The Legend of El Shashi (21 page)

Had Arlak Sorlakson taken leave of his last drop of prudence? I berated myself furiously. Now she thought me a reckless philanderer without the good sense Mata gave a common sparrow!

Into the awkward silence she inserted lightly, “Please pronounce my name
‘P’dáronï’, not ‘P’daroni’. I’m not of the Eldrik race. So tell me, what became of your wife? And how came you to Eldoran? For you speak High Eldrik with a wonderful fluency. I marvel at your command of the language. Even so, your accent cannot disguise the pain my thoughtless comment has evoked in your mind.”

I, liking her forthrightness, replied boldly, “I will tell you this and more, but upon one condition.”

“Which is?”

“You tell me your story. Where are you from? How came you to Eldoran?”

And so, thinking how cleverly I had covered up the memory of my vision within the Wurm–thinking her fate must somehow entwine with mine in Mata’s great Purpose–I began to speak to this most engaging woman of my past.

I spoke more earnestly than I had intended.

*  *  *  *

P’dáronï was available two mornings a week.
As I recall, to my shame, I initially approached her proposal of tutoring me in the medical disciplines with no small measure of arrogance. What tutoring did El Shashi require? But she was such refreshing company after the stuffy, supercilious old men I had suffered for a season beyond two anna, after my recovery from the Inquisitors’ torture, that I acquiesced readily to accompanying her when she did not have other duties.

Ay, my old self-interest. What did I
assume but that a comely countenance could not possess intellect to match? Fie and double-shame upon me. Arlak and his Hajik-be-cursed prejudices! For what I learned of P’dáronï during the ample makh we worked and learned together, astounded me. Truly told, I felt at times an uninformed child before the depth and breadth of her knowledge and insight.

The Eldrik mad
e a science of the athocary’s art. They studied it in ways, and with tools, that I had never employed or even imagined. Take for example the practice of dissection, forbidden in the Fiefdoms as a favourite pastime of Ulim’s ghoulish disciples. Or that one of her friends was developing a series of powerful lenses called a dynilens, the better to see the smallest parts that make up bodily structures. Ay, and their belief in tiny organisms that spread disease! Though as yet unseen, they had detected these organisms by employing sophisticated magical techniques, and sought to discover new ways of curing diseases through this study. Suddenly, I had a new vehicle to help me understand the history of the major plagues–blood-fever, which has a fatality rate of six persons in ten and has thrice devastated wide swathes of the Fiefdoms, and black-boil plague, which is less infectious but even more virulent, and according to Eldrik studies arose from contaminated water supplies.

When I destroyed Bralitak Crossing the water supplies must have become contaminated. Now I knew without a shadow of doubt that I had brought the black-boil plague down upon them–Mata forgive me.

The Eldrik physicians strived to treat the whole person. P’dáronï specialised in disorders of the mind. She explained that many diseases gave rise to mental disorders, such as the tick fever which plagues the waterways of Hakooi and lower Elbarath. She showed me how infestations of particular types of parasitic worms can drive people to strange behaviours. She had me interview a man within whom it seemed there lived four different people. In the Fiefdoms he would have been called demon-possessed, and may have become an Alldark sacrifice to ward of Ulim in many rural communities I could name.

The Eldrik had studied and classified many of these disorders and diseases. They had legions of scholars and scribes dedicated to improving the well-being of their people,
and entire campuses dedicated to the athocarial arts; a lifetime’s wealth of time and resources that I found almost unimaginable.

I expect P’dáronï found me as much of a curiosity as I did her. We were well matched, both strangers amongst the Eldrik
–for she was born beyond the Ammilese March, far to the south of Eldoran, and sold to the Sorcerers as a child, her powers in exchange for land and freedom for her parents, brothers, and sisters. This was unusual, she told me, as the majority of the Armittalese slaves lived, worked, and died in the deadly mines and quarries of Ummandor.

It
was no parkland stroll being a slave in Eldoran. But for her skills she would have had to wear the slave-collar like the other Armittalese. Even her own people heaped unkindness upon her because of this sign of favour.

Now that I knew one, I noticed Armittalese slaves everywhere.
I had been blind before, only in a different way.

Through our interactions, I came to appreciate anew the profound power and blessing of sight
–and yet, at times found myself waxing positively jealous of her gifts. Not only were her senses of hearing, touch, and smell uncannily sharp, but she also had an extraordinary talent for remembering dimensions, routes, and the contents of rooms and spaces. She could tell a friend by the mere sound of their footfall. By running her hand down a leaf or text or scroll, P’dáronï was able to use her magic to read at a staggering pace. She did much of her own cooking, managed her own household, and in many matters demonstrated such a ferocious capability, it took me several seasons not to feel daunted in her presence.

P’dáronï’s
curiosity and drive to grasp the ungraspable were unbounded. She constantly badgered me to verify theories held by her or by her colleagues and mentors, for even amongst the Eldrik my skills were unique, and uniquely effective. Many an agreeable makh did we spend together after her studies or working time, pursuing this or that investigation; discussing, debating, sparring, agreeing, and remonstrating with each other. I lost count of the number of times she pressed me, ‘Now tell me again how you did that?’ and ‘How can you expect me to be satisfied with, “Oh, I touched him and he was healed”? You can be so frustrating–honestly, Arlak! Use the tongue good Mata gave you and speak in words of greater than one syllable!’

It was six seasons later that I realised what had crept up upon me unnoticed.

*  *  *  *

“Please, sit.”

I selected a floor-cushion and attempted to fold my legs into the customary form. P’dáronï’s
holia
had a formal Eldrik seating-bowl, a sectioned and cushioned area reserved for certain special occasions. As P’dáronï brought a tray of Armittalese spiced chai and placed it between us, I admired the graceful economy and precision of her movements. She knew her house as the fingers of her own hand. And she made the lotus position appear as effortless as the unfolding of a blossom beneath Suthauk’s beneficent gaze. How did the Eldrik sit for makh in this most unnatural of positions? When I rose it would be to racking pains as my bones rearranged themselves in their sockets with fervent protests.

“Now that I am replete,” I said, smiling, “and brim-full of seven courses of the most amazing and delicious Armittalese fare, may I at last be permitted to inquire as to the occasion?”

“I’m grateful you enjoyed the meal,” P’dáronï replied obliquely, making some minute adjustment to the presentation of the chai dishes–the two traditional fine porcelain cups and matching chai-pot, the tiny bowl of chard incense, the sprig of tosign herb to signify hospitality and good health. “You told me so more times than there were courses. Do the Umarik truly enjoy spicy foods so much?”

“I could get used to it.”

“But please, answer my question.”

“Your hairstyle is most striking this
eventide, P’dáronï. I don’t believe I’ve seen you wear it over your shoulder before, have I?”

She bowed her head shyly. “You take too much note of the affairs of a slave.”

“And I am smiling, in case you were wondering.”

P’dáronï’s lips curved upward in response. “I can hear it in your voice. In case you were wondering.”

“By what form of magic does one hear a smile?”

“Nuances, Arlak. Nuances. How does one command the
lillia
at will, by perfect instinct rather than by dint of anna of painful study?”

Yet another question for which I had no ready reply.
I chose to deflect, “And I do not think of you as a slave, but as my equal–and in many matters, more than equal. Do you think of me always as El Shashi?”

P’dáronï poured the chai from the correct height, making the hot liq
uid froth slightly into the cup–an action which never failed to astonish me, for she never spilled a drop. I, with my two perfectly acceptable eyes, could not pour so well! She offered me honey, which I declined. The drink would be sweet enough already. “Less and less so,” she said, after a moment’s thought. “You are different to the Eldrik Sorcerers, Arlak, all swollen with the seductive powers of
lillia
. I thought you at first one of the Gods and was … frightened …”

“A naked, embarrassed God?” I could sit for makh with P’dáronï merely to enjoy the bubbling brook of her laughter. She chuckled on cue. Amidst a shiver of pleasure I hoped would be invisible to her
amazing senses, I added, “And I underestimated you, P’dáronï. To my everlasting disgrace and chagrin.”

“Then we are agreed in our mistakes. To Mata.”

“To Mata.”

We sipped the traditional libation honouring Mata in
a companionable silence; I, thinking with renewed shame upon my initial reaction to her blindness. Ay, how greatly did I long to heal her! But I had long withheld my hand for fear of causing offence–and besides, she knew who I was and had not requested my help. Perhaps it had to wait upon the right time? The Eldrik view of time being a concept I had yet to find capacity to stretch my brain around.

But what about the Armittalese?

Furthermore, I should congratulate myself on my superb restraint, I told myself. That I had not bedded this most striking of women, but rather courted her friendship and wisdom, was evidence of my growing maturity. I laughed inwardly. And even clearer evidence of my growing pomposity! Had this sojourn in Eldoran finally taught Arlak to appreciate a woman for who she truly was, and not merely for her outward graces? I winced, certain there was an acerbic Janos aphorism buried in there somewhere. Another time this would have been a romantic meal midst the fragrant scents and candlelight …

“Umarite food is not very spicy,” said I, “but robust, earthy
, and hale. We eat meat, unlike the Eldrik, and many varieties of vegetables, fruit, and fish, depending on the region. The Elbarath enjoy a type of spice called curry and their favourite dishes can set your mouth aflame–but they are not spiced as richly or in as varied a manner as this meal. It was truly a feast.”

She inclined her head in the half-bow of appreciation. “Again, thank you.”

“It was your final assessment today! How did it go?”

At last, P’dáronï’s smile truly lit up her face. “I thought you had forgotten! Oh, Arlak
–”

“I knew you were sulking about something.”

“I do not sulk!”

“Only when I do not compliment you on another exquisite outfit, which is also new, or I miss my mark.”

Mata’s truth, I had never imagined some of the materials the Armittalese were able to produce–most notably, a spider-silk the Eldrik called
lynfay
, which in lamplight glittered as if dusted with a thousand miniature stars. Were I to trade such cloth in the Umarik Fiefdoms, I should make my fortune a thousand times over. And it sold for the equivalent of five ukals a dyndigit–a Hassutl’s ransom in every outfit.

P’dáronï
wrinkled her nose at me. “This dress is hired, not bought, for to buy it would cost more than a slave’s freedom. A rotten fig for your teasing! I require your sympathy, for I sat before the panel eight makh today.”

“
Eight
makh?”

“Ay, do you remember how we discussed and redefined the boundary between mental illnesses based in physical maladies, and mental illnesses that appear to arise for other reasons? How you helped me
to research that question?” I nodded. “It contradicts, or perhaps corrects, the work of a number of notable Physicians in the field. And guess which of those formed my examination panel?”

“You poor woman! I am surprised not to see bruises upon your person!”

“Permit me, therefore, to inform you that you have the honour of addressing the newest full member of the Guild of Physicians.”

I nearly spilled my chai as I let out a Roymerian war-whoop. She jumped. “Highest honours?”

Her lower lip trembled. “Indeed.”

“I knew it! I knew it
… I had a feeling! I told you, didn’t I? Let me see the honour-scroll! Come on, P’dáronï, if I know you even one jot, it is hidden somewhere nearby.”

P’dáronï’s involuntary chuckle spilled a tear down her cheek. Ay, and let her be happy, truly told. No-one deserved it more. She added, “
That’s the reason for this meal, Arlak-
nih
, and the reason I’m allowed to wear my hair in the
lloviatir
.” She produced a scroll from within her voluminous sleeve. “Here. For all you have done to help me, I humbly thank you.”