Farlander (40 page)

Ash stopped and surveyed the scene before him. The swollen lip of Aléas, his chin still stained with dried blood; Baracha hovering over him; Olson’s expression sombre but his eyes amused; the open ground between the two apprentices, and the collection of items lying there – two rolls of fishing twine, each fitted with a hook and silver twists of foil, and beside them two large weighted nets.

Ash said nothing as he joined his apprentice, and Nico resolved not to address the old farlander until the man spoke first. Thus they stood side by side like a pair of mutes, the R
shun muttering amongst themselves all around. Aléas was shaking his head, but Baracha scowled, then hissed in his face. He pulled his apprentice towards the equipment strewn on the ground, the blood flowing again down Aléas’s chin.

‘It’s all a nonsense,’ Nico blurted out at last to his master.

From the corner of his eye, he could see the old man nod his head.

‘See it through,’ he said.

Olson raised his hands to quieten the gathered audience. ‘Step forward,’ he commanded the two apprentices.

Both young men stepped up to the fishing items; Aléas studied them or the ground they lay upon. Nico studied Aléas instead, but the other wouldn’t meet his eye.

‘We have a way of dealing with feuds here at Sato,’ announced Olson. ‘You will settle your differences, both of you, in this the old way, for it was inspired by wisdom.’

Olson gestured to the equipment. ‘You will each choose one of these items. Armed with that, you will make your way to the chain of pools at the very top of the valley. There you will keep fishing until noon, catching as many as you can, of whatever size you can, and then you will return promptly. You have three hours. If you are not back by the ringing of the bell, then you will be disqualified. He who brings with him the most fish to display in this courtyard at that time will be declared the winner. Your dispute will then be settled. Do you both understand?’

Aléas nodded grudgingly. Nico followed his example a moment later.

‘Good. Now make your choices.’

Nico looked to the old farlander for guidance. Ash blinked, giving nothing away.

Fishing
? he thought.
Maybe they really do just mean fishing.

But, at the same time, it had to be more than that, and the interest of the other R
shun made this clearly so. The apprentice was the mark of the master. A public contest between these two was a public contest between Baracha and Ash.

Nico wished he could say as much, to tell the two grown men to go and settle their differences between them, and to leave him out of it. Instead, he remained silent. After all, he considered, I may actually have a chance at besting Aléas here.

With a sudden renewed focus of mind, Nico found his gaze roaming over the items before his feet.
Fishing twine or net
? he pondered. He would catch more fish with the net, but it would be heavy, by the looks of it, weighed down by a number of stone weights attached around its edges. He would first have to run all the way to the top of the valley carrying that load across his back, and then set out on his return early in order to make it back in time for the ringing of the bell. No, he was hardly strong enough for that. He would waste too much time. Besides, Nico knew how to fish. A net like that would scare away all the fish after the first haul. So instead, he knelt and scooped up the small ball of twine.

He glanced to Ash again. Almost imperceptibly the old farlander nodded.

Aléas made his choice, too. Nico felt a brief feeling of satisfaction, for the other youth had chosen the heavy net.

‘Remember,’ said Olson, ‘he who returns here with the most fish, within the given time, is the winner. Now go.’

A chorus of jeers and yells rose among the R
shun, as Aléas tossed the net across his shoulders and sprinted for the gateway. After a moment of hesitation, Nico set off in pursuit.

*

It was a hot, sweaty climb. Nico jogged until his legs ached but still he maintained his pace, gaining some encouragement early on as he overtook Aléas on the stony track, the young man already slowing under the weight of the net slung on his back.

‘I’ll keep some fish for you!’ he shouted over his shoulder, but Aléas didn’t answer, just kept his head down, his legs pumping.

Nico pulled off his heavy robe as he ran, so that he wore only his thin grey undergarments. He cast the robe far into the tall grasses so as not to give Aléas the same idea.

Staying focused on the ground before each footfall, Nico fell himself into a stride he felt confident of maintaining. On his right the course of the stream wound upwards, but Nico stayed clear of it, so as to avoid the marshy ground along its edges. The sun rose ever higher, though denser clouds came drifting into the valley from further up, to obscure its heat, and after them came a wind that whipped at his hair and set the grasses surging in steady currents all around him.

Nico passed the Seer’s hut, and nodded briefly to the ancient monk who sat outside, painting something on a square of parchment. The old man nodded back.

Stopping for the briefest of moments to gulp a mouthful of water from the narrowing stream, he chanced a look behind him and could just make out the shape of Aléas hauling himself laboriously along the same trail. It was a gratifying sight.

Half an hour later he had reached the top of the valley, where Nico veered towards the stream again, and a series of bubbling springs. He could see trout darting within the pools they formed, and he quickly chose the likeliest spot, a large pond with overhanging vegetation, which he approached at a crouch.

With haste he unwound the twine, as he studied the pool and the fish swimming in its clear waters. Then he shook out the hook and foil, until they were both fully untangled. He would need a float, he realized, so he wrenched off a twig from one of the windswept bushes and secured it to the twine. With a final deep breath, he cast the assembled line across the water, and hunkered down to wait.

The fish were hungry. Almost as soon as the silver foil flashed in the water, a trout darted out, gulping both foil and hook in one go. Nico yelped in excitement and quickly drew it in. It was a small fish, but size didn’t matter. He felt the slight weight of it as he pulled it free of the water, proceeding carefully now, the fish flapping at the end of the line. Up it came into his hands, wet and slippery and real as it tried to struggle from his grasp. With his childhood practice, he unhooked the fish and clobbered it to death against a rock.

Quickly, he cast the hook back into the water, his heart pounding. He could not quite believe how easy this was going to be, and his face grinned with the joy of it. ‘For once, my little friends,’ he said to the fish still uncaught, ‘fortune chances to look on me.’

*

The hours passed slowly. Nico worked with hook and twine, waiting until the pool seemed fished enough, then he would move on to a lower pool and continue trying his luck there.

It was a pure and satisfying task. His mood was as warm and mellow as the sun’s heat against his bare arms. A breeze played down the gulley carved by the passage of the river, just cool enough to be refreshing. The occasional bird sang somewhere out of sight. Water tinkled. Grassflies buzzed in lazy arcs, sometimes came close enough to trumpet in his ear.

He had not caught sight of Aléas again, which he thought odd. At first he worried that his companion might be up to something devious. But, as time passed and the sun rose slowly towards the point of midday, he allowed himself to believe that Aléas had come undone somehow. Perhaps a twisted ankle, or perhaps he had simply opted to try fishing lower down the valley, after deciding his net was too much of a burden.

Twenty-two small trout now lay on the grass beside him, strung along a spare length of twine. By the angle of the sun he reckoned he had perhaps another half hour before he would need to start making his way back. He was determined to leave himself with plenty of time.

So lost was he in his calculations, Nico failed to notice the subtle sound of movement approaching from behind.

A bird fell silent in mid-song. A tuft of grass rustled as though trodden underfoot. Nico noticed neither. Instead, with a brief twist of the wind, a smell came to his nostrils. He sniffed at it, barely aware of doing so: his mind, back where it was watchful and wary, tried to place the sudden scent in the air – and then it did so. It was the reek of human sweat.

Nico swung around in alarm.

But much too late.

*

‘I hate to do this to you, I really do, but my master leaves me little choice in this matter. So, here we are.’

Impressive words, thought Nico, if only because they were spoken with barely a hint of breathlessness, as though Aléas was merely taking in the fresh air of the day when, in reality, he was labouring downhill with a catch of fish fastened to a long twine draped over one shoulder, and a fishing net filled with a bundled Nico slung from the other.

Nico blinked the sweat from his left eye. The other one had already swollen shut from a blow he could not remember. All he recalled was turning around and seeing a flash of motion, then he was here – in the most embarrassing position he could have ever imagined.

‘Your words,’ Nico muttered through clenched teeth, and through the sharp press of the net criss-crossing his face, ‘do very little to reassure me just now, Aléas.’

The other man grunted, as though to confirm it was an ungrateful world they lived in, and he, most of all, must suffer it.

‘Why do you do this?’ asked Nico, a strand of the net between his teeth. ‘Are you so much in fear of your master?’

Aléas stopped for moment. He swung around to speak as though Nico was standing just behind him. ‘It isn’t fear, Nico. I could best the man with any weapon he might choose for me, though he doesn’t know it.’

‘Oh?’ said Nico, buying time.

‘I owe him my life, Nico. What choice do you have when you owe someone as much as that?’

Aléas set off once more, and Nico winced at the pain in his cramped limbs with each bouncing step, already going numb save for the one arm he had managed to poke out through the net.

‘I’ll make it up to you,’ came the other man’s voice again, though quieter than before. ‘I promise it.’

Nico felt the twine of the net give way between his teeth. His free hand yanked hard and pulled another strand wide apart . . . and then another until, all at once, he tumbled out through the hole he had just made, and fell on his shoulder to the ground.