crying. His tears were hot, the hottest thing in the world. And their taste was salt. Yes. Salt like the sea.
The sea which was not, then – perhaps – entirely imaginary. So if – just supposing, now – he was to take one step south then another, then . . . why, with enough steps he might (no promises, mind) one day (a year distant, perhaps) maybe just possibly arrive at a brisk shore of sails.
Beside that shore (presuming, which is not necessarily the case, that the world of bread and ale and clinking coins exists, that there are taverns warm with beer and laughter where cheers are raised), yes, there will be bread, and . . .
And. . . ?
He stared blankly at the water. He had been thinking of something. What? Bread? But bread was, surely, if anything, imaginary. . . or at least a world away from the ever-last river-run where the clears danced, yes, danced upon greys. . .
Drake, thought and hope abandoned, sat staring into the running water, knees drawn up to chest, arms wrapped around knees, chin knobbled down hard between the thin-skinned bones of his kneecaps, his body rocking a little this way and that as a thin seedy rain began to fall, dull as famine, grey as weariness, persistent as a year- nagging voice of senility.
Drake was still sitting there, much later, when a noise made him look up. And look north. Something was coming downstream. A monster. Huge. It had two heads, one set above the other. A baby monster walked beside it. Drake looked away. Probably it was just a hallucination. And if it was real? If it was real, he was in no state to run. . .
The monster came on. And began to sing a happy song.
Drake looked again, and saw it was Whale Mike, with Zanya Kliedervaust riding on his shoulders. Walking beside Mike was Jon Arabin. Slowly, Drake stood.
Whale Mike finished his happy song as he drew level with Drake. Whereupon he halted, and waited for someone to take the lead. But, for the moment, nobody did. Zanya looked down on Drake, saying nothing. And Jon Arabin also said nothing.
All four said nothing as the querulous rain nagged without reason and the river-rush quibbled away between branch and stone and the hollow muscles of their hearts worked their way with what blood remained to them. Then Drake and Arabin embraced.Both wept.
'Well, man,' said Jori Arabin, shaking his head. 'Well, man, who would have thought it. . .'But he said nothing more and nothing more cogent.
'You better get down,' said Mike to Zanya, kneeling. 'These two not good for much. I think we make fire.'
Zanya dismounted, and searched out kindling. Mike mutilated some defenceless trees and heaped up branches for firewood.
'Jon,' said Mike. 'You better make fire. I can, but I not so good at that. You better.'
Today, Jon Arabin was not much good with the tinder box himself. As flint and steel stumbled between his fingers, he started weeping, helplessly. He was too old for this.'Drake,' he said. 'Help me out.'
But Drake was in no better condition. He sat waiting for Zanya to ask why her ardent lover had been addressed as 'Drake'. Once she discovered he was Drake Douay, son of the Demon Hagon, there would be hell to pay. But she appeared not to notice.'Let me,' she said firmly.
And took steel and flint, and did what was necessary.
Once the fire was burning bright, Whale Mike dipped into his leather apron pocket and hauled out a huge chunk of bloody meat.
'This from monster,' he said cheerfully. 'Maybe good eating, eh? We cook. We find out.'
He spiked bits of it onto branches. In the fierce quick heat, it burnt instead of cooking. But when chunks were handed around – half blood, half char – there were no complaints. Warmth, meat and companionship began to make Drake feel better. He looked at Zanya.
'Don't even think about it!' she said, with danger in her voice.
'Have you two met, then?' said Jon Arabin, puzzled at the way Zanya reacted to Drake.'Met!' said Zanya. 'He tried to rape me once!''I'm . . . I'm sorry,' said Drake.
Which was an unusual thing for him to say. But today he was utterly shagged out, and in no state to tell witchcraft lies, or to insist on the right of men to the bodies of women.
Jon Arabin looked on the pair with speculative eyes. Was this his chance? He had killed several times while venturing round the Circle of the Door. His death-debt was heavy indeed. It was more important than ever that he breed more children, thus winning himself life-credits and appeasing his gods. Or . . .
Again, Arabin thought of converting Drake to the Creed of Anthus, setting him up with a harem then buying life-credits from him. Unfortunately, Arabin's gods only allowed him to buy life-credits from a fellow-believer . . .Two problems, then:to convert Drake to the Creed of Anthus;to get Drake breeding.
Whale Mike shared out a second helping of meat. They ate in silence, while Jon Arabin thought hard. Then he said to Drake:'You know this lady, do you?'
'Aye,' said Drake, in a dull voice. 'She won't agree to it, but I've . . . man, I've been in love with her these many years. It was for her I named that bay on Island Tor.'
'What?' said Jon Arabin. 'That was Zanya Bay, wasn't it? Then this must be Zanya herself.''Zanya Kliedervaust,' she said, coldly.They had not previously introduced themselves.
'Ah,' said Jon Arabin. 'Lucky woman, to be so loved. A bay of beauty named for her. Aye. Pale sands and water beautiful as her eyes.''Nice eyes,' agreed Drake.
'It was for her you named that flower, too, wasn't it?' said Arabin. Drake took the hint.
'Two flowers, actually,' he said. 'One was Zanya's Beauty. That was the great red trumpet-shaped flower which hung in clusters from those trees with pink leaves. The other flower was Zanya's Delight. That was fragile, aye, a splendorous thing growing in waterfalls from the headland rocks, smooth as gold and as yellow, fragrant as peaches by sunset.'His voice was dreamy.'Aye,' said Arabin, 'I remember now.'
'You named flowers after me?' said Zanya, wondering at this.
'I told you,' said Drake. 'I've been in love with you for years.'
'Aye,' said Jon Arabin. 'He'd talk of you in his sleep, and charm the silence with poems of your tender beauty. Which I thought strange at the time. But now I see you, I think it strange no longer. You're worthy of all his devotion.'
'I… I don't know what to say,' said Zanya. 'You are beautiful,' said Drake. 'And I do . . . I do love you.'
'But why did you – why did you jump on top of me like that? Was it really because of witchcraft?'
'Sometimes,' said Drake, 'sometimes it's hard for a man to control himself. Men . . . men need women.'
'Yes,' said Whale Mike cheerfully. 'Good for man to have woman. Woman nice. This one nice, eh? She got soft arse. She make good screw, eh? Good meat.'And he smacked his lips and laughed.
Whereupon Zanya's temper flared instantly. With the energy of fire and meat inside her, she raged at them:'You filthy dirty animals! I am not meat!'Drake, desperately trying to salvage the situation, said:'My dearest darling-''Don't you dearest darling me!''But I love you! Zanya, I love you!'
'You like. You want. You need. Perhaps. But not me. Oh no, not me. Just meat, heat, lips, breast, thigh, crotch, nipple, arse. What is this?'
And she cupped one of her convexities, which was visible beneath sheepskin jacket and purple robe.
'It's a breast,' said Drake. 'And, I venture, a very pretty one. The prettiness of your curves, darling-''It's meat, that's what it is! Meat, not me!''But are your breasts not part of you?' said Drake.
'They're not me! Not the – the person inside this – oh grief – you! – it's meat, isn't it? That's what I am to you! Meat! Offal! Wet liver! You're all the same, you men. Just one thing, that's all it is.'And anger gave way to grief.
The whole sorry history of her terrible time as a priestess of the Orgy God came rushing back to her. Year upon year of nightmare. Sweat, heat, weight, panting flesh. Bruising laughter. Disease, misery, exhaustion, contempt. And-It was too much.She broke down in tears.
'Well, bugger you then!' said Drake. 'I'm buggered if I know what I did wrong!' And he got to his feet and stalked away into the forest. 'Where are you going?' called Jon Arabin. 'Hunting!' shouted Drake. 'You come back here!' 'Go nalsh yourself!' yelled Drake. And was soon lost from sight in the forest. 'You not cry,' said Whale Mike to Zanya. 'You not
