Jango

by William Nicholson

  When the light of dawn streamed in through the rest hut's doorway, Echo Kittle woke. Only then did she discover that she was not alone. A second figure lay huddled in sleep on the hut's floor. Echo stared in surprise. Then she crept quietly out into the open and whispered to the Wildman.

  "There's someone in the hut."

  "Who?"

  "I don't know," said Echo. "But I think I recognize the clothing. I think it's a Noble Warrior."

  The Wildman went into the hut to check for himself. As soon as he saw the sleeper, he let out an exclamation, and the sleeper awoke. Her eyes opened and looked up at him in confusion, still half in dreams. Then she smiled.

  It was Morning Star.

  14 The Whip and the Feather

  A GRAND FEAST HAD BEEN PREPARED TO FOLLOW THE jagga, and since it was all there to be eaten, the Great Jahan and his sons and his entourage proceeded to eat it. No one spoke of the fact that the reason for the feast, the wedding of one of the Jahan's own sons to Echo Kittle, had now been abandoned. The Great Jahan sat in the place of honor at the top table and drank steadily, and ate almost as much as he drank, and repeatedly thanked his host, Radiant Leader, for the generosity of his welcome.

  "This is the way to live!" he cried. "Why fight wars when friendship tastes this good?"

  "Why indeed?" said Radiant Leader, raising his glass but not drinking.

  "We only have the one life," said the Jahan. "Might as well enjoy it. Do you enjoy it?"

  He leaned close to Radiant Leader, his face contorted by a bitter smile.

  "Of course," said Radiant Leader.

  "And how much longer do you expect to go on enjoying it? This enjoyable life of yours."

  "I hope to enjoy this life," said Radiant Leader, "for many years to come." Noticing that many of his own people were listening with interest, though with lowered eyes, the priest-king added, "And I hope to enjoy the next life for all eternity."

  "Eternal life, eh? And how about"—he leaned closer still—"eternal youth?"

  "Ah. That's something very different."

  "Very different. But very desirable."

  Radiant Leader was all too aware that his guest was drunk and that not far beneath the smiling surface was a burning fury. He noticed that the Jahan's sons were watching their father with concealed agitation.

  "I'm sure we all have many years ahead of us," he said.

  "Are you? Are you sure?" The Jahan wouldn't let it go. "What makes you sure? How many years? How old are you? You're not pretty but you're not old. Are you thirty yet?"

  Radiant Leader closed his eyes. This was not a good situation. The Jahan was treating him with a familiarity that bordered on disrespect. The priest-king's prestige depended crucially on the way those round him conducted themselves in his presence. As Soren Similin, he could pretend to be humble. As Radiant Leader, he must inspire awe.

  He rose from the table. His priests at once rose with him.

  "We are the sons of the Great Power above," he said. "We are all young in the light of eternity."

  "Sit down!" roared the Jahan. "You know how old I am? Go on! Guess!"

  He pointed a calloused finger at one of the priests.

  "You! Red fellow! Make a guess!"

  The priest looked at Radiant Leader, who shook his head very slightly.

  "I'm forty!" bellowed the Jahan. "Forty years old! Is that old? Is my life over? Look at them!" His finger jerked towards his sons. "I'm a better man than every one of them! Who says I'm old?"

  No one uttered a sound. The Jahan's face had turned a dark ugly red, and spittle flecked the corners of his mouth. The rage that had been gathering in him like a storm now burst into the open.

  "What I want," he yelled, "I get! What I say I'll do, I do! I said I'd rule the world, and so I shall! Who's going to stop me? You? You?"

  He glared round at them. No one moved.

  "Insects!" he cried. "Worms! Maggots! I tread on you all!"

  He became aware that Radiant Leader was still standing, and clearly preparing to leave.

  "You!" he screamed. "I want you on your knees! I want your homage! Now!"

  Radiant Leader was forced to play his trump card before he had intended to show it. Anything to distract the drunken Jahan's attention from himself and his homage.

  "You know who stands in your way," he said in a high, clear voice. "The Noble Warriors."

  "Noble Warriors! I'll smash their skulls like eggs!"

  He pounded the table before him.

  "Noble Warriors! They'll kneel to me before they die!"

  He lunged forward, as if to seize hold of his enemies there and then, and stumbled against the heavily laden table. As he thrashed about to right himself, he caught one of the legs, and the whole table came crashing down. Enraged by this, seeming to think it had been done by others to impede him, the Jahan turned and blundered in a new direction. Meeting another table, he picked it up and tipped it over.

  "You can't hold me in!" he cried. "I don't want your feasts! You think you can stuff me like a cockerel? I'll show you how I crow!"

  He crashed back and forth about the great pavilion, overturning the tables, shouting as he went. Radiant Leader, seeing that he had been safely forgotten, withdrew at a dignified pace, and his priests followed. The Jahan never even saw them go.

  "On your knees! All of you! Who says I'm old? I tread on you all! On your knees!"

  Orlans and citizens of Radiance sank to their knees amid the debris of the feast. The Jahan's sons watched in dismay but did nothing to stop their father's rampage. They had seen him like this before, and they knew how it would end.

  The shouting stopped quite suddenly, for no obvious reason. The Jahan looked round at all the frightened eyes watching him. He grunted and passed one hand over his face. He frowned, as if trying to remember something that had slipped his mind. He pulled up a chair and sat down heavily. Then he fell asleep and began to snore.

  Sasha Jahan signed to a group of servants. Together they lifted the deadweight of the snoring warlord and carried him out to his bed.

  Radiant Leader passed through his private quarters in the temple, walking fast. Coming out again by a secret door, he crossed to the imperial arsenal. Here three tall buildings framed a yard in which carpenters and metal-beaters were hard at work. A giant timber structure was slowly taking shape within a latticework of scaffolding, lit by flares. As soon as he entered, the chief carpenter came hurrying towards him, clutching the plans of the structure and respectfully averting his eyes.

  "I don't entirely understand, Radiance," he said, "what is to come here—where the rails meet the second tower."

  He indicated the point on the plans.

  "There seems to be a section missing."

  "Nothing is missing. Build what is laid out in the plans."

  "But Radiance, I don't entirely understand—"

  "Understanding is not necessary. Build. It must be finished in two days' time."

  "Two days!"

  "Take as many men as you need. You'll be rewarded."

  A second official was bearing down on him, also with his gaze carefully directed to one side. This was the imperial quartermaster.

  "Radiance, I have received your orders. The barges will be ready. And the wagons."

  "Good, good."

  "But permit me to ask, Radiance—this immense structure—you mean to transport it and reerect it on the coast facing the island of Anacrea?"

  "That is so. What of it?"

  "It will be seen, Radiance."

  "So? Your point?"

  "Radiance!" The quartermaster spread his hands. "The Noble Warriors have great powers."

  "The Noble Warriors will have other matters on their mind. They will be fighting for their very survival."

  "Fighting who, Radiance?"

  "That is not your concern. Look to your barges and your wagons. Greater minds than yours have conceived this plan."

  He cast his eye round the arsenal one more time, to satisfy hims
elf that the work was proceeding as fast as was humanly possible, and retraced his steps.

  Back in his private quarters he found himself going over the plan once again, as he did many times a day. There were several points at which it could miscarry. The ramp might not be completed in time. The necessary amount of charged water might not be generated in time. The Jahan might prove harder to manipulate than had been the case so far. But on the whole, Soren Similin was confident of success—except for the one element that was beyond his control. It was precisely this that the quartermaster had spotted.

  How could he be sure that the Nomana, even when under massive attack from the west, would not maintain their vigilance to the east?

  Trust us.

  Hearing his mistress's voice in his head, he dropped to his knees.

  When you make your strike, the island will be deserted. Only their god will be left.

  "Yes, mistress. But why would the Nomana leave their island?"

  Do you doubt our power?

  "No, mistress, but—"

  That is a doubt. Extinguish it.

  "Yes, mistress."

  The god of the Nomana will die.

  "Yes, mistress."

  And you will be rewarded.

  Similin bowed his head as if in submission, but in his secret heart he was rebellious. All those who believed themselves superior to the ugly little weaver's son were about to get a surprise.

  He rose to his feet and hurried on once more, this time to the secret laboratory. Here he found to his gratification that the array of glass tubes was in place and the apparatus was humming. Clearly it was operational at last.

  He looked round for Evor Ortus. The professor was asleep on a cot.

  "Wore himself out," said one of the assistants. "Just collapsed. Couple of hours ago."

  Similin wondered whether to wake him. He ran his eyes over the apparatus. Then he turned to the assistant and noticed the eager forward bend of his body and understood that this young man was excited by his king's attention. That could be used.

  "When do you go into production?"

  "We've started already, Radiance. Once the sun rises tomorrow, we'll see some results."

  "Nothing so far?"

  "Just a drop."

  Similin followed the network of glass tubes with his intent gaze, tracking the process all the way to the final suspended needle point out of which dripped the charged water. The needle point itself was encased in a fine rubber membrane to keep the charged water from contact with the air. The membrane had swelled into a very small bubble, the size of a kernel of corn.

  "Just a drop? But even so small an amount would make quite a bang."

  "Oh, yes, Radiance. What you see there would blow up a house."

  "A house, you say? But I suppose only Professor Ortus has the skills to handle such volatile material."

  "Not at all, Radiance. I myself have handled the charged water many times."

  "You're very young to be entrusted with so great a responsibility."

  "Professor Ortus has full confidence in me, Radiance."

  "Is that so? Would you be able, for example, to prepare me a small sample of the charged water? Enough to demonstrate the power we possess, without doing too much damage?"

  "In what container, Radiance? It must be sealed."

  "I have a container in mind." He looked round the laboratory. "There," he said, pointing. "Can you put the smallest drop into one of those and seal up the open end?"

  The assistant looked very surprised.

  "It could be done, Radiance."

  "Then do it, please. At once."

  Amroth Jahan did not sleep for long. When he woke, his head hurt and his throat was dry. His uncontrollable rage was gone. In its place was an implacable determination to revenge the humiliation and to reassert his power.

  "Sasha!" he yelled. "Sasha! Where's that booby of a son of mine?"

  He strode out of his quarters into the tented celebration hall. The mess had been cleared away. The great space was empty.

  "Where is everybody?"

  Sasha Jahan came running.

  "Sasha! Take ten companies! Ride at full speed to the forest they call the Glimmen and set it on fire! Burn the whole forest, you hear? And when the people come running out, kill them! Burn the trees. Kill the people. Have you got that?"

  "Yes, Father."

  "Say it back to me."

  "Burn the trees. Kill the people."

  "Go and do it."

  "Now, Father?"

  "Now, now! Alva!"

  The Jahan's second son came running.

  "Alva! Find the little fellow in the gold dress and tell him I want him. Time for this homage of his. Where is everybody?"

  "Asleep, Father. It's the middle of the night."

  "Wake them all up! I want everyone to see this."

  So in accordance with the will of the Great Jahan, the Orlan camp woke, as did many of the people of Radiance. The riders and horses of ten companies prepared to leave for the west with Sasha Jahan, and a makeshift throne was erected in the big tent for the Jahan to receive Radiant Leader's homage.

  "Where is he?" cried the Jahan. "Why hasn't he come?"

  "He's coming," said Alva.

  Sleepy-eyed people came crowding into the tent, and the whisper went round that now at last Radiant Leader would be forced to kneel to the warlord. However, Radiant Leader himself still did not appear.

  "I'll burn the city! I'll kill them all!"

  The Great Jahan was pacing up and down with anger, on the point of making good his threat, when at last the procession of priests entered the tent. They carried with them a lectern, a scroll, and a quill pen standing in an inkpot. The Jahan took his place on his throne. Then he watched in surprise as the lectern was placed in the cleared space before him, the space where Radiant Leader was supposed to kneel to him. The scroll, pen, and inkpot were laid out upon it. In the tense atmosphere of the night, no one, let alone the Jahan, noticed that there was no ink in the pot.

  "What's this nonsense?" he roared.

  Radiant Leader himself now entered. He was in his most magnificent ceremonial dress, complete with the sunflower corona. His golden cape was held out behind him by six priests, all chosen for their small stature.

  He came to a stop facing the Jahan, on the far side of the space in the center of which stood the lectern. He gave a sign. One of his priests scurried forward, took the scroll off the lectern, and carried it to the Jahan. With a deep bow of respect, he unrolled the scroll and held it up for the Jahan to read.

  The Jahan's sons and the Orlan captains in his entourage all held their breath. The Jahan could not read.

  "Out of my way!" With a roar of rage the Jahan swept the scroll from the priest's hands, sending it flying. "Take all this nonsense away! You!" He pointed his whip handle at Radiant Leader. "Kneel to me!"

  "Sir," said Radiant Leader, clear and unafraid, "do not draw down upon yourself the anger of the Radiant Power."

  "What? WHAT!"

  "That scroll contains the oath that I will make before you—"

  "Then make it!"

  "—and you will make before me—"

  "I swear no oath to you!"

  "An oath of friendship and alliance. When you sign that declaration—"

  "Sign? SIGN! The Jahan does not sign!"

  He unleashed his whip and cracked it in the air before him.

  "—we will unite our powers—"

  "What power? What is your power?"

  He cracked his whip again.

  "You bring a whip," said Radiant Leader. "I bring a pen. A quill pen. A simple feather. And yet I say to you, there is more power in that feather than in ten thousand of your whips."

  "A feather?" It was absurd. The Jahan broke into a roar of laughter. "A feather!" He pretended to be afraid of the feather, holding up his brawny arms to shield himself from its attack. "Don't hurt me! Save me from the feather!"

  He rocked with laughter. The Orlans grinned. T
he people of Radiance looked puzzled.

  The Jahan rose from his throne and readied his whip.

  "I'll show you how much power you have in your feather," he said.

  He took aim, then sent the whip curling out towards the lectern with deadly precision. The snapping end of the whip cut the feather clean in two—

  A ripple in the air, a shudder, and a wave of force exploded outwards, extinguishing every lamp and every candle. Then came the blast. The Jahan and all his entourage were hurled backwards. Screams filled the darkness. Tables and chairs crashed under the weight of sprawling bodies.

  A single light came on. It was a lamp held by one of the priests before Radiant Leader. His golden corona glowed round his head. His face was a single spot of brightness in the whole great space. His voice spoke, loud and clear, and all heard him.

  "Beware the anger of the Radiant Power! He who gives life also gives death!"

  "Uh! Uh! Who do we hate?"

  Bam-bam! Ba-ba-ba-bam!

  "Nomana! Nomana!"

  Ba-ba-bam! Ba-ba-bam!

  The Great Jahan took to the hate training with gusto. Similin let him beat the drum himself.

  "Uh! Uh! Rip out their hearts!"

  Bam-bam! Ba-ba-ba-bam!

  "Nomana die! Suffer and die!"

  Ba-ba-ba-bam! Ba-ba-ba-bam!

  By the end of the session, sweating and heaving, the Jahan was in excellent spirits. He embraced Similin like a brother.

  "So you really think we can do it?"

  "No question. You with your magnificent army—"

  "And you with your big boom-bang!" His eyes widened at the memory.

  "A drop, sir. That was no more than a drop. You wait to see what I can do when I really mean business!"

  "Kill all Nomana!"

  "Wipe Anacrea off the face of the earth!"

  "Smash them! Exterminate them!"

  "And best of all—"

  "What?" cried the Jahan. "What's the best of all?"

  "Exterminate their helpless little god!"