Virtue Inverted

by Piers Anthony

  “I will do it. But you won't look nearly so cute. I don't know if I can live with that.”

  “If you don't stop teasing me, I'll kiss you so hard you'll be sorry.”

  “Not if I kiss you first.” She did so, entirely unmanning him.

  She undid his ponytail, letting his hair fall past his shoulders. Then she took her sharp knife that somehow never showed on her body, and carefully cut his locks off close to his scalp. He stood still and suffered, knowing he would look weird.

  When the ordeal was done, he peered into the pond. The reflection showed an almost bald-headed boy. What had he expected?

  “Ugh,” she agreed. “Maybe you'll cause him to laugh to death.”

  “Will you stop?” he begged.

  “Never.” She kissed him again, cutely grimacing. “Fortunately I am attracted to more than your hair. Now about the other.”

  For a moment he was blank. “What other?”

  “The berserker bite. That would do it.”

  Benny reviewed what little he knew of berserkers. Sometimes a man went crazy and started wildly attacking everything within range, seeming insensitive to pain or caution. His reactions were preternaturally swift; no one could stand against him, even if he had not been a strong warrior. No one knew what caused it, or how to stop it. All others could do was stay out of the berserker's way until he either killed himself by falling off a cliff or into a lake, or lost consciousness. If he survived, he was usually okay next day, with no memory of the occasion.

  Now a bit of the rationality he had experienced when he smoked the pipe returned to him, and he made sense of the words. “You can cause it with a bite?”

  “I did not know it, but once he mentioned it I knew that I could. It would be an extension of the strength bite. I could make you a berserker, for perhaps an hour. Then I think you would be very tired, because it is the resources of your own body that the frenzy draws on.”

  “And if I held a weapon?”

  “You would be unmatchable, and a danger to all around you. I would have to hide until it wore off.”

  “And if I faced Beranger?”

  “You would surely kill him.”

  Benny pondered that. “No.”

  “No?”

  “It would not be a fair combat. That is not for me.”

  “But Benny, if you give him a fair chance, that man will kill you. My earlier skrying with the crystal ball is slowly coming clear about that.”

  “I know it. But if I do not fight fair, I am not worthy of my weapons. Or of you.”

  “Your conscience leads you to death!”

  Benny felt awful. “I know it. I'm sorry.”

  “And I love you for it. You can't be corrupted by the need to survive or greed for power, which is what this is. That is why Cycleze tried to help you. This is why I can support you, though I abhor violence.” Now her eyes overflowed. “But oh, it is hard!”

  It occurred to Benny that he could use her emotional healing bite. But he didn't want to ease this crisis of conscience, he wanted to embrace it, difficult as it was to do, and come to the right decision. “It is hard,” he agreed.

  Now they set out in pursuit of Beranger. The man was injured; there was a sometimes obscure trail of blood. But Benny knew he had resources and would be recovered before long. He had to catch him before that was the case. The berserker ploy seemed unfair, but taking on the man because of his giant killing horror seemed fair. His lingering rationality from the pipe indicated that.

  They did not catch up that day. They made camp, ate from their supplies, and slept under a tree. Virtue remained in her human form and clasped him clothed; she wanted to have all she could of him before he got into suicidal combat. He loved that, though he hated the prospect of dying.

  In the morning they resumed the pursuit, and it wasn't long before they caught up. “Well, now.” It was Beranger, standing across a glade from them. Behind him was a solid building. He must have gone there for some reason. There was no sign of any injury; he must have bound it up once he had time, or found a magic healing potion. “Who the hell are you, bald stranger?”

  Benny realized that he had a chance to be anonymous; his shaved head changed his appearance that much. Maybe that was why it was supposed to save his life. But he rejected it. He would live and die as himself. “I am Benny.”

  “Ah. I know you now.” He scowled. “Remember what I told you, kid?”

  “That you would kill me if we met again,” Benny said.

  Beranger glanced past him. “I see you brought your vampire whore along. That should be fun, after you're gone.”

  He was trying to incite Benny, to make him careless. He was succeeding. “I do have my sword now.”

  “Good. I'd hate to cut down an unarmed man.”

  He clearly had no fear of Benny's blade. “You cut down the giants.”

  “They weren't men.”

  “True,” Benny said grimly. “Some were women. Some were children.”

  Beranger shrugged. “It isn't as if I haven't taken out women and children before.”

  And he wasn't even ashamed of it. Cycleze was right; the man had been corrupted. “You're an animal.”

  “Might as well tell you my side of it, before I dispose of you and despoil your pretty vamp. I knew Cycleze was going to try to kill me, so I killed him first. Fair is fair.”

  What could Benny say to that? The man was correct on that limited score. “What about the children?”

  “I had to get the Alsbury townsmen worked up. That was the fastest way to do it.”

  “Those children were innocent!”

  “Too bad for them. I had a job to do.”

  “What job could ever justify that?”

  “Avenging my brother being killed by those orcs.”

  “Those orcs were innocent too,” Benny said hotly. “They didn't mean to kill your brother. It was an accident.”

  “That's a lie. If I hadn't stopped the orcs, they would have gone on to kill others.”

  Which was exactly why Benny had to stop Beranger, ironically. But the man wasn't listening. “So you figure it's okay to murder others you know are innocent, just for the hell of it?”

  “Oh, not entirely. There's money to be made from it.”

  “Money!”

  “You saw how we got gold for taking out the zombies and vampires. We got bounties for others, like giants and trolls. Sure, some of them were innocent, at least in the sense that they weren't killing men right then, but Cycleze would cast spells to drive them insane. Then they would attack villages, getting us more work.”

  As Cycleze had said, he was no saint either. Benny was disgusted anew. “Well, it has to stop.”

  “Yeah, I guess it's time.”

  Benny had been afraid for this moment, but now that he was in it, he found that he had no fear, just determination. He did have to kill this man gone rogue. “Protect yourself.”

  He advanced on Beranger, sword lifted. The man didn't even raise his own blade. “Let's see what you got, kid. You must have practiced in the interim.”

  Benny showed him. He swung, aiming at the man's neck.

  And suddenly his sword was blocked. Beranger had countered him without seeming effort, his motion so swift and sure that Benny had hardly seen it. However corrupt his spirit might be, his body was a finely honed instrument for combat.

  Benny tried again and was blocked again. He was hopelessly outclassed, physically.

  “My turn,” Beranger said. “Consider this a warning. I'm going to make you ugly like me. Your ludicrous bald pate gave me the idea.”

  Benny never even saw the blade coming at him, but he felt it slice across his face. He heard Virtue scream piercingly. Then he was falling in a haze of blood and pain, knowing he was done for.

  Virtue was on him, then, frantically trying to mop up blood, but there was too much of it. She wasn't stanching the flow, she was merely getting it on her face and hands and body. Her lovely long hair was now a mass of
gore.

  Then she rose into the air, literally. Beranger was hauling her up by her collar. “Now why'd you have to get all messed up like that?” he demanded. “When I just got clean? You make it too messy to mess with you.” He dropped her and stomped away.

  Benny's consciousness mercifully faded out.

  Chapter 13

  Benny woke up in a monastery-like building. He realized it was the one they had seen before; the fight with Beranger had occurred outside it.

  He also realized that his head was on Virtue's lap, cushioned by her warm body. She had her hand on his forehead, and he felt no pain.

  “I'm awake,” he said. Or tried to; somehow his mouth did not work right, and it came out “Aaahm awaay.”

  “Do not try to talk,” she told him. “We will try to heal you, but that will take time.”

  “Time?” Aaahm, the same as before.

  “I dislike this intensely, but I think you need to know. Look in the mirror.” Her hand brought a small round mirror into sight.

  Benny looked. He saw his upper face, normal apart from the lack of framing hair. But below his nose was a great gash like that of a walking skeleton, with a few odd teeth projecting. “Whaaah?”

  “He cut out your mouth, crosswise,” she said. “Your cheeks, teeth, part of your tongue. Your face is like his, only your wound is horizontal.”

  Benny stared at the gross image, realizing that it was true. He couldn't talk because he had no mouth. Or rather, he had way too much mouth, crossing his face from side to side, incapable of closing properly.

  “He made you ugly like him,” she said. “It was your baldness that decided him. That is what saved your life. You have no hair to conceal the horror of your face.”

  He looked at her lovely face beside the mirror. “Oooo?”

  “I still love you, Benny,” she said. “Never doubt that. But you'll never be cute again. He has seen to that.”

  Now he remembered. Beranger had said to consider it a warning. Instead of killing him, he had maimed him for life. If they ever met again, then would be the killing.

  And what about Virtue herself? “Oooo?” he repeated.

  “I was so splattered in your blood that he couldn't touch me that way without getting soiled himself,” she said. “So he gave it up as a bad job. That saved me from rape and probably death. I am unharmed, physically.”

  That was a relief.

  “We did what we could to salvage your life before you bled to death,” she continued. “We stanched the flow, but you will remain weak until you have had time to renew your blood. We applied healing magic, but could not immediately repair the damage to your mouth. I am sorry, but you will have to be fed liquids with a spoon for some time. The damage is simply too great.”

  “Weeeee?” Who were the “we” she referred to?

  “This is a kind of monastery. The people here are simple hermits and monks who are healers. Beranger came to them to heal the wound in his side; that is why he was here. But your case is worse. They came out immediately to help you and bring you inside, and once you were stable I stripped and washed myself and my dress, and hung it out to dry in the sun.” She paused, blushing. “It seemed such a shame to waste your precious spilled blood, so I did lick off your clothing first. It was very tasty, but I hope never to eat your blood again.”

  “Ooaaaay,” he said reassuringly. If anyone was to eat his blood, he wanted it to be her.

  “Then I came to hold you, abating your pain so you could sleep and heal. You need much rest and sleep, for now.”

  An obscure detail lingered in his mind. She had washed her dress, and hung it in the sun to dry. Then come to hold him.

  She was holding him now, with no dress on. Nothing on. Just her lustrous hair to help cover her slightly. Her lap was bare, and one breast was cushioning the side of his head. No wonder he felt no pain.

  He tried to smile, but the effort only aggravated the wound that was his mouth.

  “Now you must sleep some more,” she said. She held his head close, and the softness of her breast radiated its own aura of healing.

  He slept, mentally smiling despite his injury.

  When he woke again, Virtue was clothed, so he knew that some time had passed. He felt stronger, if not actually spry. But something was bothering him.

  “Yes, we have been feeding you mead and cider,” Virtue said. “Pouring in a few drops at a time. You have taken in a fair amount of liquid, and it does not convert automatically to blood. You will need to pass on the surplus from your digestion. I will help you if you wish, but I think you would prefer to do it by yourself.”

  Definitely. She helped him climb laboriously to his feet. He got his balance and walked slowly to the door and outside, where he urinated into a convenient bush.

  That was enough exercise for the moment. He lay down on the mat and allowed her to hold his head close again, ushering him delightfully into sleep.

  The next few days saw him recover nicely, as he got plenty of rest, and Virtue's healing touch restored his body except for his gash of a mouth. The hermit monks brought magic poultices for him to wear outside and inside that mouth, and they rapidly restored lost flesh and some teeth. But it was apparent that he would always have a mouth to make a frog jealous, and his chewing would be limited.

  Still, it was better than being dead. Especially since Virtue stood constantly by him, making it clear to all that she was his woman and loved him dearly. He hardly needed to impress any other woman.

  He came to know the hermit monks of the monastery. They were humans, orcs, and other sentient beings, male and female, who might have been enemies in the outside world but were friends here. The main ones were miniature humans he thought of as elves, except that they had vestigial wings. Their skin color depended on their roles at the monastery: green for horticulture, herbs and natural healing; red for physician, medical; blue/white for guarding the sick, except that Virtue was doing that for Benny. They wore red caps and simple red loincloths, and called themselves helpers.

  Benny realized that the rainbow gnomes on the fresco in the Fox Den were based on these creatures. This gave him a broadened appreciation of the species. They were not mere artist's conceptions; they were real, doing good work.

  He practiced diligently, and learned to talk with reasonable facility, though sometimes he had to hold his hands to his mouth to shape it into certain sounds. It looked awkward, and was slow, but it worked.

  An old male helper came to talk with him, as he sat beside Virtue. The helper was purple, subtly denoting divine royalty. His wings were as white as snow, and instead of wearing a red cap and loincloth he wore a gold cloth. This was the one Benny took to be the eldest monk, who called himself Search. “I am searching for enlightenment, if not salvation,” he said candidly. “I believe I am finding it here, dedicating my life to humble service to others. We do what we can for anyone who asks for help.”

  “That's why you healed Beranger,” Benny said carefully, making sure the words came out correctly.

  “Yes. He was injured, and we were able to make him almost well again, physically.”

  “But he has slaughtered many innocent creatures and people, even children.”

  “We do not ask a person's history. That is not our business. We care only that a person needs our help, and we give that freely, asking in return that they do us no harm while here. We do not see ourselves as superior to the other sapient races, only different; we are servants, not masters.”

  “That's why you took in the two of us,” Benny said. “A severely injured man and a vampire.”

  “A good man, as we understand it. And a good vampire.” He quirked a smile. “A very pretty one.”

  Virtue smiled back. “Thank you.”

  Benny had seen the monks glancing at Virtue, not with desire but with appreciation, for she seemed to brighten the region where she stood. She was probably the prettiest woman ever to grace the monastery. He understood perfectly. “Her character is even
lovelier than her body.”

  “So we gather,” Search said. “You will do as you choose, of course, but we would be quite satisfied to have both of you remain here, and become helpers, if you choose. There is goodness in you.”

  “I think we will be going home, once we complete our mission,” Benny said. “But we do appreciate the offer, and know that residence here would be far from the worst we could do. Whether you would want us, if you knew our histories, is another matter.”

  “We make it a point not to pry, but we are curious, if you care to tell us.”

  So Benny told him how he had traveled with the two rough men, then interceded to save Virtue's life, and finally tried unsuccessfully to stop Beranger from doing more harm. Virtue filled in her story of her life with the coven. “You would have liked the other vampires,” she said. “They tried to do good, much as you are trying. But fate was not kind to them.”

  “Perhaps they would have succeeded better if they had joined the Protector, as we have,” Search said.

  “I would like to know more of this being,” Virtue said, and Benny was curious too.

  “You have asked, and I am glad to tell. The Protector is our God, who governs and benefits all, especially those who devote themselves to him.”

  “All?” Benny asked skeptically. “Even children?”

  “Especially children.”

  “I'm sorry, but I just can't believe in a deity that would allow the children at Alsbury, or the innocent orcs, vampires, and giants, to be brutally killed,” Benny said hotly. “If he is real, he should protect them from such abuse.”

  “Ah, but it is not so simple,” Search said. “I too wondered at that, as I have seen many injustices in this world, but I have learned that managing the larger frame is no easy chore, even for one with phenomenal powers of observation and action. Sometimes compromise is necessary, unfortunate as it may seem to others. The Protector does watch over all, but he also desires the several species to watch over each other and do right by each other. He gives them as much freedom to fulfill themselves as possible, but that also increases the chances of their drifting from the preferred path. When they go astray he mourns, but the alternative would be to hold them to too tight a leash and not allow them to be all that they can be. Freedom and responsibility go hand in hand. It is sad that no living thing is truly innocent, but at least real good will never truly die. When this necessary compromise leads to mischief, as it so often does, and the bodies of children and others are destroyed, they do live on with the Protector. So the children you mourn are not truly dead, they merely have been relegated to another realm, the spiritual one.”