The Blood-Rage (21)
CHAPTER 21 To view reality through a window of rage is to see a distorted picture. Therefore, before one can adapt to the chaos of the universe and find its rare areas of coherence, one must first find their own internal harmony. -From the Thoughts of Night Mist- "What was that?" Darkcian asked as he cocked his head anti- poleward. "I heard nothing," Rasp announced, looking at the younger man sharply. "What?" "A cry of someone in pain." Rasp shook his head. "Nonsense. You must have heard a day- bat." "Come," Gravestone commanded. "We'll ride into this ambush looking like baby tigers going to slaughter. They will think they have the advantage, but in reality it'll be ours. Surprise has always been the essence of victory. We'll use their own strategy against them." They all mounted leisurely and resumed their journey toward the pole. The small forest was just ahead of them. "Eleven, only eleven," Rasp said gleefully. There was a look on his face that Darkcian had not seen before. Joy? "Look relaxed, daughter," Patra said. "We mustn't give them any clues that we know." "I am relaxed," the younger woman hissed through closed teeth, without moving her lips. Darkcian noticed that she was breathing in short breaths and that there was sweat on her forehead. Surely, he wondered, she isn't afraid of battle? It's something she loves. They passed by the first of the trees that formed the dense grouping. The tall plants were thin here, one or two every twenty feet. The growth was clustered further on, near the center, to about one tree every three feet. Gravestone guided them on a course tangent to the more dense area, while forming the other riders into single file with Darkcian the last in line. Looking neither right or left, they finally rode through the periphery of the tree cluster. Gravestone had obviously seen nothing and was puzzled. However, Darkcian was still last in line, and it was his acute hearing that detected the nearly silent charge of the ambushers as soon as all of their backs were turned away from the attacker's hiding place. The young warrior reacted immediately. He twisted off his mu-lynx and landed with his sword drawn. Not pausing, he ran toward the charging enemy, ten of them on foot. The clan of Kalt and Rasp did not know the battle had started until the first scream of the attackers exploded in the silence of the small forest. Gravestone turned around, drawing his sword. In a flash, he took in the situation. Darkcian cut down the first warrior with a display of speed that was almost unbelievable. Still not slowing his charge, Darkcian then leaped sideways and killed another. At once, the rest of the attackers converged upon the young warrior. Gravestone and the rest of his party had now stopped their mu-lynxes and were turning the cats back to where the battle raged. Gravestone charged forward. Darkcian became a blurry movement of destruction, chopping, blocking, and hacking. Arms, heads, and sprays of blood flew from his whirling sword as he spun into the attack, never stopping, never giving ground. It was a shower of apparent fury; yet Gravestone could see that there was no expression on his young student's face. God of battle! the older man thought. How can any man kill so quickly? In the ten seconds it took Gravestone and the rest to reach Darkcian, it was over. Gravestone brought his mu-lynx to a sliding halt, sat there a moment looking down, and then dismounted. He sheathed his sword slowly. He had seen death before, many times, but nothing like this. Not from only one man. A second later, Erendria ran by her father and up to Darkcian. She slapped the young warrior across the face, forwards and backwards. "Damn you," she raged, her voice breaking with anger. "You left not one for me." Darkcian grabbed her wrist, and they stood toe to toe, glaring at each other. Gravestone could almost feel her hatred. Patra had not dismounted. She looked down and commanded, "Get a hold of yourself, Erendria. You shame the clan with your uncontrolled blood-rage." Gravestone looked quickly back at Rasp. The old warrior was also still mounted. He sat there with his mouth open, spittle running out of one corner. His eyes were crazy with blood-lust. Damn fool, Gravestone thought. What will I do now to appease his desire to kill? He looked at his daughter. And hers, too. Suddenly Darkcian grabbed Erendria, spun her around, and ripped her dagger from its sheath. Holding her with one arm, he then broke the weapon's lanyard and flung the dagger away. Quickly, then, he picked up her thrashing form, hoisted her over his head, and threw her at Rasp. Her body hit the old man chest-high, knocking him off his mu-lynx. The two raging warriors fell in a tangled heap, Erendria on top. Rasp's body actually bounced when it hit the ground, and his sword was jarred from his grasp. Darkcian ran by their squirming forms and kicked the sword ten feet away. Like two wild animals thrown into a box, Rasp and Erendria tore into each other with a madness that brought a howl from both their throats. The struggle lasted about thirty seconds, but Gravestone knew that at such close quarters strength would eventually prevail. Rasp faked a left jab but struck with his right. The blow snapped Erendria's head back, and she crumpled to her knees. "Enough," Gravestone ordered. "See. Her anger drops upon Agon." Erendria slowly lifted her head; a thin, red line of blood ran out of the corner of her lip. To Gravestone's approval, her face was suddenly calm. The tension went out of Rasp, and he stepped back. "She fights well. I've been honored." "Daughter?" Gravestone asked. She wiped her mouth, looking at the old warrior. "Yes. Agon has my blood. There is honor between us. This fight is over." She then looked at Darkcian, as if to say, "But ours is not!" The young warrior retrieved Erendria's dagger and brought it to her. She accepted it calmly and turned to mount her mu-lynx. Gravestone released his pent-up breath; he heard Patra release hers immediately afterwards. Gods, he thought. I don't want to see it get that close again. Friends have been known to kill each other in similar circumstances. Agon damn the rage of these two. Aloud he said, "The ambush of these fools has failed. Let us continue our journey and think about the lessons learned here this day." He sought and found the affirmative nods of Rasp and Erendria. A great relief fill him. He and Patra walked Darkcian to his waiting cat; the animal was forty feet way, sitting on its huge haunches. Gravestone clasped the younger one on the shoulder, saying in a whisper, "A brilliant solution, student. How did it dawn upon you?" Darkcian shrugged. "Anger seems to searches out anger. They needed each other for release." Gravestone chuckled, "It was the perfect answer to her rage." Patra scolded, "But next time, leave at least one for each of our hot-heads. Hear?" "Yes, teacher," Darkcian answered upon reaching his mu-lynx. He mounted the beast and sat waiting patiently. Gravestone stood there, looking up at his student and thinking: How did he know Rasp was in a rage? He never even looked at the old one until he threw Erendria. Gravestone then did a second take. He smiles. What does it take to worry him, I wonder? Will he gross over all danger like Erendria does, like most young ones do? He shook his head, suddenly realizing that it made no real difference. This strange one would die long before he needed caution as a survival tool. Sooner or later, the predators or the laws of Agon would grind him up like tender meat. The healer left his hiding place and approached the dismembered bodies slowly, as if reluctant to observe the reality of a destroyed dream. "Damn my luck," he muttered. "Who could have guessed that that young weakling was a berserker in disguise?" He looked down at the white skull he was carrying. "We must plan differently next time, my brother. More warriors perhaps? A better ambush? Yet, how did he detect their charge? They made no noise." He shook his little head in puzzlement. The little man stopped in the center of the ring of bodies. He spat on the ground and said, "Yes, indeed, honor above all else and . . . what?" He turned in the direction of a moan. "Let's turn that one over," he said and approached one of the bloody shapes. He knelt and laid his brother's skull on the ground. Then he reached out and turned the body over. This brought a cry of pain from the prone man. The healer jumped to his feet and stood with his little fists on his hips. "So . . . the leader of our avenging band still lives. But from the looks of that wound, not for long." He listened to the other's labored breathing. "I can save you," he said gently. The fallen warrior gasped out in pain, his voice weak, "For what? To be . . . used in . . . another lie. You . . . you said . . . he was weak. Went . . . went through us like . . . sharp sword through . . . grass." The little man scratched his jaw. "Yes, it's quite a puzzle. But one to be considered at another time. Now you need me to stop that bleeding. You know the price of that." "Go to . . . the land of the . . . dead, you filthy worm." Thin lips stretched into a smile and little eyes squinted almost closed. Suddenly the healer drew his knife and again dropped to his knees, plunging the weapon into the prone warrior's stomach. With a swift and savage pull, the knife ripped open the other's gut. The squirting blood felt hot and sticky on the healer's cutting hand. The struck warrior jerked upright, almost to a sitting position. His eyes bugged wide, his mouth opened like a big "Oh." But the only sound that escaped from him was a long, drawn out sigh. And then he fell back, dead. The healer wiped his knife and hand on the grass and said, "Those who don't serve don't deserve to live, huh, brother?" CHAPTER 22 Humans are essentially lazy creatures. Almost always they will take the easy way through life, even if it kills them. -From the Thoughts of Night Mist- Darkcian noticed that Ardent and Friosan were again further apart this morning. Ardent was now lagging Friosan in sunrise by about two hours; and the young warrior found that his body was now casting two shadows, the shorter one the dimmest. He stood and faced poleward, their intended direction of travel, and marveled at the beauty of the county. The land was not as flat as when their journey had begun. Now he could see occasional mountains, not big ones but still high enough to block the secrets of the horizon beyond. They were formed from solid granite rock, or so Patra had said. But they were smooth standing, having been weathered for billions of years by the fierce winds and enormous temperature changes that occurred each cycle. The seasons destroyed more than just men. The rivers had been noticeably wider, deeper, and swifter of late; and Rasp had been spending more and more time searching out reasonable crossing points whenever they had come to one of the more plentiful streams. Patra had said earlier, during the crossing of a large river that flowed from a valley framed by the distant mountains, that the snow and ice at the poles fed most of these rivers and that the peak run off would crest in about thirty more turns of the planet. She also had said that the mu- lynxes could swim but that it took stern orders from their riders to make them do so. Therefore, that method of getting across gentle but swollen rivers was only used when no other way presented itself. Still, the flowers bloomed and the trees grew. And how they grew! Darkcian estimated that the trees were expanding upwards at about thirteen inches a day. On a still morning, one could actually hear them cracking and groaning as they expanded upwards. He loved the dynamic quality of it all. Change, constant change. Such beautiful colors, he thought. Look at that yellow one, ah, and that brilliant blue patch over there . . . and that red grouping there, like blood. He paused in his thoughts, remembering something else that was red. YOU SHOULD FEEL SOME REMORSE. Why? LIFE IS PRECIOUS. You mean life other than my own? he argued mentally. NO. ALL LIFE. Not mine. They said it's a danger to the genetic pool of Agon. DO YOU BELIEVE THAT? Should I not? A mental answer was not forthcoming. A booming order from Rasp broke Darkcian's reflection. "Student. Stop your daydreaming and come here. We need to have a meeting." Darkcian turned around. The others had gathered around the breakfast fire, throwing meat-cleaned bones into the flames. When he reached them, he was ordered to sit. "Now," Rasp said, "the incident of yesterday forces a decision upon us. Should we inform the council of our young student here, or not?" "What are the positive effects if we do?" Patra asked. Rasp answered slowly, "The council will inform the rest of Agon via the lok. All of Agon will then know of our journey and its purpose. That will stop reasonable warriors from challenging us during the rest of our trip." "And the negative ramifications?" Gravestone inquired between belches. "Some of Agon, the angry and unreasonable ones, will attach more importance on preserving our planet's purity than in finding out what caused his loss of memory. From them, there will be an increased danger." They speak as though I'm not here, Darkcian thought. "From which situation will we benefit the most?" Gravestone asked. They think only of themselves. "Probably from the one that informs," the old warrior stated. "With the small pain-lover trying to organize bands against us, his difficulty in doing so would be greater if all knew why we travel with weakness. Remember, the little bastard is a healer, recognizable by all. He must have told some lie to have that first bunch attack us. It wouldn't work again if everyone knew our situation. Unless . . . of course, he found others of his ilk." Gravestone and Patra nodded their heads in agreement. Erendria merely stared at Darkcian, her green eyes holding a silent threat. Why does she hate me so? he wondered. Is it because I denied her blood, or that I caused that strange feeling to explode in her body? "Are we agreed, then?" Rasp asked, searching their faces. Gravestone threw the last bone of breakfast into the dying fire, hit the ground in front of him with a greasy fist, and said, "For." "For," Patra voted, hitting the ground also. "So be it," announced the older warrior as he rose to his feet. "I'll try contact tonight." He went back to his cupola to gather his things. Darkcian watched Erendria follow the old man with her hot gaze. She switches her anger to whomever moves now, he noted silently. Why is she becoming more animalistic with each passing day? How will I reason with her if this keeps up? But he then admitted that he hadn't done too well reasoning with her when her behavior had been more predictable. The others drifted away from the embers of the fire, leaving Patra alone with her student. He liked being alone with this teacher. Watching the others walk away, Darkcian asked of the older woman, "How does Rasp talk to people who are thousands of miles away?" Patra answered, "There's a channel on the lok that can receive thoughts and transmit them to the five cities via satellites." "Satellites?" "Machines that orbit Agon, oh, some 22,000 miles above the planet." Darkcian looked up, studying the sky. "The cupolas and loks are machines, too. Yes?" "Yes."
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