The World of Tiers, Volume 1

by Philip José Farmer

  Kickaha widened the openings. He hated to do so because it made discovery by the caravaneers more likely. While the wagon was traveling however, no one was going to peep into the lower deck.

  They got little sleep the first day. At night, while the Tishquetmoac slept, they crept out and crawled past the sentries into the open. Here they bathed in a waterhole, refilled their bottles, and discharged natural functions which had been highly inconvenient inside the wagon. They exercised to take the stiffness out of muscles. Kickaha wondered if he was so clever after all. It had seemed the most impudent thing in the world, hiding out literally under the noses, not to mention the buttocks, of the Tishquetmoac. Alone, he might have been more comfortable, more at ease. But though Anana did not really complain much, her not-quite-suppressed groans and moans and invectives irked him. It was impossible in those closely walled quarters not to touch each other frequently, but she reacted overviolently every time. She told him to stay to his own half of the “coffin,” not to make his body so evident, and so on.

  Kickaha began to think seriously about telling her to take off on her own. Or, if she refused, knocking her out and dragging her away some place and leaving her behind. Or, at times, he fantasized about slitting her throat or tying her to a tree so the lions or wolves could get her.

  It was, he told himself, a hell of a way for a love affair to start.

  And then he caught himself. Yes, he had said that: love affair. Now, how could he be in love with such a vicious, arrogant, murderous bitch?

  He was. Much as he hated, loathed, and despised her, he was beginning to love her.

  Love was nothing new to Kickaha … but never under these circumstances.

  Undoubtedly, except for Podarge, who looked just like Anana as far as the face was concerned, and the strange, really unearthly Chryseis, Anana was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

  To Kickaha, this would not automatically bring love. He appreciated beauty in a woman, of course, but he was more liable to fall in love with a woman with an agreeable personality and a quick brain and humor than with a disagreeable and/or dumb woman. If the woman was only reasonably attractive or perhaps even plain, he could fall in love with her if he found certain affinities in her.

  Anana was certainly disagreeable.

  So why this feeling of love side by side with the hostility he felt toward her?

  Who knows? Kickaha thought. Evidently, I don’t. And that in itself is pleasing, since I would not like to become bored and predictable about myself.

  The bad thing about this affair was that it would probably be one-sided. She might take a sensual interest in him, but it would be ephemeral and there would be contempt accompanying it. Certainly, she could never love a leblabbiy. For that matter, he doubted that she could love anyone. The Lords were beyond love. Or at least that was what Wolff had told him.

  The second day passed more quickly than the first; both were able to sleep more. That night, they were treed by a pride of lions that had come down to drink at a stream shortly after the two humans arrived. Finally, as the hours had gone by and the lions showed no desire to wander on, Kickaha became desperate. Dawn would soon lighten this area. It would be impossible to sneak back into the wagon. He told Anana that they would have to climb down and try to bluff the big cats.

  Kickaha, as usual, had another motive than the obvious. He hoped that, if she had any weapons concealed or implanted in her body, she would reveal them now. But either she had none or she did not think the situation desperate enough to use them. She said that he could attempt to scare the monsters, if he wished, but she intended to stay in the tree until they went away.

  “Under ordinary circumstances, I’d agree with you,” he said. “But we have to get back inside the wagon within the next half hour.”

  “I don’t have to,” she said. “Besides, you didn’t kill anything for us to eat before we went back. I don’t want to spend another hungry day inside that coffin.”

  “You had plenty of dried meat and vegetables to eat,” he said.

  “I was hungry all day.”

  Kickaha started to climb down. Most of the lions seemed to be paying no attention to him. But a male sprang into the air and a long-clawed paw came within six inches of his foot. He went back up the tree.

  “They don’t seem to be in a mood to be bluffed,” he said. “Some days they are. Today, well …”

  From his height in the tree he could see part of the wagon train, even in the moonlight. Presently the moon went around the monolith and the sun followed it from the east. The caravaneers began to wake. Campfires were built, and the bustle of getting ready for breakfast and then breaking camp began. Presently, a number of soldiers, colorful in longfeathered wooden casques, scarlet quilt-cuirasses, green feathered kilts, and yellow-dyed leggings, mounted their horses. They formed a crescent within which men and women, carrying pots, kettles, jugs, and other utensils, marched. They headed toward the waterhole.

  Kickaha groaned. Occasionally he outfoxed himself, and this could be one of the occasions.

  There was not the slightest doubt about his choice. It would be far better to face the lions than to be captured by the Tishquetmoac. While he might he able to talk them out of turning him over to the Teutoniacs, he doubted it very much. Anyway, he could not afford to risk their mercy.

  He said, “Anana, I’m going north, and I’m going fast. Coming along?”

  She looked down at the big male lion, crouched at the foot of the tree and staring up with huge green eyes. His mouth also stared. Four canines, two up, two down, seemed as long as daggers.

  “You must be crazy,” she said.

  “You stay here if you want to. So long, if ever?”

  He began to climb down but on the other side of the tree, away from the lion. The great beast arose and roared, and then the others were on their feet and pointing toward the approaching humans. The wind had brought their scent.

  For a moment, the cats did not seem to know what to do. Then the male under the tree roared and slunk off and the others followed him. Kickaha dropped the rest of the way and ran in the same direction as the lions. He did not look back, but he hoped that Anana would have enough presence of mind to follow him. If the soldiers caught her, or even saw her, they would search the area on the premise that other fugitives might be nearby.

  He heard her feet thudding on the earth, and she was soon close behind him. He looked back, not at her but for signs of the cavalry. He saw the head of one soldier appear over a slight rise, and he grabbed Anana and pulled her down into the high grass.

  There was a shout—the rider had seen them. It was to be expected. And now …?

  Kickaha stood up and looked. The first rider was in full view. He was standing up in the stirrups and pointing in their direction. Others were coming up behind him. Then the lead man was riding toward them, his lance couched.

  Kickaha looked behind him. Plains and tall grass and a few trees here and there. Far off, a gray many-humped mass that was a herd of mammoths. The lions were somewhere in the grass.

  The big cats would have to be his joker. If he could spring them at the right time and not get caught himself, he might get away.

  He said, “Follow me!” and began to run as swiftly as he had ever run in his life. Behind him, the soldiers yelled and the horses’ hooves krok-krok-krokked.

  The lions failed him. They scattered away, bounding easily, not panicked but just not wanting to turn to fight at this moment.

  Some of the cavalry passed him and then they had turned and were facing him, their lances forming a crescent. Behind him, other lances made a half ring. He and Anana were between the crescents with no place to go unless they hurled themselves on the lancepoints.

  “This is what I get for being too smart,” he said to Anana.

  She did not laugh. He did not feel much like laughing himself.

  He felt even less like it when they were brought back, bound and helpless, to the caravan. The chief, Clish
quat, informed them that the rewards had been tripled. And though he had heard of Kickaha, and of course admired and respected him as the beloved of the Lord, well, things had changed, hadn’t they?

  Kickaha had to admit that they had. He asked Clishquat if the emperor was still alive. Clishquat was surprised at the question. Of course the miklosiml was alive. He was the one offering the rewards. He had proclaimed the alliance with the pinkface sorcerers who flew in a wheelless wagon. And so on.

  Kickaha’s intention to talk the caravaneers out of keeping him captive by telling them the true situation in Talanac did not work. The empire-wide system of signal drums and of pony express had acquainted the frontier towns with conditions in the capital city. It was true that some of the news was false, but Clishquat would not believe Kickaha concerning it. Kickaha could not blame him.

  The two captives were given a full meal. Women bathed them, oiled their bodies and hair, combed their hair and put fresh clothes on them. During this, the chiefs, the underchiefs, and the soldiers who had captured the two, argued. The chief thought that the soldiers should split the reward with him. The underchiefs believed they should get in on the money. And then some representatives of the rest of the caravaneers marched up. They demanded that the reward be split evenly throughout the caravan.

  At this, the, chiefs and the soldiers began screaming at the newcomers. Finally, the chief quieted them down. He said that there was only one way to settle the matter. That would be to submit the case to the emperor. In effect, this meant the high court of judges of Talanac.

  The soldiers objected. The case would limp along for years before being settled. By then, the legal fees would have devoured much of the reward money pp Clishquat, having scared everybody with this threat, then offered a compromise which he hoped would be satisfactory. Onethird should go to the soldiers; one-third to the civilian leaders of the caravan, the chief and chieflings; one-third to be divided equally among the remaining men.

  There was a dispute that lasted through lunch and supper. The train did not move during this.

  When everybody had agreed more or less amicably on the splitting of the reward, a new argument started. Should the caravan move on, taking the prisoners with them, in the hope that the magic airboat would come by again, as the pinkface sorcerers had promised? The prisoners could then be turned over to the sorcerers. Or should a number of soldiers take the prisoners back to Talanac while the caravan moved on to its business?

  Some said that the sorcerers might not return. Even if they did, they would not have room in the boat for the fugitives.

  Others said that those picked to escort the prisoners home might claim the entire reward for themselves. By the time the caravan returned to civilization, it might find that the escort had spent the money. And suit in court would be useless.

  And so on and so on.

  Kickaha asked a woman how the pinkfaces had communicated with the caravan chief.

  “There were four pinkfaces and each had a seat in the magic car,” she replied. “But a priest talked for them. He sat by the feet of the one who was in a chair in front and to the right. The pinkfaces talked in the language of the Lords—I know it when I hear it, though I do not speak it.’ The third night, events developed as Kickaha had been hoping they would. The six guards had been very critical of the decision to split the reward throughout the caravan. They spent a good part of the night muttering among themselves, and Kickaha, awake part of the time, testing his bonds, overheard much of what they said.

  He had warned Anana to make no outcry or struggle if she should be awakened by the sentries. The two were rousted out with warnings to keep silent or die with slit throats. They were marched off between two unconscious sentries and into a small group of trees. Here were horses, saddled, packed, ready to be mounted by the six soldiers and two prisoners, and extra pack horses. The party rode out slowly for several miles, then began to canter. Their flight lasted the night and half the next day. They did not stop to make camp until they were sure that they were not pursued. Since they had left the trade trail and swung far north, they did not expect to be followed.

  The next day, they continued parallel with the trade trail. On the third day, they began to angle back toward it. Being so long outside made them nervous.

  Kickaha and Anana rode in the center of the party. Their hands were tied with ropes but loosely, so they could handle the reins. They stopped at noon. They were just finishing their cooked rabbit and greens boiled in little pots, when a lookout on a hill nearby called out. He came galloping toward them, and, when he was closer, he could be heard.

  “Half-Horses!”

  The pots were emptied on top of the fire, dirt was kicked over the wet ashes, and the soldiers packed away most of their utensils. The two captives were made to remount, and the party started off southward, toward the trade trail, many miles away.

  It was then that the soldiers saw the wave of buffalo moving across the plains. It was a tremendous herd several miles across and of a seemingly interminable length. The right flank was three miles from them, but the earth quivered under the impact of perhaps a quarter of a million hooves.

  For some reason known only to the buffalo, they were in flight. They were stampeding westward, and they were going so swiftly that the Tishquetmoac party might not be able to get across the trade path in time. They had a chance, but they would not know how good it was until they got much closer to the herd.

  The Half-Horses had seen the humans, and they were into full gallop. There were about thirty of them: a chief with a full-feathered and long-tailed bonnet, a number of blooded warriors with feathered headbands, and three or four unblooded juveniles.

  Kickaha groaned; it seemed to him that they were of the Shoyshatel tribe. They were so far away that the markings were not quite distinct. But he thought that the bearing of the chief was that of the Half-Horse who had shouted threats at him when Kickaha had taken refuge at the Tishquetmoac fort.

  Then he laughed. It did not matter which tribe it was. All Half-Horse tribes hated Kickaha and all would treat him as cruelly as possible if they caught him.

  He yelled at Takwoc, the leader of the soldiers, “Cut the ropes from our wrists! They’re handicapping us! We can’t get away from you, don’t worry!”

  Takwoc looked for a moment as if he might actually cut the ropes. The danger involved in riding so close to Kickaha, the danger of the horses knocking each other down or Kickaha knocking him off the saddly, probably made him change his mind. He shook his head.

  Kickaha cursed and then crouched over the neck of the stallion and tried to evoke from him every muscle-stretching-contracting quota of energy in his magnificent body. The stallion did not respond because he was already running as swiftly as he could.

  Kickaha’s horse, though fleet, was half a body-length behind the stallion which Anana rode. Perhaps they were about equal in running ability, but Anana’s lighter weight made the difference. The others were not too far behind and were spread out in a rough crescent, with horns curving away from him, three on each side. The Half-Horses were just coming over the rise; they slowed down a moment, probably in amazement at the sight of the tremendous herd. Then they waved their weapons and charged on down the hill.

  The herd was rumbling westward. The Tishquetmoac and prisoners were coming on the buffalos’ right at an angle of forty-five degrees. The Half-Horses had swung a little to the west before coming over the hill and their greater speed had enabled them to squeeze the distance down between them and their intended victims.

  Kickaha, watching the corner formed by the flank of the great column of beasts and the front part—almost square—saw that the party could get across in front of the herd. From then on, speed and luck meant safety to the other side or being overwhelmed by the racing buffalo. The party could not directly cut across the advance; it would have to run ahead of the beasts and at an angle at the same time.

  Whether or not the horses could keep up their present speed, whe
ther or not a horse or all horses might slip, that would be known in a very short time.

  He shouted encouragement at Anana as she looked briefly behind, but the. rumble of the hooves, shaking the earth and sounding like a volcano ready to blow its crust, tore his voice to shreds.

  The roar, the odor of the beasts, the dust, frightened Kickaha. At the same time, he was exhilarated. This wasn’t the first time that he had been raised by his fright out of fright and into near ecstasy. Events seemed to be on such a grand scale all of a sudden, and the race was such a fine one, with the prize sudden safety or sudden death, that he felt as if he were kin to the gods, if not a god. That moment when mortality was so near, and so probable, was the moment he felt immortal.

  It was quickly gone, but while it lasted he knew that he was experiencing a mystical state.

  Then he was seemingly heading for a collision with the angle formed by the flank and front of the herd.

  Now he could see the towering shaggy brown sides of the giant buffalo, the humps heaving up and down like the bodies of porpoises soaring from wave to wave, the dark-brown foreheads, massive and lowering, the dripping black snouts, the red eyes, the black eyes, the red-shot white eyes, the legs working so swiftly they were almost a blur, foam curving from the open foam-toothed mouths onto thick shaggy chests and the upper parts of the legs.

  He could hear nothing at first but that rumbling as of the earth splitting open, so powerful that he expected, for a second, to see the plain open beneath the hooves and fire and smoke spurt out.

  He could smell a million buffalo, beasts extinct for ten thousand years on Earth, monsters with horns ten feet across, sweating with panic and the heartshredding labor of their flight, excrement of fear befouling them and their companions, and something that smelled to him like a mixture of foam from mouth and blood from lungs, but that, of course, was his imagination.