanour spoke out and welcomed him, as did AtaKeth, who is first among the hunters on land. JalaHalan was wary and suspicious, but he heard the words and accepted them. Father brought him to our given spaces and we dealt with him as family, for there was a life between them." The phrase was the one Bon Chance had used when he introduced Jake to the warrior, and Sarah smiled, understanding from the way Ka-Tesh spoke that to these people it seemed to imply a debt of honour that was hard to repay. Jake would have been unaware of how his friend had honoured him in Keth's eyes, but she thought he might be a little embarrassed to find out.
"He saved your Father's life," she stated, looking for confirmation of her conclusions. The woman nodded.
"From the claws of Ku-a-Naga," Ka-Tesh explained. "Sometimes they hunt in pairs."
"I noticed," Sarah muttered wryly. "Sorry - go on."
"We served him, and Merresh helped him to learn our tongue." Her face softened even further as she considered that, a slightly wistful look settling into her expression. "I think I knew - the first time I heard him speak, even though I did not understand his words. Merresh laughed at me for that. She teased me by telling me he was ill featured and I believed her - for a while."
The singer was a little taken aback by this strange statement, then understanding finally dawned. Carefully, so as not to warn the woman as to what she might be doing, she reached out her free hand and waved it slowly in front of Ka-Tesh's eyes, scarcely inches from her face. The woman did not acknowledge the gesture. She did not even blink, and Sarah's heart turned over with pitying comprehension. Ka-Tesh was blind - or nearly so, her eyes reacting to light but little else. No wonder she was so hesitant in her dealings with strangers - and no wonder she chose to sit in the dark, since she had no use for a torch. The singer found herself smiling at Merresh's teasing of her afflicted sister - a tease of affection, not cruelty from the way the woman spoke. Bon Chance had the most wonderful voice, distinctive and capable of immense warmth - or icy certainty if need demanded it. To a blind and insecure child - for surely even now Ka-Tesh was little more than a child - his honeyed tones would have seemed enchanting.
"Well," Sarah allowed wryly, "he wouldn't win any beauty contests, but he has his moments."
"Merresh always said it was his smile that enslaved her," Ka-Tesh went on, a little sadly. "That was when I knew she had lied to me. She would wait - down by the fountain, watching for the return of the hunters. For Keth - our father - she told everyone, after he had come so close to Ku-a-Naga's claws. But they all knew it was not so. Sometimes I would wait with her, but ... I was ashamed," she admitted softly, "that I felt as I did. I was nothing, and he - he spoke to me of her, sometimes. Asking of our ways, and how she might be won. That was when I learnt his speech, so that we could talk and not be disturbed."
"Oh, you poor thing," the singer exclaimed. "And just like a man, too. Sweet talking someone's sister so as to get to her. I'd've slugged him one."
Ka-Tesh chuckled shyly. "I wanted only the best for him," she said. "And Merresh was the best of all. I asked nothing - only that I could serve him, and hear his voice. He was kind to me," she added in defensive explanation. "No other man but my father had even acknowledged me before."
"I bet," Sarah muttered angrily. "If he's nothing else, Louie is a gentleman at least."
"He was unsure - for many huntings. I think, perhaps, he expected you to come then, and not now. He would speak of the world beyond the Twilight often, and his friends that he had left behind. Many of the people were afraid of him, because of his strangeness. It has not been easy for him here."
"I guess not." The singer suppressed a shudder, imagining the situation and not liking what it brought to mind. Lost, abandoned in a world so unlike their own, with hope of rescue fading with the passage of time... It was no wonder the man had reacted as emotionally as he had, greeting the friends he had thought never to see again. "But you were telling me about Merresh."
"She made it clear that she would answer to his asking. And in the end he did. At a gathering, just as it should be done. Keth stood and considered the word - and then JalaHalan raised challenge to it, even though he knew she would not answer to him. Shalanour was angry, but the challenge was just and the fishers demanded it."
Sarah nodded, understanding how suspicion and fear might cloud the judgement of men to whom a stranger was a totally unknown quantity. Bon Chance may have earned the honour of the tribal hunters by killing their demon, but to live among these people he would have had to have proved himself every day. They may have grudgingly agreed to shelter him, but that would not have made him one of them. Perhaps that was something he would never achieve. "He didn't want to fight, did he," she stated, knowing that the Frenchman would have thought fighting among themselves foolish when the dangers these people faced everyday were so great.
"No. But if he had not, JalaHalan would have won Merresh by right. Keth thought Halan was a fool, to challenge him - but the fisher had not seen him hunt, and thought him soft and without skill in such matters."
Sarah considered that - and shook her head slowly, even though her companion would not see it. She'd never seen Bon Chance stoop to any kind of interactive violence - he was economic with his energies and could usually make even the most belligerent of drunks back down with a determined frown or a stern warning. Unlike Jake, who had a habit of getting into fights on a regular basis, the Frenchman seemed above such things, and she could well imagine that his self control could be mistaken for a lack of ability or even cowardice by someone who didn't know him very well. She knew, only too well, that Bon Chance was a man you only pushed so far - and no further. He never allowed aggression to cloud his judgement and his anger was something he saved for cold deliberation, not hotheaded reaction. She suspected, although she had never seen proof of it, that he was perfectly capable of defending himself should the need arise. "He learnt better, I take it."
"JalaHalan choose the gutting knife as his weapon - and AtaLouie laughed at the choice."
"He laughed?"
Ka-Tesh smiled with remembrance, although it couldn't have been funny at the time. "He told Father that he had learnt to use such a weapon in ways most men would never even imagine. And promised not to hurt JalaHalan too much."
She had to ask. "Did he?"
The pregnant woman shook her head with emphasis. "Nin," she answered. "But I am told he still carries the scar. Here," she added, reaching to draw her finger along the right hand line of her jaw. "He would not let Shalanour heal him with the white fire - but it was his pride that was hurt, not him truly. Father said if he looked a fool it was his own doing, because only fools challenge the - "
"- slayer of Ku-a-Naga," Sarah completed for her, remembering Keth's words earlier in the day. "So I heard. But everything was settled then, right?"
Ka-Tesh sighed. "Would that it fell that easily. The hunters were happy, but the fishers were not - and that old conflict runs deep within the Twilight people. AtaLouie made enemies that day - and there are many among the people, even now, who fear him. Some say he bewitched Merresh - but it was her who entangled him, not the other way around."
The singer smiled wryly to herself, doubting the truth of that statement. Bon Chance was no stranger to womanly wiles - although it was quite possible that he had genuinely felt more than simple physical attraction for his chosen bride. "But they got married, anyway."
"Cho. She and I together."
That elicited a start of astonishment. "What? He married both of you - at the same time?"
Ka-Tesh's smile was shy. "Cho. Merresh knew no-one would speak for me, so she persuaded him to do so - for her sake. We were close, she and I. And she had no wish to be alone while he was hunting. It is common among us," she added, sensing her companion's surprise, "that a man take many wives. Is it not so with you?"
"Ah - no. Not all at once, anyway."
"So he said - but he laughed, so I was not sure to believe him or not. We are an old people and children are rare to us. Those who hunt and fish risk life at every twilight - and so there are many more women than there are men among us. If a wife is barren a man does not put her away from him, but takes another wife. There is no shame in that."
Sarah blinked, struggling with the idea. Keth's comment to his daughter made much clearer sense now - that Ka-Tesh was worthy because she had produced fine children - since among a tribe made barren by inbreeding a fertile woman was obviously much admired. "But Merresh wasn't barren - was she? You said..."
The woman beside her laughed, a little sadly. "Nin. It was a full year later that she whispered her pride to me in that. Jakka was born at the height of the rain season - but it was not an easy birth. Shalanour was with her for two nights while he struggled to be - and she lived no more than a tenday after that." Her face fell into anguished lines as she recalled the trauma of those events. "He never left her side in all that time - up to the moment she was placed to rest in the deep halls. Then he took up his spears and went hunting without a word.
"He was gone for fifteen days."
Sarah's hand tightened on hers with sympathy. It was clear that the dangers of the outside world in this place were not to be taken lightly - and for a hunter to be gone for so long would be to be absent without hope. Ka-Tesh had clearly never expected her husband to return. "But he came back."
The blonde head nodded slowly. "Cho. He came back. I was alone, with Jakka, in this place, afraid because I was alone. I thought - I thought it was his ghost returning. But he gathered me up and promised he would never forget that I was also his wife and asked me to forgive him. Me - to forgive him!" She shivered, an emotional reaction to feelings that ran very deep. "I would gladly have died in her place," she murmured softly. "Sometimes, at night - he still speaks her name."
It was Sarah's turn to shiver at that, wondering if Bon Chance knew how strongly Ka-Tesh was committed to him. It was not so strange, that a man would still hold the mother of his first born son first in his heart, even after many years - the Frenchman gave his affections, like his friendships, sparingly and with reluctance, but once given his commitment was absolute, and the wound of Merresh's loss, like that of his beloved Monique, would have cut him deeply. But Ka-Tesh had been his companion for many years since, bearing him children which he would undoubtedly adore as unconditionally as he did his eldest son, and it was hard to imagine that he would have shared that much of his life with someone for whom he felt nothing at all.
"I had thought myself safe," Ka-Tesh hesitantly went on to explain. "Afraid of losing him only to the hunt - and even then I would have my sons to protect me. But you have come to take him back to the sun, and Mikal and Jakka will go with him, for it is their birthright, and I will be alone again..." The tears, which Sarah had thought banished, welled up afresh with this realisation. The singer sighed and enfolded the fragile woman in her arms for the second time, holding her until her distress settled into caught back sobs.
"Don't be an idiot," Sarah scolded firmly, but not unkindly. "Nothing's that settled yet. Jake and I came to look for him, sure, but - well, we didn't expect all of this, that's for certain. I don't know what will happen now. It's Louie's decision, not ours. Have you told him how you feel?"
A sharp shake of the head denied the possibility of that, a fearful response to an uncertain sense of self certainty. The American woman set her lips in a determined frown. "Well, you should. You're in no condition to get this upset over anything. Think of your child, if not yourself."
"Shalanour's child," Ka-Tesh corrected through a choked back sniffle.
"What?"
"We promised - the third child would be hers, to raise to serve the fountain. It's a girl," she added with a firmness that could not be argued with.
"Oh, great, " Sarah muttered to no-one in particular, "talk about muddying the waters … Look - why don't we go see what Louie has to say? You can't sit here bawling your eyes out - its not good for you."
"He is resting," Ka-Tesh objected. "Shalanour said..."
"Hang Shalanour," was the irreverent response. "If he can't take some time to look after you, he doesn't deserve you. Come on."
She led the reluctant woman out of the partitioned area and firmly across to the screens on the other side of the cavern. She was a little surprised at her own determination, since disturbing Bon Chance was not something she would have dreamed of doing in all but the direst of emergencies back at the Monkey Bar. This, she reminded herself sternly, was an emergency, and if he didn't see it that way, well, she'd deal with that when it came to it.
She knocked, not all that loudly, and, not getting an immediate response, lifted the curtain and ushered Ka-Tesh through, finding the inner room lit only by a single candle flame. When they entered, the object of her search lay sprawled across the low bed, half covered by a layer of hide; by the time she'd dropped the curtain behind them both he was on his feet and facing them with a long bladed knife in his hand. Sarah went bright pink and looked away; apart from the glint of silver at throat and wrist it appeared that he was completely naked.
There was a beat of silence, and then he laughed, a low rumble of amusement with a familiar ring. "Mon Dieu, Sarah, I thought I had taught you how to knock!"
"I did," she shot back hotly, looking intently at the wall with her face still aflame. He laughed a second time, the knife clattering on the low table where he chose to toss it .
"Peu t'etre," he allowed. "I was asleep, n'est ce pas? I hope you have good reason to disturb me?"
Sarah took a deep breath. "I would think," she announced, still keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the wall, "that finding your wife sobbing her heart out was reason enough, wouldn't you?"
"Sa?" he questioned, his voice taking on a note of concern. She sensed, rather than heard, him walk across to join them both. "Fanevi, Ka-Tesh? Sho dou la chasvera?"
"Nin," Ka-Tesh answered, fighting down another sob. "Toh doa preumash..." She broke off with a suppressed gulp, a reaction that had Sarah turning round, despite the embarrassment it might mean. She had no reason for that fear. The Frenchman had covered his dignity with the drape of a sleeveless robe; he had one arm around his wife's shoulders while he cradled her head against his shoulder with his free hand. His face was creased in anxious puzzlement as she sobbed and shook with distraught sobs.
"Sha dala," he soothed softly, stroking her hair with abstracted gentleness. His eyes met those of the singer over the weeping woman's head and they asked an angry question that she did not know how to answer.
"She's scared," Sarah settled for saying, a little relieved to see the depth of his reaction, since it confirmed that he did indeed feel more than simple obligation towards his distraught wife. "She thinks we're going to spirit you away and leave her here alone."
He studied her face for a moment, his expression hard to judge in the flicker of dim light that held them. "And are you?" he asked, the query dangerously quiet. She swallowed hard, and shook her head uncertainly.
"It's your choice," she pointed out. "Jake and I have no right to make it for you."
The challenge lingered in his eyes a moment longer, then his expression softened and he smiled, a little sadly. "Merci," he breathed, barely a a sound, then he sighed and turned his attention to the woman in his arms. "Na, Ka-Tesh," his voice teased lightly, "Kei shardri shala?" She shook her head, her face still buried in his shoulder. He reached to lift her chin and studied her upturned face with a thoughtful frown. "Oh, ma petite papillion, have you no faith in me, after all this time? " He brushed the tears from her cheek with his fingers, and bent to kiss her forehead with gentle affection. Sarah suddenly felt extremely superfluous.
"Perhaps I'd better leave you two alone," she suggested with a forced brightness. He lifted his head and nodded his agreement, the gesture carrying reassurance. "Okay," she backed away, reaching for the curtain and trying not to sound too awkward. "I'll - do that - then." The fabric enfolded her and she found herself standing outside of the partition, listening to his voice murmur words of comfort in a language she did not understand. She hesitated, wondering if she had done the right thing, then turned to rejoin Jake and his eager company. They had no idea why she smothered a giggle when he asked if she had seen anything interesting.
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