Echoes of the Great Song (16 page)

Viruk steered the stallion forward until he was alongside the king. “The Questor General bade me come to you and convince you of the error of your ways. War is such an unpleasant business. You sub-humans dress up in your battle finery and we Avatars shoot you down like dogs. There is no sport in it. You understand? It is all so boring.”

“I have no intention of declaring war,” said Judon. “There has been a grave misunderstanding. The Avatars are my friends.”

Viruk raised his hand, his expression one of mild distaste. “Please do not use the word friends. It suggests an equality that does not exist. You are servants. Your ingratitude is baffling.” He shook his head. “What were you before we came among you? Little more than animals, grubbing around in the Luan mud. We taught you to build, to irrigate your lands. To store your surplus. We have given you laws. We have raised you like children and you repay us with petty wars and raids. It really is galling.”

“As I said, there is no war,” Judon told him. “What is your name?”

“I am Viruk.”

“Well, Viruk, rest assured I shall be reporting this incident to the Questor General. I am not accustomed to watching my men murdered.”

“Oh, I shall report it myself upon my return. The only question is, what course of action to take.”

“Action?” queried Judon.

“You see, here is my problem: the Questor General says you are planning a war. You say you are not. Do I ride back to him and tell him he has made a mistake? I think not. Difficult, isn’t it?”

“All men make mistakes,” said Judon, forcing a smile. “I’m sure the General understands that. You can assure him of my goodwill towards your people.”

Viruk was about to reply when he saw the king’s glance flick to his left. Instinctively Viruk swayed in the saddle. The knife hurled by the rider behind him sliced the air and flew on to clatter to the ground. “Now that wasn’t friendly,” said Viruk, drawing his sword. The third rider drew his own blade and heeled his horse forward. Viruk ducked under a sweeping cut and slashed the flat of his blade to the man’s temple, dislodging his bronze helm and hurling him from the saddle. The knife-thrower charged him, this time a sword in his
hand. Viruk parried a thrust, leaned across his saddle, grabbing the man by his cloak and dragging him from his horse. The rider landed heavily but struggled to his feet. The flat of Viruk’s saber sent him sprawling.

The fat king stood open-mouthed as his men fell. Viruk turned to him. “Do you believe in the Great God?” Viruk asked him conversationally.

Judon nodded.

“As do I,” said the Avatar. “Give him my best regards when you meet him.”

With that Viruk rode away. Judon stood watching him. At one hundred paces the Avatar turned. In his hand was a zhi-bow. Judon blinked, then jumped from the chariot and began to run.

The bolt struck him between the shoulderblades, lifting him from his feet. He landed face-first on the road, his clothes aflame around a huge hole in his back. Viruk rode back to where the warriors had regained their feet.

“You really are the clumsiest opponents,” he said. Turning to the charioteer, a small man with thinning black hair, he spoke again. “I think the horses may enjoy the return journey now. I have rarely seen a man so fat.”

“Yes, lord,” said the charioteer nervously.

“Don’t worry, little man. I was told to leave witnesses. You are quite safe.”

“Thank you … lord.”

Viruk swung the gray and rode several paces. Then he turned in the saddle and asked one of the soldiers: “What are those little white and blue flowers called?” The man glanced down at the blooms.

“Sky stars,” answered the soldier.

“An odd name. I must look into it. Thank you.”

Heeling the gray into a run, he headed west toward Egaru.

As the sun set, and the ship’s lights flickered into life, Methras began his rounds, moving first to the crew’s quarters on the lower deck. The high spirits that had accompanied the
Serpent
’s rebirth had faded now, as the sailors began to reconsider their careers. None of them were needed now that the masts had been cut away and hurled overboard. Talaban controlled the
Serpent
from the high cabin, and the mood of the sailors was low.

Methras entered the long room and found several of the men playing dice bones. “Soon be home,” he said.

“And then what?” asked the first mate, a surly mariner who had sailed with the
Serpent
for the past seven years.

“There will be roles for you all,” said Methras. “This ship is equipped to carry four hundred people. Now that it is fully charged there will be many expeditions and good sailors like yourselves will always be needed.”

“Easy for you to say, sergeant,” said another man. “Always a need for soldiers.”

“Would anyone like to make a wager?” asked Methras. “I’ll bet a gold piece to a silver that all of you will be hired for the next voyage.” The men looked at one another, but no one took him up on his offer. “There,” he said, “you are not as pessimistic as you pretend.”

“Not at all,” said the second speaker, a young Vagar on his first voyage. “We just know what a bad gambler you are and we all like you too much to take your money.”

Methras chuckled and moved through to the makeshift galley, checking the stoves and the pans and tasting the broth being prepared. It was good, but a little too thin for his taste.

“We are short on meat supplies, sir,” said the cook. “But there’s plenty of dried fruit left.”

Methras continued on through the galley and up to the central inner deck. Other sailors were already asleep here and he did not disturb them. He paused at the locked doors beneath the prow section and wondered once more just what was behind them. In six years they had never been opened.

Climbing the circular stairwell he emerged on the center deck and saw the native, Touchstone, leaning on the guard rail. He liked the savage. The man had a wry sense of humor and a seeing eye.

“Good evening,” he said. Touchstone glanced up.

“Not good,” said Touchstone. “Bad visions.”

“Are we in danger?” asked Methras, well aware of the tribesman’s uncanny talents.

“Not know. But dream was bad. Two moons in sky. Fire from mountains. Big seas.”

“There is only one moon, Touchstone. There can only be one moon.”

The tribesman nodded. “This I know. But two moons will come. This I also know.”

Methras was well versed in the skills needed to converse with Touchstone. “Let me understand you,” he said. “What you saw was two objects in the sky that were
like
moons?”

“No. One moon. Same moon. Twice. Same time. One rise one fall.”

“Perhaps it was not a vision. Perhaps it was just a dream,” ventured Methras.

Touchstone considered this, then shook his head. “Vision it was. Two moons coming.”

“Was that the whole vision? You mentioned big seas?”

Touchstone nodded. “First one moon in sky. Then same moon appear in different place. Two moons. Sea rise up. Big wave. Big as mountain. Land cracks and fire-blood flows from wound. This I see.”

Methras fell silent. The moon, he knew, exerted an enormous gravitational pull on the seas. If a second moon were to appear then tidal waves were likely, as indeed would be volcanic eruptions. However, the idea of a second, identical, moon was preposterous. “Have your visions ever been wrong?” he asked the savage.

Touchstone nodded. “When young. Before medicine bag was full. Not since.”

“I think you are wrong now.”

“Hope so,” said Touchstone. “How soon we home?”

“Late tomorrow. After sunset. Are you anxious to see the city?”

Touchstone shrugged. “Hate city,” he said. “Land I love. Under feet. Firm. Solid.”

Methras leaned on the rail and watched the last of the sunset and the birthing of the stars. They were so bright out here, so clean and sharp. Suddenly he laughed. “There are your two moons,” he said, pointing at the horizon. One moon hung in the sky, the second was its reflection on the surface of the sea.

“Could be,” said Touchstone. He seemed relieved.

“The dolphins have gone,” added Methras.

“They take message to Suryet. Tell her I come home soon.”

“Is that another vision, my friend?”

“No. That is hope,” said Touchstone sadly.

•  •  •

Methras completed his rounds and returned to his small cabin. He found Talaban waiting for him there. The tall warrior was seated on the cot bed, staring through the narrow window and out across the western sea.

“Good evening, sir,” said Methras, surprised.

“And to you, sergeant. How is the mood of the men?”

“They are worried, sir. They wonder about the security of their roles aboard the
Serpent
. Especially the rig-climbers and the sail-men.”

“Did you reassure them?”

“As best I could.”

“Good.” Talaban rose. “Follow me,” he said. Together the two men made their way up to the high deck and the circular control cabin. Here Talaban showed the Vagar the correct way to open the triangular gold plate on the door, and the correct code for the seven symbols beneath it. The door opened. Both men stepped inside. Methras found his mind racing. No Vagar was allowed within this place. Talaban seemed unconcerned. “There are few men left alive who know how to handle ships like the
Serpent,”
he said. “So watch me closely, and if you have questions, ask them.”

“I have one question immediately, sir,” said Methras. “Why are you showing me this? This is Avatar knowledge, and merely being in possession of it could cost me my life.”

“Times are changing, Methras,” Talaban told him. “Now watch and learn.” Talaban moved to the controls, a series of handles and levers, wheels and studs. “As you can see,” he continued, “the controls were designed for the ambidextrous. Come stand beside me. This lever controls forward motion …” One by one he explained all the principles by which the
Serpent
was
powered. Methras absorbed the information easily. Finally Talaban stepped back. “Take the ship through three hundred and sixty degrees,” he said. Methras took a deep breath then placed his hands on the two most prominent levers, black metal with molded hand grips. The
Serpent
swung. “Not too sharply!” warned Talaban. “Feel the craft as if it is your own body. You are the
Serpent
’s heart.” The ship slowly made a long circle. “Now bring her back on course, in line with the Fangs of the Hound. Methras glanced up through the glass window, and located the Hound star. Smoothly he swung the
Serpent
back towards the north.

Despite his fear at this forbidden knowledge Methras found his excitement growing. He felt energized and curiously powerful. Turning, he grinned at Talaban. Then his eyes scanned the panels before him. “What does this one do?” he asked, pointing at a closed black section with golden hinges.

“One task at a time,” said Talaban. “Bring her to a gentle stop.” Methras did so, and immediately the ship began to pitch in the swell. “With no forward motion you must compensate for pitch and roll with this,” said Talaban, leaning forward and gently adjusting a golden wheel set at the center of the panel. Immediately the ship ceased pitching.

For an hour Talaban instructed the Vagar sergeant in the intricacies of the
Serpent
. Then, locking the door behind him, he took Methras back to his own cabin and filled two goblets with fine wine.

“You did well,” he said.

“Thank you, sir. But I still don’t understand why you shared this knowledge with me.”

“It is a question of trust, Methras. Simply that.”

“I will not betray that trust,” Methras assured him.

“I know. For all my faults I am a good judge of men. Now go and get some rest. Tomorrow I will teach the
crew some of the finer points of seamanship aboard a fighting
Serpent.”

Methras saluted and left the cabin. He still had no idea why Talaban had honored him so, but he felt good for it, and he lay upon his cot bed recalling the heady sensations of riding the
Serpent
.

Three cabins away Touchstone found sleep hard to come by. Every time he drifted towards slumber he would see again the two moons in the sky. Rising from the floor he took his medicine bag in his hands and tried to concentrate on Suryet. It was useless. Her serene face would form in his mind, then fade into a vision of a ghostly moon.

Troubled, the tribesman left the cabin and climbed to the outer deck, tasting the salt upon the air, and watching the bright stars in the dome of the night sky. The moon was low on the horizon.

Three dolphins surfaced close by. One leapt high into the air, its sleek silver form spinning before it dived down into the water. Touchstone felt his spirits lift. Big seas would not trouble the Osnu. They would continue, no matter what disasters befell the human race. Transferring his gaze to the stars once more, Touchstone sought inspiration. He knew what needed to be done and yet feared the result. If he failed he could die, or worse, could become like poor Eagle-With-No-Feathers, slack jawed and imbecilic. Dream walking was a perilous enterprise at best, and then few walkers would consider the journey without the aid of a shaman.

Touchstone had walked twice in his life, both times with the aid of One-Eyed-Fox. He was the greatest of shamen. All the tribes understood this. On the second walk Touchstone had become lost in the stars of the Great Sky River. One-Eyed-Fox had brought him back.

The tribesman would not have considered the dangers of a walk, had it not been for the persistence of the two moon vision, and the fact that it seemed linked to the fate of Suryet. Every time he tried to picture her the vision roared into his mind.

Touchstone sighed, then made his way to Talaban’s cabin.

The captain was making more marks on white paper as Touchstone entered, little symbols carefully constructed in lines. He had explained that other men could read these symbols, and they were of value. Touchstone liked and admired the man, so he did not laugh.

“You look troubled,” said Talaban, putting aside his pen.

“Big troubled. Need help.” Talaban offered him a seat, then sat back. “Bad vision. Need dream walk to find answer. Fly high. Walk among stars. See future.”