by David Mason
I shook my head. “Not… not very greatly. Odd, now that I consider it. But then, why not?”
“And if you did great good, you would feel no special uplifting, either,” Thuramon said. “There’s one price of such freedom. Another is, the gods will not let you alone. They will send you much more than most men have, of good and evil. And always, the gods will strive to pull you down, either by your pride in doing rightly, or by guilt in doing wrong. For you, there will be special attention, I think.”
“Are the gods our enemies too, then?” I wondered.
“Sometimes I think so,” Thuramon said. “In particular, you have offended the Goddess. And you may offend her even more, if you keep her priestess-maiden for yourself.”
I laughed. “Ah. At that subject, again. Look you, wizard, I’ve been nowhere near the wench. What would you like to have me do with her, drop her over the side to the fish?”
“Rather than offend the Great Goddess further, that might be wisest,” Thuramon said.
And now my stubbornness rose again, and I thumped my hand down on the table, spilling chessmen.
“I’ll take the wench, when I please!” I said. “And let the Goddess do with me as she pleases… since she will anyway. Damn it, Thuramon, we here are sea-gypsies, we’ve neither castle nor temple any more. This is a new, wild life, and we’ll lead it in new ways.”
He simply shrugged at me, reminding me unpleasantly in his look of the old high priestess.
“Do you mean to tell me, wizard, that the Goddess prefers her priestesses dead?” I asked loudly. “Why, this one’s the last one alive. Why let the fish have her, then?”
“Never mind, my lord,” Thuramon said. “I see you’ll listen to no advice on the matter. Come,” he leaned forward, “Hear me on another subject. The Isle of Dragons…”
But I never heard him out, on that. There was a shout on deck, and feet pounded. I flung back the chair, and stood up; the cabin door flung open.
“Lord Prince, a light, ashore!”
I was on deck in a moment. The moonlight was very bright; the shore, a line of jagged peaks, with a gleam of white breakers at their feet… but against their blackness, a yellow gleam, moving in circles. Someone there waved a torch in a plain attempt to signal us.
And now, a fire flamed up, a pile of brush I thought; and like a dot of black a figure danced before it.
“Whoever he is, he wants conversation with us very badly,” I said, staring at the waving torch. “And from that break in the surf, I think there may be a place to land. Sailing master, signal the other ships to heave to, and have a boat over the side. Wait… I’ll go with it.”
And in a moment, we were rowing toward the distant torch and fire.
I had been right; a shallow beach met the sea under the rocky wall. Our boat’s keel grated on pebbles, a few lengths from the now-dying fire, and we heard a hoarse cry from that direction.
“Doradans!” the voice yelled. “Are you Doradans?”
He stumbled into our arms a moment later. The man was in rags, cut about with dried wounds beyond belief, a walking skeleton. Gently, we got him into the boat, while he muttered wildly at us. Only one word of sense he spoke… “Ate my horse.” Then he fainted.
As we shoved off, I heard the splash of water, and caught a glimpse of silver spray against the rock.
“Tell the sailing master, after we’re aboard, there’s water there,” I said to the boatswain. “Send boats in the morning; we’ll lie here at anchor the night. Now, pull for the ship—this man needs attention.”
He turned out to be a man of a kinsman near mine; one Bren, who had ridden out of Astorin with Malvi’s men. Once the blood was washed away, and his wounds tended, he awoke, and ate like a wolf.
Later he told me all, in slow words, pausing very often to drink or catch his breath.
He had gone with the others, up the river, to the hold of Granorek, where, as Malvi planned, they entered and drew up the bridge. There were few of them, but they were all a little mad, of course.
The next day they saw the first of what they had come to fight, and the madness must have gone out of them then and there. The creatures came along the wagon road, below the castle, rank on rank, filling the road like a black stream. They were as the first one had been, except that they were alive: faceless horrors, clanking in endless lines, silent except for the sound of their movement.
They had huge wheeled carts with them, drawn by human beings! That was somehow the greatest horror of all, that they seemed to act as if humans were no more than draft animals. These were small, shaggy people, quite naked, and apparently very stupid, Bren said; they stood very placidly when stopped, and seemed to show no interest in anything.
The carts contained all manner of strange things; they were piled high with what seemed to be black plates of metal, rods of glass, rolls of wire, an array of unknown things. The flood of creatures never seemed to stop; all day, the men in Granorek watched, as they moved like a river. The men in that hold were courageous, but no longer mad. They waited.
Near evening, a detachment of the creatures turned aside, and moved toward the castle. The men within made ready to do battle, but the creatures seemed not to be interested in the place at all. Instead, they led a cart full of their queer goods to a high knoll, and set to work. They assembled a construction which Bren could not describe; a thing like a tower of thin rods, with cylindrical rooms near it, the whole structure glowing in the twilight as if lighted from within.
Then, in full view of the men on the walls above, the creatures casually—that would seem the only word—killed and ate the draft-beasts, their human slaves.
Bren said, as if it added to the horror, “Raw, my lord. As a savage might eat a fish. One… thing… plucked a head off, and… chewed the rest, like a carrot!”
The sight maddened the men in Granorek again; now, against all reason, they lowered the bridge and charged, lance and shield.
And every man but one was almost instantly slain, and his horse with him.
Bren could not bear to be too specific, and I did not press him. He himself was hurled down with a single sweep of a black-armored arm, and was unconscious for a while. Then he awoke, and found himself in a queer kind of cage on wheels; his horse was led behind him. Every other man was dead. Uncle Malvi lay, torn dreadfully, in Bren’s view.
He spent that night in the cage, which was pulled along south through the valley. The next day, they reached Astorin, where the black hordes were already busy.
It seemed to Bren, as he watched through the bars, that the creatures sought something, very earnestly. And they were grimly thorough in their search, and in their other senseless work. Mad as it seemed, they were leveling vast areas of ground, both without the city and into it; as he watched, they ground walls to powder, in some mysterious way. They tore and ate a great plain before them as they worked, till half the city was level; and still they worked on.
Midway in that dreadful day, the draft humans who had drawn Bren’s cage were killed and eaten in the same horrible way, and Bren conceived his turn to be next. He made himself as ready to die as he could; the strangest thing of all, he said, was that they had not taken away his sword, which still hung at his belt. They may have believed it to be part of him; and the horse still stood behind the cage.
Then, as he watched the city, a thin column of smoke suddenly mounted from where the Temple stood, and there was a distant detonation. This he did not understand, and never did; perhaps the remaining priestess had destroyed themselves, or vanished by some work of magic. He never knew.
Immediately afterward, a dozen of the creatures approached; one, very small, only half the others’ size, but much more brilliantly painted, came close to his cage. It carried a kind of drawing board in its hand, and a marking stick.
The small monster proceeded to interrogate Bren; at least, so I would interpret its actions. It drew stick figures of men and horses, and boats; then, a clearly drawn outline of the great T
emple, which seemed to agitate it. To this Bren gave answer by saying “Temple.” But the beast apparently could not understand.
After this, it drew odd figures which made no sense at all: lines, triangles, and wriggled marks. At times, it pointed at the stars, which were now out, and made mad gestures.
At last it seemed to give up, and hurried away with its fellows. Other monsters came later, and thrust lumps of meat, raw, into the cage; it seemed that they wished to feed Bren. But when he looked at that meat, he became sickened. One portion was a human hand, bearing a ring he recognized.
And then he noticed the miraculous, inexplicable fact; they had no lock on the cage, none at all!
It may be that their animals were so tamed, in some way, that a cage was barrier enough. It might never have occurred to them that anyone could escape. No reason can be given for this, no more than for all their other ways; but Bren was not seeking reasons. He opened the door, wounded as he was, mounted his horse, and galloped for his life.
Before dawn, he had crossed the river, and was high in the crags to the northward; here he paused, and mounted a rock to see if he was pursued. From where he stood, he could see well down toward the shore and the city; and none pursued him, at least.
Camps of the creatures lined the seashore, moving lines of them came on southward still, and everywhere they were busy. The queer towers were placed all across the land, as far as he could see; and near the sea, dozens of smoke lines rose, as if there were forges at work. Where ever they went, the creatures seemed to have a passion for leveling the ground, and sometimes coating it with a black material that shone like glass. But they seemed to have no interest at all in Bren; and so he mounted once more, and rode east, toward the distant shores across the mountain, where he knew my ships would pass.
The trip itself was a nightmare; there was no food, neither for himself nor the horse. The beast managed to carry him, finding a patch of scant grass to sustain itself, for many miles before it died. Then, as he said, he ate it, a deed which a Doradan finds peculiarly horrible. That gave him strength to reach the shore, where he had waited hopefully beside a pile of brush.
I heard him out, and gave orders to have him most carefully tended; he was the last Doradan, and I wished him to live. Then I went to my cabin, where I sent Isa away from me, and began to drink.
I have never sought solace in wine, except on rare occasions; this time, I wished only to dull the clarity of the hideous picture Bren had brought. I was sickened by it, and I wanted to wash away the taste with strong wine.
For me, Dorada had died, all over again. The image of the land overrun with monstrous antmen was a second death; the earlier loss, when we had sailed away from the emptied land, had not been half the shock of this.
For this there could not be sufficient vengeance, I thought. The wine moved hotly within me, and I sat, staring at the swinging lamp, listening to the slow creak of cordage and timbers as my Luck rode at her anchors.
Why should I be the one to bear this evil, I thought, with a sudden flush of self-pity. A hundred princes of the folk before me, and all, all had lived their lives out, in comparative peace. Throughout the centuries, we of Dorada had farmed our lands, fished in our seas, worshipped our gods. An unambitious people, perhaps; our wars were only to beat off or punish sea-robbers, or to aid an ally in other lands. We had made no conquests, taken no subject nations; our wealth had been made by our own hands.
Other nations… the High King of Meryon could not be as free of evil as Dorada, nor the Mazainian Empire. I poured another cup, deciding that there was no justice anywhere, and that the gods were cheating merchants.
So, from anger to near-weeping to deep anger I floated on the wine-flood.
Thuramon said I was a law to myself, one whom the gods laid heavy burdens on, because I was free of their laws. Was it for my sake that humble folk had died in Dorada? If the gods hated me, why slay weavers and fishermen?
That pale wench spat upon me, in the name of her Great Goddess. The Goddess, indeed. She, who decreed the orgies of spring and of the harvest, to have her priestess maiden still.
Like her, indeed, to give a bride and withhold the marriage. I mooned awhile upon the subject, my thoughts growing murkier as the wine grew stronger. Sense began to vanish, but the image of Samala’s fair hair and pale face floated before me, clearer still.
I rose, a little unsteadily although the ship rode well; making my way to the deck, I roused a man, who slept there.
“Go… go and get the… priestess, Samala.” I told him. “Tell her I wish to speak with her, now.”
A little later, she entered the cabin, where I still sat near the wine jar. I heard the door open, and I sat contemplating the swinging lamp, my booted feet spread out before me. I did not turn at her voice.
“My Lord Prince.” It was a pleasant voice, and soft.
“Ah,” I said, “Lord Prince, indeed. Well, then, my lady Samala.”
“You wished to speak with me, my lord.”
I swung round to look at her. She was still in that gray robe, her hair loosened down her back. Her eyes were calm, regarding me with that same infuriating, noncommittal look. The wine said she was very beautiful.
“All these days we have shared a ship, and I’ve heard no word from you,” I said.
“You did not send for me.”
I bit my lip, staring hard. “I did not send for you. Should I have? Are you mine, or not?”
“No woman is any man’s,” she said, still calmly. “That is the law.”
“New laws,” I said, lurching to my feet. I moved toward her, and stood looking down at her. “My laws. There’s one lord aboard this ship, and… make what laws I like. Now, you, for instance. Pledged to me. Broken that pledge, have you not?”
“The priestess may call any man she wishes to her, when she wishes, when the Goddess so commands,” Samala said, still calmly. Her eyes were round, with terror I thought, but her self-control was marvelous. She did not even edge toward the door. Thoughtfully, I reached behind her, and dropped the bar which locked it.
“I’m minded to take the Goddess’s gift, tonight,” I said. “Death reigns in Dorada. The Goddess is overthrown there. Here, my Tana-luck is goddess, and my Luck tells me to take what’s mine, while there’s time.”
“The Goddess is not overthrown, anywhere,” Samala said. “And if you take me, Lord Prince, remember…”
But I swept her into my arms, and brought my mouth, wet with wine, down on hers. She did not resist, but she gave nothing back; and when I freed her lips, she only stared at me, wide-eyed.
Still holding her in one arm, I swept the other across the curtained niche which held the small statue of Tana, opening it wide.
“A gift for Tana!” I said. “Your gray Goddess, with her long-spaced festivals… ha! My Luck gives us a special festival, tonight!”
And so, after so long, I celebrated my bridal night, defying all the ancient law of my people, who hold rape to be vilest of all crimes. For what I did was little better than that.
Yet, in my drunken pleasure, I had a moment of terror, quickly passing; and then another moment, when it seemed to me that though Samala still resisted, her resistance was no longer real. And at the last, when she lay weeping, I felt still a third strange feeling: pity.
But I fell soddenly asleep, and when I awoke, she was gone. It was morning, and the anchor was being raised; we were setting out again, east and north.
As I bathed my aching head, a grim thought struck me; what if the wench had drowned herself? Hastily, I flung on a tunic, and went up; but I had no courage to go to the cabins midship to seek her. Something told me she was well enough; besides, Isa was there, with other women, holding conversation with Bren, where he lay on a pallet on the deck. As I came near, she looked up, and smiled at me, warmly and openly; I could tell she knew something of what had happened, and accepted it.
I went to her, and kissed her; she responded, winding her arms about my neck. Then, st
epping back, she turned toward Bren, taking my hand.
“He has told us all,” Isa said solemnly. The other women were looking white-faced at the tale, while Bren propped himself on an elbow to greet me.
“Your Luck was with me, Lord Prince,” he said, with a weak grin. “I’ll be well enough to hold a sword again in a day or two. Where are we sailing now?”
“East, east and north,” I said, glancing at the distant line of rocky crags along the shore. “With this wind, we may reach a land fit to rest in, within another week or two.”
“A new Dorada,” Bren said, closing his eyes for a moment.
“I do not know if it will be a new Dorada, lad,” I told him. (“Lad,” indeed, and he five years my senior! But my gray hair made me say it.) I dropped Isa’s hand, and walked toward the rail, to study the currents moving by and to cast a quick glance at the filled mainsail. I turned and leaned back against the rail.
“Water was all our need, and you led us to that,” I said to Bren. “Luck, indeed. We’ll need it.”
Day after day, we forged steadily on, in fresher and more easterly winds each day. Three times I saw Samala, on the deck; each time she bowed her head in greeting, her face as cool and unmoved as though nothing had happened between us. She left me puzzled, a little angry, and not without a shade of guilt.
Isa was as warm and loving as ever, and yet, she seemed to draw away from me in a subtle way I could not name; also, I saw her often with Samala. They seemed very close now. When I mentioned it, Isa said that Samala knew a great deal about the art of childbearing and delivery; and that it was good luck indeed to have one so competent near by for the time to come.
“For the rest, my lord,” Isa said, quite innocently, “Samala says that when you have need of her, she will come to you.”
“Oh?” was all I could bring out, amazed.
“She bears you no anger. How could she?” Isa looked at me and giggled. “Lord, I was also a virgin; do you remember?”