Storymania - The Blood-Rage by L Clayton Bennett

The Blood-Rage (26)
L Clayton Bennett

He shrugged and, when the introductions were done, stood alone near the mu-lynxes, observing the others. The younger warriors were following Erendria with their hot gazes; others, not so young, made more bold approaches. He watched as she turned the latter ones away with those cold, green eyes of hers. She was dangerous and they knew it.

The leader, Carlon, approached him.

"Is it true?" the warrior asked, "What the lok said about you? That you have no memory of your past?"

"Yes."

Carlon retreated one step. "How can you function?"

He was puzzled. "What is there to function about? Eating and getting rid of my waste is instinctive. The way of the sword and pain are taught to me by the males. The females teach me cruelty and love. I'll admit I stumble a lot in the latter. Is that what you mean?"

Carlon shook his head. "No. How do you understand," he lifted his hands upward, "this world and this universe? Without memories, how can any of this have meaning?"

"It doesn't . . . as of yet"

The warrior took another step backwards; his mouth fell open. "No meaning," he gasped. "But . . . one must have meaning; life must have a definition."

"The definition of life is the absence of death, just as the definition of death is the absence of life. One is the mirror of the other. Still, I see no real meaning in this, only an observation."

One of Carlon's lips curled upward. "I heard a filthy machine talk that way once. It was one of those artificial- intelligence battle computers that the Star Wanderers use in their starships. The damn thing didn't have an option on anything, only an observation or a manipulation of data."

"Machine? Computer? Starship?"

"U-g-g-g! You are disgusting," Carlon growled. He then turned and stomped away, shaking his head.

Darkcian shrugged and scanned the crowd again. Rasp stood alone--Darkcian figured that the others felt too nervous being close to a warrior with so much rage in his eyes. Gravestone and Patra were in conversation with three other warriors, and one who was not easily discouraged was still pursuing Erendria.

In fact, this fearless one now stood beside her, grinning and speaking, although about what, Darkcian couldn't hear. When she moved, this warrior moved with her. She made a wide circle of the camp with this fearless one--or is he just stupid--beside her. This went on for some time; and Darkcian could see it was starting to make her nervous, for she began to play with the handle of her dagger.

Finally she raised her voice enough so that Darkcian could hear it. "I won't warn you again, leave me be!"

A sudden hush came over the group. Darkcian drifted her way.

"You've admitted that you aren't claimed." The fearless one's voice was clear to all in the ensuing silence.

"I'm not claimed because I don't wish to be," came her answer.

Its tone made Darkcian's stomach tighten.

"Some pleasure in the afternoon is all I ask. Fifteen minutes. By the way you have rejected me, one would think I just asked you to be fertile. What's wrong? Are you one of those who prefers women?" The fearless one's voice was starting to rise.

"So," Erendria said slowly--couldn't this fool hear the threat in her voice?--"you think if I won't spread my legs for you something must be wrong with me? It would never dawn on one as stupid as you that the reason could be much simpler: that I don't find you attractive."

"Many daggers have told me that I'm handsome. Why do you perceive me differently?"

"I can see through your tiger-shit. And the view there of conceit and self-gratification is offensive and ugly to me. You are an arrogant male, and I won't soil myself with your pleasure."

The fearless one clenched both fist in front of her. "I'll not be refused."

"Don't be a fool," she snarled. "I don't have to submit. If you insist by trial of weapons, I'll kill you. You cannot win against the dagger. Have you lost control of your death-wish?"

"Fifteen minutes. What's that amount of time in your long life?" He suddenly began to sweat.

Darkcian stopped his approach when he was about five feet away from the two. Erendria's gaze switched to him, and he noticed a strange look coming into her green eyes.

Looking back at her antagonizer, she said, "I wouldn't have your juices mixed with mine. I would choose his instead."

Darkcian was surprised as she pointed directly at him.

He then watched as the other warrior jerked his attention to him, stared for a few seconds, and said with astonishment, "You prefer this . . . this half-man, this weakness over strength? This is an insult! I'll kill you both!"

Therein he drew his sword.

The conditioning of many days and countless bruises took over Darkcian's reflexes, and he drew his sword in a lightning fast movement, beating the other's draw by milliseconds. His sword crashed down, cutting through the man's head and chest and out the groin. He had severed the fearless one in half in the blink of an eye. Almost a bucket of blood literally splashed onto the ground. He heard the others gasp.

"By the God of war that was fast," commented Carlon in a hushed tone. Silence followed.

In a few moments another spoke, "The fool deserved it. He's been a horny bastard since joining us."

"The blood-rage made him reckless," still another said.

"Yet to die by the hand of weakness--"

"It's not right," Carlon interrupted. "Dishonorable even." The leader's face took on a stern cast.

"He was a comrade," someone said.

"I liked him," another added.

Darkcian heard a sword being drawn, then another.

Gravestone spoke up, "Now just a moment." He raised his left hand. "Your man drew first. Did you expect mine to stand there and die?"

"Your man isn't human," returned Carlon. "Look at him. He stands there without a mind and no expression on his face. He's as our dead comrade said: half a man. One would at least expect some emotion from killing. Where is his? Is he just a machine of destruction?"

"He learns from us," Patra said in a soft tone. "Would you rather have had him laugh with glee?"

"Anger! He should show some form of rage," a warrior cried in the back of the advancing group. "We all understand that."

"Yes, anger," three or four echoed.

"I'll give you anger," Rasp snarled, drew his sword, and chopped the head off a nearby warrior.

Damnation! Darkcian thought, now we'll have to kill them all. He immediately leaped to the task, noticing that Gravestone and his two daggers were close behind.

The advancing group seemed momentarily surprised at the fury of Rasp as the old warrior exploded forward, his huge sword slicing through flesh and bone--Darkcian knew it was difficult to stand before a warrior of Agon who was in a blood-rage.

He and Gravestone blasted in beside their old mentor, their swords splattering blood right and left. From the corner of his eye, Darkcian saw Patra and daughter throw their daggers with telling results. The warriors in front of them seemed to wilt and fall dead.

Yet Darkcian knew that twenty against five was a large advantage for the other side. In split-second flashes, he saw Rasp receive a deep wound to his leg; Gravestone almost lost an ear.

And for all his own skill, Darkcian knew he would have been killed twice if it hadn't been for a third dagger that killed two of the enemy that had been attacking him from behind. Again and again, Darkcian caught the fleeting glance of a shimmering, diode-cloth-covered figure to the rear of the group.

Then this shape was mysteriously gone.

Darkcian continued to cut down his opponents. The screams of the wounded and dying were suddenly awful to his ears. He wondered why, surprised at this new emotion, this feeling of regret.

Soon he found himself with no more opponents. He twisted around twice, searching. No enemy was standing. Those still alive were on the ground moaning and dying. And Rasp? There! On the ground, too, holding his leg as he tried to stop the bleeding from a horrible cut. And there was Gravestone, blood flowing from his ear; the whole left side of his face was red. Erendria and Patra? Yes, there! They stood like two birds of prey, lips pulled back in snarls, their daggers dripping wet. He watched, fascinated, as Erendria slowly raised her weapon and licked the blade. He felt his stomach heave, but he forced the bile back down. He raised his eyebrows at that reaction, again wondering why.

Patra went to her weapons-complement, knelt, and ministered to his wound. Without looking up, she said to Darkcian, "We have killed too many warriors because of you. You seem to draw battle like a disease. When will it end?"

"There, there, second-love," crooned Gravestone through pain-taunt lips. "It wasn't entirely his fault." He peered at Erendria through upturned eyes. "Was it, daughter?"

She returned a sullen gaze but remained silent.

Patra announced to Gravestone, "You're going to lose this ear. Only a trace of skin holds it there."

"No matter," her mate said. "Finish it."

With a quick flash of her dagger, the older woman severed the strand of tissue still holding his ear, and it was done. Neither of the two showed any emotion.

Darkcian winced and thought, Damn, these rationals are tough. Or are they able to stop the pain like I can?

"The bleeding will stop by itself," Gravestone growled. "See to Rasp."

Patra went to deal with the old warrior but not before Darkcian saw that she gave her mate a quick squeeze on his arm.

There! Darkcian thought. Emotion. But not expressed by facial means. Have I been missing these clues all along?

Darkcian assisted the older woman in her task. They bound Rasp's leg with a leather strap to stop the bleeding, and Patra sowed the cut closed. Like Gravestone earlier, the old man showed nothing, although he did grunt once. And the sweat rolled down his young-old face as if someone had thrown a cup of water on him.

Crouching beside these two, Darkcian searched the surrounding rocks with a guarded gaze but found no sign of the figure in a shimmering cloth.

An hour later, the healer came upon the carnage suddenly, as he rounded the last corner on the trail to the clearing. What he found, then, was a surprise, for there were no mu-lynxes present to have given him an advanced notice. Bodies and blood were everywhere. There was even blood splattered on the sheer rock walls that enclosed in this area on two sides. "Agon's vengeance!" he exclaimed aloud. "I should have followed them closer so to have been able to witness this slaughter. What a sight that must have been!" He dismounted and started to investigate. "Maybe one or two of the Kalt's band is here, huh, brother?" he slavered, suddenly excited. He sat the skull on the ground and probed the pile of bodies. His arms and legs immediately become smeared with blood and flecks of flesh.

A few minutes later, his exploring bore fruit as a moan escaped from one of the bodies. "Hark, what have we here?" He pushed aside some arms and legs here, tugged some others there. Soon a pain-filled pair of eyes looked up into his. "Ah," he sighed with a smile, "another helper for our cause."

The other's scream was music to his little ears.

CHAPTER 27

Remorse is a useful emotion, not that it causes one

to know that they took a wrong path so much as that they

could have taken a correct one.

-From the Thoughts of Night Mist-

Darkcian had been unusually subdued the last hour because he was in misery. But although he knew the cause of his depression, he didn't fully understand the power of this emotion's intensity. He had killed a fellow rational when an alternative path had existed. And his mind was in agony as to why he had reacted so violently. The fearless one should not have died by my hand for doing what was natural to him, he thought. If only I hadn't wandered over near them. I didn't need to do that. She could have taken him. So, why did I feel the need to interfere? Why?

INDEED . . . WHY? YOU ARE STARTING TO KILL WITHOUT THINKING. THIS IS THE WAY BEASTS BEHAVE TO SATISFY A HUNGER. HAVE YOU DECIDED TO GIVE UP BEING HUMAN?

No! No! I want to think.

YOU WANT TO KILL. YOUR ACTIONS SHOW IT.

No, I swear that isn't true. It makes me sick.

YOU LIKE THE PANIC IN THE FACES OF OTHERS WHEN THEY OBSERVE YOUR POWER.

NO! Not true. He shuddered.

WHEN OTHERS FEAR YOU, YOU DON'T HAVE TO FEAR THEM. THUS DO YOU PURSUE THE PATH OF LEAST FEAR FOR YOURSELF. . . AND THE PRICE IS THE DEATH OF YOUR ADVERSARIES. SHAME.

He bit the knuckles of his right hand and then noticed that Patra was gazing at him in a frowning way. The others were riding ahead of her, their attention forward.

WHEN THE BLOOD SPURTS OUT EITHER SIDE OF YOUR SWORD'S EDGE, IT BRINGS EXCITEMENT, PLEASURE, AND A LUST FOR MORE AND MORE. YOU SHOULD REMEMBER THAT YOUR COMING END WILL ALSO BE BY THE CUT OF THE SWORD.

The up-surging bile burned his throat. Stop! he begged.

NEVER BEG; IT'S A VILE WAY TO GAIN ACCEPTANCE. INSTEAD, ACCEPT THE TRUTH. IF IT'S ABHORRENT, CHANGE THOSE ACTIONS OF YOURS THAT BROUGHT ON THE ABHORRENCE SO THAT THEY NEVER BECOME SOMETHING THAT YOU WILL REGRET AGAIN.

He sat up straight and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He had a lot to think about.

His silence finally caused Patra to confront him. She reined in her beast and dropped back beside him. "Do you think about your killing, student?" she asked quietly--he guessed so the others couldn't hear.

Is she being compassionate?

He looked at her and saw the concern on her face. He let his eyes fall to his hands; they were clenched and the knuckles white. He said, "I feel badly that I killed him, teacher."

"It's an hour since his death. You should have dismissed it from your mind by now. You weren't wrong to kill him, and you had to help kill the others--we all did. And besides, the deed is over. You can't bring him or the others back to life. File away any mistakes you think you made and stop your mental pain. There's enough pain in everyday without adding to it by the accumulative effects of past errors, real or not. A warrior lives for today; tomorrow isn't important; and yesterday is gone."

"But I can't seem to stop trying to analyze why I did it. He had the right to pleasure-hunt, didn't he? Why did I want his life to end?"

"Perhaps you wanted her for yourself. You were jealous."

"But I'm tainted. I can never have her."

"All of that is true. But that truth doesn't stop the desire. She's beautiful, is she not? Think about my words. If you must analyze your motives, turn your gaze in that direction."

He stopped clenching his fists and thought. The analysis of her suggestion didn't take long, and he felt sadness at its conclusion. For she was only partly right. Although he couldn't deny that he desired Erendria, what he had really wanted was to stop the warrior from forcing his wishes on another. This seemed somehow wrong, no matter who the victim.

But to her he only revealed, "You're right, teacher. Her beauty does strange things to me. Please don't speak of this to Erendria; she'd be insulted."

Patra nodded and smiled sadly. "It'll be our secret. But take this warning. Don't let your lust turn into love. Love is the drug of the weak. It causes rationals to think and hold another's survival above their own. When one does that, that fool will die. For love can lull ones watchfulness and make one dream. Bad states. Only alertness gives one the edge to survive, and only a strong, penetrating perception of reality allows one to survive. There are no dreamers on Agon, at least no old ones."

"But you love Gravestone and Erendria."

"That's true, and it makes me into a fool who will someday die because of it." She smiled.

That knowledge doesn't seem to bother her.

THAT'S BECAUSE SHE HAS MADE AN EVALUATION OF THE BENEFITS AND PAINS OF LOVING--AND NOT LOVING--AND FEELS GOOD WITH THE CHOICES SHE HAS MADE.

He said aloud, "I think that you aren't disturbed by playing the fool in this regard."

She looked at him with one eyebrow raised and said, "Yes, you've seen clearly." She then nodded and added, "You have seen beyond my words. That shows intelligence."

How strange. She teaches me a lesson and then negates its central premise with a gesture that she knows I'll detect. Why?

She kicked her beast into a faster lope, pulling away from him. As if taken with a second thought, she turned around and called back, "Erendria fights the same battle within herself, student. Take comfort from that." She then continued on forward.

I don't believe that, teacher, he thought. And, even if I did, how would that bring comfort? A denied desire still brings frustration, and frustration breed anger in Erendria.

"And in Erendria, anger brings the desire for battle," he whispered aloud.

They stopped to eat in the early afternoon. Erendria had just killed a mountain deer.

Patra noticed that, like herself, Darkcian had no appetite either. So they both sat apart from the others, thinking and looking at the rest. The wound on Gravestone's head had scabbed over, was now a large reddish-brown mat.

Ah, my second-love, Patra cried silently. It grieved her to see him hurt, but pain was a common state on Agon. And he had been wounded many times.

Rasp's wound was more serious. He hopped around the cooking fire, favoring his right leg. The leg looked ugly, swollen and red, almost as red as the rage in his eyes. The only time he spoke was to order everyone to release their mu-lynxes so the animals could hunt for food during the time their riders ate.

After this early dinner, those that had participated wandered away. Patra remained beside her unusually quiet student.

She turned to him finally and said, "You've come to some point of resolution. I can see it in your face."

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