Towards noon Running noticed a disturbance in the village, and as he drew nearer he heard the voice of Mancoat’s wife pleading with Volyon. “I have looked everywhere,” she said. “My husband has disappeared.”
She was a pretty woman named Airing, very popular with the men of the village, and even Running was aware of the care Mancoat always took in watching over her. Now Volyon placed a comforting arm around her shoulders and said, “I am sure he will turn up, little one. He was with me last night, and his voice was raised to the heavens in song.”
“But where is he?”
“Perhaps he has gone in search of more wolfram.”
But Airing shook her head. “You need not tell me that, Volyon. You well know that no one goes after wolfram during the holidays.”
“Anyway, come with me,” he said. “We will ask the guards.”
Running watched them go off, and then ran down to the house to tell his mother and father and sisters of this strange development. No one had ever disappeared from the village before. Where was there to disappear?
By nightfall the village was in an uproar. Volyon personally had led a search of all the houses when the guards had reported no one leaving the area, but no trace of the missing man had been found. Running was standing nearby when he heard one of the ancient warriors, Treetop, say to Volyon, “What about the priest’s cave? That has not been searched?”
Volyon nodded and raised his spear high in the air, motioning for the search group to follow. They made their way along the hillside until at last they reached the half-hidden little cave, and Running followed in the darkness unnoticed.
Father Legion had heard their approach and now he appeared in the entrance, holding high his torch. The flickering flamelight played on the faces of those who had gathered around him. “What is it you want?” he asked coldly.
Treetop started to speak but Volyon signaled him to silence. “Oh, priest, we come in search of Mancoat who has disappeared. His wife Airing is greatly worried.”
Father Legion stared hard at Volyon. “You may search my home if you wish,” he said.
While the others searched, old Treetop drew close and said, “I remember you as a boy. I will always remember you as a boy.”
The priest nodded. “This is something I have to do,” he said. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Neither would your mother,” the old warrior said, turning away.
They searched the cave carefully, but found no evidence that Mancoat had been there. Finally, discouraged, they filed back down the hillside. But Running remained with the priest for a time, and asked him, “Who is Treetop, Father Legion? He knows you from long ago?”
“He was very close to me at one time,” the priest answered. “He was my father.”
And after a time Running followed the others down the hill because there didn’t seem to be any more to say.
In the morning he was surprised to see Father Legion coming down the hill to the village accompanied by one of the stately guards. He had never seen the priest in the village before and he feared what this might mean. But Father Legion went directly to the house of Volyon, which was the largest in the valley. When Running saw that the tribal leader was not at home he ran quickly to the side of the priest, feeling the stones sharp and smooth beneath his hardened feet.
“Father Legion, I think he still searches for the missing Mancoat.”
“Thank you, Running,” the priest said, brushing the hair on the boy’s head with a kindly hand. “I came to see him about that matter.”
“You saw the men they executed, Father Legion?”
The priest glanced up at the far hill where nine crosses still stood outlined in the first rays of morning-light. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I saw them.”
From somewhere Mancoat’s wife Airing appeared, still close to tears. There seemed no way to comfort her short of finding her missing husband. “Where is Volyon?” she asked.
“I seek him myself,” the priest told her.
“I…I fear that Mancoat is dead. I have this awful feeling that someone has murdered him. The men of the village, they look at me so oddly. It is a look one reserves for widows.”
“Who looked at you that way?”
“Many people. One was the brother of Raincloud, who hangs up there.” She motioned towards the hill without looking. “Could someone have killed Mancoat and thrown him into the river?”
Their eyes sought the water at her words, but the stream ran shallow for the springtime. “No,” Father Legion said softly, “but perhaps….”
At that moment, Volyon came, followed closely by old Treetop and some others. “The priest!” Volyon exclaimed. Startled, Treetop looked away.
“I have come to talk of many things,” Father Legion said.
Volyon nodded. “We call talk here, on my porch. The sun is good today.”
“Have you found Mancoat?” his wife asked.
“No…not yet.”
“He’s dead! I know he’s dead!”
Volyon motioned to old Treetop, who placed a gnarled hand of comfort on the girl. Father Legion took the opportunity to motion Running to one side. “Young Running, could you do me a great favor?”
“Anything, Father Legion.”
“You see that man pausing for bath water from the river?”
“Karlong, brother of the dead Raincloud.”
“Correct. Follow him for me, and report to me where he goes.”
“But…”
“No questions now, little one. Be quick!”
Then he turned back to Volyon and the others, and Running had to hurry on to his mission. The tall Karlong, a great beast of a man, had already rounded the corner of a house with his burden of bath water, but oddly enough he seemed headed away from the village proper. Running tried to follow in a casual manner, skipping as if in play through occasional sections of tall grass. But the big man was on his guard. He looked back constantly, frowning once when he caught sight of Running.
Soon, though, he reached his destination, a section of flatland hidden from the view of the village. It was a desolate area where Running had only rarely ventured, even in play. Here even the trees seemed dead, for this was the village’s burial ground.
And as Karlong poured his carefully carried water upon the grass in one particular area, Running suddenly realized the truth—what better place to hide a body than in a burial ground? Karlong had killed Mancoat and hidden his body here, and now he was watering the grass upon the grave.
Then Karlong saw him.
He turned to run, but the big man was fast in pursuit. He could almost feel the hot breath of doom on his back as he ran higher, even higher up the hill. If only he could reach one of the guard positions before Karlong caught him. If only…
He had not been named Running for nothing. His feet were swift and his legs worked hard, reminding him of the pictures of pictures he’d seen once in a book at Volyon’s great library. Karlong still followed, panting, but now the gap between them had widened and Running knew he would not be caught. Over the next hill and he would be safe for sure. He topped it and saw Samely standing guard near the nine crosses with their burdens. He paused for breath and looked behind him. Karlong had given up the chase and was heading back towards the village.
“What are you doing, boy?” Samely called out to him.
“Only playing.” Running stooped and gathered a few pebbles in his hand, and went hopping off down the hill, in pretended search for some unlucky rabbit or gopher.
Back at Volyon’s house he saw that Father Legion was still conferring with their leader. The two sat close together, like old friends, but even Running could see that their conversation was anything but friendly. He crept closer to listen.
“You want us to backtrack, return to
the white man’s way of life?” Volyon was saying. “He lived in his great cities while the Indian nearly starved on reservations. He treated us like cattle, something to be herded here and there, to be settled in one spot until the government needed the land for a new highway or a power project, then shunted off once more to some new and more crowded life elsewhere. You want us to build towards that sort of life again?”
“But with an Indian civilization, how could it happen?” Father Legion asked, his voice still calm.
“With an Indian civilization we would only find someone else to dominate. Perhaps we would find some lost group of Mexicans whom we could force from their land.”
Father Legion stirred in his chair. “You are a wise man, Volyon. Wiser than I had thought. You realize that the sins you mention are the sins of civilization rather than the sins of the white man alone.”
Volyon’s temper cooled. “We both know much of the past, Father Legion. You were wise even as a child, and I can understand in a way your decision to join Father Blaming up on the hill. He was a good man too. I am sorry he is dead.”
“You could at least give me a chance to live down here again, back among your people and mine.”
“As a priest? It would only end in bloodshed.”
“I don’t think so.”
“What could you give them that they don’t already have? Besides your white man’s civilization?”
“…A knowledge of God.”
“And what would that do for them?”
“It might prevent things like this,” Father Legion said, gesturing toward the distant hill.
“Do you want to prevent that? Do you want those men running loose to rob and kill again?”
“Is this sort of punishment any determent? To leave them hanging there until their bodies rot in the sun, or are eaten by the buzzards?”
“You ask if it is a deterring factor and I answer you. Last Easter there were eleven bodies hanging there, and the year before that there were fifteen.”
“Can we afford the loss of such a percentage of our poulation?” Father Legion asked.
Volyon shrugged. “Crime must be punished. By my methods, not by yours.”
“The man who vanished—Mancoat—has not been found? Suppose I locate him for you.”
“We have searched the entire village and the hills. As you well know. If we could not find him, how will you be able to?”
“If I find him,” the priest persisted, “would you agree to let me live in peace in the village? And instruct the people?”
Volyon was silent for a long time. He seemed to be staring off towards the distant hills considering his answer. “Very well,” he said finally. “If you find Mancoat, you can return to the village in peace. But I warn you that the people will never listen.”
“All I ask is a chance to speak to them. The civilization I spoke of will not come overnight, but a start must be made.”
“You really think it will be better this time? Better than before the Bomb?”
Father Legion looked down at the rough wooden floor. “It has to be, or God wouldn’t have saved the few of us. He’s given us another chance, you see.”
Volyon sighed. “Very well.” He got to his feet and looked up at the sky, studying the changing, gathering cloud. “Now where is the missing Mancoat? His wife is anxious.”
The priest’s eyes clouded. “I can only offer the solace of prayer to Airing. Her husband is dead. Murdered.”
“Murdered!”
And Father Legion reached over the porch to grasp at Running. “Come out, little one. I see you lurking there.”
“I…I only just got back, Father Legion.”
“And where did the mighty Karlong lead you?”
“Karlong!” Volyon gasped out. “Did he…?”
“Where, little one?”
“To the graveyard. He was watering a freshly turned plot of earth.”
“The graveyard!” Volyon gasped. “Come quickly!”
They followed him, already caught up in the sense of nameless haste, now nearly running over the vague grasslands, splashing through wandering streams that drifted lazily towards the growing river. Others were coming, sensing the excitement, and Running saw Airing and old Treetop in the lead. Soon the graveyard appeared before them, calm and peaceful in the springtime sun.
“Karlong!” the leader shouted. “Come out of there, Karlong!”
The big man rose slowly from behind a tombstone, holding a short spear ready in his hand. “Keep back,” he said softly.
And Father Legion stepped around Volyon, walking deliberately into the range of the spear. “Put it down, Karlong,” he said. “We know everything.”
“Keep back!”
“We know about the body in that fresh grave. Put down your spear.”
The big man moved, but not as fast as the priest. Father Legion hurled himself through the distance between them, carrying Karlong backwards over a tombstone. In a moment the others were upon him. They pulled him gasping, weaponless, to his feet and Voylon faced him with all the splendor of a chieftain. “Dog!” he spat out through curled lips. “You have murdered a fellow human being!”
But now Father Legion broke through, brushing the grass from his body. “No, no,” he insisted “you don’t understand. None of you understand. He didn’t murder Mancoat, His only crime was in burying his brother, and who among you can call that a crime?”
“His brother!”
Father Legion nodded. “The body in the grave is that of Raincloud whom you executed two days ago.”
“But that is impossible,” old Treetop said, still clutching the young girl in his arms. “Raincloud still hangs on his cross upon on the hill.”
“Does he?” the priest questioned. “Let us go up and see. But you might keep Airing here. It will not be a pleasant sight for her.”
They mounted the hillside in silence, each man with his own thoughts, and they made their way uncertainly to the second cross in the line of nine. Upon it, his face twisted in a final grimace of pain, hung the missing Mancoat.
Father Legion looked up at him once then turned away sadly as others cut down the body. “But who would do such a thing?” Volyon asked.
The priest closed his eyes against the glare of the sun. “Sleeping on guard duty is punishable by the death penalty,” he said. “When Samely awoke that first night and saw that the second cross was empty, he had to do something. I imagine Mancoat happened by about that time and Samely killed him. Killed him and hung his body in the place of Raincloud.”
“There he goes!” someone shouted and they turned as one man to see the guard Samely running down the hill. They were after him in an instant and the hunters who went daily for the wolfram in the hills now ran him quickly to earth, and their knives flashed in a vengeance that would not need another Easter’s judgment.
Father Legion put a damp hand to his forehead. “God grant that he be the last one to die here by violence.”
“How did you know, Father Legion?” Volyon asked, and Running moved closer to hear the priest’s answer.
“I am not a detective or even a wise man. After Raincloud’s brother removed him from the cross, Samely needed only another body to fill the space. None of you, he knew, would look closely at nine corpses rotting in the sun. And by burial time, who could tell the difference? But last night I did look closely at those nine corpses. I mounted the hill to say the prayer for the dead under each man, and I saw Mancoat hanging there. I also saw Samely dozing under a tree.”
Volyon cleared his throat. “There will be no more such executions, Father Legion. I have at least learned that lesson. And, I think, no more guards to risk death by sleeping on duty.”
“That will be a start,” the priest said. And he turned to Running. “Come
my son, we have a world to win.…”
ABOUT “THE TIMES WE HAD”
It was a great experience, spending a year on the Moon—one that would never be forgotten…
Hoch looks at moon exploration, conspiracy, lies, and memory.
First Publication—Famous Science Fiction, Fall 1967.
THE TIMES WE HAD
Turkmen left the air-train at the stop nearest his home and reached the house before Sara had returned from picking up their daughter at school. The house had not changed during the year he’d been away, though in the garden he could see a scattering of weeds that would have to be removed. A neighbor across the street waved, recognizing him, but Turkmen did not want to talk just then; he only wanted to see his wife and child once more.
“We didn’t expect you so soon!” Sara gushed, running up the front walk to throw her arms around him. “Darling, darling—it’s been a long twelve months. Too long.”
And his daughter Sonia, tugging at his coat. “Daddy, tell us all about it! Tell us about the moon and the planets.”
“I will, dear, I will. It’s great to be back.” He carried little Sonia into the house while Sara bustled about, making coffee and picking up a scattering of toys and dolls. He smiled at her activity and said finally, “I live here, remember? You don’t have to straighten up for me.”
“Oh, Turk! It’s so good to have you back! The letters and pictures were fine, but it just wasn’t the same as having you here in person.”
“Tell us, Daddy. Tell us.”
“All right.” He settled down with them, sipping his coffee and chatting—just as if he’d never been away. “Well, you’ve all seen enough pictures of the moon base to know what it looks like. A great plastic dome with little buildings inside. It took us about three days after blastoff to get there, and the base personnel threw a big party for us, as they always did for the replacements. It’s a great place, really. All the comforts of home, as they say. Movies, entertainment, sightseeing trips around the craters…. And the fellows I worked with were all just great.”
The Future Is Ours Page 3