The Blood-Rage (11) Rasp looked into the night. "It has turned too many times for me. Life is now like the turnings, like the changing shades of light. It seems that just the day before yesterday was my birth at suns-rise, yesterday my ignorance like a fog at midday, today is life's sunset, and tomorrow will be the night that lasts forever. Yet, even so, it all has gone by so fast." Gravestone frowned, obviously depressed at the old man's words. He then blurted out, "Why are old people so much more angry and impatient?" Rasp's eyes flashed. "They are impatient because they have put up with the same bullshit for so many years that they cannot stand to suffer through another incident where the smell of it is not commented on. Thus, they lash out with their anger, an anger that says, 'I have borne this stupidity for the last time without expressing my disgust for it.' We therefore complain about things that younger ones would let pass by. To a young one, each piece of bullshit is a hand-sized rock that is stacked upon their backs, still light of weight and therefore not a burden. We older ones, on the other hand, are bent to breaking from the accumulated load. We voice our anger at the sheer weight of it. We cry enough, enough! Bullshit tends to pile up if it isn't buried." "But why with anger? Can't one just voice his or her dissatisfaction calmly?" Rasp looked at Gravestone with one eyebrow cocked. "Come now. Who is moved by calmness? It's passion that speaks the deepest and is remembered the longest. Calmness moves nothing, for it has no power; it's anger that gets one's attention. We learn this at a very young age, do we not?" He looked at her suddenly and added, "Huh? Erendria." She moved not a muscle, watching her father. She dared not switch her gaze to the old one's eyes. Gravestone seemed to nod reluctantly, and then asked, "You said that when a man grows old, the years go by so much more swiftly. Why is that?" Rasp said slowly, "I think that's because with the experiences had in living, it eventually takes away the surprises that the mind uses for time marks." The old man then turned and walked away. Erendria sat thinking about this old one's words for a long time. CHAPTER 11 If one doesn't profit from experiencing pain, that one won't profit from anything. -From the Thoughts of Night Mist- The nights are best, the stranger mused mentally as he lay on his back, looking up though the top of his cupola. The dome's field dimmed the brilliance of the stars, but they could still be seen. The silence brings inner peace and harmony that helps my thinking and diminishes my anxieties about the things not yet known or understood. And it takes me away from Rasp and Erendria and pain. He started concentrating again on analyzing the lok's input, correlating the new information with the events he had experienced during the last two days. Now I understand the meaning of what had transpired the first day. I remember it all. Erendria almost killed me when first we met. The reason is now clear. The "lok" says weaknesses are a danger to our race and that the race's survival is more important than any individual's. Memory loss is considered a weakness. And the Second Law of Agon states that all weaknesses must be eliminated by death. Yet the First Law states that every Agonian's first duty is to the preservation of the normal rationals of Agon. A conflict has therefore arisen between the immediate compliance of the Second Law and the longer-range considerations of possible dangers to other rationals from the "cause" of my weakness. I know I must die when the cause of the danger is found; and this is as it should be, although the thought brings me a strange feeling. Dread? Death is "lok" defined as an absence of life, a state of nothingness, a state from which I was created and . . . shall soon return. What is life, I wonder? What is its worth? I know sense perceptions are pleasant . . . to learn is pleasant . . . to look at Erendria is pleasant . . . although I don't know the whys of any of it. Perhaps life's worth is only in the ability to experience sensations, when, conversely, in death there is nothing. But . . . would the "worth" of life be pleasurable if all of its sensations were of pain? He felt his neck, then mentally shrugged and drifted off to listen to the lok again. Unlike the others, he could learn from the lok even though he was awake. The lassitude was pleasant. He floated gently with the new concepts, trying first one and then another for correlations. The lok was now describing how an adult was named. Ceremony of adult becoming? He thought about it for a while. I wonder what my name was? His mind drifted away from that, listening to other things. The first faint light of suns-rise did not distract him; it was only another sensation among many, and he hungered for them all and more. His desire for knowledge was like a bottomless pit needing to be filled, a hunger. "Wake up, weakling," a female voice called. "It's time to learn about the ways of Agon." He focused his attention outward and away from the lok, rose to his feet, and removed the lok-band reluctantly for it brought him the joy of information. And more than anything else, information brought a strange feeling. Was that feeling called happiness? Was it good? Was it allowed? He reached down to pick up the cupola-cylinder. As he straightened with the device in his hand, he noticed that the sphere of force rose also. It maintained a perfect sphere with the device as its center. He thought: The field must emanate into the ground also. "Turn it off, weakling. I've taught you how," came the voice again, angry this time. He pressed the control stud on the top of the cylinder, and the field vanished to show an aggravated Erendria more clearly. She stood with her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. "Done playing?" she asked. "I was experimenting, not playing," he answered. She stepped up to him and without warning struck him in the solar plexus. Although he saw the blow coming, he didn't know what its effect would be. While one part of his mind was shocked by the sharpness of the pain, another part analyzed the physics of the blow and was interested. When her fingers had made contact with his body, they had been together, ridged straight, and in a vertical plane. Nevertheless the pain made him grasp his chest and double over. Apparently waiting for that reaction, she turned sideways to him and hooked her right heel back up into his groin. This time the pain was sickening . . . and another analysis. Pain can also come from sharp blows. A weakness seemed to flow down his legs. FIGHT, came an inner thought as he sank to his knees. No! he thought again. This is only pain. And he turned the pain off. DO NOT DO THAT! YOU MUST FEEL PAIN. ENDURE. Erendria looked down at him and said: "So . . . no cry of pain and no expression on your face. I like that." She hit him in the mouth with a clenched fist, and he felt his lower lip begin to bleed. Still, while concentrating to keep his eyes calm, he didn't even blink. If I give her what she wants maybe she'll stop the pain. But what does she really want? As she watched him, she seemed to hesitate and then bit her lower lip. "You will, hereafter, address-s-s me as my-death," she hissed through clenched teeth. "Yes, my-death," he replied and, as he looked up, added, "Why?" She was silhouetted against the morning light, her wild hair like a red mist around her face. Part of this soft mass fell forward over her left shoulder, hiding her arm to the wrist. He felt that she was very beautiful, and he suddenly did not like beauty. She knelt before him, reached out and laced her fingers in his hair, and pulled his head down to hers. She licked at the thin line of blood from his chin to his mouth and then sucked at the split flesh near the corner of his lip. "Because," she whispered, "some day I'll kill you. I'm your bringer-of-death. It's the Law." He looked into her green eyes, so close they appeared huge. "I know. The honor of my kill goes to the one who first spoke to me . . . the lok." She slid her hands behind his neck and held him tight against her. Even through the halter, he could feel the heat of her breasts on his bare chest. "You learned much from the lok last night," she breathed against his mouth and then kissed him softly. His analysis of her actions didn't bring any correlations. He thought: By "lok" definition, cruelty is contradictory to tenderness. I don't understand why she's doing this. DESIRE, floated the thought through the outer edge of his consciousness. Desire is not always logical, he mentally conceded. He pondered that a while longer, then concluded: Correlations of her actions are not possible because they are based on emotions . . . therefore, the probable cause of the contradiction cannot be resolved by me until I learn what emotions are. However, this latter contradiction feels pleasant. He put his arms around her and kissed her back. She stiffened at once and then, with a violent wrench of her body, broke away from him. She stood quickly and hit him again, harder than before. "Never touch me in that manner," she said, her voice quivering. "I can touch . . . but you cannot!" He looked up at her. His mouth was bleeding again. "If you so order, my-death," he said, trying to understand her but not succeeding. She turned from him and walked a short distance away. Stopping, she then knelt and sat on her feet, the palms of her hands resting on her bare thighs. She closed her eyes and forced the calm waters of her will to still the pounding of her heart and make clear again the matrix of her mind. Why do I hurt him when it's not my real desire? she wondered. His death at my hand should be enough; although father-teacher was right in that also . . . I shall find no joy in it. Why? Why do I hurt him? She shook her head, not finding the answer. Confusion was becoming her constant companion, and before him she had never been confused. Without turning her head, she spoke, "The ways of Agon are the ways of combat and, ultimately, of death. Look now, remember, and learn." With a liquid-like flow of her body, she hand-sprang to her feet and started the 729 movements of the ver. Immediately, she felt the tension start to drift away. She realized that if there was a secret on how to dispel stress, she had found it through these movements of combat training. Many minutes later, she noticed out of the corner of her eye the approach of her parents. They stopped and remained beside the stranger, watching with critical bias, she was sure, as she finished the difficult exercise. The last movement of the kata brought her motionless, legs bent and together, arms extended, and hands crossed. Her balance, she felt, was perfect. Controlling her breathing, she said slowly, "Suns-rise teachers. May your enemies fear you this new day." "Suns-rise daughter," her father replied. "You perform the ver better every turn." At last, some praise, she thought. She straightened and then bowed to her father. Her mother looked down at the stranger and said, "Why does his mouth bleed, daughter? Did you hit him?" "Yes," she answered and steeled herself against what was coming. When Patra turned her gaze back, it was piercing. "Was there honor in it? A lesson for him, perhaps?" Erendria paused before answering. "No," she finally admitted. She was suddenly tired of lies and evasion. Patra also paused before voicing her own thoughts. "Then I'm ashamed," the older woman said simply and turned away. That stiff and cold back presented to her made Erendria clench her teeth again. Her father prodded the stranger with his foot. "Stand," he commanded. He then addressed her. "You have started this turn of our planet badly. Before the night brings us peace again, correct your error." His eyes became hard and direct. "Do you understand your cruelty?" She would not meet his gaze. "No," she admitted. "He angers me, and I vent the rage with violence. Afterwards I feel guilty." Damn, I shouldn't have let that slip. "Perhaps he angers you because he causes emotions that you refuse to admit or don't understand. You're twenty-one orbits old, daughter. The juices flow within your body, and he's a handsome sword. Huh?" She was aghast. "No! No! Not that, not with him. He's tainted." Yet the thought of it brought a tightening in her breasts. "Tainted or not, he's still handsome; and your body reacts to it. True?" "No, no!" Gravestone shrugged. "Only a thought for you to pursue. Someday you must come to grips with your conflicts. I'd be even more displeased if you're cruel for no clear reason. You know how I despise the healers. They're that way, are they not?" "Father-teacher! I could never become like them." Gods! Does he really think that? "Then resolve your conflict with this one so I can stop worrying." "I'm trying!" If only we hadn't found this animal, she thought angrily, almost shouting it aloud. "You've said that before. Try harder. If the frustration grows too great within you, you may explode with a violence that will destroy him or yourself . . . or both." She bowed in acknowledgment and watched him turn toward the stranger. He said to the memory-lost one, "Did her blow bring anger?" "No," the younger one answered. Her father accused, "You have no pride then, just as you've no shame. You'll learn both soon. The way of the sword will teach you. From now on you won't let anyone inflict pain upon you without resisting. Is that clear?" "Even if it's from you or Rasp?" "Yes. And I repeat, is that clear?" The stranger nodded. "Good," her father said and started to turn away. He arrested the movement in mid-stride and spun back, driving a right-handed blow upward from his hip with all of his strength. The stranger intersected her father's fist with the back of his left hand, a seemingly light touch that followed the fist in its upward path, pressing outward all the while. The blow missed the stranger's head by a quarter of an inch and caused her father to stumble forward off balance. The memory-lost one's right palm pressed into the other's chest, steadying her father until the older warrior caught his balance. The two men then stood face-to-face, each feeling, she was sure, the breath of the other. Her father suddenly grinned. "Well done, sword. You listened well to my orders and reacted even better to my test of their understanding. That defensive move was straight out of the ver." He then stepped back. The stranger bowed. Now that really surprised her. The gesture also made her father start. He said, "The lok took you far into the customs of our culture last night. Already you know the gesture of respect." The stranger said, "Yes. But the lessons started repeating themselves before suns-rise." "What?" Erendria exclaimed. "You learned all of the culture and customs of Agon in one night?" No, no. This isn't possible, she thought, but instantly knew herself wrong and was doubly angry because of many such wrong conclusions lately. The stranger didn't affirm the question. She assumed he obviously felt that the answer was already implied. "By the Gods of war, you aren't normal!" Erendria breathed. Another thought immediately came to her. "You must know the ritual of the ceremony-of-adult-becoming then?" Again the stranger nodded. She threw up her hands--fists clenched--and began to pace back and forth before the enigma that puzzled her more and more. She lifted her face to the sky. What has come amongst us, Agon? Is this another of your cruel jokes? Something with which to test our fright and rage? "Daughter!" The voice interrupted her thoughts. She stopped pacing. "Yes, father-teacher." "If the lok can teach him so fast, our efforts spent on the areas the lok does not address, such as the ver, combat, and the ways of Agon, will be more fruitful and more logical." She sighed and, with resignation in her voice, said, "You're right, of course. I'll continue teaching him the movements of the ver." Yet she thought: One shouldn't give to an animal the secrets of combat. Immediately, she wondered if that thought could be based on a fear of losing control over him? She admitted to herself that she had enjoyed hitting him, even though guilt was part of the result. "All right," Gravestone said. "Now I must speak with Rasp. I, too, need the advice of an older one." He walked away, his stride fast and determined. Rasp was up and about. Gravestone saw that the old warrior had already killed two predators he must have found outside his cupola. They probably had been slow with hunger, having not yet gained their strength back from the long sleep of Friosan's-Time. Rasp had them both hanging from a tree, two skinny razor-toothed badgers. His friend now started the ver; and with so many turns at its practice, his performance was flawless. The old warrior's smoothly muscled body and the young-looking face contrasted with the old, old eyes. He has seen too much, Gravestone said to himself. He'll be a danger to even his friends soon. They even lash out at loved ones during the last phases of the rage. Rasp finished the last movement and then gave morning greetings to his friend, saying, "Your face is hard to read, Gravestone, but I do see a slight tenseness in your brow. What bothers you this morning?" "The stranger learned all of Agon's culture and customs last night." "But of course," Rasp said with a slight smile. "Now did--?" Rasp interrupted, "If he could learn our entire language in only two nights, our customs would have taken less. Let's go through the ceremony of adult becoming and find out what name he has chosen for himself and be done with it. The suns-glow is getting brighter. Soon both suns will be visible, and then it'll be too late. His chosen name may give us an important clue into his inner being." Gravestone stared at his old friend for a long time before saying, "You accept the unusual with great casualness." "I'm too old to get excited over anything. Only anger is my companion now, and we waste time discussing it." Gravestone understood. "I'll call Patra; she'll sit at my left side during the ceremony." Rasp seemed surprised. "You're going to give him a two-person ceremony? Realizing what that means, I assume you have approached Patra on the subject?" "Yes. We talked about it last night and agreed. We'll adopt him into our clan. He'll become a Kalt." "You'll be giving him an honor he hasn't earned." "We know. But although he's destined for a short life, we think that it will be a great one, a flash of lightning across the skies of Agon." "You may well be right," Rasp agreed. "He is different." And, as if to voice a second thought, he added, "Too different to live long even if he had his memories." They went in search of Patra, found her, and then approached the stranger. He was doing the ver. Erendria was sitting on the ground watching him, an amazed expression on her face. Stopping beside her, Gravestone began to share her amazement, for the younger man was doing the exercise flawlessly. The grace of his powerful body lent a great beauty to the kata that usually only the females or old-ones brought. The stranger ended the kata and stood silent before them.
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