Sea Kings of Mars and Otherworldly Stories

by Leigh Brackett

  "I was too young to be a god. A boy who never grew older. A boy who wanted to play with other boys, and couldn't. A boy who wanted to age, to grow a beard and a man's voice, and find a woman to love.

  It was hell, after the thrill wore off. It was worse, when my mind and heart grew up, and my body didn't.

  "And they said I was no god, but a blasphemy, a freak."

  "The priests of Dagon, of all the temples of Atlantis, spoke against me. I had to run away. I roamed the whole earth before the Flood, carrying the Stone. Sometimes I ruled for centuries, a god-king, but always the people tired of me and rose against me. They hated me, because I lived forever and never grew old.

  "A man they might have accepted. But a boy! A brain with all the wisdom it could borrow from time, grown so far from theirs that it was hard to talk to them—and a body too young even for the games of manhood!"

  Ciaran stood frozen, shrinking from the hell in the boy-god's agonized voice.

  "So I grew to hate them, and when they drove me out I turned on them, and used the power of the Stone to destroy. I know what happened to the cities of the Gobi, to Angkor, and the temples of Mayapan! So the people hated me more because they feared me more, and I was alone. No one has ever been alone as I was.

  "So I built my own world, here in the heart of a dead planet. And in the end it was the same, because the people were human and I was not. I created the androids, freaks like myself, to stand between me and my people—my own creatures, that I could trust. And I built a third world, in my dreams.

  "And now the Stone of Destiny has come to the end of its strength. Its atoms are eaten away by its own fire. The world it powered will die. And what will happen to me? Will I go on living, even after my body is frozen in the cold dark?"

  Silence, then. The pulsing beat of light in the crystal rods. The heart of a world on its deathbed.

  Ciaran's harp crashed out. It made the crystal sing. His voice came with it:

  "Bas! The monster in the pit, that the androids are building—I know now what it is! They knew the Stone was dying. They're going to have power of their own, and take the world. You can't let them, Bas! You brought us here. We're your people. You can't let the androids have us!"

  The boy laughed, a low, bitter sound. "What do I care for your world or your people? I only want to sleep." He caught his breath in and turned around, as though he was going back to the place of the stone cross.

  6

  Ciaran stroked the harpstrings. "Wait . . ." It was all humanity crying out of the harp. Little people, lost and frightened and pleading for help. No voice could have said what it said. It was Ciaran himself, a channel for the unthinking pain inside him.

  "Wait—You were human once. You were young. You laughed and quarreled and ate and slept, and you were free. That's all we ask. Just those things. Remember Bas the fisherman's son, and help us!"

  Gray eyes looking at him. Gray eyes looking from a boy's face. "How could I help you even if I wanted to?"

  "There's some power left in the Stone. And the androids are your creatures. You made them. You can destroy them. If you could do it before they finish this thing—from the way they spoke, they mean to destroy you with it."

  Bas laughed.

  Ciaran's hand struck a terrible chord from the harp, and fell away.

  Bas said heavily, "They'll draw power from the gravitic force of the planet and broadcast it the same way. It will never stop as long as the planet spins. If they finish it in time, the world will live. If they don't . . ." He shrugged. "What difference does it make?"

  "So," whispered Ciaran, "we have a choice of a quick death, or a lingering one. We can die free, on our own feet, or we can die slaves." His voice rose to a full-throated shout. "God! You're no god!

  You're a selfish brat sulking in a corner. All right, go back to your Marsali! And I'll play god for a minute."

  He raised the harp.

  "I'll play god, and give 'em the clean way out!"

  He drew his arm back to throw—to smash the crystal web. And then, with blinding suddenness, there was light again.

  They stood frozen, the two of them, blinking in the hot opalescence. Then their eyes were drawn to the crystal web.

  The Stone of Destiny still fluttered like a dying heart, and the crystal rods were dim.

  Ciaran whispered, "It's too late. They're finished."

  Silence again. They stood almost as though they were waiting for something, hardly breathing, with Ciaran still holding the silent harp in his hand.

  Very, very faintly, under his fingers, the strings began to thrum.

  Vibration. In a minute Ciaran could hear it in the crystal. It was like the buzz and strum of insects just out of earshot. He said:

  "What's that?"

  The boy's ears were duller than his. But presently he smiled and said, "So that's how they're going to do it. Vibration, that will shake Ben Beatha into a cloud of dust, and me with it. They must believe I'm still asleep." He shrugged. "What matter? It's death."

  Ciaran slung the harp across his back. There was a curious finality in the action.

  "There's a way from here into the pit. Where is it?"

  Bas pointed across the open space. Ciaran started walking. He didn't say anything.

  Bas said, "Where are you going?"

  "Back to Mouse," said Ciaran simply.

  "To die with her." The crystal maze hummed eerily. "I wish I could see Marsali again."

  Ciaran stopped. He spoke over his shoulder, without expression. "The death of the Stone doesn't mean your death, does it?"

  "No. The first exposure to its light when it landed, blazing with the heat of friction, made permanent changes in the cell structure of my body. I'm independent of it—as the androids are of the culture vats they grew in."

  "And the new power source will take up where the Stone left off?"

  "Yes. Even the wall of rays that protected me and fed my body while I slept will go on. The power of the Stone was broadcast to it, and to the sunballs. There were no mechanical leads."

  Ciaran said softly, "And you love this Marsali? You're happy in this dream world you created? You could go back there?"

  "Yes," whispered Bas. "Yes. Yes!"

  Ciaran turned. "Then help us destroy the androids. Give us our world, and we'll give you yours. If we fail—well, we have nothing to lose."

  Silence. The crystal web hummed and sang—death whispering across the world. The Stone of Destiny throbbed like the breast of a dying bird. The boy's gray eyes were veiled and remote. It seemed almost that he was asleep.

  Then he smiled—the drowsy smile of pleasure he had worn when Ciaran found him, dreaming on the stone cross.

  "Marsali," he whispered. "Marsali."

  He moved forward then, reaching out across the crystal web. The long nails on his fingers scooped up the Stone of Destiny, cradled it, caged it in.

  Bas the Immortal said, "Let's go, little man."

  Ciaran didn't say anything. He looked at Bas. His eyes were wet. Then he got the harp in his hands

  again and struck it, and the thundering chords shook the crystal maze to answering music.

  It drowned the faint death-whisper. And then, caught between two vibrations, the shining rods split and fell, with a shiver of sound like the ringing of distant bells.

  Ciaran turned and went down the passage to the pit. Behind him came the dark-haired boy with the Stone of Destiny in his hands.

  They came along the lower arm of the fork where Ciaran and the hunter had fought the Kalds. There were four of the gray beasts still on guard.

  Ciaran had pulled the wand from his girdle. The Kalds started up, and Ciaran got ready to fight them. But Bas said, "Wait."

  He stepped forward. The Kalds watched him with their blood-pink eyes, yawning and whimpering with animal nervousness. The boy's dark gaze burned. The gray brutes cringed and shivered and then dropped flat, hiding their faces against the stone.

  "Telepaths," said Bas to Ciaran, "
and obedient to the strongest mind. The androids know that. The Kalds weren't put there to stop me physically, but to send the androids warning if I came."

  Ciaran shivered. "So they'll be waiting."

  "Yes, little man. They'll be waiting."

  They went down the long tunnel and stepped out on the floor of the pit.

  It was curiously silent. The fires had died in the forges. There was no sound of hammering, no motion. Only blazing lights and a great stillness, like someone holding his breath. There was no one in sight.

  The metal monster climbed up the pit. It was finished now. The intricate maze of grids and balances in its belly murmured with the strength that spun up through it from the core of the planet. It was like a vast spider, making an invisible thread of power to wrap around the world and hold it, to be sucked dry.

  An army of Kalds began to move on silent feet, out from the screening tangle of sheds and machinery.

  The androids weren't serious about that. It was just a skirmish, a test to see whether Bas had been weakened by his age-long sleep. He hadn't been. The Kalds looked at the Stone of Destiny and from there to Bas's gray eyes, cringed, whimpered, and lay flat.

  Bas whispered, "Their minds are closed to me, but I can feel—the androids are working, preparing some trap . . ."

  His eyes were closed now, his young face set with concentration. "They don't want me to see, but my mind is older than theirs, and better trained, and I have the power of the Stone. I can see a control panel. It directs the force of their machine . . ."

  He began to move, then, rapidly, out across the floor. His eyes were still closed. It seemed he didn't need them for seeing.

  People began to come out from behind the sheds and the cooling forges. Blank-faced people with empty eyes. Many of them, making a wall of themselves against Bas.

  Ciaran cried out, "Mouse . . . !"

  She was there. Her body was there, thin and erect in the crimson tunic. Her black hair was still wild around her small brown face. But Mouse, the Mouse that Ciaran knew, was dead behind her dull black eyes. Ciaran whispered, "Mouse . . ."

  The slaves flowed in and held the two of them, clogged in a mass of unresponsive bodies.

  "Can't you free them, Bas?"

  "Not yet. Not now. There isn't time."

  "Can't you do with them what you did with the Kalds?"

  "The androids control their minds through hypnosis. If I fought that control, the struggle would blast their minds to death or idiocy. And there isn't time . . ." There was sweat on his smooth young forehead. "I've got to get through. I don't want to kill them . . ."

  Ciaran looked at Mouse. "No," he said hoarsely.

  "But I may have to, unless . . . Wait! I can channel the power of the Stone through my own brain, because there's an affinity between us. Vibration, cell to cell. The androids won't have made a definite command against music. Perhaps I can jar their minds open, just enough, so that you can call them with your harp, as you called me."

  A tremor almost of pain ran through the boy's body.

  "Lead them away, Ciaran. Lead them as far as you can. Otherwise many of them will die. And hurry!"

  Bas raised the Stone of Destiny in his clasped hands and pressed it to his forehead. And Ciaran took his harp.

  He was looking at Mouse when he set the strings to singing. That was why it wasn't hard to play as he did. It was something from him to Mouse. A prayer. A promise. His heart held out on a song.

  The music rippled out across the packed mass of humanity. At first they didn't hear it. Then there was a stirring and a sigh, a dumb, blind reaching. Somewhere the message was getting through the darkness clouding their minds. A message of hope. A memory of red sunlight on green hills, of laughter and home and love.

  Ciaran let the music die to a whisper under his fingers, and the people moved forward, toward him, wanting to hear.

  He began to walk away, slowly, trailing the harp-song over his shoulder—and they followed.

  Haltingly, in twos and threes, until the whole mass broke and flowed like water in his wake.

  Bas was gone, his slim young body slipping fast through the broken ranks of the crowd.

  Ciaran caught one more glimpse of Mouse before he lost her among the others. She was crying, without knowing or remembering why.

  If Bas died, if Bas was defeated, she would never know nor remember.

  Ciaran led them as far as he could, clear to the wall of the pit. He stopped playing. They stopped, too, standing like cattle, looking at nothing, with eyes turned inward to their clouded dreams.

  Ciaran left them there, running out alone across the empty floor.

  He followed the direction Bas had taken. He ran, fast, but it was like a nightmare where you run and run and never get anywhere. The lights glared down and the metal monster sighed and churned high up over his head, and there was no other sound, no other movement but his own.

  Then, abruptly, the lights went out.

  He stumbled on, hitting brutally against unseen pillars, falling and scrambling in scrap heaps. And after an eternity he saw light again, up ahead.

  The Light he had seen before, here in the pit. The glorious opalescent light that drew a man's mind and held it fast to be chained.

  Ciaran crept in closer.

  There was a control panel on a stone dais—a meaningless jumbled mass of dials and wires. The androids stood before it. One of them was bent over, its yellowish hands working delicately with the controls. The other stood erect beside it, holding a staff. The metal ball at the top was open, spilling the opalescent blaze into the darkness.

  Ciaran crouched in the shelter of a pillar, shielding his eyes. Even now he wanted to walk into that light and be its slave.

  The android with the staff said harshly, "Can't you find the wave length? He should have been dead by now."

  The bending one tensed and then straightened, the burning light sparkling across its metal sheath.

  Its eyes were black and limitless, like evil itself, and no more human.

  "Yes," it said. "I have it."

  The light began to burst stronger from the staff, a swirling dangerous fury of it.

  Ciaran was hardly breathing. The light-source, whatever it was, was part of the power of the Stone of Destiny. Wave lengths meant nothing to him, but it seemed the danger was to the Stone—and Bas carried it.

  The android touched the staff. The light died, clipped off as the metal ball closed.

  "If there's any power left in the Stone," it whispered, "our power-wave will blast its subatomic reserve—and Bas the Immortal with it!"

  Silence. And then in the pitch darkness a coal began to glow.

  It came closer. It grew brighter, and a smudged reflection behind and above it became the head and shoulders of Bas the Immortal.

  The android whispered, "Stronger! Hurry!"

  A yellowish hand made a quick adjustment. The Stone of Destiny burned brighter. It burst with light.

  It was like a sunball, stabbing its hot fury into the darkness.

  The android whispered, "More!"

  The Stone filled all the pit with a deadly blaze of glory.

  Bas stopped, looking up at the dais. He grinned. A naked boy, beautiful with youth, his gray eyes veiled and sleepy under dark lashes.

  He threw the Stone of Destiny up on the dais. An idle boy tossing stones at a treetop.

  Light. An explosion of it, without sound, without physical force. Ciaran dropped flat on his face behind the pillar. After a long time he raised his head again. The overhead lights were on, and Bas stood on the dais beside two twisted, shining lumps of man-made soulless men.

  The android flesh had taken the radiation as leather takes heat, warping, twisting, turning black.

  "Poor freaks," said Bas softly. "They were like me, with no place in the universe that belonged to them. So they dreamed, too—only their dreams were evil."

  He stooped and picked up something—a dull, dark stone, a thing with no more life nor li
ght than a waterworn pebble.

  He sighed and rolled it once between his palms, and let it drop.

  "If they had had time to learn their new machine a little better, I would never have lived to reach them in time." He glanced down at Ciaran, standing uncertainly below. "Thanks to you, little man, they didn't have quite time enough."

  He gestured to a staff. "Bring it, and I'll free your Mouse."

  7

  A long time afterward Mouse and Ciaran and Bas the Immortal stood in the opal-tinted glow of the great room of the crux ansata. Outside the world was normal again, and safe. Bas had left full instructions about controlling and tending the centrifugal power plant.

  The slaves were freed, going home across the Forbidden Plains-forbidden no longer. The Kalds were sleeping, mercifully; the big sleep from which they would never wake. The world was free, for humanity to make or mar on its own responsibility.

  Mouse stood very close to Ciaran, her arm around his waist, his around her shoulders. Crimson rags mingling with yellow; fair shaggy hair mixing with black. Bas smiled at them.

  "Now," he said, "I can be happy, until the planet itself is dead."

  "You won't stay with us? Our gratitude, our love . . . ."

  "Will be gone with the coming generations. No, little man. I built myself a world where I belong—the only world where I can ever belong. And I'll be happier in it than any of you, because it is my world—free of strife and ugliness and suffering. A beautiful world, for me and Marsali."

  There was a radiance about him that Ciaran would put into a song some day, only half understanding.

  "I don't envy you," whispered Bas, and smiled. Youth smiling in a spring dawn. "Think of us sometimes, and be jealous."

  He turned and walked away, going lightly over the wide stone floor and up the steps to the dais, Ciaran struck the harpstrings. He sent the music flooding up against the high vault, filling all the rocky space with a thrumming melody.

  He sang. The tune he had sung for Mouse, on the ridge above the burning sea. A simple tune, about two people in love.

  Bas lay down on the couch of furs and colored silks, soft on the shaft of the stone cross. He looked back at them once, smiling. One slim white arm raised in a brief salute and swept down across the black stone.