Orion in the Dying Time o-3

by Ben Bova

  The first step was to see if I could merge Noch’s band of ex-slaves with Kraal’s tribe. It would not be easy, I knew. But the first step never is.

  Chapter 8

  Kraal was impressed with the echo—the god who speaks. But he tried to hide it.

  “The god only repeats what you say.”

  “Most of the time,” I replied, a new idea forming in my mind. “But sometimes the god speaks its own words to us.”

  He grunted, trying to keep up an air of skepticism.

  He was also impressed with Anya, who greeted him courteously, seriously, as befits a man of importance. Kraal had never seen a metallic fabric such as Anya wore: it was practically impervious to wear, of course, and literally repelled dirt with a surface electrical charge. She seemed to glow like a goddess.

  He had never seen a woman so beautiful, either, and his bearded face plainly showed the confusion of awe, longing, and outright lust that percolated through him. He was an experienced leader who seemed to grasp the advantages of merging Noch’s band into his own. But it had never been done before, and Kraal was not the type to agree easily to any innovation.

  We feasted that night together on the rocky canyon floor, our whole band plus Kraal’s dozen men clustered around a roaring fire while we roasted rabbits, possums, raccoons, and smaller rodents on sticks. The women provided bread, something Kraal and his men had never seen before, as well as mounds of nuts, carrots, berries, and an overpowering root that would one day be called horseradish.

  Earlier, I had spoken at length to Anya about my idea, and she had actually laughed with the delight of it.

  “Are you sure you can do it?” I had asked.

  “Yes. Of course. Never fear.”

  It was wonderful to see her smile, to see the delight and hope lighting her gray eyes.

  After our eating was finished the women went back to the caves and the men sat around the dying embers of our big fire, belching and telling tales.

  Finally I asked Kraal, “Have you thought about merging our two groups?”

  He shook his head, as if disappointed. “It can’t be done, Orion.”

  “Why not?”

  All the other men stopped their talk and watched us. Kraal answered unhappily, “You have your tribe and I have my tribe. We have no people in common: no brothers or brides or even cousins. There are no bonds between the two tribes, Orion.”

  “We could create such bonds,” I suggested. “Several of our women have no husbands. I’m sure many of your men have no wives.”

  I saw nods among his men. But Kraal shook his head once more. “It’s never been done, Orion. It’s not possible.”

  I pulled myself to my feet. “Let’s see what the god has to say.”

  He looked up at me. “The god will repeat whatever you say.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  Raising my hands above my head, I called into the night, “O god who speaks, tell us what we should do!”

  My voice echoed off the bowl of rock, “…tell us what we should do!”

  For several heartbeats there was nothing to hear except the chirping of crickets in the grass. Then a low guttural whisper floated through the darkness: “I am the god who speaks. Ask and you shall receive wisdom.”

  All the men, mine included, jumped as if a live electrical wire had touched their bare flesh. Kraal’s eyes went so wide that even in the dying firelight I could see white all around the pupils. None of them recognized Anya’s voice; none of them could even tell that the rasping whisper they heard came from a woman.

  I turned to Kraal. “Ask the god.”

  His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Most of the other men had gotten to their feet, staring toward the looming shadow of the hollowed rock. I felt some shame, tricking them this way. I realized that an unscrupulous person could easily make the “god” say whatever he or she wanted it to say. One day oracles and seers would use such tricks to sway their believers. I would have much to answer for.

  But at this particular instant in time I needed Kraal to accept the idea of merging our two tribes.

  To my surprise, it was Noch who spoke up. His voice quavering slightly with nervousness, he shouted toward the rock wall, “O god who speaks, would it be a good thing for our tribe to merge with Kraal’s tribe?”

  “…merge with Kraal’s tribe?”

  Again silence. Not even the wind stirred. The crickets had gone quiet.

  Then the whispered answer “Are two men stronger than one? Are twenty men stronger than ten? It is wise to make yourselves stronger.”

  “Then we should merge our two bands together?” Noch wanted a definite answer, not godly metaphors.

  “Yesss.” A long drawn-out single syllable.

  Kraal found his voice. “Under whose leadership?”

  “…whose leadership?”

  “The leader of the larger of your two tribes should be the leader of the whole. Kraal the Hunter shall be known from this night onward as Kraal the Leader.”

  The man’s chest visibly swelled. He broke into a broad, gap-toothed grin and turned toward the other men, nodding approval at the wisdom the god displayed.

  “But what about Orion?” Noch insisted.

  “…Orion?” the echo repeated.

  “Orion will remain among you for only a little while,” came the answer. “He has other tasks to undertake, other deeds to accomplish.”

  My satisfaction at having conned Kraal and the others melted away. Anya was speaking the truth. We could not remain here much longer. We had other tasks ahead of us.

  I watched Kraal and Noch embrace each other, watched the relieved looks on all the men’s faces when they realized they would not have to fight each other. How the women would take to embracing strange men, I did not know. Nor did I particularly care. Not at that moment. I had forced these people on the first step of resistance against Set and the reptilian masters. But it was only the first step, and the immensity of the task that lay before me weighed on my shoulders like the burdens of all the world.

  I made my way back to the cave I shared with Anya, achingly weary. As the moon set, that blood red star rose above the treetops, glaring balefully down at me, depressing me even further.

  Anya was eager with excitement as I crawled into the cave and dropped down onto our pallet of boughs and hides.

  “It worked, didn’t it! I saw them embracing one another.”

  “You did a fine job,” I told her. “You have real worshipers now—although I’m not certain how they would react if they knew they were obeying a goddess instead of a god.”

  Kneeling beside me, Anya said smugly, “I’ve had worshipers before. Phidias sculpted a marvelous statue of me for all of Athens to worship.”

  I nodded wearily and closed my eyes. I felt drained, demoralized, and all I wanted was to sleep. Anya and I would never be free to live as normal human beings. There would always be the Creators to pull my strings, never leaving us alone. Always a new task, a new enemy, a new time and place. But never a time and place for happiness. Not for me. Not for us.

  She sensed my soul’s exhaustion. Stroking my brow with her cool, smooth fingers, Anya soothed, “Sleep, my darling. Rest and sleep.”

  I slept. But only for the span of a few heartbeats. For I saw Set’s satanic face, his red eyes burning, his sharp teeth gleaming in a devil’s version of a smile.

  “I told you I would send you a punishment, Orion. The hour has come.”

  I sat bolt upright, startling Anya.

  “What is it?”

  There was no need to answer. A terrified shriek split the night. From one of the caves.

  I grabbed at the spear lying near the cave’s entrance and dashed out onto the narrow ledge of rock that formed a natural stairway down to the canyon floor. Others were spilling out of their caves, screaming, jumping to the rocks below. Kraal’s men among them, running and shrieking in absolute terror, stumbling down the rough stone steps, leaping to certain injury or death in their p
anic to escape…

  Escape from what?

  “Stay behind me,” I muttered to Anya as I started climbing up the steep stairway of rock.

  Reeva came screaming toward me, nearly knocking me over the edge in her wild-eyed terror. She was empty-handed. Her baby was still in the cave up above.

  I clambered up the uneven stones, sensing Anya right behind me, also armed with a spear. The dreadful gloomy light of the strange star bathed the rock face with the color of dried blood, making everything look ghastly.

  The cave Reeva shared with several other women looked empty, abandoned. Below us I could still hear shrieks and screams, not merely fright now, but cries of pain, of agony. Men and women running, thrashing wildly, as if trying to beat off some invisible attacker.

  It was darker than hell inside the cave, but my eyes adjusted to the minuscule light level almost instantly. I saw Reeva’s baby—disappearing into the distended jaws of a huge snake.

  Before I could even think I flung myself at the serpent and slashed at its head with my dagger. It coiled around my arm, but I had it at its most vulnerable, with a half-swallowed meal between its teeth. I hacked at the snake, just behind its skull. It was as thick as my leg at the thigh, and so long that its body twined almost the full circumference of the cave and still could wrap half a dozen coils around my flailing arm.

  Anya rammed her spear into its writhing body again and again while I sawed through its spinal cord and finally cut off its head. Dropping my dagger I pried at its jaws and worked the baby free of its fangs. The baby was quite dead, already cold, its skin blue gray in the dim starlight.

  “It’s poisonous,” I said to Anya. “Look at those fangs.”

  “There are others,” she said.

  They were still screaming outside. I rose to my feet, burning hot fury seething within me. Set’s punishment, I knew. Snakes. Huge venomous snakes that come slithering silently in the darkness of night to do their work of killing. Death and terror, those were the hallmarks of our adversary.

  I strode to the lip of the cave. “Up here!” I bellowed, and the rock amplified my voice into the thunder of a god. “Come up here where we can see them! Get away from the floor of the canyon.”

  Some obeyed. Only a few. Already I could see dead bodies stretched out on the grass, twisted among the boulders and brush that formed natural hiding places for the snakes. Up here on the rocks, at least we would be able to see them. What we could see, we could fight.

  Most of the people had fled terrified into the night, their only thought to get away from the sudden silent death that struck in the shadows. A woman lay down among the stones on the floor of the canyon, broken by her panicked leap away from the caves. I could see a long writhing ghastly white snake gliding toward her, jaws spread wide, fangs glittering. She screamed and tried to scrabble away from the snake. Anya threw her spear at it and missed. The snake sank its deadly fangs into her flesh and the woman’s screams rose to a hideous crescendo, then died away in a gurgling, strangling agony.

  The others were stumbling, staggering up toward me, clambering up the steep stone steps to the narrow ledge where Anya and I stood. And the snakes came slithering after them, long thick bodies of deathly gray white, yellow eyes glittering, forked tongues flicking, their fangs filled with venom, their bodies gliding silently over the rocks in pursuit of their prey.

  I gathered our little band on the ledge, men armed with spears and knives on the perimeter, women inside the cave. All except Anya, who stood at my shoulder, a fresh jabbing spear in one hand, a flint hand knife in the other, panting with excitement and exertion, eyes aflame with battle lust.

  The snakes attacked us. Wriggling up the stone steps, they dodged this way and that to avoid our spears, coiled up just beyond our reach, struck at us with lightning speed. We too dodged, hopping back and forth, trying to keep our bare legs from their fangs.

  We fought back. We jabbed at them with our wooden spears, we turned the shafts into clubs and hammered at them. One snake began coiling around the spear Anya held, slithering up its length to get at her, driven by an intelligent sense of purpose that no serpent’s brain could originate.

  I shouted a warning as Anya calmly ripped the snake open with her flint knife. It reared back. I grabbed it around its bleeding throat and Anya hacked its head off. We threw the bloody remains off the ledge, down to the canyon floor below.

  The fight seemed to go on for hours. Two of our men were struck and died shrieking, their limbs twisting in horrifying pain. Another was jostled off the ledge and fell screaming to the ground below. He was badly injured, and in minutes several snakes gathered around him. We heard his wailing screeches, and then he went silent forever.

  Abruptly, there were no more snakes. No more live ones, at any rate. Nearly a dozen lifeless bodies twitching in their own blood at our feet. I blinked at the shambles of our battlefield. The sun had risen; its bright golden rays were shining through the trees.

  Below us lay eight dead bodies, their limbs twisted, their faces horribly constricted. We went down, still warily searching for more snakes as we gathered up the bodies of the slain. Broken-armed Pirk was among them. And three of Kraal’s men. And gray-bearded Noch; his return to Paradise had been brief and bitter.

  All that day we scoured the canyon floor for bodies. To my surprised relief we found only two others. About noontime Kraal and three of his men came to me.

  He shook his head at the bodies of the slain. “I told you, Orion,” he said sadly, choking back tears of frustrated hate. “There is nothing we can do against the masters. They hunt us for their sport. They make slaves of our people. All we can do is bow down and accept.”

  Anya heard him. She had been kneeling among the dead bodies, not of the humans but of the snakes, dissecting one of them to search for its poison glands.

  Angrily she sprang to her feet and flung the flayed body of the twenty-foot snake at Kraal. Its weight staggered him.

  “All we can do is bow down?” Anya raged at him. “Timid man, we can kill our enemies. As they would kill us!”

  Kraal goggled at her. No woman had ever spoken so harshly to him before. I doubt that any man had.

  Seething like the enraged goddess she was, Anya advanced on Kraal, flint knife in hand. He backed away from her.

  “The god called you Kraal the Leader,” Anya taunted. “But this morning you look more like Kraal the Coward! Is that the name you want?”

  “No… of course not…”

  “Then stop crying like a woman and start acting like a leader. Gather all the bands of people together and, together, we will fight the masters and kill them all!”

  Kraal’s knees actually buckled. “All the tribes…?”

  Several of the other men had gathered around us by now. One of them said, “We must ask the god who speaks about this.”

  “Yes,” I agreed swiftly. “Tonight. The god only speaks after the sun goes down.”

  Anya’s lips twitched in a barely suppressed grin. We both knew what the god would say.

  Chapter 9

  Thus we began uniting the tribes of Paradise.

  Once Kraal got over the shock of the snakes’ attack and heard Anya’s god-voice telling him that it was his destiny to resist the masters in all their forms and might, he actually began to develop into Kraal the Leader. And our people began to learn how to defend themselves.

  Months passed, marked by the rhythmically changing face of the moon. We left the place of the god-who-speaks and moved even deeper into the forest that seemed to stretch all the way across Africa from the Red Sea to the Atlantic. It extended southward, according to the tales we heard, evolving gradually into the tropical rain forest that covered much of the rest of the continent.

  Each time we met another tribe we tried to convince them that they should work with us to resist the masters. Most tribal leaders resisted, instead, the idea of doing anything new, anything that would incur the terrible wrath of the fearsome dragons who raided their h
omes from time to time.

  We showed them the skulls of the snakes we had slain. We told stories about my fight against the dragon. Anya developed into a real priestess, falling into trances whenever it was necessary to speak with the voice of a god. She also showed the women how to gather grains and bake bread, how to make medicines from the juices of leaves and roots. I showed the men how to make better tools and weapons.

  I found, stored in my memory, the knowledge of cold-working soft metals such as copper and gold. Gold, as always, was extremely rare, although we found one tribe where the chief’s women hung nuggets of gold from their earlobes for adornment. I showed them how to beat the soft shining metal into crescents and circles, the best I could do with the primitive stone hammers available. Yet it pleased the women very much. I became an admired man, which helped us to convince the chief to join our movement.

  In several scattered places we found lumps of copper lying on the ground, partially buried in grass and dirt. These I cold-worked into slim blades and arrowheads, sharp but brittle. I taught the hunters how to anneal their copper implements by heating them and then quenching them in cold water. That made them less brittle without sacrificing their sharpness.

  As the months wore on we developed stone molds for shaping arrowheads and axes, knives and spear points, awls and scrapers. When I recognized layers of rock bearing copper ore, I taught them how to build a forge of stones and make the fire hotter with a bellows made from a goat’s bladder. Then we could smelt the metal out of the rock and go on to make more and better tools. And weapons. Instead of Orion the Hunter I was filling the role of Hephaestus, blacksmith of the gods. But it was during those months that human tools and weapons gleamed for the first time with metal edges.

  While most of the tribal elders we met were just as stubborn as Kraal had been, many of the younger men eagerly took up our challenge to resist the devilish masters. We won their loyalty with appeals to their courage, with new metal-edged weapons, and with the oldest commodity of all—women.