XII

THAT night Gamwyn slept fitfully as the Siveri linked up all the rafts into a flotilla, calling to each other and singing endlessly to celebrate their escape. Gamwyn’s feelings stirred in his stomach like uncooked batter. He was jubilant, but he had also watched the Tusco city vanish into the river, with many of its people, including, no doubt, the girl Daw, who had saved his life. While the destruction of Jaiyan’s ramshackle structure had been an accident, this had not. He had engineered it. Gamwyn felt horror creep through him like the night chill.

But with dawn, and the evident joy of the Siveri, he felt relief. Nim stayed close to Muse, who was severely hurt but laughed as he described repeatedly the Siveris’ bursting into the guard tower and impaling three startled Nicfad when they threatened him.

Morning saw the flotilla draw back into the flooded trees on the east bank, where the slaves prepared to set out for home overland. They were more nervous than ever from their lack of smoke, but Nim and his men kept urging them on. The Siveri wanted Gamwyn to accompany them, but he would not. He was eager to continue downstream, passing the last Tusco settlement on the river while it was in flood.

“That’s called High Tower,” one old Siveri said. “It’s on the west bank. It ain’t so large as U Bend, but it’s, got plenty of Nicfad. You’d best be careful. Sneak by at night. Stay in the trees on the east bank.”

Soon the Siveri, standing in the mud on the shore, cheered a good-bye to Gamwyn, as he poled a narrow raft, four logs wide, back out into the current. His heart beat hard with fear, but he never questioned his resolve. He even wondered about that. He turned once and saw that the crowd of Siveri had already turned away from the river and was headed east through the green-powdered trees and white spring blossoms.

Gamwyn poled and paddled easily, fishing as he went, catching nothing until he worked back into the shallows at dusk. Then he landed a large catfish, which he skinned and cleaned with the knife Sagan had given him. The Tusco had never taken it away, thinking it a harmless neck ornament.

Gamwyn beached his raft and went back a full half-ayas from the river to cook his fish, to hide the fire. He ate as much as he could hold, and dried the rest with slow cooking. Then he groped his way back through the dark woods to the river. He knew he was a long way from High Tower, so he poled back out into the current, letting the raft drift, feeling lost and miserable.

After a time he thought he heard something—then someone, a woman, calling. It was a sound of misery. Gamwyn lay down on his raft and kept silent. Perhaps one of the Siveri had become lost. No. He recognized the slow, slurred Tusco dialect. He paddled quietly, drawing closer.

In the dim moonlight broken by passing clouds, he saw two figures on a raft of debris, one sitting and calling out, one lying down. Eventually he drew close enough to hear the one lying down groan weakly. The seated shape leaned over and murmured something. Gamwyn silently stroked closer, lying full length on his raft, his heart beating hard.

“No, Mother, no food. I not know how to fish. We’ll get to High Tower. Not worry. We’ll make it.”

It was Daw. Gamwyn was sure of it. He thought at first to slip by in the night. But he owed her his, life. His breath came fast in his fear, but eventually he called quietly across the water, “Daw.”

She uttered a light cry, standing, almost losing her balance, then sitting back down.

“Who? Who you? In name of Roara, Spirit of Spirits, help us.”

“Gamwyn. It’s the Pelbar. The one you saved at the well.”

Daw’s hands came up to her head as Gamwyn sat up and paddled closer. “No. What you going to do to us? No. Get away.”

“Do? Nothing. Don’t worry. I have some dry fish.”

“Fish?”

“Not a whole lot. Enough for you and your mother to eat some. We’ll catch some more.”

She said nothing as his narrow raft bumped and grated against hers, which proved to be a piece of the white tower. Some bones were still fastened to one edge of it.

Gamwyn took a cord and fastened the two rafts together lightly. “Are we friends?” he asked.

“Friends?”

“You aren’t going to harm me, are you?”

“Harm? Oh, no. Where this fish?”

Gamwyn fed the two, then worked the double craft to the east-bank shallows. Daw’s mother lay scarcely moving. Gamwyn set out his two fish lines, searched Daw for weapons, though she scolded and writhed as he chucklingly patted her. He searched the older woman as well. They had nothing. Clearly they had somehow been swept up as the river broke through, and in the dark scramble had come up with their raft.

The two young people regarded each other in the dark. “I will see that you get to High Tower, but you must not enslave me again.”

“I promise you nothing. It proper that you serve.”

“Daw,” the woman groaned. “Not now. Let him help us.”

“I see. So you can trick me later,” Gamwyn said. “That’s the Central Committee’s idea of truth. Well, in any case I will help you because I owe Daw that. But I must go on.”

“On? Where?”

Gamwyn told them the whole story of the shell. Daw’s mother sighed. “You crazy. It only chance that brought you this far.”

“Chance? Maybe. Somehow in my mind I see Craydor knowing that I would be on this journey. I know that’s foolish. But it’s as if she thought it out—the getting of the shell. Someone would do something. I happened to be the someone.”

“That religious fanaticism, boy. It enslaved you and it probably will again.”

“Fanaticism? Is it worse than the social fanaticism you have so much regard for? To enslave and brutalize all in the name of a stupid system you have so much confidence in? Then to build your city where the river was sure to take it?”

The old woman groaned again.

“At least we have some values, some ethics,” Gamwyn added.

“Shut up, won’t you?” Daw said.

Startled, Gamwyn looked at her in the dark, seeing only the cock of her shoulders held up in exasperation. He leaned over and put his cheek to hers, holding her so she couldn’t draw back. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Let’s just rest. In the morning we can make a bed for your mother and get some better food.”

That proved harder than Gamwyn had imagined because of the flood and the soggy flatlands. He managed to add a log to the raft, roped on with a grapevine. He built a frame for the injured woman, wading back into the woods several times to get enough old leaves to pad it. All the ankleroot was deep under water, and though he managed to find a few mushrooms back from the river, and several stalks of wild asparagus, they had to eat mostly fish. Gamwyn washed the woman and splinted her arm, which was clearly broken. She lay passively, uncaring, her eyes glazed and distant, her mouth set in a line. Daw was of little help.

Gamwyn could see that the older woman was more deeply shocked than dangerously injured. He knew her whole world had been wrenched away, and there was no easy cure for that. “I will sing, you a hymn,” he said.

“Keep your filthy hymn,” the old woman replied without conviction.

“I’ll sing it for myself, then,” Gamwyn said, and quietly sang all four stanzas of the “Hymn for Spring, Sign of Renewing.” It gave him only slight comfort. The others said nothing. Then Gamwyn, too, fell silent. He looked out at the river, which lay broad and empty, save for the trees and logs riding the flood.

“We ought to go,” he murmured. Poling out, he kept to the east bank. All day they saw nothing, nor did Gamwyn’s lines pick up any fish. When they camped at evening, though, he soon came up with a large carp, which he roasted back from the river again, using drilling sticks to start his fire.

When he brought it back to the raft, something seemed wrong. Daw sat like a tableau. Her mother stared upward, blinking slowly. “What is …” Gamwyn began, but from behind him a rope snaked out and took him around the neck. He turned and saw a Nicfad, who jerked it tight, but not enough to pull him down.

“Careful of that fish, slave,” the Nicfad said, grinning. Gamwyn cried out and dropped it into the murky water. The man, enraged, yanked him off his feet and dragged him through the mud and water, finally lifting him, choking, by the rope. “No more of that,” he growled. “You have debt to pay at High Tower.” He loosened the rope, and Gamwyn gasped and panted for breath. The Nicfad dragged him to the raft and threw him on.

“What about bur supper?” Daw asked. “He bringing our supper.” The Nicfad said nothing, but pushed the raft out into the darkening river. “What about eating. We have to eat,” Daw said.

“Lie down, Committeewoman,” the man said. “I don’t know how many of this murderer’s friends around. If we paddle all night we should get to High Tower early tomorrow. Then you safe. Plenty of food there. And justice for this murderer.”

“Murderer? Gamwyn? He helped us.”

“He one of them. Murderer. You will see. What does other Committeewoman say?”

“Tie him up, Daw,” her mother said. “Nicfad right.”

Daw tied Gamwyn, though not brutally. She leaned over close while fixing the last knots. He could feel her warm breath and her young breast against his shoulder. “There,” she said. “He tied enough.” She moved away from him. Gamwyn knew she sympathized with him, but he felt a sudden revulsion for her as well as the others. It was all so dismal.

In the middle of the night it began to rain, fitfully, with much wind and some lightning. The Nicfad said nothing but continued to paddle. Daw lay down. She touched Gamwyn with her foot, letting it lie against his leg. He said nothing all night. What did the Nicfad mean? How would he pay what debt at High Tower?

Morning dawned gray and raw. The light had not fully grown to day when they rounded a bend, and the Nicfad said, “Committeewoman, here High Tower. They take care of you. And girl. And this murdering slave.”

As they neared the landing, they were met by a squad of black-leather-clad Nicfad. Gamwyn was jerked and shoved out toward the slave quarters, which lay near the river. Looking up, he saw the tower, white with bones like the one at U Bend, but much taller. It stood on higher ground somewhat back from the river. Again the listless Siveri stared up from their work as Gamwyn was cuffed and buffeted by Nicfad to the room at the base of one of the guard towers. He was kicked inside and the door locked behind him. He lay, exhausted and hungry, in the dirty straw. Around high sun, a Nicfadleader jerked the door open and stared in at him, then slammed it again. Wind and rain returned, then some sun.

Gamwyn tried to pray, at first vainly because of his hunger, thirst, and fear, but then he calmed himself with Pelbar hymns. He was still angry with himself for having been fool enough to try to help Daw and her mother. But he still felt he had owed it to them.

After it grew dark again, Gamwyn heard sounds outside, and the door grated and opened. He looked up and saw a squad of Nicfad. He was jerked upright and led out toward the river. Looking around in wild fear, he noted that the whole community seemed to be present, standing in the wind, arranged in rows.

He was led to a platform near the river. Looking around, he saw lines of slaves. Behind them stood a row of Nicfad, legs spread, staffs in their hands. Beyond the Nicfad the workmen stood. Looking behind them as he was jerked along, Gamwyn could see the whole tower was crowded with faces, all looking down at him. Sudden fear drained him. What did they have in mind? Behind the tower the sky rolled and boiled with heavy clouds in a strange, yellow light. Some of the clouds seemed to hang like heavy dark grapes. The wind picked up, and a spurt of rain passed.

Gamwyn was prodded and kicked up onto the platform. A rough table stood there, with a log at the west end. Suddenly Gamwyn realized that they intended to cut off his foot as punishment for escaping. He fought and twisted, but the Nicfad simply tightened the rope around his neck. He was wrestled up onto the table and held down by eight grim Nicfad, his ankle over the round of the log.

A Committeeman from the tower spoke out through a great megaphone, and each of his phrases was repeated by a Nicfadleader with a megaphone standing on a platform just behind the Siveri slaves.

“People of High Tower,” the Committeeman began. “You see here worst kind of social wretch. Taking advantage of disaster at U Bend, he did not stay to help but took opportunity to escape. He responsible for much misery, then. It proper that he severely punished. But true to our practices of mercy, we intend to inflict only just punishment for escape—removal of one foot. Then slave given chance to redeem self through hard work.

The man continued, but Gamwyn had ceased to listen. He struggled grimly, but it was no use. His mind seemed to burst open. All this was unreal. He seemed to see a shell forming in the sky. No, it was not the right one. It was columnar, like some land snails, like the whorls of water that pierce the river on each side of a paddle stroke.

“It’s not the right one,” he screamed out. The Nicfad stared at him, teeth gritted. The Committeeman droned on, the Nicfad chanting his phrases after him as the wind picked up.

Suddenly Gamwyn’s mind returned, and he watched with horror as the shell became a tornado, which neared and darkened, dipping and twisting. It approached from behind them in the west and south, and since all watched him, no one saw it. Its speed seemed to increase. Finally, Gamwyn heard the Committeeman say, “Has prisoner any word of apology and contrition before we execute punishment?” The Nicfad’s repetition was almost drowned by the wind.

Gamwyn struggled in the arms of the Nicfad and screamed out, “I call all the gods of the sky down on you in wrath and without mercy, for you know neither pity nor justice!”

The wind rose higher, and within it another distinct sound grew, a coherent roar overwhelming all speech. As one Nicfad reached for his axe, another happened to look west. He let go of Gamwyn’s leg and screamed, then the others turned, as the tornado raced the last fifty arms toward the tower. The onlookers turned and yelled, and Gamwyn stood, free for a moment, as the black funnel arced its base into the tower, exploding it. Wood, bones, and people flew, cutting down through the line of workmen, lifting as the sloping land pulled down from it toward the river.

Gamwyn never looked. He had shucked the rope from his neck and jumped from the platform as the twister struck the tower. He raced for the river as he felt the tornado pass over him, knocking him into the mud, where he was pelted by debris, then roar out over the spinning and churning water. A Nicfad grabbed for him. Gamwyn twisted. He heard a strange gurgle and turned to find the man impaled by a long splinter. He wrenched free and then stumbled down the bank and out into the river, swimming for one of the boats bobbing and plunging at a mooring in the water. Only once he had rolled over the gunwhale into it did he turn. Through the heavy rain he could see the tower was gone, the slope covered with people, lying, crawling, running. Gamwyn dug an oar in and headed down-river.

A Nicfad arrow stuck into the boat, but as Gamwyn turned again, he saw a Siveri swing a post and fell the archer. He heard a nearby shriek and saw two small figures swimming desperately toward him. One was a girl. He paused. Was it Daw? No. Both wore rough Tusco slave clothes. A boy reached the boat first, and Gamwyn hauled him over the side. The boy immediately scrambled for the oars, and as Gamwyn grabbed the girl’s wrists, the stranger began to dig in long strokes. The girl was surprisingly wiry, and came over the side in a surge, with Gamwyn’s help. She lunged for an oar, and the boy moved over, leaving Gamwyn merely a passenger as they stroked together, driving out into the current and downstream through the storm.

Gamwyn looked back. No one was following. He slumped down almost faint in the bottom of the boat, dimly watching the two stroke, silently and evenly, their young faces grim and desperate. Gamwyn raised up and looked back again as they reached the first bend. The rain had slowed, but blown rain and mist obscured all behind them. The two rowers rested on their oars, allowing the boat to drift, their chests heaving. For a time, no one said anything, The two looked at Gamwyn apprehensively, but he simply lay back in intense relief, enjoying the feel of the rain on his face as it washed over him.