The Blood-Rage (37) There was a murmur of soft voices around the circle of warriors. Sulamith figured: This old one is known to some of them. Her attention was then diverted by the weather. Above, the sky was getting darker and darker; and lightning flickered within the clouds, lighting their faces with flashes of blue-white light. Seconds later, the distant grumble of thunder could be heard. She returned her attention to the justice of Agon. Ignoring the weather, this old warrior stated, "Erendria speaks the truth, Gravestone. What do you say to her logic? It seems reasonably clear to most of us." As usual Gravestone was outwardly unperturbed. He replied, "All right, I'll acquiesce to my daughter's definition of weakness and agree with it even. However I'll disagree that a loss of memory can be proven to be a weakness by her definition on two points. First, since it's not known what caused his memory loss, how can we know for sure that it can be transferred genetically? Perhaps some machine, a lok that doesn’t teach but destroys, took his memory? Any of us could fall victim to such a device. Second, it's entirely possible that the memory loss was an act of strength, not weakness." He leaned forward with his right hand extended and open, palm up. He slowly closed this hand into a fist and brought it to his chest. "Consider this. What if that which took his memory was so terrible that if his mind had not closed in on itself and forgotten, he would have died? In this context, the loss of memory would have been a defensive maneuver and thus a strength. For he did survive to fight again, perhaps even someday to fight again that which struck him down originally. Who knows? Perhaps a rational with less strength than he would have been killed by this . . . what ever? How can we know? "Also Consider this. You listen to a dagger who has motives other than Agon's laws. Look at her. See how naked is her passion? It colors her judgment and, perhaps, yours. Erendria wants this sword's blood. This should be no secret after hearing her speak. Anyone can detect an anger in her that goes beyond a normal concern about the laws of Agon. She craves his end not because of The Laws but because of some other emotion she cannot control. I think it has become an emotion of the heart. She loves him in a perverted, sadistic way, a way that ultimately wishes his death as a climactic event. It's a sick healer characteristic. We all know of it and have seen it before. "So . . . skilled as she is with the dagger-that-returns, I don't think she can kill him herself, alone. She is, you see, trying to take that which first appears on the surface as a weakness as her rationale for others to seek his end for her. We all know how the blood-rage works, how irrational it can be." He clasped Darkcian on the shoulder. "This sword has shown us too much to be destroyed because of a dagger's hate based on an unknown cause of memory loss." Around the circle many fists were quickly raised in approval. Sulamith felt faint, and the sweat ran down her back. Under her diode-cloth, she gripped her dagger with a cold hand. Erendria leaped to her feet, and her eyes showed the affliction of her father's accusation. She cried, "If you weren't my father-teacher, I'd kill you. For you insult me by implying that I can't kill my own enemies. I didn't kill him because the council ordered otherwise. I've always honored the council's wisdom. The council knows that the laws of Agon don't take chances with 'ifs' or 'maybes' or 'unknowns.' When in doubt, we kill for--" "SILENCE!" Keen-of-the-Long-Sword thundered in a voice so awful that some in the circle grabbed for the handles of their weapons. Keen sat with his eyelids wide open; and Sulamith was sure that for the first time in the memory of some, his eyes could be seen. The blood-rage was there, naked and powerful. All knew that he was old, but most hadn't guessed he was as old as his eyes now revealed; they were like red coals. "You have interrupted a council meeting by speaking without permission," he said softly. And somehow the newly controlled quietness of his voice was more frightening to Sulamith than the shout. His eyes bored into Erendria's. "All councils are convened with the prior agreed upon rule that the participants will be rational, objective, and above all, in control of their blood- rage. You will control yours, sit down, and not interrupt again; or here and now I'll kill you, although I may be stabbed a thousand times before my sword cleaves you in half." Erendria stood for a long time staring at Keen, fighting her blood-rage, yet obviously wanting to turn it lose and seek battle with this old sword. Sulamith watched, fascinated, as the wind of the approaching storm whipped this angry dagger's hair into wild tangles of red flame. Soon, Erendria's jaw muscles were jumping with tension, and her rage-trembling hand started playing with her dagger's handle. To Sulamith, the young woman's hate and anger were almost tangible in the heavy storm-laden air. Here stood the epitome of an Agonian warrior: angry, defiant, thirsting for battle. But, to Sulamith's surprise, reason seemed to win and Gravestone's daughter slowly sat. But the venom in the woman's eyes was still horrible to see. Sulamith could feel the mental sighs from around the circle as each observed the magnificent moment. She was sure that all knew of the struggle that had been fought within the woman. Sulamith slowly re-sheathed her own dagger, trying not to be conspicuous about it. The calm voice of Shara then broke the ensuing silence. "As we have just seen, this is a complex problem. The council needs more information from all sources that have had even a remote connection with this memory-lost one. Does anyone else wish to speak to add data?" She scanned their faces. "No? All right then, consider this: perhaps the most important source of information might be the accused himself. Shall we let him speak? We may learn from his words." Sulamith noticed that all but three fists were raised in approval. Shara's eyes were as cold as the wind of the approaching storm as she said to Darkcian, "Tell us your side of the story. Leave nothing out." Sulamith watched her friend's calm eyes slowly scan the faces of the council. He had their attention. In a calm, clear voice he started to relate most of his experiences of the last sixty days. Sulamith, herself, had not heard all of it and she, like the others, was fascinated. Will he tell them about us? she wondered. When he had finished the tale, she sighed. He hadn't mentioned her at all except to tell of her warning to the clan of Kalt. "What a strange tale," Shara declared for them all. "Perhaps now we should recant on wanting only facts and get your opinions, for the facts don't seem to shed any more light on the mystery. You seem intelligent. Surely you must have your own opinions about your memory loss. If not, perhaps some guesses or feelings or theories or . . . or anything." Darkcian nodded to Shara and said, "Yes, dagger, I do have theories that this council might use to make a decision. "Since I gained enough knowledge to once again think like a rational, I've been evaluating my own condition. From this effort, I've formulated some theories as to what might have caused my memory loss. In other areas, I've opinions on your culture that will be unique because I've been able to view it from a vantage point of no remembered or ingrained prejudices caused by childhood conditioning. I think this information will be revealing to you all in some way. I hope it will." The majority of the council again raised their fists in agreement. "I'll continue then," Darkcian said. "Strange as this will sound, I've been in communication with a part of my subconscious that talks to me as a separate entity, much as we talk to each other here." There were grunts from some members of the circle. Darkcian continued, "Yes, I know that sounds crazy. Maybe I am. It's not like a forgotten memory, floating up to touch my conscious mind, but an inner voice that speaks to me. I don't understand this aspect; so, I shall leave it to your speculation and go on. "The subconscious voice has hinted that my memory was taken by the force of a another rational. The process wasn't made clear to me, but I don't think it was by a physical device such as Gravestone mentioned but by the mental will of an unknown rational, someone who has powers greater than even the Wists." A young dagger next to Patra raised her fist. After being recognized and identifying herself as Ann, she stated, "There are no rationals in the galaxy with mental powers greater than those of the Wists. They are the strongest of all the telepathic races." "I'm sorry to have to correct you," countered Darkcian. "There are no rationals in the galaxy with mental powers greater than the Wists that are known. Such a race could exist by wishing to remain hidden. The galaxy is huge and some of it is still unexplored. The Star Wanderers never found most of the now-known rational beings in the first place. When ready, such rationals let their presence be known on their own. According to the lok, Agon itself is a good example." "I concede to that argument," she replied. "However, I think the probability would be low. The rationals of the galaxy have all wished to make contact with other intelligent beings as soon as they knew others like themselves existed." Darkcian answered, "That has been the case so described by those who have let their presence be known. But that says nothing about those who remain unknown. There may be hundreds of races who are, and wish to remain, anonymous." The young dagger nodded and said, "Your logic is irrefutable. But I still hold it to a low probability." After raising her fist, the council leader said, "In the absence of any data as to the origin of the rational who could have taken your memory, speculations on the subject are wasting our time. Let's go on. "Assuming that this inner-voice spoke true about the being who took your memory and, assuming further, that the being was a non-Agonian, wouldn't this imply that you've been off-world? There are no aliens on Agon. Was it on some other planet that you lost your memory?" "That's the conclusion I've reached," Darkcian confirmed. Sulamith heard Patra gasp. "But we have no record of a male of your description having ever left Agon," Shara said. "I and the thinkers checked the computer files earlier." With his eyes closed again, Keen, the old one, broke his own order and interrupted, "He decreases the mystery then increases it. I grow tired of the oscillation. I don't believe him." Shara and Erendria glared at the old warrior but didn't challenge his interruption. Sulamith thought that was wise. "May I continue?" Darkcian asked. Shara nodded. "How I got off-world is another mystery to be added to the rest. But let's go on. You may find my views of your culture interesting; because from my limited experience, I've some serious disagreements with many of your customs." Keen interrupted again. "You use the word your instead of our when speaking of customs. This would seem to imply that you don't consider the customs as a part of yourself. You speak as would an alien." Sulamith couldn't see Keen's eyes, but she knew that her young friend must guess that the blood-rage was behind them. And in that, she knew, lay danger. And the danger is building. The memory-lost one replied, "Having been consciously on Agon only about sixty days, in many ways I could be considered an outsider on knowledge alone. Yet I understand the deeper question behind your statement. And the answer to it is yes. I believe I am an alien." Sulamith stiffened and watched as the rest of the group gasped out their surprise. Keen was leaning forward. "Explain that to us . . . now," he snarled. Darkcian took a deep breath and started. "I've no proof, but I believe it so by deduction. Consider. My hearing is on par with those of a mu-lynx, for I can close my eyes and by sound alone locate all objects within a radius of thirty feet. Also, I can see in the dark, far into the infrared spectrum. And lastly, in the sixty turns since the Kalts found me, I've never slept." Sulamith nodded her head and noticed that Patra did also. He didn't mention his ability to heal wounds. She also thought that to be wise. A dagger three members to Darkcian's right jumped to her feet and shouted, "NO! None of that can be true! Our planet is pure. Nothing alien can exist on Agon! The Third Law forbids it. You're trying to confuse us, trying to anger us with your lies." Shara barked, "Sit down. You have not been recognized." "No. I must kill him. If it is true that he is alien, I must relieve Agon of such an abomination." "Then kill yourself for disobeying my order," Share said. "Or I will do it myself." Darkcian looked hard at the standing woman. "I'm probably an alien. The evidence points in that direction. Think on what I've said. The rest around this circle have and are accepting. Why not you?" The woman bared her dagger and said, "Never! Just the thought of it makes my blood explode. I won't live with such knowledge." She ripped the lanyard from her dagger and tossed the weapon into the air. As she bowed her head downward, the falling knife hit the back of her neck and the razor-sharp blade sliced into her brain. She jerked and fell forward onto the ground. When her body hit the earth, Sulamith noticed that Darkcian winced with the impact; and, after a pause, he said in a low, clear voice, "Such a waste. For a healthy woman to die because she can't adapt to the truth of reality says much for the insanity of your society." A gust of the approaching storm's wind blew through the group. Sulamith--and she noticed some of the others, too-- hunched her shoulders as people are want to do when growing very cold . . . or are confronted with a very unpleasant fact. "Curse you!" a sword screamed to the left of the memory-lost one. "You show no respect for Agon and the rage of its warriors. I should kill you myself." "Control, warrior," Shara scolded. "This is a council meeting. There will be no fighting among those present." But Darkcian was unrelenting. He asked of the other warrior, "Don't you see the insanity of this dagger's suicide? Are you telling me that was a rational act?" The enraged warrior's eyes almost bugged out of his head. He suddenly went berserk, leaped to his feet, and grabbed his sword. But he only got half way across the circle before Shara's dagger plunged into his heart. He threw out his arms, loosing his grip on his weapon, and fell to the ground besides the fallen dagger. "There will be no attacks on those present," Shara repeated softly, as she yanked on her dagger's lanyard--the weapon snapped back into her hand. "Drag those two out of the circle and throw them off the plateau's cliff." Two swords rose and made off with the bodies. Darkcian scanned the faces of those left. Sulamith noticed that he had a new hardness to his gaze. "May I continue?" he asked. "Or must I remain silent because only irrational children sit in judgment of me?" "Speak," was Shara blunt answer. Sulamith thought with dismay: He shows them no more respect. He expects to die! "All right," he said. "There's one last bit of information that helps proves my theory. All Agonians suffer from the blood- rage, an almost uncontrollable ailment of the mind. It's what destroys you in the end, one way or another. Otherwise you are immortal. Your cells have a perfect regeneration process that lets you live, theoretically, a thousand orbits or more. Who really knows, for no one has survived the consequence of the rage." He gestured toward the bodies lying before him. "I have no rage. Not once since my awakening have I gotten angry." "You don't expect us to believe that?" Keen asked. "Ask the Kalts. Ask them if they have ever seen me angry. Hateful, yes, once. But never angry. Go ahead. Even better, ask Erendria. She would have a hard time concealing a lie in front of Agon's circle of justice." The council members switched their gazes to the young dagger, and the look on her face gave them the answer Darkcian wanted. "How did you get to our world?" Shara asked. Her voice had risen; it was almost shrill. "I don't know." "He must be destroyed," a warrior said. "Yes," another voiced. "Yes. YES!" still another shouted. "Don't forget the First Law," Gravestone interjected. "What?" many asked at once. "The First Law," he repeated. "How are you going to answer the question of how he got here if you kill him? How will you protect Agon from future unauthorized access? Can't you see the future problems this presents, or are you only able to see the present, what's in front of your eyes, not what's behind? He voiced a good question earlier: are we rational?" Most of the members nodded. "Let this memory-lost one speak some more," requested Keen. "Only the weak of heart will want to die because of it." There was a grumbling of consent. "All right," Darkcian said, "so be it. Now let me express some opinions on the culture of Agon. I want to ponder some age-old practices that are irrational. For instance, I disagree with the practice of destroying children when they've been found to be weak, using the definition of weakness as expounded earlier by Erendria." He paused as a flash of lightning exploded across the entire sky. The crack of the thunder smashed into them one second later. Suddenly Sulamith saw him shiver, as if he felt a chill go through his body as he wondered if what he was about to do was correct. But she then saw the resolve hit. He seemed to know that there was no way to stop this now and was committed to this dangerous course. Whatever he was going to say needed to be said. Their daggers and swords be damned. "I believe this is wrong," he continued. "It's seeped in a tradition that goes back to the dark ages before Agon had contact with the rest of the galaxy. Back then the concept was perhaps valid. For to build a strong race able to survive the seasonal trials of this planet, the genetic evolution would have to proceed as quickly as possible in order to build humans able to adapt to the killing changes of the seasons. During this period, if the weak were allowed to live, they would have dragged down the overall racial strength and thus slowed this process. "But now there are another options open to you, for example sterilization or banishment by starship. Regarding the first, the cupolas and loks now give you enough margin of survivability that you can tolerate the presence of non-procreative rationals. And for the second option, the introduction of starship travel allows you to rid Agon of undesirables without killing them! "There's no logical reason why you must now destroy your children. You still do it because of your inability to recognize that traditions and customs should be guiding concepts, not dogma. Dogma is for the irrational, the unthinking beings, those who can't change and grow wise. If you pride yourselves on rationality, then, by the void, you should practice it!" Five of the council leaped to their feet. Sulamith guessed that all had at one time killed a child. Patra was one of them. Immediately Gravestone pinned his mate's arms to her sides as she tried to unsheathe her dagger. The other four, two daggers and two swords, charged toward Darkcian with weapons naked. Then Sulamith had never seen an Agonian move as fast as did Darkcian. He was up on his feet as the first attacker took a step. Knowing that the daggers were the most dangerous, he leaped at the nearest attacking female, his sword naked and cutting horizontally. The female's dagger was launched toward his throat before his feet touched the ground. However he didn't remain upright but instead dropped his body down to a squatting position where his sword cut the female in half at the waist as her dagger flashed over his head. He leaped up again, spinning in midair and drawing down his weapon so that the next attacker's sword was blocked. He then rotated his own sword up, then down on this warrior's head, cleaving him to the groin. Without a pause, he pulled his weapon free and parried the downward strike of the next sword. Simultaneously the second female raised her hand to make a dagger-throw into his back. From a sitting position and underhanded, Sulamith flip-threw her dagger. The blade struck the attacking female in the back of her neck with a cracking sound as the bone there was shattered. Just as fast, the blade was yanked out to return to her. She knew it had been one of her fastest throws. At the same time, Darkcian took the head off the last attacker with a side-stroke of his sword that seemed to move with all of his strength behind it. Sulamith caught her dagger as it returned but didn't sheath it. Darkcian stood frozen in the middle of the circle, both hands around the handle of his sword. There was suddenly no sound . . . then two thuds as the dead man and woman hit the ground . . . and then silence again except for the low grumble of distant thunder. The memory-lost one turned slowly, scanning the circle of kneeling warriors; they were all splattered with the blood of the dead. He looked deep into the eyes of Keen; they were open now and insane. But these eyes were not looking at Darkcian, and the younger warrior must have realized this old one's mind was fighting some internal battle of its own. Darkcian must be ready when that old one returns, she thought and watched her loved one continue his slow scan around the circle. She could tell that the tension in the faces of those still sitting was making him sick. Her own eyes were his next visual pause. He opened his mind to her and sent the message: Thank you, friend of mine. Again you have saved my life. Her eyes opened wide at the reality of his mind-touch and its message. Gods above! she thought with shock and confusion. He can speak with his mind. He is an alien, an alien with telepathic powers. The young warrior's gaze continued on to Patra. The older woman was still in the steel grip of Gravestone, and every muscle in her body showed taunt with strain. Her eyes locked with Darkcian's. "I want to die," she implored between clenched teeth. "I forbid it," whispered Gravestone so low that without the complete silence all wouldn’t have heard him. Patra strained toward Darkcian and moaned, "I agree with what you said, may Agon take me. I have always agreed somewhere within my secret self. Your words have freed my life-long command of silence to this inner voice that has wanted to shout the truth. And now I wish to die. I cannot live with this new reality, with knowing of the centuries of unspeakable waste, with my own guilt at the destruction of my own first-born." She struggled mightily once more, trying to break free. "Please," she pleaded, "please!" Gravestone was shaking his head and saying over and over, "No, no . . . no." Shara spoke up to them from her kneeling position; her voice as calm as ever. "All Agonians have a right to die. Release her." Gravestone looked at Darkcian, his grief-stricken head still moving from side to side. "No, NO!" he cried. "Let her go, teacher," Darkcian ordered softly. Gravestone then howled; the sound was both rage and sorrow. He pushed Patra away so violently she stumbled and fell. He then drew his sword, reversed his hold on it, pressed the sharp tip to his forehead, and blurted out, "I shall fall into the void with her, for as her life was mine to share, so shall her end be also. We are weapons-mates; we are one!" He sank slowly to his knees, and his hands started to shake so badly the blade cut the skin between his eyes. The blood from this joined his tears to run down pale cheeks. Sulamith was incredulous. To see this man suddenly break, a man who seldom spoke, much less displayed any emotion--ever--was horrifying. She switched her gaze to Patra out of embarrassment. The woman crawled over to Darkcian, rose to her knees, and embraced his legs. She then bowed her head until it touched his right knee and said, "If you love me, take me into the void." "I love you, teacher," he replied, and Sulamith saw Patra's fingernails dug into his flesh in a spasmodic reaction. The older woman then backed away one shoulder-length and touched her forehead to the earth. Slowly, with both hands, she reached back and parted her hair, exposing the back of her neck. "Free me," she whispered. Darkcian sank to his knees and, holding his sword in his left hand, touched her cheek with his right hand. His voice was gentle when he spoke, "My sword can free you, but it'll make slaves of all of us who love you. Our new masters will be grief and sorrow; and for your weapons-mate and myself, it will be too much to bear. I cannot picture in my mind being without you. You're part of me. You're my mother-teacher. "Do it," she said, now with tears in her voice.
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