Meanwhile, Russell, Anna, John Howard and the others pressed on with the education of Ora and Ireg. Farn zem Marur watched them with bright, intelligent eyes. He, too, was being educated; and he was learning more about the magicians than they would ever realize.
One afternoon, Russell sat on the steps of the hotel—one of his favourite meditating places—with Ireg and the Gren Li pathfinder. Ora was somewhere inside the Erewhon Hilton being initiated by Andrea and Janice into the mysteries of modern feminine clothing and make-up. For the young British students, the operation was a joke; but for Ora it was an explosive succession of miracles.
For a while, the three men said nothing to each other. They had eaten well—Ireg, apparently, could dispose of any kind of food whatsoever—and were content with their own thoughts. The Gren Li pathfinder was idly using his poniard to carve a small fertility symbol which, as a mark of respect, he proposed to lay on the skins of the sept lord of the magicians. Ireg was practising counting with ten small stones. And Russell was light-years away, indulging nostalgically in memories of the London rush hour on a foggy November afternoon.
Suddenly, Ireg said: “Russell-friend give words to Ireg. Ireg not give. Nothing give. Ireg wet-hurt, dark-down.” By this time, Russell was familiar enough with Ireg’s way of talking to be able to pick up the nuances. He translated the statement as: “You are teaching me, but I cannot teach you. I do not understand why you are teaching me and I am sad that I have nothing to offer in return.”
Russell thought about that for a moment, then he said: “Ireg give big thing to Russell-friend. Ireg give throw-stone hand.” He held out his own hand expectantly.
With some wonderment, Ireg cautiously held out the hand he used most for hunting or fighting.
Solemnly, Russell took it and shook it slowly. The hand, with its horny, calloused skin, felt more like the paw of some giant beast. When Ireg’s fingers tightened, Russell winced with pain. Ireg noted and understood the gesture. He let go.
“Shake hand,” said Russell, “means Ireg not hurt Russell, means Russell not hurt Ireg. Never never hurt. Because Ireg friend, Russell friend. Ora, all Ireg people friends. Anna, all Russell people friends. Never never hurt. This big thing Ireg give…” Then, to emphasize it, he added: “Russell laugh, much happy, much good. Shake hand, warm hold, good big thing Russell Ireg make.”
“Big thing,” echoed Ireg, dimly comprehending. He could not understand why people who fought so terribly with loud noises, nets, ropes and shiny things sharper than stones should not want to fight him and his people. But, inscrutable are the ways of the gods. If this was what made these strange-smelling creatures happy, so be it. “Never never hurt. Big thing. Ireg people, Russell people, never never hurt.” He brightened. “This Ireg give?” There was a questioning in his eyes.
“This Ireg give,” affirmed Russell. “Good big thing. Bigger than words Russell give Ireg.”
Ireg stood up and beat his chest. “Big thing Ireg give!” he shouted down the strip of empty street, as if trying to communicate with the savannah. “Never never hurt. Good big thing Ireg give!”
“Lord,” said Farn zem Marur, looking up from his carving, “is it fitting that a sept lord should enter the bond with a savage?”
“It is fitting,” said Russell evenly. Then he said, almost irrelevantly: “Am I a man or a beast?”
The pathfinder smiled. “You are lord of the sept of magicians.”
“A man or a beast?” persisted Russell.
Farn zem Marur was disconcerted. “Lord, a man, I think— unless something greater.”
“And you, Farn, and the lord Absu—are you men or beasts?”
Farn regained his composure. “For myself, I answer I am a man… But my lord Absu casts a long shadow when weapons are drawn.”
“Yet he is a man?”
“Much of a man.”
“And Ireg, Farn. Is he a man or is he a beast?”
Farn zem Marur cast an appreciative glance at the Stone Age man. “Lord, whether he is a beast with the heart of a man or a man with the heart of a beast, I know not… Yet, I think I would rather he were with me than against me. He has much strength and, in his fashion, some valour.”
“I submit, pathfinder,” said Russell, “that you and I and he belong to the class of beings we call men.
Outside the barrier of mist which you know well, and which encloses us, there may be beings who are great in achievement yet are neither men nor beasts. The time may come when they may wish to dispose of us or when we may demand a reckoning.”
“Lord,” said Farn zem Marur, “in that case, we are all of one sept.”
Russell grinned. “Take one step further, Farn zem Marur,” he said. “In any case, we are all of one sept.”
Ireg smiled down at them. “Good big thing,” he announced sagely.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
IT WAS EARLY in the afternoon, but though the sun was still high in a fleecy sky there seemed to be an unusual touch of coldness in the air. Or perhaps it was not in the air, thought Russell, shivering slightly.
Perhaps it was something inside him—the coldness of fear.
He looked at Anna, sitting by his side in the boat, paddling away with apparent unconcern. He thought she looked beautiful. He had not realized before just how beautiful she was. But then, he reflected, one takes so many things for granted until one is aware of the nearness of death.
Anna Markova’s long dark hair was tied carelessly with a piece of string behind her head. She was wearing little but an open shirt and a pair of tattered trousers. All the warm clothing had been stacked neatly in the small, detachable and now insulated cabin that Tore Norstedt had made before he died.
On top of the cabin, mounted neatly on a wooden rack, were three pairs of wooden wheels and two long shafts with a rope harness. These had been made by John Howard so that the boat could be converted into a miniature wagon for overland travelling. If, indeed, thought Russell grimly, the need for travelling overland should ever be realized. For, now that the journey of exploration had begun, his optimism had drained away; and he was convinced that it would end in disaster.
The cabin stood amidships—if that was not too grand a term—separating the bench on which Russell and Anna sat from the bench near the bow occupied by Farn zem Marur.
Farn was adept at paddling Indian fashion; and his blade tirelessly chopped at the water on alternate sides. Fortunately, very little effort was required to keep the heavily laden boat moving since it was travelling downstream. The paddles were useful chiefly to keep the boat clear of the banks and the occasional midstream obstacles. In places the lazily rippling ribbon of water was no more than seven or eight metres wide; but here and there it expanded into broad, slow-moving shallows. And there were times, even, despite the shallow draught of the boat, when it lightly scraped the bottom.
Looking at the sturdy shoulders and efficient movements of Farn zem Marur, Russell was glad that Absu had allowed his pathfinder to come on the journey. Absu himself had not volunteered because he believed that his first duty lay in looking after his sept. For this reason also, he disapproved of Russell taking part in the exploration. But he had kept his disapproval to himself, reflecting that the ways of the magicians were not as the ways of normal people.
Originally, Russell had wanted to bring Mohan das Gupta with him. But Anna had talked him out of the idea. If for any reason the expedition ended in disaster, she had pointed out, there would be a serious unbalance of the sexes at the Erewhon Hilton. Two men, Gunnar Rudefors and Tore Norstedt, had already died; and though Marina Jessop had committed suicide, the possible loss of another two men might eventually create complications that could destroy what was left of the small group—to say nothing of seriously weakening their defensive power.