Beneath the Eye of God (The Commodore Ardcasl Space Adventures Book 1) (17 page)

"Are you writing this down, lad? Whatever happened to your notebook? You just got some good advice. Consider the ground birds for example. There's the poor male so befuddled by the female, he's growing special feathers just to attract her. Is it possible for him to see her objectively as an individual? You and I see her as a couple of drumsticks. If he saw her objectively, there wouldn't be so many little ground birds around. Do you see my point?"

"No," Ohan and Leahn replied firmly.

"Ah. Well, you have to ask yourself who had the most fun, you or the male ground bird."

"A meal or a mate? Is that what you're saying?" Leahn asked incredulously.

"Is that how it came out? You see, lad. If you'd been taking notes, we could go back and see where this conversation went astray."

He leaned back and stared at the slowly turning galaxy. "I believe I was merely trying to explain that the only reason we're all here is because it once seemed easier to get from one end of that galaxy to the other by first coming out here than it did to try to go directly through all that intervening matter."

Ohan blinked.

"Interesting as that may be," Leahn said coolly, "it has absolutely nothing to do with whatever it was we were talking about. You mean the people who came here, my people, came from that galaxy?"

"Could be. A lot of out-of-the-way places got settled during the era when a jump out and another jump back seemed faster than trying to thread your way through the middle."

"You're the fat man who came flying into my room."

Ohan, startled, looked up to see where the unfamiliar voice had come from. The speaker was a tiny girl, not more than eight years old, who had somehow seated herself on the log next to the Commodore.

"I am indeed, my dear. I apologize for the intrusion. I had no idea anyone lived in those old buildings."

"We live where we please. Some of the boys like to live in the trees but I find that too drafty."

"I'm surprised that you were able to see me."

"It wasn't easy. You were all shifty and smoky."

"Perhaps you'll show me how you did that. It looks like great fun to be able to fly."

"Perhaps I will. But right now, your friends should be careful about sneaking up on my friends. Mine are quick and dangerous."

"You have good eyesight. It is ritual combat. Nightbird warriors do not fight to the death without an introduction."

"You should always make sure your opponent is playing by the same rules you are." The Commodore raised his voice to the twins further down the slope by the horses. "This is to be ritual, not blood, gentlemen."

Ohan heard a brief scuffle and some nervous movement from the horses. He strained to see but caught only a glimpse of a dark shadow against the starlit sea. Then the twins emerged into the firelight, one carrying two bodies, the other with one.

There was a hint of surprise in the little girl's voice. "You were right, fat man. Your warriors are quick but we claim two of your horses."

The Commodore looked questioningly at the twins. Erol responded. "There were five of them. Two stood briefly on the backs of our horses and then escaped. They are all very swift."

"May we exchange three of your nightbird warriors for your claim on two of our horses?" the Commodore asked.

"Two for two is the fair trade," the girl replied. "We will owe you a favor for the third."

The Commodore nodded to the twins who set their attackers down. They were children who gazed quickly around the fire, then disappeared in the darkness.

"And do call me Commodore, my dear. All my friends do and I much prefer it to 'fat man'."

"The exchanging of names is for another day," the child said gravely.

"Then perhaps you and your friends would like to discharge your debt by sharing your breakfast with us tomorrow. We did not have a large supper."

"Perhaps." She eyed him coolly. "Though it wouldn't hurt some people to skip a meal once in a while." She stood, stepped into the shadows and was gone.

"Some of us have large bones," he shouted after her. "Lovely child," he muttered. "Odin preserve us, we shall probably see her again in the morning."

***

Ohan woke to the smell of fried bread and found two children seated nearby regarding him with interest. The Commodore emerged from his bedroll resplendent in his red silk pajamas with the green dragons around the middle. Ohan hadn't seen them since he woke in camp that first morning long ago. This, he thought, must be a special occasion. He could see that it was having an effect on his audience. They had lost interest in him and were staring in awe at the Commodore.

The big man stretched and sniffed the air. "Is that breakfast I smell? Ah, and here's our charming hostess."

Ohan turned from the children frying bread in last night's campfire and followed the Commodore's gaze down the slope toward the horses. There sat the little girl next to a long mat spread with a variety of unfamiliar fruits plus eggs, roots, nuts, some little fish and bread.

The Commodore led the way down to the mat and sat himself opposite the child. "We didn't know what you liked best to eat," she said, "so we brought several things. We've never had guests before so you must excuse any breaches in etiquette. We know we must eat first to show that nothing is poisoned." She cut open a melon with a stone knife and offered half to the Commodore.

"It all looks delicious, my dear. My uh, warriors don't eat eggs and I defer to their sensibilities but aside from that, everything seems quite agreeable. I was never one to stand on etiquette except, of course, that part about poison. You . . . uh, don't do much of that—poison I mean—do you?"

"We have several recipes but we've never tried to mix any up. It's not the warrior's way."

Ohan put down the egg he had started to peel and took some bread instead.

`"Now that we see your warriors up close and in the daylight," the child continued, "we find they are not at all what we expected."

"No," said the Commodore. "They are seldom what people expect."

"And you have a white warrior and a forest person with you. Are they not still enemies?"

"Ah. Not as much now as in the past. You, on the other hand, seem to be a bit of both."

"The old men tried to explain how the two peoples were beginning to blend together but they always got embarrassed when we asked exactly how it was done. So we aren't sure about the mechanics of it. Our grandmother said it wasn't a subject for children. Feathered Shield told me some unusual stories but I'm not sure I believe him."

"You haven't traveled much, I take it?"

"We have always lived by the sea. Our father was a fisherman but our mother died and he went away. We came to live with our grandmother who was taking care of the two old men who lived here. If you had come a few seasons earlier, you could have met them but they are all dead now. You were speaking last night of visiting the stars. They would have been interested in that. You must explain it to us."

"For not having traveled widely, you seem to have a remarkable grasp of history. Few others remember that white warriors and forest people were once enemies."

"That's our job. That's what the two old men did. They taught us and now that they are dead, we continue their work. We are keepers."

"Keepers?"

"We keep the stories of the past, of the forest empire and of the colonists from the stars."

The Commodore looked around him. "Just the six of you?"

"Yes. We each specialize in a different area."

"And you are the leader?"

"Feathered Shield will not speak to anyone else."

"He won't?"

"And as leaders," the child said brightly, "you and I must meet in ritual combat."

"We must?" The Commodore was biting the head off a small fish, swallowed it wrong and began to cough. "Says who?" he gasped.

"Feathered Shield. He says it's a good system. His grandfather developed it. He was good at ritual combat so it helped him gain stature. Then when he became emperor, everybody let him beat them. Feathered Shield says it keeps bureaucrats from gaining command over warriors and the men don't have to go to war over the arguments of their leaders. He says the men enjoy watching their leaders fight, even if it isn't to the death."

"They do, eh?"

"Some of us men have never seen our leader fight," Leahn said casually, "though we've heard a lot of talk about what an expert he is."

The Commodore cleared his throat menacingly and glared at her. "I hardly think my fighting a child will . . . "

"Oh, I'm pretty good at it," the girl said. "We've studied all the books and we practice a lot."

"Books?"

"Of course since you outweigh her a little," Leahn continued, "it would be fairer if you took on three or four of them . . . or five or . . . "

"Do you mind? I have no intention of . . . you did say books?"

"The winner gets a token from the loser," the child said. "I would ask for your horse. I've always wanted one." She hesitated. "I don't know what you could ask for. We haven't much. Perhaps the boys could catch a lot of fish for you to eat."

The Commodore seemed to have changed his mind. "My choice, of course, would be up to me and I would have to look around to see what there was that I might want."

"If you win," the child replied calmly.

"Ah yes. If I win."

"What form would this contest take?" Elor asked.

"We would each have a ribbon tied into our hair." She looked thoughtfully at the Commodore. "Or into your beard if you care to. The tighter you tie it in, the more serious the fight and the harder it is for your opponent to cut it out."

"Cut? With what?"

"Knives, of course. Though you may throw yours down at the beginning of the contest."

"I do not pull knives on ladies, not on small ones anyway. And I do not allow ladies with knives anywhere near my beard. I'm afraid the whole idea is . . . "

"That's all right. Just tie the ribbon loosely so it doesn't hurt when I pull it out."

"If you pull it out."

"I'll send one of my brothers for the ribbons. They're not very good ones. We aren't able to make cloth as well as our grandmother did."

"I've got some ribbons right here in my pack." Leahn volunteered cheerfully. "Neali gave them to me."

"You are certainly being helpful in all this, my dear," the Commodore muttered. "Remind me to . . ."

"None of our ceremonial belts will fit you," the girl said. "But they often fought naked."

"No," the Commodore said quickly. "Thank you, no. My family has a long tradition of appearing in public with our trousers on."

"Trousers are fine," the child replied.

The Commodore glared at his companions. "I also make it a practice never to engage in ritual combat until after I've had my morning bath." He turned and stalked off down the beach, silk embroidered dragons flapping in the breeze.

Chapter 11

The rules were simple. Each combatant had one of Leahn's ribbons tied loosely into his hair. The child pulled her long dark hair forward on both sides and tied the ribbon into it at both ends so it lay across her chest. The Commodore braided his into his beard so that it too, lay on his chest.

"Before we begin," the Commodore said, "may I know the name of my opponent?"

"Oh yes. I almost forgot. Introductions are very important. I am Malie, she who speaks to the dead."

"And I am Commodore Ardcasl, he who performs dark deeds in the name of science."

At first glance the contest appeared wildly uneven. The Commodore outweighed Malie by at least two hundred pounds. She circled him warily and when he made a clumsy lunge, she darted in behind him and gave a kick to the back of his knee that collapsed him sideways into the sand. Before he had a chance to recover, she danced lightly up his back to his shoulders, then stood for an instant, arms outstretched like a tiny ballerina poised atop his head.

Her brothers and sister broke into applause. As she danced away, the Commodore struggled to his feet only to be sent sprawling by a well-placed kick to his posterior. He lay there, silently contemplating his opponent who deliberately turned her back and walked away. This brought shouts of approval from her siblings.

The contest still appeared unequal but the role of underdog had changed. The Commodore heaved himself slowly to his feet, sweating, and brushed the sand from his big belly. He faced Malie in a crouch as she sauntered back to the conflict. She circled, feinted and lunged, sometimes darting in to land halfway up his side. As he began a ponderous grab for her, she would push off and be gone, leaving him to clutch at empty air. Against this tiny antagonist, he seemed exceedingly dull and slow. Even Leahn found herself rooting hopelessly for him.

Now Malie began to go for the ribbon. She worried him from one side and then the other, darting, snatching for the prize as he tried to block her with arms and elbows. A kick to the back of his legs brought him crashing to his knees. She placed a foot deep in his stomach, made a grab for his ribbon and leaped away, the prize firmly in her hand only to find its other end held tightly by the Commodore who reeled her in like a surprised fish on a line.

She quickly dropped her end but it was too late. He had her scooped in and tucked firmly under his arm in a single swift movement. She tried to kick but he seemed not to notice. He rose to his feet with her still under his arm and carefully disentangled the ribbon from her hair.

"Interesting custom," he puffed as he set the child before him. She was making a great effort not to cry.

"I haven't lost for a long time," she said accusingly.

"I'm sure you haven't. But you've been fighting against children. Adults are much trickier."

A single tear rolled down her cheek but she did not cry. "It's not fair," she said.

"Of course it's not. Didn't your mentor, Feathered Shield, mention that? Life is never fair." He held up her ribbon and turned to the assembled spectators. "It is, however, the privilege of the victor to be magnanimous to the vanquished. While I retain title to my horse, you may take him for a ride." He turned and strode down the hill. "Come, children. Everyone may go."

"We all know the story of how the colonists grew the horses from seeds they brought with them," Malie said breathlessly as she sat astride the creature's broad back. "But I never dreamed they were so big. Does he have a name?"

"This, my dear, is Rudyard Kipling."

"Really? I think I'll call him Ruddy." She gave the beast a kick and they were off down the beach.

"Ruddy!" The Commodore looked incredulous. "Ah well," he sighed to the twins as they watched the rest of the children gallop away, "the affinity of young female hominids for large, swift, quadruped herbivores seems close to universal."

He began to walk stiffly back up the hill. "I have had a strenuous morning and I am going to take a nap. The rest of you," he glared at Leahn and Ohan, "are on your own. If you get into serious life-threatening difficulty, do not wake me. If one of the children falls beneath the hoofs and is trampled, take care of it. I am not to be disturbed. I am beginning to seize up already."

***

He woke from his nap to find Malie beside him. He sat up carefully. "Well, my dear, did you have a nice ride?"

"Very nice, thank you," she said gravely. "It was kind of you to let us use your horses but I've been talking to Feathered Shield. He's very annoyed and won't allow us to share any of our things with you."

"Not even supper?"

"Oh, supper is all right. The boys are out gathering sand walkers now. But then he says you must leave."

"Does he? Well, that's all right. We shall be calling in our aircar and leaving tomorrow anyway, right after we slaughter the horses. But first let's eat. Ritual combat has given me an appetite."

He rose to leave. The little girl sat stunned and pale. "I don't understand," she whispered.

"It's really very simple. We have ridden a long way. We have come to the edge of the sea. The rest of our journey will be by aircar. There will be no room for the horses."

"Couldn't you leave them with us? We would take good care of them."

"I'm sure you would but I choose not to leave them with those who have no honor." He turned and strode down the beach.

The mat was spread as before but now the children came riding up with hard-shelled crab-like creatures that they roasted over the fire and cracked open to reveal a succulent white meat. It was with great reluctance that they brought the horses in to the twins to be staked and tied so everyone could sit down to eat.

The children were filled with chatter and still excited by their day of horseback riding. They didn't notice that Malie was silent and withdrawn. The Commodore watched her closely. "There was talk last night of your being nightbird warriors," he said. "Is that a game you children play?"

The oldest boy, Kholran, answered proudly. "It is not a game, sir. The nightbird warriors were the honorary fighting class of the forest empire. In the last great battle, they defeated the invaders on this very shore. We have studied their sacred books and dedicated our lives to their code."

"Is that the same code that establishes the rules for ritual combat?"

"It is, sir."

"What is the penalty for breaking that code?"

The boy looked surprised. "A warrior would not break the code, sir. The penalty would be the taking of his skin, without ceremony and without honor."

"Then it is as I thought. You are children playing a game."

"Sir?" The boy was genuinely puzzled.

"Explain it to him, Malie," the Commodore said.

All eyes turned to the little girl. Her face was ashen but she spoke calmly. "Feathered Shield says the strangers must leave and I am not to pay my debt."

There was a shocked silence. "That's not fair," Alira, the youngest girl, said.

Malie smiled mirthlessly. "The Commodore has already explained to us about fairness."

The big man cleared his throat loudly. "This Feathered Shield fellow, the one you take your orders from, was he or is he a king?"

"He was the last great king of the forest empire," Malie replied.

"And was the king subject to the warrior's code?"

"Yes."

"And did the king or indeed, anyone, have the power to order a warrior to violate the code and lose his honor?"

". . . I . . . I'm not certain."

"No one could take a warrior's honor," replied Kholran firmly. "Not even the king."

The Commodore leaned across the mat and looked squarely at the little girl. "Malie, who speaks to the dead, sometimes forgets that she is still a child. Yet we are dealing here with adult matters. You have a debt, my dear. A debt to me. I collect that which is due me. Isn't that so, Leahn?"

Leahn, startled, replied, "He doesn't let you forget what you owe him, Malie."

The Commodore leaned closer to the pale child. "You owe me a skin, to be taken without ceremony, without honor. I intend to collect tomorrow—after I have finished with the horses."

"What about the horses?" Malie's younger sister, Alira, demanded.

The Commodore turned to her. "Malie has ordered us to leave. Our aircar will be here at dawn. There is no room for the horses and I will not leave them with so-called warriors who play at games of honor but are unwilling to pay up when they lose. We must butcher them."

Alira's eyes grew round with fury. She stood and faced her older sister. "You think you're so smart just because that pile of bones talks only to you. But look at what you've done. You were going to get a horse. You could beat anybody, especially an old fat man. Now you've lost them all. Well, they can have your skin if they want it. But they can't have my horse. Take them to see your old skeleton. Let them argue with him." The knuckles on her clenched fists had gone white as she glared at her sister. "Do it now!" she screamed.

"Wait a minute," Elor interrupted, turning to Malie. "Is your sister saying the Feathered Shield is an actual being, rather than a disembodied voice that only you can hear?"

Malie sighed. "That was one of the things he didn't want you to know."

"If somebody is going to start ordering me around," the Commodore rumbled, "telling me where I must go and when I must leave, I prefer to hear him directly, rather than through an underling."

"I agree," Kholran said. "This is between these people and Feathered Shield. Let them face each other. That is the warrior's way."

"He's not going to like it," Malie insisted.

"Do it!" Alira and the others said.

***

The ruined temples were farther down the beach. An overgrown trail cut through the sand hills and into the forest. The children led the way through the trees. The gloom of the forest blotted out the last light of the setting sun. The first building they came to was neither as large nor as carefully constructed as those at the lost city but were similar in design and ornamentation. There were several scattered among the trees.

As they mounted the broad steps to one of the ruined buildings, Ohan had to step past trees that were coiling their tendrils around the cut stones, lifting them away, filling the gaps with their own roots. Obviously the two old men the children spoke of had not been as diligent in destroying seedlings as Alexander.

A sound had been troubling him as he climbed. At first he thought it was the waves on the beach. Then it seemed like the sighing of the wind through the leaves. But it rose in intensity as he approached the open door and the wind was not rising. It was a muttering, a rumbling sound and it was coming from the doorway in front of him.

Malie lit a torch. It made more smoke than light. The building seemed to hold a single narrow room which they had entered at one end. Its high ceiling was lost in shadow. One wall was unfinished except in one corner where plaster had been applied. Roots had found their way through and were tentatively exploring the dark interior. But the other wall was plastered and painted in the same style as the passage inside the pyramid. From what Ohan could see of the artist's work in the flickering torchlight, it seemed less finished and these were scenes of battle rather than of gods and strange beasts.

The sound he had been hearing came from the far end of the room. As he cautiously followed the others inside, it rose to an eerie high-pitched wail that danced across his spine and made his skin crawl. "I told you he wouldn't like this," Ohan heard Malie mutter from somewhere ahead.

He peered between several of the others who had stopped in a cluster ahead of him. There in the sputtering torchlight, seated on a stone bench at the far end of the room was a figure, robed in white. Unmoving among the flickering shadows, it filled the room with a melancholy wail. Ohan pushed a little forward for a better look, then gasped and fell back. There were skeletal fingers on the stone arm of the bench and a grinning skull where the figure's head should be.

Those around him stood rooted in their tracks as the wailing rose in pitch and intensity to become a keening that echoed through the room—through Ohan's soul.

"This cannot be the mighty Feathered Shield." The Commodore's angry voice cut through the wail. "Son of Bluestone Mask, son of Nightbird Talon, emperor of the forest people, conqueror of the alien invaders, whose great roads and cities still stand to confound all the works of lesser men to this very day. This whining bag of bones who sits moldering here in the dark—hiding behind the skirts of children—cannot be that great king."

The Commodore stopped speaking and there was silence. The keening had stopped. All eyes were on the figure at the far end of the room. Even Ohan stared. It was moving. It was trying to stand, its motions halting and jerky—like a marionette tangled in its strings. The white cape fell aside. Sparks of blue fire danced over its bones and flickered through the empty eye sockets in the hollow skull. It stood poised for an instant, halfway up. There was a blood-chilling shriek and it fell clattering back on the bench, its fire gone.