Goddesses Never Die

by George B Mair

  ‘Then your religious wars also killed a lot of people,’ he continued slowly. ‘And I’ve read that some martyrs in the West would thrust a hand into the flames believing that the agony would block off other sensations while the rest of their body roasted and so protect them from things which were even worse.’

  Grant risked a boast. ‘Charlie’s bluffing. He wouldn’t dare kill us because somebody would tell, and then one of our people would get the same little Charlie and hang him from his neck till he was very very dead. If they didn’t take the law into their own hands,’ he continued, ‘and bump him privately. We’ve all enough friends outside for some of them to get back to base. And most of them know how to make evidence stick.’

  Harmony relaxed when Lu’s hand used the traditional winding movements of a radio or telly producer to show that the thing had come to an end. Whatever noise he had heard was now fading. And then, as his hand stopped moving, they both knew that it had gone. ‘Charlie doesn’t bluff,’ she said curtly. ‘But I don’t want to make a fool of ourselves. After all, we do represent something. The West isn’t all that bad. And if we must die I want to do so with dignity.’ She paused and added slowly, ‘But I’m frightened, David. I’m scared.’

  Grant turned away from the thin slit through which he had been staring for what seemed like hours. The vast square outside was still almost deserted except for occasional groups of locals squatting on the dust and gossiping, or for the occasional animal lurching from a place in the sun to the welcome coolness of shade inside a doorway. And then, as Lu once more lifted his hand, Grant returned to his vantage point and saw Charlie striding towards them. A boy trotted along behind with a tray but Charlie himself was carrying the samovar. It was almost too good to be true! For at least one immeasurably valuable second he would be handicapped by a clumsy apparatus, by something which he couldn’t even use as a weapon, and he raised his hand as a signal. Charlie was within a yard of the patio door when he dropped it and all three prepared for action.

  But this time it was Grant who got in first, and as Charlie stepped in he seized a handful of castor sugar from their basin and threw it into the man’s eyes. Charlie fumbled blindly as he dropped the samovar, and tea with water splashed on the ground, while Lu, in the same few fragments of time, had thrown a small tray cloth over the young bearer’s head and tied the corners firmly behind his neck. ‘Not a movement,’ said Lu in dialect. ‘Very quiet, my son, and there will be no trouble. Sit down here.’ And while he placed the boy on the lowest of the carved stone seats, which an hour or so earlier had been occupied by Lofty, Grant fixed Charlie in a full Nelson and Harmony grabbed his crutch in a double-handed grip which made him yelp with pain. The girl then deliberately rotated her hands, and as the man flexed in agony she struck him cleanly across the front of the neck with her right. He gasped for breath and as his body suddenly went limp Grant changed his grip, threw him to the ground and covered the tiny microphone with a strip torn from Harmony’s gown while the girl bound his wrists with the golden snake cord from around her waist.

  Everything was now moving with precision, but Grant relaxed only when he had double-checked on the knots, anchored Charlie’s legs below knee with still another strip of brocade from Harmony’s gown, and ended by gagging him with a sock pulled from Lu’s right foot while the Mongol watched with approval. It was the sort of subtle insult which made Charlie lose more face than almost anything Grant could have thought up with the few things at their disposal.

  Harmony stared at her ragged clothes and then grinned with satisfaction. ‘Maybe if we two ever did have a kid it would be a real tough babe one day.’

  The comment was so surprising, under the circumstances, that Grant reacted unexpectedly as a thought crossed his mind. ‘So there could be a chance,’ he said flatly.

  The girl glanced at him with a bizzare, clinical sort of satisfaction which Grant had never before experienced. ‘Sure,’ she said at last. ‘There could be because when I decide to try something I try properly. Or hadn’t you figured that yet? I try to do everything right. And we were “right”. The time was okay. The play went right. The climax to everything was fabulissimus and there was a Mother Goddess praying outside—or near enough outside—so what more could a girl want?’

  Grant felt unexpectedly excited. The idea of a child had never crossed his mind. But now it filled him with a protective affection which seemed, suddenly, to give him strength as he appreciated in one swift thought all that still lay ahead of them: the disposal of Charlie, escape through several thousand people among whom they stuck out like sore thumbs: the need which had brought them to the place in the first instance, that overriding duty to destroy a cache of drugs and find a list of Mafia-trained recruits who might still menace the world. And finally a trip over snow mountains in a chopper with which he was far from familiar. Yet one part of his mind refused to stop thinking about the impossible. ‘You’re not kidding?’ he said at last. ‘You weren’t using pills or something?’

  The girl shook her head and he saw that she was flushed with some deep emotion. ‘There was nothing,’ she said at last. ‘Just we two, so all we now need is a little bit of luck.’

  That was all Grant wanted to know. Women were unpredictable creatures, and he had never been sure of any of them when it came to the pinch, though now that he thought of it he had always been content to live, love and laugh and risk the consequences. Yet now he wanted complications and the idea was so breath-taking that it took a little time to get used to. Everything in his life now seemed to focus on one deep-seated lust: to finish the job and organise their get-away, with signal ‘Mission accomplished’ ready to be broadcast from the first sending station known to either Harmony or Lu.

  But first came the disposal of Charlie. And more particularly the need to estimate his local support, because for sure it was certain that Charlie was too important and disciplined an agent to be let loose without cover. Grant knelt down and studied him thoughtfully. His eyes were streaming tears and crystals of powder still clung to his face. But he was now conscious and his expression had blacked out into a frozen neutrality which baffled interpretation. ‘I’m taking out the gag,’ said Grant quietly, ‘but remember that I can be as ruthless as yourself, and the way you destroyed that Australian was an object lesson I’ll never forget. But this time you may be at the receiving end if you stray off line. Got me?’

  The man nodded curtly, but as Grant eased out the gag he bit him to bone across one knuckle. It was a savage, animal-like attack which almost cost him his life when Harmony lifted her stabbing knife, and only a command from Lu snapped her to attention. ‘Not yet, Miss Dove. Let the doctor carry on.’

  ‘Every dog has one bite,’ said Grant thickly. ‘Now you’ve had yours. So start answering questions. How many men have you got outside?’

  Charlie smiled. ‘And you could prove nothing whether I said one or five thousand. You can’t know till things work out for themselves and you learn the hard way.’ He paused. ‘I’m even surprised that a man of your intelligence asked. If all running-dog barbarians are like you the East shouldn’t have much to fear.’

  Grant ignored him as another thought crossed his mind. ‘And the old woman is really dead?’

  ‘I told you so, didn’t I?’ said Charlie.

  ‘Then take us to her body,’ said Grant, and heaved Charlie to his feet with a jerk which wrenched his shoulder while Harmony slit the ties around his feet and legs with the knife which she was now nursing in her right hand. He then spun the younger man round till he pointed towards the door and smiled with satisfaction when Harmony fell in behind and he saw the point of her knife rest close to Charlie’s left lower ribs. ‘Just play it cool,’ he said softly. ‘But if anything breaks you die at the same time. So control any of your men who show signs of stepping out of line.’

  The square was filling up again after a long luncheon break, but Grant angled across it towards the flight of white marble steps which led to the series of rooms a
nd temples which had been the Goddess’s H.Q. He was mounting the last and about to enter the foyer when Mehmet Ali suddenly barred the way and Grant with Lu and Harmony each felt the kiss of cold steel on their necks as the Turk snapped out an order. ‘Stop. Immediate.’ Harmony’s arm was thrusting forwards even as he spoke, but she dropped both hands to her sides when she heard the ring in Mehmet’s voice. Everyone knew that it meant business. The blade scratched only the back of Charlie’s neck and in the same second another of Mehmet’s men pulled Charlie to his knees in front of the Turk while another two snapped handcuffs round wrists and ankles. The whole play was over in probably less than four seconds and even Lu knew that few people could have moved with greater speed than the little group of hillmen who now turned to the Turk for further orders. ‘Now follow me,’ he said, ‘and forgive if I sounded vicious, but I wanted this man for myself.’ He glanced towards Charlie and Grant guessed that the end would be soon. There was an efficiency about Mehmet which appealed to him and he expected minimal explanations.

  The Turk paused only to open the door to a room which Grant remembered as a sort of reception chamber and saw Charlie flinch when he recognised the old woman who now sat on a high throne in full regalia of purple and gold, with a slender crown on her head and carrying an ancient Egyptian symbol of divinity.

  She spoke at first in what even Grant recognised as Chinese but switched to English after a few sentences. ‘I was simply telling him that goddesses never die,’ she said. And then she turned to Mehmet. ‘I have been told that he meant to burn you alive. And I’ve been told how he killed that Australian who was so useful to me. I also know that the idea of crucifying you all passed through his mind.’ She paused, and a sadistic smile crinkled her lips. ‘So perhaps we should go one better. I have decided that he shall be buried up to his chin in the centre of the main square. Ants and other insects will eat him alive during the night and they will be attracted by a little honey doubed on his eyelids. Whatever is left will then be eaten by dogs or starving beasts and one day we shall dig out his bones, peel away what is left of the flesh and grind it into powder which can be sold as healing medicine in the bazaars.’

  Mehmet inclined his head in agreement. ‘As you say, wise lady, but one point only. At what time?’

  She glanced at a time-piece standing in a far corner. The clock struck with a ringing sonorous clang which filled the room with sound. And then she laughed. ‘Now, Mehmet. The clock says now.’

  Charlie’s muscles tensed with anticipation and he glanced almost desperately towards Lu who was standing, relaxed, within a few paces of the door. The Mongol bowed slightly, but shook his head. ‘Your wife and child will be looked after,’ he said simply. ‘That thought may make your end easier.’

  Mehmet nodded towards the guards and with the same military precision which marked all their movements they rushed their prisoner back into the open and towards the dusty square beyond. Another house-boy closed the door and Grant glimpsed a sudden swirl of movement as crowds began to return and take up place in the distance. He spoke first to Mehmet. The situation was tense and their own future could still hang by a thread. ‘May I ask what really happened?’

  Mehmet again bowed. ‘But to save The Goddess trouble let me do the explaining. You may remember that you were all searched on arrival. While you slept, that is. My men reported the discovery of powder concealed in that man’s baggage. There was no immediate way of identifying it so I simply replaced it where it belonged. But afterwards we kept a particularly careful eye on everything which the man you called Charlie did.’ He waved his hands expressively. ‘The Australian had taught us the value of a concealed lens, and we have some primitive, but useful, television equipment. He was marked dropping powder into the Goddess’s milk and so it was safe to believe that he was using poison. He later dropped some into my own glass and his intentions again seemed to be fairly clear. Indeed when we gave a little to a stray dog it died very quickly. So we put up an act while he stared at us through a window with one of his men.’

  He again paused and turned to the old woman: ‘Which reminds me. We strangled that one a little while ago and confirmed before he died that there are no other enemy elements not taken care of. It seems that the man Charlie trusted few people and relied chiefly on his own abilities.’

  ‘So we may go?’ Grant asked the loaded question and marked Harmony’s lips tense slightly as she awaited the answer.

  Mehmet bowed again, but this time towards the Goddess. ‘That depends upon the wishes of your hostess.’

  The old woman motioned them to sit down, and an unobtrusive house-boy closed the Venetian blinds through whose slots Grant had managed to get an occasional glimpse of what was going on outside. Charlie had stopped in the centre of the square where several hundreds of people had gathered during only a few minutes. A man seemed to be digging a deep hole in the ground and there had been occasional flashes of movement as the crowd separated to allow a man on horseback to pass, or cart to lumber across the dust to the group waiting in the centre.

  Now he could only guess at what was going on as he dragged his attention away from thoughts of Charlie’s execution to the rising tension within the room and the cold words of the Goddess as she began to crystallise her own thoughts.

  Chagra had once been heaven upon earth, and for the little girl who had once been a living goddess it had also become home.

  She had aged almost without knowing it, and although she had always known the worship of a few disciples she had allowed these to increase in number until, almost without realising it herself, the place had changed beyond recognition.

  Foreigners had been admitted, she had even taken as personal body-guard a Turk from Islam. But other men from many religions had also arrived to pay respects and bring her gifts.

  Then the man known as Lofty had joined her and been given almost complete freedom to do what he wished.

  His people had taught her English and a few other languages.

  Friends whom he called scientists had shown her the mysteries of radio and television until she had allowed them to build a little station for her own use. They had shown her how she could keep watch in almost every house by using concealed cameras, and her power had grown until every man, woman and child in the valley realised that she, their Mother Goddess, knew almost everything they did or said.

  The man Lofty had been good company and very distinguished when he was younger, and she had enjoyed his few visits. But she had also made his friends welcome and men with strange names had sometimes arrived to teach her new mysteries.

  Some had supervised the building of new houses or temples. Others had come with loads of jewels and gold, almost exhausted after weeks on trek across the mountains with their mule trains. Yet they had given the valley a new dignity. The place had become rich. She had learned how to grow better crops and supervise irrigation projects. The valley had become a paradise for the few hillmen who were allowed to live there, and rumour of its wealth had reached every corner of central Asia. Some had even called it the real Shangri-la: the real paradise above all others.

  Then, about two hundred moons earlier, a young woman had come from a place called America. It had been the first of several visits and she, too, had poured in gifts of money and men who knew how to educate people. But she had always been careful to remain concealed when other white people arrived. Until one day she had made a mistake and someone had shot her dead.

  It was the first tragedy in her life.

  She became silent for a long five minutes and then smiled towards Harmony. ‘After that, you came and I was happy.’

  Grant was listening to a story, which, for the first time, began to make sense.

  Harmony had been quite young at the time. But very clever and self-confident, and he guessed that this was part of the two blank years in her Paris dossier. The old lady had known murder once and been determined never to let it happen again. After that she used a drug to put every visitor to sleep on hi
s first night and during a long sleep their baggage was examined in detail. Sometimes there had been diaries, or letters, or writings, and since Mehmet had learned how to take photographs every one had been photostatted for filing. And it had amused the Goddess to let Harmony read them, to listen to her reactions about the men they concerned and to guide her with advice.

  She had slowly come to discover that men were using her, that her valley had become important to the world outside, or at least to some of the men who mattered within it. And she had seen that Harmony was worried as a story began to build up which proved that men were hoping to use her sacred valley as some sort of headquarters in a strange war of machines, rays and drugs.

  She had accepted drugs, certainly at first, as a normal part of living, knowing nothing of their importance. Then she had allowed men to bring increasing quantities until two store houses were filled with herbs which Harmony had told her were worth a fortune.

  And then she had seen the red light of danger, when, a few months earier, Harmony had arrived with news of the world outside and how it seemed to be going crazy and looking for a new religion. She knew that what they planned could be dangerous. But she had come to accept that she really was a goddess, and somehow not even her signs of ageing had given her any doubts. Or if they had she had been able to forget them, believing as she did that she herself was under some sort of divine protection and that she could neither do nor think any wrong.

  And it was then that the two women had planned a campaign which Grant accepted as possible.

  The world had to be taught a lesson.

  Wicked men in far-away places had to be taught the power of the Goddess. And she had made Harmony her priestess.

  The girl had told her many stories of gods and men and women of olden days and she had fallen in love with stories from Crete and Egypt. The legends of snake priestesses had interested her, and she had fallen for the idea that if one of them bore a male child it would be the god of all gods who would rule the world from the valley paradise of Chagra.