Richard Adams - Maia

"Harder, Zenka!" She herself had never pulled so hard. As she well knew, she was pulling for her life.

Ah, but they were gradually forcing their way across the current! She could feel it; and besides, the lights, even as they fell so fast behind, were gradually moving over towards her right until at length she was looking straight at them. Then,

slowly-very slowly it seemed-the current began to slacken and the chattering of the water against the side below her grew less until it had almost died away. They were drifting down, but far more gently and in smooth water.

She slumped over her oar, drawing deep, shuddering breaths. The sweat was pouring off her and her heart was thumping. She retched, but nothing came. Zenka had stopped rowing too, and seemed to be waiting to be told what to do. She wiped the rain out of her eyes and sat up straight.

"Anda-Nokomis, can you-can you see the bank?"

"I'm not sure," he answered, "but there's something ahead; rushes, perhaps."

They took a few more cautious strokes.

"At least it's answering now," said Anda-Nokomis. "It didn't, out there."

"It did, only you couldn't feel it; hadn't, we wouldn't be here."

She thrust her oar straight down into the water and at the full extent of her arm touched bottom. At the same moment the low moon, breaking for a moment through a rift in the clouds, showed them the left bank about twenty yards away. Turning to look astern before the moon disappeared again, she could see-or thought she could see-that they were about four or five hundred yards below Nybril, with the confluence, already become a terrifying, foaming caldron, lying between. Now that she was no longer rowing, she could hear the noise of it; a deep, sullen thunder, not loud but continuous, like the rolling of agreatdrum.

"I'm sorry," she said, "but I got to rest for a bit: I'm tot'lly all in. Anda-Nokomis, try to keep her drifting gently close to the bank. And Zenka, you go up in the bow with that oar and just keep on feeling ahead for rocks or shoals an' that. There's anchors fore and aft: keep them ready to throw out. Give a shout if you want me. I won't be very long, honest."

And with this poor Maia crawled into the cubby-hole and lay down, utterly spent. But the big, soft mattress, on which so many jolly jinks must have been enacted, afforded her little solace. Already the rain, blowing in from astern, had soaked it. Miserably, she crawled as far forward as she could and curled up, knees to chin. It made little difference. She could almost have wrung out her cloak, while her sopping tunic and shift clung round her like warm

slime. She could feel the shape of her diamonds and of Randronoth's casket pressing against her body. After an unavailing wriggle or two she tugged off her tunic and, having felt carefully round the seams of the pockets to make sure they were still holding, dumped it beside her and drew up her wet cloak for a blanket.

She had one consolation, however. They were moving smoothly, without listing or checking. Terebinthia had charged her somewhere between two and three times its value, but at least she had spoken no more than the truth when she had told her the boat was a good one.

Now and then, without distinguishing what was said, she could catch Zenka's voice speaking to Anda-Nokomis and feel the boat slightly changing course. But there were no sudden thuds or alarms and after a while her tension-for she had been fully expecting them to hit something or other in the dark-gradually diminished. She had not meant to sleep, yet soon, lacking all power to resist, she was dead to the world; and for some three or four hours the exhausted girl remained unstirring.

Meanwhile their progress was slow, for both Bayub-Otal and Zen-Kurel were only too well aware of their own lack of skill and experience. Offshore, to their right, the current was swifter-they could hear it and could just make out, too, the froth of broken water in midstream-but they were unwilling either to disturb Maia or to run any risks which they might not be able to handle themselves. The inshore water seemed blessedly free of obstacles and for this they were content to settle. The need for continuous vigilance was strain enough in itself.

At some uncertain time during the long night Bayub-Otal dropped the stern anchor, went forward to Zen-Kurel and suggested a rest and a bite. Having lowered the bow anchor as well, they sat down side by side, legs stretched out, backs against the forward wall of the cubby-little shelter from the relentless rain-and ate a few mouthfuls of bread and cheese.

"How long till morning, do you suppose?" asked Zen-Kurel in a whisper.

"Three hours, perhaps."

"Is Maia still asleep?"

"I think so."

"She deserves it: we ought to let her sleep as long as she can."

For a time they were silent. Bayub-Otal pulled out his flask and they each took a mouthful of djebbah. At length he said, "She's saved us again and again since Bekla. Without her we'd have died in the forest."

"That or been killed by the Ortelgans."

"We wouldn't have this boat, either. And that brothel woman-Maia had to overpay her; I'm certain of that- they took so long over it. First and last, she's spared herself nothing whatever on our account, that's about what it comes to."

"It's like Deparioth and the Silver Flower," said Zen-Kurel.

"Oh, do they know that in Katria, too?"

"Oh, yes, naturally. Well, it was in the Blue Forest that the traitors abandoned Deparioth, of course-left him to die-and the magic girl came to save him. I kept thinking about that while we were in Purn."

"But Zenka, you said you hated her. You wanted to kill her."

For some time Zen-Kurel made no reply. At last he replied, "What I know now is that I've never really stopped loving her: I only thought I had. Oh, yes, I wanted to stop loving her; of course I've hated her for what she did in Suba. I still don't understand it, but now I don't think any more that it was just deliberate, cold-hearted deceit and treachery. There was something-something behind it that I don't understand. O Cran, how I've hated her! But what I've discovered is that you can hate someone like poison and still not be able to stop being in love with them."

Bayub-Otal said nothing and after a few moments Zen-Kurel went on, "Her beauty-her courage-what she is- they're too strong for my hatred, I suppose, if you like to put it that way. I've never known a girl like her-never dreamt there could be one. Whatever she thought she was doing that night in Suba, there must have been some good reason. It's like the gods, really: in my mind, I mean."

"Like the gods? What do you mean?"

"Well, the gods often inflict terrible, even shameful suffering on us, don't they? And there's no accounting for it. But people still go on worshipping them because of things like sunsets and music. She's like that: or I am, whichever way you like to put it. I couldn't stop loving her-I mean, admiring and longing for her-not if she were to cut my throat."

"She still-she still loves you, you know," said Bayub-Otal rather falteringly, after a pause.

"Why, did she say so? I can't believe that."

"No, but the night you took those men back to Elleroth I thought she was going to go out of her mind; and it was entirely on your account. In fact I told you as much when you got back; you remember?"

"But that might not necessarily-" He stopped. "Well, but even if-I mean, how can I-after all that's happened-"

Suddenly they both sprang to their feet, Zen-Kurel nearly falling his length on the drenched, slippery planking. The boat was swinging round in the current, rotating by the bow.

For the next few moments they were at a total loss, with no idea what could have happened or what to do. Then the boat, having turned stem to stern, fetched up with a jerk in the running flood as the bow anchor rope went taut and held.