by J Gurley
He turned to the men assembled around them. “Take these two to the common square. Tomorrow we will execute them both, the Scattered One for what his people did to our ancestors and as a message to others who may come; the southerner, as an example to others who sneak into our country and try to steal what is ours.”
Hramack’s dismay overwhelmed him. He staggered backwards into the waiting arms of Hardy’s men.
31
Chu Li’s Wrath
Madras relayed Kaffa’s message to the High Priest. To say that Chu Li was angry would have been an insult to the depths of his loathing. He could not understand how one old man could pose such a problem. Forcing the marriage of Teela to Juresh was within the law. None could fault him for that, and yet, the villagers continued to resist his edicts, inspired by Kaffa’s opposition. The animal sacrifices had not worked, and people were growing restless. Without the springs, they would be out of water in a few short weeks. If the remaining supply had to serve the entire population, he mused, somewhat surprised by the audacity of his thoughts. It was cruel, but should not a few die to assure the life of the village? By sacrificing the elderly, the sick, and the discontented, they could extend the water rationing for weeks longer.
He comforted himself by considering it one of Yarah’s tests to weed out the unbelievers among them. Whatever the outcome, he would insist that Kaffa be one of the sacrificed to quell his private rebellion.
Madras was no longer trustworthy. He grew more distressed with each passing day. He avoided his family whenever possible, spending his days besotted with kalquat. He stood before Chu Li now trembling in fright.
“Teela will marry your son. Kaffa, for all his bluster, is an old man. He cannot stop it. However, his quiet insinuations against me have created ripples in our community at a time when we have troubles enough to endure. His actions can no longer he tolerated.” He smiled. “Let him grumble and shake in rage tonight. Tomorrow, the Council shall send for him for questioning. We will pull his teeth before we announce your son’s upcoming marriage.”
Madras’ face became ashen and his brow erupted in perspiration. “What if the people protest? Kaffa, though no longer Village Precept, still has many loyal to him.”
“The Council will declare him a troublemaker and sanction him. As High Priest, I will declare him a heretic. Siding publicly with him places his followers treading dangerous ground. Public humiliation might soften his rhetoric.”
Madras shook his head rapidly. “Not Kaffa. He is old, but he retains the vigor of someone half his age. You will simply invite him to redouble his efforts.”
Chu Li smiled at Madras and closed his hand into a fist. “That is precisely what I intend. Let him languish in the silo prison while we continue with our plans.”
Chu Li considered letting Madras in on his decision to reduce the village’s population, but then decided he could not trust him. Besides, one of Madras’ nieces was ill with the strange fever that affected several in the village. She would be included in the culling. It would best not to allow Madras time to reconsider his allegiance.
“Go. Inform the other members of the Council of my intentions. Tomorrow, we end this constant bickering.”
As Madras slunk away into the darkness, Chu Li shook his head in wonder. “I offer him everything, and still his heart is not in it. He is a weak man and weakness cannot be tolerated.” He sighed. “His time has almost come.”
*
Morning came with a renewed fury of heat blasting the village, baking the stone beneath their feet. The sun rose angry and red from dust in the air, but many saw it as a sign. Centuries of watching the sun burn away the past had created an aura of malevolence around it. Now, it was an angry red eye staring down at them in celestial fury.
To Chu Li, it created the perfect backdrop for his latest announcement. After the Morning Prayer, he would inform Kaffa of the Council’s decision to question him. Kaffa, as usual, would protest loudly, offering Chu Li the opportunity to have Kaffa led away under Council arrest. His public humiliation might earn him the sympathy of a few, but most would welcome the show of power as a sign the Council had a plan.
He stood at the edge of the canyon, facing the empty Pools of Yarah, as he intoned his prayer, roasting beneath the heavy robes of office in the unusually oppressive heat.
“Yarah, we beseech you to bring harmony to our village. We abide your testing of our faith, but those among us who falter create ripples that become waves. It is a time for a Cleansing. We must –”“She is dying!” someone shouted.
Chu Li whirled to see Alton the furniture maker standing in front of the crowd, his hands bunched by his side. The veins of his neck stood out as he yelled.
“My daughter is dying, and you do nothing.”
“Our Healer, Kena, had abandoned us,” Chu Li responded. “He has incited Yarah’s anger.”
“She is burning with fever. She needs water, but you ration it.” He raised his arm and pointed his finger at Chu Li, shaking it. “You promised the waters would return, but it has not. Must we all die, must my Denora die, to prove we are worthy of Yarah’s grace?”
“Give her water,” someone in the crowd shouted.
Chu Li stared at them, his gaze moving along the line of faces. “Which of you will give up their water ration? Alton’s daughter has the dust fever. Without a Healer, she will die. You know this. Yarah will accept her pure soul, but it is not Yarah’s doing. The fault lies with Kena and Hramack. They murdered Eithan and invoked Yarah’s wrath down on our village. The sacrifice of a few lives are the penitence we must perform to purge the village of sin.”
Kaffa stepped from the crowd. “Do you, Chu Li, decide who to sacrifice?”
Chu Li frowned at Kaffa’s use of his name instead of his title of High Priest. “Yarah decides all things. As High Priest, he speaks through me. Do you question Yarah’s will?”
“I question Chu Li’s will.
“They are one and the same.”
“Yes, and that frightens me.”
“You have opposed me for years. Your actions border on blasphemy. Yarah –”
“You sacrifice my daughter,” Alton yelled. “I will not allow it.”
Many in the crowd gasped, as the rail-thin furniture maker, a man so meek he paled when he saw blood, drew a knife used for shaping wood from his robe and rushed at Chu Li.
“I will not allow it,” he repeated.
Chu Li looked into Alton’s eyes and saw not the furniture maker, but a madman driven to a killing rage by grief, dismay, and the heat. He knew he could not reason with him. With the odd realization that he was not afraid, Chu Li pulled his dagger from his robes, the one he had used on Eithan and the sacrificed animals, and held it out in front of him. He did not strike out, but Alton’s awkward charge propelled him onto the dagger’s blade. He felt the blade push into the furniture maker’s stomach until it hit his spine. Alton’s eyes went wide with surprise. Whatever rage had taken him, faded with the realization of his death. He dropped his knife and slid down Chu Li’s body.
“Denora,” he gasped and died.
The gathered crowd was silent. What was to be a prayer for their survival had escalated into a bloodbath. One of their own was dead, driven insane by lack of water and the heat. They knew any of them could be next.
As Chu Li stared down at Alton’s body, blood dripping from his dagger, Kaffa said, “Now you have your sacrifice,” and strode off.
Chu Li fought to recover his composure. Showing just the right amount of surprise and regret, he said, “Our brother Alton was not in control of his actions.” He pointed to the sun, now looking even more red and swollen, as if the furniture maker’s blood had strengthened it. “That is our enemy. It has scoured our world of everything. We cling to life by our faith. If we abandon Yarah, who among you can assure our survival? We must stand together or die. We must all make sacrifices.” He pointed to Alton’s body lying at his feet. “He has made his sacrifice. Now, his stricken daught
er can have his extra share of our dwindling water supply. Or, with the knowledge that she will not survive, we can leave it in the cisterns for all to partake. You must decide. This is a village matter, not one of faith. You must each look into your hearts and decide who is worthy and who is not.”
He motioned for men to remove Alton’s body. “he had made his prayer. There is no need for another.”
He walked away from the silent crowd. The furniture maker had accomplished what the High Priest would have had trouble doing. Now, he was an example. He stared at his hands as he walked away. More blood. My hands attract blood like sweat attracts gnats. He sighed. Before it was all over, he knew he would have to spill more blood.
Yarah wills it.
32
Soaring like an Eagle
After working on the plane for hours, Cathi finally decided to stop and rest. Her arms ached and her head throbbed where she had banged it repeatedly on the engine cowling. Kena helped when he could, but he knew nothing about planes. Since he was good with tools, she put him to work tightening or loosening bolts where she indicated and pulling wires that she pointed out.
“I need a break,” she told Kena. He looked up and nodded; then he smiled.
“What?” she asked. He touched his nose. She took a rag, wiped her nose, and then saw that her nose had been covered in grease. “Thanks. Almost ready,” she said. “In a few minutes we’ll find out if this thing still works after a few hundred years.”
“You are doing nothing to instill confidence in me,” Kena jested.
“Don’t worry, Kena. If it quits working while in the air and we crash, you will still become the first Earth man to fly in over three hundred years.”
“An honor I had rather live without, I assure you.”
She laughed. It felt good to laugh again after so long. For a brief moment, she forgot about Whitehall and Pegari, but only a brief moment. “It’s time to give it a try. Are you ready?”
“I had rather die in the sky than under this mountain. Let’s go.” Kena chose the seat beside her, the one she called the co-pilot’s seat. He was a little uncomfortable as the seat curved around him, leaving only his arms and legs mobile. A cushion inflated behind his head, allowing him to turn his head but little else. Cathi took her seat, her right hand gripping the joystick controlling pitch, yaw, and speed. Another lever beside her left hand controlled power.
“Here goes.”
She touched an illuminated tab marked Hangar Door, and the plane jerked as it lifted into the air, then settled down, as she pushed the controls forward. When they were within ten meters of the door, Kena wriggled anxiously in his seat. He relaxed when the doors began to slide open, revealing a tunnel perhaps a hundred meters long. Bands of colored lights raced down the sides of the tunnel toward the opposite end. When they reached the end of the tunnel, another door slid aside.
She powered up the plane. With a high-pitched whine, it lifted several meters into the air. She edged the joystick a little more forward, and the plane shot into the air and over the side of the mountain, dropping slightly until the wings caught air. Kena’s stomach protested. She tested the controls, smiling at Kena’s groans of discomfort, as the plane pitched left, then right. She pushed the stick to its maximum and felt a surge of power. The mountains flew by at an alarming speed. They were travelling at 1200 kph, faster than the speed of sound, and she felt no wind resistance at all. She nosed the plane higher to avoid the mountain peaks and headed east. An urge rose in her to fly over the tortured lands through which only days before she and Anderson had wearily trudged. She turned back toward the mountain. She did not want to see the ruins of her crashed shuttle or the graves of Pegari or Whitehall.
She noticed a great deal of activity below them. She turned to Kena. “We were told these people were cannibals and savages. I see signs of agriculture, aquaculture, and herds of domesticated animals. They have irrigation. These people are at least as advanced as your people, maybe more so.”
“We’ve had only contact with small bands of Marauders on our journey,” stammered Kena defensively. “My people did not know any humans were left alive until we met the men of Pueblo Nuevo. Grey Eagle’s people would not lie. Perhaps not all of the tribes in this territory are as advanced as these seem to be, as your encounter on your journey here would seem to indicate. Maybe we can reason with them. We have no need to fight each other. It is a large planet, and we who remain are few.”
As they neared the mountain, they saw a familiar sight below them. Less than a kilometer from the entrance, sight of their first battle with the Marauders, the unmistakable form of Grey Eagle and his men marched determinedly down the valley toward Denver Dome.
“Let’s land,” he said.
She slowed the craft and turned in a tight arc above the group. As he noticed the plane’s approach, Grey Eagle signaled his men to scatter for cover in the surrounding rocks while he stood defiantly alone facing the unknown threat. It was only until the plane had landed and Kena had come running out of the doorway, that Grey Eagle recognized his old friend and threw up his arms to embrace him.
“Kena, my friend,” he said, as he squeezed Kena in his strong arms. “We thought you lost, swallowed up by the mountain.”“Good to see you again,” Kena said, prying himself from Grey Eagle’s embrace. He searched the faces of the group of men. “Where are Hramack and Anderson?”
Grey Eagle lowered his head and was silent for a few seconds before replying, “Taken, captured by the Marauders. They are alive and unharmed. Your son has left signs that we are following.” Grey Eagle examined the plane in which his friends had just arrived. “What thing is this that flies like a great eagle? A device of the old ones no doubt.” He walked around the plane and stuck his head inside the door. “Will its belly carry all of us and still fly? If so, it will aid our cause greatly.”
“Yes, it will hold all of us,” Cathi answered. “But we cannot just attack them. There has been a great misunderstanding.”
She and Kena began to describe the things they had seen flying over the nearby valley. Grey Eagle listened intently, frowning often.
“They are not all cannibals and looters, as you have thought,” Kena concluded. “They have developed a thriving culture here.”
Grey Eagle was unconvinced. “It is true these Marauders seem better fed and more organized than those along our border, but I still would not dine with them until I first knew the menu. Nevertheless, if what you say is true, then we can perhaps make a treaty with them and end this bloodshed.” His gaze became stern as he asked Kena, “What do you propose?”
“Tomorrow, at first light, we will land in their city in this plane. It will show them we are not savages. I will go alone and speak with their leader to secure the release of Anderson and my son. You and the others will remain in the safety of the plane. If the talks go well, we will make a treaty.” Kena’s expression hardened. “If they kill me, you will return to the mountain with Cathi, find any weapons you can, and return to free my son.”
“You are a brave man, Kena of Ningcha. I hope you are not a stupid one. We will go with you to their city, but if they attempt to detain you, we will pour from this craft and kill all we can. Honor demands we protect your life as you have protected ours.”
Kena smiled. “You do me great honor, Grey Eagle, but if we continue to kill one another, we will never rebuild this planet. We must talk with them. We must win their trust.”
“If we must die to win their trust, so be it.” Grey Eagle said. “We will rest and eat. Tomorrow we will meet these Marauders face-toface in their own city. We will leave as friends, or we will not leave.” To Kena’s consternation, he added quietly, “If they do not kill your son tonight while we sleep.”
*
Anderson and Hramack lay chained to the flagpole outside the main meeting hall of the Marauders, fully exposed to the harsh sun. He doubted they would live to see another. His father and friends were in the mountain still searching for them. Wi
th no hope of rescue, their future looked bleak. Throughout the day, passersby gathered to hurl insults or something worse – feces, rotten vegetables, even stones – at them. Hramack’s body sported several new bruises from well-tossed stones. Anderson was in worse shape. His ordeal and now his impending death had drained his will to live. He lay motionless, curled in a fetal position. Hramack tried to rouse him.
“Anderson.” No reply. He called again. “Anderson!”
Finally, Anderson moaned. “What do you want?” he barked. “Let me die in peace.”
“You cannot give up hope. We are still alive. My father and Grey Eagle will come.”
Anderson laughed. “Look around you, Hramack. There are thousands of people here. Do you think your father can just walk in here and free us? We’re dead, and if they try to free us, they’re dead as well. Lieutenant Lorst knows better than to attempt something that foolish. She will remain in that facility until she contacts our ship, and they come and get her off this miserable planet. I wish I had never come here.”
“There is always hope, my father says. Yarah will protect us.”
He surprised himself in his faith in Yarah, but in such times, man did need hope in something greater than himself. Even the Scattered Ones, as great as their accomplishments, still had an empty spot that yearned for fulfillment, or else why would they come many light years in search of a myth, a legend? Man’s existence has always been a fine balance between the need of religion and its rejection. Each stride in science and technology made man less dependent on a god or God, while each setback sent him in search of his spiritual roots.
When man tamed lightning, or the atom, or space, he felt godlike and all-powerful. Each new insight into knowledge heretofore unknown gave him a feeling of omniscience. Yet, each cataclysm, natural or as a result of man’s own folly, sent the masses scurrying back into the empty churches and mosques, searching for someone to watch over and protect them. Only when man walked side-by-side with the knowledge of a Supreme Being and the knowledge of the atom would true progress take place, a deeply profound progress of the mind and of the soul.