The Lord of the Sands of Time

by Hubbert, Jim

  With noises of celebration echoing faintly in the background, Miyo sat opposite Takahikoné. Lord Ikima’s face was dark, and not only because the illumination from lamps placed at either end of the room was so faint. There were black circles under his downcast eyes. His bristly beard moved as he spoke in a low voice. “Queen Himiko—”“Himiko is enough. When you kidnapped me from my village, I bawled like a child. How long ago was that?”

  Takahikoné ignored her invitation to revisit the past. He inched closer on his knees. “Himiko. Then permit me to ask this. Do you really intend to lead the combined armies yourself?”

  “Why not? The soldiers can scarcely understand each other’s dialects. How can I expect them to follow orders given by the Messenger of the Laws, a man they’ve never seen?”

  “Pray allow me to render this service to you.” With stiff formality, Takahikoné bowed deeply. “I would wish that you remain here, to look after the people and perform the rituals. Affairs of war are best left to men. It would be a terrible tragedy if any harm were to come to your person.”

  “Speak not what is not in your heart, Takahikoné,” she answered. “I think the sight of all these troops makes you fear for your position. If I lead the armies, I shall not only win military distinction. If I’m so inclined, perhaps I’ll even point my staff at the leadership of Yamatai.” She paused and laughed lightly. Then in a voice full of scorn, she continued, “Is that what you think I want? I can barely fulfill my responsibilities as shaman queen. I believe you know well enough what is in my heart.”

  “That is true.” For just a moment, an expression—an honest expression—of wry humor crossed his face. “You hated the very name Himiko, didn’t you?”

  These things only you and I understand, thought Miyo. She knew only too well what to expect from this man’s character. The first time she laid eyes on him, he gave her a glimpse of what was to come. She was only ten, perhaps not even that. She was catching eels with her friends when a man rode toward them along the stream, horse hooves splashing through the water. He was beardless when she’d first seen him. When he learned from the children which of them was Miyo, he glared at her sternly. She would never forget his first words.

  “Are you unsullied, girl?”

  Miyo was speechless with astonishment. Takahikoné turned to the other children and said harshly, “Have any of you copulated with this girl?”

  Some of Miyo’s friends were wed at the age of eleven or twelve, but nowhere in Yamatai was there such a debauched custom as indiscriminate sex. Even for someone of his station, Takahikone’s behavior was outrageous. The children looked away and pretended not to hear him.

  Unfortunately, Takahikoné took their silence as the answer to his question. He suddenly leaned down and hoisted Miyo with one arm. Turning to the children, he shouted in ringing tones, “The oracle proclaims it: this girl will be shaman queen. Go home and tell your parents. Miyo will rule Yamatai!” And so it came to be. Miyo cried uncontrollably atop the violently swaying saddle. She was taken to the palace and handled roughly, like a piece of property. Her parents never saw her again. Not long after, word reached her of their deaths.

  Every day was a form of imprisonment. Old Mimaso, her predecessor, taught her the rituals. Every day she performed them, just as instructed. For his success in finding Miyo, Takahikoné was promoted to the rank of Ikima, and arranged affairs as he pleased in her name. Miyo had no shortage of whatever she needed, but her servile handmaidens were under Takahikoné’s thumb, and they kept a close watch on her. Often she did not see the sun for days.

  If Takahikoné miscalculated, it was because Miyo turned out to have real gifts. As she grew, she acquired an excess of strength and started making all sorts of trouble. Her handmaidens were strict, but only concerning the things Takahikoné had forbidden; they were afraid to use their own discretion for fear of his wrath. Once Miyo realized this, she would refuse her meals, punch holes in the thatch roof, hurl the ritual implements, indeed do anything she could think of that was not explicitly forbidden. Of course, each time she got up to something, it would immediately be forbidden and she would no longer be able to do it; then she would think up some new form of rebellion. By doing so she developed both cunning and stamina.

  But by the time she was fifteen she had given up these pranks. She had learned much, and instead of using force to get her way, she began to maneuver the treacherous people who surrounded her into granting what she wanted. Leaving behind a substitute in order to steal outside the palace, arranging for Kan to be her attendant; these were just examples of what she could do with the skills she acquired during this time. Based on her long dealings with the ministers of state, she also realized that as long as she performed her ritual duties, they cared little what else she did. She simply had to avoid doing anything that could damage her authority as a distant object of reverence.

  But the greatest incentive for Miyo to conduct herself as shaman queen was Takahikoné himself. His intentions were all too evident. When her monthly cycle began, her breasts and hips began to fill out and she grew taller, her hair long; then Takahikoné began coming to the palace more often. As she felt his sticky gaze, Miyo could not help but remember the question he had put to her on that day she first saw him. Takahikoné wanted Miyo on a pedestal as queen, but he also wanted her for himself.

  In defense, Miyo retreated behind the barrier of her authority as ruler. The more formally she conducted herself, the more Takahikoné was forced to withdraw in embarrassment. Until now, this expedient pose had seen her through. Takahikoné knew that if he yielded to his lust he would lose his position. Miyo could feel how this tension, like a bottomless swamp, hung always in the air between them—even here, as they discussed the conflict and the future of the country.

  “Himiko…” In the flickering lamplight, Takahikoné again edged his knees closer. Two more paces and he would be close enough to touch her. Miyo stiffened, suppressing the urge to slide backward away from him.

  “Keep your distance. You are my younger brother, are you not?” she said firmly.

  “That is just a pretense—”

  “And you already have three wives. If you leave them behind and go into battle, I’m sure they will be heartbroken.” Adroitly, Miyo returned the conversation to its original topic. She looked sternly at Takahikoné, this imposing man near fifty, subserviently kneeling before her. But he was no fool. Quite the opposite; he was calculating above all else. And Miyo knew this well.

  “Listen to me, Takahikoné,” she said. “You and Takahaya are close. He can guide the armies with a strong hand. I have seen him in battle. I know how loyal this man is. Leave the fighting to him. On the other hand, only you can manage the government. At a time like this the country needs a strong hand. I think you are that strong hand. What say you?”

  Takahikoné stared at her fixedly. He blinked, again and again. Miyo almost felt as if she could see through the back of those pupils and into the whirlpool of his brain, weighing the alternatives. Finally he bowed deeply. “Of course. You are right, my lady. I spoke foolishly.”

  After he withdrew, Miyo was seized by fatigue. Her maid-servants entered, carrying trays of food at eye level, which they then set before her. And when Kan entered the room, it was as if the air in the palace had been cleansed.

  Attended only by Kan, Miyo reflected on the audience that had just ended. What a waste of time it had been. The only important thing now is to work out how to defeat the mononoké: who should do what, to increase our strength as much as possible. Yet instead, I must make allowances for this man’s ambition, win him over…

  “Lady Miyo, are you tired? Your face—” said Kan.

  “What of it? Your face is still flecked with today’s grime,” she said with a laugh. Kan began frantically wiping his cheeks. Miyo laughed. She took a piece of grilled deer with her fingers. Enough with Takahikoné. It would be best to put him out of her mind. Something more troubling was nagging her. Why had the other chiefdoms sudden
ly begun cooperating now?

  The chiefdoms that form the axis of the Land of Wa are suddenly embroiled in a war against the monstrous mononoké. The Messenger of the Laws appears, to smite the enemy. Staking her claim on the Laws, Himiko calls for assistance from the armies of the alliance. And the chiefdoms agree, easily. Was this not truly odd? Even Miyo, with little desire for power, could imagine what the chiefs would be thinking. How many would see this misfortune as an opening to take control of Yamatai and become the new king of Wa? No doubt the fingers of both hands would scarcely suffice to count them.

  Still, more motivation than that would be needed. Sending a force of thousands of men was a heavy burden for any country. Yet with the ambitions of tens of chiefdoms to account for, a bid for domination would face daunting odds. Was there anything else, other than a self-interested thirst for power, that would explain their willingness to help?

  Suddenly Miyo was seized with a terrible suspicion. Her fingers trembled slightly as she touched the magatama.

  “Cutty, can you hear me?” Miyo tried to sound nonchalant.

  “Yes.” The eerie voice answered coolly.

  “You certainly made things easy for us today. You’ll need more than forty mononoké to really rouse the soldiers.”

  Cutty’s reply went far beyond anything Miyo suspected.

  “You finally understand him, don’t you?”

  “What do you mean?” said Miyo, in complete bafflement.

  “You and your people depend on me for so much. But as you see, I am not your ally.”

  Miyo shivered. Cutty spoke calmly, as if describing another person. “You are quite perceptive, Miyo. I lured the mononoké to Yamatai this time. Just as O showed the soldiers step by step how to fight the enemy in Iga, I sent weakened mononoké to raise the fighting spirit of the soldiers in Yamatai. Think of it as a kind of immunization, a boost for their immune systems. I am doing the same in chiefdoms throughout the Land of Wa. Now you’ve discovered the truth. O knows of this and he concurs. To rally the forces we need, we must not shrink from deception. This we have learned from bitter experience. We are using you, and by so doing we defend you, and defend humanity.”

  “Is that what he really wants?” shouted Miyo. “Then I’ll never understand him!” Hearing her suddenly cry out, Kan looked up. “Lady Miyo?”

  “Wait!” She turned to the bead again. “Did you hear me, Cutty?”

  “You misunderstand,” answered Cutty. “O would never deceive you for sport. On the contrary, the necessity to do so wounds him deeply. But since we learned its necessity he’s deceived countless people, used them, sent them to their deaths. Because of this—no, in spite of this—the guilt he’s carried with him since he started on this journey grows stronger. It is the remorse he feels for not abandoning the larger mission of saving the species just to help those in immediate need.”

  His guilt? As Cutty’s words sank in, Miyo was overcome with a painful dizziness. It would be as if she had abandoned Kan to the mononoké to help spring the trap. And this the Messenger had done, again and again?

  Cutty’s voice betrayed the hint of a smile. “I am Cutty Sark, witch of artifice. I brandish the mare’s tail, I am the guide on the swiftest path to victory. I use whomever and whatever suits my purposes. The winds of time scatter all. The sands of time bury all. The winds and sands have battered no one more than Messenger O. If anywhere there were a woman who could sustain him, I would make quite sure that she did. But in a thousand centuries there has been no such woman.”

  “Lady Miyo!” Kan was shaking her shoulder. Miyo woke from her reverie. The boy was holding a cup of water and peering at her with concern. “You look so pale. Perhaps you should rest.”

  Kan was so kind. Single-mindedly devoted, always ready to sacrifice his life for her. Losing him would be more than Miyo could bear. She embraced him and held him fast.

  “My lady?” Kan’s body stiffened. The cup slipped from his hand. After a few moments, Miyo pushed him away and stood up.

  “Where are you going?” asked Kan, still dazed.

  “I need solitude.”

  Miyo climbed one of the watchtowers and asked the soldiers to leave her. The light from the encampments gave the palace a festive atmosphere. Beyond stretched the endless paddy fields, glistening in the moonlight.

  For the first time, Miyo truly realized that she ruled this land and understood how much she loved it: the mountains, the fields, and Kan and Takahaya who lived there, and others like them, nameless soldiers and peasants. Not until they were threatened did she grasp their true value. Toward the person she had been, a girl dreaming of running away at the right opportunity, she felt nothing but contempt. With that realization, the weight of her responsibilities, the terror of wondering how in the world one could possibly accomplish what was needed, hit home.

  She looked eastward. Beyond the Kasagi mountain range looming darkly before her was a man. A man who felt the same burden.

  “Messenger O—how did you bear it?” She had much to say to him.

  CHAPTER 6

  STAGE 003OULU A.D. 1943

  Unmarked Stuka dive bombers and Shturmovik tank busters took off from their base in the Finnish north and thundered across the frozen wastes. One after another they rose into the sky in groups of four, eight, sixteen planes; they fell into precise formations and banked toward the northwest where the escort fighters waited high in the sky. Unpainted, silver-bodied P-51 Mustangs; Bf 109s in the Luftwaffe’s white-and-brown winter camo; and Macchi C.202 Folgores, their tails striped green, white, and red. National markings were officially banned, but as usual the Italians had ignored the regulations.

  Oulu was a small Finnish town that had been turned into a huge military installation. Over five hundred aircraft were bound for the enemy’s base at Kiruna. Allied ground forces were already pushing toward the Swedish iron mining complex. After nearly losing Europe, humanity had finally succeeded in cornering the ET. The air campaign would strike the death blow to the enemy in the Northern Hemisphere. Their colony at Fushun had already been annihilated by the Chinese Communist Eighth Route Army. Pockets of ET resistance in Australia and South Africa were under fierce attack from the Anglo-Indian Imperial Fleet and the Imperial Japanese Army and French ground forces based in Indochina.For their third encounter with the enemy, the Messengers had chosen the height of the twentieth century’s largest and most sprawling armed conflict. The goal was not simply to change the course of history by taking advantage of a vast military buildup that otherwise would have been wasted in intraspecies warfare, but to intervene at a point when humanity’s readiness for armed conflict was at its zenith. Arriving on Earth four decades into the twentieth century, the Messengers succeeded in convincing the world’s nations to set aside their conflicts and prepare to fight the ET. They used everything from pressure tactics to discrete manipulation of public opinion. When the fighting got under way, humanity proved it could defend itself. It seemed certain that total victory would be theirs within a year.

  And yet, Orville was not happy. A fellow Messenger, one named Quench stationed in Washington, told him:

  “Listen, Orville. I have some bad news. The Americans can only spare four carriers for the recovery operation.”

  “They promised six.”

  “Right,” said Quench. “And now they’re diverting two of them to South Africa. You’ll have to make do with four.”

  Orville felt the frustration rising again. Most of the planes dispatched from Oulu to Kiruna could not carry enough fuel to return. The plan was to have them land on U.S. carriers off the coast of Norway. Six carriers would barely be enough to recover all the planes. With only four, the planes would have to refuel and take off again immediately. Orville doubted that the German and Soviet pilots could manage it. They had neither the aircraft nor the training for carrier operations.

  “Why are they doing this to us? Their own fighters are participating in the mission,” said Orville.

  “Yes, but t
he Mustangs have a range advantage. They can make it back on their own. What I’d like to know is, what’s the White House up to? It sounds like they’re planning to grab some of the credit for the British victory.”

  “What’s the point of antagonizing Churchill?”

  “Our agents in Berlin report that Roosevelt and Hitler have a secret agreement. They’re already looking beyond the end of the war. Our closing of Auschwitz seems to have had some unintended consequences,” said Quench.

  Orville sighed. This was becoming a pattern. Behind the façade of global cooperation, multiple conflicts were poised to boil over, conflicts even deeper than those from the original timestream. The Second World War was inevitable given the conditions that preceded it. Now Earth had united against the ET, but the old antagonisms continued to fester beneath the surface.

  Cutty Sark had long been pushing for a complete takeover of Earth, but the Messengers no longer had the power to seize the planet. Less than five percent of the Upstreamer Forces that left the twenty-sixth century remained at their disposal.

  Orville was deep in thought as he walked toward his quarters in the Allied Air Command Center. Since the arrival of the Upstreamer Forces, a succession of Messengers from alternate timestreams had begun arriving in this era. The Messenger Orville had just finished speaking with was sent by humans of the twenty-fourth century. But the Original Messengers had no record of them; these Descendant Messengers owed their existence to changes the Upstreamer Forces were making to history. With support from these new Messengers, now might be the time to take some bold action. He decided to contact Cutty.

  “Can you talk?”

  “What is it? I can’t spare much time.”

  “Still got your hands full?” He waited.

  “Things are very dicey right now, Orville. Can it keep?”

  “Talk to you later, then,” he said. The slight delay in Cutty’s response was due to the distance between Earth and the Moon, where her ship was located. ET from the twenty-second century had also reached the Moon and were trying to establish a foothold. Orville terminated the comm. Cutty indeed had her hands full.