The Blood-Rage (2) Second-dagger's knuckles were white around the knife's handle as she replied, "Maybe he knew he was going to loose his mind from whatever took it but didn't have enough honor to toss his sword and die like a true warrior?" "That's certainly a possibility, I'll admit. But since we can't at this time know the truth in that regard, we're going to have to be cautious and assume the case that presents the worst danger to Agon. And that case would be the one where what took his mind must have been too sudden or too powerful for him to have successfully fought it. Obviously anything that could do that would be a danger to us all. Daughter, the why of an event is sometimes more important than the event itself. That's why we must consider it." She watched Second-dagger hesitate before the younger woman finally said, "But what if we do let him live and then later find that his mind was just flawed? Because maybe what caused him to lose his mind wouldn't have destroyed any other sword. That would mean he was too weak to survive something that the rest of us could." "In that case, once we are sure that is the case, all we have to do is kill him. In the mean time, we need him alive for answers. But I pledge to you, in the end, our planet will be purified of whatever kind of weakness he has." Second-dagger shook her head no and said, "I don't want the agony of being near a flawed human until that time can be determined. At least let us leave him here for the predators--they will surely find him soon--and then tell the council about him. If they think this matter is important enough, they can pursue it." "You aren't thinking clearly. What if, upon hearing the evidence, the council decrees that we should have kept him alive, and we didn't? What then?" She added to herself: Curse that council anyway . . . no, curse us that we need such a group. Second-dagger looked up slowly with that hard look of hers. "I don't fear the council." Patra shrugged. "I don't fear it either, but I do respect it. If they decide we have done something unwise, that would tarnish the reputation of our clan. Could you live with that? I couldn't with ease." She thought: Damn us for being slaves to honor. Immediately she inwardly cringed from those silent words; they would be treasonous if spoken aloud. Patra saw that Second-dagger could no longer meet her gaze and guessed the evasion signaled that her daughter had no answer to explain away dishonor . . . either. She then made a decision. Turning her mount, she looked over her shoulder and said in a softer tone, "Come, young one. My blood is cold to his destruction. Release him. Warriors guided by emotion or whim almost always make the wrong decisions; the blood-rage teaches us that. And there are some actions that cannot be rectified if the decisions causing the actions later prove wrong; death is obviously one of them. It seems it's always easy to justify a kill, but not so easy in some cases to understand why not to. I think we must seek a better path in this, a thinking and responsible path." Second-dagger's right hand fell to her side, but Patra noticed the same hand shake slightly with her inner conflict. Control your rage, daughter. The younger woman finally hissed under her breath, almost too low to be heard, "I hope your wisdom is true, for it won't be easy to follow. It goes against all my teachings about the laws." "Your father-teacher will help pass judgment on that. Now come." She tossed her head and moved her mu-lynx next to Second- dagger's. "I'll help you mount him up. It's time to return to camp." Her daughter released her grip on his hair, sheathed her weapon and, with Patra's help, lifted him from the ground onto her own mu-lynx. They had to strain to do so, for his weight was almost equal to the sum of both of theirs. Mouthing a continuous string of curses all the while, Second-dagger wrestled with his legs until he was in front of her, straddling the beast. Her daughter's final growl was, "Ugh. He is like a sack of dead meat dripping blood all over me." She then viciously kicked her mount and charged ahead with her mindless burden. Patra watched her daughter go, noting and understanding the unrepressed disgust reflected in the younger one's stiff back. Years ago, she never would have dreamed a child, almost a woman now, could have grown up with so much rage. Already Second- dagger had killed more warriors than most daggers twice her young age. In truth, if survival depended on rage alone, Second-dagger would live to be a thousand orbits old, far beyond the average of forty. Patra shook her head in dismay, thinking: It's the old battle between the choices of logic and emotion. Quickly, she kneed her own mu-lynx into motion and felt the beast's powerful muscles flex as it leaped forward to catch up with its companion. Then, regardless of her present mood, Patra again took up the vigilance against predators that were awakening from their hibernation, that three-month-long sleep that had started during the season just past, Friosan's-Time. This alertness to danger was instinctual in all Agonians, as if coded into the DNA cells of their bodies. Still, she was wise enough to know that all danger was relative. It was better by far that they should contend with the present stirring of predators than with the bleakness of almost no game at all, that famine time of winter just past. For to have the burden of so much danger relieved from your mind was like throwing off a heavy sack that had been across your shoulders, a weight that had bent your back down to where your eyes were always focused at the gray ground instead of the blue sky. Accordingly, she blessed the reprieve that the present season of Fleeing-Winter gave to them from the terrible cold of Friosan's-Time. She was sure that, on the other hand, Second-dagger probably missed the greater danger. Why is it that the young crave excitement? And why, Agon, why can't we rest during Fleeing- Winter like other warriors? Have I wisely taken up this new burden? She shook her head again, knowing there were never any clear answers from Agon, the silent planet, the mother of them all. And cruel beyond all else. I must stop this line of thought and throw off this feeling of uncertainty; it's becoming my most common mental state of late. I must search for something gentle, something positive. I must . . . again . . . focus in on the fact that although Friosan's-Time was spirit-destroying in its intensity, now, in comparison, Fleeing-Winter is a springtime of renewal and hope, a time to stand straight once more, a time to make children, a time to let wounds heal, and to laugh again with real joy. She shook her head, wondering when she had last experienced real joy. I've got to snap out of this mood. She looked up to check the two suns and saw that they were now past zenith. Like mother and daughter, she thought. One older, tried, yellow-white in color, and cold . . . the other younger, burning with energy, and blood red in color. She knew they formed an ancient and unique star system. She kicked her mu-lynx into a faster run, thinking: Uniqueness always seems to have a price. And the mood lingered. CHAPTER 2 All the genetically weak of Agon must be killed. No one born with any physical or mental deformity is allowed to live. -The Second Law of Agon- The suns, Friosan and Ardent, were low on the anti-spinward horizon when Patra and Second-dagger finally stopped before the creek that snaked anti-poleward toward their small camp. Here the water ran clear and cold from the melting ice many miles behind them. From this vantage, Patra could just make out the two gray domes that were about a mile away. The cupolas were perfect hemispheres, fourteen feet in diameter and half that in height. They were part of the paradox that off-worlders saw when they heard about Agonians; it was the contradiction of science existing with barbarism. But then, Patra knew, they didn't understand. To be the best warriors that evolutionary life could produce was the universal goal of the philosophical thinking of every Agonian. Nothing else mattered. Not comfort. Not knowledge. Not progress. To be the ultimate warrior was all. This was their uniqueness within the galaxy, their strength; and, Patra admitted--though not openly, for that would be truly blasphemous--their one main weakness. And this goal demanded a rejection of all forms of science that made life easier. Any fool knows that strength comes from adversity not comfort. So, only those scientific devices that kept them from extinction were allowed. And they were very few indeed. She shielded her eyes from the setting suns as she swept the land beyond with her sharp gaze. A few crests of gently sloping hills only marred the flatness of the plains. If there was any living thing around them in this vast expanse, its presence was well hidden by the foot-tall grass that the wind rippled into small green waves--the smell of the grass was pungent with undertones of spice. It was a tranquil scene that Patra knew was a cruel illusion hiding the dangers that were awakening; in fact, she could even smell--although even more faintly, she admitted to herself--scents other than the grass, animal scents. Still, the illusion held. Except for the grass, she found the land barren of other plants. That was normal for this time of the cycle. Later, in about twenty turns of the planet, the explosive growth of Agon would be more evident. Then the trees would be seen once more, for Agon's plants grew fast when their time came, when spring was upon the land. She was feeling the effects of the long day; it made her ready for the ride to end. The lure of the mate she loved drove her now, not the concept of home; the latter had little meaning to nomads. She clasped the fur of her mu-lynx and kicked its sides. The beast bounded over the small creek. Second-dagger followed close behind. They rode slowly now. There was no need to rush with the camp in sight. Second-dagger shifted the inert form in front of her, trying to keep the man from falling off while cursing again for the hundredth time. She looked up at the cloudless, light-blue sky and then arced her head back further, eyes closed as if dreaming. Patra was sure her daughter was now thinking about tomorrow, a special day in the life of her young dagger. Tomorrow will be Second-dagger's ritual of adult-becoming. Then she would be twenty-one orbits old and honored as a full grown female, the most dangerous species on the planet, although few males would admit that. As if to confirm her guess, Second-dagger raised her voice to be heard above the rush of the wind, "Tomorrow I'll be your equal, at least in the eyes of the law." Actually, Patra was surprised that her daughter had ridden so long in silence. She had expected some statement--like the one just made--miles ago. She replied, "But of course being an adult brings you equality with other adults. Still, as you said, this is only in the eyes of the law. Your father-teacher and I, on the other hand, will treat you differently when you prove to us you are an adult. Don't confuse equal with equality. One has to do with a balance of traits, the other with a balance of respect. I think that if most children had their way, they would probably leap into adulthood at sixteen rather than twenty-one; a rush of foolishness." "A rush to escape parental oppression, you mean." "What youth interprets as oppression is usually just good advice that they want to rebel against. But getting back to being an adult tomorrow, according to the Law, you'll be one. But that doesn't mean you don't have to take orders from your father-teacher and me anymore. While we exist as a triad, you will obey your teachers. Survival on Agon is too precarious for a clan like ours to be led by anyone other than the most-wise. Do you understand what I'm saying?" "Of course. But from now on your orders must be reasonable and equitable. You aren't a healer and I'm not your slave." "True. But I am the teacher and you are the student. And that will continue until one of three things happens: I die, you gain more knowledge than me, or you go-lonely. I don't think any of those events will happen soon." "Don't be so sure. I could go-lonely. I'm strong enough." Her daughter's back was stiff, Patra noticed. She thought: Ah, curse me for a fool. In truth, I do criticize too much. I've become overly grumpy in my old age. Criticism must always be balanced by praise. Time to relent a little. Aloud she said, "Yes, you're right; you are very strong. But strong enough to go-lonely? I'm not so sure. Very few daggers have gone-lonely and survived. Still, you've been a daughter to be proud of from the very beginning. Your father-teacher and I both know this and are remiss in not telling you so more often." "That's better," Second-dagger said, relaxing with a smile. "All I want is my due as an adult." Patra nodded. "I understand. But you must be more patient with your father-teacher on this matter. You know how he loves objectivity in the thinking of others." "Yes, well . . . I've tried very hard this last cycle to control the blood-rage. And I've made progress. You said so yourself just yesterday." Patra understood her daughter's embarrassment and replied, "I agree that you have improved. Still, don't expect too much too soon from your father-teacher in recognizing that fact. He needs more proof, for he's a little slow in acknowledging gradual change." Second-dagger snarled, "I know. I also know that I'm not going to let that ruin tomorrow for me. I've waited too long for my rite of passage. The moment won't be spoiled for me by a father who won't let go of my childhood and notice my worth as an adult dagger." Lately, Patra knew, this had become a frequent complaint. Time for more praise. "I agree. I know exactly how you feel. I still recall with fondness every profound detail of my rite of passage, even though it was twenty-six orbits ago." Her daughter shifted the mindless one forward to a better position of balance and said, "Tell me about your adult becoming ceremony again but in more detail this time. Did you feel . . . you know, elated, set free?" Patra almost laughed at the obviousness of the question. "Yes, yes. Elated, joyful, fearful. My mind was flooded with the same emotions as other youths who have gone through it. However, my experience differed from your coming one in one important way: there was no older woman at my ceremony like there will be at yours. My mother had been killed by an ice-tiger two orbits before." "I remember that part of the tale. You first told it to me when I was about ten." "Oh? That long ago? I'd forgotten." She shook the coarse, brown hair out of her eyes, shivered slightly, and changed her tone. She suspected it was starting to sound pensive. "Well, afterwards . . . after my mother-teacher died, my father-teacher didn't want to stay near the glaciers any longer because of his hatred for the ice-tigers. Instead, he chose the rock for the time of my adult becoming. So, we traveled two thousand miles inward toward the equator, taking sixty days to reach the desert. As you know, the desert is about as far as one can get from the glaciers." "The rock monolith that juts out of the sand in the great Desert-of-Grief?" "Yes." "Why there? Many fear the place. There are rampant stories of ghost and things." "The reason why others feared it was exactly why my father- teacher desired it." "He was superstitious then?" "Yes, partly. He half-believed in some of the old legends." But to herself she said: In truth, he believed in them all. Then aloud again to her daughter, "You've heard of the rock's power to bring back the dead?" "Of course, but I don't believe it." "Nor do I. But your grandfather did . . . or so he said. Anyway, he felt that your grandmother would, somehow, be there beside him during the ceremony, if not in reality then to pretend it so. Perhaps he just longed for the comfort of her spirit." She hesitated slightly before continuing; old memories and almost forgotten emotions were rushing back. "Although he never showed any grief about her passing, I know he loved her beyond knowing. In fact, after her death, he never laughed again until he battled two ice-tigers simultaneously in the middle of Friosan's-Time, oh, some three orbits later. I'm sure his death-wish drew him back to the glaciers and his destiny with the tigers. He killed both beasts but, as you know, died soon afterwards from the terrible wounds they had inflected upon him." "Were you with him when he died?" "Yes, being a faithful daughter, I served my father-teacher to the end. Of course, afterwards, I needed to find a male weapon's-complement again. I was lucky when I met your father- teacher a cycle later. I don't think I could have lasted another orbit alone." She watched as her daughter suddenly clenched her own knife so tightly that the leather groves in the handle must surely be leaving ridges in her palm. Second-dagger then said bitterly, "And my flawed sister and I were born about a cycle later, I believe. You don't have to relate that part of the story. It's too painful." "I know," Patra said and smiled sadly at a secret memory. My poor innocent firstborn, she thought. Dead now and free of Agon's pain. She saw her second-born trying to force herself to relax and wondered: When will Second-dagger be free? She shook her head. Don't think about that, you fool. Second-dagger leaned her chin on the man's shoulder and prodded, "Your ceremony? Let's get back to it." "Patience, I'm getting there. Let's see now, the season was that of Fleeing-Winter, almost the same as now but earlier, near the start." Her brown eyes looked far away, seeing the past. "I was alone with my father-teacher on top of the monolith, way up on top where the clouds sometimes drift by and hide the rest of the world. We knelt there, facing each other, and waited for the suns to rise. The rock was so bitterly cold it made my knees ache. When he finally spoke the sacred words of the ritual, it was as if your grandmother was really there beside us. He even paused at the part that she would have spoken. And I'll almost swear that I heard her voice whispering the phases, softly, as though they had come in on the icy wind." She passed a hand over her eyes, adding, "And I answered the whispers." Slightly astonished with herself, Patra thought: In truth, I now find it hard to believe that I spoke to the wind! Second-dagger seemed to sense her pain and savor it. Desert heat, Patra thought, it isn't often that I let tears enter into my voice. You're an old fool! Control yourself. She shook herself and, with one hand grasping her mu-lynx's fur, made a sweeping gesture outward with the other hand, saying, "I was full of pride and wonder and, I guess most of all, love for my father-teacher. Looking back, I could not have heard my mother-teacher's voice. It was probably the magic of the moment or the burning eyes of my father-teacher willing it to happen. I don't know. Anyway, the ceremony was completed." "I find it beautiful to believe that she was there." "Perhaps, but it's irrational. The dead don't speak, much less come to life." And as an afterthought, she added, "Beauty really has nothing to do with truth." She then shivered slightly and changed her tone. "Now, let's leave this. I've already spoken enough of past nonsense when I was young and foolish." Second-dagger sees too much in me, she thought. I must be more careful with such talk, for it tends to bind us too close together at a time when we need to be pulling apart. My love-of-my-love will seek loneliness soon. She paused in her thinking with a new the concern. Then continued with: May Agon give her a quick end if the loneliness fails her. They both fell silent while they continued their unvarying course anti-poleward. They were almost at the camp's periphery now. At trip’s end, Patra said with a tired sigh, "At last." "And none too soon," complained Second-dagger as she shifted the man's body again. "My arms have reached the end of their endurance. If we had to travel another mile, I'd dump this corpse now. Look how he has stained my arms with blood." Patra nodded toward the inert man and said, "In truth, he probably outweighs Gravestone by maybe twenty pounds. He's taller than your father-teacher and as wide in the shoulders. I acknowledge that you've had no easy task these last few miles." Patra then turned toward the cupolas and paused. Now that they were here, she felt the urgency of their ride disappear. She voiced her feelings. "It's odd, but I still feel relief upon seeing our cupolas after we've been away from them for any length of time. One would think I'd be indifferent to their attraction at my age." "What's this? My mother-teacher showing signs of weakness?" Patra's smile toward her daughter held no humor. "It's not a sign of weakness to want comfort from the killing heat of The- Long-Day or the cold of Friosan's-Time or even the chill of these resent nights." She looked away from the camp. "To appreciate a comfort isn't a weakness, only giving in to the desire of it is." She looked back. "Do you know about desire yet, daughter?" "I'm not sure I want to answer that. I detect that hidden- meaning tone of yours." "Take the risk." "All right! All right! I appreciate the safe shelter the cupola's force-field gives us, too. We all know the Fifth Law is testimony to its influence in letting us evolve out of barbarism. So what?" Patra nudged her mu-lynx forward and grunted, "Huh, if that is all you see, then so nothing. Come, let's give your father- teacher our new problem." Ah, daughter, she thought, I saw you evade the word "desire." Patra rode on, approaching one of the round structures. When she was close to the cupola, she saw a tall male walk through its curved and apparent wall, seemingly as if the wall was not there or had no material reality. She gazed hungrily at Gravestone's bare torso, her eyes traveling upward, following the deep scar that ran from hip to shoulder. Her scrutiny finally stopped at his unruly red hair; that wind-blown mass matched Second-dagger's in color, but it was considerably shorter. He raised his left fist high, clinched fingers turned outward, and said in a gruff voice, "Greetings, my daggers. What have you there?" Patra knee-pressured her mu-lynx to a halt and watched as Second-dagger dumped her burden with a gesture of obvious distaste. The mindless one fell like a sack full of rocks, hitting the ground in a tangled heap. Her daughter answered with a snarl, "We have an unwelcome mystery, father-teacher." Patra switched her eyes back to Gravestone in time to see his gnarled right hand draw a huge sword from its back-scabbard. As he walked slowly toward the mindless one, he swung the mammoth blade quickly back-and-forth before him as though it weighed nothing. Yet she saw that the effort bulged his muscles into hard knots, deepening the white ridge of the old wound. When he reached the crumpled male, he kicked the mindless one over onto his back. She winced at the force he used. It reopened the cuts on the man's chest, adding to the red stains already covering most of his body. The stranger stared upward, eyes vacant. Gravestone squatted and ran his left hand over the prone man's head--exploring for wounds, she guessed. He then stood, and she could see a familiar anger start to flush his face. She knew the emotion made him afraid. They both had experienced the blood-rage too often not to know the conflicting twin desires for life and death that it brought and to know, also, how thin was the veil that separated the two paths. Damn this affliction we all suffer, she thought. Gods. How many times have I made that curse? He touched the tip of his sword to the stranger's forehead. Like the bright, multicolored jewels embedded in the handle of the sword, Gravestone's eyes seemed to glow as he gazed downward. After ten of Patra's heartbeats, he returned the great sword to its scabbard. In that time, beads of sweat had formed on his forehead. He now wiped them away with one sweep of his hand and said, "He has no mind." Gravestone's voice carried a nonchalance Patra was sure he didn't feel, and that conveyed to her a strange foreboding. He looked up at her and asked softly, "You didn't kill him. Why?" She looked back into his weather-darkened face and answered, "Because I wanted your wisdom on his destruction. It's very unusual and . . . frightening to find that a sword of Agon has no mind." Gravestone looked down again. "I agree. It's unnatural and revolting, some form of living death. In all my days upon this planet, I've never experienced its like." He suddenly looked deeply disturbed as he prodded the mindless one again with his foot. "It's hard to believe this is possible. Yet it lies before us like putrid meat. Agonians don't lose their minds like off-worlders. Such weakness was eradicated by the Second Law long ago." "I know," she answered softly. "At least his brain isn't totally lost. I found it still functioning at an elementary level. I even detected something I don't understand, some kind of block or hidden pattern." He looked up. "Didn't either of you see the small movement of his eyes when my sword touched his forehead?" "What?" exclaimed Second-dagger, jerking erect from the surprise of his statement. She leaped down from her mu-lynx and knelt beside the stranger. She then moved her hand in a slow circle over his face. The stranger's vacant eyes rotated, following the movement. Second-dagger cried excitedly, "Second-loves, he's reacting!" Gravestone frowned, then asked, "Didn't his eyes move while he was with you?"
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