The Quest of Kadji

He lay quite comfortably on folded blankets, and saddlebags were heaped behind him, and be felt warm and cozy. A great lassitude enveloped him. There was no urgency in anything, no importance, and no hurry. He did not even feel curious, although nothing of what he saw around him did he at once understand.

Somewhere behind him, further back in the cave, a horse blew out its breath and stamped restlessly. He remembered that he had owned a horse once, a black Feridoon pony, but he could not recall its name or what had become of it.

The air about him was pleasantly cool and fresh, although it did savor somewhat of unwashed wolf, horse, and man-sweat. A fire was crackling off to his left, and he turned his head to look at it. Someone with patient labor had scooped out a hollow place in the hard-packed, rocky, earthen floor of the cave, lined it carefully with smooth flat stones, and a small neat fire of spicy wood and dry leaves crackled merrily thereupon. The blue smoke that rose from the flames smelled deliciously of pungent herbs.

A bracket of tough black wood was built above the flames, and a thick earthenware pot was suspended just above the fire. Within it some fluid seethed and bubbled. It was a good sound; a pleasant, homey sound. He remembered his mother’s cookfire, that time the sword-brethren had wintered in the black mountains of Maroosh, where the Kozanga clans held a permanent settlement for the womenfolk and the younger children. Her hearth had been like this: warm, clean-swept, good-smelling.

Then a girl, bent over, came through the low opening of the cave, which was covered by a hanging fur. She came into the cave, glanced at him, saw that his eyes were open but made no comment, bent over the fire and examined the contents of the earthen pot.

She was thin and gaunt, as if she had not eaten well in some time, and there were dark hollows and circles under her eyes as if she had gone long without sleep. Her thin body was muffled in heavy glossy furs, but the crudely made jacket was open, so it was not very cold outside. Beneath the furs she wore a threadbare man’s tunic, much too large for her, and very patched.

Using her fur mittens for pot-holders she took the earthen container from its hook above the fire and brought it over to where he lay. She muttered a curt word, and the grey wolf stirred, got up, and slunk out of the cave, nosing its way through the flap of the fur covering that shielded the entrance. Then the thin, worn girl knelt at his side and held the pot to his lips.

“Drink,” she said, and he drank. The fluid was steaming hot and had a rich, spicy taste, and green flakes of some herb were thickly scattered over the surface of the fluid. He drank in slow, deep gulps, and the drink was pungent and volatile. It seemed to explode to hot piney vapor the instant it touched his tongue, and the steaming vapor filled his head—he could feel it clear back in his sinuses—and then expanded through his brain until it seemed that his skull was a tight-stretched balloon filled with hot, pungent smoky flavor. His mind, which had been sleepy and blurred, cleared magically. His eyes brightened; blood pulsed through his body, carrying the influence of the magic herbal tea through every portion of his being, until from head to toe he felt tinglingly alive.