The Blood-Rage (18) "Yes, teacher," he answered, then asked, "But why are the mu-lynxes nervous?" "The cats don't like to get wet. Also lightning frightens them." She frowned and peered at him closely. "How did you know the cats were nervous?" "I can feel it in their mental matrix, and they mind-speak of it between themselves." Patra nodded to herself, as if to confirm a suspicion that she had long harbored. Soon the gusts became more frequent, stronger, and colder. The thunder from the lightning beat against his eardrums and foretold of the closeness of the storm. The mu-lynxes walked closer together, gathering comfort from each other, he guessed. The first drops of rain fell. A short time later a wall of water caught up with them, and the storm broke with, it seemed to Darkcian, an appearance of anger. At first the rain felt cold and merely stung his skin; but, as the wind whipped the drops against him harder and harder, it began to feel almost like liquid fire. Rasp, riding next to Darkcian, leaned toward the younger man and shouted, "This is a weak storm compared to those that will come later, those that occur near The-Long-Day. Some of those later ones have been known to rip the flesh from mu-lynxes and grind the skin and meat from the bones of humans." Darkcian was impressed. They rode on, heads turned away from the wind and rain, letting the mu-lynxes find the way in the gray gloom. Actually Darkcian was enjoying the storm. To him, the water was a cleansing experience, like that time when Erendria had given him a bath. He smiled at the memory, each day understanding more of what happened then. At about noon time--figured only by the growl of his stomach rather than being able to see the suns, for the grayness of the light did not seem to change--they came upon a dead deer. Rasp said the shear density of the downpour had drowned it. This didn't surprise Darkcian; even now he was having trouble breathing through the saturated air. However food was food, and they paused in their journey to satisfy their common hunger. Moving on, boosted by full bellies, Darkcian and his masters headed poleward, letting the mu-lynxes' directional instinct guide them. He liked to listen to the cats mind-talking to each other. They were almost as intelligent as glide-birds. Hours later the thunder and lightning seemed to be gathering in power, and Darkcian noticed that the mu-lynxes were starting to wince at each booming rattle that shook the very ground upon which they rode. Soon he saw that the beasts wanted to stop and lay in the hollows between the rises. But Rasp was not to be detoured from his path. His mental command to the cats kept them moving. As Darkcian peered around, eyes wide with interest at the pyrotechnics, his gaze chanced across Patra looking back at him. Is that pity in her eyes? he wondered. He shrugged and looked away. With her, he could never really tell. He expanded his mental awareness outward and upward into the storm clouds. There, he watched the movements of the electrons in the space high above and felt and analyzed the electrical fields between the ground and the clouds. He found the process fascinating. It took a while to understand the patterns of these energies and thus predict where the lightning would strike next. Yet soon, when a bolt of lightning struck the peak of a small hill in front of them, he knew it beforehand and was looking at the spot a split second before. He also saw that this strike was close enough to make the mu-lynxes jump. The cats all stopped then and lay low on their stomachs, refusing to go further. Darkcian could feel the sigh of resignation from the others. Rasp ordered them to dismount and, after a discussion with the Kalts, agreed that the best policy would be to energize their cupolas and resume their trek poleward on the suns-rise of the next day. Miles anti-poleward a small man rode hunched over his mu- lynx. Cupped next to his chest was the white skull of his brother. He crooned to it. "Listen to the mind of this mu-lynx. See? It still detects the presence of its kind ahead of us. We won't lose them even in this miserable storm." He blinked the water out of his eyes and cocked his head to the side. "What's that? Do I know of the other cats a mile to our right, the ones who are carrying many warriors, ones who are more tired than we?" He snorted his impatience. "Well, of course I know of them. They have paralleled our course for almost an hour." He smiled; he knew it made him look like an elf. "Yes, yes. We'll use those if they chances across our path. Need some help in killing the Kalts, don't we? Well, we'll see." He angled his mu-lynx slightly spinward so as to close gradually with the unseen riders. He could tell by the fading light that suns-set was not far off. At that point, he made a decision. Urging more speed from his mount, he grew excited with his new thoughts and voiced them to his brother. "If we get ahead of these other riders, we can ambush one come nightfall. A wounded hostage may allow us to bargain with the rest. What? Yes, yes, I mustn't hurt him too much, or he'll be of no use to us. Brother dear, you forget I am a master at my craft." He couldn't see over ten feet in any direction. Accordingly, he was counting on his victims to be handicapped in the same way. Using his mu-lynx to sense where the other riders were, he positioned himself off the warrior's path and waited. "We must count on their inattention to their surroundings," he whispered. "They won't suspect danger in the night from another human. They won't know that you and I are here. However, if they do see us too soon, we'll wave as friends passing in the storm." The other riders materialized suddenly out of the gray downpour, their heads down, shoulders slumped forward, a picture of misery. Some of their mu-lynxs picked up their heads as they sensed a fellow species, but the warriors on the cats' backs were not listening to the minds of their mounts. "Fools!" the little man hissed, waited in the mist until the group had passed, and then struck the last warrior. He plunged the dagger into the warrior's right armpit, twisted it ninety degrees, and then pulled it quickly out. The razor-sharp blade severed the tendons and blood vessels. The little man watched the warrior gasp and jerk his head up, eyes wild. The little one knew that it was instinct that caused the other to jump clear of his mu-lynx, away from his attacker. The wounded man landed in mud and water, scrambling away like a crab, dragging his useless arm through the muck. The terror in the other's eyes made the small man smile. The rest, unaware, disappeared into the misty gloom. He dismounted slowly, savoring his triumph. "Feel it, brother, the power, the ability to control life? You never understood this aspect of victory. To you it was always a test of your sword skills. You never went beyond to the real joy, the power one has over the victim." He stood over the fallen warrior, a look of sad concern on his little wizened face. The victim stuttered, "Wha-t-t? W-h-y-y did you attack m-e-e?" "I want to watch you die," the little man answered. The other shook the water out of his eyes and peered closer at his attacker. He jerked in shock. "Agon, save me. You're a healer." The little man squatted. He then tossed the white skull in his right hand and the dagger in his left, up and down . . . up and down, watching the other's eyes rise and fall as they locked in panic upon the symbols of death. "You know the rules," crooned the little man. "You may live and become my slave, or you may die, horribly." "Horribly?" The little man did not answer. "What do you mean, horribly?" There was a tremor in the warrior's voice. The little man knew the effect of silence, knew that the other's imagination would eventually fill in the definition much more effectively than he could. Fear would conjure up the most dreadful definition. He found long ago that it was different for each rational. The silence dragged. "You wouldn't take away my manhood?" the warrior whispered. The little man fingered his dagger. He looked at the area between the warrior's legs and asked, "Speak up, I didn't hear you." "No! No!" the warrior screamed. "You must kill me. I wish to die!" "Now, now," the little man said softly. "That wouldn't let you serve me." He slashed swiftly with his dagger, cutting the other man's shorts from crotch to belt, exposing him. The warrior screamed and tried to scramble away. The little man scurried after him, chuckling all the while. But in the end, it was as the little man knew it would be. The warrior, weak from the loss of blood and his own fear, capitulated. "Hurry now," the little man said. "Surrender yourself to me before you bleed to death. Yes, that's it, now I will bind your wounds and tie your hands. Swear to me you will not try to escape, and I will let you live." He watched the wretched nod of the other's head. "Good. We're now bound to each other. Break your promise and you will dishonor yourself far beyond what you have already done here this day. Now take heart, when I'm done with you, I'll let you kill yourself." He watched the strain go out of the warrior's face. He never did understand how someone could pledge their word and not break that promise when it suited them. It had to do with honor. He shook his head; he didn't understand it. CHAPTER 18 One way to understand beauty is to list all the things that it is not. And it's not many things. -From the Thoughts of Night Mist- The storm started to subside about midnight. Darkcian was laying in his cupola, listening to the muffled sound of the rain pelting the ground outside. He wondered why there wasn't sound when the drops hit the protective dome over his head. The energy field must slowly decelerate them, he thought. The lok was teaching him about chemistry; but his real interest lay elsewhere, out there in the night where another outcast waited. His mind kept drifting toward the memory of that tall, night-black figure that walked with such grace, who talked with soft tones one moment and with angry passion the next. Why is she different from the rest? he wondered. Why am I? he wondered again. Questions, unending questions. Still, he was starting to understand part of this world. The constant danger to humans from the elements and animals was only slightly more deadly than the warriors were to each other. Everything was in unceasing conflict, a seemingly eternal battle for superiority. In such an environment, no form of life could live a long life. If nothing else, the law of averages would finally catch up to even the most skilled. Thus, the old ones of Agon, like Rasp, were rare. And the worst danger came to those who were different, who didn't fit into the mold of sword-dagger pair, who choose to deviate from the norm by bringing attention to themselves by whatever means. Sulamith was like the latter. That she had survived this long was proof of her strength and pure luck. And he, himself, was more different than anyone. His night friend was right; he shouldn't even hope to live long. The whole planet was against him. Without the protection and guidance of his teachers, he couldn't last four hours during the daylight time of one of Agon's days. Yet, as for his own internal knowledge, he seemed to have some advantages over his fellow warriors. He knew that his reflexes were faster. He could learn from the lok faster-- although as of yet that gave him no real lead over the others, for he had still so far to go. He could see in the dark, for some reason they could not. He could supplement his energy by drawing power from external things. And, lastly, he could project his mind somewhat. He understood least of all this last feature and vowed to explore it more. However, even in that, there seemed to be some compulsion not to use any difference as an advantage against any adversaries, be they human, animal, or the environment. The voice in his head kept saying no. Damn that voice anyway. Some change in his sensory input caught his attention. Ah, yes, he thought. The rain has stopped. He rose, took off the lok, strapped on his sword, and left the cupola. The damp coldness made him shiver, but he sloshed through the puddles anyway, heading for the higher ground. None of the puddles were deep, three inches at most, and many of them were still draining into lower areas, making miniature rivers as they flowed their crooked paths downward with gurgling sounds. The darkness was like nothing he had experienced before; it was almost total. Thick clouds were obscuring the land’s only natural sources of light at night: the stars. He started to run slowly and cautiously anti-poleward. His night-eyes were almost blind because of the uniform temperature distribution on the rain-soaked ground. But there was nothing wrong with his hearing. He found that the damp air carried sound a long distance. Not that there was a lot to hear; the stillness of the night was eerie in its almost total absence of sounds. Where are Agon's creatures, he wondered. Adapting, he took advantage of the silence to detect the echoes of his feet as he ran, ranging by the sonar effect to help him find trees and other obstructions. Also, he quickly found that if he snapped his fingers, he could get an even better sound-picture of his surroundings for a radius of about thirty feet. Yet two hours of searching brought nothing. He was filled with frustration. He stopped running and sat. After squirming around until he got fairly comfortable on some semi-dry ground, he crossed his arms over his knees and rested his head on his arms. I'm going about this wrong, he thought suddenly. I must use my mind to find her. CAREFUL, came the warning thought. Ok, ok. I'll only do what any Agonian could do: link with the mu-lynxes. Maybe she hasn't released hers yet. Or, if she has, perhaps it’s still in her general vicinity. Yes, of course, that's it! He expanded outward quickly, flowing into the ether-currents of life that covered the land. He rejected the little sparks, analyzing the complex ones, searching . . . searching. There! A mu-lynx, no two! He entered their minds gently, asking simple questions, looking at memories. It took a while. "Ugh!" he suddenly exclaimed aloud and jumped to his feet. Wrong, all wrong. They mind-speak of torture. These cats are not what I want. He shuddered violently, shook his head, and sat again. The vision in the animal's minds had shaken him. Pain used in that way was horrifying. Even Rasp and Gravestone had not done any of the things he had seen this small warrior do in the minds of the cats. He sat a while, breathing deeply, confused again and sick inside his heart. Why such cruelty? Why? In a few minutes, he closed his eyes and thought, Farther, I must range farther. More minutes passed. Then he opened his eyes, wide. "Yes," he said aloud. "Yes! It's her cat!" He stood, got his bearings, and ran toward his friend somewhere in the darkness beyond. He finally found her by detecting the bright thermo-glow of her mu-lynx; it lay on the ground curled into a furry ball, wet and miserable. To its left was Sulamith’s cupola. He could only find the dome by contrasting it to the surrounding ground; it was like a deeper black on black. The cat was not alarmed at his approach, for he had been mind-touching with it for the last thirty minutes. He stopped beside the enormous beast, squatted, and patted its massive head. That brought a loud purring sound from deep within its throat and a grunt of surprise from Darkcian. A second later Sulamith leaped through the cupola's wall, a dagger in her hand. She uttered one tension-filled word, "Where!" before she realized that she was blind to the land. She sliced the air around her in a wide circle, searching for that which had disturbed her cat. He watched her circle, sometimes switching the dagger to the left hand and whirling to the other direction in the hope of catching something. Her speed was phenomenal. "Careful," he said softly. "You might cut your mu-lynx." She froze her movements and asked, "Darkcian?" "Yes." She straightened from her crouch and said in a tone heavy with relief, "How did you find me? The night is black as a healer's heart. Not even the insects are out of their holes." He rose to his feet. "It wasn't easy. I followed the mental-scent of your mu-lynx. Luckily it wasn't asleep. I think its misery at being wet was too great." "So, you have learned the secret of using the cats, have you? I'm surprised. I thought I was the only one who could do that." She sheathed her dagger. "Keep talking. I can't see you." "I'm to your right. Turn slightly . . . yes, that's it. Now, straight ahead." She stretched out her hand and stopped in front of him when it touched his bare chest. "How can you see me when I can't even see my own hand?" "I can detect you through my ears," he said as a half-truth, thinking: I must hide my strengths. But from a friend? "Only animals have hearing that sensitive." She used her hands to explore his upper body. They ran swiftly over his bare stomach, chest, arms, and face; and they must have detected his shrug. She then drew her dagger so fast that he missed it in the blink of his eyes. Its sharp point was pressed to the skin under his left rib. He froze all movement. She reached around behind his back with her left hand and pulled his body tight against hers. "Sound ranging can’t be that accurate. Can you see my ugliness?" she hissed through clenched teeth. "No," he whispered. "In all truth, you appear only as a gray blur to my sight." "Gray?" He looked into thermo-white eyes surrounded by what looked to him as dark gray skin. "Yes, gray," he repeated. She relaxed and slowly sheathed her dagger, saying, "You have eyes like a mu-lynx then. Through the mind-link, I sometimes use their eyes to see with in the night. And the view is gray as you described." "Are you going to kill me?"
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