Merriness ruled the castle in the evening — the grooms braided the horses' tails, servants dragged out of the closets huge yew old bows, wrapped in old rotten cloth with silver inscriptions. Bemish glanced into a semi-dark stable and froze — Kissur, smiling coldly, was hiding a stubby black assault rifle in a saddlebag.
Bemish stepped inside. Kissur lowered the woven bag lid.
"What game," Bemish asked, "are we going to hunt tomorrow?"
"In this area," Kissur said, "people have been hunting big game — boars, bears — since old times."
A question hung on Bemish's tongue tip, "What kind of boar would you hunt with an assault rifle?" But Bemish licked his lips and swallowed the question.
They rode out before the crescent left the black sky, equipped the same way as eight or hundred years ago — Kissur wore grey suede tall boots, decorated with lilies, with high red heels but without spurs, green pants and a red jacket girdled with a heavy belt made out of gold plates — every plate depicted a beast or a fish. Kissur's overcoat was also green, with two wide lanes sewn with golden mesh. A bow hung on his shoulder and a leather quiver hung behind his back; arrow feathers, white like plastic foam, stuck out of the quiver. A throw-axe hung at his belt and two yew javelins and a sword hung at the saddle. The other nobles were dressed the same way. It would be wrong to call it carnival dress — Kissur, like the majority of Weians, dressed archaically even in the capital and he practically always wore a wide necklace, made out of jade plates set in woven gold and depicting falcons. As for Bemish, he clearly understood that his hunting bib layered with PVC would call the local gods' fury at his head and they would withhold the game that they guarded, from him. Now he felt like an impostor in leather pants embroidered with silver.
Before leaving, Kissur threw a piece of fresh meat on an altar next to the gate and tapped a bare sword over a rock to attract the god's attention.
Bemish looked at the sword with interest; it was very heavy and long, with a three edged blade and some engraving that looked like running horses along its edge. The handle had been made in the shape of intertwined snakes. Bemish asked why they needed a sword and Kissur replied that gods didn't grant fortune without a sword since the road to the other world went along its edge and they brought and took away beasts down this road.
They watched the sunrise from a mountaintop, aerial wind danced in their horses' tails — they said that this wind used to mount fillies in ancient times and black horses with white spots had been born of this wind — shells scrunched occasionally under the hooves reminding that a sea had been there millions of years ago. Then, Kissur espied a deer that also decided to enjoy the sunrise and they released the dogs and rode following them.
There were five nobles — Kissur, Ashidan, Khanadar the Dried Date, Aldon and Bemish, there were also eight dogs and three servants — they drove the deer at Kissur and he, having opened his eyes wide and screamed wildly, threw a spear handed to him by one of the servants. Painted yellow, with a green pinecone on the end, the spear almost pierced the deer all the way through easier than it pierced the old maple in Kissur's manor in the capital. Suddenly the forest buzzed and leaves flew. Either it entered Bemish's mind on its own or the gods gave him a hint, "Kissur will get in an accident. The mountain took the horse yesterday, today…"
By noon, Bemish was drunk with blood, the servants lagged somewhere behind, he, Kissur and Ashidan rode out to a lawn overgrown with red flowers. Kissur, having ridden to another side of the lawn, was making out moss on a tree, he was probably foretelling.
At this moment, a bear cub jumped out on the lawn and crazily rushed up the tree.
"Don't do it," Kissur told his brother, "It's a bad omen."
But Ashidan had already pulled his bow and shot — the cub let the tree go and fell. Ashidan jumped off the saddle and ran to the cub. The bushes were pulled apart, a roar issued forth and a huge black and brown she-bear barged in.
"Ashidan," Bemish screamed.
Ashidan turned around. The she-bear rose on her hind paws and the youth stood in front of her, bewildered with a broken arrow pulled out of her son.
Bemish snatched at his gun. Before he raised his hand, Kissur had rolled off his saddle with a sword in his hand and dived under the bear's belly. Ashidan with a squeal jumped aside. Bemish fired. The bear swung its paws heavily in the air and crashed on Kissur. She shuddered and froze like a pile of peat dumped off a truck.
Bemish and Ashidan rushed to the bear.
"Kissur are you alive?"
No answer issued.
Bemish approached the bear and started pulling it by its ear. At this moment the pile of seemingly dead meat moved and Kissur materialized.
"Damn," he bared his teeth, "sword…"
But the sword, after they had turned the bear over, appeared to be fine
— it had entered her belly almost all the way to the guard. They examined her snout — the bullet hit the bear right in her eye.
Yes, the hunt was excellent, even Dried Date who was not capable of smiling screamed and hooted. He sat at the fire next to Kissur's knees and started singing his songs that Bemish had heard so many times from boom boxes in the workers' barracks that he came to liking them.
They rode back in the dusk. The horses walked down the path two abreast, black oily earth crumbled under their hooves, a forested slope rose like a dark wall on the right, the fuzzy sun was rolling behind the faraway mountains covered with gleaming snow like a cake glazed with white. The birds fluttered up from under the hooves and life was wondrously good. "Oh, my God, it's such a great place for a hotel," a thought passed Bemish's mind. He was a practical man and he always sought for ways to adjust nature to money.
After the bear cub accident, Ashidan saddened and it happened somehow that Kissur and his retinue raced in front and Bemish lagged behind them and rode next to Ashidan. The latter was pale — either due to the weed that the peasants grew in a local field or because of Cambridge. Bemish leaned to Ashidan and asked quietly,
"Does Kissur know that you are a drug addict?"
"I am not a drug addict, I am just curious! I can stop this any moment."
Bemish sniggered involuntarily. The youth shuddered. Then he abruptly turned his grey eyes to the Earthman. His pupils were unnaturally contracted.
It's not my fault, it's yours," he said, "Seven years ago Warnaraine was ruled from this castle, and now it's a dump because there is no eight line highway next to it! You have chased our gods away and what have you given us instead, a Pepsi can?"
Ashidan grabbed the Earthman by his hand.
"This weed has always grown here! They ate it to speak to the gods! You declared even talking to the gods to be a crime!"
"Come on, Ashidan! You don't converse to a god or a demon, you just gobble this weed up to get high and you are afraid of Kissur because he will throw you into a hospital for drug addicts or just chain you."
"I am afraid of the sword he took," Ashidan said, "I saw this sword in Khanalai's hand and if people are killed, their souls enter their swords."
Khanalai was the rebel that fought Kissur seven years ago.
"Khanalai?" Bemish was astonished, "Have you met Khanalai?"
"He took me prisoner," Ashidan answered.
Bemish stared at the youth — he was young, slim like a snake and incredibly beautiful, with golden hair and grey eyes heavily mascara coated for the hunt.
"Oh, my God! How old were you?"
"I was fifteen, almost fifteen. Kissur entrusted me with five thousand horsemen and Dried Date and Aldon's uncle — Aldon the Striped — were with me. We should have waited for Kissur in the Black Mountains. But we heard that down there, in the town of Lukhun, merchants had come in for a fair and were bunched all together there because of the war. We decided to seize this town because we would get more loot if we didn't wait for Kissur.
So, we approached this town with a guide and when the sun came out we realized that it was a trap — Khanalai's army en
circled us. Khanalai was going to catch Kissur."
Ashidan rocked in the saddle.
I rode forward and challenged Khanalai to a duel. My shield had an image of the White Falcon on it; Khanalai thought that Kissur himself got in his trap. He really didn't want to fight but he had to accept the challenge. He was afraid that his captains would mock him.
There is not much to say about this fight — Khanalai split my shoulder and threw me to the ground like a kitten and then he removed my helmet to cut my head off. He was really surprised and he asked me, "Who are you, brat, to wear a White Falcon shield?" I told him that my name was Ashidan and that my brother Kissur would avenge me and why wouldn't he just shut his lousy trap and cut my head off. I was a very cute boy and Khanalai suddenly took pity on me. He raised his sword and then he thought, "I will die — and these words contained all the horror of irreversible, you couldn't sleep at night having heard them. So, would it be worth it to bring the sword down?" At least, that's what he told me afterwards. So he threw me like a wench over his horse's back and rode to his army. And my army was obliterated down to the last man. You see, it was a war very different from a war between two countries. When one country and another country make a war, it's fair to spare the enemy and to make him your vassal. While when a government fights rebels, it's fair to obliterate the rebels completely.
"What happened to Dried Date?" Bemish suddenly realized.
"Dried Date and old Aldon were taken prisoners."
"And what happened next?"
They brought me and Dried Date to Khanalai's tent where he was feasting after the battle and Khanalai said that he would like to hear a song about this battle from Dried Date. Dried Date answered that the battle was not finished yet because not everybody, supposed to be executed after this battle, was executed and when Khalai executed everybody who was supposed to be executed, there would be nobody left to sing this song. Khanalai grinned and gave his new lute and his sword to Dried Date, and this sword was so valuable that it cost more that Dried Date's honor. He sat and sang a song of praise to Khanalai and I don't think that you'll ever hear it from Dried Date or on a tape recorder. Then, Khanalai turned to me and said that he would like to let me go. I was insolent to him. He paused and said, "All right, they will crucify you tomorrow, brat. At first they will crucify Aldon and then you."
"What happened tomorrow?"
"They brought Aldon and me out and Khanalai said, `If you let me pardon you, I will let Aldon go.' I spit in his face."
Ashidan paused. He face paled completely and Bemish suddenly imagined how cute a boy he had been at "almost fifteen."
"Khanalai rocked on his feet for a while and then said, `You are too beautiful a boy to die.' They crucified Aldon and quarreled for a while and then took me away."
"And what happened to Dried Date?"
"Dried Date sang songs of praise to Khanalai till he was offended, that he, a man from a noble family, was serving a commoner who used to tread cow dung in his childhood. He cut one of Khanalai's aides head off, threw it in a sack and raced to Kissur with this ransom. And he also gave Khanalai's sword to Kissur."
Ashidan paused and said, "I also met Khanalai's son there — we were of the same age and the lad was quite gifted. I think that Khanalai took mercy on me because of him. He asked me once, "What if Kissur gets a hold of my son? Do you think he will let him live like I let you?"
"Yes," Bemish thought, "Kissur, however, didn't take mercy on Khanalai's son and he didn't take mercy on anybody else."
"Hey," Khanadar the Dried Date shouted ahead, "have you fallen asleep? Come here quickly!"
Bemish and Ashidan hastened their horses. The road split in two in front of them, the riders grouped at the fork.
"We should go left," Kissur said, "We should visit Aldis so that the next hunt would be even more fruitful than the last one."
"Well," Ashidan objected, "we won't reach the castle before nightfall."
"No problem," Kissur said, "we will sleep over at the old altar house."
Ashidan's face fell.
"Look," Khanadar said, "you aren't afraid of the old altar house, are you?"
And he continued having turned to Bemish,
"Aldis the White Falcon is buried next to the old altar and two families were assigned to take care of the grave. But they ignored their duty and Aldis ate them and he liked it — he started climbing out every night, chased passersby with all his retinue and herded them into his place for a feast. A traveler passes by and sees a manor with lights on, and only his bones are left by the morning. People took notice — if on a new moon night there were fire and commotion at the old altar house — then, some family would wail somewhere soon enough. They would have pounded a stake down his coffin long time ago if he had been a commoner but they are afraid of doing it — you know, he is Kissur's great grandfather." Ashidan grinned.
"It's not fitting to visit ancestors' graves with an Earthman outlander," he said, "It's enough for a stranger that we took him for a hunt."
"I have never hunted here before," Kissur answered, "and not shared my booty with my ancestor."
And they rode to the old altar house, having dismissed the servants and having tied the bear cub's body to a saddle.
The old altar house sat between a forest and a horseshoe shaped mountain on the very edge of a sheer, as if cut with a knife, gorge. Behind a black carved fence, one could see a roof tied in a knot; yellow light issued forth from a round window, people's voices were coming from behind the fence. Ashidan's face acquired a pallid color of toothpowder.
"Oh-ho-ho," Kissur said, "is Aldis getting rowdy again?"
The riders quietly dismounted, Kissur petted his horse so it wouldn't neigh and stuck covertly a stubby assault rifle under his overcoat. A pine tree, that had fallen last year, crushed the fence and miraculously spared the chapel — they took a look over the tree log into a wide yard. There, on a stone site, a small space boat Orinoko-22 stood looking like a striped squash. People in body suits were standing in a line and passing sacks from the altar house to the boat.
"Heia," Kissur said loudly, "that's called progress! Even ghosts can no longer fly without engines!"
He bounced over the log and stepped in the lit circle. Frankly, it was Kissur that looked more like a ghost here — a hunter in an ancient green caftan with a yew bow hanging over his shoulder and his face painted with blue stripes for the hunt — amidst people in flying suits who froze for a moment next to a cargo hatch. The people dropped plastic sacks. Three guys jumped out of an altar house window with long barreled lasers in their hands. A horse quietly neighed — Khanadar and Ashidan stepped out into the light from the other side, leading their horses.
"False alarm," somebody said, "these are the landlords."
Kissur unhurriedly walked to a short round eyed character whom Bemish recognized to be the local bailiff.
"Oh, it's you Lakhor. What are you doing here?"
"You know, my Lord," Lakhor said with a certain dignity, "We are loading…"
Kissur placed his foot on a sack, dragged a hunting knife from his belt and ripped the plastic cover from top to bottom.
"I swear by god's goiter," Kissur said, "Everybody around says "Lord," "Lord" to you, kisses your knees while you don't even know what it is that you lord over. What are these oats you are hauling to the boat? Nothing but oats has ever grown around here, if my memory doesn't fail me."
Kissur scooped up a bit out of the sack with his hand and sniffed it.
"No," he shook his head, "no way, oats could smell like this. Khanadar, do you know what it is?"
Khanadar also picked a sack, tore it apart with his whip's claw, picked some weed up and stuck it under his horse's nose. It neighed and turned its head aside.
"No," Khanadar said, "I don't know what it is but it's not oats. Look, Striped is putting its nose up and it doesn't want it." At this point, Aldon the Lynx Cub joined the conversation.
"Hey, it's hemp," he said, "wolf's whisk."
Weian zealots and local serfs have used it since old times to visit the skies and now people carry it to the Sky in plastic bags. I heard, they pay a lot of money for this weed on the sky. Earthmen always pay a lot of money for what a horse put its nose up away."
The only thing that Bemish couldn't understand was why they were all still alive.
Here, Ashidan's breaking voice sounded.
"Kissur," he said, "it's my fault. I failed to ask your permission."
Kissur span around.
"Are you trying to say," he spoke with a phony astonishment, "that you allowed my serfs to trade weed grown in my lands without asking for my consent?"
"But I was not sure…" Ashidan started.
"Tell me," Kissur inquired, "who is the senior in our clan, you or me?"
"You are."
"And who owns the land and everything above it and below it, the senior or the junior?"
"The senior does."
"Then, why are you breaking the law and pocketing the profit from this business?"
"I was afraid that you won't understand…"
"Of course, I won't understand," Kissur thundered, "my serfs on my land start a business and don't pay me two cents! Who should feed me, the sovereign or my own holding?"
"My Lord, my Lord," round eyed Lakhor hurried, "We didn't know that master Ashidan paid you nothing, I'll turn into a frog if we wanted to break the law!"
At this point, a man in a flying suit ducked out of the cargo hatch.
"I bring my apologies, Mr. Kissur," he said in Interenglish, "We really didn't know that you were not aware of our modest business."
Kissur looked him over from head to toes.
"How much do you pay my brother for a sack?"
"Ten."
"You will pay me twelve. I want money now."
"Do you think I have so much?" the pilot snapped.
"Don't cross him," Lakhor peeped in horror.
"I am waiting," Kissur said coldly, "or I will rip all the sacks apart."
"Don't pick a fight with him," another Earthman said, "he is livid."
"You would become livid here," Khanadar the Dried Date objected, "when your own serfs don't pay you their taxes fairly and you brother cheats you — hasn't Ashidan promised you Kissur's protection?"
Insider ви-6 Page 26