The Blood-Rage (10) She smiled sweetly and said, "I remember you well, you old wind from the desert. You used to beat me with the flat of your sword when I was young. Try touching me again, and I'll end all of your worries." He roared with laughter and slapped his leg. "My death would revenge that old indignity, huh?" He watched her eyes closely; they glittered with anger. Damn, she hasn't changed. How can that much rage be in a woman so young? "It's something I dream about at night, lately," she taunted. "There are many daggers who dream about me at night. There's no reason you should be an exception." He saw a blush come to her as she sat up straighter. Her nipples showed prominently through the thin cloth. He licked his lips. Her lips tightened. From somewhere behind him, Patra chuckled, "Never try to out talk an old warrior, daughter." "The old wind bag knew I wasn't serious," she retorted. "Ha," Rasp snorted as he scratched his nose. "Truth be known, you're probably hoping I would try something so your friend here could get upset and pull his sword on me." He tried to hood his eyes, thinking: I've waited long enough for this young "sword's" greeting. His continued silence is doubly insulting. I think I'll return him to the dust of Agon. Gravestone interjected quickly, "He doesn't greet you because of a wish to insult--" So, thought Rasp, my friend of old knew all along my target was the stranger. I must not be hiding my rage as well as I used to. "--he doesn't talk. And that's why we have come here to seek your aid, hoping you could help." Rasp pulled his sword out of its scabbard so fast it sang. But he noticed that Erendria was already in motion. She kneed her mu-lynx to leap between him and the stranger; and before he could take another step, her dagger was at his throat. Damn the speed of youth. "Hold, warrior!" she shouted. "Listen to my father- teacher's tale before you act." His weapon was high over his head and grasped by both hands. He was unconcerned about the blade at his throat. "All weakness must be purged," he snarled. The laws of Agon are worth more than my blood and destruction, young-one, he thought calmly. He had absolutely no fear of death, hadn't for a long, long time. He heard Patra speak softly from behind him, "Of all the rationals that we know, we had thought that you could think without dogma and hear us out." He stood frozen for many heartbeats, thinking: There's more here than meets the eye. Suddenly, as quickly as it flared, his rage faded. He relaxed, returned his sword to its scabbard, and pushed aside Erendria's knife; it was of no consequence anyway. "You're right, as usual, dagger," he said and turned to look with affection at the older woman. "Your voice has always been the cool water to quench the flames of my anger. Long ago, I should have mate-hunted and taken you as my weapon's-complement, before you met Gravestone and became his." He grinned his best grin. Patra bowed slightly at the waist and said, "You honor me, old friend. May your sword be ever sharp and the arm that wields it ever strong." Rasp waved his hand to acknowledge her courtesy and turned his back to them as he walked toward his cupola. "Dismount," he called over his shoulder. "Let's talk." He sat cross-legged upon the soft grass before his gray dome and watched the Kalt family approach. Gravestone carried the bundle of weapons, and the mu-lynxes were running away, now already almost out of sight. And Erendria? Gods, there was a woman! He licked his lips again. He watched as they sat in a semicircle before him, including the stranger after a command from Gravestone. As Gravestone told the tale, from the first meeting of his daggers with the naked stranger until now, Rasp concentrated on the memory-lost one, observing the other's gaze as it moved quickly among them. Still staring at the stranger, he said, "A fascinating tale, my friend. And you're right. The danger to Agon by what caused his memory loss far outweighs the application of the Second Law. How long has he been subjected to the teachings of the lok?" How strange this one's eyes are. "Two nights," Gravestone answered. "And it's tuned to our language?" He stares at me as though he understands. "Yes." "Hum-m-m. Then it will be sixty turns, maybe longer, before he has command of speech. Perhaps twenty turns before he becomes rational and the mind-lock is formed. Yet you mentioned he's been acting strange since the second turn of your discovering him?" "This is true," Gravestone replied. "Even though it turns my stomach, I thought to mind-probe him again when we reached you to see if his mental structure would reveal the reason." Rasp looked at his friend. "I sense some reluctance in that statement. Would you rather that I did it? No insult is meant." Gravestone straightened his shoulders, obviously relieved. "I'd be grateful. Looking into a blank mind is unpleasant. I'm ashamed of my reluctance." He said, "It matters not to me. At my age almost all things seem unpleasant." And at the same time thinking: And most of all this existence without meaning, a life of only anger, a life where there's nothing new. He shook his head at these old complaints, put all other thoughts out of his mind, and bent to the task. Ten seconds later, he leaped to his feet and looked accusingly at Gravestone. "You lied to me!" he shouted at his old friend. Startled, Gravestone looked up at him and queried, "What?" "His mind-lock is in place! You said his mind was blank three turns ago!" Gravestone rose to his feet and looked down at the setting stranger . . . then at him . . . and then back at the stranger. "But it was blank, I tell you." Patra stood beside her mate and looked at the stranger also, saying, "Rasp, I also mind-probed him. He was blank three turns ago." "Impossible!" he asserted. No one could gain information that fast! Unless . . . unless-- From the corner of his eye, he saw Erendria leap to her feet and then heard her whisper, "Look at his eyes." Rasp was, and he saw that they were slowly scanning the faces of the four humans standing before him. There was intelligence in the stranger's weird gaze. What? Suddenly the young man spoke, "Pleased alarmed not. Not understand what . . . why. Information small. I integrate words, things . . . help me." His voice seem hoarse to Rasp and the words slurred. Erendria jumped back and drew her weapon. Patra also drew her knife but stood fast. Rasp and Gravestone did not move. "E-a-s-y," Rasp toned slowly. "There's an explanation for this." Could it be that this one knows the secret of the 'lok?' Erendria whispered, "B-b-but, he cannot talk. His mind was blank three turns ago." "Don't deny reality, dagger," he said to her, grinning. "The stranger just did speak. Let us explore this further." He's an adept. I can feel it. It's the only explanation. Erendria stepped forward to be beside her mother. They both then sheathed their weapons. Rasp turned toward the stranger and then squatted in front of the younger man. "Do you understand our speech?" he asked. "Words, yes. Some sentences unclear, meaning . . . vague." His speech was still faltering. "How far back can you remember?" "One day . . . maybe two . . . with thought." He paused, and then continued brokenly. "First day . . . hazy, some meaning. Today . . . now, mind in . . . ah . . . ah . . . turmoil. Trying to integrate what I have heard. Many combinations of . . . meaning." "The lok. Do you know of the lok?" "Band put around my . . . my forehead . . . each night . . . gives information?" "Yes," Rasp answered, rubbing his hands together. He was very pleased with himself. "The lok teaches at three different rates. Each rate is ten times faster than the one below it. Were you aware of this?" "Yes. The data stream was serial . . . repeated same bit of information every tenth and . . . hundredth character . . . but characters not real . . . thought-like characters." "What's he saying, Rasp?" Gravestone asked. "I've used the lok all my life and wasn't aware of any of this. The information always entered my mind at a constant, smooth rate." "Exactly," Rasp confirmed, trying to keep his face calm so as to hide the excitement and amazement he felt. "The average rational can assimilate the lok's information at the slowest rate, every hundredth thought-character. Granted, there are some gifted warriors who can catch the information at every tenth character. But even then they can only do it if they are well versed in the subject being taught. The highest rate, where a new character follows the one before it except for the repeated characters at every tenth and hundredth locations, can only be grasped by adepts, and then not consistently." He looked up at his friend. "Our minds aren't conscious of the different rates. We aren't even aware of character streams, just information flowing into our awareness in a natural way. That's the beauty of the lok. It works at a subconscious level while we sleep. In fact, we can't use it very well while awake, for the conscious mind interferes with the imprints." Patra interjected, "Then how do you know the real structure of the transmissions?" "I know because I've studied how the lok works from science lessons it transmits. I can assure you I didn't gain the knowledge by perceiving the transmission's structure during reception." He hooked his thumb at the stranger and added, "That's what makes him so unique." He looked back at the stranger and said to him, "What rate did you learn at?" "The highest one. The lower rates were . . . redundant." I knew it! "You were able to take in every character then?" "Yes." "And you were also aware of how the information stream was structured?" Not one in a million knows it. "Yes." "How?" "I don't know. It was just . . . perceived." Gravestone squatted beside Rasp and said, "These revelations explain how he learned the language so soon. With an estimate of sixty turns at the normal rate, he must have actually assimilated the knowledge in one hundredth of that time, or in less than one night." "To learn the meaning of all words, yes," Rasp agreed. "However, the syntax and grammar probably took another night. That would explain why his thinking became clearer the last day. The meanings of words are not enough for clear thought. Sentence structure and total context would have given him the greatest mental leap." They were then all silent for a long time. "My God," Erendria breathed finally. "The stranger speaks as an adult. He has bypassed the childhood phase where the ego is formed. Such potential is almost unbelievable. Where will he be tomorrow?" Gravestone leaned forward and clasped the stranger's shoulder. He looked at the other intensely and asked, "How did you lose your memory?" "I don't know," the stranger answered slowly. But, Rasp noticed, the younger man's pronunciation of words was becoming clearer. Gravestone shook the man's shoulder. "Think. Try to grasp any thought that occurred beyond three turns ago." The stranger frowned and looked down at his hands that were resting on his knees. He pondered for a long time before answering, "There is nothing. Reality, thinking, memory, mind, feelings . . . all fade . . . to a gray void beyond two turns. Even two turns ago there's almost nothing. The void beyond that point . . . frightens me." Gravestone sighed and dropped his hand. Rasp rubbed his hands together again. "What a fascinating problem this will be. It may rekindle my desire to live another orbit." Gods! To look forward to tomorrow is strange. "Bat shit," Erendria snorted, and she turned away from them. Rasp turned to Gravestone. "Someone should kill that daughter of yours. She has no respect for her elders." "I know, I know," Gravestone agreed, nodding. To Rasp, his friend, like himself, seemed to be momentarily torn between the incredible implications of the stranger and Erendria's rudeness, although he could tell his friend did not really want to deal with the latter. Nevertheless, Gravestone did comment on the subject once more with: "But no one is more skillful with the dagger. You should see her fight. You would appreciate that." "Make yourself useful," Rasp called after her. "There's half of a boar carcass hanging from that tree." He pointed at it when she looked back. "Build a fire and cook it. There will be darkness in another half-hour." "You old bastard," she snarled. "How dare you talk to me as if I was an off-world slave?" Yet she turned to the task. The light had completely faded from the anti-spinward sky by the time they all finished eating. Now, Erendria noticed, the air was cooling and the moon-less sky made the stars bright and, seemingly, cold. But, perhaps, she thought, this last observation was because the feelings of Rasp toward her were also cold. But she didn't really care. She had decided to hate the old bastard. The flickering flame from the warming fire alternately lit up Rasp's face, giving her and, she was sure, the others sitting around the fire an occasional glimpse of his angry eyes. Are my own eyes that frightful? she wondered. "Why," Rasp asked, "did you bring him here?" Her father answered, "Your wisdom and knowledge are legend on Agon. We need your help to prepare him for The-Long-Day- Before-Summer." "Be specific," the old warrior demanded. Her father said, "He knows the language. This however is not enough to survive our planet's dangers. He needs to understand our history, our culture, and--this is the most important factor--the ways of Agon, such as the eight seasons, particularly the three that kill." "A lot to learn in only eighty-eight days, my friend," Rasp said. "Agreed," her father said. "But I thought that in using your knowledge of the lok as guidance, he could learn through the teaching device the history and culture of our race. The lok merely needs to be tuned to the pertinent frequencies. Combat and the ways of Agon are subjects we could teach him personally. What do you think?" The old warrior seemed to ponder for a moment, and then said, "If you had brought me anyone other than him, I'd have said the task was impossible. But with his mind and learning ability, perhaps we can have him ready for the heat-death of The-Long- Day." Her father smiled and said, "Then you'll help?" The fire cracked and a flame shot up, momentarily showing her a rage in the old one's eyes as bright as the flame. "I'm old, my friends," he said and looked at each of them in turn. "I had thought to toss my sword before the trial of The-Long-Day. But with this new challenge, I shall wait one more orbit." His gaze stopped on her. "And then I shall request that you honor me." She felt cold inside. He had just requested that she kill him. And the request was binding. She had never done an honor execution before; and, for some reason, it bothered her more than she would have liked. She bowed her head to him and murmured, "When the time comes, it will be I who will be honored." She raised her head to look at him again and asked, "Why me?" I don't want this new burden. May Agon damn him for giving it. "For as long as I have known you, you have shown me disrespect, even as a small child. This way I shall go into everlasting peace by forcing an act of respect from you." She made her voice soft in reply. "You make me ashamed. My sharp tongue has always been my way. You were never singled out for it." Even in the act of dying, he wants to beat me. "A sharp tongue is the product of undisciplined anger. You shall die young of the blood-rage, I predict." "Never!" At least I'll out live you, you old bastard. My knife will see to that. "You speak the nonsense language of youth. Now be silent. I wish to talk with the stranger." He dismissed her with his inattention. Erendria's anger was aroused, but before she could retort to the old warrior's words, her mother spoke. "Daughter, you cannot argue with a rational who has a death-wish. He won't listen. And if you kill him, you'll just be doing what he wants of you anyway." She knew the truth of that advice and decided to remain silent. But someday . . . someday, she knew, all of her repressed anger would come out. Soon, she wished, soon. Rasp addressed the stranger, "You must have many questions to ask, young one. We see that you have our language, somewhat that is. But many terms, although defined, must conjure up an incredible array of questions as your mind tries to fit them into different configurations in sentences where the contexts differ." "The integration of the language into concepts has occupied most of my thinking since this morning," the stranger confirmed. "Some of the variations in context defy integration. I have a million questions." Rasp said, "They will be answered in time. Be patient. Meanwhile, you must choose a name." "I'm called 'stranger' or 'the mindless one'." I call you animal and fool, Erendria said silently. "Those weren't proper names," Rasp replied. "Such labels were only used as an expedient to identify you in conversation." "I don't know the rules of naming. You do it." "No," Rasp said. "You must pick your own; it's the tradition of our culture. One chooses a name for a reason. Sometimes the reason is obscure, and this gives others a puzzle to pursue. But always it gives a clue about the namer's mind. Think on it, and tomorrow Erendria will verse you in the ceremony of adult becoming, the ritual of naming and recognition of adulthood. It's a sacred time for most; but in your case, it will be mostly ritual. You have already gone through it before, though it's beyond your memory." "All right, I will pick a name by tomorrow," replied the stranger. "Good. Now, there's one other thing you must do while under our protection," Rasp said. He leaned forward to look closely at the stranger. "You must always obey us, obey without question. There are no Agonians alive that wouldn't kill themselves rather than accept protection from anyone. The shame would be too great. But since your awaking, I doubt if you have ever experienced shame or know what conditions cause it. "All of us here are exercising great restraint in not killing you now. You have a weakness, and weaknesses are not tolerated on Agon because we are alarmed it could be genetically passed to our children and thus weaken the entire race if it spreads. We prize strength beyond all else, both physical and mental. We've even denied ourselves the benefits of most sciences in order to enhance it. Therefore, you will obey, for you live only by our grace." But not a long life, if I have any say, Erendria thought with satisfaction. She watched as Rasp then reached out and grasped the stranger's shoulder, digging his thumb into the muscle there, searching for a nerve, she guessed. The mindless one suddenly jerked erect; a gasp burst from his mouth; his eyes opened wide, and he wrenched himself away from the old man's cruel gouging. Rasp said calmly, "That feeling you just experienced is called pain. You'll be taught every form of it before you die. It will help you learn; it will help you to focus; and it will help you to endure. It will define the boundaries between night and day. It will, eventually, make you wish for the void. When that time comes, tell me, and I'll kill you." The stranger frowned. "Then why not kill me now if my existence is an abhorrence to you?" Was that a tremor in his voice? Erendria wondered. "We search for that which took your memory," Rasp replied. "We need you alive for that." For the first time, Erendria saw an expression on the stranger's face: coldness. "I, too, make that search," he said quietly. "As well you should," Rasp returned. "Probably only you will be able to find the clues within your subconscious." She watched the stranger nod. Rasp stood and stretched. "The time grows late. Erendria, please show the stranger how to activate his cupola; and then I'll fit him with his lok re-tuned to teach lessons about our culture." He looked at his own cupola. "Afterwards, I shall retire. I grow weary of all this talk." She stood but paused as she sensed her father had a question. Gravestone glanced up at the old warrior and said, "Thank you, my friend. We all feel more secure in our course now that you are with us." Rasp waved his hand. "I thank you in return. You've brought a new interest for my mind . . . and your daughter to honor me." Her father smiled sadly. "I regret that your blood-rage is so strong. We would enjoy the pleasure of your company longer than just one more orbit. But peace needs to come to us all if the planet has turned so many times that it makes us not want to see it turn again."
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Copyright © 1992 L Clayton Bennett |