Future Indefinite

by Dave Duncan

  “You are certainly beautiful enough to be the child of a god. You sing for a living?”

  “Yes, Lord.”

  “Where?”

  “Oh, all over the place. I have performed in many of the Vales and at many places here in Jurg.” That was all true. The Trong Troupe had traveled. Tigurb’l often arranged for her to perform in private houses.

  “Fascinating!” the god said softly. “And you mentioned the Liberator! Are you the Eleal named in the Filoby Testament?”

  “Yes, Lord.”

  “Father?”

  “Yes…Father.” She glanced sideways.

  He raised dark eyebrows and waited. He was smiling, but his amusement held none of the mockery the priest’s had. He was taking her concern seriously.

  Talk…“I did what was prophesied. When the Liberator came, I tended him, washed him. He fell very sick, and I nursed him. I did everything I was supposed to, Father!”

  Ken’th frowned. “You know, I find I dislike that title? I have no experience at being a father, Eleal. That’s not my job. For that you need Visek.”

  “Of course, Lord!”

  “I am god of virility,” he said apologetically. “I do have duties. If I tried to keep track of all the bastards I have fathered in the last few hundred years, I would have no time for anything else. You do understand?”

  “Yes, of course, Lord!”

  “Call me Ken’th.”

  She hesitated, appalled.

  “Go on!” he said, teasing. “You wanted me in the flesh. You have me in the flesh, so call me Ken’th!”

  “Yes, Ken’th.”

  “That’s better.”

  For a moment he just smiled at her. She smiled back with mounting confidence. He was handsome, now she saw him close—handsome and attractive. His face did not at all resemble the face on the statue. Not arrogant, not callous, but kind and trustworthy and sympathetic.

  “How old are you?”

  “Seventeen…Ken’th.”

  “So when the Liberator came you were only a child. He was not a baby, of course, although the text implied he would be. How old was he?”

  “Eighteen, he told me.”

  “Lovers?”

  “Oh no! Of course not!”

  The god’s arm tightened around her. “And what did you want to tell me about him?”

  This was where matters might become just a trifle delicate. Her heart began to speed up again. “He’s reported to be up in Joalvale.”

  “That’s the story that’s going around, yes.”

  She drew a few long breaths, as she did just before starting to sing an especially difficult song. “I thought…perhaps…I wondered if you might want to get in touch with him. If you do, I could identify him for you…if you wish….” Of course it was Zath who would be interested in catching the Liberator, but Zath was Karzon and Karzon was Ken’th, although she couldn’t in any way relate this chunky, likable young man to the dread god of death.

  “An interesting offer!” the god said thoughtfully. “What is wrong with your leg?”

  Normally she was furious if anyone mentioned her impairment, but this was her father, so his interest was excusable. “One’s shorter than the other.” She raised her leg so he could see the thick sole on her boot. “I fell out a window when I was a baby.”

  “It does not hinder your ability to perform?”

  “Not—Well, yes, of course it does! My ambition has always been to be an actor, but I can’t clump around a stage like this! I would not be allowed to enter the Tion Festival!” There, she had told him!

  And Ken’th murmured sympathetically. He understood! “Let’s hear you sing. Sing for me—nothing elaborate, something simple. Something unusual.” He took his arm away and reached over the back of the couch to produce a lute. He strummed expertly; it was in perfect tune. “What’ll it be?”

  She had not expected this! To sing for a god! She racked her brains. “‘Woeful Maiden’?”

  He smiled and played a verse, although it was an obscure song, one that not many people would know. He was much better than Potstit had ever been. “Higher? Lower?”

  “No, no, that’s just right!” Daringly, she added, “You play divinely!”

  He laughed. “Well, of course!” He began the introduction.

  She sang the first verse, but then he stopped and put the lute away.

  “Just what I expected. Your voice is reedy, your timing eccentric. You put terrific feeling into the words and get by on drama, but you wouldn’t be admitted to the Tion Festival in a thousand years.”

  “Lord! I mean Father…”

  He swept her into his arms and squeezed her tightly. He kissed the tip of her nose playfully. “You must be very hot in that dress?”

  “I’m your daughter!”

  His eyes gleamed in a look she. knew well. “And I’m a god! Gods do not have to obey petty little rules!”

  Then he kissed her lips.

  It was not an especially long kiss. It did not have to be. When he had done she leaned back and gaped at him. She was limp. No man had ever kissed her like that.

  He chuckled with satisfaction. “Now, Eleal Singer, let’s have the truth. Not just what you want to believe is the truth, but the real truth. Where do you sing?”

  She clenched her teeth. And her fists. But the god was waiting, regarding her with big brown eyes. “Well, several places. I mean…sometimes…well, Cherry Blossom House.”

  “So you are a whore!”

  “Certainly not!”

  He raised his eyebrows. “My, you are a determined little prickleback, aren’t you? We’ll try some more, then.”

  He was firm; he did not hurt her, but her struggles were useless against his strength. His lips pressed on hers, his hand stroked her breast—the dress was down around her waist, although she did not know how that had happened. Tingles rippled through her, from her scalp to her toes. She was melting and struck by lightning, both at the same time. Excitement surged through her in fiery waves. No man had ever taken over her body like this, nothing like this had ever happened to her before, she was floating away in clouds of pink fog—but then he stopped.

  “Oh, Ken’th, Ken’th…Darling…” She reached down to remove the dress completely.

  He took her hands between his and clasped them. “The real truth now!”

  She heard her own voice from far away. “Yes, darling. Yes, I’m a whore. After I sing, Tigurb’l sends men back to my dressing room. I bring in three times what anyone else does, he says. Sometimes he sends me to perform in private houses…just for men, of course. I don’t want to do these things, but there’s no other work for a crippled singer. I was so hungry! Kiss me again, please.”

  He uttered that surprising chuckle again. “You don’t shock me, Eleal. Did you think I would disapprove? You are doing what women should do—aiding men in the performance of my sacrament. And the Liberator?”

  One of her hands broke free and began to unbutton his shirt. “I don’t care much about him,” her voice said. “He was supposed to go to Tion’s temple. This was in Sussvale, where the Youth is patron. The priests commanded that D’ward—that’s the Liberator’s name, D’ward—that D’ward come to the temple, and Kirthien Archpriest said I had done well and Holy Tion would heal my leg, but the Liberator just ran away. He disappeared! So my leg didn’t get cured…” The memory of that awful injustice flickered faintly through the pink fog. Coward! Ingrate! “He ran away! He betrayed me. I want…. You’re my father. When I learned that, when we came back to Jurg, I came and prayed to you, here in the temple. Until a priest found me and said I was a dirty little girl and threw me out!”

  “I didn’t hear you,” Ken’th said grumpily. “I may have been away. Or busy.”

  “Well, this morning I decided you might hear me if I mentioned the Liberator. And if I brought a big offering.” She hoped she could stop talking now and he would kiss her again. She had his shirt open and could run her fingers through the manly thatch
on his chest.

  “You want revenge on the Liberator…. No, mostly you hope to bribe me to heal your leg.”

  “No, no, no! I just want to help you, because you’re my—I want to help you!” She tugged one-handed at the big gold buckle of his belt.

  Ken’th was frowning, though. “I could cure you, of course, but I’m god of lust, not god of healing. That’s one of Tion’s attributes. I suppose I could claim that repairing a harlot was within my field, because he certainly plays around in my garden when he’s in the mood. Damn you, you little shrew-cat, you’ve put me in a confounded mess!”

  Eleal choked. “M-mess?”

  “Mess. If Zath ever finds out I had a lead like you and didn’t follow it up…Never mind. You can’t understand.”

  Why did he speak of Zath as if he were someone completely different, not just another aspect? She had thrown away her savings, angered a god, probably angered Tigurb’l Tavernkeeper, too, because she was going to be late—and she still had to get out of River Street without being raped. But at the moment none of those things mattered. “Kiss me again. Please!”

  “No. I need you with some wits about you. Here’s what you’re going to do, Eleal Singer. You’re going to go and find this D’ward Liberator, you hear? You’re to go up to him and put a hand—”

  Black panic cut through the pink fog like a sword blade.

  “No, no!” She writhed and struggled. “You’re not to turn me into a reaper!” A reaper like Dolm Actor, with all those horrible rituals he had known—to slay people with a touch, to walk through locked doors, even to summon Zath himself…

  “By the Five, you do have resistance, don’t you? Tough as marble!”

  “Not a reaper! I won’t, I won’t!”

  “I couldn’t make you a reaper. That’s Zath’s speciality. But I have a trick or two of my own. Don’t I?” Ken’th smiled and removed her hand from his belt. He spread her arms wide and leaned on her, bringing his lips to hers again.

  The world danced for her. She soared into heavens of delight. She melted. But it was all too short, only seconds. When he pulled back from her, she could see his big brown eyes appraising her calmly. She was gasping for breath, soaked all over, quivering violently. More, more!

  “Now, Eleal Singer. I shall give you money and have the priests escort you safely back to the whorehouse. Tomorrow you will go and find the Liberator. Get very close to him, touching him. In his bed would be best, but a hand on his arm will do. Then you will sing that song you sang for me. You must never sing it again until you are touching D’ward, you understand? And when you come back, I shall heal your leg for you. I’ll find you a nice rich husband—rich, anyway, the two together are rare.”

  He released her hands, which immediately reached for her bundled dress, to push it off her completely.

  He chuckled. “No! Put it on again. Do as I say, and I’ll give you what you want when you come back. Truly, I look forward to it! But now you will leave here at once and you will not remember this conversation. When the priests deliver you to your door, you will forget ever coming here. But tomorrow you will do as I have told you.”

  11

  Dosh knew most of the official passes in the Vales and a few unofficial ones also—the secret “back doors” patronized by smugglers and Tinkerfolk, who were frequently the same people. Although he had not crossed Ragpass in years and had only vague memories of it, he remembered it as soon as he saw it. The Nosokvale end, he now recalled, was quite gentle, but the Joalvale side angled up a sheer cliff. In many places the trail had been notched into the buff-colored rock like a half tunnel, and those artificial parts were too narrow to let two men pass. The natural ledges were mostly wider but often canted unpleasantly toward the scenery. The only good thing to be said about the ascent was that it zigged and zagged so much that anyone who blew off could have some hope of flattening a fellow traveler or two as he bounced his way down.

  Convinced now that his continued survival depended on leaving Joalvale with haste and as few witnesses as possible, Dosh had not paused to talk with any more natives. His Tinkerfolk childhood had given him skill in tracking, but any fool could have read the footprints in the dust, and they would have been erased by the wind if the Liberator and his gang were more than a few hours ahead of him. When he drew near the base of the cliff, he could see small groups of people like mites, trailing upward, far above him. In the warm glow of a setting sun, he proceeded to ride his moa up the nightmare.

  The first third or so went comparatively easily. All he need do was urge his mount on and resist a temptation to close his eyes. Being suspended seven feet above the path was much worse than having one’s own feet on it, and he had to curl into a knot at the overhangs, but at least he need not exert himself. Joalflat began to expand below him like a painting. He caught up with some of the stragglers and passed them. They were mostly old folk or families with children—not the normal run of travelers at all—so he assumed that they were the tag end of D’ward’s army. He did not stop to speak with them, merely shouting at them to stand aside and let him pass.

  The moa repeatedly battered his knees and ankles against the rock. As he drew higher, the wind flapped at his clothes and ruffled his curls.

  The rule of thumb in moary was that moas would go no higher than the tree line. Swift must have read the rule book, because she suddenly concluded that the total absence of trees hereabout meant that she was excused from further effort. She stopped dead and tried to bite him.

  Dosh kicked hard, winning another few minutes’ progress. Then Swift stopped again. Wishing he had thought to wear spurs, he pulled out his dagger and gave the brute a jab in the shoulder. The result was a hair-raising tantrum of leaping and bucking, followed by a serious effort to run back down to Joalvale. Pebbles flew over the edge and rattled away into space. Dosh wrestled the beast around and jabbed again. Swift took off like a Nagian warrior’s spear. Warned by his yells, other travelers cleared the way, and he went by them in a blur.

  It could not last, of course. Eventually they reached an impasse. Swift absolutely refused to budge any farther. Concluding that more jabbing would merely exacerbate her already vicious temper, Dosh dismounted.

  Moas could be led, in which case they tended to bite. Their teeth were blunt and rarely drew blood but could certainly hurt. Moas might also be driven, in which case they would kick with their sharp hooves. Dosh elected to drive, untying the reins and using the thong as a tether. As he had hoped, Swift was too winded and too unsure of the footing to do much serious kicking. They proceeded up the hill at a reasonable pace.

  The sun was drawing unpleasantly close to the horizon. Joalflat stretched out to infinity, vanishing into haze to the west. Moa or not, Dosh was determined to reach the top of this accursed ascent before dark.

  He passed a few more of the Liberator’s rabble, which was a fair description of them. A majority seemed to be women, and none of them looked prosperous. Obviously no one with a good living would throw it up to follow the Liberator, although why anyone at all should want to follow the Liberator just because he was the Liberator escaped Dosh completely. D’ward had been a superlative leader when he was battlemaster of the combined Joalian and Nagian armies, but these derelicts were no army. And who was the enemy? Zath? That seemed like a war to avoid at all costs. Dosh wished wholeheartedly that he had washed his hands of the Liberator and headed west to Fithvale.

  As the sun swelled to a scarlet cushion on the skyline, he reached the top of the ascent. Suddenly there was no more cliff above him, only trees and two great peaks flanking the pass. A gale was howling through the gap. As far as he could recall, though, from here the road wound gently downward all the way to Nosokflat.

  “There, you brute!” he told the moa. “Trees! You’re back on duty.”

  She kicked at him and he dodged.

  He paused to catch his breath and look back, letting his sweat cool. Half of Joalvale was visible, its shadowed landscape a tapestry of green and
gold fields, woodlands, blue waters. The rivers were silver ribbons, the roads red threads. If the light were better, he would probably see Joal itself.

  He saw dust. Something was raising a smudge of dust on the road he had come. It might just be a caravan of wagons, but his instinct for self-preservation told him not to bet on that. Far more likely it was a troop of Joalian cavalry. They probably would not attempt the ascent in the dark—he hoped. They might not be after him or the Liberator.

  Pig puke! His lifelong motto had always been to assume the worst, and it had never failed him yet. He should have heeded it sooner.

  The sky was cloudless. Trumb had risen, almost full, and could be counted on to bathe the world in bright green light until dawn. Dosh turned to give battle with the moa. “You,” he said grimly, “are going to ran as you have never run before.”

  Swift expertly kicked him on the shin, hurling him to the dirt, and then landed another kick on his ribs as he rolled away. Fortunately it broke no bones and he did not let go of the tether.

  Who owned a pass was a question that had started many a war, but the ultimate answer depended on the relative strengths of the parties involved. When the neighboring states were Joalia and Nosokia, there was no argument. The Nosokian rulers were Joalian puppets and would not talk crossly to Joalian troopers if they pursued a fugitive into Nosok itself and hacked him to bits on the main street. When the fugitive spoke no Nosokian and knew of no back doors out of Nosokvale, his only option was to head east as fast as possible. If he could reach Rinoovale, he would be into Niolia’s sphere of interest, safely out of Joaldom.

  All four moons graced the night. Although Kirb’l, Ysh, and Eltiana combined could not match the green glare of Trumb, they did help lighten the shadows, and Dosh rode swiftly along the valley. Mainly the track clung to the banks of a chattery stream, avoiding the head-smashing branches of the forest. He passed more of the Liberator’s followers. If the Jilvenby peasant’s numbers had been anywhere near correct, there could not be many more of them ahead.