Short Fiction Complete

by Fred Saberhagen

  “Hey, dark and evil spirit,” he called via radio. “How come you let that Red magician evoke you to fight me?”

  “Shut up and get in.”

  SUNTO appeared at the appointed place on the following night, escorted by Tim. This time the scout had not landed; Brazil was lowered the last few hundred feet by cable.

  Sunto seemed less timid than Tammamo. He too had heard of the First Contact fight, but was shrewd enough to realize how events could change in the seeing and retelling of them. He professed no doubt that Brazil was only a man, and a friend of the Blonds. Would he arrange a meeting with the Blond leaders?

  Certainly. There was going to be a meeting of those leaders in the remote hills, three nights from now. Boro could come to it if he wished, there would be many large fires at the meeting place so it would be easy to find. Was Boro living in the hills now?

  Did everyone know about this meeting, Brazil asked him. What if the Reds saw this large fire? Why had Tammamo been so timid about discussing Blond leaders?

  Sunto did not quite understand; he used several new words in trying to answer the questions. Eventually the idea came across that this was going to be a religious meeting, and not political at all. He, Sunto, knew no more than that timid Tammamo about political matters. Of course the Reds would not interfere with this religious meeting; the Sea God might become angry with them if they did. True, the Reds controlled the Tower, but that didn’t mean others couldn’t hold meetings of this type, did it?

  “Of course not,” agreed Brazil soberly. He got a repeat on the time and place of the meeting, and went home to the scout.

  They located the meeting without trouble, as Sunto had predicted. Brazil was lowered by cable again, a quarter mile from the circle of fires in the hills near the center of the island.

  Gates held the scout overhead, ready for anything, while Brazil walked to the lighted area.

  About fifty Blonds of both sexes were quietly busy with varied rituals within the illuminated circle. There were no detectable lookouts posted around the place, or any attempt at concealment.

  Brazil watched for a little while, far enough away to be invisible to those near the fires. Then he walked slowly in on them, arms spread out in a gesture of peace. There seemed to be nothing frantic or very rigid about the ceremonies, so he had no great worry about interrupting.

  Gradually they became aware of him, the nearer ones first. They stopped what they were at and turned to watch him with grave eyes. Within a few seconds all of them were standing still, calmly and silently watching him. Then a few of them moved slightly, opening a lane from where Brazil stood to a place near the center of the circle. He could see now a low structure of stone that stood there, a few feet square. It might be an altar.

  “Any advice?” he subvocalized to the watchers above.

  “Best thing I can think of is to bow in greeting and tell them to proceed with what they’re doing,” said some anonymous expert. No one argued with him. The final decision on what to do rested with Brazil, as it usually did with the planeteer—the man on the spot, with the responsibility. He was rarely given orders in any detail.

  THIS time he accepted the advice offered from above. It seemed to go over all right. The attention of the Blond group turned from him to the central altar, where a few men and women began to perform some simple rites. The others stood watching with folded arms. Brazil folded his. No one was sitting down, and he resigned himself to what might be a long stand. An hour went by. He wished himself wearing armor, ground, heavy, with powered legs that would let you nap standing if you wished.

  Not that he wanted to nap now. There was the ceremony to watch, although it had so far shown him little that was new or especially interesting. It had elements that Brazil had seen in life or on training tapes of a hundred primitive religions on a dozen planets.

  But the climax of the ceremony was unique. A pair of muscular—deacons? Brazil could distinguish no one set apart as clergy—came from the darkness outside the waning firelight. They bore a large and heavy pottery vessel that wobbled in their grip as they carried it, as if it held a quantity of liquid.

  Someone held a torch to illuminate the altar top. A slender tower about two feet high had been built of small flat pebbles, surrounded by a low wall of similar construction.

  The men with the jar approached the rear of the altar and raised the vessel toward it, as a woman thrust a trough into position. They tipped the big jar evenly. What looked like clear water sluiced out of it, guided by the trough toward the pebbletower. For a moment it looked to Brazil as if the little structure might withstand the flood, but some vital part of the base gave way suddenly. The men continued to tilt the vessel smoothly till it was empty. The tower toppled, taking with it part of the surrounding wall. It was washed piecemeal from the sloping altar by the last of the flood.

  It hit them hard, Brazil could see, looking from one Blond face to another in the firelight. None of them stirred for a long minute. It was plain that the collapse of the tower had had some evil significance.

  Tower? Sunto had mentioned a tower connected with the Sea God, and controlled by the Reds.

  The Blonds seemed to shake off some of their gloom. Again they were turning toward Brazil.

  “Ceremony didn’t turn out too well, I think,” said the voice from the Yuan Chwang. “Just hope they don’t blame it on you.” Once more everyone was watching Brazil, except for a couple of men who had begun to dismantle the altar.

  Might as well get started, he thought. He switched on his air mike. He could not see most of his audience well in this light, and could not pick out anyone as leader.

  HE spoke out loudly: “I am a man who has come from a far land, and I would learn what I can about the people here.” The faint stir and whispering among them ceased. All watched him with guarded faces. There was only the fire glow and crackle, and the twittering background of animals or insects.

  “This—” Brazil realised he had no certain word for ritual or ceremony. “What you have done at this meeting is strange to me. If I can do so without giving offense, I would learn about it. Will someone here tell me?”

  A light clear voice came from somewhere in the background: “Are you he of whom it is said, that he slew sixty Reds with a sweep of his arm?”

  “It is said, but it is not true.

  I fought with six of them, but I slew none.”

  “You fought with six of them, yet none of them slew you.” The still anonymous voice used a more subtle grammar than Tim had taught, and had a slightly different accent. With his limited experience in listening to the natives, Brazil could not identify it as male or female. But it smelled of authority to him. He answered the implied question. “My armor is strong. And I had help from one who is wrongly called a dark demon, who is only a man like me, my countryman and friend.”

  “So have I heard it.”

  The speaker moved forward slowly into brighter firelight—a woman. Not a girl, and not an old woman, or middle-aged. Not the kind that a man will follow with his eyes from the first glance, but the kind he will turn to see again a quarter-minute later, and remember. So Brazil thought of her at first sight, and only remembered with a start the subtle unearthliness of her face and body.

  “So have I heard it, from those who were there and saw with open eyes.” She came close to Brazil, dressed as simply as the others. She studied him for a moment. “You speak with the tongue of a simple Blond peasant.”

  “It was one such who taught me.”

  “You learned well. What is your name?”

  “In your tongue it is best said as Boro. And what is yours, if I may ask without giving offense?”

  She smiled. “Certainly, there has never been a god so fearful of giving offense. My name is Ariton. Tell these people whether you are god or man. I fear some of them will still not believe what you told Sunto.”

  Brazil loudly pledged again his membership in humanity.

  Ariton waved her hand, and her peop
le turned away. Most of them went to sit in a circle around where the altar had been. They began a low-voiced chant.

  SHE walked with Brazil a little away from the group, and tried to answer his questions about the ceremony he had witnessed. Her explanation was unintelligible with new words at first; finally he got her to simplify it enough for him to understand that the tiny tower on the altar had been an analog of a full sized structure in the island’s chief city. The big Tower was sacred to the Sea God. Now it was monopolized by the Red priests, and beside it the king of the Reds, Galamand, had built a castle. At mentioning the king’s name, Ariton moved her foot as if grinding something into the dirt beneath her heel. Tim had sometimes done that when speaking of the Reds.

  “And what did the water-pouring mean?”

  “Maybe something bad.” She looked at Brazil thoughtfully and raised a hand to touch his transparent helmet. “I have seen—before,” she said, using a new word that he thought meant glass, from the context. “Now I will ask a question. Why could not the Reds slay you, when they attacked you with spears?”

  “My armor is stronger than it looks.”

  “And why did you slay none of them?”

  “There was no need.”

  “Those of my people who watched with open eyes say that you were angry at the slaying of an old man you did not know. Why?”

  Brazil pondered. “There was no need for his slaying, either, that I could see.”

  “You carry no spear or sword or bow, nor did your dark companion. How could you fight six spearmen?”

  After a moment Brazil raised a hand to touch his helmet. “My armor is not easily seen, yet it is very strong. So is it with my weapons.”

  “Strong Red warriors could not hurt you with their spears,” Ariton said thoughtfully. “And when they tried to seize you they were struck down by cramps and sickness, like swimmers who have entered cold water with full bellies. So the Sea God might . . .”

  “But it was not the Sea God. Shall we sit down here?”

  He gallantly let her have the low boulder that presented itself, and crunched his armored seat down into groundvine. The suit was a load to stand around in, even at .95 gravity.

  “Where is your dark companion now? And your ship?”

  “He is not far. And our ship is near the island.”

  Ariton apparently thought it natural that a man alone among strangers should be a bit secretive about the location of his friends.

  Some water from the altar flood had run into the nearest fire, and the light grew dimmer yet. There was no word in Brazil’s ear from above.

  “It might be thought that you and your friend are only castaways upon this island, as none have seen your ship.”

  HE took the suggestion calmly.

  “It is not so. Our ship is near, with others of my people aboard.”

  “Why have you come to this island?”

  “My countrymen and I travel to learn things, about new lands none of us has seen before. Some of us would like to live on this island for a little while, perhaps a few years, on some land your people do not use. We do not want to boss your people, or to take anything we do not pay for.”

  “I have no land to give anyone, while there are Reds on the island.” Ariton’s voice was sharp.

  “Some of my people will talk to the Reds, too, about using land. But we will not trade with a tribe that holds another tribe in slavery.”

  She was puzzled. “But who does not own slaves, if he can? If we could enslave the Reds, we would. Do you own no slaves at home?”

  “It has been very many years since my tribe held slaves. A tribe becomes stronger when it does not depend on them. My people have traveled far and looked at many tribes, and it is always so.”

  “But if all were free to choose, who would do the mean and dirty work of slaves by choice?” Ariton looked at him searchingly.

  Brazil gave a faint sigh. “True, someone must do such work—sometimes someone must be forced to do it. But even such lowly persons should be treated as members of the tribe, and not killed or beaten as animals would be.”

  “And if there are two tribes, as on this island?”

  “Two tribes can live as one, if their leaders are wise and strong.”

  “That is a strange thought to me. But then I have never traveled in the far parts of the world.” Ariton meditated for a few moments, before she spoke again.

  “Will you, Boro, go to speak with the Red king about this matter of land? You still look like a Blond, so maybe the Reds will try again to slay you or imprison you.”

  Brazil thought it over. “I may go. It is only chance that I look like a Blond. My shipmates are of varied appearance; some of them resemble Reds.” He thought to himself: What planeteer looks most like a Red? Foley, but his hair isn’t nearly the right shade. A little dye will fix that, if need be.

  “I will go with you, when you go to speak to Galamand,” Ariton announced.

  Brazil was surprised. “Do you enter safely into the Red king’s castle at will?”

  “The Reds are not likely to do me harm, and I think Galamand will see me if I visit him.” Ariton smiled. “I am a high priestess of the Sea God.”

  ANOTHER conference began as soon as Brazil was hoisted home to his scoutship.

  “Religion may give us a way to promote unity here,” said Sociology. “We see that Reds and Blonds both worship the same powerful Sea God. However, his sacred Tower seems to be a point of contention between the tribes.”

  “We think we have that Tower located, by the way,” put in Captain Dietrich. “And what’s probably the Red king’s castle, or at least his summer home. It seems too far from fresh water to withstand a siege. Where’s that chart? Here, on this peninsula that protects the harbor at Capital City, a large stone structure. Right next to it, on the side toward the ocean, is the tallest building on the island, a tower about ninety feet high. Then there’s a sea wall running the length of the peninsula, for protection against waves and maybe invaders.

  “Foley, you and Brazil will be visiting Galamand as soon as we can locate him. Get your hair dyed to match the Reds. Maybe we can at least impress the natives with the idea that it’s possible for Red and Blond to co-operate.”

  “I trust everything possible will be done to avoid another fight.” Chandragupta wore a frown.

  “We’ll have to talk to the Reds sooner or later, if we’re going to get anywhere,” the Captain said. “Though it’s possible we may have to fight our way out again. Is anyone against sending a delegation to Galamand as soon as possible?”

  “Should we take Ariton along, as she suggested?” Gates asked the conference.

  “It might make us seem to be committed as her allies against the Reds.”

  “No doubt that’s what she wants.”

  “But it would bring the two leaders face to face. If there’s any possibility of ending the conflict between them, such a meeting might give us a clue to it.”

  Planeteer Foley, hair reddened, was flown down and transferred to scoutship Alpha, which lay out at sea again. Gates intended to hold himself in reserve, in the scout, to rescue the delegation if necessary.

  First it was necessary to locate the king, and to arrange to take Ariton to the planned meeting with him. Hoping to do both, Brazil almost literally dropped in, shortly after sunset one evening, on the hill village where she had told him she could usually be found.

  No Reds were in evidence. Again a flock of watchbirds assaulted Brazil with futile energy. The Blond natives stared at him with some awe, but little surprise. They directed him to a building set against a hill.

  IT WAS a low structure of groundvine mats and rare wooden poles. Carved or molded masks hung in profusion at the gateway, the first artwork of any kind Brazil had seen on the island, except for the decorated armor of the Reds.

  He stood at the gateway in the low fence and called a greeting to the dark and open doorway of the house. In a few moments a Blond man, unusually tall and carrying a
n oil lamp, emerged from the rambling building. He stood studying Brazil emotionlessly.

  “I am looking for Ariton,” Brazil repeated. The towering Blond somehow made him feel for a ridiculous moment like an adolescent suitor come to call on his girl and greeted by her older brother.

  “Ariton has gone to Capital City,” the man said finally. “To meet you or your countrymen there when you go to visit the king of the Redmen.” Again the grinding foot-motion at mention of Galamand. This man conveyed a suggestion of insolent freedom and power to Brazil. It was impossible for him to think of this man or Ariton as slaves.

  “Is Galamand now in his castle beside the Tower of the Sea God?” Brazil asked.

  “Yes.” The Blond man paused, then seemed to reach a sudden decision involving Brazil. “Come with me.” He beckoned with his lamp and led the way into the house.

  They followed a passage leading back toward the hillside. The open rooms they passed contained things of shapes unknown to Brazil, things carven and feathered and stained. More temple than home, certainly.

  “Here.” The Blond turned aside suddenly, and stooped to roll up a floor mat. Buried among mats of groundvine that filled a hole evidently of considerable depth, were row upon row of spears, simply made but strong and sharp.

  “When your king comes to this island,” said the Blond, showing powerful white teeth above his beard, “he will find ready help to topple the Reds from power. Not all my people are willing to live the lives of animals. Long have we planned and waited. The Reds are fewer than we. Each year they stay more within their forts and in their walled city, and each year hurt us more, with killings and beatings. We will be willing to help you.”

  Brazil took a deep breath. “If you want to help me, you will not rise armed against the Reds.

  You will agree to live with them as one tribe, when they also agree.”

  The man stared at Brazil for a long moment, then gave a short and nasty laugh. “When they say that will be the day when they are helpless.”

  “But remember what I say, if you wish your own people well,” said Brazil, turning to leave. “Let there be no armed rising against the Reds.”