Kiai! & Mistress of Death

by Piers Anthony

  My left thumb was a sight. The flesh was purple and the nail was half torn off. That little demonstration with the thumbscrew...

  I hopped to the door and got my wrists up against the sharp door latch. I rubbed the rope violently across it, fraying the fibers. But I could not get full play.

  I brought the rope to my face. Now I could work on the bonds with my teeth.

  Still it was hard work. The cords were nylon: almost impossible to chew through. I tugged, trying to loosen the knot, but this was not a simple matter with the teeth. The job was interminable, especially since I expected to be interrupted at any moment. If I were being spied on visually, too bad for me.

  Unless Kan-Sen actually wanted me to go free. Could this be another part of his plan? He could have had me bound more securely. No! It was paranoid to think that everything I did was part of his design. He was simply overconfident. He must have been concentrating so hard on his conversion-scripting that he had overlooked the obvious. He had given me time to consider the alternatives alone, and forgotten that I might attempt the alternative of escape. Maybe he was taking a catnap, in preparation for the long haul.

  Maybe he was with Chiyako. After all, he was part Chinese, and she was an extremely attractive Chinese girl. He obviously admired integrity and fighting spirit and martial arts ability, and he took testosterone to prevent the drug from unsexing him. Ferociously I ripped at the cord, as though it were Kan-Sen's neck in my teeth. I tasted blood on my lip, but now I was making progress.

  Somewhat to my surprise, I made it. The cord fell away from my hands, and it did not take long to untie my feet. I donned the robe and jammed the bit of rope into a pocket. It might serve as a garrote.

  I peeked out the door—it was not even locked!—and discovered to my surprise that I was in a small, isolated building in the middle of the garden. Furthermore, it was daylight. I must have been unconscious for many hours. Well, I knew better than to trust unduly the innate sense of time, when drugs were involved. I had thought I had been out only seconds.

  It must be true, then, what Miko had told me about Kill-13: it had to be voluntary, or it could be fatal. Otherwise they could have given me a sniff of the vapor while I was out. Was that what had happened to Pedro's men, when the drug-laden smoke caught them at the base of the pyramid—involuntary addiction?

  Well, the garden was exactly where I wanted to be. No dogs to sniff me out, unless they had more in reserve, and plenty of hiding places. I could reconnoiter at my leisure, picking off demons one by one. If I could only find where Chiyako was being held.

  This time I would be more careful about electronic eyes, too. But I had no time to waste, because soon someone would check on me, and then the chase would be on again. I had to get a better weapon.

  But I was already in trouble. There was a demon in the garden, a demon holding a leash, and the leash was on a huge cat. A leopard. And the animal had already picked up my scent. The cat lunged toward me, though I was hidden in the brush, and the man ran after, hanging on. Then I saw the feline's eyes. They were almost blood red. The leopard was high on Kill-13! I knew I was done for. I just might overcome the cat, or the man, but not both. Not without a long-distance weapon. Especially since the cat would have uncanny reflexes and viciousness, and the demon man had a gun in his hand.

  Then another figure appeared. I thought it was another demon, and it was, but not a regular one. It was Ilunga. She intercepted the pair just as the demon touched the collar-fastening and loosed the leopard. The cat leaped forward, making a cry very like the human demon kill-screech, and the demon raised his gun.

  The black mistress threw a knife. Her aim was true; it struck the man in the center of the chest and he fell dead, pierced through the heart.

  But the leopard, at first after me, now pounced on this closer prey. Ilunga raised her bare hands to fend it off, but its flying weight bore her back and to the ground. I heard something hit something like a head striking a rock—and saw her lying still. The leopard started to maul her, but I jumped on it from behind and closed its muzzle with one hand. With the other I tried a strangle-hold on its furry throat, while my legs fastened around its body in a scissors hold. I applied desperate pressure, twisting its head, and in a moment the animal's neck broke.

  I let it drop. I meant to check the black mistress, who had so gallantly come to my rescue, but now other demons were present. I dived for the fallen demon, reaching for the gun he had carried. But two demons jumped me. One grabbed my arm, wrestling the gun away, while the other held a capsule under my nose and popped it with his thumb and forefinger.

  A thin vapor came out and spread in a little cloud. I tried to hold my breath, but distracted as I was by the fight I reacted too late. I had already taken a good sniff of it.

  The stuff passed into my nose with an immediate exhilarating effect. I thought at first it was another sleepgas—but it was not putting me down, it was pepping me up. Phenomenally! Suddenly I felt three times as strong as ever before. At the same time, the garden took on a lovely orange cast, and the foliage darkened toward black, as though the light had changed. As though I had donned orange sunglasses.

  Orange...

  Then I realized. I had just had my first sniff of Kill-13.

  CHAPTER 15

  KALI

  About twenty demons faced me, bearing assorted knives. A sight to haunt an ordinary person—but I was hardly ordinary. I was extraordinary. In fact, I was phenomenal. Invincible! Irresistible!

  I elbowed the demon behind me, striking with incredible power. He caved in. I caught him with my left hand and hurled him into the one still hanging onto my right. I reached out and caught their two greasy mops of hair, one in each hand. Their heads came together like two eggs. In a moment I dropped the messy shells, letting the yolks spill out on the turf.

  I stooped to the corpse with the knife in it—Ilunga's knife and twitched out the beautifully red edge. Now I was armed, not that I needed it, and could kill rapidly. Fortunately there were plenty of subjects to practice on.

  The two bits of cord from my hands and feet were weighting my pocket. I threw them away. Then I cast off the robe, too, as its slight encumbrance annoyed my superior perception and finely-tuned balance.

  Like lambs to the slaughter they came. But already the demons were changing, as the glorious drug spread through my system. They were not men, they were sub-men, goblins. Dwarfs with runty torsos and swelled beads. Trolls. Fit to be trampled, skewered, and tossed carelessly aside.

  While I—I was magnificent. God-like. I felt no pain, no doubt. I knew myself to be the ultimate.

  The goblins were stupid. They actually tried to attack me. Me! The first came at me with a knife, a fat-edged sword-like Chinese blade. I had a fine eye for weaponry, the best eye. His weapon was better than mine, longer, cleaner, so I tossed mine aside and took his. I simply blocked his descending arm, caught the wrist, turned rapidly outward and broke it. The knife dropped obligingly into my waiting hand. My coordination was fantastic! I then delivered a knee to his atrophied testicles, turned, and slashed the belly of the next goblin. Beautiful! I could do this all day!

  Actually, they weren't goblins anymore. They were animal-headed men. No matter. I jumped, cut, rolled on the ground, leaped up and down, huge long bounds, like those seen in martial arts motion pictures, except that mine were genuine, avoiding the many enemies that got in each other's way. All the time I slashed with my sword, and hit with my arms and legs, reveling in the feel of flesh parting and bones crunching.

  I picked a poignard from a dead demon-animal, and used it artistically in my left hand. A wolf-head charged me, long jaw slavering; I skewered him. A panther-head came next, and I made a puncture in his low forehead with my poignard that emerged from the back of his head.

  A buzzard-head sailed in, buttressed by a melee of snakes and toads, surrounding me. I jumped high, way over their heads, needing no trampoline; made a somersault in air, vaulted over the buzzard and de-feather
ed him from the rear. I caved in the temple of a rhinoceros head with the ball on the poignard's pommel; his nose-horn plowed into the dirt.

  But there were more and more of them, an inhuman sea. There appeared to be scratches on me, though I felt no pain. Even rats can overwhelm a man, if they attack in sufficient number with sufficient tenacity.

  I analyzed the situation as I fought. My mind was sharp. I was able to think with marvelous logic. These might be vermin attacking me, but they were very swift, armed vermin. Sheer luck and mass would give them an advantage. It was not that I feared dying, but retreat was for the moment the intelligent course.

  Except that there was nowhere to retreat. I was in the midst of the anthill, with biting ants on every side. I could not protect my flank. No matter how fiercely I beat back the ones in front, more were always at my rear, with their stingers.

  Now they were fish, piranha, and I was a shark. Still they were nibbling at me from all sides. It was only a matter of time, and not much time. It was ironic that one so glorious should fall to a horde of such inferiors, but there seemed to be no escape.

  Then something remarkable happened. The Goddess Kali came to my rescue! Shining black, her four arms bearing twin swords, she waded into the fray. One sword was a Japanese katana, the other a wavy Malayan kriss. Kali's eyes were a blazing scarlet, literally. Twin beams of red light projected from her eyes. Long tusks curved downward from her grotesque upper jaw. Foam drooled from her mouth where the tusks parted the lips. She had long, curved, black claws on hands and feet. Her naked torso carried quadruple breasts that swung pendulously from side to side as she fought. Goddess of death, indeed!

  She sliced off the hands and arms of several monsters before they realized what was happening. Blue and green blood spurted where she struck, making little fountains. True to her legend, she drank of the blood she shed.

  Now the enemy had to battle on two fronts. I reviewed my strategy accordingly, my awesome intelligence assessing the new situation instantly. I renewed my attack, bringing my sword-knife down on the head of the nearest creature. He had the visage of a baboon, with a blue snout and a painted posterior. His skull split asunder like a ripe watermelon. The delicate pink fruit and white seeds were laid open to view. I was tempted to taste of them myself, but had no time. I grabbed his bamboo spear and spitted the next, a bird-head, my point emerging from his back. He was a skewered chicken. Glory! Gory! Glory!

  Meanwhile Kali worked on the others. The demons should have been terrified at the sight of their goddess punishing them, but instead they foolishly fought. One struck at her with a hatchet; she severed his head, then caught the flying hatchet from the air and buried it in the forehead of another. Her progress was marked by severed objects sailing high—hands, noses, eyeballs, ears, testicles.

  There had been about twenty demons at the start of the battle. Now there were ten. These regrouped, four concentrating on me, six facing the black goddess. All were well-armed. I realized that though the odds had changed, the fight was not over. Excellent! I did find it mildly annoying that I should be rated as the lesser antagonist. By rights I should have had the six, she the four.

  Well, one had to make concessions to the vanity of a goddess.

  Somehow I slipped. There was iridescent blood all over the ground, making the footing treacherous, but I was disgusted at myself for the lapse. I was impregnable; how could I allow anything to interfere with my balance, my dignity? The four animals closed in, their great teeth grinding against each other in anticipation. Maybe they thought that if they consumed my flesh, it would give them my grandeur. I rolled to avoid them, sending the blood up in a scintillating spray. The light passing through it made rainbows. They could not score on me!

  But that gave me an idea. I scooped my free hand through the pooled gore, and swept it up into their faces. Splash! Splash! They were blinded by hot blood! But soon it ran low. I would have to kill some more, to renew the supply. I grappled within the nearest corpse, ripping out intestines, hurling them into the snouts of my enemies. More fun!

  Kali started throwing knives. Like lightning bolts they flew, clean and bright and deadly, striking demons on chests, arms, legs and heads. She was a veritable arsenal, her four arms moving in rapid rotation, one drawing while another hurled. Absolutely beautiful! The demons fell, five, seven, eight. Hey, no fair—the goddess had taken out a couple of mine!

  Somehow the last two put up more resistance. But at last I drew my blade across the femoral artery in the thigh of the last one, and watched the red fluid pump out while I held him down. As he drained, he died, and I was tired.

  I looked about. Kali was gone. Only her statue remained in the garden, bloodspattered but triumphant. She had earned her rest. All about us both were slain demons, their wounds gruesome in the bright sunlight. The corpse I had disemboweled was hardly recognizable as human. The green foliage of the garden was quiet. I was fatigued. I tried to stand, and could hardly make it. What had happened to my omnipotence?

  Suddenly I knew: the fit had worn off. I had been given one good sniff of Kill-13 and immediately proceeded to strenuous activity. This had burned off the fit far more rapidly than usual, and now I was entering the throes of withdrawal. I had minor wounds all over my body; I had lost blood. I had expended resources beyond any normal limit.

  My power of the fit would now be replaced by an equivalent weakness, as high went to low. I had tapped reserves that should have been sacrosanct. All I wanted to do now was collapse and sleep.

  I heard something. Dully I looked up—and saw Kan-Sen. He was holding Chiyako, still in her straitjacket and with her feet closely hobbled. She was helpless. The bit was back in her mouth, the straps tied behind to her bound hands, pulling her head back cruelly to expose her neck. She looked disheveled and miserable. "What a demon you have made!" Kan-Sen said. "I would never have believed it, but I see that alone you have slain my entire complement. I am so glad you have joined us!"

  "You may have dosed me, but I'm not with you," I said tiredly. "And I didn't overcome your minions alone. Kali helped me."

  His eyes flicked to the statue. "Kali helped you? My friend, you suffered royal visions indeed. That sometimes happens during the first fit."

  Perhaps he was right. It was ridiculous to think that a statue could have come to life, and the living Kali had vanished as my fit expired. Still, how could I have killed all twenty demons, alone? Some were beheaded, others dismembered or disemboweled.

  "Well, I'm over the fit now," I said.

  "You can never be truly over it," he said. "One dose is addictive."

  "Or so you would like me to believe," I said.

  "Your true nature comes out, and yours is violent, my friend. See how you have killed! You are a demon at heart, a killer; you revel in bloodshed."

  I lacked the strength to argue with him. I certainly didn't revel in that gore now.

  "Join me, and you will have all the drug you crave. My storeroom is full. You do crave it, don't you?"

  I craved it. "Go to hell," I said. He would not be talking with me like this if he really believed I was addicted.

  "I cannot take time to reason with you, unfortunately," he said. "I have contacts to make, supplies to deliver—and you have depleted my immediately available personnel. Join me, or this girl dies!" He drew forth a knife and brought it to Chiyako's throat. Bound as she was, she could not resist him.

  So it had come at last to the naked choice, all finesse aside. Her life for my cooperation. He had lied about the oneshot addiction, and about the fatality of an involuntary dose, but sure as hell I would succumb if I yielded now.

  I knew he would do it. I had to give in.

  "Never!" Chiyako cried around the bit, trying to hobble away from him. "We both shall die first!" Or attempted words to that effect.

  My mouth was open, for I had been about to agree reluctantly to Kan-Sen's terms. But when Chiyako spoke, my hand went automatically to my knife. I had to protect her!

&nbs
p; I had no knife. I had dropped it somewhere in my tiredness as the last demon died. In any event, I was too weak to attack, while Kan-Sen remained fresh. I had no hope of defeating him in combat unless I took another sniff of Kill-13. Which was the same as joining him. So I had lost, and knew it.

  But he mistook my move. "No one defies me twice!" he cried. Slowly he brought Chiyako to him, and slowly he forced the blade toward her throat.

  "No!" I cried, lurching up. I meant "No—don't kill her; I will join you!" But again he misunderstood.

  "Then she dies." And carefully he slit her throat.

  In shock I stood there, watching the blood of my love pour out, staining the straitjacket, coursing down her dress to the ground. Her head turned, her eyes caught mine for a fleeting instant an instant of unutterable love and pain—and then she fell. My horror turned to rage. Adrenalin poured into my system, reviving it. Had he spared Chiyako, I would have had no power to resist him, though he slew me, but now some deeply buried reservoir was tapped. Suddenly I had the hysterical strength to do what had to be done.

  I charged Kan-Sen. But he was ready for me, the bloody knife flipping back over his shoulder, then downward, through the air in an expert throw. It struck me in the shoulder, penetrating deeply. But I was not to be stopped. I plucked it out with one hand and moved in to stab him with it.

  He was high on Kill-13; his reflexes were faster than mine. His hand shot out and clubbed mine, sending the knife flying away. I bulled into him like a punch-drunk boxer, but he was already diving for the knife. We fell together, on top of Chiyako's warm body. My eye met her eye again, inches away, but hers was blind. In that moment of my distraction, Kan-Sen came up with the knife. He stood, hauling me up with him.

  I grabbed his wrist to stop his thrust, while with my other hand I tried to hit or strangle him. But my shoulder wound got in the way; my arm simply would not respond properly. He bore me back, bringing the knife down.