Lord Tyger (Grandmaster Series)

by Philip José Farmer

  The only adults left in the village had been Tibaso the chief, Wuwufa the spirit-talker, old man Gubado, and three women taking care of the younger children. The other women and the older children had been working in the fields. Two men had been left as guards, one on the platform above the gate of the wall across the neck of the peninsula, and another man on the platform of the western gate.

  Ras had thought that if there was a Sharrikt war party watching from the jungle, it could easily rescue the king. But the Wantso had not really been careless. There had been little chance that the original war party would have tried anything. And it would have taken some days for the invaders to return to the land of the Sharrikt, organize a large party, and return to the area of the village.

  Ras, watching the scouts leave, had had an idea so daring that he had had to resist it. Why not enter now, through the northern gate, and uncage the king? By the time the western gate guard got down off his platform--if he had the courage to face the ghost--Ras would have the cage door untied. He would hand the king a spear and a knife, and they would kill the guard if he dared attack. Fat Tibaso and old Wuwufa would be no obstacles. Ras and the king could take one of the dugouts beached on the mud outside the village to get across the river and into the jungle. Gilluk might not want to go north with Ras, whose white skin would shock him because of the ghostly implications, but expediency would doubtless override this. If it didn't then Gilluk was stupid and probably not worth the effort by Ras.

  On the other hand, Ras had liked the idea of stealing in at night, overcoming the guard, and whisking the king out. The biggest difficulty with this had been that entrance and exit would have to be via the branch over the spirit-talker's hut and the hut itself. If there was much noise, if anyone gave the alarm too soon, the entire population would be popping out of the huts. And while Ras trusted his speed and agility in getting away, he was uncertain of the king's. And if the first attempt failed, a second would have little chance. The guards around the king would be increased. Moreover, the gate guards were sure to see Ras as soon as he ventured out into the light of the fire by the cage.

  "I'll do it now!" Ras had told himself. He had not known why he had decided that this was the time; he had just known that it was.

  He had climbed down the tree and dodged behind other trees and bushes until he had stood outside the northern gate. It had been closed but not secured by the big timber bolt on the inside. It had squealed as he had swung it wide enough to slip between it and the wall sidewise. The bull-roarer, the harp, and Wuwufa's chanting had drowned the noise of the wooden hinges. Past the gate, he had run to Wuwufa's hut, under which he had crouched for a moment. There had been no outcry. Chufiya, the western gate guard, had had his back turned at the moment. Sazangu, the boy on guard on the wall at the eastern edge of the fields, had been drinking from a gourd.

  Ras's heart had thudded like a Wantso stomping the hard earth during a dance. He had shaken, but he had taken a firm grip on his spear, breathed deeply, stepped out from under the house, and walked into the center of the village in the midafternoon sun as if he had lived there all his life. He had been twenty yards from the cage before anyone saw him.

  Wuwufa had stopped twirling and chanting. The wooden bull-roarer at the end of the string had gone on whirling over his head, because the one arm holding the string had been rigid. The bull-roarer had slowed down; the noise of the air rushing through the holes in it had died to a whistling. The children had screamed and fled in all directions except toward Ras. Tibaso had heaved himself up from his chair, dropping his wooden cup and splashing beer onto the dust. He had yelled and then tried to get under his chair. Chufiya, the western gate guard, had howled. Wide-eyed, Gilluk had gripped the bars of his cage and shaken.

  Wuwufa had come out of his rigidity to fall to the ground, where he had begun to roll back and forth, yipping like a wounded jackal. Ras had strode by him but had not been able to resist stopping long enough to give Tibaso's huge rump a little kick. Tibaso, his head stuck under the chair, had squalled and tried to crawl even farther under.

  Ras had laughed and gone to the cage, where he had slashed at the antelope-hide rope with his knife. In Wantso, he had said, "Come on out, Gilluk! We have to get away fast!"

  If Gilluk had understood him, he had given no indication of doing so. He had been gray beneath the deep-brown pigment, and his teeth had chattered. He had not resisted when Ras had taken him by the hand and pulled him from the cage. He had acted as if he were being taken away by Death Himself.

  "I am not a ghost. I am the son of God," Ras had said. Gilluk had groaned and continued to act as if his soul had left him.

  "Do you understand Wantso?" Ras had said, and then, "Never mind."

  He had decided not to give Gilluk a weapon. When Gilluk came out of his shock, he might attack his rescuer.

  Ras, pushing Gilluk ahead of him, had walked toward the western gate. Chufiya, the chief's half-wit son, his eyes shut, had been standing on the platform and jabbing his spear in all directions while mumbling something. Ras and Gilluk had passed through the gate under him, and still he had blindly jabbed the spear.

  There had been no pursuit. Gilluk had sat in the front of the dugout while Ras had paddled. By then, Ras had decided that he would go up the river for several miles before taking to the jungle, instead of crossing the river and plunging immediately into the cover of the green. It would be some time before the scouting party returned, and no one now in the village was going to try to track them down.

  As they had left the dugout and walked toward the place where the king was to be kept, Ras had laughed. He had been happy. The whole event had seemed so delicious, now that the danger was over. He had felt like rolling on the ground and laughing for hours. He had danced a few steps. The Sharrikt king had flinched and quivered every time Ras had come near.

  And so Ras had brought the king to his prison for the next six months. It had been a bamboo cage that Ras had originally built as a leopard trap. It had been in the forest near the edge of the cliffs below which the country of the Wantso began. Gilluk had crawled into it at Ras's gesture, and Ras had secured the door. Gilluk, being a man, would have been able to unlock himself in a few minutes, but Ras had arranged a device that would have shot an arrow into Gilluk if he had lifted the door. Moreover, if Gilluk had lain down to avoid the arrow, he would have had to push the heavy door out at an angle that would have required the muscles of a very strong man. At the same time, while the door was being opened, a mechanism would lower another, which had been fitted with sharpened bamboo stakes on its lower edges. These would come down on the man lying on the floor as he lifted the outer gate. When the outer gate reached a 45-degree angle, the arrow, which had been very close, would be released, and the mechanism would release the inner gate so that it would fall upon the man. Ras had been proud of the device and had had moments when he had wished that Gilluk would try to escape, so that he could see how well the mechanism worked.

  He had explained to Gilluk what would happen. Gilluk had not seemed to understand at first, but the second time around, he had nodded his head and said something in Wantso. It certainly had not been quite the Wantso Ras knew, which difference was explained when the king later told him that he spoke only a little of the language, which he had learned from the slaves of the Sharrikt. The slaves had been descended from Wantso captives taken many generations before, and these slaves spoke a language that deviated from that used by the villagers Ras knew.

  Ras had cooked some monkey meat, very rare, and offered it to Gilluk, who had refused it. Ras had not known whether monkey meat was tabu or if Gilluk had been afraid to eat a ghost's food. He had shrugged and left it to Gilluk to decide when--if ever--he would eat.

  In the morning, Ras had started to learn the Sharrikt language. Gilluk had refused to talk until Ras told him that he would be released if he co-operated but would die if he did not. The king had decided to start talking at once. By noon, he had been eating. Ras let him o
ut of the cage, at spearpoint, so that he would not continue to foul it with excrement.

  The next evening, Ras had returned to the village. He had wanted to find out what kind of storm his passage through had left behind. He had climbed to a perch on the branch above Wuwufa's hut and, lying on it, had watched and listened. The entire adult male population, except for the guards, had been around a big fire in front of the chief's chair.

  Bigagi, spear in hand, had been making a speech.

  "This ghost is no ghost!"

  "Ahh!" the men had said. "This ghost is no ghost?"

  "This ghost is no ghost," Bigagi had said. "He comes from the Land of the Ghosts."

  "He comes from the Land of the Ghosts?"

  Bigagi had said, "He comes from the Land of the Ghosts. But this ghost is no ghost!"

  "This ghost is no ghost!"

  Bigagi had strode back and forth and brandished his spear at the darkness outside the walls.

  "This ghost is no ghost. He is no ghost. He is the son of a female ape and of a tall spirit."

  "He is the son of a female ape and of a tall spirit?" the crowd had chanted.

  "He is the son of a female ape and of a tall spirit!" Bigagi had said. "The ghost himself told me so!"

  "The ghost himself told you so?"

  "The ghost who is no ghost told me so himself. That was when I was young, before I became a man. Wilida and Sutino and Fuwitha and Pathapi and I played with the ghost when he was a child. We played with him in the bushes on the bank of the river!"

  "Ahh!" the men had breathed.

  "Now Sutino is dead and is a ghost. You cannot ask him unless Wuwufa asks for us. But if you do not believe me, ask Wilida or those still alive."

  "Ask Wilida or those still alive?" the men had said.

  "They will tell you that I do not lie!"

  "This ghost is named Lazazi Taigaidi!"

  "The ghost is named Lazazi Taigaidi!"

  "This ghost is no ghost!"

  "This ghost is no ghost!"

  "This ghost bleeds!"

  "Ahh! This ghost bleeds!"

  "I have seen him bleed! His blood is red!"

  "His blood is red! Ahh!"

  "Ghost blood is white! Ghost blood is white!"

  "Ghost blood is white!"

  "The ghost bleeds red blood!"

  "This ghost bleeds red blood!"

  "This ghost is no ghost! This ghost is the son of a female ape and of a tall spirit!"

  Before the men could repeat, Tibaso, the chief, had interrupted. "Is not the son of a tall spirit a ghost?"

  Bigagi had shouted, "This ghost can die! Thus, he is not a ghost!"

  "This ghost can die?"

  "Ahh!" Tibaso had said. "But this ghost lives in the Land of the Ghosts. Would a living man dare live in the Land of the Ghosts?"

  Bigagi had shouted, "Shabagu, our great ancestor, led us into this land!"

  "Shabagu, our great ancestor, led us into this land!"

  "Shabagu was the son of a tall spirit," Bigagi had said. "His mother was Zudufa, a Wantso woman."

  "Shabagu was the son of a tall spirit. His mother was Zudufa, a Wantso woman!"

  Bigagi had yelled, "Shabagu died!"

  "Ahh! Shabagu died! He did indeed die!"

  "Lazazi Taigaidi is the son of a tall spirit! Shabagu was the son of a tall spirit! Shabagu died! Lazazi Taigaidi can die!"

  "Ahh! He can die! He can die!"

  The men had clashed their spears and shouted, over and over, "He can die!"

  Wuwufa had sprung up from his squat and begun to dance. He had shaken a rod on the end of which were three gourds containing pebbles.

  "He can die!" he had groaned. "He can die! The Ghost-Boy can die!"

  The others had stood up and begun to dance while they had chanted, "He can die!"

  Tibaso had heaved himself up from his chair and banged the end of his wand on the earth platform. The men had stopped dancing.

  "Who, then, will kill the ghost?"

  Bigagi had said, "This ghost is no ghost! I will kill the son of a female ape and of a tall spirit! I, Bigagi, with my father's spear!"

  The spear thrown by Ras had thudded a few seconds later into the earth before Bigagi. Its shaft had quivered. The men had fallen silent; they had looked at each other and around them, and their eyes had rolled. At that moment, Ras had given the shrill, ululating cry that Yusufu had taught him. The men had looked up and, by the light of the fire, had seen Ras's white figure on the branch above Wuwufa's hut.

  They had shouted and screamed and knocked each other over in their bolt for their houses. Only Wuwufa had remained outside. The old man had lain on the ground, his eyes wide open, his mouth working, saliva spewing from his lips, his body jerking.

  Ras had given the cry again and left.

  On the next visit, he had found that Bigagi had appropriated his spear. Bigagi had now claimed that Lazazi Taigaidi could be killed with his own spear and that he, Bigagi, would do it.

  Ras had gone into the village late that night and taken the spear from Bigagi's side. As he had circled in back of the outer circle of houses to return to the sacred tree, he had stopped. Why not go into Wilida's house instead?

  The more he had thought of it, the more excited he had become. He had walked back to her house, which had been in the inner circle, in front of the house closest to the western gate. As he had done, at Bigagi's, he had gently pulled out one side of the bamboo matting let down at night to form a door. It had been tied with cords at the bottom ends to two small posts. He had slipped sidewise between the end of the matting and the doorframe into the hut. He had waited there until his eyes had adjusted to the lesser light within. The hut had been split into two rooms by a bamboo wall not quite six feet high. Wilida's father and mother had slept in the inner room. Wilida and her brother, seven years old, had been sleeping on mats against opposite walls of the front room.

  Ras had lain down beside her and whispered her name in her ear. On hearing her moan softly, he had put his hand over her mouth. She had become fully awake then and had tried to get up, but he had pushed her head back down and whispered savagely to her. She had quit struggling, although she had been quivering. His other hand, on her breast, had felt her heart violently squeezing out the juice of terror.

  "I will not harm you, Wilida," he had said. "If you will not cry out, I will take my hand off."

  She had nodded, and he had removed his hand. She had said, softly, "O Ras, what do you want?"

  "I want you, Wilida! I have ached for you for a long time. Haven't you ached for me?"

  She had kissed him, but, before he could kiss her back, she had said, "Wait!"

  She had risen and gone across the room, where she had fiddled around some pots, the clinking of which had made him nervous. She had returned, saying, "I have taken the potion that will keep me from conceiving."

  "Why not bear my child?" he had said.

  "Because they would know that it was the ghost's child, and they would throw it to the crocodiles and throw me into the fire."

  An hour later, Wilida's brother had sat up and begun to cry. It was no wonder, Ras had thought, what with all the noise they had been making.

  Wilida's mother had called out, and Wilida had answered, saying that she would comfort the child, who must have had a bad dream. Ras had rolled over to be hidden by her body. When she had left his side to go to her brother, she had exposed him, but he had lain still, hoping that Thizabi would not notice the white lump on the floor in the darkness.

  Wilida had soothed her brother, and presently he had been sleeping again. She had urged Ras to leave then because it had been too dangerous for both of them. She had promised that she would meet him again, but outside the village, the first chance she got.

  Then she had said, "I have heard the women talk. They think that Seliza has been meeting you out in the bush! Is that true?"

  Ras was skillful in lying, since he had found it more convenient to do so when he wished to escape pun
ishment from his parents.

  "Ah, I would not touch Seliza if I ached so much that this thing were longer than my spear. I ache only for thee, Wilida!"

  He had left the village an hour before dawn, just as a cry had risen from Bigagi's hut. The houses vomited people, who gathered around Bigagi. He had awakened, he had said, and had noticed at once that the Ghost-Boy's spear had been gone. Who had taken it?

  Bigagi had no sooner asked the question than the spear had flown from the darkness into the center of the village, near the earthen platform, and been followed by the ululating cry. Within ten seconds, everybody, including Bigagi, had been back in the houses.

  Ras had gone down the tree and back to the place where Gilluk had been caged. Gilluk had begun to get over his fear. He had taught Ras his language, so Ras had been able to carry on a fluent conversation on a simple level within twenty days. Gilluk had taken advantage of his captor's knowledge of Sharrikt to complain about being cramped. Ras had built a larger cage.

  A month later, Gilluk had complained again. Ras erected a cage that had really been a house, twenty feet by twenty feet by ten feet. It had had a thatched roof and mats that could be unrolled to form walls.

  Gilluk had complained that his food was not cooked enough. Thereafter, Ras had served him his meat well done.

  Gilluk had complained that he was suffering because he had no women. At home, he had three wives, each of whom he must nightly satisfy, except, of course, during the forbidden menstrual periods. Or else...

  "Or else what?" Ras had said.

  "Or else I will be thought failing, and a weakening king means a weakening kingdom. And so I would be fed to our god, the crocodile Baastmaast."

  "There is nothing I can do about getting you women," Ras had said. "You will have to make love to your hand."

  "A king does not do that," Gilluk had said. "Only little boys."

  "Indeed?" Ras had said. "That may be true for the Sharrikt. But I have never seen why I should suffer, although my parents tell me I must. In some ways, you remind me of my parents. But tell me more of your curious customs."