The Blood-Rage (31) "Ah, yes. A suns-rise is one of Agon's gifts to us." "Not all of Agon's gifts bring pleasures," he returned. He kneed his mu-lynx closer to hers and, as he looked at her, shielded his eyes from the brilliance of Ardent's rays. "Then those things are not gifts," she said. "What would you name them?" She shrugged her shoulders. "Trials, legacies." "Semantics," he snorted. "No, there's a difference. Think about it." He didn't need to; he knew that she was right. It was just that he couldn't throw off his bursts of depression whenever he thought about the cruelty of Agon's laws. He had a suspicion that she knew of his mood and understood it. And there was some comfort in that understanding. He sometimes thought that if he could not converse with her or mind-speak with his voice within, he would go crazy. Other times he was sure that was why he was going crazy. I was never unhappy before, he thought. It's the value judgments I'm putting on things nowadays. It's the emotions that the inner voice spoke of. Why couldn't it have left me in peace? Thinking is less of a pleasure anymore. As if called from a deep sleep, the thought within drifted into his consciousness. YOU DO NOT EXIST WITH A GUARANTEE OF PLEASURE. THAT STATE OF MIND MUST BE SOUGHT. YOU FAIL IN THAT ENDEAVOR LATELY. I have much more knowledge now, thanks in part to the "lok." It's forcing certain logical conclusions upon me. GOOD. ENLIGHTENMENT IS A SURVIVAL TRAIT. Oh? Then why are some of these conclusions pointing to the possibility that some of the laws of Agon are in error? Do you want me to accept that? The inner voice of Night Mist did not answer. Shit! he thought, using a term he had picked up from Erendria. "When you ask him to think, dagger, he does it with a vengeance," chuckled Rasp. Darkcian blinked and switched his head to the left. The old warrior was squinting at him. It made the creases around Rasp's eyes deeper and pulled up the corners of the old man's mouth into an appearance of a smile; yet it wasn't. Otherwise, his young- old, square face was, to Darkcian, its usual impassive block of stone-looking hardness. Even the old one's body appeared as if carved from rock, angularly defined, sharp, and powerful. He seldom moved quickly except in battle. When not fighting, each movement was slow and deliberate. In fact, Darkcian was always slightly surprised when he moved at all, for he always seemed rooted, permanent, like a statue. "I try to obey," the young warrior answered. "That's good," Rasp said. "We have trained you well. Your death will bring great honor to us, come council judgment time." "Please," Patra implored. "Let's not speak of that anymore." The old warrior looked at her sharply, grunted, but didn't reply. Darkcian let the ensuing silence build before he said in a quiet voice, "I have decided that I'm not going to obey any longer. I, like Erendria, want my freedom." Patra jerked up from her slump and tried to turn casually. Gravestone's body tensed ever so slightly. Erendria reined in her cat. Only Rasp showed no outward appearance of any change. Darkcian searched the faces of each in turn and thought: They are like meat scavengers whose appetite has been wetted by a morsel and are now ready to devour the entire carcass. Rasp asked softly, "Why do you hesitate?" "I think if I continue, my life may end." "It's our fate that we shall all die someday," the old warrior replied. "You repeat yourself too often on that point," Darkcian said. His boldness surprised him. "Speak," Patra ordered. "We're eager to point out the fallacies of your desires. We understand your ignorance can let you mouth nonsense. That will be taken into consideration." "I'll speak as I feel from now on," Darkcian said. "And know also that I'll let the council choose the time of my end, not you." He looked at Rasp. "We're waiting," the old warrior said, seemingly unimpressed as always by any threats other than his own. "I say we kill him now," Erendria snapped. "He's become defiant and disrespectful, not only to us but also to Agon." "And that's one of your main fallacies," Darkcian said, "this incessant referring to a dead pile of rock as if it was alive." Patra gasped. Gravestone replied calmly, "It gave birth to us, molded us for thousands of days, taught us strength from weakness, fed us, and, in the end, will take us back into its fold, into the dust of its soil. Agon is a mother-teacher. It lives in us as such. And thus do we give it our respect." "I understand that aspect. What I don't understand is the reference to it as being alive." "Kill him," Erendria barked. "You only pretend it is," Darkcian said. "Yes. Perhaps sometimes we over pretend," Patra said. "My point exactly," he returned. "We concede the point. However a thing doesn't have to be alive in order to be respected. It can--" Erendria interrupted her mother. "If you don't think Agon is alive, look there." She was pointing ahead. Darkcian looked, then looked again. Across the plains, the grass appeared to be moving. He studied the ground and said, "How can the grass move when there isn't any wind?" "Look closer," the young dagger said. "It's not the grass that moves." And then, suddenly, he understood. "Insects . . . thousands, perhaps millions of insects." An apprehension filled him. If this was like all other things on Agon, it was dangerous. Patra had already stopped her mu-lynx. Now so did the others. The older woman said, "The eggs have hatched all at once. These insects consume the grass now, and then they will move. It is their nature to claim anything or anyone who gets in their path. It's called the sea-of-life." "The sea-of-death has always seemed more appropriate to me," Erendria said. Darkcian could detect a clicking-sound coming from the seething mass. He shivered. Rasp said, "When these insects have eaten all that there is in this area, they will charge across Agon. Anything that is in their path will perish. It's a terrible way to die." "They clean Agon like a prairie fire," Patra said. "Sometimes that's a good thing. This planet needs cleansing now and then." Darkcian thought: Madness! A planet of madness. "Yet they, in turn, will feed others." Gravestone added. "In three more days, the day-bats will gorge. See, toward the spinward? Already they start to gather." Yes, Darkcian saw them now. What he thought earlier to be a pink cloud was, in reality, thousands upon thousands of day-bats. Gravestone continued, "They will spend days forming the attack-flock, giving time for the swarm to mature. Good eating for the ferocious mammals." "Am I correct in assuming that we shouldn't be here at that time?" "You are very correct, student," Gravestone answered. "Let's hurry around this sea-of-life. We can deviate from our original path and cut through the hills to the left." "No!" Erendria exclaimed. "That will add too much time to our trip. If we ride around and then cut back in behind this swarm, we can adhere to the original course." "It's an unnecessary danger, daughter," Gravestone stated. "Damn the risk," she fired back. "I won't add to the time that I have to spend with this weak-minded, disrespectful moron." "She has a point, my friend," Rasp said. "My own desire to kill him has grown. Time is less and less on his side anymore." Gravestone glanced at his mate, saw her nod, and said, "All right. I bend to your anger, daughter. Let's move. Continue in the lead." When commanded to proceed, the mu-lynxes jumped ahead eagerly. They, too, appeared to understand the danger and as a result ran with a swiftness fueled by fright. This is a planet of fear, Darkcian thought. OF COURSE, said the inner voice. THE LIVING WISH TO SURVIVE. FEAR IS THE WARNING. A WAKEUP CALL, SO TO SPEAK. The anger in Erendria appears to be stronger than the fear, for she seeks out the path with the highest risk. YES, Night Mist agreed. THAT IS INTERESTING, IS IT NOT? With swift progress, they managed to circumvent the swarm in about two hours and enter the valley ahead through a cluster of huge boulders that lay across their path in a seemingly random fashion. Erendria rode ahead as the leader, picking the course through this maze. As they were about to exit the obstacle to this phase of their journey, Darkcian noticed that Erendria suddenly relinquished the point and took up a position in the rear of their band. They were strung out in single file now with Rasp in the lead, weaving their way through the large boulders that were scatter on both sides of their path. The old warrior sat straight and proud upon his mu-lynx, alert as always. Yet Darkcian knew that alertness cannot serve when there is no warning. And there was none. The broad sword smashed into the old man's chest with a loud chomping-sound followed by the battle- scream of its wielder. Darkcian, forewarned a fraction of a second by this yell, ducked under the sword swung horizontally at his head, and the blade whistled by. He then responded with a lightning-fast draw that ended with him cutting the arm off his attacker. Straightening up on his cat, he saw Patra toss her dagger into the throat of a warrior perched on top of a boulder to her right. Gravestone quickly killed the one who struck Rasp. Then came Gravestone's rallying call, "To me, daggers. Link into the battle-triangle. Hurry!" They rushed to him. Darkcian maneuvered to cover their flank. Gravestone growled, "Concentrate, daughter. You aren't in the calm state needed for zenith." Darkcian scanned the rocks for more of the enemy but found none. Puzzled, he shouted toward Gravestone, "I see no more of them. Either the attackers have retreated or three was all there were." "Impossible!" the older warrior shouted back. "That would have been suicide on their part." Erendria interjected, "Not if they had timed all of their attacks simultaneously. But the fools didn't, and death is the price of failure." She raised her voice and shouted into the scattered boulders, "Where are you, healer. Come out of hiding!" "Why are you sure it's the healer, daughter." She broke away from her parents and approached one of the fallen attackers. She stopped and pointed, "See. This one--as well as the rest--is bandaged from prior wounds. A healer's work. These are the slaves of a healer." "You have a sharp eye in the midst of battle, daughter," Patra said with a strange look on her face. "You said the healer was dead." "I said I left him for dead. I didn't see him die. Look! This is the work of a healer, and we know of only one. He must have been tougher than I thought to have survived my coup de grace. Why are you looking at me that way? I'm just using logic." "I got the distinct impression that you knew he was still alive." "Nonsense. I thought him dead. Maybe he is and this is the work of another." Darkcian listened to this exchange with sadness. It was now obvious to him what Erendria's plan had been. But Gravestone and Patra did not want to believe the obvious. Was it love that blinded them? he wondered. Besides, he was sure that if they saw the truth, it would probable kill them. In a desire to protect them from pain too great to bear, he needed a diversion, quickly. He looked down. And there it was. Darkcian's let his voice drifted out to them from his position besides Rasp. "My teacher is dead. His blood feeds Agon for the last time." The Kalts charged to his side, dismounted, and dropped to their knees. With them, Darkcian looked down on the man with the rage-filled eyes. He lay on his back. The only thing that had stopped the old man from being cut in half had been the hard bone of his spine. Rasp's chest was open to the white of that bone structure. Darkcian watch a single tear coursed its way out of Patra's eye. She picked up Rasp's head and held it tightly against her breasts. She then buried her face in his wild hair. She began to rock her burden back and forth, mouthing words that did not sound. Gravestone put his hand on her shoulder and said, "Second- love, Rasp wouldn't have wanted your tears at finding that he was now at peace. He would have preferred your smile." "I'm too selfish," she whispered. "I grieve for his loss to me." Darkcian thought: Grief, like laughter, is infectious. She makes me feel sad. Yet, I never liked this old bastard. But he was a man of great courage and wisdom; and for that loss alone I guess I should greave. Regardless of the cruelty, I learned much from him. Gravestone bent down and gently grasp Patra under her arms and pulled her upright. "Come", he crooned, "his body will be taken by Agon's creatures tonight, and afterwards his spirit will float in the winds. There's only now; tomorrow will never come; and yesterday is forever gone. Rasp is now as he wished to be for many years." She gave in to the chant and walked with her weapons- complement over to her mu-lynx. Upon reaching the beast, she turned toward her mate; and Darkcian heard her say, "Rasp's death will be like the memory of our first born: never forgotten, forever grieved. I'm a weak dagger, for I feel diminished." She then mounted and led them out of the maze. CHAPTER 33 Prey sometimes appear to be injured in order to lure the hunter to them and, thus, away from their young. A more sophisticated act is for the hunter to pretend Injury. This, relaxes the prey's urgency to escape. -From the Xtharian's handbook on assassination- Sulamith sat astride her mu-lynx, looking down from a high hill's crest at the four riders who appeared as tiny specks moving leisurely across the valley below. She had just packed the diode-cloth into her weapon's-pouch; and she now sat there uncovered, with the hot suns beating down on her back and the breeze playing with her hair. The long strands appeared to her like shadows dancing about her face. She again forced herself to sit relaxed, fighting the tension within. It was an old battle but, somehow, different this time, with the apprehension being mingled with deep feelings of love and hate and anger. She tried to single out Darkcian within the group, but he was too distant for her to succeed. Her emotions seemed to flow from hot to cold as conflicting thoughts about him whirled in her mind. I must kill him. Only then will I be free . . . only then will I stop dreaming of him . . . dreaming of that night. She closed her eyes and bent forward until her forehead rested on the neck of her mu-lynx. Her next thought made her shudder. And when he dies, I shall be empty again. No . . . I shall be empty as never before. She turned her head sideways, her cheek buried in the cat's thick fur, and felt the tears start, tears she hadn't shed since her mother's death. Darkcian noticed that what little breeze was present was composed of air that was hot and dry. Clouds were more numerous now but seldom saturated enough to drop rain. And Darkcian wanted it to rain. He didn't like the discomfort of this oppressive heat. But the stoically calm faces of the others quieted any complaints he would have voiced and clued him as to their outward protocol towards the trials to come. Display no weakness, he thought. They suffer but pretend they don't. With them, nothing seems to be true if viewed only on the surface. In like manner, Agon and all it contains are secrets, puzzles to decipher. Only the certainty of death seems to be overt. His attention was suddenly diverted by the sound of a hummer. Its faint but complex tune swam in the air around him as it circled, weaving in and out, louder as it passed his ears and faint almost to the point of silence as it swooped above and below his head. He smiled at the pleasant antics of the insect, then laughed silently, thinking: I needed that laugh. There's no point in dwelling too much on the negative aspects of Agon’s mysteries or-—he winched at this thought-—the pain I caused Sulamith. He turned his attention back to the land, looking for the little things. Despite the danger, he had grown to love the planet, this wide-open expanse of beauty that filled the senses with new, exotic sensations: the flowers that were everywhere, the tall-growing trees, life in abundance, the smells, the sights, the touches. He lifted his head and flared his nostrils. Sweet, sweet. He noticed the trees swaying in the breeze, their leaves rustling gently--the sound was strangely musical to him. Life is beautiful, he thought. A patch of wild fruit then caught his eye. He quickly searched his lok-induced memory and produced their name: strawberries. He bent down from his mu-lynx and picked a handful, shoving them into his mouth at once, causing his cheek to bulge like a chipmunk's. The juice ran down his chin and onto his chest. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Erendria was watching him. He licked at his fingers and tried to wipe the red stain from his chest. He noticed her turning quickly away, a mad expression on her face. At mid-morning, they came upon the pink bones of a mu-lynx. Darkcian guessed that the beast had died while lying on its side but also surmised that its end had not been a peaceful one. Its jaws were open wide in a frozen snarl. "Day-bats," Gravestone commented dryly. Darkcian rode up to the remains and studied them closely. "How?" he finally asked. The older warrior answered, "Game is scarce and becoming more so as we near The-Long-Day-Before-Summer. The day-bats attack anything that moves below them now. This one here was probably done in by a large flock, maybe a thousand or so." Darkcian looked up at the sky. "Then aren't we in danger from the same source?" The older warrior shrugged. "Yes, if we're lax in our vigilance and don't see them in time. But if forewarned, we can fight off a small grouping or if presented by large groups thwart them by energizing our cupolas around us. Even so, the danger from them becomes less and less with each turn for they're going into hibernation in ever increasing numbers. They, as most of the creatures of Agon, cannot survive the coming heat-death." Darkcian considered that as a sober warning. It kept him thinking late into the afternoon. When it was near sundown for Ardent, Darkcian noticed that the gathering clouds were beginning to worry Gravestone. Darkcian was about to voice a question on it when Patra interrupted, speaking to her mate, "Do you feel it, my second- love? It's going to be a bad one." "I know," Gravestone answered with a frown. "We have about an hour, I think." While presenting a worried face toward Darkcian, Patra answered his unspoken question. "Dry storm coming. They're even more dangerous than the wet ones. Stay close to us and do as we do." Her tone told Darkcian that he was about to get another of Agon's surprises. He thought: Because of that murderous healer and the weather, there is no rest. I'm getting weary of the danger. I long for the night and peace once more. "We're being followed," Erendria informed them.
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