“So, here are things as I understand them. I am a slave. Someone more powerful than me tells me to come here, go there, do this, do that. And because I am a good slave, because I do not react violently towards those more powerful than me, I am rewarded. I am given food, a home, horses, guns, drink and tobacco, other slaves that I can be master of, women that I can do whatever I want with, even time to myself that I can use to think and enjoy various pursuits... and the same applies to all of you. If I lashed out at my master, I would become a hunted creature, a criminal with no friends to trust, nothing to eat, nowhere to sleep - no longer a human being, but an object marked for death.
“This is life. And it is not just so in the civilized world; every animal in the world has another animal that it fears, and another animal that it commands and can destroy. Only the demon sits at the top of the pyramid, and destroys but cannot be destroyed. But since he is a god, he is above criticism.
“But I know what you’re thinking. You think that I am trying to fool you into giving up, that I’m trying to sugarcoat the fact that you have been enslaved. Well, let me now speak to you of your former situation, the “freedom” that I have taken you from, and we shall see who is trying to fool who.
“How you miss your home! Waking to the sound of birds singing, cooking bread with the grain you picked yourself, singing the songs of your forefathers, making love to that special cousin, praying to the spirits of your ancestors... and sacrificing a few unlucky members to the demon, if he should find you out.
“Do you think I don’t know about your rituals? I’ve seen how you sacrifice the strongest men, the most beautiful women, the most intelligent souls. I’ve seen how you spy on one another, how you gossip and pick who will live and who will die. And then your leaders crawl to the gods in their caves, they grovel on their bellies and beg and plead. And then a few disappear, while the majority is spared. You call that freedom?
“I know you tell stories to your children about the ‘bad men’ who live behind city walls. I know you fear civilization. You cover your children to protect them from my men, but you can’t protect them from winter, from disease, from the spears of rival tribes, can you? Demons come to you and take your children by force or by negotiation… and you don’t have the tools to produce the guns you’d need to repel them, do you?
“Freedom has its price, doesn’t it? You pay for it and you pay for it, but you never really get what you wanted, do you? All you’ve done is run away from reality. By refusing to be responsible adults and work within civilized society, you’ve truly chosen to be slaves to the forces of nature.
“In the years to come, if you’re smart and play by the rules, you’ll see the true irony of your situation. You see, now that you are “slaves” in the common sense of the word, you will enjoy more freedom from worry than you ever knew in your former life. Your master will be the true puppet, spending his time worrying about your comfort, your needs, and all you have to do is obey his word. And, if you like, you can gain authority, responsibility, freedom and slaves of your own. Then you will have earned the right to worry, and worry as much as you want, about finances and other pedestrian nonsense.
“Also, there is the demon to consider. How you people can live among predators and pander to their needs is beyond me. The demon does not come into civilization. As long as we stick together, and show that we have guns - but do not use them - then, nine times out of ten, the demon leaves us alone. Can you say the same? Or do you have to teach your children how to hide when they hear the beating of wings, the sound of movement in the dark, whispered promises from dark caves spoken by inhuman mouths? Do you have to teach your children to wear a social mask of simplicity, imbecility, and ugliness, so that others will not notice them and suggest their name when it comes time to sacrifice?
“That is not our way. Powerful men live behind strong city walls, and they have armed men at their side, and they do not travel in small, vulnerable groups. Your master will protect you from the flesh demons, as well as from starvation, frostbite, sunburn, disease, and so on. Your master will care for you as he would any of his personal belongings. You cannot say the same of Mother Nature! Indeed, you should make the interests of your master your own, for without his protection, what are you?
“You are what you have been until now: A plaything that lives at the whims of an uncaring universe. You cannot fight the entire world, my friends. You cannot fight the world.
“My younger brother and I were smarter than that, and I thank my mother for giving us counsel similar to that which I give you. My brother and I kept silent. We kept our heads down and did what powerful men wanted us to do. We worked, and worked hard. A simple accountant took over the leadership of my father’s organization. A man with no vision, a calculating, cold, reserved schemer. We sat on his knee and learned how the system works, and because of that, we are alive today. No, not just alive - because we learned, and did not rebel, because we worked within the system and did not dig our own graves, we became masters of slaves. My younger brother, Boris, who is called the Living Scar, became leader of the Ugly... and as for me, I became leader of the Right Arm of the Ugly, and have more guns at my beck and call than any man can ever destroy.”
Barkus finished his speech. His smile never wavered. A wind picked up, and his long cloak flew around him. He nudged his horse, turned, and rode. The other riders kicked their horses and followed him into the darkness far away, echoing like dying thunder. The slaves looked about lamely, their jaws slack. The Ugly that ringed them smoked and seemed lost in thought. The slaves remained silent, fearful of the mood of their captors. When the ring of Ugly finally moved about and spoke to one another, the slaves did the same. Wodan listened while Agmar spoke with another.
“The thing is,” said Agmar, “what he said is essentially true. Clever for him to say, you know? I hate to admit it, but that seems to be the reality of the situation.”
“So you think it’s best to go along?” said the other.
“I don’t see what else we can do,” said Agmar.
The young man with dark hair was near them, and said, “We outnumber them, old man.”
“Let’s just say that their guns outnumber our guns,” said Agmar, opening his empty hands.
Several slaves nodded slowly, their heads drooping.
“Then again,” said Wodan, “what he said is true... but only to a certain point.”
The slaves turned to him, some hopeful, others irritated.
“What do you mean?” said Agmar.
“Barkus said that, within the system, you have to live like a slave or not live at all,” said Wodan. “But he made the assumption that human systems are the same everywhere.”
“You’re saying he was wrong?” said Agmar. “I don’t like it any more than you, son. But where exactly did he speak untruthfully?”
“Even if a person gives you a premise, or two premises, or even ten, they can all be true without any logical flaws in them, but his conclusion can still be wrong.”
The dark-haired young man said, “Huh?”
“It’s because all of his premises come from a certain mindset,” said Wodan. “His mindset, you could say, is his first premise. He’s been to the cities around here, seen how things worked, learned how to con people and get his way by watching some other goons do it and get ahead, and then he made the conclusion that the he understood how the entire world works because he’s seen a few parts of it. But he hasn’t seen my home.”
“Your home?” said Agmar. “And where is that?”
“Compared to this place, it’s a paradise,” said Wodan. He became aware that many eyes were on him. “It’s far north of here.”
“Sunport?” said one man.
“Farther north, across the sea. We live on a rocky island.”
“Life there can’t be that good,” said Agmar. “Anyone who lives near demons has to-”
“There are no demons where I come from,” said Wodan. “No demons and no slavers.�
� Now every slave in the area was watching him and listening, and he said, “We have all the good of civilization and little of the bad. We have food, medicine, education. In fact, every child is educated and taken care of, and every adult has a chance to make something of him or herself!”
“Aah!” said someone. “You’re making this up.”
“Do I look like I come from this area?” Wodan said loudly. At some strange impulse, he lifted his pale arm high into the air. It was evident that he did not come from the mountains or from Pontius.
The slaves began speaking excitedly among themselves. “Quiet, quiet!” said Agmar. “We don’t need any attention! We can’t risk being noticed… for now, at least.”
“Fine,” said Wodan. “But my point is that Barkus is trying to con us with reasonable words. He’s trying to scare us into buying into his version of the world. Where I come from, people like him have no power. I tell you, there is another, better world, and-”
“Do you come from heaven?” a girl near him said.
“No!” said Wodan, and Agmar quieted him again. “No,” he whispered harshly, “I’m flesh and blood, just like you, and the people of my land are flesh and blood, too. There is a better world here on earth. And we could get there, if we wanted.”
“I want to go there!” said the girl. Wodan looked at her. She was younger than he, plump, with tanned skin and auburn hair around a wide face and slightly crooked teeth. She was pretty, and Wodan knew that in time the wasteland would drain out and suck dry everything that was good in her.
“I mean to get back there,” said Wodan. “I didn’t fight demons and lose all my friends just so I could become a slave. What’s your name?”
“I’m Rachek,” said the girl, smiling. Then a shadow passed over her face, and she said, “But you’re so young. Can you really… I mean, is it possible to…”
“Aye, young!” said someone further away. “Brash, stupid, like a kid. We’ve got to… look, we can’t just…”
The dark-haired young man finally spoke up, shaking with rage. “Shut up back there! I ain’t no bitch, and never gonna be! This little guy might not look like much, but anyone who says anything against him...” He flexed the huge biceps on his arms, and said, “They get these cannons fired in their face!”
Several people laughed, including Wodan. Agmar looked down, then said, “Okay. They’ll have us moving early tomorrow. Let’s keep our eyes open, and see if we can-”
“We should jump ’em now,” said the young man.
“Brad, we’d just get slaughtered,” said Agmar. “We have to wait and watch. Watch for opportunities.”
“Why wait?” said Brad.
“Because I’ve been all over and, believe me, you can’t understand this world when you’re fifteen years old. I’ve seen violence done well, and I’ve seen it fouled up from the start by losing your head and not having a plan.”
“But-”
“I have to agree,” said Wodan, clapping a hand on Agmar’s back. “We wait. Let’s get an idea of what we’re up against.”
Brad fumed in silence for a moment, then nodded.
The slaves talked long into night. Rachek and Brad stayed near Wodan, huddling against the cold. Agmar debated with others but kept an eye on Wodan. He was impressed that the boy had turned what could have been the longest night that any of them had ever faced into something with a glimmer of hope in it. But he also knew what drove men, and he knew that their nightmare would not end when morning came. It would begin.
Chapter Fifteen
Scar of the Ugly
In the icy hills of the holy land, his guide led him to the House of Ages. The door opened before him. “Come and see,” said the guide.
He entered and saw a man holding a jar of water over a wide basin. The man looked up and said, “The jar is empty. Go into the next room.” Before he had a chance to ask the man about a time when the jar was full of water, he found himself in another room. He did not remember passing any threshold.
The dingy, dark room was flooded with salty water up to his ankles. A hideous monster shaped almost like a round cage, with twisted bars of pale flesh, dominated the room. Its long limbs were filled with eyes and he could almost make out a head near the ceiling. The guide prompted him and he tore his eyes away from the beast. He saw men sitting in the corners and along the walls, hunched up with little room to sit because of the size of the beast. In one corner he saw a man of Haven sitting in the water with his face in a book. In a nearby corner sat four men of Pontius. Each held a gun to one another’s head.
“The four gangs,” said the guide. “The Ugly, their hated foe the Law, their hated foe the Coil, and their hated foe the Smiths. Such a delicate balance! They’ve held their guns so long that some of them do not even remember if they loaded them with ammunition.”
He looked about the room again. He saw a man of Hargis organizing his affairs. He saw a man of Sunport looking about at the others, sure that an attack would come from another human at any moment. He saw a man of Greeley in the distance but it was difficult to make him out. On the very furthest edge of the room he could just barely see, through the bars of the demon’s flesh, many men of San Ktari wrestling with several other men. The men of San Ktari were strange and foreign looking, but numerous.
“There’s so many of them!” he said to the guide. “Why don’t they turn on the monster and clean this room up?”
He turned and saw the guide pointing upwards. He looked at the beast once again and saw that its head bore a great crown of horns.
“This is the Age of Capricorn,” said the guide, “and the one who bears the crown numbers the days.”
“Could anyone take that crown?” he asked.
“Anyone,” said the guide.
He decided he would climb the monstrous, living cage and take the crown and make the room a decent place for everyone. He made as if to climb, then noticed that the monster’s limbs were slimy and covered with sharp thorns.
“Anyone,” said the guide. “But only with great difficulty.”
“Get up, pups! Get up, fools! Wake up, get up, on your feet!”
The dream slipped away and Wodan saw the Ugly walking among them, sticks and whips swinging and smacking flesh. The slaves rose awkwardly, eyes bleary, heads hunched into shoulders. The sun was only a faint glimmering in distant blue. Agmar shook people awake. Wodan exchanged glances with Rachek and Brad, then they stood together.
Voices called out the names of girls. There was confusion. Raiders shot their guns into the air, said, “Walk! Walk! Follow the riders!” and they walked. They heard wailing in the distance. Through fragments of conversation that spread through the crowd, they heard talk of young girls that had disappeared, daughters that had slept beside their mothers and fathers but had not woken with them. Some of the raiders, too, were gone. The unlucky mothers and fathers wailed or walked with dead faces like masks, and with each step across the dead earth they realized more and more what it was to be a slave.
There were sixty or seventy Ugly raiders altogether, and none of them walked. Each had a horse of his own. A large truck trudged through the sand some distance away, a diesel burning engine that spewed black into the air. Since none of the horses were burdened by supplies of any kind, the slaves looked at the truck and hoped that it had some food and water that would be given to them. The raiders hemmed them in on all sides and herded them like cattle. The raiders smoked and passed bottles back and forth to one another, then threw the empty bottles into the mass of slaves. They often showed jewelry or bits of food to any women who wandered near, laughing and boasting to one another. Fathers and brothers hated the Ugly for what they were doing, but they also came to resent the women for drawing attention.
It was the advance guard, the elite among the Ugly, that Wodan feared most. These black-caped riders often rode ahead, perched on hills and scanned the distance with binoculars, and called out to one another on hand-held radios in a strange, short-hand tongue. Wodan k
new they were looking for demons or for others too close to their kind to be trusted. These men did not drink all day long as the men who guarded the slaves. Wodan feared them the most because when he caught glimpses of their faces, he saw nothing but ice behind their eyes.
Always the slaves were prodded from behind and watched from the sides. Even though the press of one’s neighbors was unbearable, Wodan, Brad, Rachek, and Agmar stayed close to one another. As the hours dragged on and the heat of the blinding sun melted their awareness, speech became impossible. Sometimes they held hands in order to stay near one another, and this was communication enough.
Because of the press of flesh and heat, the only relief anyone could find was to press ahead to the front. There, Wodan saw the wasteland. He had thought that it would be an endless stretch of sand. It was not. The land was hard and cracked in places, a checkerboard of red dust. Ornate hills carved by the eternal wind divided the horizon. Scrub brush choked the earth; the Ugly took no care to avoid anything, so many times the mass simply plowed over dry bushes and thorns and steep, empty creek beds, protesting all the while. It took great endurance to remain at the front, and the herd eventually swallowed any who led.
The muscles in Wodan’s legs were worn raw, the nerves ground into pulp. He did not want to disappoint his new friends, so he did not complain, and neither did they. He often wondered if he would feel a tap at his shoulder, then see Marlon ready with a plan of escape. As the hours dragged on, the oppressive heat and hard-baked earth beat this hope out of him.
The skies darkened and turned cold. The moon was full and frozen high overhead. They came to a wide, sandy plain. Riders cried ahead of them, then the truck honked its horn. The riders around the slaves cried, “Stop! Stop! Lie down!” and for a minute there was gossip that a demon lay ahead of them. But the Ugly shot their guns in the air, cried, “Lie down! Sleep! Sleep!” and so the slaves stopped, bumped into one another, then sat in the hard sand.
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