The Blood-Rage (35)
Night Mist, are you a Wist? No answer. The healer continued, "Ah, I would like to meet a Wist. To destroy beauty of that magnitude would be heaven." What a fascinating little killer, Darkcian thought. He looked out into the approaching dusk and was suddenly dismayed at the speed at which the light was fading. Not much time left to me. The healer seemed to see the direction that he was looking and said, "Yes. It's getting darker, isn't it? Soon you'll know pain such as you never dreamed was possible. Soon Erendria will join you in agony. You two shall be my greatest achievement in the prolonged use of torture. How long you both live will be a testimony to my skill. Perhaps I may become a legend to other healers after I relate the story of your deaths?" Darkcian looked back at his tormentor. "I don't really know the definition of evil, but I think that with you I shall learn." "Indeed you will," the healer agreed, apparently pleased to be thought of in that way. He then ran off into the quickly approaching twilight. And the light in amongst the trees fell into darkness. Long after it became dark within the enclosure, Darkcian worked on his bonds. He could feel the sticky blood on his wrists where the leather straps were cutting him almost to the bone. Still he didn't stop trying. His body became slick with the sweat of his efforts. If I stop and wait for his return, I'm dead, he thought. Already he had tried to suck energy out of the leather straps; it only made them stiffer and more painful. He closed his eyes tightly and strained. The pain in his hands made him cry out. "Darkcian! Is that you?" came a whisper from somewhere in front of him. His eyes jerked open and he scanned the gloom. "Sulamith," he called. "Where are you?" "Here, in front of you. I'm in my diode-cloth." Suddenly, she appeared, a black shape against the gray of the trees. The relief he felt at the sight of her made him weak. "I'm so glad to see you . . . you cannot imagine." "I can too imagine because I feel the same." "How did you find me? The storm--" "I closed with you as I saw the storm approach. Just before you all disappeared, I also saw the healer rush toward your group from the storm side. Then you were all gone, swallowed up in the whirling sand. When the storm passed, I found the Kalts again but you were gone. The Kalts then broke up and started to search for you--I assume they still are. I immediately started a search myself. But I had an advantage over the Kalts, for I knew approximately where the healer had attacked. From there I explored in an ever-widening circle." She knelt in front of him, examining his body with her hands. "Desert heat! You're dripping wet," she whispered. "I was afraid you had taken my advice and given up following me." She reached behind him with her dagger. "Quiet with that line of thought. I've already invested too much of my time and energies in you to give up now and forever wonder how you died." He groaned as he felt the sudden release of his wrists. His feet were next. "And that's not to mention the emotional experiences I've suffered from knowing you," she added. "Suffered? Surely it hasn't all been painful." He brought his numb hands forward, searching for an opening in her diode- cloth, trying to encircle her waist. She guided his hands into a hidden slit in the garment, and then her arms slipped around his neck and tightened. "Hold me, quickly," she said with a rush. "Yes, that's the way." She gasped suddenly but continued to talk. "No, it hasn't all been painful. I've experienced feelings with you that have no definition in our language. It's given me much to think about." She broke her hold on him, put her hands to his chest, and pushed. "Release me now. The excitement builds. Already it's too intense to be safe." He did and watched her rise to her feet and back away. "The healer will return soon. We must go," she said. He answered with a rush, "He returns already. I can see his small form running this way now." She moved amazingly quick. A jump toward the dark of the trees and then . . . nothing! She just vanished. Darkcian, just as quick, put his hands behind his back and awaited the little killer's arrival. The healer ran up to him and, between pants, blurted out, "She comes about a mile away. Your screams will guide her in." The little man then dropped to his knees, drew a knife, and said, "Try as you might, you won't be able to suppress a scream when I do this." Darkcian watch calmly as the other brought up the knife in a short arc toward his groin. Quickly he intercepted the strike by grabbing the little man's wrist. In one crushing squeeze, he broke the tiny bones of the other's hand, and he watched the healer's mouth popped open in surprise. Then, as a scream tried to rise from that skinny throat, Darkcian reached for the man's neck with his other hand and stifled the cry before it came out. Rising to his feet with his hand still around the healer's neck, he lifted the little man off the ground with the same hand and watched him struggle like a fish out of water, the healer's arms and legs flopping about mindlessly. He said to the gasping killer, "This is what terror feels like. This is what you have brought to many others. Not so much fun to be on the receiving end, is it? I wonder if you can abstract that out? Can you understand the reciprocity of wrongness? Can you understand that if it's wrong for you to die at the hands of another, it's equally wrong of you to kill if the situation was reversed? No, I think you are too insane to ever see that." He released the healer's neck, and the little man fell to the ground. He then picked up the other's dropped knife. The healer cradled his broken wrist in his other hand and breathed in short, noisy gusts. Finally he moaned, "You've hurt me terribly. Are you going to kill me?" "Yes," he said and watched the shock of that answer leave the little man speechless. Yet Darkcian saw the glow of a small gleam in the other's eye. What? he wondered. He noticed the little killer do something with his injured hand. Afterwards, the healer begin to crawl toward him, begging all the while in a high pitched whine, "Spare me and I'll be your slave for life. I'll kill for you, cook your meals for you, and wash your clothes, anything. Only let me live." As the healer reached out to touch Darkcian's leg, the memory-lost one saw a space-black shape materialized behind the prone man, reached down to grab the healer's hair, yanked back the little head, and quickly slit the killer's throat. The blood spurted out like a red fountain. "Sulamith!" Darkcian exclaimed. "That wasn't necessary! I was going to let him live after he experienced some of his own brand of fear. There was no point in killing him when he was no longer a danger to us." Her ice-blue eyes looked at him through the hood-slit of the diode-cloth, and she said softly, "It's no wonder you need someone to guide you here on Agon. Most healers wear a poisoned ring on their right hand. He was on the verge of pricking your leg with it. Paralysis would have been instant and a painful death minutes away." He looked down at the dead shape for a long time before speaking. "Gravestone has said to me many times that I was never to underestimate an enemy. I'm such a fool." "No, just ignorant." He raised his head. "That's four times, now, that you've saved my life. My blood-debt to you is becoming a heavy burden." "No. We're even. You, also, have saved my life four times. Remember them?" "Three of them don't count, for I had put your life in danger by my own stupid actions prior to extracting myself from the folly of it." He sensed her smile. She said, "The balance of our blood- debts to each other isn't important anymore. I think we both would gladly try to save each other a thousand times over without repayment. Friends need not compete in such things. Also, I think--" Darkcian's raised finger to his lips had interrupted her. He said in a whisper, "Something comes. A mu-lynx, I think. I can hear it breathing." Sulamith re-sheathed her dagger and whispered back, "Don't reveal to anyone that I was here. We'll meet again beneath the City-at-the-top-of-the-world." She was suddenly gone, blended into the gloom of the trees like a silent shadow. He raised an arm out to her direction and then let it fall, turning reluctantly toward the approaching beast. He felt a sudden loss that left him speechless. "There's someone here, I know it," came Erendria tight voice. "Identify yourself immediately!" "It's I," he said in a strong return-voice. "Darkcian! Are you all right?" He detected a huge mu-lynx weaving through the trees. It came to the small clearing, stopped to scratch at the ground, and then sat, its rider sliding off its now-sloping back. This dark shape ran up to him and grabbed his left hand. "Are you all right?" she repeated. "Yes, I'm fine," he assured her. "But the healer is dead. I killed him." How strangely easy it is to lie. She dropped his hand and asked harshly, "Where?" as she searched the grounds behind him. He pointed to the left and downward. "There," he said. In the semi-darkness, the body could have been mistaken for a small, fallen tree with red leaves scattered beside it. "The sneaky little bastard clubbed me with a tree stump but got careless upon my awakening." She stepped up to the prone shape and kicked it. "Son of a slut," she cursed. "All these pain-lovers are failures. I should have cut out his heart when I had the chance." "Failures at what?" he asked. Your turn to lie, beautiful one. She turned her head and looked at him over her shoulder. "Failures at adapting to the forces that determine survival. He's dead, isn't he?" "Yes." "Then that's what I meant. He failed." She kicked the body again and then stomped back to her mu-lynx. "Come, jump up behind me. We must find father and mother-teacher, for they're worried sick. We'll leave the little freak here to rot, and I hope the predators choke on his meat." Darkcian retrieved his sword from among the healer's things and leaped up behind Erendria, saying, "I guess that if what you have just described is the definition of failure, it surely will, two days hence, apply to me." "I can hope," she replied cruelly. CHAPTER 38 All religions are valid because they work for those who believe . . . so, too, for the unbeliever. -From the Thoughts of Night Mist- The city seemed to be growing in size as they approached. The pearl-white of the imposing towers glowed in reflecting the suns-light, and Darkcian made a rough guess that they were at least two miles high. Already it loomed above their heads so that they had to look up at a forty-five-degree angle in order to see the top structures. He also guessed that anyone looking down from there would see people as small dots and the clouds as a broken blanket almost obscuring them. There were few trees here this far poleward, and the land was rough, torn by--as Patra described it--the ceaseless grinding of glaciers that had formed and melted billions of times. A fine-bladed grass covered the ground where there were no rocks. They climbed slowly up a winding trail that led to the plateau upon which the city rested. It was a mile-high climb, but it took them, eventually, out of the torn land below onto a flat, smooth plain of green grass and flowers. Here the country on all sides of the city was dotted with the campsites of thousands of warriors. The smoke from their cooking fires left a hazy pall over the land and an acrid smell in the air. As Darkcian and the Kalts passed some of these rationals, the warriors would stand and stare, turning to follow them with eyes hooded and sometimes hostile. In the one hour it took the four of them to cautiously ride to the base of the city, through these silent swords and daggers, Darkcian's brow became wet with nervous sweat. He had the distinct impression that they all knew of him and had already judged his fate. This excitement brought conflicting emotions, and the knowledge of impending danger made the beauty of the land and sky all the more poignant, joyful . . . yet sad, somehow. Again, he thought: Life is only precious when it's threatened. And then about Agon: Variability is the overwhelming characteristic here. Change, constant change. One can never rest, never stop. Adapt or die. There can be no weakness. Agon never forgives. And yet? A new idea came to him and made him wonder for a long time. "You look puzzled, student," Patra stated, looking sideways at him as her mount drew even with his. "Never have I seen anyone reflect as much as you do. Enjoy the beauty. Let your mind go free." "It's difficult," he replied. "I keep thinking about tomorrow." "Tomorrow could hold your end. Today is where your life is. Stop projecting. Enjoy the now." He looked into her eyes. "Do you enjoy?" She turned her head away and said, "I've killed my first- born. There's no lasting joy for me, ever." "I'm your new son. Take joy in me." She turned back to him, and there were tears in her eyes. "Yes, you are my new son," she agreed. "But like before, I must, someday, help kill you." He smiled at her and said, "Now who's projecting into tomorrow? Perhaps you should take your own advice?" She shook her head as if to fling away the tears. "In truth, you see too clearly, much too clearly. In this you frighten me. I sometimes wonder between us who's really the teacher and who's the student." "Perhaps like the seasons of our planet, this role will vary." And then, again, the reflective mood came upon him. The city was finally before them. To see the highest towers, they now had to look straight up. Here, they stopped to await the members of the council, and Gravestone informed them that it would not be long before they were contacted. Darkcian nudged his mu-lynx next to the wall of the structure in front of them. He reached out to touch it; and to his amazement, it was hard and smooth and cold. "What!" he exclaimed. "Nothing in nature feels like this." Gravestone answered, "It's thinker-made, of some kind of ceramic material, I think." Darkcian asked, "Will we see many thinkers here?" Patra replied, "Hard to tell. They're a shy group--" "No," Erendria interrupted. "They're just cautious around us warriors, because we sometimes kill them just out of disgust for their warrior-less existence." Gravestone added, "Yes, and even beyond that excuse for battle, there will be much fighting in the days ahead among the warriors themselves. Those that are strangers to each other don't get along well together. Too much competition, too many egos." "That seems so foolish to me," Darkcian said, "like animals fighting over words that were spoken. When it's over, what has been accomplished, what's been gained? Nothing." To himself: That one could die because of spoken words is irrational. It's our egos that cause this stupidity. "You're too new in our ways to judge that," Erendria snapped. "A blade that cuts grows sharper. Blood is a sharpening stone." "Attention," Gravestone warned. "Someone comes." Darkcian looked around to see approaching three of Agon's warriors, walking abreast. One was a dagger; the other two were swords. They stopped ten paces away, and the dagger raised her left hand and said, "May your enemies fear you this day, warriors. Dismount and identify yourselves. Are you the Kalt clan?" Gravestone answered in a gruff voice. "We are. And are you three of the council?" The woman nodded her head slowly. But, Darkcian noted, there was a cold gleam in her eye. She said, "Yes, that's correct. I have weapon-named myself Carla of the Sunset clan. My companions are: to the left, Sean of the Wanderer clan; to my right, Morn of the Seeker clan." She smiled a crooked smile and added, "Welcome to the City-at-the-top-of-the-world." Darkcian noticed that Morn had a large band of scar tissue starting at his elbow and covering his arm to the wrist. Darkcian then followed the lead of the Kalts and slid off his cat, then freed the beast. As the mu-lynxes raced away, Gravestone slapped his own chest and said, "Gravestone of the Kalt clan. These to my left are members of my clan: Patra, my weapon's-compliment, Erendria, my second-dagger, and Darkcian, my first-sword." He bowed by tilting his head downward. The councilwoman asked, "Where's the one who spoke to us through the lok, the one called Rasp?" "Dead by the ambush of a healer." The councilwoman nodded solemnly and said, "Danger always stalks the wanderers of Agon. To hear of one's death is never a surprise. May his soul be at peace. But on another matter, did I hear you correctly? The mindless one is your first-sword?" Gravestone answered, "Your hearing is good." The woman seemed surprised. "You've adopted the memory- lost one into your clan?" "Yes," Gravestone replied. "A worthy addition, too." Darkcian found the woman's eyes were rock hard. He observed silently: There's no mercy or kindness in this one either. She nodded and said, "The more worthy the one we judge, the more honor there will be in the execution." "That sounds as though you have already judged our first- sword," Patra accused, her voice sharp. The woman, Carla, and Patra locked wills, and neither was bending. "No," the council spokeswoman said after a while. "But, as you should know, weakness is assumed unless strength can be proven." Then, before anyone could stop him, Darkcian stepped forward and ran his fingers down the scar tissue on the arm of the council member, Morn. The scarred warrior jerk away, exclaiming, "What?" Gravestone quickly raised his right hand and said, "I hope you'll excuse him. He's very curious. I'm sure no insult was intended." The woman, Carla, frowned then ignored the incident by gestured around her, saying, "You may camp here. Tomorrow the council will meet to judge. It will take that long to gather all the members together, even though they're all here in the general area. At last count, there will be twenty-five permanent members in the council, two of which will be thinkers from the city. As is normal and fair for the makeup of a council, half again as many temporary members will be chosen from those warriors out there--she pointed anti-poleward--who may express a desire to judge. By this method, a more complete cross-section of our planet is represented. I hope that meets with your approval." "If the members are fair in their judgment, we can do nothing else but approve," Gravestone said grimly.
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