Richard Adams - Maia

With her widowed father-in-law relations had, of course, been still more difficult at the outset. Zen-Bharsh-Kraill was an old adherent of King Karnat and had been a famous warrior in his day. His other, younger son, a brave officer, had been killed in the king's army (though not on the Valderra), and his daughter was married to one of the king's most illustrious captains. As a nobleman, his knowledge and outlook went not only as wide as Katria but as wide as Terekenalt itself. He knew Maia's past and her fame well enough. From the outset Zen-Kurel had had to put his foot down in no uncertain manner. There had been one terrible evening when he had hurled his goblet across the room and said that at this rate he would disclaim his inheritance, take his wife to Dari-Paltesh and set up on his own account. Maia had cried herself to sleep and woken crying, protesting that she was nothing but a hindrance and a bad bargain to him-until it came to her that she was only adding to his difficulties and transferring to him her share of the burden, since for days past he had been doing all he could to mediate and to resolve their difficulty. His outburst had been due to strain and entirely exceptional. What he needed was a sane, cool contribution from a strong, balanced partner; not a resourceless, weeping child. This was perhaps the moment when Maia made the discovery that moral may sometimes be even harder to exert than physical courage. Zenka had taken her by the shoulders in the lamplight, kissed her and looked into her

eyes. "Been to any good Ortelgan camps lately?" She had laughed-Cran alive! This fuss, after all they'd been through together!-and hugged him; they had made love and next morning a most sedate, self-possessed Maia had sought out her father-in-law and successfully conducted a long talk ending in mutual, more friendly understanding. After all, his wife had been Beklan. He was secretly delighted that Zenka had come home alive and well to run the estate and was not ignorant, either, as to who was largely responsible for this. Nowadays, so it seemed to her, old Zen-Bharsh-Kraill was coming at last to like her and respect her ideas about things in general. Predictably, the birth of Zen-Otal had altered everything for the better. Grandchildren always do.

Her labor-surprisingly for such a well-built, healthy girl-had not been easy. During her pregnancy she had often felt poorly and run-down-a good sign, the doctor said, for the baby is a parasite on the mother and her malaise shows that the baby is getting all it should. It had been a strain. She was not in the best of spirits and was all-too-much inclined to dwell on Milvushina. As her time approached, Zen-Kurel had effected a masterly surprise. One day, without a trace of fore-warning, she had woken late to find Nasada sitting beside the bed. Actually struck dumb for a few seconds, she had wondered whether he could be real. Then she flung herself into his arms, crying with happiness and relief, already sure that now everything was going to be all right. The old man-still dressed like a Suban marsh-frog in his fish-skin smock and bone amulet- told her how Zen-Kurel had sent to Melvda-Rain and begged Lenkrit, now Ban of Suba, to ask him to come and attend his wife's lying-in. Lenkrit had readily put a kilyett and paddlers at his disposal.

"I hope you'll tell me," he said, when she had recovered herself and they had had breakfast together, "all about your adventures on the Zhairgen. Twenty minutes crossing it was quite enough for me."

That evening, at supper, she had worn her diamonds and, later, shown him once again poor, Randronoth's cabinet of the fishes. It had its place, now, on her dressing-table, and contained her brooches, ornamental pins and the like.

"U-Nasada, do you remember the night when we had supper in Bekla, and you told me as this was made from the bones of fishes bigger than my room?"

"I remember, Serrelinda."

"Do you still think that?"

He laughed. "I don't just think it, now: I know. I've learned a lot in my travels."

Well, let him tease, she thought. U-Nasada ought to be allowed a tall story or two. Just to see him once more sitting at her supper-table in the lamplight-a less luxurious and elegant supper-table these days, but plenty on it all the same-filled her with confidence and reassurance. Everything she'd done, she thought, had been right after all-the heart's commitment, the suffering, the danger- and now she could thank him for his part-no small one- in bringing about this happy outcome.

"Do you remember how you told me I'd do better in Suba than in Bekla?"

"Yes, I do. More truth, I said, didn't I? Something like that."

"I know what you meant now. It just suits me here- I'm happier than I ever dreamt I could be-and it's not so very different from Suba, is it?"

"What a shame," he replied, 'about Anda-Nokomis! They've put up a fine memorial to him, you know, at Melvda. It says he was the steadfast Ban of Suba, who died for his people."

"Oh, he'd have liked that!" She paused. "Might even have made him smile, poor old Anda-Nokomis." Then, "It was me he died for: I never forget it, and neither does Zenka."

He confirmed to her what she had already heard by rumor and report, though it seemed of little importance to her now, in the midst of all the duties and preoccupations of her new life: namely, that Santil-ke-Erketlis had taken Bekla unopposed after a three days' march in the blinding rains; that the Leopards had been displaced and slavery ended in the empire. Kembri was dead, but when she asked about Elleroth Nasada knew little about him. Nor could he tell her anything of Elvair-ka-Virrionorof Form's.

"No one in Suba knows," said he, "what's become of Fornis. She seems completely to have vanished. Very odd."

"Nor they don't know in Paltesh, even?"

He shook his head. "There's something strange about it. I wonder-?" He hesitated. "Such an evil woman-" Then he seemed to check himself. "Well, never mind. Perhaps we should just thank the gods she's no longer in

Bekla and leave it at that. Surely we've got something better to talk about than Fornis."

"Shagreh."

"Great Shakkarn! You said it right!"

"Well, they say it here too, see. Comes in useful and all, U-Nasada; kind of a philosophy, like, in't it?"

"You look very well on it, anyway. You must be doing what you like."

"I am."

"That's the real secret of health, of course. I tried to tell Kembri that once, but he wouldn't have it."

Three days later she went into labor. It was a trying affair, lasting over thirty hours. She was not helped by her memories of Milvushina. Without Nasada, however, it would have been a great deal worse, for the midwife was an old body armed with snakeskins, a rabbit's paw, dirty hands and mumbled charms. Nasada was short with her. He remained completely calm and confident throughout, so that Maia, as she bore down again and again, felt strength pouring out of him into her racked, sweat-drenched body. He was like a glowing brazier at the center of the house that was her labor, seeming to warm and encourage everyone-but particularly the heroine-by his mere presence. He had, his manner suggested, seen it all before and was in no doubt of the outcome. She found herself wondering whether he would have saved Milvushina. Very likely he would.

When at last she had been delivered and was putting Zen-Otal to her breast; when Zenka had come in, kissed his wife and son with tears and gone out to announce the news to the waiting household and then to everyone on the estate (wearing, in accordance with tradition, a wreath of planella; if it had been a girl, the wreath would have been of trepsis), she looked up and said, "I wish I knew how to thank you, U-Nasada. Do you know, when I was still just a banzi on Lake Serrelind I saw you once in a dream? Before ever I was sold as a slave; before ever I'd had a man, even."