The Marriages Between Zones 3, 4 and 5

The beasts, used to the low relaxed air of Zone Four, were exhausted from the high altitudes of this place, and were trembling as they stood.

‘There is water around that spur,’ said Al·Ith. He did not argue, but shouted to the soldiers to lead the horses around the spur to drink. He got off his horse, and so did she. A soldier came to lead both animals with the others to the water. A fire was blazing in a glade between deep rocks. Saddles lay about on the grass at intervals: they would be the men’s pillows.

Jarnti was still beside Al·Ith. He did not know what to do with her.

The men were already pulling out their rations from their packs, and eating. The sour powdery smell of dried meat. The reek of spirits.

Jarnti said, with a resentful laugh, ‘Madam, our soldiers seem very interesting to you! Are they so different from your own?’

‘We have no soldiers,’ she said.

This scene, too, is much celebrated among us. The soldiers, illuminated by a blazing fire, are seated on their saddles among the grasses, eating their dried meat and drinking from their flasks. Others are leading back the horses, who have drunk at a stream out of sight behind rocks. Al·Ith stands by Jarnti at the entrance to this little natural fortress. They are watching the horses being closed into a corral that is formed by high rocks. They are hungry, and there is no food for them that night. Al·Ith is gazing at them with pity. Jarnti, towering over the small indomitable figure of our queen, is swaggering and full of bravado.

‘No soldiers?’ said Jarnti, disbelieving. Though of course there had always been rumours to this effect.

‘We have no enemies,’ she remarked. And then added, smiling straight at him, ‘Have you?’

This dumbfounded him.

He could not believe the thoughts her question aroused.

While she was still smiling at him, a soldier came out from the entrance of the little camp and stood at ease close to them.

‘What is he standing there for?’

‘Have you never heard of a sentry?’ he enquired, full of sarcasm.

‘Yes. But no one is going to attack you.’

‘We always post sentries,’ he said.

She shrugged.

Some soldiers were already asleep. The horses drooped and rested behind their rocky barriers.

‘Jarnti, I am going to leave you for some hours,’ she said.

‘I cannot allow you.’

‘If you forbid me, you would be going beyond your orders.’

He was silent.

Here again, a favourite scene. The fire roaring up, showing the sleeping soldiers, the poor horses, and Jarnti, tugging at his beard with both hands in frustrated amazement at Al·Ith, who is smiling at him.

‘Besides,’ he added, ‘you have not eaten.’

She enquired good-humouredly: ‘Do your orders include your forcing me to eat?’

And now he said, confronting her, all trouble and dogged insistence, because of the way he was being turned inside out and upside down by her, and by the situation, ‘Yes, the way I see it, by implication my orders say I should make you eat. And perhaps even sleep, if it comes to that.’

‘Look, Jarnti,’ said she, and went to a low bush that grew not ten paces away. She took some of its fruit. They were lumpy fruits sheathed in papery leaves. She pulled off the leaves. In each were four segments of a white substance. She ate several. The tightness of her mouth showed she was not enjoying them.

‘Don’t eat them unless you want to stay awake,’ she said, but of course he could not resist. He blundered off to the bush, and gathered some for himself, and his mouth twisted up as he tasted the tart crumbly stuff.

‘Jarnti,’ she said, ‘you cannot leave this camp, since you are the commander. Am I correct?’

‘Correct,’ he said, in a clumsy familiarity, which was the only way he knew how to match her friendliness.

‘Well, I am going to walk some miles from here. Since in any case you intend to keep that poor man awake all night for nothing, I suggest you send him with me to make sure I will come back again.’

Jarnti was already feeling the effects of the fruit. He was alert and knew he could not fall off to sleep now.

‘I will leave him on guard and come with you myself,’ he said.

And went to give orders accordingly.

While he did this, Al·Ith walked past the sleeping soldiers to the horses, and gave each one of them, from her palm, a few of the acrid fruits from the bush. Before she had left their little prison they were lifting their heads and their eyes had brightened.

She and Jarnti set off across the blackness of the plain towards the first of the glittering lights.

This scene is always depicted thus: there is a star-crowded sky, a slice of bright moon, and the soldier striding forward made visible and prominent because his chest armour and headpiece and his shield are shining. Beside him Al·Ith is visible only as a dark shadow, but her eyes gleam softly out from her veil.

It could not have been anything like this. The wind was straight in their faces, strong and cold. She wrapped her head completely in her veil, and he had his cloak tight about him and over the lower part of his face; and the shield was held to protect them both from the wind. He had chosen to accompany this queen on no pleasant excursion, and he must have regretted it.

It took three hours to reach the settlement. It was of tents and huts: the herdsmen’s headquarters. They walked through many hundreds of beasts who lifted their heads as they went past, but did not come nearer or move away. The wind was quite enough for them to withstand, and left them no energy for anything else. But as the two came to within calling distance of the first tents, where there was shelter from low scrubby trees, some beasts came nosing towards Al·Ith in the dark, and she spoke to them and held out her hands for them to smell, in greeting.

There were men and women sitting around a small fire outside a tent.

They had lifted their heads, too, sensing the approach of strangers, and Al·Ith called out to them, ‘It is Al·Ith,’ and they called back to her to approach.

All this was astonishing to Jarnti, who went with Al·Ith into the firelight, but several paces behind.

At the sight of him, the faces of the fire-watchers showed wonderment.

‘This is Jarnti, from Zone Four,’ said Al·Ith, as if what she was saying was an ordinary thing. ‘He has come to take me to their king.’

Now there was not a soul in our land who did not know how she felt about this marriage, and there were many curious glances into her face and eyes. But she was showing them that this was not her concern now. She stood waiting while rugs were brought from a tent, and when they were spread, she sat down on one and indicated to Jarnti that he should do the same. She told them that Jarnti had not eaten, and he was brought bread and porridge. She indicated that she did not want food. But she accepted a cup of wine, and Jarnti drank off jugs of the stuff. It was mild in taste, but potent. He was showing signs of discomfort if not of illness: the altitude of our plateau had affected him, he had taken too many of the stimulant berries, and he had not eaten. He was cut through and through by the winds that swept over their heads where they all leaned low over their little fire.

This scene, too, is one much depicted.

It always shows Al·Ith, alert and smiling, surrounded by the men and women of the settlement, with her cup of wine in her hand, and beside her Jarnti, drowsy and drugged. Above them the wind has scoured the sky clean and glittering. The little trees are leaning almost to the ground. The herds surround the fireside scene, looking in and wondering, waiting for a glance from their queen.

She said at once: ‘As I rode out from the capital today, and down through the passes, I was stopped by many of you. What is this that they are saying about the animals?’

The spokesman was an old man.

‘What have they told you, Al·Ith?’

‘That there is something wrong.’

‘Al·Ith, we have ourselves sent in messengers to the capital, with information.’

Al·Ith was silent, and then said, ‘I’m very much to blame. Messages came, and I was too much preoccupied with my own trouble to attend.’

Jarnti was sitting with a bent head, half asleep, but at this his head jerked up, and he let out a gruff triumphant laugh, and muttered, ‘Punish her, beat her, you hear? She admits it!’ before his head dropped again. His mouth hung open, and the cup was loose in his hand. One of the girls took it from him gently. He snatched at it, thrust forward his bottom lip and lifted his chin belligerently at her, saw she was pretty, and a female — and would have put his arms around her, but she swiftly moved back as he submerged again in drunkenness.

Al·Ith’s eyes were full of tears. The women first, then the men, seeing this oaf and his ways, saw too what was in store for her — and they were about to raise their voices in lament, keening, but she lifted her hand and stopped them.

‘There is no help for it,’ she said, in a low voice, her lips trembling. ‘We have our orders. And it is clear down in Zone Four they don’t like it any more than we do.’

They looked enquiringly at her and she nodded. ‘Yes. Ben Ata is very angry. So I understood today from something that was said.’

‘Ben Ata … Ben Ata …’ muttered the soldier, his head rolling. ‘He will have the clothes off you before you can get at him with your magic berries and your tricks.’

At this, one of the men rose to his feet and would have dragged Jarnti off, with two hands under his armpits, but Al·Ith raised her hand to stop him.

‘I am more concerned with the animals,’ she said. ‘What was in the messages you sent me?’

‘Nothing definite, Al·Ith. It is only that our animals are disturbed in their minds. They are sorrowful.’

‘This is true everywhere on the plains?’

‘It is true everywhere in our Zone, or so we hear. Were you not told of it up on the plateau?’

‘I have already said that I am much to blame. I was not attending to my duties.’

A silence. The wind was shrieking over them, but not as loud.

Jarnti was slumped, his cup leaning in his hand, blinking at the fire. Really he was listening, since the berries have the effect of preserving attention even while the muscles are slack and disobedient. This conversation was to be retold everywhere through the camps of Zone Four, and not inaccurately, though to them the emphasis must be that the queen of all the land was sitting ‘like a serf’ by the fire. And, of course, that ‘up there’ they spoke of animals as if they were people.

Al·Ith said to the old man, ‘You have asked the animals?’

‘I have been among the herds since it was noticed. Day after day I have been with them. Not one says anything different. They do not know why, but they are sad enough to die. They have lost the zest for living, Al·Ith.’

‘They are conceiving? Giving birth?’

‘They are still giving birth. But you are right to ask if they are conceiving … ’

At this Jarnti let out a muttering, ‘They tell their queen she is right! They dare! Drag them off! Beat them … ’

They ignored him. With compassion now. He was sitting loose and rolling there, his face aflame, and they saw him as worse than their beasts. More than one of the women was weeping, silently, at the fate of their sister, as they watched him.

‘We believe they are not conceiving.’

A silence. The wind was not shrieking now. It was a low wail. The animals that were making a circle all around lifted their muzzles to sniff the air: soon the wind would be gone, and their nightly ordeal over.

‘And you, the people?’

They all nodded, slowly. ‘We believe that we are the same.’

‘You mean, that you begin to feel in yourselves what the animals feel?’

‘Yes, Al·Ith.’

And now they sat quiet for a long time. They looked into each other’s faces, questioning, confirming, allowing their eyes to meet, and to part, letting what each felt pass from one to another, until they all were feeling and understanding as one.

While this went on, the soldier was motionless. Later, in the camps, he was to say that ‘up there’ they had vicious drugs and used them unscrupulously.

The wind had dropped. It was silent. In a swept sky the stars glittered cold. But wisps of cloud were forming in the east, over the borders with Zone Four.

One of the girls spoke up at last. ‘Al·Ith, some of us have been wondering if this new Order from the Providers has something to do with this sadness of ours.’

Al·Ith nodded.

‘None of us remember anything like it,’ said the old man.

Al·Ith said, ‘The Memories speak of such a time. But it was so long ago the historians knew nothing about it.’

‘And what happened?’ asked Jarnti, suddenly finding his tongue.

‘We were invaded,’ said Al·Ith. ‘By Zone Four. Is there nothing in your history? Your tales?’

At this Jarnti wagged his pointed beard at them, grinning — triumphant.

‘Is there nothing you can tell us?’ asked Al·Ith.

He smirked at the women, one after another, and then his head fell forward.

‘Al·Ith,’ said a girl who had been sitting, letting her tears run, ‘Al·Ith, what are you going to do with such men?’

‘Perhaps Ben Ata won’t be so bad,’ said another.

‘This man is the commander of all the armies,’ said Al·Ith, and could not prevent herself shuddering.

‘This man? This?’

Their horror and shock made itself felt in Jarnti, and he would have punished them if he could. He did manage to raise his head and glare, but he was shaking and weak.

‘He is going to have to get back to the camp at the foothills,’ said Al·Ith.

Two of the young men glanced at each other, and then rose. They grasped Jarnti under the armpits, hauled him to his feet, and began walking him up and down. He staggered and protested, but complied, in the end, for his brain, clear all this time, told him it was necessary.

This scene is known as ‘Jarnti’s Walk,’ and gives much opportunity for humour to our artists and tellers.

‘I don’t see that there is anything we can do?’ asked Al·Ith of the others. ‘If this is an old disease, nothing is known of it in our medicine. If it is a new disease, our doctors will shortly come to terms with it. But if it is a malady of the heart, then the Providers will know what to do.’

A silence.

‘Have already known what to do,’ she said, smiling, though not pleasantly. ‘Please tell everyone on the plain that I came here tonight and we talked, and what we thought together.’

We will, they said. Then they all rose to their feet, and went with her through the herds. A young girl called three horses, who came and stood willingly, waiting, while the young man put Jarnti on one, and Al·Ith mounted another, and the girl herself got on a third. The animals crowded around Al·Ith on her horse, and called to her as the three rode past.

Out on the plain, headed back towards the camp, the grasses were now standing up grey in a dim light, and the eastern sky was aflame.

Jarnti had come awake, and was sitting straight and soldierly on his horse.

‘Madam,’ he asked, ‘how do you people talk to your animals?’

‘Do you not talk to yours?’

‘No.’

‘You stay with them. You watch them. You put your hands on them and feel how they feel. You look into their eyes. You listen to the tones of their cries and their calling to each other. You make sure that when they begin to understand that you understand them, you do not miss the first tones of what they say to you. For if you do not hear, then they will not trouble to try again. Soon you will feel what they are feeling, and you will know what they are thinking, even if they do not tell you themselves.’

Jarnti said nothing for a while. They had now left the herds behind.

‘Of course we watch them and take notice of how they look, if they are ill or something like that.’

‘There are none among you who know how to feel with your animals?’

‘Some of us are good with animals, yes.’

Al·Ith did not seem inclined to say any more.

‘Perhaps we are too impatient,’ said Jarnti.

Neither Al·Ith nor the girl said anything to this. They trotted on towards the foothills. Now the great peaks of the high lands were pink and shining from the wild morning sky.

‘Madam,’ he said, blustering, because he did not know how to be on an equality with her, or with anyone, ‘when you are with us, can you teach some of the soldiers who are in charge of the horses this way of yours?’

She was silent. Then: ‘Do you know that I am never called anything but Al·Ith? Do you understand that I have never been called Madam, or anything like it before?’

Now he was silent.

‘Well, will you?’ he asked gruffly.

‘I will if I can,’ she said at last.

He was struggling with himself to express gratitude, pleasure. Nothing came out.

They were more than halfway between the herds and the camp.

Jarnti put his heels into his horse suddenly, and it neighed and bucked. Then it stood still.

The two women stopped too.

‘Did you want to go on ahead?’ asked the girl.

He was sullen.

‘He won’t carry you now,’ she said, and slid off her horse. Jarnti got down from his. ‘Now get on mine.’ He did so. She soothed the bewildered horse he had kicked, and mounted it.

‘Think that you want to go on in front of us,’ said the girl.

He had an ashamed, embarrassed look. He went red.

‘I’m afraid you will have to put up with us,’ said Al·Ith at last.

When they were in sight of the camp, she jumped down from her horse. It at once turned and began cantering back towards the herds. Jarnti got off his. And this one too cantered back. He was standing looking in admiration at the lovely girl on her horse, who was turning around to go.

‘If you ever come to Zone Four,’ he shouted at her, ‘let me know.’

She gave a long look of commiseration at Al·Ith, and remarked, ‘Luckily for me I am not a queen.’ And she sped off across the plain with the two other horses neighing and tossing up their heels on either side of her.

Al·Ith and Jarnti walked towards the camp with the sunrise at their backs.

Long before they reached the camp, the smell of burning meat was strong on the air.

Al·Ith did not say anything, but her face spoke.

‘Do you not kill animals?’ he asked, unwillingly but forced to by his curiosity.

‘Only if it is essential. There are plenty of other foods.’

‘Like those horrible berries of yours,’ he said, trying to be good-humoured.

In the camp they had killed a deer. Jarnti did not eat any of it.

As soon as the meal was over, the horses were saddled, all but Al·Ith’s. She stood watching the beasts adjust their mouths and their teeth uncomfortably as the bit went in.

She vaulted onto her horse, and whispered to it. Jarnti watched her, uneasy.

‘What did you say to it?’ he asked.

‘That I am his friend.’

And again she led the way forward, into the east, back across the plain.

They rode to one side of the herds they had been with in the night, but far enough off to see them as a darkness on the plain.

Jarnti was riding just behind Al·Ith.

Now he was remembering the conversation around the fire last night, the tone of it, the ease of it. He yearned for it — or something in it, for he had never known that quality of easy intimacy. Except, he was saying to himself, with a girl, sometimes, after a good screw.

He said, almost wistfully, to Al·Ith, ‘Can you feel that the animals out there are sad?’ For she was looking continually towards them, and her face was concerned.

‘Can’t you?’ she asked.

He saw she was weeping, steadily, as she rode.

He was furious. He was irritated. He felt altogether excluded from something he had a right to.

Behind them clattered the company of soldiers.

A long way in front was the frontier. Suddenly she leaned down to whisper to the horse and it sped forward. Jarnti and the company broke into speed after her. They were shouting at her. She did not have the shield that would protect her from the — to her — deadly atmosphere of Zone Four. She rode like the wild winds that scoured the plains every night until early dawn, and her long hair swept out behind her, and tears ran steadily down her face.

It was not for miles that Jarnti came up with her — one of the soldiers had thrown the shield to him, and he had caught it, and was now riding almost neck and neck with her.

‘Al·Ith,’ he was shouting, ‘you must have this.’ And held up the shield. It was a long time before she heard him. At last she turned her face towards him, not halting her mad pace in the slightest, and he wilted at the sight of her blanched, agonized face. He held up the shield. She raised her hand to catch it. He hesitated, because it was not a light thing. He remembered how she had thrown the heavy saddle the day before, and he heaved the shield towards her. She caught it with one hand and did not abate her pace at all. They were approaching the frontier. They watched her to see how she would be affected by the sudden change in the density of the air, for they had all been ill to some extent, the day before. She went through the invisible barrier without faltering, though she was pale, and did not seem well. Inside the frontier line were the observation towers, rising up at half-mile distances from each other, bristling with soldiers and armaments. She did not stop. Jarnti and the others fled after her, shouting to the soldiers in the towers not to shoot. She went between the towers without looking at them.

Again they were on the edge of a descent through hills and rocks above a wide plain. When she reached the edge of this escarpment she at last stopped.

They all came to a standstill behind her. She was looking down into a land crowded with forts and encampments.

She jumped down from her horse. Soldiers were running to them from the forts, holding the bridles of fresh horses. The jaded horses of the company were being herded off to recover. But Al·Ith’s did not want to leave her. He shivered and whinnied and wheeled all about Al·Ith, and when the soldiers came to catch him, would not go.

‘Would you like him as a present, Al·Ith?’ asked Jarnti, and she was pleased and smiled a little, which was all she could manage.

Again she removed the saddle from this fresh horse, and the bridle, and tossed them to the amazed soldiers. And she rode forward and down into Zone Four, with Yori trotting beside her and continually putting up his nose to nuzzle her as they went.

And so Al·Ith made the passage into the Zone we had all heard so much of, speculated about, and had never been in.

Not even with the shield could she feel anything like herself. The air was flat, dispiriting. The landscape seemed to confine and oppress. Everywhere you look, in our own realm, a wild vigour is expressed in the contours of uplands, mountains, a variegated ruggedness. The central plateau where so many of our towns are situated is by no means regular, but is ringed by mountains and broken by ravines and deep river channels. With us the eye is enticed into continual movement, and then is drawn back always to the great snowy peaks that are shaped by the winds and the colours of our skies. And the air tingles in the blood, cold and sharp. But here she looked down into a uniform dull flat, cut by canals and tamed streams that were marked by lines of straight pollarded trees, and dotted regularly by the ordered camps of the military way of life. Towns and villages did not seem any larger than these camps. The sky was a greyish blue and there was a dull shine from the lines of water. A wide low hill near the centre of the scene where there seemed to be something like a park or gardens was all the consolation she could find.

Meanwhile, they were still descending the escarpment.