Collected Fiction

by Henry Kuttner

  “Yes.”

  “Fight with sharp stones, as is right, and with great clubs, and with tooth and nail. Kroo likes not these—er—guns that kill from a distance. A weak man may slay a strong with guns. Might is right, yellow sawbwa! I, Kroo, say that. I have no love for weakling civilizations. The strong should be served by the weak. Therefore find the strongest man in the village, and find him by combat.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then go.”

  At this moment Danton gave a gasp of consternation.

  “Kroo—look!” he cried and pointed downward.

  Panic-stricken by the nerve-shaking events which had occurred, Deborah Hadley had rushed out of the powerhouse, dodging toward a Burmese house for safety. She was promptly pursued by a Japanese soldier who, grinning nastily, had grasped her by the wrist and whirled her to the ground. Kroo rubbed his chin and looked perplexed until Danton nudged the god with an impatient elbow.

  “She is your priestess, Great One,” yelled Danton. “Don’t you mean to protect her?”

  “Aye, Kroo’s priestess is sacred,” nodded the god, coming to a decision. “Watch this. I’ll show you how I can handle a lightning bolt. Furthermore the girl won’t be harmed, either—see if she is! This will really be artistic. Just watch.”

  Kroo raised his hairy arm and launched forth a jet of white-hot flame toward the soldier. There was a tremendous roar. Gobs of smoke and earth jumped high into the air. When the smoke and dust cleared away, Deborah was sitting up, dazedly, upon the ground and the soldier had vanished. Then Kroo gently lifted her up, propelled her lightly to the powerhouse and left here there on the steps.

  Kroo now moved his thundercloud downward, driving natives and Japanese before it, in the direction of the village. Yakuni slanted away in pursuit. Danton was drawn back to the powerhouse and left on the steps beside Deborah Hadley and the yak.

  “I go to watch the games,” he heard himself say. “Stay here, with my priestess, and guard Kroo’s temple. I shall speak to my people through the sacred yak.”

  The yak was levitated past Danton and went sailing off above the treetops. There was silence, broken by the murmuring of little rills that were trickling down toward the river gorge. From that distance came faint shouts.

  Danton sat down. His muscles felt weak as water.

  “Debby,” he called faintly. “You there?”

  “Uh-huh.” She came out to join him, her eyes widening. With a sympathetic, soft sound she dropped beside Danton, putting an arm around his shoulders.

  “You look awful.”

  “I don’t feel well,” he acknowledged. “Being a high priest is no joke.”

  “Yeah.” Debby moistened her lips. “Wish I could offer you a drink, but I can’t. Have a cheroot.”

  “No, thanks. Whew!”

  “Be glad you’re not Yakuni,” Deborah said.

  “He’s all right.”

  SHE looked doubtingly at Danton. “Yeah? I saw part of what happened. Once a Jap has to knuckle under, he goes haywire.”

  “No, Yakuni’s too intelligent. He’ll know enough to play possum. He’s not credulous, and he’s the guy who’ll use his brain. Right now Yakuni doesn’t believe in Kroo. I’ll bet a plugged anna that he thinks I’m a Yogi, and that I’ve been using mass hypnotism. My power’s too strong for him to meet in open battle, so he’ll try other methods. He’ll pretend to play along, but there’ll be plenty of Fifth Column work going on under cover.”

  “But the Japs can’t use the dynamos,” the girl objected. “Kroo won’t let them.”

  “Exactly. But I don’t know how long Kroo will be satisfied to keep things in status quo. I’m not a god. I can’t think like a god, even a savage one. If Kroo should go away—and he might—we’d be in a spot. Yakuni would get the powerhouse back.”

  “You’re borrowing trouble.”

  “Um. I’d like to sabotage the dynamos, just in case. We can’t touch ’em, but one of Yakuni’s bombs ought to do the trick.”

  “Sure—for the dynamos and for us, too, after Kroo heard the explosion.”

  “Not if we played innocent. I’ve a feeling I can talk Kroo into doing what I want. Or at least I can argue him out of killing us. He isn’t omniscient. I’ve got a hunch.”

  “Okay. What’s the hunch?”

  “We get a bomb. We can’t get close to a dynamo, but if a bomb goes off inside the powerhouse, that’ll do the trick.”

  “I’ll do it. There!”

  Danton grinned. “Good kid. Come along.”

  As they slipped through the jungle down the slope, Deborah paused with a little gasp. “Dan. I just thought of some thing.”

  “What?”

  “The obvious. Can’t you guess?”

  “You mean Yakuni’s sending for help? Paratroops and bombers? I thought of that. We’re safe, Debby. Yakuni doesn’t want to call attention to Gyapur. Mass troop movements heading for here might tip off Allied air scouts. And of course he wouldn’t want the powerhouse bombed. But there’s a more important factor than that.”

  “What?”

  “Loss of face. Can you imagine Yakuni wirelessing a message that Myapur had been captured by a hypnotist—an American girl and an American ethnologist? Nope. Yakuni’s going to handle this business himself as long as he can.” There was no one on guard at the munition dump. Apparently Kroo had scoured Myapur in search of slackers. Danton monkeyed with the lock and finally forced it. Inside, he brooded over one of the bombs.

  “Can you figure it out?” Deborah wanted to know.

  “Guess so. Percussion—um. If these eggs are as powerful as you say, they’d be made to stand a lot of jouncing without going off. So—got it. Here.” he showed her.

  “Not now, for Pete’s sake. Let’s sneak back to the powerhouse.”

  “Okay. We’ll need ropes.”

  CHAPTER VIII

  Kroo’s Protection

  HOWEVER they could not carry the bomb into the powerhouse. On the threshhold they were stopped cold, by some intangible force. They just could not enter the powerhouse with the bomb.

  “Confound it,” Danton exploded. “I didn’t expect this.”

  Deborah was pale. “Is—is Kroo watching?”

  “I’m pretty sure he isn’t. It’s a conditioned reflex. He forbade us to do sacrilege.”

  “He told us we couldn’t touch the dynamos.”

  “The part symbolizes the all. Our subconscious is using induction. As long as we have the conscious desire to wreck Kroo’s altars, we’re physically incapable of it. Hang the luck!” He scowled. “If we really thought the bomb was harmless, we could probably carry it inside. But I’ll bet we couldn’t set it off.”

  Deborah thought hard. “If you could disguise the bomb as something else and tell me to take it in we might do the trick.”

  “Uh-huh. I wish you hadn’t mentioned that. Now we’ll both be on our guard.”

  “We could get a native to carry a bomb in.”

  “A Burmese wouldn’t, because he’s been forbidden to enter the powerhouse. A Jap wouldn’t either, for different reasons. Wonder if we could rig up some sort of pulley and slide the bomb inside?”

  Experiment proved all other expedients to be impossible, also. Kroo was a master of post-hypnotic suggestion. At last they hid the bomb in the jungle and glumly sat down to wait.

  “Yakuni can win if he waits long enough,” Danton theorized, scratching himself. “That yak’s got fleas. From the talks I’ve had with Kroo, I figure he won’t be satisfied with Myapur. He’ll want to expand. Right now we’re fairly safe, because Kroo’s able to supervise Myapur. But after he spreads out. Well, as I said, he isn’t omniscient. He won’t be able to keep his eye on all his temples. Yakuni can move in here.”

  “Until Kroo makes a round of inspection.”

  “Uh-huh. By that time we’ll have been shot. And Kroo may be capricious. He may get tired of this particular temple and let the Japs have it back. There’s no inevitable syllogism.”

>   “Half the time I understand what you’re talking about,” Deborah said. “But only half the time.”

  Danton was pondering. “Our best bet is to sabotage the dynamos. We can’t do that ourselves. Allied bombers can, if we can get word through. By radio. Let’s try Yakuni’s headquarters.”

  They did.

  Captain Yakuni had foresightedly removed certain vital parts.

  “Let me think.” Danton rubbed his temples. “I’ve an idea that might work. But it’ll take time. We can’t spring psychology on Kroo too suddenly.”

  “Psychology?”

  “Uh-huh. Kroo’s got an inferiority complex. He wants to be a big shot. Now, what do we want?”

  “You tell me.”

  “We want to get away from the Japs. Let’s go back to the powerhouse. I want to work this out.”

  A few hours later the yak reappeared, garlanded with flowers, sailing in through the doors of Kroo’s temple.

  “Kroo salutes his priest and priestess,” the beast remarked, coming to ground with a thump. “You have guarded the altars faithfully. Or have you?”

  DANTON diplomatically salaamed. “We have. Great is Kroo.”

  “Great indeed. My people worship in the village. They have turned from their false gods.”

  “Poor Yakuni,” Deborah muttered. “He’s doing all right,” Danton told her in a swift aside. “Just waiting for his chance.”

  “What,” the yak inquired, “do you mean?”

  “Great is Kroo,” Danton said hastily. “We’ve been talking—your priestess and I—about spreading your fame. Myapur’s a pretty small place, after all.”

  “My name shall be known in all lands. But not right now.”

  “The life-cycle of gods follows a pattern,” Kroo explained. “In all things this is so. Local storm-gods have become great. But there is always a beginning. All gods have disciples,” Danton said. “Right?”

  “True enough.”

  “Well, why can’t we be your disciples? Let us go forth into the world and tell the people about you. Advertising pays.”

  As the yak did not speak, Danton went on hurriedly. “Why not transport us to some big city—in Australia or even America—where we could really go to town?”

  “Australia and America have their own gods, I am sure,” Kroo countered shrewdly. “I must wait till I am more powerful before I expand. Burma will do for a beginning, if I should overreach myself, that might spell my doom. Other gods are jealous. Nay, high priest of Kroo, you shall remain here and, under me, rule Myapur.”

  “Just like that,” Deborah said. “Mind if I burn some incense, Kroo?” She lit a cheroot rather shakily.

  Danton pulled at his chin.

  “Kroo. Great Kroo, may I speak quite frankly?”

  “Temper your words with prudence.”

  “Well, it’s this way. Suppose a priest of Kroo got killed by mortal weapons. Wouldn’t that be unfortunate?”

  “Unfortunate for the assassins,” the yak rumbled. “They would die.”

  “Still, that would be bad for your prestige. I represent you in human form. Isn’t that true?”

  “I suppose so. Yes, that is true.”

  “Then if I were killed the people’s faith in Kroo’s omnipotence might be shaken.”

  “Who dares lift a spear against you? Point him out and he shall be slain.”

  “The whole village, and you can’t slay everybody, or you’d be without worshippers. You know you’ve favored me specially. Isn’t it natural for the rest to be jealous?”

  “It is human.” For the moment, Kroo overlooked his own obvious frailties.

  “There it is,” Danton nodded. “You said the life-cycles of gods are parallel. What about invulnerability?”

  “You mean Balder? But he was a god.”

  “Achilles, then. He was human, but invulnerable, through the favor of his gods. They put the stamp of approval on him. Can’t you make your priestess and me invulnerable, to prove your power?”

  “Very well,” Kroo said. “It is done.” Kroo had spoken.

  DEBORAH gulped. “Just like that?”

  “Yes. Only Balder was slain by the mistletoe, and Achilles was wounded in the heel. I must not vary from the pattern. There must be a chink in the armor. You two are safe from harm as long as you remain in Kroo’s temple.”

  “Now wait a minute,” Danton said hurriedly. “Are you sure that’s what you want? If you should be called away from Myapur on business, wouldn’t you like us to keep things running, stamping out blasphemy and that sort of thing?”

  “You speak sooth,” the yak nodded. “I see your point. You would not dare leave the temple, and my people might turn to false gods in my absence. Um, that’s true.”

  “Why not make us invulnerable all the time?”

  “Apollo’s son suffered through pride,” Kroo remarked cryptically. “Here is my edict. So long as you remain near my sacred yak, nothing can harm you. Now I return to my festival. Ya!”

  “Don’t take the yak,” Deborah cried desperately. She was just in time. The beast described a graceful loop in midair and returned to its starting point.

  “I need no human or earthly vessel to watch my worshippers,” the yak said.

  A thundercloud appeared, crackled faintly, and swept out of the powerhouse.

  Kroo was gone.

  CHAPTER IX

  False Priest

  COMPLETE establishment of Kroo’s rule over Myapur was aided by the god’s close supervision. He was an apparently all-seeing monitor against whose laws it was not safe to transgress. Kroo was invisible. The thundercloud did not always herald his presence. The erring were severely punished, usually by death. And Captain Yakuni did not wish his forces decimated.

  The Japanese officer’s equanimity was not greatly troubled, except by the obvious drawbacks of the situation. For, as Danton had suspected, Yakuni did not for a moment believe in Kroo. On the contrary, he attributed the affair to mass hypnotism. His cremated men, he decided, had not been struck by deific lightning, since lightning could not be controlled except in well-equipped laboratories. Rather, Danton had simply shot or stabbed the offending soldiers and hynotized everybody into seeing a more impressive theatrical scene.

  It was quite remarkable hypnotism. But Yakuni preferred to believe in that explanation rather than admit Kroo’s existence. As a matter of fact, he could not believe in Kroo. He was not conditioned that way.

  So Myapur was reorganized by mud and blood. The men hunted. No slacking was allowed. Nor were guns permitted. The yak spoke firmly on that point, mincing no words about cowardice. Kroo wanted his people to be courageous, perhaps through some obscure compensation-motive of his own. The Burmese were used to hand-weapons. They hunted tigers happily, hurling their spears with well-trained accuracy. The Japanese were less pleased.

  The guns of the Japanese had all been collected by the natives and levitated into the powerhouse by Kroo.

  But a few guns had not been discovered so there were occasional shots fired at Danton and Deborah. Since the latter pair never ventured far from the yak, they remained unharmed. And Kroo always took vengeance on the assassins, when he could find the right ones.

  In a week another shipment of bombs would come down-river to Captain Yakuni, for the electrolytic treatment. The jig would be up then, and the Japanese Empire would know that an American hypnotist had captured Myapur and subjected the conquerors to indignities. Yakuni had no intention of waiting so long. His sharpshooters had failed to murder the Americans, true. But there were other methods.

  Only Yakuni could not think of any.

  Before the week ended, Kroo relaxed with a grunt of contentment. His people.

  Not a lot of lying, cowardly beings who gave him hypocritical lip-service, such as he had been accustomed to for so long. Kroo was pleased with the tribe, the Burmese especially.

  No other god was so great. No other god had such a temple, or such giant altars. Well, not many, Kroo hoped.

&n
bsp; He let himself dream. In the future—after many centuries, of course—Kroo might be as great as Moloch or red Ormazd, called the Flame. Yet that was too much to hope.

  No, by the Greater than Gods, it was not! Even Ormazd had been a little god once. So had Osiris and Babylonian Allatu, and Marduk as well. Now they dwelt in Godsheim, where no weakling god could enter.

  BUT if Kroo became great, and a warrior, and the lord of many races and temples—why, then the gates of Godsheim might some day open to him. He could wait. And in the meantime there would be temporal pleasures, and a tribe to rule and guide—one tribe now, a nation in the days to come.

  Kroo the Warrior! How did that sound? It sounded fine—if he could only make it come true!

  Kroo looked down at the powerhouse. A kid lay on one of his altars. The priestess was smoking her incense. Her prayer to Kroo!

  Kroo, slid down the airways, entering the yak. He fumbled an instant before possessing the awkward throat muscles of the beast.

  “Kroo hears. Kroo accepts your sacrifice.”

  Danton, looking rather haggard, glanced at Deborah and nodded imperceptibly.

  “Great is Kroo. Have I your permission to speak?”

  “You are dear to me, priest. Speak. Have I not given you the power of invulnerability?”

  “Yeah,” Danton said grimly. “It’s come in blamed handy, too. But what I wanted to say—I’ve got an idea. You have to follow the life-patterns of the other gods, don’t you?”

  “I follow no other gods. All gods follow the great matrix.”

  “Well, that’s what I mean,” said Danton. “It seems to me you’ve skipped something, Kroo. The Solar myth. All the great gods have been killed and have risen. Horus of Egypt, Balder, Quetzlcoatl—the Irish, the American Indian—all races. Didn’t the Druids have a god named Mider who was reborn? At the spring equinox?”

  “The vernal equinox. Aye. And at each eclipse. Priest, you are wise. Yet I do not know whether I am ready.”