The Empire of the Zon

by R. M. Burgess

  He nodded his head, trying to look nonchalant, but succeeding only in grimacing. She smiled.

  “Just another few hours,” she said. “The path widens out as we approach the shoulder of Mount Brimstone.”

  They rode on, the drop off from the path growing steadily smaller. They crossed the saddle between Mount Ignis and Mount Brimstone after about three hours and two more quick stops. As Caitlin promised, the path grew considerably wider, and Greghar noticeably relaxed. The shoulder of Brimstone was much flatter here. They passed craters filled with orange lava, reeking of sulfur. Some were as near as a meter or two from the path. The horses did not like the smell, and all three had to work hard to keep them under control.

  By the time they reached the valley floor, they found themselves in a wan sunrise. Caitlin urged them around the foot of Mount Brimstone to get out of the line of sight of the Pinnacle Lookout as soon as possible. Greghar could not believe that they had not been tracked down by an airboat, but he kept his thoughts to himself. When they were under the shadow of Brimstone, sheltered from the line of sight of Simrania, Greghar rode up to Caitlin’s side.

  “So it appears we have gotten off Mount Ignis,” he said with a note of contrition in his voice. “I apologize for my weakness on the heights. What are your plans now?”

  She looked at him directly and spoke frankly.

  “Greghar, I am out of ideas,” she said. “I had hoped that Simrania would be a safe haven, but that turned out to be a false hope—both Nitya and you were in grave danger there. I was hoping that you would have some ideas. Now that you are free, where will you go?”

  “Let us go to Utrea,” he said after a brief pause. “I think I know a place where we may seek refuge.”

  EVERY ONE OF the fifteen hundred seats in the Temple of the Mother in Simrania was taken. Many sat on the steps and stood in the aisles, but there was still pin-drop silence. Durga Bodina stood at the pulpit, stock still and seemingly in a trance. Diana stood beside her, equally solemn but with restless eyes that constantly scanned the crowded Temple hall. They were both dressed for combat and stood shoulder to shoulder, a study in contrasts but equally tall and commanding.

  The Temple was built of black volcanic rock embedded throughout with crystals of white quartz. The lighting had been turned down, and the quartz crystals glittered like stars. Tiers of seats rose in an almost complete circle around a nave that led to the central altar. Within it shimmered a colorful holographic image of Ma in her incarnation as the Engine Maiden. Her left hand was raised in blessing, and her open right palm cupped the Great Engine.

  Finally Durga’s eyes opened. She looked around the packed tiers of seats and in a deep, sonorous voice, spoke in Artha-Pranto, the archaic Pranto of the sagas.

  “I welcome you all to the warmth of the Mother’s hearth. Please join me in acclaiming the Goddess of the Universe and the Manifest Destiny of the Sisterhood!”

  Dannae was in the front row with Alex and Durga’s inner circle. She was glad she had heeded Alex’s advice to come in her combat uniform, so she did not stand out. Dannae had always been religious, so she made it a point to attend the New Moons Rite whenever she was in Atlantic City. However, the gentle ceremony presided over by silken-robed priestesses bore little resemblance to this. Here the ambiance was martial rather than religious, and the atmosphere was electric rather than serene. She found herself carried away by it and following all around her, raised both hands, the left outstretched with palm outward, the right hand holding her laser pistol.

  “To Ma and the Manifest Destiny!” thundered the congregation in response to Durga’s call.

  “Death to the Patriarchy on New Eartha!” cried Durga. “The will of Ma be done!”

  “Death to the Patriarchy on New Eartha! The will of Ma be done!” echoed the congregation in a roar.

  As the echoes of these cries began to subside, a chorale of blackrobed Maidens entered. They filed into the wide choir box, sopranos in the back row, altos in the front. Durga looked over at Diana and inclined her head in a mute question. Diana nodded and walked over to stand at the head of the choir box. The black-clad Maiden seated at the powerful electronic synthesizer ran her fingers over the keys and struck up the opening notes of the Goddess Psalm. Accompanied by the synthesizer, Diana led the choir, and the psalm rolled out in its full melodious glory. By the second bar, they were joined by the entire assembly. Dannae found herself singing lustily with all the others:

  O Goddess Ma! You are Omnipresent, Omnipotent, and Almighty.

  You are all Beauty and all Knowledge and all Light.

  You are the Destroyer of our enemies,

  You are the Creator of the Universe.

  You remove pain and sorrow and bestow happiness.

  You are the Greatest of all.

  At the line “destroyer of our enemies,” over a thousand boot heels pounded the stone floor with an earsplitting crash.

  As the final notes of the psalm gradually died away, Durga intoned, “We are fortunate to have Cornelle Diana Tragina to sing the New Moons Battle Hymn from Simran Saga, chapter twelve.”

  Dannae was into the mood of the night and felt her blood rising when she heard this choice. The most militant of the New Moons Hymns, it was the legendary description of the Battle of Rocky Scarp. It told of the time during the Long Trek, when Queen Simran and her huntresses, exhausted by weeks of fighting, faced a final confrontation on the morn against insuperable odds. With the fate of the Sisterhood hanging in the balance, the queen went to her tent that night despairing that the White Moon—the tangible face of the Mother Goddess—was hidden from her.

  But then, as the melodious voices of Diana and the choir told the story, the Goddess appeared to Simran in her dreams and showed her a resplendent full White Moon, reassuring her that the Sisterhood would triumph. As dawn broke the queen led her elite Guardians in the van of the Zon forces; her swords Nasht and Karya ran red with the enemy’s blood; the barbarian host was routed, then pursued and slaughtered to the last man. Larax, king of the barbarians, was captured. After treating his many wounds, the queen had him bound to a spit and roasted to death.

  At the end of the hymn, Diana and the choir launched into the chorus:

  The small band of sisters faced the barbarian hordes

  That night of the New Moons they could not sleep

  But the Goddess guided Queen Simran’s swords

  And Larax’s men were slaughtered like sheep

  As they sang it a second time, Dannae was the first of the assembly to stand and join in, the dimly remembered words in Artha-Pranto coming back to her as she sang. Alex looked up at her in surprise. But then others stood and joined in, first by ones and twos, and by the song’s end, the entire congregation was singing with full-throated enthusiasm. They sang the chorus a third time, and this time they all stood, and the Temple hall echoed with their raised voices and clapping hands. Dannae felt a more alive than she ever had before in her life.

  Diana raised both her hands, acknowledging the cheers of the congregation. Then she knelt and touched her forehead on the prayer rail in front of her, showing her devotion to the Goddess. Durga did the same, and then everyone in the congregation followed suit. Dannae had not knelt before the Goddess since she was in school, but now it seemed the most natural thing in the world.

  While the assembly was still making its obeisance to the Goddess, Diana came up to Durga and took her by the arm.

  “Come with me, unobtrusively,” she whispered. “Let us join the seignora of the watch on the Pinnacle Lookout.”

  Durga nodded. Diana went back to the choir and slipped out unnoticed through the green room. A few moments later, Durga followed her. They reached the Pinnacle Lookout in short order. The seignora of the watch had a portable tracking holograph set up.

  “We have the equipment set up as you ordered, Cornelle,” she said. “We observed the two barbarians and Seignora Lady Caitlin leaving by the Brimstone Gate. We also have a signal from a trac
king chip on the holograph.”

  She proceeded to give them a description of all they had observed as the three fugitives mounted up at the Brimstone Gate.

  Both Diana and Durga were handed long-visions, and when they focused they saw the escapees clearly, though every now and then they vanished around a bend in the path or were obscured by cloud, mist, or a whirling flurry of snow. Durga smiled her wolfish smile.

  “What a sly one you are, Diana,” she said.

  “Just interpreting Princess Deirdre’s orders,” Diana returned equably. “You have a squad ready to ride?”

  Durga nodded, grinning.

  “I will ride with you,” said Diana. “Centuria Lady Alexandra will fly Seignora Megara back to the Brigon Residency and bring a squad from the Hydromeda on her return. Alex will give us air cover and help with logistics.”

  For the next few hours, they alternated between long-visions and following the progress of the flashing dot on the tracking holograph.

  “They have struck out north,” said Durga, as dawn began to lighten the sky. “They are heading for the Utrean border.”

  “A good move,” said Diana, smiling. “With Shobar preoccupied with his battle at the Nordberg Residency, the border is likely to be lightly held.”

  She walked over to the edge of the pinnacle lookout, thumbs in her weapons belt. She looked down into the void beneath her feet.

  “No head for heights,” she muttered to herself. “What a baby you are, Greghar!”

  She stood there, deep in thought for several minutes. Finally, she turned and walked back to the holograph, where the flashing dot was moving slowly northward.

  “Well, Durga, let us get our squad ready to ride,” she said brusquely. “I think we can safely stay half a day’s ride behind them. I am interested to see where they lead us.”

  PART II

  The barbarians of New Eartha are violent, filthy,

  cruel and ignorant. Their Patriarchy recalls the worst excesses of the Dark Ages on our home planet of Eartha.

  –Simran Saga, Chapter 1

  TWELVE

  THEY HAD BEEN riding steadily, and the days began to run into one another. Compared with her own slapdash approach to overland travel, Caitlin marveled at the amount of planning and effort Greghar put into their movement. He was meticulous in keeping them on high ground, but just below the ridgeline and on hard, rocky terrain to minimize their tracks. He rose long before dawn and scouted the land and skies for over an hour each morning before he allowed them to start and again in the evening after he set up camp. He showed himself to be an expert at collecting roots, herbs, and berries, which Nitya was able to use to put together surprisingly tasty stews. She was also adept at making quite functional plates out of leaves stitched together with twigs. Greghar found a yew, fashioned a serviceable bow out of a branch, and shot and butchered a deer, heartily enjoying venison for several dinners, though he sat far away from them to eat it.

  For Caitlin and Nitya, these days were idyllic. They were content to remain blissfully ignorant of the results of his scouting. After all they had gone through, they were happy to let Greghar make all the decisions and just travel, enjoying the ride through the wintry landscape of snow and ice and crags and glaciers. Mount Brimstone was one of the southernmost of the active volcanoes of the Fire Mountains, and they rode along its spine. They passed many more volcanoes. On several days they smelt sulfur and saw smoking mountains that belched long, hazy ash plumes. The mountain range straddled the border between Briga and Utrea, and Greghar was skirting it, not wanting to cross at a major pass. Such a crossing would likely be strongly garrisoned, both by the vassals of the Hilsons on the Brigon side and by men loyal to Shobar on the Utrean.

  Two weeks passed before Greghar decided to upset their illusion of well-being.

  “We are being followed,” he said abruptly one evening after they had finished eating and Nitya had buried their plates as he had shown her.

  “Who?” asked Nitya fearfully.

  “I am not sure, for they are staying well back,” he replied. “I would have to separate myself from you to find out, and I don’t want to do that. Especially since I am almost sure of who it is.”

  “It must be Diana,” said Caitlin pessimistically. “You were right all along. Our escape was just too easy.”

  He nodded.

  “I have tried a number of tricks to try and throw them off,” he said thoughtfully. “They would have thrown off most pursuers, but these are proving to be surprisingly difficult to elude. They had an airboat tracking us for the first two days, but I have not seen it since.”

  “It could well be high enough to be out of sight,” said Caitlin. “The one Diana flew into Simrania was a Mark VII that has a service ceiling of over thirty thousand meters. She could be flying high and tracking us, which would explain why you have been unable to throw them off.”

  “Well, you know aircraft,” Greghar conceded. “They are beyond my understanding.”

  He had built a fire with twigs he knew gave off little smoke, and now he stamped it out and began to bury the ashes. He did not speak again till he was done with the task and had tamped down the earth.

  “That is not the only thing,” he said, resuming his seat. “I have been keeping tabs on a force of Utrean light cavalry in the valley. They are riding a parallel course to ours. I have kept us a good three or four kilometers away from them at all times.”

  “How do you know this?” asked Caitlin, surprised.

  “I am a ranger,” he said simply. “Their mounts and equipage are unmistakably Utrean. This is a military incursion into a neighboring country. I will scout their camp this evening to learn why Shobar would risk war with the Hilsons and Briga when he is already involved in a war against the Zon.”

  “We will come with you,” said Caitlin resolutely. “We have had enough time in a fool’s paradise. It is time we pulled our weight on this trip.”

  “You will slow me down, and it will be risky—” Greghar began.

  “Surely, you are joking,” said Nitya, her tone taking the aggression out of her words. “We have ridden with you toe to toe. As for risk, we have faced dangers enough in the past few weeks. And you must admit, six ears are better than two.”

  He reluctantly relented. He showed them how to bind their horses’ hooves with cloth to muffle the sound of their passage over harder ground. They rode out cautiously, promising to follow him and accept his decision in all matters. They seemed to have barely started when Greghar turned in his saddle and put a finger to his lips. He slid off his mount and hobbled it, motioning for them to do the same. Then he was off down the wooded hillside, staying virtually soundless as he moved through the bare trees. Every twenty meters, he stopped behind the shelter of a tree and waited for them. While they could not match the soundlessness he had acquired from years of practice, they were quiet enough, he judged.

  They were surprised by how quickly they came upon the Utreans’ camp. They had lit a campfire, and there were small two-man tents set up all around it. They had obviously just finished a meal, for they heard the clanging of metal utensils. Several men were clustered by the fire, passing around a wineskin and talking in normal voices.

  Greghar led them on a wide circuit till they were able to approach from downwind, screened by a large patch of tough and thick brambles. Greghar led the way through them, holding branches for them to pass under, and they came closer a step at a time. He found a rocky niche that gave them a good vantage. As they lay down on their stomachs, he put a finger to his lips and pointed uphill and downhill from the camp. As they waited, the strolling sentries posted in both directions came into view.

  As they settled down, they tuned into the conversation from the camp, shocked by its proximity and clarity.

  “Well, that was a fool’s errand,” said one voice.

  “I am glad we talked the captain into sheltering in that border castle for the glizzard,” said a second. “If we had pushed on like he want
ed to, none of us would be alive to talk about it. Even in the castle, I was freezing.”

  “Well, we did the king’s bidding,” said a third. “We rode hard, and no one could have made the trip faster. And we could not have had a sweeter welcome in Upper Thal. Cheval Matalus and his lovely wife were such wonderful hosts. That dinner they gave us with all the wine and the singing! I have not enjoyed myself so much for many a year.”

  “I thought all was not well between the good cheval and his wife,” said the first dryly. “She did not give him a smile all evening. But she looked radiant when I bowed to her and wished her good evening. Such a pretty thing!”

  “You think all women want you,” mocked the second man.

  “Well, she did give me an inviting look…” He could not finish his sentence for the derisive laughter of his fellows.

  “Did you believe the cheval’s story about the Engine Maidens?” asked the third man. “What interest could they have in Greghar?”

  “Who knows?” said the second, yawning. “They hate all men; perhaps they have some special tortures reserved for men with royal blood. Besides, the cheval’s scar was real enough. He’s a brave man to stand up to those nasty bitches.”

  Caitlin and Nitya exchanged amused glances.

  “Well, it is not on our heads,” said the first, taking a sip of wine from the skin and smacking his lips. “We rode to get Greghar’s head, and it is the captain’s responsibility to get the job done. We did our best.”

  “Don’t be too sure,” said the second, taking the wineskin, raising it to his lips, and taking a draft. “The king has wanted Greghar’s head for years. Since we have failed to get it, he will want some others in its place. Yours and mine may be unsatisfactory substitutes, but in his rage he may not be too choosy.”

  “What are you saying?” asked the third man worriedly.

  “That returning to Nordberg empty-handed may not be good for our health,” said the second coldly.