The Death Of A Legend

by Robert Adams

  “But now, My sweet and ever-faithful one, it is time that your return to your flesh, that you may repeat My words to the Moon Maidens and prepare them for the new, changed life they must all so soon begin to live are they to survive the near-future dangers.”

  And with no sense of transition, the cool comfort was gone, the silver radiance was become the utter darkness which precedes the dawn, the jewel-flowered trees above her head were metamorphosed into the frost-crusted evergreen boughs thatching the roof-wall of her lean-to.

  As she slowly turned her head to stare at the gray ashes and few, dim coals which were all that remained of last night’s fire, the warm, sweetly moist breath of Meeree wafted over the fine hairs on her nape . . . and then she could have wept yet again when she thought of what she and her sisters must so soon give up.

  But then she thought of Dook Bili, thought of the height and breadth and immense strength of him, thought of the savage ferocity with which he had shaken the man who would have offered her insult. She thought of that invisible but unmistakable aura of leadership which was so naturally his and which had brought almost everyone — Moon Maidens and diverse races of men alike — to accept him instantly as war chief of their heterogeneous band.

  She thought, too, of the consideration he had shown her and her poor, homeless sisters in so very many ways, of his courtly courtesy to her, personally, on the night just past. All the Ahrmehnee warriors she had ever seen or dealt with had been obviously resentful and contemptuous of her and every other Moon Maiden, and brutally callous toward their own poor women; but this Dook Bili, for all his strength and vigor and fierce starkness in battle, had dealt with her and all her sisters as respected equals and had proved solicitous, gentle and caring toward her in her illness of shock and grief — she thought that not even another Moon Maiden could have treated her more tenderly than had this massive man.

  Lastly, she allowed herself to recall that tingling warmth which had coursed through every fiber of her body when he had taken her arm to guide her stumbling steps around the council fire, last night; she recalled too that the touch of no other mortal — not even dear Meeree — had ever so thrilled her; only the Holy Hands of the Lady could do the like.

  Was this then the answer? The Lady had said that She could see that the brahbehrnuh knew the answer, and She had also said that this singular young man-warrior, this Dook Bili, somehow had the power to alter the pattern so as to make the weaving one of life rather than of death. Yes, this must be the answer, the thought. So she began to mentally frame the words she soon must speak to her Moon Maidens.

  As the boles of the stunted hardwoods on the lower reaches of the surrounding hills became black-on-black, Meeree stirred beside her and the brahbehrnuh turned onto her right side to receive the wet, sleepy kiss which was her lovers customary morning greeting. She responded briefly, meeting Meeree’s questing tonguetip with her own, but then gently disengaged and drew herself back. Smiling languidly, Meeree pressed her hard palm upon the brahbehrnuh’s left breast and commenced to caress it through the fabric of the shirt with slow, circular strokes.

  Feeling her body beginning to respond to the familiar and long-loved touch, the brahbehrnuh quickly gripped the young woman’s wrist and stilled the hand.

  “No, my darling, I’m sorry, but I must talk to you, now. There are many things I must tell you, and some will be very bard to bear . . . for us both. But you must listen and you must obey, as you love me and as you love Her, the Lady. For this night I was again with Her, our Silver Goddess, and all the words that I will speak to you and to our sisters come from Her.”

  In each succeeding generation of Moon Maidens had their brahbehrnuhs been the acknowledged mortal voice of Her, the Silver Lady of the skies of night, so Meeree listened dutifully to her lover’s words. So, too, did the rest of the Moon Maidens, in a private place, far up the narrow, twisting vale, where a spring-fed pool gave birth to the brooklet. But It was only after their scanty breakfast was eaten, the wounded women comforted as best was possible and the horses looked to.

  “Last night, my sisters,” she began gravely, “I wakened to hear an owl. Twice did the holy bird call, then did I hear the beat of her wings, loud as distant thunder. She flew low over the clearing before my shelter, and I prayed that she would bear my message to the Lady.

  “And, my sisters, my prayer was heard! The Lady did take up my spirit to bide for a while with Her, in Her place. There She did comfort me and console me and impart to me that which I now must tell you.”

  The brahbehrnuh’s audience of warrior-women stood or sat or squatted attentively, no slightest shadow of disbelief on their faces, for ever had it been thus that their leaders were taken up and counseled by the Goddess in times of crisis, that they might partake of Her wisdom and by it guide their race, Her hereditary servants.

  But a single, ill-omened time in all the long history of the folk of the Maidens of the Moon had a brahbehrnuh been ordered by the Council of Grandmothers to act against the counsel of the Goddess. And fewer than five out of each hundred of that doomed sortie had won back to the Hold; even fewer had been sound of body, none had been sound of mind, and most had died within bare moons of their return. Only that wretched brahbehrnuh had lived long enough after her return to conceive and bear a daughter, of which soon-orphaned child the present holder of that title was the direct descendant.

  Therefore, as she lowered the pitch of her voice — for these, the Silver Lady’s words, were not for the ears of men — they crowded in closer, so as not to miss a syllable of the Sacred Words, Her Holy Counsel, as transmitted by the lips of the most recent descendant of uncounted generations of priestesses.

  “Know, sisters mine, that the Hold of the Moon Maidens and all our dear folk are truly gone from this land; erased are they as if they had never been. When I swooned while the burning rocks fell, yesterday, it was because I saw and recognized Her altar — the sacred and secret altar from deep within the council cavern — flung into that little stream, before me.”

  A low, doleful moan welled up from the women grouped about her. Only their warrior heritage and training, their rigid code of self-discipline, inhibited louder lamentations and a shedding of the hot tears burning their eyes, those and their fierce pride.

  The brahbehrnuh went on in her pain-racked voice. “So there is no hold, no valley of home, no place of safety and love to which we can ever return, sisters. From this day hence, we few remaining Moon Maidens must make our way in the world of men. Although we shall honor Her all our lives, will continue to serve Her as best we may, we must change or alter certain of our customs and practices, must unlearn or forget many of our ancient traditions . . . so She did tell me.”

  “But brahbehrnuh,” spoke up the lieutenant, Kahndoot, “these mountains stretch, it is said by the traders, for hundreds of leagues to north and south and at least for scores to east and west. Why can we not seek out another valley, establish another hold and steal boys and men from the surrounding folk to labor in our fields and pastures and give their seed to the perpetuation of our holy race? Such as this was done by the many-times-great-grandmothers when they came riding down from the north.”

  The brahbehrnuh shook her head sadly. “Simply because dear sister Kahndoot, such is not Her will. The Goddess has said that, henceforth, our futures must be bound up with those of men — with the lowlander warriors and their chief, Dook Bili — are any of us to live to bear daughters and Sons.

  “Advised was I by Her that this new life, in which these men will be our equals, our war companions our lovers, will be hard of bearing . . . but in the beginning only. Attested did She that, do we but set our minds and our hands and our hearts to this new and strange life, each new day will be the more enjoyable, the more rewarding.

  “Thus spake our ancient Goddess, our Silver Lady. So who am I, who is any one of us, to doubt or to stand against the Sacred Counsel of the All-Knowing?”

  The lieutenant’s strong hilt-callused fingers
moved to trace the Sacred Moonsign, and she bowed her helmeted head in silent, humble submission to Her dictates.

  “Now, my dear sisters,” the brahbehrnuh continued, “be you selective in your choices of your new, male war-lovers, no less selective than you were in your choices of your present lovers. Choose a man you can admire and respect. Choose not for his rank but for his warrior skills, his cleanly ways, his courage.

  “The Lady would have us all choose lowlanders, not these Ahrmehnee so it matters not if your chosen man have a woman awaiting him in his home place for these strangers oft have two or more wives at once, unlike the Ahrmehnee.

  “Now, heed me, be you not too forward. Remember that this is no Moon Festival mate selection, such as was practiced in the hold, of yore; these fighters are your equals in all ways, not mere fieldworker-swivers whose only function is to quicken you for the good of the holy race.

  “But be you not too reticent, either. Let the man of your choice be assured that you would be his true and ever-constant battle companion and his lover. Let him know with certainty that your sword will ever guard his back, that you will care for him in wounds or sickness, that you will see to the decent disposition of his body should he be slain.

  “But, sisters mine, be you in no way meek; demand equal vows from him, for all here are seasoned warriors. Are we to have the continued respect of these new, male lovers, it must be by dint of mutual admiration, mutual loyalty, mutual love, and a shared pride.

  “When we return to the camp, I go to confer with Dook Bili. I will impart to him the words of the Lady and some of that which I have said here, to you. I do this so that the men may be receptive to our overtures.”

  She cupped her left hand about her pudenda and raised her right hand, making the Holy Moonsign. “Now, dear sisters, let us all pray the Lady that we all will serve Her to the very best of our abilities in these new and most strange ways.”

  * * *

  With the Maidens and the Ahrmehnee guarding the hilly perimeter, the horse herd and the camp, Bili was able to assemble every unwounded or ambulatory man of his original force of Freefighters and nobles still with him. He then led them up to that same secluded spot in which the Moon Maidens had so lately gathered.

  Smiling slightly, but still looking — and feeling — a little bemused, he motioned to them to sit or squat, as suited them, and then began to speak.

  “Noble gentlemen, Freefighter officers and troopers, I have just spoken with the brahbehrnuh of the Moon Maidens, and I have most remarkable tidings for you all. . . .”

  It was as the young thoheeks was wending his way back down the twisting vale at the head of his men that he received a faint but familiar mindspeak beaming.

  “Chief Bili of Morguhn, have you a twolegs female for me, as well?”

  “Whitetip!” Bili silently responded. “Where is my cat brother? Is Sub-chief Hari with you, or any others of my fighters?”

  Still weak but growing infinitesimally stronger as the cat apparently neared, the answer came. “No, Chief Bili, yours is the only familiar mind I have ranged. Until I did, I had feared that I and this short-ranged, near-useless female of a Confederation Army cat and these two miserable, half-broken ponies were all that had survived the ground-shakings and the fires. But how bides my chief? I long for the sight of my twolegs brother.”

  “I am well and safe, for the nonce,” beamed Bili. “But I, too, long to clap eyes upon my brother cat. I will show you where we are.” With that, he beamed his memory’s images of the areas they had traversed in escaping from the fires, then of the landmarks of the single entrance to the tortuously twisting little valley.

  “Ah, yes,” announced the prairiecat. “Whitetip and the female are west of you by nearly half a sun’s ride. But we will come, Chief Bili.”

  “Take great care, cat brother,” Bili admonished, “for this be an evil land and it harbors savage men and monsters of many sorts and, are the Ahrmehnee to be believed, maleficent witches.”

  As the men dispersed about the camp, Bili made his way back toward his own shelter; but just before he reached it, a Moon Maiden stepped from within a tiny copse to confront him, blocking his path. Full-armed she stood, with bronze helmet and cuirass of antique design, the knuckle-bowed hilt of her long saber jutting up behind her left shoulder and her heavy short sword and broad dirk belted above her slim hips a small, round targe was strapped to her left forearm, and her gauntleted right hand grasped the worn haft of a light, crescent-bladed axe. Bili could clearly see great pain in the dark eyes of the young woman.

  Speaking fast and low, she said, “Dook Bili, my name is Meeree. I am . . . was war companion to the brahbehrnuh. Seldom have ever she and I parted since mere children were we, but now our Sacred Lady deems that different things of life be. Be it so then, as She commands, no matter how strange and not natural it seems to us Moon Maidens; for we all are but clay and She is the potter.

  “But, man, warned by Meeree be you, here! My love for her dies not; until my death am I hers to bid and her honor is as mine own. Hurt or shame or forsake her ever at your peril, man-who-replaces-me-in-her-arms! Oft have my fine weapons drunk deep of man-blood and easily can they do so again.”

  Without allowing Bili to answer or respond, the full-armed young woman spun on her booted heel and stalked back into the copse and out of sight.

  A rough-barked arrangement of poles had been lashed between the boles of two trees to support Bili’s heavy warkak and other horse gear; now those sturdy poles bowed under the weight of two kaks, the new set richly embossed and adorned with silver and semiprecious stones.

  Within his shelter — slightly larger and higher than most, for Bili was a taller man than most of his followers standing more than two yards from bare sole to pate — his own armor and weapons had been rearranged to make room for another panoply; this one was similar to that worn by the woman who had just confronted him, but was far richer, He also noted that his bough bed had been enlarged and that his own scarlet saddle blanket was now partially covered by a black one, its edges all stitched with fine silver wire.

  “She brings,” thought Bili, “a considerable dowry, in any case. Not counting the stones, there’s five pounds or more of silver on her gear. And, as I recall, her big mare seems a fine, well-bred mount, fit to throw us good foals by my Mahvros.”

  The sound of footsteps on the path brought him spinning about to see the brahbehrnuh approaching, droplets of water beading her high-arched eyebrows and dangling braids of blue-black hair. From her throat to almost the ankles of her tooled boots, her body was enveloped in the rich, soft leather of her wool-lined cloak.

  When she spied him standing just inside the shelter, she seemed to waver and, recalling her recurrent bouts of weakness since she had swooned on the day of the earthquake and the rain of hot rocks. Bili stepped hurriedly from the rough hut, crossed the fire clearing in two, long strides and placed an arm about her shoulders.

  “Is my lady ill again?” he inquired solicitously, concern obvious in his voice, his powerful right arm gently supportive. “Come, let me help you to my shelter. I think there’s a little brandy left in my bottle; perhaps a sup of it will restore you.”

  And yet again the brahbehrnuh felt that unbearably pleasurable tingling surge through all of her being, that odd sensation which she never had experienced from the touch of any save the Goddess. And this man. This strange, huge, strong man. This stark warrior-man, born leader, born killer, but never less than courteous and gentle toward her and the other Moon Maidens.

  Once more the tingling suffused her. So strong was it this time that all strength departed her legs and, but for the support of his thick, hard-muscled arm, she would have collapsed onto the rocky ground. Without another word Bili thrust his left arm behind her buckling knees, bore her into the shelter and carefully lowered her onto the bough bed. Then he turned and rummaged through his gear until he found his silver flask and cup.

  After filling the cup with cold water from hi
s canteen, he trickled into it the last small measure of the strong spirit, then placed it to her lips and squatted by the bed, holding her body raised until she had downed it all. Before arising, he doffed his cloak, deftly rolled it up and placed the improvised cushion under her booted feet.

  When once more he stood, his shaven poll brushing the evergreen thatch of the roof, he said, “Stay you still there, my lady. I’ll go and fetch back one of your Moon Maidens to care for you.”

  But she stretched out a hand toward him, imploring, “No, Dook Bili, I am not ill. Please, stay and sit with me awhile.”

  Slowly, he sank back to perch on the edge of the bough bed, knowing with his fine-tuned presentiment that something momentous was looming. And when she sought out his broad, big-knuckled hand and took it into both of her own, he knew without thinking that some singular occurrence soon must be.

  Hesitantly, he thrust probingly . . . and his mind slid easily into hers. She started and gasped as if touched with a hot iron.

  “So,” he beamed silently, “you Moon Maidens are mind-speakers. Are we two to be mates, as you desire, this will make our relationship far easier and deeper, my lady. I can speak hardly any Ahrmehnee and you speak Mehrikan but ill. Do many of your race mindspeak?”

  Wonderingly she spoke aloud. “I . . . I do not know, Dook Bili. I had of course, heard that silent communication was among your folk practiced. But . . . but among my race it is . . . is a thing unheard of.”

  “No,” he mindspoke, “don’t speak with your lips, my lady. Think what you would say . . . then do this . . . so.”

  Her dark eyes widened “It . . . it is so simple. Oh, thank you, Dook Bili!” This time, her lips did not move.

  Grinning, he gently squeezed one of her hands. “The pleasure was mine own, my lady, I can but hope that my lady is as quick to learn and to master other arts, as well.”