by Jack Vance
The priestesses laughed hugely. “You ridiculous cockbird of a man! Give us our property, or it will go poorly with you! We are Priestesses of the Female Mystery!”
“You will be dead priestesses if you interfere with me or my property,” said Reith. He rode past, into the compound, leaving the priestesses staring after. Reith dismounted, helped the girl to the ground, and now he understood why his instinct had sent him in pursuit of the Ilanths, all the urgings of good judgment to the contrary.
“What is your name?” he asked.
She reflected, as if Reith had asked the most perplexing of riddles, and answered with diffidence. “My father is lord of Blue Jade Palace.” Then she said, “We are of the Aegis caste. Sometimes I am announced as Blue Jade Flower, at lesser functions Beauty-Flower, or Flower of Cath … My flower-name is Ylin-Ylan.”
“That is all somewhat complicated,” stated Reith, to which the girl nodded, as if she too found the matter overly profound. “What do your friends call you?”
“That depends on their caste. Are you high-born?”
“Yes, indeed,” said Reith, seeing no reason to claim otherwise.
“Do you intend me to be your slave? If so, it would not be proper to use my friend-name.”
“I’ve never owned a slave,” said Reith. “The temptation is great — but I think I’d rather use your friend-name.”
“You may call me the Flower of Cath, which is a formal friend-name, or, if you wish, my flower-name, Ylin-Ylan.”
“That should do, temporarily at least.” He surveyed the compound, then taking the girl’s arm, led her into the common-room of the caravansary, and to a table at the back wall. Here he studied the girl, Ylin-Ylan, the Beauty Flower, the Flower of Cath. “I don’t quite know what to do with you.”
Out in the compound the priestesses were expostulating with the caravan-master who listened with gravity and politeness.
Reith said, “The problem may be taken out of my hands. I’m not too sure of my legal footing.”
“There are no laws here on the steppe,” the girl said. “Fear alone rules.”
Traz came to join them. He appraised the girl with disapproval. “What do you intend with her?”
“I’d see her home, if I could.”
“You would want nothing, if you did so,” the girl told him earnestly. “I am the daughter of a notable house. My father would build you a palace.”
At this Traz showed less disapprobation, and looked off to the east as if envisioning the journey. “It is not impossible.”
“For me it is,” said Reith. “I must go to find my space-boat. If you want to conduct her to Cath, by all means do so, and make a new life for yourself.”
Traz looked dubiously out at the priestesses. “Without warriors or weapons, how could I convey one like her across the steppes? We’d be enslaved or killed out of hand.”
Baojian the caravan-master entered the room, approached. He spoke in an even voice: “The priestesses demand that I enforce their claims, which I will not do, since the transfer of property occurred away from the caravan. However, I agreed to put the question: what are your intentions in regard to the girl?”
“It is no concern of theirs,” said Reith. “The girl has become my property. If they want compensation, they must approach the Ilanths. I have no business with them.”
“This is a reasonable statement,” remarked Baojian. “The priestesses understand as much, although they protest their misfortunes. I am inclined to agree that they have been victimized.”
Reith looked to see if the caravan-master were keeping a straight face. “Are you serious?”
“I think only in terms of property rights and security of transfer,” declared Baojian. “The priestesses have suffered a great loss. A certain sort of girl is necessary for their rite; they strove inordinately to procure a suitable participant, only to lose her at the last minute. What if they paid a salvage fee — let us say, half the price of a comparable female?”
Reith shook his head. “They suffered loss, but I feel no concern whatever. After all, they have not come to rejoice with the girl for having regained her freedom.”
“I suspect that they are in no mood for merrymaking, even at so happy an occasion,” remarked Baojian. “Well, I will communicate your remarks. Doubtless they will make other arrangements.”
“I hope the situation will not affect the convenience of our travel.”
“Naturally not,” declared the caravan-master emphatically. “I enforce total ban upon thieving and violence. Security is my stock in trade.” He bowed and departed.
Reith turned to Traz and Anacho, who had come to join the group. “Well, what now?”
“You are as good as dead,” said Traz gloomily. “The priestesses are witch-women. We had several such among the Emblems. We killed them and events went for the better.”
Anacho inspected the Flower of Cath with the cool detachment he might have used for an animal. “She’s a Golden Yao, an extremely old stock: hybrids of the First Tans and the First Whites. A hundred and fifty years ago they became arrogant and contrived to build certain advanced mechanisms. The Dirdir taught them a sharp lesson.”
“A hundred and fifty years ago? How long is the Tschai year?”
“Four hundred and eighty-eight days, though I see no relevance to the discussion.”
Reith calculated. A hundred and fifty Tschai years was equivalent to about two hundred and twelve Earth years. Coincidence? Or had the Flower’s ancestors dispatched that radio beam which had brought him to Tschai?
The Flower of Cath was regarding Anacho with detestation. She said in a husky voice, “You are a Dirdirman!”
“Of the Sixth Estate: by no means an Immaculate.”
The girl turned to Reith. “They torpedoed Settra and Ballisidre; they wanted to destroy us, from envy!”
“‘Envy’ is not the proper word,” said Anacho. “Your people were playing with forbidden forces, matters beyond your comprehension.”
“What happened after?” asked Reith.
“Nothing,” said Ylin-Ylan. “Our cities were destroyed, and the receptories and the Palace of Arts, and the Golden Webs — the treasures of thousands of years. Is it any wonder we hate the Dirdir? More than the Pnume, more than the Chasch, more than the Wankh!”
Anacho shrugged. “Expunging the Yao was not my doing.”
“But you defend the deed! This is the same!”
“Let us talk of something else,” suggested Reith. “After all, the happening is two hundred and twelve years gone.”
“Only a hundred and fifty!” the Flower of Cath corrected him.
“True. Well, then, what of you? Would you like a change of clothes?”
“Yes. I have worn these since the unspeakable women took me from my garden. I would like to bathe. They allowed me water only enough to drink …”
Reith stood guard while the girl scrubbed herself, then handed in steppe-travelers’ garments which made no distinction between male and female. Presently she emerged, still half-damp, wearing the gray breeches and tan tunic, and they once more went down to the common-room, and out upon the compound, to discover an atmosphere of urgency, occasioned by the Green Chasch, who had approached to within a mile of the caravansary. The gun emplacements on the rock juts had been manned; Baojian was driving his gun-carts up into the openings where they commanded all avenues of approach.
The Green Chasch showed no immediate disposition to attack. They brought up their own wagons, ranged them in a long line, erected a hundred tall black tents.
Baojian pulled at his chin in vexation. “The North-South train will never join us with nomads so near. When their scouts see the camp they’ll back away and wait. I foresee delay.”
The Grand Mother set up an indignant outcry. “The Rite will proceed without us! Must we be thwarted in every particular?”
Baojian held out his hands to implore reason. “Can’t you see the impossibility of leaving the compound? We would be forc
ed to fight! We may have to do so in any event!”
Someone called, “Send the priestesses forth to dance their ‘Rite’ with the Chasch!”
“Spare the unfortunate Chasch,” spoke another impudent voice. The priestesses retreated in a fury.
Dusk settled over the steppe. The Green Chasch started up a line of fires, across which their tall shapes could be seen to pass. From time to time they seemed to halt and stare toward the caravansary.
Traz told Reith, “They are a telepathic race; they know each other’s minds. Sometimes they seem to read the thoughts of men … I myself doubt that they do. Still — who knows?”
A scratch meal of soup and lentils was served in the common-room, with dim lights to prevent the Chasch from silhouetting those on guard. A few quiet games were played to the side. The Ilanths drank distillation, and presently became loud and harsh, until the innkeeper warned them that he maintained as stringent a policy as did the caravan-master, and that if they wished to brawl they must go forth on the steppe. The three hunched forward over their table, hats pulled thwartwise across their yellow faces.
The common-room began to empty. Reith took Ylin-Ylan the Beauty Flower to a cubicle beside his room. “Bolt your door,” he told her. “Do not come out until morning. If anyone tries the door, pound on the wall to wake me.”
She looked at him through the doorway with an unreadable expression and Reith thought that never had he seen a more appealing sight. She asked, “Then you really do not intend me to be a slave?”
“No.”
The door closed, the bolt struck home. Reith went to his own cubicle.
The night passed. On the following day, with the Green Chasch still camped before the caravansary, there was nothing to do but wait.
Reith, with the Flower of Cath close by his side, inspected the caravan guns — the so-called ‘sand-blasts’ — with interest. He learned that the weapons indeed fired sand, charging each grain electrostatically, accelerating it violently almost to light speed, augmenting the mass of each grain a thousandfold. Such driven sand-grains, striking a solid object, penetrated, then gave up their energy in an explosion. The weapons, Reith learned, were obsolete Wankh equipment, and were engraved with Wankh writing: rows of rectangles of different sizes and shapes.
Returning to the caravansary he found Traz and Anacho arguing as to the nature of the Phung. Traz declared them to be creatures generated by Pnumekin upon the corpses of Pnume. “Have you ever seen a pair of Phung? Or an infant Phung? No. They go singly. They are too mad, too desperate, to breed.”
Anacho waved his fingers indulgently. “Pnume go singly as well, and reproduce in a peculiar manner. Peculiar to men and sub-men, I should say, for the system seems to suit the Pnume admirably. They are a persistent race. Do you know that they have records across a million years?”
“So I have heard,” said Traz sourly.
“Before the Chasch came,” said Anacho, “the Pnume ruled everywhere. They lived in villages of little domes, but all traces of these are gone. Now they keep to caves and passages under the old cities, and their lives are a mystery. Even the Dirdir consider it bad luck to molest a Pnume.”
“The Chasch then came to Tschai before the Dirdir?” Reith inquired.
“This is well-known,” said Anacho. “Only a man from an isolated province — or a far world — could be ignorant to the fact.” He gave Reith a quizzical glance. “But the first invaders indeed were the Old Chasch, a hundred thousand years ago. Ten thousand years later the Blue Chasch arrived, from a planet colonized an era previously by Chasch spacefarers. The two Chasch races fought for Tschai, and brought in Green Chasch for shock-troops.
“Sixty thousand years ago the Dirdir arrived. The Chasch suffered great losses until the Dirdir arrived in large numbers and so became vulnerable, whereupon a stalemate went into effect. The races are still enemies, with little traffic between them.
“Comparatively recently, ten thousand years ago, space-war broke out between the Dirdir and the Wankh, and extended to Tschai when the Wankh built forts on Rakh and South Kachan. But now there is little fighting, other than skirmishes and ambushes. Each race fears the other two and bides its time until it can expunge all but itself. The Pnume are neutral and take no part in the wars, though they watch with interest and take notes for their history.”
“What of men?” asked Reith guardedly. “When did they arrive on Tschai?”
Anacho’s side-glance was sardonic. “Since you claim to know the world where men originated, this information should be in your possession.”
Reith refused to be provoked and made no comment.
“Men originated,” said the Dirdirman in his most didactic manner, “on Sibol and came to Tschai with the Dirdir. Men are as plastic as wax, and some metamorphosed, first into marshmen, then, twenty thousand years ago, into this sort.” He pointed toward Traz. “Others, enslaved, became Chaschmen, Pnumekin, even Wankhmen. There are dozens of hybrids and freakish races. Variety exists even among the Dirdirmen. The Immaculates are almost pure Dirdir. Others exhibit less refinement. This is the background for my own disaffection: I demanded prerogatives which were denied me, but which I adopted in any event …”
Anacho spoke on, describing his difficulties, but Reith’s attention wandered. It was clear, to Reith at least, how men had come to Tschai. The Dirdir had known space-travel for more than seventy thousand years. During this time they evidently had visited Earth, twice at the very least. On the first occasion they had captured a tribe of proto-Mongoloids; on the second occasion — twenty thousand years ago, according to Anacho — they had collected a cargo of proto-Caucasoids. These two groups, under the special conditions of Tschai, had mutated, specialized, re-mutated, re-specialized to produce the bewildering diversity of human types to be found on the planet.
So then: the Dirdir undoubtedly knew of Earth and its human population, but perhaps reckoned it still a savage planet. Nothing could be gained by advertising the fact that Earth was now a space-faring world; indeed Reith could envision calamity arising from the knowledge. There were no clues aboard the space-boat to point to Earth, except possibly the corpse of Paul Waunder. In any event the Dirdir had lost possession of the space-boat to the Blue Chasch.
Still unanswered was the question: who had fired the torpedo that destroyed the Explorator IV?
Two hours before sundown the Green Chasch broke camp. The high-wheeled wagons milled in a circle; the warriors, mounted on monstrous leap-horses, lunged and bounded; then at some imperceptible signal — perhaps telepathic, reflected Reith — the band formed a long line and moved off toward the east. The Ilanth scouts set forth and followed at a discreet distance. In the morning they returned to report that the band seemed to be veering to the north.
Late in the afternoon the Aig-Hedajha caravan arrived, laden with leather, aromatic logs and mosses, tubs of pickles and condiments.
Baojian the caravan-master took his wagons and drays out upon the steppe, to effect exchanges and transshipments. Derricks rolled between the two caravans, swinging goods back and forth; porters and drivers toiled and strained, sweat rolling down their naked backs and into their loose brown breeches.
An hour before sunset the transfer of goods had been effected and a call came into the common-room for all passengers. Reith, Traz, Anacho and the Flower of Cath started across the compound. The priestesses were nowhere to be seen; Reith assumed that they were aboard their house.
They walked out under the rock juts toward the caravan. There was a sudden jostle; arms gripped Reith in a bear-hug and he was pressed against a soft wheezing body. He struggled; the two toppled to the ground. The Grand Mother gripped him in her massive legs. Another priestess seized the Flower of Cath and dragged her at an awkward lope out to the caravan. Reith lay enfolded in masses of flesh and muscle. A hand squeezed his throat; blood surged through his arteries and his eyes began to start. He managed to free an arm, drove stiff fingers up into the Grand Mother’s face, into something
moist. She gasped and wheezed; Reith found her nostrils, clenched, twisted; she cried out and kicked; Reith rolled free.
An Ilanth was rummaging through his pack; Traz lay limp on the ground; Anacho was coolly defending himself against the swordplay of the remaining two Ilanths. The Grand Mother grabbed for Reith’s legs; Reith kicked furiously, won free, lurched aside as the Ilanth investigating his pack looked up, flicked a knife at him. Reith struck up at the lemon-yellow chin with his fist; the man went down. Reith leapt on the back of one of the Ilanths who were attacking the Dirdirman, bore him down, and Anacho deftly stabbed him. Reith side-stepped a thrust from the third Ilanth, seized the outstretched arm, threw the man cartwheeling over his shoulder. The Dirdirman, standing by, struck down with his sword, nearly cutting through the yellow neck. The remaining Ilanth took to his heels.
Traz, tottering to his feet, stood holding his head. The Grand Mother was at this moment mounting the steps into the drayhouse.
Reith in all his existence had never been so angry. He picked up his pack, marched to where Baojian the caravan-master stood directing the passengers to their compartments.
“I was attacked!” stormed Reith. “You must have noticed! The priestesses have dragged the Cath girl into their house and hold her prisoner!”
“Yes,” said Baojian. “I saw something of the sort.”
“Well then, assert your authority! Enforce your ban on violence!”
Baojian gave his head a prim shake. “The affair occurred on that strip of the steppe between the compound and the caravan, where I make no effort to maintain order. It appears that the priestesses have recovered their property in the same manner by which they lost it. You have no cause for complaint.”
“What?” roared Reith. “You’ll let them inflict an innocent person with their Female Mystery?”
Baojian held out his hands. “I have no choice. I cannot police the steppe; I do not care to try.”
Reith burnt him with a stare of fury and contempt, then turned to examine the priestesses’ dray house.
Baojian said, “I must caution you against disorderly conduct while you are a passenger. I meticulously enforce caravan discipline.”