The Blood-Rage (4) Gravestone seemed to fight to force his voice into calmness again. He said coldly, "I've no patience with uncontrolled emotion that clouds one's thinking. The stranger's effect on you is your problem. Solve it before morning." He turned, walked back to the mindless one, picked up his limp hand again, and continued to drag him away. Second-dagger rose and took a hesitant step toward her father's retreating form. She raised her voice and said through trembling lips, "Time . . . I need time to understand myself in this. I can't be near him tonight." Her mother's harsh laugh suddenly added to her feeling of isolation, and she ground her teeth in anger. Her father, on the other hand, ignored her and disappeared with the mindless one into the black cupola, walking through its wall of energy. Second-dagger repeatedly smashed one of her fists into the other, over and over until her palm burned with pain. Damn this stranger and all males, she fumed. She then considered the idea that she could refuse permission for anyone to enter the cupola, her cupola come tomorrow when she would be twenty-one. But she rejected this thought in the next second, for she knew her father's wrath, if awakened further, wouldn't be worth it. Desperate now, she looked at her mother. But the older woman's cold expression told her there was no sympathy in that direction either. She then wondered if her parents still thought of her as a child. The thought brought her dismay, and she temporarily considered going-lonely. Only a few Agonians throughout the ages had had the strength to do that, for Agon was too dangerous. No, she decided, I'll deal with this. I'll understand myself. I WILL! She put both hands on her hips, took a wide stance, tilted her head up, and shouted toward her cupola, "I don't need the dome's protection. I can use my diode-cloth to keep warm. I'll sleep and lok-learn outside." Her father soon appeared again, now alone. "As you wish," he said, shrugged, and then walked into the other cupola. He seemed to know it wouldn't be much longer before she sought independence . . . but not tonight. At that point, Second-dagger saw Patra start to clean up around the dying embers of the cooking fire. Soon after, the older woman joined Gravestone, leaving her to stand alone to listen to the hiss of the wind through the grass. Second-dagger knew this breeze foretold of stronger winds to follow. Even now, as the night deepened, she sensed it was bringing air that was moist and cold and smelling strange as the scent of a multitude of growing things blended together. And then ,too, there were the animal smells, always slightly pungent, like freshly spilt blood. She zipped up the front of her diode-cloth and immediately felt warmer. On the periphery of the camp, she heard the soft sound of things scurrying through the grass. The predators would prowl tonight. But that was a normal and familiar danger. I knew it, she thought to herself angrily, I should have killed that spawn of evil when I had the chance, when my mu-lynx leaped to tear out his throat. Now it's too late. All of Agon will want our blood. We're in terrible danger. CHAPTER 4 Nothing alien is allowed to exist on Agon. -The third Law of Agon- As the planet's two suns rotated toward the morning horizon, Second-dagger lay on her back, head turned sideways, and looking spinward across the dark valley at the soft glow that was slowly appearing in the night sky. While this pre-dawn light grew, she watched the lesser stars there begin to fade as the sky's color at the horizon turned slightly pink. It was then that she heard, in the otherwise total stillness of the morning, the first faint hunting-cries of the circling day-bats. She sighed then, knowing the suns-light had ushered in once again the endless need of the predator for its prey. Still drowsy, she stood to stretch the night-kinks out of her body. When she lowered her arms again, the long black folds of the diode-cloth fell to the ground, brushing the wet grass. She knew that if someone could view her now, they would only see the brilliant green of her eyes, for the black cloth made her almost invisible in this low light level. She unzipped the lower portion of the garment that had been sealed around her boots and, similarly, the upper portion that had been sealed around her hands. Throwing back the hood that had covered all of her face, she unzipped the front and stepped out of the diode-cloth into the chilly morning air and onto grass that was cold with dew. She detached the lok-band from around her forehead and shivered, bringing her gaze back to the silent camp. She had to keep moving in order to keep warm. But even if she remained cold for the rest of the day, she wasn't going to re-don the diode-cloth--it had been too long since she had felt the suns-light on her body, and she missed its warm touch. So, she bent to the task of rolling the diode-cloth into a small, round bundle no larger than her fist. The garment was made from an extremely thin material that on the inside only--and at the present temperature--shimmered like polished steel. She gathered up the rest of her possessions: two clean briefs, their accompanying halters, and the lok. She then tucked them into a small leather pouch attached to her weapon's-belt. With these chores done, she spent thirty minutes performing the ancient exercises of combat, the ver--a morning ritual seldom missed. The movements honed her fighting skills and brought pleasant warmth to her body. Afterwards, she looked up at the sky, seeking out the faint stars still visible through the clear air above. As she stood there, a thought occurred that the more brilliant of these distant flames seemed to be winking, as though they had anticipated her being here long ago. She smiled at the egotism this implied and whispered to the only deity that anyone recognized, "Ah, Agon, were it so. But this day is special enough without it. Within an hour, I'll be an adult and able to choose my own path." She sighed, causing a white mist to form in the cold air near her lips. The bat-sound then caught her attention again and brought her wayward thoughts back to more immediate matters. Reluctantly, she turned away from the beauty of Agon's awakening and walked a short distance to the narrow creek that divided her camp from the vast plains beyond. She knelt there and in the gently flowing stream washed the mindless one's caked blood from her hands. She then splashed water on her face and chest, while gritting her teeth at the shocking coldness of the liquid. She stood, shook most of the drops from her face and hands, wiped at the remaining dampness with her forearms, and started to wander towards her cupola. Reaching the dome, she stuck her head through the energy field to check on the mindless one. She jerked erect at once. He wasn't there! Immediately, she rounded the cupola and found him sitting in the wet grass. He was watching a small hummer and butterfly fight over the nectar of a flower. He still wore the lok-band around his forehead. He turned upon hearing her approach, looking over his shoulder. His face was blank and remained so even as she barked, "You weren't given permission to leave the cupola. Why are you here? Why . . .?" she trailed off, disgusted with herself. "No point talking to an idiot, is there? You hear but don't understand." She said all this more to herself than to him. She kicked him until he rose to escape the pain, then herded him back to the dome, thinking: At least he can walk this morning. After they entered the cupola, she forced him prone and tied his feet together with a leather strap. She worked quickly, for his strange eyes kept drawing her gaze; and that made her nervous for some reason. Suddenly she noticed that his wounds were almost healed. Where the thick blood had earlier coagulated over the cuts, now there were only pink lines. Startled, she wondered: How can that be? I thought I cut him deeper than that. She shook her head, realizing that she must have been wrong. And she didn't like to be wrong in matters of the dagger. She decided to leave the lok-band on him. Maybe he would sleep again and learn some more. Yet she wondered if that really mattered in the end? She was still not convinced he would ever be able to talk to them and reveal how his memory was lost. She shrugged and scolded herself for the emotion this one aroused in her. He was just an animal, an unwelcome and non-rational thing that temporarily inhabited her home. Soon he would be destroyed. One shouldn't get excited over an animal. She rose and left the dome. Outside, she checked the tightness of the lanyard that led from her right wrist to the long dagger strapped to her thigh. Satisfied it was secure, she practiced quick-drawing the weapon until she heard the stirring of her father and mother as they emerged from the warmth of their cupola. About time, Second-dagger thought and turned toward the black domes to see the leader of the clan of Kalt standing beside his mate. He was briskly rubbing his bare torso with those huge arms of his, those grossly muscled arms with the puffed-up blood vessels that looked like miniature tree roots. A battle-scarred warrior of medium height, he conveyed his reaction to the surrounding cold with a shiver that she could see across ninety feet of morning gloom. Well, what are you waiting for? she asked silently. She watched as he briskly donned his diode-cloth and then strapped a large, two-edged sword across his back. He adjusted the slack so that the jeweled inlaid handle extended about one foot above his wide, powerful shoulders. Faster, damn it, she thought. She switched her attention to her mother. The older woman had also just donned her diode-cloth and was now cinching a gold-linked chain-belt around her thick waist. Hanging from this belt was a leather sheath containing a long, straight-bladed knife that Patra now secured snugly with a leather thong against her muscular right thigh. Then she slipped around her right wrist the loop-end of a three-foot-long elastic lanyard that was attached to the handle of the knife. To Second-dagger, Patra did all this slowly, almost sluggishly, as if reluctant to do what came next. Already impatient with this delay, Second-dagger began to pace up and down on the creek's bank, moving with quick, long strides, her red hair whipping wide with each turn. Occasionally she would glare in the direction of her elders. They move slowly on purpose, she fumed. Do they really want me to become an adult, or is their purpose to keep me a slave forever? Damn, now that was a stupid thought. What's wrong with me? Patience, Second-dagger, patience. "She grows impatient," Patra said as she observed her daughter out of the corner of her eye. "The speed of Agon's turn cannot be quickened," Gravestone replied as he tightened his belt through the front slit in the diode-cloth. "Of course. But when children want something badly, sometimes they find it difficult to remain impassive." "A foolishness of youth." "You speak as if you were never young." "If I was, it's been too long ago to remember." "Ha," she scoffed, "you're always trying to appear older than you are." She checked the sharpness of her blade against a steady finger, then looked directly at her daughter and mused, "I'd be willing to bet she didn't sleep well last night. She lusts for her adulthood too much." "That would be a safe wager. But the fact still remains that the suns will shine when they are ready, not before." She retorted, "True. But regardless of what you said, you were young once yourself." She sheathed the knife. "And my father-teacher probably said the same thing about me to my mother." Patra picked up a small leather sack, strapped it to her weapon's-belt, then quipped, "Each generation seems doomed to repeat the path of the one before it. Nothing changes with time it seems." Except the seasons, she added silently. "No, nothing," he quipped back as he snapped onto his left wrist a gold metal band etched with the design of a dragon. "What weapon-name will she choose for herself?" Patra asked. "Can you guess?" "No. She's too unpredictable for me to even try. But I'd wager it'll be something fierce." "I'll guess Roxanne-the-Raver." He let out a short laugh that held no humor. "Ha! That fits. If I could name her, it would be that." Patra stopped suddenly and turned to face him, saying, "Ah, second-love, our great experiment begins in less than an hour." What will become of her . . . and us? she wondered. He looked at her sadly. "It really began the day she was born." "Even before that, I think." That night we both hold in terror. "Yes, of course you're right, even before that." Hurry up you two, for my sanity's sake, Second-dagger thought and then stomped across the still wet grass to confront them with, "Is it my imagination or do I detect a reluctance on both of your parts in what must be done this morning?" Second-dagger's anger increased as she watched her mother look at her father and then back to her. The older woman said with that infuriatingly calm tone of hers, "Parents are always reluctant to see their children pass over that boundary that separates the child that they have nourished for so long from the whole, independent adult they must become. But time cannot stand still. That which by law must be will be." "You don't really think that I'm ready, do you?" Her mother shrugged and looked away. "No pre-adult is ever totally ready. I remember clearly that I wasn't." Second-dagger stood straight and tall, hands on her hips, chin held high. She could actually look down on her mother. She countered, "But as you said, it must happen. You obviously survived your transition." With a sigh that conveyed the older woman's patience was probably being tried, her mother turned to her and said, "We don't need to pursue this any longer. We walk to the hill at suns-rise. That's the law. I've expressed my concerns in the past. If you haven't paid them heed before, then it's obviously too late now. If you're not ready, the trials of Agon will prove you a failure; and you'll die." Her father added, "And thus prove that the way we taught you was also a failure." Why do they doubt? Second-dagger wondered. They've seen me kill many times. Why this doubt now? Aloud she said, "You both seem to forget what you've seen in the past. I won't fail. The dagger and I are one. I'm ready for adulthood." Her mother's voice was suddenly tight with tension. "Dagger skill is only the foundation for survival. Wisdom builds the permanent shelter from defeat." The same old cliché that I've heard a thousand times, Second-dagger thought. When are they going to set me free? She saw her father glance first at the brightening horizon and then at her mother. "It's almost time," he said in an emotionless voice. "Go get the box." Second-dagger looked nervously at the horizon, noting that the direct rays of Ardent were almost washing the land with its brilliant red hue. We must hurry, she thought and turned to move ahead of her parents, toward the only nearby hill that was located about a half-a-mile poleward. Halfway there, she looked back. Her father and mother, the latter carrying a small box, were walking side-by-side about twenty feet behind her. The two older ones weren't hurrying their short march, for, she knew, they wanted to time their arrival at the hill's peak to coincide with the washing of the land with suns-light, that moment when the planet Agon spoke to them of a new day, a chance to live one more day. A new beginning, she thought, as she faced forward and tried not to show the restless eagerness that was about to make her burst. But even as she moved toward the hill again, she knew she had failed. They've always been able to see through me. Am I that transparent or do they possess a special insight that escapes me? Nevertheless, she kept her head and eyes always moving, watching the land appear out of the gloom of morning, and searching the dim ground ahead for danger. She would welcome danger now; it would allow her to dissipate the incredible energy that now coursed through her body. She was actually trembling with anticipation. It was a great relief to her when the ceremony finally started at Friosan’s rise. The adult-becoming ritual followed the old rigid traditions. She knelt before her father and mother, her back held straight, her hands resting on nervous thighs. Her parents sat in the same posture, but facing her one shoulder-length apart so that the two suns of Agon could later shine between them and, thus, bathe her face in the light of truth. "What is your age?" her father asked of her. "Twenty-one orbits," she answered. "To whom is your first pledge?" "To Agon and its laws." "Your second?" "To the survival of the clan of Kalt." "Your third?" "To the one I have yet to meet." Curse that pledge, she thought. I don't need to place any male before me. "Your fourth?" "To myself." Then Ardent, the red giant companion to Friosan, rose also; and together the two suns partially blinded her, making the outline of her parents hazy. But the warmth of the suns-light became a welcome thing, bringing a smile to her half-opened lips. "From whom did you get your life?" her father continued. "Agon," she toned. "From whom will you get your death?" "Agon." Her mother then took over the ritual with a cold seriousness. That voice and tone would be remembered forever. "What do you seek?" her mother asked. "Life." "What will you receive?" "Pain and death." "And when you die, by what weapon-name will Agon know you by?" "Erendria," she answered firmly. Her mother then opened the box, laid it on the ground, and took out its contents. Both parents held out to her the new gold-linked chain-belt of adulthood while droning in unison, "Welcome to adulthood and the search for the perfect death, Erendria-of-the-clan-of-Kalt."
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Copyright © 1992 L Clayton Bennett |