Blade Kin (20 page)

Chapter 31: Tales of the Beast

“Don’t move,” Phylomon said softly, and Fava dared not move, beneath the weight of the Hukm.

The beast kept its paw on her face and growled softly.

Phylomon raised one hand into the air, and lowered it slowly, waggling his fingers, and making a soft sighing sound as he did.

The Hukm grunted, sniffed at Darrissea and Fava, and touched their breasts again. Then the creature displayed its own flabby breast, a great hairy sack, and backed away.

She opened a pouch from her bandoleer, pulled out a pinch of sweet-smelling leaves, and touched the leaves to Fava’s lips.

“Eat them,” Phylomon said. “She is a scout for the Hukm. She smells your fear, and offers food. This is her promise that you do not need to fear her. Relax, but do not move. Especially, do not smile—for the Hukm show their teeth only before they attack.”

Fava took the leaves in her mouth, tried to choke them down.

All around camp, hundreds of Hukm were loping north, moving like ghosts among the redwoods, swinging their long arms as they ran.

A second Hukm came close, a crippled old dwarf of a male, not much taller than a huge man, and it sat down in the snow. The small male reached into a backpack and brought out a wooden flute, longer than Fava’s leg.

The flute was wrapped in cloth and decorated with blue dragon feathers. He sat under a redwood on a small pile of icy snow and played long low notes on the flute, a song of wind and thunder and clear rivers rolling slowly through the flatlands. As near as Fava could figure, the beasts were trying to entertain her.

She kept looking toward Phylomon for direction, but the blue man only gazed at the flutist, signaling with his posture that they should not try to speak.

It was said that the Hukm did not trust humans or Pwi, and Fava could see that Phylomon kept his silence in observance of some form of protocol.

After an hour, a great white Hukm woman came on the back of a mammoth, and hundreds of mammoths followed.

As she dismounted, her massive necklace of carved beads chattered like teeth in the clear night air. She hefted an immense club banded with iron rings, and walked through camp, sniffing, and fondled Fava’s breast. The creature silently waggled her fingers, raising her hands and then letting them fall again.

“This is Ironwood Woman,” Phylomon said, “leader of all of the Hukm.” Phylomon translated, “She says that she smells the scent of Tull upon Fava. She met Tull last summer when he traveled to Craal. She is honored to meet his new owner.”

Ironwood Woman touched Fava’s belly, then moved on to Darrissea, thumbed her shirt looking for breasts. She opened her mouth in joy when she discovered them.

Many Hukm stopped to watch their leader. The smell of fur from the massed Hukm was somehow both subtle and overpowering, a scent Fava might not notice at first, but which permeated the woods like wild garlic.

The queen of the Hukm approached Phylomon and began waggling her fingers. The Starfarer spoke in kind, and for a long time, Fava waited, sweating in the cold.

“The Blade Kin have been hunting the Hukm,” Phylomon translated, “and have driven them from the south. Ironwood Woman’s people are staying in the trees because of an army on Mammoth Run Plateau. So far, the army has been content to stay there. The Blade Kin dare not come into the woods.

“The Hukm want the Pwi to join them in an attack upon Bashevgo. They’ve gathered nearly one hundred thousand for their attack—males, females, juveniles. Only their very old and very young will stay behind to stop the Blade Kin from pursuing the Hukm.

“They want humans and Pwi to help defeat Bashevgo’s laser cannons. But they must hurry and get there soon, before the ice clears from the Straits of Zerai. Ironwood Woman wants to know if you two women can speak to your leaders in her behalf.”

Darrissea answered shyly, “Tell Ironwood Woman that the Blade Kin have attacked us, too. They’ve captured all the towns around Smilodon Bay, and we saw huge armies heading south along the coast.”

The blue man said brusquely. “What of Chaa and Tull. Where are they?”

“Captured,” Darrissea answered. “Chaa had hardly begun his Spirit Walk when the Blade Kin took the city.”

Phylomon sat back, as if astonished, as if he hadn’t even considered the possibility of an attack. Or perhaps he somehow believed that Tull would have escaped.

“This is a great blow,” Phylomon said. “The troops that attacked the Hukm came from the west. We were hoping to draw battle lines, take the city of Bashevgo and cut off the Blade Kin’s supply routes, force them to retreat back west of the White Mountains.”

Phylomon spoke with Ironwood Woman for a moment, and the great woman stopped and howled, a long ululating cry that was almost deafening.

Darrissea did not have to speak Hukm to hear her distress. She made some violent gestures with her hands, then turned and grabbed her mammoth’s ear, leapt upon its shoulders, and went galloping north. All of the Hukm that had stopped to watch, mounted up and followed behind her.

In just a few moments, the women were left alone with Phylomon. He sighed deeply. “We may talk freely now. Have you eaten lately?”

“Not much for the past few days,” Fava said.

Phylomon began setting a fire. “What happened?” Darrissea asked. “What did Ironwood Woman say?”

“She is continuing north, to attack Bashevgo.”

Darrissea asked, “Just like that? She isn’t even going to consult her people? How could the Hukm hope to defeat Bashevgo?”

“Hope is where you find it,” Phylomon said. “Long ago, the ancients of Earth mastered the art of war. They learned that in order to destroy an enemy, you must first demoralize him—destroy his faith in himself. Often, a small band of men has thrown off the shackles of a great nation, but only when they believe they can or must. Now, for the first time in their lives, the Hukm see that they must destroy Bashevgo.

“Still, I’m not sure Ironwood Woman believes she
can
win,” Phylomon said. “For years, the Hukm have battled with Craal and lost.

“With armies marching from both the south and east, Ironwood Woman’s people are surrounded. The Hukm are creatures of the open plains. They fear enclosures, and as anyone who has ever fought a Hukm knows, you never want to surround them.

“The Hukm will race to Bashevgo now before the ice thaws, to win their last battle—or die in the attempt.”

Fava asked, “Do you think they have a chance?”

“A chance?” Phylomon crouched in the snow, cracking twigs for kindling and setting them under the larger branches. “In the past, Tantos has guarded Bashevgo with seven divisions. By sending men south, Lord Tantos must have siphoned off some of those forces—two divisions, possibly three. Even if Tantos has only four divisions still guarding Bashevgo, the Hukm will be outnumbered by four to one.”

“But the Blade Kin have guns—and the Hukm fight only with clubs,” Darrissea warned.

“Yet the Hukm fight in total darkness, when guns will not avail the Blade Kin. And there is another possibility—Bashevgo’s slaves could revolt, or they could flee into the wilderness, where we could turn them into an army, given time.”

Fava studied the Starfarer, became caught up in his fantasy. “Will you lead their army?”

“That is for Ironwood Woman to do. They would not let a male lead them, much less a human. I may advise her, even fight beside her.”

He got the wood in place, opened his pack and produced some long, thick matches. He struck one, set it under the kindling, and the fire blazed. “So, what are you two planning to do?”

“We’re going to Bashevgo,” Fava said, “to free Tull and my family.” Fava’s voice sounded small and frightened to Darrissea, and she looked around.

They were surrounded by redwoods, and still on both sides of the camp, the giant Hukm passed like mist in the night, and they were sitting here speaking to Phylomon the Starfarer, more of a legend than a mere man, and Fava’s voice sounded so small and frightened. Two women, planning to sneak into Bashevgo, were insignificant.

Phylomon went to his mammoth, pulled off a pack, and brought it to camp. He put a skillet on the fire, opened a sack of ground corn to make bread. He did not speak during all this. Instead, he furrowed his brow, and moonlight gleamed from his hairless head.

“So, everyone wants to go to Bashevgo, but for different reasons. Ironwood Woman wants to make war. You want to rescue Tull. I find my loyalties divided. I don’t know which of you to help.”

“Perhaps you can help us both,” Fava suggested.

“I am not sure I want to help you.” Phylomon peered into Fava’s eyes, and the Starfarer said softly. “Has your father told you what your husband is?”

Fava shook her head. “My father told me that Tull would become powerful someday, if he could free himself.”

“I believe—your father believes—that Tull may be more than a Spirit Walker. He may be a Talent Warrior.”

Darrissea cut in, “Like Thunatra the Dream-giver, or Kwitcha the Healer?”

“No. Like Terrazin the Dragontamer.”

“Oh,” Fava said. “I have not heard of him.”

“What do you know of the Talent Wars?” Phylomon asked.

“I know you led the Pwi to battle against Bashevgo, and that with the help of Thunatra and Kwitcha and the faders, you threw down the Slave Lords. For a hundred years after, there was peace.”

Phylomon smiled in the firelight, kindly, as if speaking to a child. “Three hundred and sixty years ago,” Phylomon said, “I led a ragtag band of warriors to Bashevgo. In those days, there were over four hundred Starfarers in Bashevgo, and they all wore symbiotes like mine that helped keep them young and strong and invincible, and their human children wielded weapons brought from the stars to enslave your ancestors.

“My friends and I were outcasts, for we objected to the practice of slavery, but we did not have the weapons we needed to fight.

“So we looked among your people, took their most talented psychics, and led them into battle. You know of Thunatra who could do battle in his dreams, and Kwitcha the great healer, and you know of my brother who wore a fader, a device that let him walk almost invisibly into Bashevgo. But the warriors of Bashevgo also had faders, and they had Crimson Knights, and they outnumbered us.

“But we had Terrazin, and all the terrors of Bashevgo could not stop him. He was young, fifteen, a boy who wanted only to rescue a sister who had been captured by the Slave Lords. But he was a powerful warrior.

“Terrazin called the dragons from the skies and ordered them to hunt the Slave Lords.

“He was a powerful Spirit Walker, and he confounded his enemies in every battle. He alone hunted the Starfarers to extinction, and the rest of us were but minor players in the great game.

“At the height of his power, Terrazin learned to do more than Spirit Walk the futures of other men. He used his power to manipulate people, so that the last of the Slave Lords slew themselves. Of all the Starfarers, only I and my brother survived.”

“Why have we never heard of him?” Darrissea asked.

“Because he grew corrupt.” Phylomon said. “In his long hunt for the Slave Lords, Terrazin often connected with their spirits. He did more than learn their thoughts; he took on their nature. He became … deformed—as if he were the sum of all Slave Lords.

“Once he won the war, there was no hundred years of peace. That is a myth. Instead, Terrazin seized the world by the throat.

“Because I was his friend, Terrazin did not kill me. Yet he suspected me, as he grew suspicious of all people. He grew paranoid, deadly.

“His allies were forced to turn on him. He killed my wife, my children, my brother—I couldn’t stop him. But because I was his friend, I was able to murder Terrazin.

“No one ever spoke his name again. It was forbidden. Thunatra and Kwitcha spent the rest of their lives trying to heal the hurt that Tull did.”

“You mean Terrazin,” Fava said, her heart leaping.

“Uh, yes, I mean Terrazin,” Phylomon corrected.

“You are afraid of Tull, aren’t you?” Fava asked. “You are afraid he will become a new Dragontamer?”

“Yes, I’m afraid,” Phylomon admitted. “Chaa has already begun to open Tull’s spirit eyes. The sorcerers of the Blade Kin are sure to see him for what he is, and they will want him to join them.

“The sorcerers do not walk the paths of the future as the Pwi do—instead, they struggle to control men in the same way that Terrazin did.

“He was their first great teacher. He is still their ally in the Land of Shapes.” Phylomon got a jug from his pack, poured a mug of beer and passed it to Fava.

Darrissea said, “What do you mean, he is still their ally?”

“A hundred years ago,” Phylomon said, “At the south gate of the city of Denai, the gate they call Oppression Gate, the sorcerers built a statue in honor of the god Adjonai, whom the sorcerers call ‘The Beast.’

“The statue wears the face of Terrazin the Dragontamer, though I alone would recognize him.”

Fava covered her face with her hands. “Is this the same beast that came to my father’s house?” she asked. “The one that my father said ‘approved’ of Tull.”

“Yes,” Phylomon answered. “The beast recognizes its twin here in this world.”

Fava got up, paced beside the fire.

“Why did you have to tell her that?” Darrissea hissed. “She loves Tull. You’ll scare her to death.”

Phylomon looked into Darrissea’s eyes, and spoke loudly, so loudly that Fava was forced to hear. “She needs to know. She may love Tull, but other women loved Terrazin just as a blindly. When I killed Terrazin, I was able to do it only because he loved and trusted me. Perhaps, if it becomes necessary, only Tull’s love and trust for Fava will allow her to kill him.”

Fava spoke, her voice ragged, “You are wrong about Tull. He is nothing like this Terrazin. He … my father would not train him to be a Spirit Walker if he thought Tull would do anything bad. Who are you to judge him? You condemn Terrazin, yet was he any more ruthless than you? Everyone in town has seen how you behead slavers. You are a fanatic!”

Fava ran from the fire, stood out in the shadows among the trees, and cried.