Flash Gordon (20 page)

As he led her by the hand through the maze of corridors, she became increasingly astounded at how they had managed to avoid the castle’s teeming population. They didn’t even see a servant. Dale wondered just who Zarkov had managed to fool. Had he fooled his brainwashers? Or was he fooling her, leading her into the worst trap of all?

Klytus and Kala saw none of Ming’s surroundings as they viewed him in the screen above them. The communicator was propped at an angle that required them to be constantly looking up at him. They dared not look away or relax their necks. They would not commit such a grievous—hence, deadly—insult.

“I have located Dale Arden, Your Majesty,” said Klytus. “She is under the guidance of Agent Zarkov.”

Ming raised his eyebrow; he caressed his mouth, his long fingernails brushing his mustache. “Zarkov, eh?” His smile revealed a rare glimpse of genuine merriment. “A masterstroke! We recognize the hand of Kala in this.” The serpentine eyes peered down at her.

Kala nodded and smiled . . . just a little.

“Klytus, your subordinate has pleased Us. We are correct, are We not, in assuming it was her suggestion?”

“Of course, you are correct, Sire,” said Klytus without the faintest trace of rancor. “I thought it a bold, daring maneuver, certain to become a high point of the historical records of your august reign, regardless of the story’s ending, whether it be gay—or tragic. Do you not agree, Most Celestial One?”

With an effort, Kala refrained from biting her lower lip. Klytus had thrust the entire responsibility onto her shoulders. She smiled weakly. “I confess, Sire, my only intent was to save expense . . .”

“Of course, of course, my dear,” said Ming, chiding her good-naturedly. “You must understand, We truly admire an underling who freely risks so much for the good of the realm.”

So the matter being thus settled, Klytus boldly interrupted Ming. “I must also report that Flash Gordon is still alive!”

Ming could not have been more startled if Klytus had slapped him with a dead lizard. All his façades dropped at once, exposing a seething morass of anger. Now Klytus and Kala were faced with a mutual task: deflecting the ruthless temper of Ming the Merciless.

Kala spoke up. “Gordon was revived by a
traitor
who spirited him from the city. We know this much from the Earth woman.”

Ming snarled from the screen.
“Who was the traitor?”

“I have my suspicions,” said Klytus; his subtle lightness of tone was as daring as it was confident. “We request authority to pursue them in our own way.”

“Stop at nothing.”

“Regardless of the expense?”

“Of course, you sniveling imbecile!”

“No matter to whom the trail leads?” asked Klytus with a blandness so rife with connotations that it frightened Kala.

“Stop at nothing!”

Flash and Aura climbed the vines holding the flier until they reached the branch from which the vines hung. Climbing the branch was more difficult; its diameter was forty yards. However, the hardship was mitigated by the ample holds provided by chips of bark. Breathless and weary, still stunned by the crash, they began making their way toward Prince Barin’s forest. Aura immediately relieved Flash of his worst fears when she stated she was familiar with the area. His mind on other matters, Flash only gradually assimilated information on the new environment. Throughout the day he had acted, but had not thought, immersing his soul into his corporal self to a degree he had not attained since his boyhood hours spent throwing a football through a tire. Despite the harrowing stakes of the game, he had never felt so whole.

Then, as his motions became mechanical and he had no choice but to leave the trailblazing to Aura, he suffered selfdoubts, and he wondered if the day’s events were a hallucination. The only mind-expanding drug Flash had ever taken was the peyote he had eaten during a winter spent as the disciple of an Amerind medicine man, but the visions had never been anything like this. He had fallen hopelessly in love, been condemned to death by a mad monarch, and escaped execution through fortunate circumstances—all in one day! Not to mention that he had traveled an incalculable number of miles across the cosmos.
And
that the existence of Earth was in jeopardy. Absorbing all this in twelve hours required a definite effort on Flash’s part.

Now he had to adjust to the sight of Arboria.

The trees were miles high; Flash and Aura walked on branches two miles from the ground. Save for white patches of light, the dense foliage shut out the visual evidence of the cosmic whirlpool. Flash felt like he had plummeted into a tableau in close contact with the essence of the life-giving forces. Dense green fog concealed the ground; green droplets formed on the tremendous leaves. The forest was a wet and steamy closed system. It was quiet, motionless. The struggle for life and death among the plants was prolonged and resolute. From what Flash had seen of Barin and his people, he was certain that beneath the peaceful tableau, the struggle was quick and final.

Flash’s musings had taken him to grimmer, more forebidding spheres when the sullen silence was broken by a dimly heard chant. The music totally mystified him; it sounded like a combination of reggae and a Bach cantata, with just a touch of soul rock. As Flash and Aura altered direction by crossing upward at intersecting branches, the chant became louder; the drums and other percussive instruments became more frenzied; the singers clapped their hands at a counterpointing rhythm, thus adding another layer of sound to the sparse, repetitious arrangement. Flash assumed some sort of ceremony was transpiring. He disliked Aura’s wide smile and her twitching lip. He wanted to ignore her completely, following her lead as if she was no more than a guide. But the brief glimpses of her beautiful face mesmerized him. Her smile bordered on childhood innocence.

As they broke through a thick shaft of blinding light descending from the foliage, they saw a wooden bridge, which looked to have been constructed by master craftsmen using sophisticated tools, meeting their walkway (which soon ended against a gigantic trunk). The bridge met another, and another, and soon they walked through a small village comprised of several boardwalks and treehouses, using the forest itself as a base. The boardwalks were empty. No one peered through the treehouse openings. They reached the underdeveloped village borders, where the trunks were thinnest, arriving at a treehouse built upon four intersecting boardwalks. A tree grew through the shack’s roof. By now Flash had wondered about the absence of female singers; spying a group of green-clad Tree Men through an opening, he suspected that women were not permitted within a designated radius while this very private, masculine ceremony was being performed. The Tree Men’s eyes were closed and their heads bobbed to the beat; they were intensely involved.

“It’s their sacred temple,” Aura volunteered. “A young man is being initiated.” Her anticipation was keen.

“What do I do?” asked an awed Flash.

“We must hide outside until it’s over, but in the meantime, let’s climb on that branch over there and watch!”

In the center of the temple, a hollow stump protruded through the floor. Standing about it were an aged priest in green robes, a young Tree Man, and Prince Barin. The blond, gaunt-faced youth facing the priest had just reached the latter teen years. The chanting suddenly dropped, becoming less frenzied and more solemn, and the youth said, “I am of age now, Green Father. I ask for the test of manhood.”

The old priest croaked, “Choose your passage into this world—or the next! May Arbor guide you!” He coughed and tapped his fist on his chest. The chanting ceased. The priest stuck his staff deep into the stump, briskly stabbing and poking. A muffled roar, followed by a high-pitched hissing, resounded from the interior; the stump vibrated slightly from the shiftings and onslaughts of the creature within.

The youth brought up his hand to wipe the sweat from his brow; he then thought better of it, rubbing his chin to conceal the motion’s original intent. Trembling, he held his fist over an open stub of the stump.

He thrust his arm in it up to the shoulder.

He held his arm inside. He bit his upper lip. The youth twice belatedly stifled outcries of fear. But no man in the temple, not even Barin or the priest, shook his head to express shame over the youth’s behavior. Their faces were, instead, grim and concerned. They considered his courage admirable merely for performing the deed, though they obviously expected it of him.

The youth tentatively smiled and began to remove his arm. He felt that he had survived the danger, that the worst of his fear was over with. The creature roared and hissed. The youth uttered a sharp cry and yanked out his arm. Holding his hand tightly about the wrist, he stared disbelieving at the green pus seeping into his wound, pus that had overspilled from the creature’s stinger.

The youth knelt before his Prince. “Send me on my way! Spare me the madness!”

No willingness registered itself on Barin’s face as he stated simply, “I will.”

Barin snapped his fingers. As he took off his gloves and tucked them into his belt, two men approached. The foremost man poured a chalice of water over Barin’s hands; the second man patted them dry with a green towel. The Prince faced the kneeling, silently pleading youth. His fingers trembling (with nervousness? anticipation?), he withdrew his sword. He stared at the blade. He thrust it into the youth’s breast, running it through his back.

After Barin had wrenched the blade out, the youth fell to the floor, his forehead striking the wood with a hollow thud. His hands caressed his Prince’s boots. “Thank you,” he whispered. And then he expired.

Aura laughed softly and moved out of hiding.

Barin looked through the opening. He smiled.

Aura indicated that Flash remain out of sight. She ran into Barin’s arms on the boardwalk outside the temple. They stared intently at one another. “That was extremely moving,” said Aura.

“You came!” Barin breathed.

“I do sometimes keep a promise.”

“We’ll have a feast!”

“Not for me, thanks,” she said, briefly touching the tip of his nose. “I must return to the castle before I’m missed.”

Barin was crestfallen. “Then why did you come?”

“I’ve brought you a present,” replied Aura teasingly. She looked toward the forest and called out, “Flash!”

Flash stepped onto the boardwalk. Cocking his thumb, he pointed with his forefinger toward the foliage above. “Hi!”

Barin’s mouth moved several times before he managed to say, “You were executed.”

“I saved him,” Aura said. “I want you to keep him for me until my father has had his way with Dale Arden.”

Stunned, Flash recoiled from them. “My God! Does anyone ever trust you twice?” he yelled at Aura. “No wonder I wasn’t able to reach your decent core. There is no decent core!”

“I’ll keep Gordon all right! In my larder with the rest of the hanging meat!” exclaimed Barin. Following his signal, several Tree Men rushed toward Flash and circled him with a row of naked blades.

“No! I forbid it!” Aura said, forcibly preventing Barin from advancing upon his captive. “If you kill Flash, we’ll never know another night of mutual ecstasy again!”

Barin ceased all resistance.

Aura drew him closer, so that neither Flash nor the Tree Men could hear their words. “What danger is there? Everyone thinks he’s dead. I promise I’ll take him to Cytheria next week.”

“Harboring a fugitive from Ming is treason!”

“Not if it isn’t discovered!”

“It will be,” said Barin grimly. “You’re too isolated, you don’t know the effect of his little defiance on the people. Already the story is spreading throughout the moons. People strive to remain neutral, neither approving nor disapproving, for they no longer know friend from foe—not that it’s ever been easy. They realize this, however: Gordon’s defiance wasn’t an act of desperate bravado like that of Prince Thun. No, it was an act resulting from a perpetual state of will, powered by an inner strength born of an innate courage of convictions. If other Americans are like him, they’re the most dangerous breed of men in the cosmos. Gordon’s brave death has inspired people to contemplate the value of their honor, Aura. What the end of it may be, no one can say. But wisemen say this, Princess, they say that once the concept of rebellion is born, its actuality is the sole certainty. You’ll never be able to hide Gordon. Not on Cytheria or anywhere! Never!”

“We’ll see about that. You just keep him here. Your men will never betray you.”

Barin rubbed his cheeks. “Every man has his price. I know I do.”

Aura ran her finger over his collar. “Hiding Flash isn’t so much if you really love me.”

“You’re asking me to play with fire.”

She grinned. “Of course I am. Would I make love to a man who wouldn’t?”

Across the blazing crimson sky of the city of Mongo flew a sky cycle, a round, finned disc with enough standing room for two people behind the control banks. Peasants on mountainsides where they could easily view the cycle passengers were confused about their appearances. The woman wore the clothing of a slave girl and the man wore a costume like nothing they had ever seen. The peasants would have been dumbfounded if they had heard the man’s song: “Won’t Get Fooled Again.”

Dale got Zarkov’s attention by yanking his jacket at the shoulder. “Are you all right?”

Zarkov laughed. “Never better. I just realized we’re sure to win. We’re stronger than a hundred Mings.”

“Ha! What makes you think so?”

“They placed me under a fiendishly clever device back there; they tried to brainwash me. They didn’t realize I had attended More Science High at the height of the red scare during the fabulous fifties. The teaching staff knew the mightiest weapons of the Cold War were the minds of tomorrow’s scientists, and so they familiarized us with all methods of brainwashing. Klytus and Kala tried to wipe out my memory—dare I utter such an obscenity—they tried to
dehumanize
me and turn me into a Mongian agent. They thought they had succeeded, ha! ha!” Zarkov’s laughter was lusty and bold.

“Goodness, Doctor, how did you trick them?”