Awonso felt a reflex pulling at his brain - the feudal impulse to obey, to surrender to raw power. Something else happened. Let's Rokenrol, he thought. He laughed at the conspirators, and they seemed taken by surprise.
" Ha ha ... plans?" he laughed, and raised his voice. "What plans? Who said I have a plan? My plan is... to live and learn. Yes, that's it - live and learn. How's that for a statement - you money-grubbing weasels? "
The man grabbed Awonso's collar and raised his fist, but his friends pulled him back. They retreated toward a door, glaring at Awonso who stood trembling with fear, cold and excitement.
"We'll get back to you, upstart," the man threatened. "And when we do, you had better made up your mind - this city shall belong to us! "
They disappeared out through the door, and locked it. He was alone in the dark, and could hear the slow dripping of water nearby.
I am in the ancient catacombs, Awonso thought. We took shelter down here when the Paskos attacked. Now the Merchants' Lodge is using them for secret meetings and plots. They're scheming to seize power from the city lord. How long has this been going on? Maybe the merchant was right - I ought to make up my mind soon.
He managed to pry open the trapdoor, climbed back up to the street, and found his way home to safety.
Tharlos's ally in Kibralta sent a laser-borne reply to his request for contact with the Awrican cities.
The reply stated that communications with Awrica had mainly been shut off for the last two hundred years - for reasons of feuds and mutual hostility which no one bothered to justify.
The city lord of Kibralta suggested, with a veiled threat, that his own city remained the safest takeoff-point for the planned attack; no alliances with Awricans were necessary.
Tharlos could not risk losing the beachhead in Kibralta; and so he buried all further attempts to contact the Awrican city lords. Kap Verita was to be attacked directly from the mainland of Espa, in one coordinated move across the sea.
He had made yet another strategic mistake; it was not going to be his last one.
CHAPTER 55
It was the beginning of Tsemba, the last month of the year 940 AM. Windowpanes were fitted and reinforced in the front wall of Mechao's mountain mansion.
Mechao had daughters from two earlier marriages, and they had spread about the islands of Kap Verita, in the tradition of upholding a reduced male population.
Only Amada had given birth to his four sons, who in turn had given him grandsons, appointed inheritors of his estate. Thus, through the ties of mutual obligations, Amada alone remained his lawful wife.
Mechao's two oldest sons were his full-time apprentices in the laboratory; they were to keep the ancient knowledge when he was gone. Neither of the two matched their father in intelligence, but they possessed the endless patience that could carry them through their education.
When Mechao gave them the task of locating Virus B, it meant long, focused, repetitive work. Hundreds of ancient catalogs of human genes had to be searched for the control genes which governed the processes that Virus B had distorted in the Lepers.
Nobody knew exactly which control genes to look for, so the search went by trial and error. Samples of Eye-Leg's DNA were then examined, and each control gene was scanned for some small mutation which might be the hidden virus. When no fault was found in one control gene, Mechao's sons proceeded to check the next one.
By this date, as the year 940 AM was approaching its end, they had spent countless hours searching the old catalogs of human DNA. Then it happened: among the thousands and thousands of musty pages, they found a control gene that appeared malformed in the Leper girl's cells. Using a simple ancient chemical procedure, they separated this control gene from the cell sample, isolated it and duplicated it.
The white-clad young men hurried to tell their father and Darc. The two scientists did not show enthusiasm at first, until they could see the evidence with their own eyes.
They went to a powerful, large microscope and magnified a crystallized sample of the DNA segments. Darc scanned the scattering of duplicated molecules, seeing only a pile of genetic stumps, when -
"There!" Darc whispered as he peered with one eye at the black-and-white image on the small viewplate. He urged Mechao forward to have a look.
"See that tiny lump in the chain, Mechao?" he said eagerly. "I feel it in my bones, it has to be Virus B! It's the smallest damned virus particle I've ever seen! It's so small, that the cells must mistake it for a part of the normal DNA. When the cell divides, the virus is duplicated together with the rest of the cell."
Mechao replied, without looking up from the microscope: "I was not certain, all this time, whether it was located there, in the actual core DNA of the cell. The gene chains are constantly being repaired and corrected by the inner mechanisms of the cell. How could the gene stick to the DNA in the first place, without being discovered and erased through natural repair?"
Darc thought hard, even as he spoke. "Perhaps... perhaps Virus B has an accomplice somewhere in the cell. Another virus, that keeps the cell's defenses in check. I don't know. But we'll find out sooner or later."
Darc was exhilarated; he hugged Mechao's two sons, grinning at them as they nearly choked in his embrace. "You boys have saved the world! Saved the world , I say!"
"It would never have happened without you, Master Darc," one of them mumbled. "We were just doing the procedures."
"He's right," Mechao confirmed, looking up. "Should we act now? I think I can repair those infected genes in Eye-Leg - right now, in the same way I altered your immune system when you were sick. It would only take a few weeks at most, and then she should be clean of the virus. But..."
Both Darc and Mechao recognized each other's hesitation. A mistake now might prove fatal to the Leper girl, when she was recovering from the body transplant. The cells in her head still contained the dreaded Plague Virus B, and if they did not remove the virus - then it could very likely spread to her new body.
If the new body transplant came to suffer Plague mutations and deformities, the strain would surely end her life.
"If only I could buy more time," Darc muttered.
He had done that once, when he froze himself. This, however, was another time. Even if they by some miracle could freeze Eye-Leg alive, that would make her no safer from other threats.
After some debate between them, Mechao and Darc decided to put the girl through gene therapy at once. They promised solemnly that before the end of the year, Eye-Leg would be a completely genetically healthy human being, no longer a Leper.
A sample of normal control genes were extracted and duplicated in the laboratory, to be transferred into Eye-Leg's cells.
Eye-Leg, now bedridden and under Shara's constant care, understood very little of how she had changed. All she knew was that during a long sleep, her old twisted body had been transformed into a normal, beautiful one.
The thick veins in her face were beginning to shrink as the blood pressure changed, and Mechao gave her skin a treatment that would reduce the veins even more.
Vague stirrings affected her mind: bursts of unfamiliar sensations, all induced by the new body, its fresh chemistry and unused muscles. The brace that held her head fastened to her neck was a nuisance, but hardly more so than the lifelong strain of her previous deformed existence.
Her mind, stimulated by Shara's reading lessons, used ever more words to think with - experiences and objects were named and given meaning, where there had previously been mystery and fear.
Eye-Leg's mind began to grow with the new challenges, such as eating with her mouth. How she hated having to wear the ivory falseteeth...
The day after the Virus B breakthrough, Eye-Leg was again approached by Mechao and Darc. She showed no fear, when Mechao sat down by her bed and examined her health.
Once he had finished his examination, Mechao told them: "She is recovering well, so far. There is no sign of Plague symptoms in her new body... yet. The virus exists in every
cell of her head, from since she was born, but it simply never expressed itself there. Maybe it never will. We could still choose to postpone the final treatment."
Darc looked to Shara, who took hold of Eye-Leg's hand. The girl responded by clasping Shara's palm - she was quickly learning to use her new limbs, and might be able to walk again.
Eye-Leg smiled hopefully at them both. Her new falseteeth, though too white to be entirely credible, made her smile look more mature.
"Ask her ," Shara said gravely. "She understands."
Darc looked into the Leper girl's gray eyes. They seemed much brighter now, not as bloodshot as before, more comprehending. And she met his gaze with almost frightening intensity.
He also noticed that her head had not been shaved for a long time - her scalp hair was growing back, pale and beautiful, but yet very short as it sprouted between the clamps that fixed head to body.
Gently, he explained to her. "Eye-Leg... don't move your head. I just want to ask an important question. Blink with one eye for 'yes' , and blink with both eyes for 'no' . Do you understand?"
She blinked one eye - hard.
"Do you know who this man is?" He pointed to Mechao.
She blinked a resolute "Yes".
"Good girl. Mechao has helped us make you better. Has Shara told you about the Plague, and why the Plague caused you to be sick?"
Eye-Leg hesitated, then blinked with one eye again.
"But you are not completely free of this Plague yet. We must make a final change in you. When that is done, you will never be sick with the Plague again. Then anyone can touch you and not be afraid."
The girl frowned suddenly; the DNA tattoo on her forehead seemed to writhe with tension.
"Claaaaww!" she shouted in loud alarm, stunning everyone.
Eye-Leg's hand shot out and clutched Darc's arm hard, her nails digging into his skin. The fingers of her other hand bent inward, cringing as if in pain.
"Claaww," she wailed, and looked at her claw-like gesture.
She was trying to create an impression of the Leper chief's deformed hand. Then, a few moments later, she let the hand fan out, fingers turning straight and normal again.
"Claaww," she added in a calmer tone.
And she stared demandingly at Darc, not losing her grip of his wrist. He understood, and nodded.
" Yes , Eye-Leg. We shall help Claw get better too. I swear. We can give him a new hand."
She released him and sank back on her bed, exhausted. Shara pushed the others away from the girl.
"But she didn't answer my question," Darc said, rubbing his sore wrist.
"Yes she did, and you know it," replied Shara. "You heard her, Mechao. Do it."
And Mechao began the treatment that would replace and renew all control genes in Eye-Leg's body - every last one.
Meijji's and Dohan's honeymoon had been undisturbed so far; the dreaded attack from Castilia had not yet happened.
The stone pavilion at the top of the mansion was their home, where they spent their nights in private, making plans for the future and making love.
That night, as they had just put out the candlelight and lay together in bed, Dohan suddenly asked his wife: "Are you with child, Meijji?"
Meijji stirred in the darkness, and her reply sounded insecure: "No... no. Not yet." She moved over and put her hand on his chest. "Do you think we ought to have a child yet?" she asked.
After a minute's hesitation, he replied. "I would like a son, and a daughter... and I want them to grow up without living in fear. These are not the best times."
Meijji remembered the ancient stories of sailors who abandoned pregnant mothers on the islands. The thought frightened her, and she tried to hide it.
"We don't have to form a family right now, Dohan. We are young, we can wait a year or two. Besides... my parents told us once, that if a woman gets pregnant during a war, is frightened or in ill health before giving birth, her children will be born weak and sickly."
"They may be right... I think I heard similar warnings when I grew up."
Dohan recalled Andon Pasko, the almost invisible member of his family. A persistent rumor had it that he was born after some terrible troubles within the Pasko clan.
It had never occurred to Dohan until now, that Andon was now a member of Dohan's own family by right of marriage. Would he claim the rule in Dohan's absence, in spite of his feeble character?
"What's wrong?" Meijji asked, nudging closer to her husband.
"I was thinking of home." He fell silent again, then added with suppressed emotion: "I must go back and face them. And I want you to come with me."
"And one day we shall. But in triumph, not with our heads bent down. Darc and my father will see to that. They can work miracles together, just you wait and see." "I know. What they did with that Leper girl... I have never seen a doctor do such wonders before. Imagine, that they could change the entire world. One day, there will be no Lepers. Perhaps no closed cities... perhaps even no more wars."
Meijji giggled, and asked: "If we saw an end to all wars, what would you do for a living?"
The young warrior tried to imagine a world of total peace for a few moments. He failed. Then, he kissed Meijji's face to make her forget the question.
She returned his kisses with increasing passion, and they embraced. The two never seemed to grow tired in each other's company.
Chapter 56
As Tharlos Pasko continued to deteriorate, so did his rule.
He repeatedly postponed the meetings of his Koban-Jem cult, while burying himself in the plans for the attack on Kap Verita. He had even allowed himself not to dye his long hair in several weeks - and it was rapidly darkening to its natural stripy, black nature.
The control of Pasko City itself was left to the city guard and its corrupt, underpaid militia; extortion rackets and kidnappings became their routine. The previously bustling city began to resemble a ghost-town, its streets increasingly abandoned and filthy.
The once prosperous ghetto of the city's religious minority, now ransacked and burnt, still remained in ruins where a few desperate survivors fought starvation.
On one wall of the ghetto ruins was scribbled a message in large black letters, that captured the general mood:
NO LAW
NO FAITH
NO HOPE
Lord Migam Pasko could sometimes be seen staggering through the rooms and halls of his spacious castle, always with a bottle in hand - a derelict in his own home, his hair and beard long and unkempt, eyes dull and red. The castle staff ignored him as much as they could.
As for Tresa Pasko, she was falling into a state resembling her husband's dementia since autumn. But she upheld a shrill and hollow facade of normalcy whenever she showed herself in public.
In this state of affairs, Tharlos found himself spending every free moment fantasizing about murdering his parents. Countless plots played in his rotting mind, each more intricate than the last. He suffered no pangs of ill conscience, only the fear of failure and defeat.
One evening in the beginning of Tsemba, Tharlos tuned in to another of Bor Damon's radio speeches. The gaunt, tall young warrior paced back and forth on the tiled floor, his head aching dully with hate and loathing.
Then he had an idea.
At once Tharlos sent for his best spies, Rosen Craz and Goldy Stierne, and gave them a new assignment.
They exited the castle disguised as soldiers, and sneaked into the parts of the city where the growing opposition to the Pasko family used to gather.
In a dark back alley, the spies shed their disguises and entered an illicit tavern, where cutthroats and dissenters gathered to plot. The spies began to talk loudly, so that people could overhear, of what ought be done with the ruling family.
The spies had not been sitting in their dark corner for very long, when a cloaked figure approached them. His face was in shadow; his hands, supporting a beerstein, were pale and well manicured - the spies noticed a heavy ring glistening on one of hi
s fingers. Nobleman fingers, they thought, belonging to a man of the lower nobility. Rosen and Goldy exchanged knowing glances.
"I heard you are here in business matters?" the cloaked man asked - attempting to sound tough, but not quite succeeding.
"Who's asking?" Rosen probed suspiciously.
"No questions, no lies," came the man's reply. He looked about himself, then slid down on a stool facing them. He leaned forward and said in a lower voice: "The word gets around. You want to get rid of... a troublesome itch, and you are prepared to pay for it."
Stierne nodded slightly, not moving closer. "Have you heard of the goings-on in Castilia?" he asked.
"Who hasn't?"
"What do you think of the... situation?"
"What do you think?" the man retorted.
The agents smiled. "Relax, we hate that tyrant Pasko as much any man," Rosen Craz said reassuringly. Yeah, I think Lord Bor Damon is right. Sir Tharlos is a bad, bad man. You know what they say about him?"
Relieved to be among friends, the cloaked nobleman replied: "Yes, he robs young women and sacrifices them to an evil idol. There is a secret cult around Koban-Jem. He leads it." And added bitterly: "That is, he used to lead it before he started this futile war with our allies the Damons. He will be the end of us all."
Goldy Stierne nodded thoughtfully, took a sip of his drink, and said: "But isn't the old city lord the truly guilty one? He's a raving drunk. Someone ought to put an end to his misrule, so that the succession could be arranged, before Sir Tharlos snatches the throne with the support of the law - wouldn't you say?"
The cloaked man said nothing, but nodded to them, drinking in heavy swigs. The spies ordered another round, and bought the man more beer. Two rounds later, they decided he was ripe for the picking.
"Could you keep a secret?" Rosen asked casually.
Yngve, AR - Darc Ages Page 36