Storymania - The Blood-Rage by L Clayton Bennett

The Blood-Rage (41)
L Clayton Bennett

CHAPTER 42

The cut of a sword can be a healing thing for the one

who wants to die.

-From the Thoughts of Night Mist-

Darkcian felt uncomfortable with the steady gaze of Erendria upon him this new day. He couldn't put his finger on it, but she was different, changed. Some fundamental and important transformation had occurred within her young, angry mind. Those dark circles around her eyes probably mean she didn't sleep since the end of the council meeting. He also noticed that she was no longer restless. There was none of her usual quick pacing like a hungry leopard. It's as if she has resolved all of her problems. My execution this morning is going to solve the problems of many, I guess.

Aloud, he said to her, "Is it time yet?"

"No," she answered quietly. "It'll be a few more minutes."

He decided to ignore her stare and looked away, back in the direction of his friend. No, she's more than a friend, much more. He mused aloud, "They shouldn't kill Sulamith. She's lived among Agonians for twenty-one orbits, and that fact disproves their belief that all aliens are harmful to Agon. The only danger she ever posed was in the Agonian way, in the battle of dagger against dagger . . . or dagger against sword. She never used her Wist powers."

"What if she had bred with an Agonian? What if she had produced another Wist child?" She said this gently but with some strain, as if trying not to let the anger show.

"She'd have died in the process, still maintaining the alien count on Agon at only one, or two if I'm counted."

"Strange, that dying after making love." She had a melancholy look on her face.

"Yes. But viewing the Wist dying process from my present knowledge base, my guess is that early on the Wist's biological evolution made them die if they coupled with one not of their own kind. This was to limit their genetic mixing with other races and protect the evolutionary direction they were going, a direction that was taking them to their present mental powers. Agonians do, in essence, the same thing by killing all aliens. Both races thus limit the infusion of genetic variety, each by a different method. I wonder if the Wists have a destructive dominant gene problem like Agon?"

"Why do you wonder about these things at this time? You're going to die. I'd think that your thoughts would be on other matters, such as pleasant memories of the past."

I don't have many pleasant memories. Most of my life has dealt with danger and pain."

She nodded, and then looked away. "Danger always threatens on Agon. And some dangers are not always apparent. They hide in the night . . . or in one's ignorance . . . or behind the eyes of a handsome sword. But soon all that will be in my past. I'm stronger now. I've a heart-of-sharp-steel. I've killed. I've killed many. And I have one more to kill."

Ah, Night Mist. I realize now that I don't want for myself this woman's cold, hard, Agonian control. Although she epitomizes the warrior spirit of this planet, it isn't good. She searches for the mind-state of a machine. In doing so, she seems to be denying those soft things that are uniquely human. Somehow that revolts me. I guess it always has, even in the beginning. Am I wrong?

BALANCE IS DESIRABLE. AND HOW CAN ONE BALANCE TWO THINGS IF THEY KNOW OF ONLY ONE?

Hard and soft, you mean?

HARD AND SOFT. JOY AND SORROW. LOVE AND HATE. KINDNESS AND CRUELTY. LIFE AND DEATH.

His thoughts whirled, sorting . . . sorting. Finally: Her cruelty revolts me.

AND HER BEAUTY? DOES THAT NOT ATTRACT?

Yes. She is a paradox of two polarities. It's so confusing. Why is so much of life comprised of this duality, this attraction-revulsion, and love-hate?

PERHAPS IT'S BECAUSE MOST LIVING THINGS ARE COMPOSED OF MANY COMPLEX FEATURES, SOME GOOD, SOME BAD. BALANCE. BALANCE.

Why can't people purge from themselves the bad and thus end up totally good?

TWO REASONS. ONE, THERE'S NO CLEAR LINE BETWEEN GOOD AND BAD; THEY'RE SUBJECTIVE TERMS, NOT ABSOLUTE. TWO, IF THEY WERE ABSOLUTE, ONE WOULD HAVE TO BE GOD-LIKE, PERFECT, TO RECOGNIZE THOSE FEATURES THAT NEEDED TO BE CHANGED. THAT IN ITSELF IS A PARADOX. FOR IF ONE WAS PERFECT, ONE WOULD HAVE NO IMPERFECTIONS, THUS NO NEED TO RID THEMSELVES OF BAD TRAITS. AND IF ONE WAS NOT PERFECT, HOW COULD HE OR SHE HAVE THE POWER TO RECOGNIZE ALL OF THEIR BAD FEATURES? AGAIN, THERE'S A BALANCE.

You are not solving my dilemma by talking in circles.

IT'S NOT MY PURPOSE TO SOLVE YOUR DILEMMAS, ONLY TO GIVE YOU DIFFERENT PATHS FOR YOUR OWN CHOICES.

To Erendria he said, "Why are you so angry so much of the time?"

"All Agonians are angry. It's our nature. I more than most, perhaps, but--." She stopped, puzzled, and evaded his gaze. Was it fear that he saw in her face for just an instant?

Ardent, low on the horizon, slipped behind the distant boulder, and Erendria again looked at him. "The time has come to give your blood to Agon. Are you ready?"

Darkcian saw that her face was strangely contorted, and it made him wonder what terrible thing was going on in her mind. Her eyes were looking in his direction, but they were focused beyond. Where has she gone?

"No," he said, thinking: I'll not play by your rules. I'll not give up my life with a sigh.

Her gaze returned. "Will you come with me willingly, or must we bind you and drag your screaming form to the Black Hill? Is it going to be an honorable end or shameful?"

"I won't be dragged. As for shame or honor, those are relative and subjective terms. Who can judge it for someone else? You?"

"Maybe you're right. If you feel no shame, then, for you perhaps, it doesn't exist. I don't seem to have the strength to philosophize on the subject anymore. Too much has happened these last few turns. I used to think I knew it all. But I really know so little. Have I finally become an adult?"

He nodded, surprised that she had revealed her confusion. He said, "I, too, wonder that. I'm going to die without knowing who or what I am. Beyond saving Sulamith's life, I would give anything to know my past."

"You're not Agonian or Wist, that I know."

"Yes. I agree. But what?" What?

"It's too late for any answers now, for you or me. Only Agon will ever know. Come. Walk with me to the hill."

He fell in beside Erendria, feeling a sort of strange comradeship with this enemy of a lifetime. Also strange were his senses; they were now unusually sensitive, heightened beyond what he had ever experienced. He could now feel each blade of grass touched by his bare feet. Even as they walked, the gentle brush of air on his skin was like the wind of a storm. Weird. He looked at the sky, drinking in its blue beauty. He smelled the perfumed air and felt like bursting with the sudden, terrible joy of it all. Never had life been so achingly sweet or wanted more. This is why death is so important, he thought. Nothing has worth unless it's threatened with loss. I want to live. I want to live!

He started to laugh, softly.

Erendria looked at him with wonder. "Why are you not afraid?"

He was sure of it now; there was fear in her voice. He replied, "My inner voice once told me, long ago now, that once the warning that fear evoked is understood, the fear itself serves no further positive purpose in the survival equation. In fact, if fear lingers, it then serves a negative roll, detracting from an objective, cold evaluation of the danger that triggered it in the first place. One must throw off any further fear in order to optimize the forthcoming response.

"Also, in the struggle against defeat, one cannot win the battle unless one fights. In the end, perhaps it's even more important that one has fought . . . than to have won."

She shook her head and said, "I don't understand you. Your thoughts are so strange. I wonder if you have progressed beyond me in knowledge?"

"Impossible. I couldn't compress twenty-one orbits of learning into sixty days. My view of things is just different." And I'm going to die because I expressed them. But not passively, by God.

"Yes," she agreed, "the view makes all the difference in the world. For example, my step-mother is now free of the illusion that she must love me as if I was her own. Yet, even without the compulsion, Patra does love me still. She told me this morning that I'm still hers, that she raised me, nourished me, and couldn't help but love me. Even now."

She shook her head sideways. "And Sulamith, my sister? I respect her more than I can ever say. Such strength she possesses to have evaded the eyes of Agon for over twenty-one orbits. Fantastic! Think of the intelligence that took. If only we could have fought. What an opponent she would have made, what a test of dagger against dagger. I could have died happy against such an adversary."

He shook his head in wonder. She still thinks of everything only in terms of combat and death. But aloud he replied, "Yes, I can agree with the first part of that. She makes us all look like weaklings in comparison."

The walk wasn't long, and soon they were climbing the Black Hill. It was as Shara had described it, black with the blood of many others. I'm not alone here, he thought and looked at the thousands of warriors who stood near the city-side, witnesses to his coming execution, he guessed.

They reached the top, turned to face each other, and then dropped to their knees, finally setting on their legs.

From the corner of his eye, Darkcian noticed two other rationals kneeling about a hundred feet away, just down the hill on the cliff-side. He kept his gaze on Erendria and asked, "Why are your parent here? The coup de grace?"

She couldn't keep the agony out of her voice. "No, they have chosen to join us in dying."

"Is this your wish?"

"No! I'd die a thousand times if they would choose to live."

"They love you," he said softly.

"They love you more."

The venom in her voice made him wince.

After a pause she spoke again. "The waiting for both of us is over. You know the death wish of Agon. Say it."

Their eyes searched each other's for a long time.

"No," he said quietly. "I'm alien to this planet. I'm not bound to its absurdities anymore. Kill me without all the stupidity of pretending that I want to die. Because I don't."

"Give your end some honor. Say it!" She bared her teeth like an animal.

"No. I've been a fool for too long. I won't ask for that which I don't want. It's only you Agonians who live with the illusions."

"It isn't an illusion. Death is the crown of life, its peak, and its culmination. It's what we all seek, some consciously, some unconsciously. You prove to me by your rejection of it that only we Agonians are strong enough to die without whimpering. I was right long ago. I am superior to all aliens."

"It takes more courage to live with your pain. You're half alien yourself."

"NO!" she shouted and drew her dagger. He heard two other weapons being drawn.

He saw the fear in her eyes and guessed. "Yes!" he shouted back. "Shara, the old one, as much as told you to kill yourself after you execute me. Agon cannot be pure without your death also. You know this and fear your own end. Admit it! You don't have to be a machine. You can free yourself from most of the pain and horror of it by admitting the truth to yourself. Choose life and then join me in combat against those who are here to watch us die. At least go down fighting against those who are anti-life."

Her attention switched from him to the horde of warriors down the hill, quickly over to her parents, and then back to him. The rage that flashed across her face shocked him.

"May Agon damn you! I'm not afraid. I'm a warrior and I'm going to die a warrior's death, the most honorable of all ends, the toss of the dagger. You could never die with that kind of honor, for you don't have the courage. You're an alien. Inferior. Inferior!"

"The alien part is true. But I place more value on life than death because only alive can one search out, find, and practice courage. In death there's nothing but an end to one's pain. Those who choose life are infinitely braver than the death-seekers. I can endure pain. You can't." Gods! Look at her face.

The anger there was awful to see. She screamed, "You alien piece of shit. I'm superior to you. No alien can do this!" She suddenly plunged the dagger into her lower stomach. With a mighty wrench of her hands, ripped the blade upwards, opening up her abdomen to the rib cage. The gore that pored out was horrible. The pain of it shocked her whole body, and she rose to her knees and hissed between clenched teeth, "No filthy, weak alien . . . can . . . do . . . that." She yanked the dagger out of her body and flung it away, as if to reinforce her disgust.

The enormous pain seemed to hit her again, deeper than before. Against her will, she tried to scream. But her earlier words must have depleted the air in her lungs; and her agony probably constricted her diaphragm, defeating any effort to inhale. She fell backward onto her back, her hands trying to hold together the terrible wound, trying to stop her insides from spilling out. Her body jerked with the pain, as if being kicked by an invisible attacker. Her mouth opened wide in silent protest; eyes blinked insane with anguish.

Darkcian was horrified. Her agony reached out to him like a physical blow. Even his mind sampled her mental torment. He extended both hands, palms toward her, as if to ward off what he was seeing. Then, without even stopping to analyze why, he drew his sword and chopped it downward to end her suffering.

He stood slowly, the bloody sword in his trembling hand, his cheeks wet with tears. He recoiled from the sight below him and said to no one in particular, "It's ugly. How can rationals worship death when it's so ugly." His voice rose in volume. "And to take your own life because of rage is grotesque!"

Then Darkcian felt it himself for the first time, a violent, sickening, powerful rage so great that it shook him to his soul. He lifted the sword above his head, turned to face the crowd below, and screamed out his anger.

"I HATE THIS PLANET AND ALL IT STANDS FOR. IF YOU DIDN'T INHERIT THE BLOOD-RAGE, YOU ALL WOULD STILL GET IT BY THE WAY YOU TREAT EACH OTHER. I CHOOSE NO OTHER RATIONAL FOR MY END. IF YOU WISH ME DEAD, COME AND DIE WITH YOUR CRAVINGS!"

A thousand swords and daggers flashed naked.

Gravestone and Patra leaped to their feet and ran to his side.

"We'll die together, my son," Patra declared, her voice heavy with an inner pain.

It seemed like minutes passed--though only a second had, really--before the sound of her voice registered in his brain, finally cutting through the red-hot anger that possessed him. Those soft-spoken words seemed to drain the rage from him. A cleansing wind had blown something dirty from his mind. He looked at her fondly and said, "You honor me far beyond what I deserve, teacher." He chanced a quick glance at Gravestone and added with a smile, "You, too, my adopted father."

The older warrior, though his face was streaked with tears of grief for Erendria, gave him back a crooked grin, saying, "It isn't often a warrior gets to die with those most dear to him. It's you who honors us, my son."

Darkcian turned toward the horde that was climbing to claim their lives and felt strangely good again. To resist death was the ultimate statement against it. And with these two at his side, honor . . . honor beyond anything he had ever hoped for. He almost choked on the sorrow that restricted his throat from that thought. He loved these two, he realized.

A shadow suddenly swept over the ground near the memory-lost one, and he looked up quickly. There was the glide-bird, his glide-bird, sweeping upwards into the pale sky and then to the right for another pass over the hill of battle.

Flee! he thought-spoke to the bird. You can't help me in this. I love you for just for the life you represent. Don't throw it away.

A thought-like concept floated back to him from its mind: Die for you . . . Honor . . . Love . . . Brothers . . . Not flee.

I'm like an off-world plague, he thought. Death comes to all I touch.

The warriors of Agon, both male and female, approached slowly and silently. Some were grinning with the coming joy of battle. Others were grim, the resolve of their purpose chiseled into their faces. From a few there was fear.

The first line of warriors stopped twenty feet from the clan of Kalt. Darkcian stepped forwards to engage, his heart in his throat. Here it ends, he thought.

STOP IT, came Night Mist's thoughts. IT'S OVER WHEN YOU ARE DEAD. NOT BEFORE. DOZENS OF POSSIBILITIES STILL EXIST. YOU NARROW THAT DOWN TO ONLY ONE WHEN YOU ACCEPT DEFEAT BEFORE ONE OF THEIR SWORDS TAKES YOUR HEAD. SHAME. REMEMBER THE TEACHINGS OF RASP.

Suddenly, there was a scream that sounded of rage and frustration from someone on the city-side of the hill. He chanced a quick glance down in that direction. It was the council leader, Shara, running up the hill, waving her arms.

"She's escaped! She's escaped!" the old woman cried. "Hearken to me. We must start a search immediately."

The warriors confronting the Kalts parted to let the council leader through. She rushed up quickly to stand in front of Darkcian, facing the horde, her back to him.

She held her arms up high to signal for their attention. She then yelled at the top of her voice, "The Wist demon has escaped!" Turning to point at him, she added, "My guess is that this traitor to the justice of Agon somehow slipped a dagger to the Wist when he met with her earlier today. Her skill with the weapon did the rest. Both of her guards lie dead." She whirled back to the crowd. "We must begin a search at once. The longer we delay, the farther away she will flee. Her danger to Agon cannot be underestimated."

She stepped around and pointed at the memory-lost one. "Kill this alien, NOW!" she screamed. "Purify our beloved Agon from . . . A-h-h-h, YOU!"

Go to part: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44