The Hunter Victorious (12 page)

But still, even if his impulsive act caused him five—no, ten thousand days of penance, it would still have been worth it!
Fortran fairly glowed as he remembered the excitement of that day in the ring, the day of their rebellion.

He and five hundred of his brethren had been voyaging to a Yantran retreat to humble themselves and pray to be found worthy
of advancing to the next station in life, preparatory to choosing their life mates. It was an important ritual and one that
Fortan had waited for with impatience, for not even Mutar could be expected to wait for him forever. She had let him know
that he was to make no mistakes this time, that no more impulses were to be allowed. This was his last chance.

He was determined to do the right thing, but he had never gotten the opportunity. Shortly after they offloaded… why, they
had not been contemplating Yantrek’s forty-seventh musing for more than fifty days when an alien ship had descended and taken
them all captive!

There had been no resistance, of course, for Yantrek only knew if this was some form of test or not, although personally Fortran
doubted it. He doubted it even further when they were offloaded to the surface of a remote planet known as Rototara, where
it soon became obvious that they were expected to fight! Actually fight in a physical manner with a wide variety of aliens
gathered in a similar manner for the amusement of their captors. It was incomprehensible!

Fortran had become more and more certain that this was no action of Yantra, that there was absolutely no divine hand orchestrating
this action, but his companions were not as easily convinced. They would not fight and nothing their
captors did could force them to do so. They merely rolled their thin, square bodies into tight cylinders and became inert.
Nothing that was done to them caused them pain or discomfort, for their bodies were only the physical manifestation of their
true being, which was entirely mental and in no way corporeal.

Fortran had tried to be patient, to give himself up to total trust in Yantra, to place his spirit in abeyance, but it was
hard, if not downright impossible. For one thing, abeyance was terribly, terribly boring, all that nothingness. And Yantra
never answered, no matter how nicely you implored him to do so. It was far more interesting watching the goings-on of all
those different sorts of creatures. Some of them were incredibly ugly, with all sorts of protuberances sticking out of their
various bodies. They would never find glory in Yantra’s eyes, for none of them had the least amount of patience or humility.
Especially the one known as Braldt.

Fortran was most taken with the alien known as Braldt, even though he was incredibly ugly—the only bit of blue anywhere on
him were two tiny dots centered in his top lump! But even if he had an embarrassing lack of blueness, he was not the least
bit hesitant to act on his impulses, a fact that Fortran admired very, very much. Nor did he seem to spend any amount of time
ruing those same impulsive actions, and the others who made up his clique seemed to admire him greatly! It was all very puzzling.

And then one night, just as Fortran was trying to repent yet another impulsive action which he had given way to that very
day (he had opened his manifestation and absorbed a being who was most annoying and kept striking at him with a sharp pointed
object, even though he had known that it would ultimately solve nothing and be considered a serious breech of conduct). The
one known as Braldt had spoken to him, actually addressed him aloud and appealed to him for
help! Him! Fortran! It was unimaginable! He had tried to resist, he really had, but in the end it was too hard and he had
spoken back, startling the one known as Braldt, which was really quite amusing.

He was astonished to learn that neither Braldt nor any of his clique had ever heard of Yantra, nor was Braldt very interested
in learning about his musings, even though he was polite enough to feign interest. It soon became apparent that all Braldt
was interested in was for Fortran and his clique to assist them in the use of physical attrition to gain their freedom. Fortran
had spent a period of time in vain trying to convince Braldt that violence was not an acceptable method and that it would
be wiser to give oneself up to Yantra’s will; but Braldt was not convinced.

Fortran tried hard to resist Braldt’s importuning, but his own doubts refused to be silenced and he was terribly, terribly
afraid that if he stayed gone too long, more than a hundred years, Mutar might actually give up on him and choose another!
It was that which ultimately convinced him of the necessity of aiding the one known as Braldt. In fact, he gave in in record
time and he experienced a heady rush of euphoria as he agreed to lend his assistance. It had been even less difficult for
Fortran to convince his clique, far less difficult than he had imagined. Was it possible that they too were troubled with
doubts and impulses?

They had done as Braldt had directed them to do, removing their physical manifestations from the cells where they had been
placed, moving through time, space, and bars in a manner which Braldt failed to comprehend, although the principle was really
quite simple. They had joined the fray and Fortran had given himself over to impulses that he had never indulged before, quite
primitive impulses such as anger and violence and trickery and happiness, positively rejoicing every time he
succeeded in absorbing one of those Braldt had identified as the enemy. It was… it was—what was that word?—oh, yes, it was
fun!

Fortran was enjoying himself immensely, whirling and twirling and floating about, absorbing a guard here, sneaking up on an
unsuspecting soldier there, lapping at the edges of a sword arm here, when suddenly he was nearly paralyzed by the voice of
the Grand Yerk, which echoed inside him like the fall of darkest night!

That was all that it had taken for the young rebellion to end. It had been a simple matter for the remaining guards and soldiers
to approach them with trepidation, then roll them into unresisting cylinders and toss them in this dark cell far beneath the
surface of the world in a portion of the dungeon where no one ever went.

Judging from the sounds that reached them, strange things had occurred after they left the arena. There was the continued
sound of battle, the sound of retreat, and then, strangely, the tramp of many feet advancing. Then there was much death and
afterward, the cells above echoed with the voices of their former captors. It was most confusing.

Fortran had tried to be patient, tried to be silent, tried to still his questions in the long boring days and nights that
followed, but it was so very hard to do. He wondered if anyone remembered that they existed. What if the guards who had placed
them here had all been killed? What if no one ever found them, ever, ever, ever? Fortran knew in his heart that Mutar would
not wait more than a hundred years.

And where was the Grand Yerk? And Yantra? Why did he not speak or act? Was it his will to let them lie here forever? How would
that serve any purpose? The more Fortran thought about it, the more angry, impatient, and, yes, it was true, impulsive, he
became until at last he could contain himself
no longer. One hundred and twenty-seven days and nights after they had been tossed in this dark cell, Fortran gathered his
impulsiveness to him and burst into impetuous action!

Carn was a happy man, although the use of the word
happy
seemed too childish to apply to the complex emotions that filled him during his every waking moment. All his life he had
felt unimportant, had suffered in daily comparison to Braldt and searched without hope for some meaning to his existence.

He thought that he had found the answer inside the mountain when Mother Moon, the goddess he had worshiped all his life, revealed
herself to him as she had revealed herself to no other. It had nearly cost him his life, that revelation, and he wore the
scars still like a badge of honor. But now he knew that what he had experienced had not been the true goddess but merely a
test for what was to come.

He had passed that painful initiation and now he had been accepted into the highest ranks of the honored few, those who were
permitted to know the true gods.

There was still much that he did not understand, but Otir Vaeng assured him that all would be made clear to him soon. And
as a sign of the gods’ favor, the volva had taken him to her bed and joined with him, imparting ecstasy such as he had never
known before.

The names of the gods were strangely different, Thor and Odin and Freya foremost among them, but their roles were much the
same as the gods he had always known. And here, as on his own world, the gods were responsible for everything, including the
fates of men. Men’s actions or the lack of them and the proper reverence toward the gods dictated the events that followed.
It was the role of those such as he and Otir Vaeng and the volva to convey and interpret the will of the
gods to men, their humble servants. It was a grave responsibility, but one that Carn bore with willing reverence.

Otir Vaeng had requested his presence at first light and Carn made his way to the king’s chambers, pretending not to notice
the averted eyes of those he met along the way. Fools! Could they not see beyond the shiny, disfigured flesh? Could they not
see that he wore the mark of the gods?

Carn flushed with pride as the guards stood aside and admitted him to the king’s inner chambers without hesitation. They knew!

Otir Vaeng was seated as always in his high-backed carved chair, his chin resting on his fist, staring into the flames of
the fire pit, which he did not appear to see. The prime minister, a bent, wizened gnome of a creature who clearly distrusted
and disliked Carn and guarded his time with the king jealously, stood as always at the king’s left hand. Carn barely glanced
at the man but was well aware of him and was determined that when Otir Vaeng entrusted him with the power that had been promised,
Skirnir would be the first of many changes he would implement.

Silence weighed heavily in the room as the king continued to gaze into the fire as though seeking an answer in the dancing
flames. From time to time he would nod as if in response to some comment that only he could hear. Skirnir’s narrow, pointy
face and ferretlike eyes were focused intently on the king, waiting in attendance for whatever it was that was happening.

The silence was disconcerting and, as the minutes stretched longer and longer, Carn began to wonder what it was that was occurring
and why he could not understand. Why was he here and what was expected of him? Skirnir seemed to have no difficulty understanding
his role and this disturbed Carn even more, for it implied that the prime minister was a
part of whatever it was that was occurring. Carn could not allow Skirnir to see how deeply he was disturbed and so he folded
his hands and assumed a respectful stance, composing his face with a calmness that he did not feel.

Later—Carn could not have said how much later—the king stirred from his trance, his strangely silent communion, and blinked
his eyes and sighed as though waking from sleep. He twisted his head from side to side and stretched his hands and arms out
to the heat of the fire pit. He sank back into his chair as though exhausted, his chin resting on his chest. Only then did
he seem to take notice of Carn. For a moment his eyes clouded as if he could not remember who Carn was, but it was only for
a brief moment, then his eyes focused on Carn with that glittering, unblinking brilliance that Carn found so uncomfortable.

“Ah, brother Carn, so good of you to have come,” the king said softly, barely turning his head enough to fix Carn with his
gaze. “Come closer, brother. I am weary.”

As Carn approached the king, dread seemed to weight his limbs and it took great determination to force himself to close the
distance between them. Those bright glittering eyes reminded him of nothing if not a serpent fixing its prey in a hypnotic
glance before the fatal strike. He could not help but shudder inwardly and wonder if he were making a terrible mistake. Instantly
he rejected the cowardly notion, casting it from his mind, denying it. Surely there was danger when one came so close to raw,
naked power, but while the risks were high, so were the rewards. He raised his chin, looked straight into the king’s eyes,
and advanced until he stood directly before the throne.

Otir Vaeng allowed his gaze to rest on Carn so long that he felt his resolve beginning to shrivel; it felt as though he were
being examined both inside as well as out. He could not help but wonder what the king was seeing, and he felt as
though he were undergoing some sort of inspection. He hoped—no, prayed—that he was not to be found lacking.

Carn knew that Skirnir was staring at him too and knew without looking that the man would be wearing his usual smirk, taking
great pleasure in Carn’s discomfort. He was determined not to break and give Skirnir any more reason for pleasure at his expense.

Finally the king seemed to reach some conclusion and he grunted and nodded toward a low chair placed between him and the fire.
“Sit yourself down, brother Carn. Skirnir, our hospitality is sorely lacking. Please attend to our guest.”

Carn seated himself gingerly, uncomfortably aware that the chair was oddly shortened so that his legs were sprawled awkwardly
before him and he was forced to tilt his head backward to meet the king’s eyes. He was also closer to the flames than he would
have wished and his body, cloaked in heavy garments, was soon drenched in rivulets of perspiration. He took the goblet of
amber fluid that Skirnir handed him, and Skirnir released it almost before Carn’s scarred, stiff fingers had closed around
the stem, causing him to fumble awkwardly, nearly dropping the precious crystal.

The king frowned and then smoothed the expression away with a ready smile that did not touch his cold blue eyes. “I have been
communing with the gods, my friend, and they have this night placed a great burden upon my shoulders, as well as charging
me with a great honor. You too are to share in the glory.”