Martyr

by Peter David

  “Hello, my friends,” he said softly. There was an odd calmness to his voice.

  The acolytes looked at each other nervously, and then back to Suti. “Are you … all right? Where is Ontear?”

  “Ontear …” He paused for dramatic effect. “Ontear is with those who have come before … and will come after. I am here now. The power is mine now, but I will share it with you. Bring the others. Summon them to me.”

  “Ontear is … gone?”

  He felt a brief wave of impatience. “Yes, he is gone. But I am here, and that will suffice. Now bring the others to me that I may address them.”

  “Suti, they’re waiting for us back at the temple. We can all go to—”

  “I said to bring them here!”

  The acolytes were startled, jumping back in response to the anger and intensity of Suti’s voice.

  “They will come here,” Suti continued with the same degree of intensity. “We will rebuild the cave, rebuild Ontear’s place.”

  “Rebuild a cave? How—”

  “We will find a way! We will do so, and we will create a shrine to Ontear, and that is just the beginning of my plans! And you will not question me again!”

  They did not question again, but instead bolted down the side of the mountain to obey his orders.

  Suti was annoyed, but it was quickly passing. They were going to have to learn, that was all. He was going to have to teach them.

  And if they refused to learn, if they irked him or did not sufficiently cooperate, well …

  Well, he might have to let the war continue a bit longer. Just to show them what they had passed up by proving difficult to deal with. He would hate to have to follow that course, but he had to start thinking beyond immediate gratification. When the whole of the future was at one’s fingertips, one had to keep watch on the big picture.

  NINETEEN YEARS EARLIER …

  “GET SOMEONE ELSE,” said M’k’n’zy.

  “There is no one else,” Sh’nab said. “You are the one. It is the appointed time, M’k’n’zy, and your responsibility. I can’t believe that you would want to shirk it.”

  M’k’n’zy strode back and forth apprehensively within the confines of his fairly modest hut. His long black hair was tied back, although a few stray strands dangled around the twenty-year-old’s face. The scar that ran the length of his right cheek had flushed bright red, as it tended to do when there was something truly frustrating facing him.

  Sh’nab couldn’t quite understand what M’k’n’zy’s problem was. One of the tribal elders of Calhoun, Sh’nab had seen M’k’n’zy face down entire troops of Danteri oppressors. He had seen him command troops of men, send them into battle, fight for his life. He had witnessed M’k’n’zy dealing with every sort of challenge and problem under the Xenexian sun, and therefore could not wrap himself around M’k’n’zy’s current problem. After all …

  “She’s just a woman, M’k’n’zy!” Sh’nab said, for what seemed to him to be the umpteenth time. “This should not be difficult for you. You are acting as if … as if …” He shook his head in frustration. “I don’t know how you’re acting. I am frankly not certain what to make of it.”

  “Why can’t D’ndai do it!” M’k’n’zy said, annoyed with the sound of his own voice. He sounded whining, petulant, and even—gods help him—scared.

  “Because,” Sh’nab said patiently, “D’ndai isn’t here. You know that. He’s on Danter at the moment, paving the way for the peace negotiations with the Federation overseeing the process. You know this.”

  It was true, of course. He had been there, after all, when the Federation had first shown up on Xenex in the person of Jean-Luc Picard, the man who had suggested to M’k’n’zy that he himself consider a career in Starfleet. Considering M’k’n’zy’s frame of mind at that moment, perhaps the thing to do was to find out when the next shuttle was going to be available and to head straight out as soon as possible. But M’k’n’zy had not made up his mind yet as to whether Starfleet was the direction that he wanted to go with his life. Never before, though, had he regretted hesitating over a decision as much as he regretted it now.

  “We can wait until he comes back, then,” M’k’n’zy suggested.

  Sh’nab shook his head. “The times are very proscribed for these matters, M’k’n’zy. Catrine’s husband has been gone a year. She has not remarried; she has had no wish to, and that is her right by tribal law. But she maintains her husband’s name, and her husband’s fortunes, and she does not wish the family line to end with her. That is also her right.”

  “But I’m the warlord! I’m not the chief! D’ndai is the chief!”

  “You are his brother. These responsibilities run along family lines. You know that—”

  “Yes, yes, I know, I know!” M’k’n’zy’s purple eyes flickered with frustration. “Sh’nab, will you please stop telling me things I already know and reminding me that I know them? It’s most irritating to me!” He paced back and forth. “Can she wait until—”

  “We’re going in circles, M’k’n’zy! Besides, she—” Sh’nab paused.

  “She what?”

  Sh’nab muttered something that M’k’n’zy didn’t quite hear, and when asked to repeat it, said, “I said she asked for you specifically. If she wanted to be flexible, she could likely wait until D’ndai’s return, but it would put her beyond her current fertile cycle and she’d have to wait three months. She said she did not wish to wait, and she made it quite clear that she found you more … desirable… than D’ndai. I would ask that you do not pass that information on to your older brother. He might be hurt.”

  “Fine, fine,” M’k’n’zy said with an annoyed wave. “Not a word.”

  “M’k’n’zy,” Sh’nab said, not unkindly, “I admit that I am so accustomed to seeing you handle virtually any situation, that I’m not used to seeing you act like … well, like a nervous young man. You are, after all, only twenty summers old, even though you have served to liberate your people from an oppression that has gone on for centuries. Catrine is older than you, granted, but she is a comely woman nonetheless. It’s not as if the task that awaits you is unpleasant. And it is not as if you have not…”

  And then his voice trailed off as he saw M’k’n’zy’s back stiffen slightly. “M’k’n’zy,” he asked, with growing suspicion in his voice, “You have been with other women, have you not?”

  M’k’n’zy laughed contemptuously. “Of course I have. I have had … dalliances, if you will. Experience.”

  “How much experience?”

  “More than enough.”

  “M’k’n’zy,” Sh’nab said, beginning to fully comprehend the situation, “I’m not speaking now of simple pleasure-giving. Of groping beneath sheets, or stolen moments in the darkness of a tent. Have you ever actually…” He found the resolve of his question beginning to fail under the intense glare and scrutiny of the look that M’k’n’zy was now giving him. He cleared his throat loudly and said, “Have you ever fully … well … consummated …?”

  There was silence in the hut for a time, and then M’k’n’zy said slowly, “Define ‘fully.’”

  “Oh gods, you’re a virgin,” Sh’nab moaned, sinking into a large, ornately carved chair.

  “Only partly,” M’k’n’zy replied defensively.

  “Partly! One cannot partly be a virgin, M’k’n’zy! I don’t believe this!” said Sh’nab. “A twenty-year-old warlord virgin?”

  “Say it a bit more loudly. I don’t think they heard you on Danter,” M’k’n’zy told him with undisguised annoyance.

  “M’k’n’zy, I don’t understand! Every time you’d walk through the village square, women’s heads would turn! Do you think a village elder doesn’t notice such things? I was knocked aside once by three young girls who were trying to get your attention! How can you still have no carnal knowledge of women? The average Xenexian male is sexually active by the time he has seen thirteen summers.”

  “It was my choice, Sh�
�nab.”

  “I… I see.”

  Sh’nab was silent for so long that M’k’n’zy turned to look at him with concern on his face. “Do you?”

  “Of course I do. It saddens me, I admit. But … perhaps it’s understandable. Perhaps that is why you are so able to lead troops of men into battle. You are more … comfortable … with them.”

  It took a moment for what Sh’nab was saying to sink in, and when he realized, M’k’n’zy wasn’t sure whether to react with outrage or laughter. His voice caught somewhere in between in a sort of strangled choke. “I do not prefer to have sex with men, Sh’nab!”

  “Oh,” Sh’nab said mildly. “I thought that was what you were trying to say.”

  “If I had been trying to say that, I would have said that! Kindly do not ‘help’ me with a pronouncement of that magnitude, if it is all the same to you! All right?”

  “Well, then I do not understand, M’k’n’zy. If you don’t … I mean … if …”

  Sh’nab was still seated in the ornately carved chair as M’k’n’zy sank onto the floor opposite him. M’k’n’zy had known Sh’nab for many years, felt a closeness to the elder who had on a number of occasions schooled him in some of the gentler arts of Xenexian life and culture. M’k’n’zy was not comfortable discussing such matters with anyone, really, but if he was going to speak of it, then at least Sh’nab was someone he considered an appropriate sounding board.

  “Sh’nab, I did not expect to survive the uprising. Do you understand? I did not think that I would manage to live through the rebellion. I thought the Danteri would catch and kill me, or that I would die in battle. I faced death a thousand times, and to some degree I still cannot believe that I survived it all when so many others who were just as brave, just as resourceful, and just as skilled in battle as I wound up losing their lives. I saw the way women looked at me, Sh’nab. If it wasn’t lost on you, it certainly wasn’t lost on me. I’d see the lovelight in their eyes, and I … I did not desire any woman to form an attachment to me, for fear of not being there for her. I did not want any loved ones because I did not wish to leave a loved one behind. It might have hampered me in what I needed to do, and it would have been unfair to her. So now we are faced with a possible peace, and I find the prospect of … of intimacy … to be somewhat daunting. For that matter, I am suspicious of women.”

  “Suspicious of them?”

  “Well,” M’k’n’zy shrugged, “it is unfair, I suppose, to single them out. I am suspicious of everyone. But now I have a reputation as our greatest fighter, our greatest warrior. What if a woman is attracted to my title and reputation, rather than to me, for myself? For that matter, what if she expects me to be as… as skilled in the art of lovemaking as I am in the art of war? What if”—and he lowered his head—“what if I cannot perform to her satisfaction? What if I cannot perform at all? Can you imagine that? Can you imagine the things that would be said as word spread? People calling out to me, ‘So, M’k’n’zy, having problems getting your sword out of its sheath, eh?’ The humiliation of the thought, the …” He shuddered, his voice trailing off in contemplation of such embarrassment.

  “M’k’n’zy,” Sh’nab said softly, “you are a strategist. That has always been your greatest strength. As such, it has been necessary for you to give a great deal of thought to whatever situation you might be faced with. In my opinion, you are treating the prospect of sex with the same gravity that you would plan a military engagement. You are trying to foresee all possibilities, plan for every possible contingency. Intimacy is not a war, M’k’n’zy.”

  “I know of some couples who might disagree with you, Sh’nab.”

  Sh’nab allowed a smile. “All right, I’ll grant you that,” said the elder. “But you are overthinking things here. Simply allow matters to develop naturally.”

  “That is not my nature, Sh’nab. I am one who feels the need to steer matters to a conclusion that I find satisfactory.”

  “Relationships do not work that way, M’k’n’zy. In war, you give instructions to your men and they follow orders. Women do not take to that. Except the most passive of women, and I doubt that you would be satisfied with someone like that.”

  M’k’n’zy made no immediately reply, and Sh’nab continued gently, “Go to Catrine, M’k’n’zy. She is a good woman. If you do not wish to attend to her wishes, then tell her so. The likelihood is that she will understand. Give her some sort of explanation, though. She is entitled to that much, at least.”

  “I suppose so,” M’k’n’zy sighed. “All right, Sh’nab, all right. I’ll go to her and explain the situation. I’m sure I can get her to understand that it would be better for her to wait for D’ndai’s return. He has far more experience in these matters. I should know. He certainly boasts of it enough.”

  It had rained the previous night, and the great square was more like a large pool of mud. M’k’n’zy stepped through it carefully, his feet sticking in place every so often, and he’d have to fight to pull his boots free. He made his way across it, and angled off down the side road toward Catrine’s home. The sun was already setting, its rays stretching across the horizon, and M’k’n’zy scanned the skies urgently in the hopes that, at the last moment, D’ndai’s ship might suddenly show up overhead. But there seemed to be no sign of it.

  Just his luck.

  M’k’n’zy knocked gently on the door of Catrine’s home, so gently that it seemed as if nothing short of a miracle would enable anyone to hear him. He waited exactly five seconds, got no immediate response, and promptly came to the conclusion that she wasn’t home. He turned away, prepared to bolt, when the door creaked open and Catrine stood in the doorway.

  She was at least ten summers older than he, with copious blond hair that framed a round and amused face. In contrast to the smile, though, there was sadness in her eyes. Sadness or, at the very least, loneliness. She wore a simple white shift, and there was gentle lighting from within that backlit her, tracing the curves of her muscular body.

  “Greetings, M’k’n’zy,” she said. He was surprised to notice that her voice had a somewhat enchanting lilt to it. “You have come to honor my request and give me a child?”

  “I have come to discuss it,” he replied.

  “Discussing it is not how it’s generally done,” was her comment, and then she gestured for him to enter. He did so, looking around at the long tapering candles which decorated the inner hallway. “I appreciate your taking the time to come to me.”

  “I wasn’t otherwise occupied,” said M’k’n’zy.

  He suddenly realized that she had taken his hand in hers. His palm felt clammy to him, but if she noticed it she said nothing. “Do you have a woman, M’k’n’zy?” she asked.

  “You mean at present?”

  “Yes.”

  “No. No, there is no one. I have not had the time. I have been… rather busy. Where are we going?”

  “My bedroom.” She stopped, turned, and smiled at him. “Unless you wish to take me right here on the floor.”

  “No!” he said quickly, his voice sounding higher and sharper than he would have liked. He composed himself and repeated, “No,” in a slightly deeper voice that sounded like forced casualness.

  “All right, then.”

  She brought him into the bedroom, and there were more candles surrounding the bed; so many, in fact, that he felt as if he were about to be tossed onto a slab and offered up as a sacrifice. The bed looked softer than a slab, though. Nonetheless M’k’n’zy looked tense, rigid, nervous. In short, he looked like a man who was about to do many things, other than have sex. The scent of her filled his nostrils, and he felt slightly dizzy. Her eyes picked up the flickering candlelight and seemed to be flickering with a heat all their own.

  “Well?” she said.

  He shifted his feet uneasily. “Uhm … well, uh … well, what?”

  “What would you like to do? Do you wish to undress me, or shall I do that for you? Do you wish me to—”

>   “I don’t know. Whatever you desire is fine. I am doing this for you, Catrine. It is…” He tried to find the words and adopted a scolding tone. “It is an obligation. That is all. Just an obligation. I’ll do as you wish, since this is your desire, not mine.”

  If he could have pulled the words out of the air before they had reached her, he would have. But naturally, that was not an option. He saw the hurt on her face though, her large eyes going round with pain. She did not cry, but she sank slowly onto the bed, her back rigid. “I am sorry,” she whispered.

  “You have nothing to apologize for.”

  “No, I … I do. For you are young and beautiful, and I am …” Her fingers trailed along her throat. “I am … old. Old and unattractive.”

  “What?”

  “Obviously that is the case. I—”

  He wanted to console her, wanted to speak words of love or sympathy to her, but he didn’t have the tools to do so. So all he sounded was brusque as he replied, “Don’t be ridiculous. You are … you’re beautiful. You are. You’re beautiful.”

  “I’m not. I am old.”

  “You are …” He tried to find a way to phrase it that would pierce through her veil of self-pity and, in so doing, his voice automatically adopted a more sympathetic tone. “Every summer that you have lived has graced you with sunlight that you continue to carry with you. You shine with an inner light.”

  “Oh, please,” she said with what sounded like cautious dismissal, as if she wanted to believe his words, but was reluctant to accept them for what they were. “Please, you will say whatever comes to mind so that I will not be sad. I’m flattered by your efforts, but do not patronize me.”

  “I would not patronize you,” said M’k’n’zy firmly. He took her by the shoulders and turned her. “I knew your husband, Catrine. He was a good man. A good fighter. I respected him. If nothing else, I would not insult his memory by treating you in such a manner.”