Red Orc's Rage

by Philip José Farmer

  Jim had expected, for some reason, that Orc would look like him. He did not. His body was stockier, and his arms seemed longer. His nose was snub, his lips fuller than Jim's, his chin less pronounced, and his hair was black. Moreover, the eyes were wider and gave him a look of innocence.

  He wore no clothing except a blue headband printed with symbols unfamiliar to Jim. One looked like a trumpet of some sort. Did that represent the Horn of Shambarimem, which Jim had read about in the series and which was supposed to open all gates among the worlds when it was blown?

  Now, the father and the mother slowly began to circle the child counterclockwise. Los continued to swing the censer, and he questioned his son only when he was in front of him. Jim could see the boy tighten up when this happened. Twice, he responded successfully. The third time, he stammered. Again, the father struck his son on the face.

  The woman frowned and opened her mouth as if to say something to her husband. But she closed her lips. Los shouted something. Perhaps the anger was required by the ceremony, but it seemed to be far more personal than ritualistic.

  Orc quivered. His face and body shone with sweat, and his lower lip trembled. His signs of stress seemed to make Los more furious.

  Jim hated the father.

  Though he had come here to enter Orc and to be one with him, he hesitated. His sympathetic anger was making his mind whirl, and he needed all the coolness and self-control he could master to be able to enter Orc. That step was frightening enough. He had no way of knowing, of course, but he felt that he could err during the incorporation procedure and find himself in a very bad situation.

  The father, whose face had been getting redder and more twisted, swung the censer hand against the side of Orc's head. The boy went down to his knees. Both of his arms remained down. Jim guessed that, if the boy had moved his arms, he would completely fail to fulfill his part in the ceremony. What the result of that would be, Jim did not know.

  The woman said something. Los glared at her and spoke one word. The woman glared back and spoke one word. Jim did not think that they were complimenting each other.

  Orc rose unsteadily to his feet. He stared upward while blood trickled from the wound. Tears swept down his cheeks, but he had locked his jaws together.

  Enitharmon shrieked. She sprang toward Los and swung the end of her wand against the side of Los's head.

  She certainly did not react as his mother would, Jim thought.

  Then he was whisked away, up out of the temple, up above the mountains, the continent, the planet, the sun, back to the gate to his room on Earth, and through the gate with a soundless explosion.

  Chapter 14

  November 8, 1979

  WHEN JIM ENTERED the next time, he did not see the scary, intersecting, glowing, and many-dimensional walls. Instead, he was confronted by a great swarm of figures that alternately flashed green and red. They looked like spermatozoa with human faces, all grinning malignantly at him.

  He flew through the horde, those in his path wriggling swiftly away, and was quickly in Orc's universe. But, before he had started chanting, he had decided to enter Orc when he was seventeen years old.

  The youth was in a forest hundreds of miles beyond the city. Orc had grown into a tall and very muscular young man. He was standing behind the massive bole of a tree, his left hand grasping the shaft of a spear. He wore a blue cap shaped like Robin Hood's. A scarlet feather stuck out of its side. Except for the cap, a short blue kilt, and sandals, he wore nothing. A belt held a scabbarded short-sword and a bolstered throwing ax. It was an hour or so into the afternoon. The sky, crimson today, was clear, and the sun, also crimson, blazed down on top of the forest. It was, however, cool below the thick canopy of vegetation connecting trees seven hundred feet high.

  The layer of tangled plants far above him held a multitude of insects, birds, and animals. From a branch fifty feet above him, a raccoonlike creature with a green beard hung by its prehensile tail and scolded him. Orc was listening intently to something, but it would have been difficult to hear anything above the uproar of the forest life.

  Orc turned his head. His father, Los, and his mother, Enitharmon, had appeared from the shadows of the trees behind him. His parents were clad only in kilts and sandals, and they, too, carried weapons. Though Los had a spear and an ax, he was armed also with a bulbous-ended handgun, a beamer.

  Jim was again suffering from fear. To project himself into Orc's mind and possibly never get out again was to dare a danger such as he had never encountered before. But he had to do it or live as a coward forever after. Do or die. And maybe die, anyway. Worse, be absorbed by Orc or be only partially absorbed but forever a prisoner in that alien body.

  Never mind. Get into Orc's mind. Become partly Orc. Not completely Orc, dear God!

  It was done. For a second or more, he seemed to have fallen into a silo of wet oats. Slimy and squidgy matter pressed around him. He was blind. The darkness and the loathsome substance drowning him came close to making him turn back. He gritted his figurative teeth and shouted voicelessly at himself, "Go on!"

  The frightening muck was behind him, though the darkness remained. He had a sensation of plunging into a furiously running stream of a mercury-heavy liquid, of being shot through many winding and twisting tunnels, and of hearing a noise like that of the beating of giant wings or a vast heart.

  That was behind him. Now, he floated in a silent chamber. Then, he heard a faint crackling. Sparks showered around him.

  Suddenly, the sparks expanded and coalesced. They became a bright light. He could see and hear and smell and taste as he had in his body on Earth.

  He was enfleshed and enbrained, almost entirely Orc. He was like a tiny parasite hanging on to its host's artery wall and hoping that it would not be swept away by the raging current of blood. Meanwhile, it tapped into its host's nervous system and shared all thoughts, memories, emotions, and sensations.

  That one-way input was, as he was to find out, very confusing for him. It would take some time to be able to handle at the same time his own thoughts and identity and Orc's.

  Orc saw his Uncle Luvah and Aunt Vala as they came from the shadows of the trees. Behind them walked a dozen natives, slaves of the Lords, trackers and beaters. They were somewhat darker than the Lords but only because they spent more time in the sunlight. They wore loincloths, were heavily tattooed, and bristled with feathers stuck in their long dark hair and in holes in their ears. Their only weapons were bamboo air guns which expelled darts with anesthetic-coated tips. Their leader carried a signal horn made from the doubly curving horn of a giant bovoid animal.

  Los's voice was deep and growling.

  "Any luck, son?"

  "I think one of them is holed up in that cluster of shinthah trees," Orc said. "He's been wounded. I've trailed him partly by his blood, though he doesn't seem to be bleeding heavily."

  "He must be the one who killed the two slaves," Los said. "The others are all accounted for, dead or gotten away."

  Jim was vaguely amazed that he could understand the speech of the Lords, or Thoan, their name for themselves. If his reaction was diluted, it was because all his own feelings were, so far, shadowy. But everything funneled through to him from Orc was bright and hard.

  Luvah and Vala moved up to stand beside Los. They had been invited by Orc's parents to be their guests at the palace and to go on a manhunt. Los had opened the gates between their worlds long enough for them to pass through.

  Los would never have done that on his own. His wife had insisted that Luvah of the Horses and his wife and sister, Vala, be invited. Enitharmon needed more than the company of her family and slaves.

  Orc adored the beautiful and warm-natured Vala. As it turned out, though, he had been kept too busy to talk to her. The hunt had been furious and intense and had few pauses.

  Los said, "Is the man still armed?"

  "I don't know," Orc said.

  All the quarry were natives who had been sentenced to death by thei
r own people for serious crimes. Los had decided to override the sentences and use the convicted as prey. He did this now and then when he got bored with other amusements. Seven men, all dangerous, had been taken to this jungle, given spears and knives, and let loose. After twenty minutes of waiting, the Lords and their retainers had started tracking them. The Lords were, except for Los and Vala, armed only with primitive weapons. That ensured that the hunt would be dangerous for the hunters. Orc's father and his aunt carried the beamers to shoot any beasts of prey that might attack the party or a human quarry if he got the upper hand in a fight with a Lord. Manhunt rules, as determined by tradition, were never broken. Or, if a Lord had broken them, he or she had kept quiet about it.

  "Who wants to go after the beast?" Los shouted.

  "I will be happy to do it," Orc said. He was aware that he had volunteered because he wanted to get his father's respect even though he did not like his father. Also, a stronger reason, he wanted to show off before his aunt.

  "It's true that you do need more practice," Los said. "You haven't killed many beasts yet, man or animal. But it's only polite to allow our visitors first chance. Remember that."

  Vala said, "I'd love to see Orc in action. I'll be right behind you, nephew."

  Jim was thinking, My God! They're callous enough about it! And cool, too! What kind of people are these? He knew, however, from reading the Tiersian books just how cruel the Lords could be. What had he expected?

  Despite his repulsion, he was feeling Orc's emotions. The youthful Lord and, therefore, Jim, was excited and eager. At the same time, Orc, therefore Jim, was hoping that he would not make a fool of himself. It was possible that he would also be a dead fool.

  Orc walked slowly into the denseness of the shinthah trees. Their branches, which began about six feet above the earth, merged with those of their neighbors. Vines crawled through the branches and let down loops close to the ground. Moreover, the winshin bush, a very leafy plant, grew among the trees. The tangle of tree, vine, and bush was ideal for hiding and ambushing.

  Holding his spear in one hand, Vala about six feet behind him. Orc plunged into the thick growth. He moved slowly to avoid making noise. He was very tense and was sweating heavily. It suddenly came to him that the quarry had most of the advantages. He stopped when his foot struck something. He looked down. Half-buried in some kind of weedy growth was a spear. The hunted man had dropped it. Which must mean that he was badly wounded.

  Despite this, Orc did not forget to be cautious. It was possible that the man had placed the spear there to make the hunter think just what Orc had thought. He might be waiting close by, his hunting knife in his hand.

  He gestured at Vala to indicate the spear. She nodded that she understood. Though the cluster would usually be clamorous with the cries of birds and beasts, it was silent now. The tenants were watching the intruders, waiting to see if they were dangerous before resuming normal activity.

  Orc parted a bush with his right hand and looked past it and down. There was the prey. He was a big man completely unclothed and lying on his back. By his open hand was a large knife. Blood flowed slowly from under the hand held to his shoulder. Sweat had washed all but traces of the blood from his torso and legs.

  Orc said, "Har?"

  Not until then had he known that the quarry was from a village near the palace-city or that he was his half brother. Los had many children by the native women; Har was one of perhaps a hundred. He was a superb tracker who had taught Orc everything he knew about jungle craft. He had been wounded by his own father, Los, who was separated from the group when he had thrown his spear on glimpsing the quarry. Later, Orc had come across Har's trail of blood.

  The man was pale under his heavy tan. He stared at Orc, knowing that he was about to die. But he did not plead.

  Vala came up to Orc. She said, "You must blood your knife, nephew. It is not correct to finish him off with your spear. Wait until I call the others. They must see you do it."

  Jim felt Orc's sudden sickness. He knew what Orc was thinking. He would have to cut Har's throat and lick some of the blood off the knife. The coup de grace and the blood tasting were not new to him, nor did he find them distasteful. Far from it. But this. . .! He knew and liked his half brother as much as he could like any leblabbiy, as the non-Lords were called. He told himself that he would sooner kill his father than he would Har.

  But he had to do it. Not only that, he must not show any pity or kindness. By then, the others had arrived. Los said, "So, it was Har I wounded! And you get the credit for the kill! Well, that is the way things sometimes happen!"

  "You wounded him, father," Orc said. "I couldn't have caught him if you hadn't. Why don't you lick his blood?"

  Los frowned, and he said, "That isn't the Thoan way. Go ahead."

  Orc went around the bush, scraping his skin against the abrasive leaves of that bush and the one beside it. The other Lords followed him. The natives stayed behind and would do so unless ordered to witness the killing.

  Har's eyes were dulled. Yet, he was not so far gone that he did not recognize Orc. He croaked, "Greeting, brother!" He had never said that word to Orc during all their conversations. Though both knew that Los was their father, neither would ever say so. If Har had dared to do that, he would have been punished severely, perhaps with death. Now that he was to die, he did not care.

  "You are immortal or nearly so," Har said. "Yet, you can be killed. That makes you my brother no matter who our father is."

  A shiver of fire ran through Orc. He was struck, not with the audacity of Har but with the truth of his words. They were as frightening as lightning in the night when there was no cloud or thunder.

  "Go ahead, Orc!" Los said.

  Orc turned to face him. "I cannot do it," he said.

  Los was not the only one who stepped back as if suddenly smelling a carcass long rotten.

  Los shook his head, blinked, and said harshly, "I do not understand. Is something wrong?"

  Orc took a deep breath before speaking. Only Jim knew what courage Orc had to summon for what he was about to do.

  "I cannot kill him. He is flesh of my flesh. He is your son and my brother."

  Everything around Orc seemed to be fuzzy. The harsh edges of reality were blunted and soft. He felt as if he had stepped into another world that was not quite formed.

  Los looked bewildered. He said, "What? What does that have to do with it?"

  Vala turned and gestured at the head tracker, Sheon, to approach her. As all non-Lords did when called by a Thoan, he came swiftly.

  "What is that man's crime?" Vala said, pointing at Har.

  Sheon, looking at the ground, said, "Holy One, he slew a son of our chief after he caught him in bed with his wife. Har claimed that the chief's son attacked him with a knife, and he killed him in self-defense. But Har's wife witnessed otherwise. She said that Har meant to kill both of them. In any event, Har should have gone to the council and presented his complaint to it. It is against our law to slay a man or a woman caught in adultery. Har could have run away if he was attacked. There was nothing to stop him from running."

  Vala turned to Orc. "See? He deserves to die by the law of his own people."

  "Then let them execute him," Orc said.

  "This is ridiculous!" Los shouted. "You're stupid! I do not understand you! He's not Thoan!"

  "He's half-Thoan," Orc said calmly, though he was far from calm inside himself.

  "Half is not the whole!" Los said. His face was very red, and his eyes were wild. "Kill him! At once!"

  "Don't you feel anything for him?" Orc said. "He is your son. Or does that mean nothing to you?"

  Luvah said, "Nephew, you're out of your mind! What happened? Did you have an accident, strike your head against something?"

  "Something struck me," Orc said. "It wasn't physical. It was like a great light. . . it's hard to explain."

  "I'll strike you!" Los howled, and his fist caught the side of Orc's jaw. Orc was stunned for se
veral seconds. When he was able to think clearly, he found himself down on his knees. The others, except for Los, looked as if they, too, had been struck. Orc's mother murmured, "Los! This is not necessary! There is something wrong with the boy!"

  "Yes, there is, Enitharmon! He is not a true Lord! Did you lie with some native and allow yourself to get pregnant?"

  Enithermon gasped, and Vala said, "That is a terrible thing to say!"

  Orc was seized by something that was roaring. The sound was red. Colors did not have sounds, but many things happened in the mind that could not happen outside it. The insult to his mother had loosed all the desires to attack his father that had been caged since as far back as he could remember.

  He was in a dream filled with a bright red light. He seemed to be standing outside of himself and watching himself. He saw Orc, the knife still in his hand despite having been half-conscious, come off the ground quickly. He saw Los step back, but not quickly enough to prevent the blade driving several inches into his left arm. He saw his uncle, Luvah, strike him on the side on his head with the butt of his spear. He saw himself drop the knife and fall onto his face but roll over so that he was faceup.

  Then he was back inside himself. His father had raised the spear held in his right hand to drive it through him. His mother, screaming, grabbed the spear and struggled with Los. She wrested it from his grip and held it so that its point was close to her husband.

  "Don't do it!" she screamed. It was evident that she would use the spear on him if he tried to kill her son.

  Vala spoke in a high and tight voice. "Los! The leblabbiy are watching you!"

  Los turned and glared. Sheon, the chief tracker, was walking back to his fellows. He did not want the Thoan to know that he had seen the fight, but it was too late for that.

  Los pointed at Orc and said, "Bind him! He goes back to the palace!"