The Shasht War

by Christopher Rowley

  "Who'd be a jolly beekeeper

  and always suffer stings?

  When you could be a slee-ee-per

  and never mind those things.

  A jo-o-o-o-olly beekeeper

  whose always getting stung...

  That's me and we and you and he,

  and we are all just one..."

  The silly, cheerful lines of the old song came up from their hearts and the strange sound made the crowd fall silent. Suddenly the mots felt the strength in those faltering phrases and were heartened and they sang the next verse with everything they had.

  "A jo-o-o-o-lly beekeeper..."

  And it resounded from the awe-inspiring mass of the great pyramid of Shasht.

  The crowd erupted and a great howl of anger echoed off the walls of stone. But the ten mots standing before the monstrous pyramid continued singing, though they could barely hear themselves at all.

  The Red Tops, goaded beyond endurance, kicked and whipped them forward to end the singing.

  The crowd's rage continued as they climbed the wide span of stone steps toward the base of the pyramid itself.

  The short line of mots fell into the great doorway, pushed into the dark maw of the pyramid. Now the huge doors closed behind them, and the crowd's noise was abruptly shut off. The executions would be in a few days' time. Many rituals of purification would be performed before then. Slaves would scrub the entire pyramid from top to bottom.

  It took a few seconds for their eyes to adjust. The corridor was on the same grandiose scale as the exterior of the pyramid. Huge bas reliefs snaked along the walls. A manlike figure, but with eight arms, danced in these carvings. He gripped the severed heads of victims, he cut other heads from bodies; he was the All Powerful One, He Who Eats. The Red Tops tugged and swung their whips, but their incessant shouting and cursing had stopped.

  The darkness was eery. Their ears still rang from the roar of the crowd, but now only the sounds of their feet on stone and the harsh breathing of the young Red Tops could be heard.

  On they were driven, along a wide passage and then into a narrow corridor leading off at right angles. A small door opened and they were herded into a narrow room, with only a slit window at the far end. The room was barely big enough for them to stand.

  "They got enough space in this damned thing to let us all have our own room. And they have to stick us in a closet?" said Juf Goost.

  Few chuckled, for they were too drained by the procession to the temple to speak. Most simply stared at the floor.

  "How about a round of the Green Linnet, then?"

  "This is not the place for us to sing," said Pern Glazen.

  "Oh, you're always feeling oppressed. I'm for singing. Who's for a round of the 'Jolly Beekeeper?'"

  But this time no one joined in. Still, Juf couldn't give up. To cope with the horror, he had to deny that it had any power over him.

  "How about a 'Brilby goes a Courting?'" Juf dropped his voice for the opening lines.

  "Away, he goes, away he goes, a Brilby goes a courting..."

  No one else joined him. Ter-Saab put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

  "It's all right, it's better to be quiet now."

  Juf shuddered and seemed to shrink a little.

  "Thru?" He looked to Gillo, but Thru merely shook his head. Not even Thru could sing in this tiny room, trapped inside this huge machine of death.

  Juf sniffed, wiped his nose with the back of his hand, and was silent. With death imminent, each of them wanted to make his peace with his ancestors and the Spirit. They were all young, except for Thru Bush. They all had hopes and dreams, and now they reconciled themselves to the fact that they would never be wed, never work their own polder, and never have children.

  Thru thought about the insanity of this. He and the others had been plucked from the Land, halfway around the world, and brought here just so they could be slaughtered in front of a crowd. And all this was being done in the name of the Great God.

  Time passed, they remained trapped in the narrow room. The air grew close, then fetid.

  Abruptly, the door burst open and burly Red Tops dragged them out one at a time, lined them up, and drove them down the passage to another room, a huge place, with high galleries lining the walls above and a central dais raised up in the center. In the center of the main gallery, a closed door stood behind a small box containing a single seat. Below the box hung an immense gong.

  They were urged onto the dais. The great room filled with a buzz of conversation from the crowd of Gold Tops seated in front of them. Figures in the galleries, hidden beneath black robes were engaged in fervent conversation.

  All came to an abrupt end as a Black Top struck the gong. The deep sound throbbed in the air for many seconds. When it faded, the high door opened and a slim figure emerged to stand in that box, above their heads. The figure remained hidden in the shadows. It did not sit down.

  There was absolute silence now. The Gold Tops stared up at the box. Thru looked around himself carefully while questions pounded in his brain. Was that the Emperor up there? The great Aeswiren that Simona had spoken of? If it was, then why did it remain hidden like that?

  The moment lengthened. And a feeling of oppressive power filled the room. A magical essence took hold. Little sparkles and shimmers of light appeared in the air as if it was charged with electricity. The mots were awed. Some gasped and hid their faces in their hands.

  It was getting hard to breathe. A force flowed from the hidden figure, a force that was determined to press them down on their knees.

  And Thru knew, somehow, beyond all shadow of doubt that this was the source of all the evil that had ruined his life and shattered the peace of the Land. He stared up at it, refusing to be cowed.

  The others quailed, even Ter-Saab crouched, raising a hand as if to ward off a gale as the unseen force beat down. Thru stared and fancied after a while that he caught the glitter of two red eyes, hot and feral staring back down at him.

  Thru tilted his head back and broke into song.

  "Who'd be a jolly beekeeper

  and always suffer stings?

  When you could be a slee-ee-per

  and never mind those things!"

  His own voice amazed him in that place. Driving into the dark blanket of magic like a shining knife.

  "A jo-o-o-o-olly beekeeper

  whose always getting stung...

  That's me and we and you and he,

  and we are all just one."

  And now Ter-Saab straightened up and joined him along with Juf Goost. And then the others lifted their heads and sank loudly, proudly, and clear.

  The little winks and gleams of light vanished. The heavy sensation of oppression disappeared.

  The figure motioned sharply with one hand in obvious irritation. The Red Tops struck with their whips. One or two mots went down on one knee, but none stopped singing.

  "Who'd be a jo-o-o-o-olly beekeeper..."

  The Red Tops grew frenzied. Juf Nolan was knocked off the dais and crashed down among the Gold Tops in the nearest seats. They reacted with cries of horror and outrage. Thru was struck, slapped, and then thrown down to the floor. He got back to his hands and knees and kept singing.

  "And we are all just one..."

  The figure in the private box had gone away, the door closed behind it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  A day passed, and they received only a couple of cups of water and no food. They moved to a larger cell, with a barred window that let in a little air. The window opened onto a narrow courtyard with an alley behind it that went out toward the light. They were in the back of the pyramid, in a part where people lived. The door was stoutly built, wood lapped with narrow bands of iron. The iron bars in the window were well seated and unlikely to give way no matter how hard they tried them. Escape seemed unlikely.

  The next morning they discovered that the water had contained a powerful purgative. To humiliate them further the Red Tops gave them only a
single bucket. The cramps were severe for several hours, a wretched feeling.

  "Why do they do this to us?" said Juf Goost. "Isn't killing us enough for them?"

  "You don't understand," said Pern Glazen. "They want to be sure our guts are empty so we don't desecrate their altar when they rip us open."

  Juf Goost responded to that idea by emptying the bucket out the window through the bars, which caused a furious outcry in the yard beneath.

  A minute later the Red Tops stormed into the cell, and Juf threw the bucket at them. For which they were all beaten. But during the whipping they exchanged furious looks. Something flew between them like sparks in a forest fire, and suddenly all had changed. They were no longer bound at neck and wrist. The men had forgotten that. Suddenly they rose up and attacked their tormentors. The mots and brilbies had nothing to lose, but plenty to say with their fists and feet.

  Thru ducked under the arm of an oncoming priest. He tucked his shoulder in hard against the man's chest and felt the fellow rock with the impact. Thru's first punch was to the man's throat, and he felt it crumple under his fist.

  That man would give them no more trouble.

  Master Sassadzu would not have approved of all the kyo that followed. During the voyage Thru had taught the others kyo, and they were keen students. But they were too eager, too angry, and too desperate perhaps for Sassadzu's level of perfection.

  The Red Tops were taken by surprise, however. Then they were taken. In less than a minute four were stretched out on the floor of the cell and the rest had flung themselves back out the door to raise the alarm. Soon dozens of them jammed in the passage outside the cell. Strangely, however, they stayed there.

  The impasse could only be broken by the Red Tops flooding inside and overpowering the mots, who were now armed with four clubs and four knives. The Red Tops halted and were shoved aside by a party of Black Tops, wearing battle armor and carrying small shields.

  The Black Tops were huge men. They burst in and began wielding their clubs. The captives fought back with everything they had, but they could not prevail against these giants. The struggle was terrible and brutal, and was over in a few minutes. Three of the Black Tops were dead, and so were Juf Nolo, the steady mot of the Spirit, and Raan Oner, a quiet son of the Sulo Valley.

  The survivors were beaten black-and-blue. Juf Goost had lost his front teeth, his nose had been mashed flat, and one of his ears was partly torn off. Old Thru Bush could barely move, and soon lapsed into unconsciousness.

  Thru Gillo was left with sore ribs, sore arms, and sore shins. When he'd finally been knocked down he'd managed to stay rolled up in a ball while they beat and kicked him. He counted himself among the fortunate as he tried to staunch the bleeding on poor Juf Goost's battered nose.

  The Black Tops bound them all at wrist and ankle and left them on the stone floor for the rest of the day.

  The oldest mot, Thru Bush had been silent for several hours when Jevvi wriggled over to put his ear to his chest.

  "He's not breathing," Jevvi announced.

  Another of their small group had passed on.

  "At least they won't get to kill him on their damned altar," said Ter-Saab.

  Things faded in and out after that for Thru. Exhaustion overcame the tension, and he slept, but fitfully with sudden starts to wakefulness, cold and afraid.

  At some point Thru saw the door open, and a group of Gold Tops came in. They wandered around the cell looking at the bound and beaten captives. They prodded Thru Bush's corpse and then ordered the Red Tops to drag the body away. Then the Gold Tops left.

  Slaves entered and washed down the walls and floors. When they finished, they threw buckets of cold water over the mots and left them shivering on the stone floor.

  Red Tops entered and performed a ritual cleansing of the window that had been defiled by the captives. They lit incense and intoned prayers before scattering purified bones and ashes over the windowsill. Before leaving they scattered more ashes over the prone bodies of the mots. A mad kind of glee shone in their eyes.

  The door slammed again. Cold, wet, aching, the captives lay there as the dim light of day faded and their final night on the world began.

  Thru had long since resigned himself to dying far from home and family. But he thought it especially cruel that he might never see his darling Nuza again. He visualized her back in the Farblow Hills, with the wind on her fur, her eyes alive to the beauty around her, walking in the hills.

  May she have a good life, he prayed. May she wed a good mot and have a fine family. When the peace came. When their lives could return to the old ways. Thru told himself that Toshak would win. Thru was sure. Toshak would have come south after the disaster in Sulmo. Toshak would have brought the army of the North. And when Toshak got to grips with them, the army of Shasht would have found itself facing a much more serious task. Toshak would win, the Land would survive. Peace would come eventually when the men of Shasht finally abandoned their attempt to plant a colony on the Land. Nuza would live through it, and her life would be a good one. All of this had become a kind of truth to him during the months they'd been at sea.

  But still, it was bitter to have had so much promise in his life and then to have lost everything. Thru recalled Cutshamakim's words concerning existence:

  Hark! For ye listen now

  Ye taste now

  Ye breathe now

  But ye have no peace

  Later... there is peace.

  The bittersweet irony of life, and for every living thing there comes the time when life cannot go on. He commended his soul to the Spirit, whispered a prayer for his mother, and fell back to sleep.

  He next awoke to a loud thump against the door. It was followed by a barrage of more blows. There was a faint ring of steel on steel.

  The mots stirred, some propped themselves up on their elbows. A fight was in progress just outside the door!

  It was a hell of a fight too, by the sound of it, but it didn't last very long and when it stopped there was a silence. Then there came quiet voices talking to each other, and a key scraped in the lock. The mots looked to each other with eyebrows lofted quizzically.

  The lock turned, the door opened, and a lantern lit the dark room. A single figure entered, holding the light.

  Thru was surprised to see that the man's head was not shaved and daubed with thick paint. It was not a Red Top or a Gold Top, nor even a giant Black Top. Instead a slender man of smaller stature, edged into the cell. He was a nervous-looking fellow, dressed in velvet with puffed shoulders and sleeves and a matching square-cut hat, bearing a fancy red tassel.

  The Man's clothes might be those of a fop, but he also carried a sword in his hand, a sword with blood on it. Every mot saw that sword, and a stir went through the cell.

  Thru glimpsed a clean-shaven face, thin, with anxious-looking eyes that darted around the interior. The man seemed to be counting the mots, then he whistled. Other men, dressed in simple white linen came in and began to cut the ropes that bound them. When they were freed, they got slowly to their feet. A few, like Jevvi, could barely move. Poor Juf Goost's face had been destroyed, the blackened blood crusted all over the fur on his head and shoulders. He needed a little help to get to his feet.

  The Man with the black jacket pointed to the door and made a gesture to encourage them to go through. Thru heard him say "come with me" several times.

  The others looked to Thru, even Ter-Saab. This was the strangest thing they had yet seen in the land of Shasht. A man who seemed peaceful toward them. A man who didn't bluster or curse.

  Even with the bloody sword in the man's hand, it was an easy decision. The door opened and to wait in that room was to wait for death. Even though it hurt just about everywhere when he moved, Thru headed for the door. The others came right behind. Outside, in the narrow passage leading to the cell, they found other men, three wearing velvet jackets of green and dark brown, and then farther along five more wearing plain linen shirts and breeches. The Red Tops
were gone. More lanterns were held aloft to guide their path. Everywhere the men lead them on with smiles and hand gestures and the mots followed, having no other choice.

  Instead of returning to the wide corridors they had walked before, they entered a narrow door to a much smaller passage. The only light was that of the lanterns carried by the men. They walked in this dank adit before reaching a heavy wooden door that jerked open onto a loading dock under the stars. They were outside the pyramid once more. The smell of jacaranda trees was strong in the soft night air.

  They faced the walls of a narrow courtyard with a wide passage leading to the far side. Through the passage came a wagon pulled by amazing animals, horses, the like of which the mots had never seen. Horses like these had been extinct for a long time in the Land. In fact, in the Northern Hemisphere only wild ponies, no bigger than donkeys, survived, and only in an area of grassland far to the east of the Drakensberg mountains that hemmed in the Land.

  They gaped at these beautiful animals, who were seemingly quite domesticated, since they pulled the covered wagon at a good pace. Some of the mots stood dumbfounded, but the men pushed them inside the wagon, where they sat on benches along the sides. Once aboard, the wagon pulled away into the night, rattling down the passage to a gate manned by a small group of men wearing black cloaks and hats similar to the first man into the cell. These men were actually riding on the beautiful animals. Again the mots marveled at the sight. The wagons rolled out the gate and turned onto a curving road, which then passed between bulky tombs and mausoleums erected to honor great dignitaries of the past. Herculean masonry lofted orbs, finials, and pinnacles toward the dark sky. Here were represented the great figures of the courts of the First Dynasty, the time of Kadawak and his successors. The tombs threw up fantastic shadows into the night, while behind them the pyramid's vast bulk seemed to blot out the sky.

  "Where are they taking us?" Pern Glazen wondered aloud, looking out the back of the wagon.

  "Depends on who they are, I'd say." Ter-Saab grinned through bloodied lips.

  "That's a good point," said Pern. "Who are they? Not at all like the usual uglies."