скачать книгу бесплатно
Jebel took comfort in the high lord’s words. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he wiped sweat from his forehead. “Thank you for making it a clean brand, my lord,” he croaked. If the mark had come out smudged, he would have had to be branded again.
“I’ve had lots of practice,” Wadi Alg laughed, then slapped Jebel’s back and guided him to the door. “Come, let us prepare for your departure. You must leave Wadi immediately. Your quest starts now, Jebel Rum!”
SIX
Debbat didn’t believe Jebel would go through with it until she saw the brand. She was sure that he would back out at the last moment, and had prepared a number of insults to hurl after him as he fled the palace like a whipped dog. But when the boy staggered out of the hall of quests, shaken but upright, she realised this was for real, that he was truly going to quest in her name.
Debbat’s heart beat fast and her eyes twinkled. She almost raced forward and kissed Jebel. But then reality reasserted itself. The weedy youth would surely fail, and it wouldn’t do for people to think that she was fond of him. The winner of the mukhayret (J’An or J’Al — she still couldn’t decide!) might lose interest in her if he believed her heart belonged to another.
“Did it hurt?” she asked as they walked behind her father.
“A mere sting,” Jebel said, his teeth still chattering from the pain.
“What’s the hall of quests like?” Debbat whispered.
“Incredible,” Jebel lied.
“Were there heads? And a hound?”
Jebel didn’t answer, but by the way he smiled, she assumed that there had been — heads, hounds and a whole lot more. Why hadn’t she been born a man so that she could have quested too!
In the high lord’s chamber, Wadi Alg bid Jebel sit and went to a large chest. “You will need swagah,” he said, opening the chest to reveal a mound of coins.
“I have some already, my lord,” Jebel said. J’An Nasrim had presented him with a small bag of swagah before leaving to tell Jebel’s father the news.
“Some is good,” the high lord grunted. “More is better.” He filled a pouch with gold swagah and another with silver. Jebel accepted the gifts silently. He couldn’t think of anything to say.
“Guard the coins carefully,” the high lord said. “Divide them between yourself and your slave. The path to Tubaygat is never easy. Even a small fortune like this won’t ensure your safe passage. Don’t rely on swagah. Keep your wits about you too.”
“Thank you, my lord,” said Jebel.
Wadi Alg thought about what other advice he could bestow upon the boy, then decided this wasn’t the time for a lecture. Instead he clapped Jebel on the back and dismissed him. He didn’t wish him luck – it wasn’t the custom.
Jebel retreated with Tel Hesani. Debbat slipped out after them. “I thought you might like to look at me one last time,” she preened, free to act as she liked now that there was no one to see.
“It won’t be the last time,” Jebel said confidently. Then he did something he wouldn’t have dared under any other circumstances — he bent forward and kissed the high maid. Debbat’s eyes widened, but she didn’t pull free. When Jebel released her, he was beaming dreamily.
“I could have you executed for that!” gasped Debbat.
“You won’t,” Jebel smirked.
Debbat glared at him, then giggled. “If you return, perhaps you’ll receive more than a kiss next time.”
With that she swept away, buzzing from the memory of the kiss but not sure if she should tell her friends about it — after all, it was only Jebel Rum, and who on Makhras had ever wanted to kiss him!
Jebel watched the high maid leave, wishing he could kiss her again. Then Tel Hesani said, “We must make a start, master.”
“It’s still early,” Jebel grumbled.
“We have much to do before we leave. We need to study a map, decide on our route, purchase supplies…”
“All right,” Jebel snarled. “Just don’t forget who’s in charge.”
“I would never presume to tell my young master his business,” said Tel Hesani. “But since I know more of the world than you, I urge you to heed my advice. That is, after all, one of the reasons why you chose me.”
Jebel thought about whipping Tel Hesani for his impudence. But when he gazed into the slave’s eyes, he hesitated. Jebel was certain the slave loved his wife and children, and would help the um Wadi for their sake. But slaves were savages at heart. He might forget his vow and strangle Jebel if pushed too far.
“Come on,” Jebel said, nudging ahead of the tall, pale-skinned man. “We have to drop your brood of rats off at my father’s before we leave.”
Tel Hesani didn’t respond to that, just followed with a wry smile.
Murasa and the children were waiting outside the servants’ entrance, and so, to Jebel’s surprise, was Bastina.
“I know what you’ve done,” Bastina said. “I feared you’d do something stupid, so I came here and Murasa told me about your deal.”
“It’s not stupid,” Jebel grunted. He thrust his arm out at the servant girl, so she could admire his brand. “See?”
Bastina didn’t even look at his arm. “You shouldn’t have done this,” she said softly. “There were other ways to redeem your honour.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jebel huffed. “You’re just a girl.”
“Maybe,” Bastina said, tears spilling down her cheeks. “But I care about you. I know you’re going to die or be captured by slavers. And I know I’ll miss you. I…” Tears overwhelmed her and she had to stop. Murasa put an arm around the girl and hugged her, glaring at Jebel accusingly.
“It’s not my fault she feels that way,” Jebel muttered. But he felt bad, so he reached behind his tunic to where he’d strapped the bags of swagah and pressed three silver coins into Bastina’s hand.
“I don’t want your blood money,” she wept.
“It’s a gift, Bas,” Jebel said. “If I return, give them back to me. If I don’t, you can spend them on a memorial for me — though I think you’d be better off buying some new clothes.” He tugged at her dirty blouse. “You’d attract a husband a lot quicker if you had nice outfits.”
“What do you care… whether I… get married or not?” Bastina gulped. “You’re only worried… about Debbat and what… she thinks of you.”
“I worry about you too,” Jebel said, and it wasn’t a total lie. “I’d like to see you married. You’re not ugly, except when you cry. The trouble is, you cry most of the time — when people are beheaded, when slaves are whipped, when questers set off.” He wiped tears from her face and smiled. “Buy fancy clothes if I don’t return and try not to cry so much. Then you’ll find a husband in no time.”
Jebel stepped back from Bastina and smiled sheepishly at Tel Hesani. The slave looked at Jebel neutrally, awaiting his command. “Well,” Jebel said uncertainly, “I guess we’d better take your family to my father’s house and–”
“Bas said that she would take us,” Murasa interrupted. “I told her you would be in a hurry to leave. J’An Nasrim will have already told your father of your quest, so there is no need for you to accompany us, unless you wish to discuss it with him before you depart.”
Jebel would have liked to say goodbye to his father and brothers – he felt lonely now that he realised he would probably never see them again – but questers didn’t usually take a detour to bid their loved ones farewell. Besides, he didn’t think they would approve of his decision and he couldn’t stand the thought of them criticising him.
“Very well,” Jebel said hollowly. He glanced at Tel Hesani, then Murasa. “Is there anything you want to say to each other?”
“We said all that needed to be said before we left home,” Tel Hesani replied. He exchanged a look with Murasa, then with his children. They all gazed at him silently, fighting back tears. Tel Hesani gulped, then turned and pointed to a street. “I suggest we go this way, to the docks. From there we can follow the path north to where the early morning traders pitch their stalls.”
“Yes,” Jebel said. “That was my plan anyway.” He smiled at Bastina. Sniffling, she put her hands together and bowed. He nodded at her roughly, then hurried after Tel Hesani, who was already several strides ahead and moving swiftly.
SEVEN
It was a glorious summer’s morning, not a single cloud in the perfect blue sky. A breeze blew in off the as-Sudat, cooling those who laboured nearby.
Jebel and Tel Hesani had walked all night, arriving at the huge market on the northern outskirts of Wadi a few hours before daybreak. Jebel was fit to drop by the time they stopped, and he dozed until dawn, sitting on a stone bench, head bobbing, watched over by his slave.
As the sun rose and traders set up their wares, Tel Hesani tapped Jebel’s shoulder. Jebel awoke sluggishly, got up and stretched. His branded arm still felt as if it was on fire, but he clenched his teeth against the pain.
“What first?” he yawned, staring at the rows of stalls. Lots of traders were laying out their goods on tables, or hanging them from overhead hooks, but others simply placed them on a mat or on the ground.
“We need to buy a good map,” Tel Hesani said. “Then we can choose our route. It helps to know where you are going before you set out.”
Jebel was too tired to mark the slave’s sarcasm. “All right,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Do you know where the map-makers are?”
“I am confident that I can find them, master,” Tel Hesani said drily, then led the boy into the labyrinth of traders, moving quickly and surely. He had never been to this market, but he had visited many like it. A short while later, the pair were studying a map of the Great Kingdoms, seated around a table in an outdoor tavern.
Tel Hesani spent a while familiarising himself with the names. Um Kheshabah had different names for many of the rivers, mountains and towns of the Eastern Nations.
“This is the shortest route,” Tel Hesani said, tracing the path with his finger. “North by the banks of the as-Surout to the border between Abu Aineh, Abu Nekhele and Abu Safafaha. Then straight through Abu Safafaha to the eastern entrance of Abu Siq. But it would be madness to risk capture by the Um Safafaha.”
“I agree,” Jebel grunted. “I’m not going anywhere near those barbarians. They eat their own babies.”
“An exaggeration,” Tel Hesani said. “But they often sacrifice stray travellers to their gods. It might be wiser to enter Abu Nekhele after Shihat and head for Hassah, then make for the western entrance into the siq.”
Jebel frowned. “Isn’t it swampland between Shihat and Hassah? I’ve heard of whole camps being drowned in quicksand or eaten by alligators. Wouldn’t it be safer to follow the as-Sudat from here?” Jebel traced the route of the river with a finger. “That would take us through Abu Judayda, then back around east through the less treacherous parts of Abu Nekhele.”
“There’s more to a path than what you see on a map,” Tel Hesani replied. “What of the Um Nekhele? Your nations are not currently at war, but old hatreds linger, especially in the central areas of the country. And it would take much longer. If we follow the as-Surout, we should reach the western entrance of Abu Siq in two months or thereabouts.”
“That long?” Jebel exclaimed.
“We must travel on foot,” Tel Hesani reminded him. “And as you pointed out, it is marshy, treacherous land north-west of the border. It will take at least two months, maybe ten weeks. But if we follow the as-Sudat, it will take four months.”
“That’s too long,” Jebel said. “I’ve got to be back in Wadi within a year.”
“Quite,” the slave murmured. “So we go through the swamp?”
Jebel pulled a face. “Very well.”
Tel Hesani put his finger back on the map, then moved it slowly north-east from the town of Hassah, to the al-Attieg. The mountains were sometimes referred to as the Great Wall, since legends claimed they were created by the gods in the time before mankind, to separate two violent, warring factions.
“Ideally we’d sail along the as-Sudat through the al-Attieg gorge,” Tel Hesani said. “But as we are not allowed to use a boat, we’ll have to take the siq.”
“Do we have to?” Jebel asked. “Couldn’t we climb over the mountains instead?”
“That would be suicide,” Tel Hesani said.
“But will the Um Siq let us pass?”
Tel Hesani shrugged. “They do not take kindly to travellers. But we are on a quest. They might respect that and grant us passage.”
“If they don’t?” Jebel pressed.
“We could sail through the gorge,” Tel Hesani suggested.
“That’s not permitted,” Jebel growled. “You know the terms of the quest.”
“Yes,” the slave sighed. “But who would see us?”
“Sabbah Eid,” Jebel said. “If I’ve broken the terms when I petition him, he’ll strike me dead and my spirit will burn for a thousand generations.”
Tel Hesani glanced up from the map. “Do you really believe that a god lives inside the mountain?”
Jebel frowned. “It’s not a matter of belief. He does live there.”
Tel Hesani grunted and returned to the map. “If we make it past Abu Siq, the path’s straightforward. We cut west, then follow the as-Sudat up to where it meets the al-Meata, then track the river back to its source in Tubaygat.”
“What about the Um Saga?” Jebel said. “Abu Saga’s full of slavers looking for workers to throw down their mines. How can we guarantee safe passage?”
“We can’t,” Tel Hesani said grimly. “We’ll have to travel by night and hope we don’t fall foul of the slavers.”
“How long will it take in total?” Jebel asked.
Tel Hesani scratched his beard. “We can’t factor in all of the obstacles which we’re sure to run into. The weather might work against us — if we get delayed on the way to Abu Siq, it will be winter and the siq might be impassable. And it will definitely be winter or early spring when we hit the al-Meata. Snowstorms or floods could bar our progress…
“At best, eight months,” he guessed. “More likely ten. If we manage that, we should be able to sail back in time for the mukhayret. Rather,” he added with a bitter smile, “you can sail back. I will be staying in Tubaygat.”
Jebel waved away the slave’s last comment. He was thinking hard. “Eight to ten months… It’s going to be tight. What if I can’t get back in time?”
Tel Hesani shrugged. “I will have escorted you to Tubaygat and let you kill me, upholding my part of the bargain. What happens after that is your concern. Come,” the slave said, rolling up the map. “Let’s sort out our supplies and move on. If we can cover a few miles before midday, it will be a good start.”
Jebel nodded wearily. He felt that the world was larger and more threatening than he’d ever imagined. But he didn’t want to look weak in front of Tel Hesani, so he splashed water over his face, then followed his slave back into the market to buy the goods which they would need to help them navigate the first leg of their journey into the perilous unknown.
EIGHT
The journey north through Abu Aineh was a joy. As a quester to Tubaygat, Jebel was fêted in every village and town that he passed through. The reaction from the um Surout — those who lived by the banks of the river — was the same everywhere. Men and women greeted Jebel politely, but with no great interest at first. Their gaze flickered to his arms, searching for the tattoos which would tell what family he was from, if he had a job and so on. They’d note the small W on his neck with no surprise — um Wadi were plentiful here. But eyebrows were raised when they saw the tattoo of the axe on his left shoulder, then shot up even higher when they spotted the coiled serpent on his lower right arm.
As soon as people realised that Jebel was on a quest to Tubaygat, word spread like wildfire. Within minutes a crowd would form. Everyone wanted to offer him a bed or food, to touch his hand and earn good luck. If any thought it curious that such a skinny boy had undertaken so hazardous a quest, they kept their doubts to themselves. He was the Wadi executioner’s son and he bore the brand of a quester. He was due their unreserved respect and they afforded it him.
The praise and gifts of the river folk quickly went to Jebel’s head. He had been withdrawn and sullen when they left Wadi. Tel Hesani had taken control of the quest, organised their supplies, decided how far they marched each day, when they slept and ate. The slave never acted without Jebel’s permission, always careful to ask if “my young master” agreed. But he was clearly in charge and Jebel felt the way he did in school.
He was lonely too. Tel Hesani was a man of few words (at least around Jebel) and there was nobody else to talk with. Jebel missed his friends, his brothers, Debbat Alg, even the melancholy Bastina. The days were long and dull. They marched steadily, the scenery unchanging, stopping only to eat, rest and sleep. His mind wandered while they marched, but since he’d never been overly imaginative, he found it hard to amuse himself. He was also sore from sleeping on a rough mat. He had seriously started to think about abandoning the quest and throwing himself into the as-Surout.
But then came the villages and towns, the gasps, the admiration, the fine beds, clothes and food. Feasts were dedicated to him and vintage wines uncorked in his honour. After his first few glasses, he would regale his audience with fanciful tales of why he had undertaken the quest. If his listeners sensed the hollowness of his words, they never challenged him. Jebel soon started to believe his own stories and came to think that there was more to his character than he’d imagined in the past.
Girls also looked at Jebel in a new way. Wherever he stopped, he found scores of young women clad in their finest blouses and dresses, fussing over him, fighting among themselves to carry a tray to him or pour his wine. They smiled at Jebel all the time, fluttering their eyelashes, artfully pursing their lips.
The advances took Jebel by surprise initially. He blushed and kept his eyes low. But now he accepted the flirting and openly ogled the girls who paraded before him, choosing the prettiest and beckoning her forward, gracing her by letting her wait on him in front of her friends.
Jebel wasn’t sure what Tel Hesani got up to while he was being toasted by the locals and enjoying the company of their fairest maids. The slave would vanish from Jebel’s sight and thoughts once the first glass of wine was poured. In the morning, Tel Hesani would be waiting for him outside the hut where Jebel had spent the night. After a long, late breakfast and an extended series of farewells, they would take to the road again, often not until early afternoon, and make their leisurely way to the next settlement.
When Jebel occasionally wondered about Tel Hesani, he assumed that the Um Kheshabah was enjoying himself among the slaves and servants, basking in his master’s fame. One evening, in a small town, he discovered that wasn’t quite the case.
Jebel was sipping wine on a veranda overlooking the as-Surout. The high lord of the town had a collection of wines from all over Makhras, some from countries Jebel had never heard of. He’d been drinking more than usual and was feeling light-headed. A green-eyed, willowy maid had danced seductively for him earlier and topped up his glass more often than was necessary, breathing softly in his face as she leant over him with the bottle. He was thinking about the way she had looked at him, and her whispered promise to bring him more wine in his hut later, when he was alone.
